niel :b

you tell yourself you’re not going to do this again.

you say it in the shower. you say it while you’re getting dressed. you say it on the train ride over, staring at your reflection in the dark window like maybe this time you’ll actually mean it. he’s mean. he’s cold. he ignores your texts for hours and then acts like you’re dramatic for noticing. he calls you easy when you’re already wet for him and then fucks you like he hates how much he wants it.

and still.

you’re standing in his doorway again.

anton doesn’t even look up from his phone when you walk in. he’s on the couch like always, one ankle crossed over his knee, expression bored. the apartment smells like his cologne and something fried he probably ordered and only half-ate. you set your bag down quietly. your heart is already doing that stupid hopeful thing it always does around him.

“you’re late,” he says, still not looking at you.

“i texted,” you answer, soft. you always answer soft with him. “class ran over.”

“didn’t ask.” he finally glances at you, eyes dragging down your body in that slow, unimpressed way that somehow still makes your stomach flip. “come here.”

you go. of course you go. your feet move before your brain can remind you that you promised yourself you wouldn’t.

he doesn’t make space. just spreads his knees and waits until you’re standing between them. when you’re close enough he hooks two fingers in the waistband of your shorts and tugs you forward like you’re something he owns. maybe you are. it feels like you are.

“look at you,” he murmurs. no warmth in it. just that sharp little edge that always makes your knees weak. “all dressed up and still showing up at my place like a lost puppy. you really can’t stay away, can you?”

your face gets hot. you hate how accurate it is. you hate that he knows.

“i just wanted to see you,” you whisper.

he laughs under his breath, quiet and mean. “pathetic.” his fingers slide under the waistband, brushing the front of your underwear. he presses lightly and his expression doesn’t change even when he feels how damp the fabric already is. “and already wet. you came here knowing i was going to be like this and you still got yourself all worked up on the way over. didn’t you?”

you don’t answer. you can’t. your throat is tight and your eyes are starting to sting and he’s barely even touched you yet.

he notices. of course he does. that small, cruel smile pulls at the corner of his mouth as he pushes your underwear aside and sinks two fingers into you without warning. slow. deep. watching your face the whole time like he’s cataloguing every little reaction.

“see?” his voice is almost gentle now. that somehow hurts more. “soaked. you like it when i’m mean to you. you like being treated like this and then you go home and cry about it and still come back the next time i text. what does that make you?”

“yours,” you breathe, and the word slips out before you can stop it. soft. automatic. humiliating.

something flickers in his eyes. he curls his fingers and you make a sound you hate yourself for. he doesn’t look away.

“yeah,” he says quietly. “that’s what it makes you.”

he works you open on his fingers until your thighs are shaking and you’re biting your lip to keep from begging. then he pulls them out, shiny and wet, and presses them against your mouth.

“clean them.”

you do. slowly. eyes down. the taste of yourself on your tongue while he watches makes your stomach twist with something that feels too much like love. when you’re done he wipes the rest on your thigh like it doesn’t matter and nods toward the floor.

“knees.”

you drop. the shorts are still tangled around your thighs so it’s awkward and a little pathetic and he doesn’t care. he just leans back and watches with that same bored expression while you free his cock from his sweats. he’s already hard. you stroke him once and he makes a soft, almost annoyed sound.

“don’t be cute about it. put it in your mouth.”

you do. he rests a hand on the back of your head, not pushing yet, just holding. his voice stays quiet and mean even as his cock twitches against your tongue.

“this is what you’re good for. coming over whenever i feel like it and getting on your knees like you actually missed me.” he finally pushes a little, just enough to make you take more. “did you think about this in class? sitting there all wet and distracted thinking about your boyfriend treating you like a fucking toy?”

your eyes water. he notices. his thumb strokes once over your cheek, almost gentle before his grip tightens in your hair.

“don’t cry yet. we’re just getting started.”

he lets you suck him for a while, slow and messy, spit starting to drip down your chin. you try so hard to be good for him. you always do. when he finally pulls you off it’s with a wet sound and a look that makes your chest ache.

“up. clothes off. bed.”

you obey. he follows at his own pace, stripping without hurry, watching you the whole time. when you’re naked on the mattress he climbs over you and pins your wrists above your head with one hand. the other guides his cock between your legs, rubbing the head through the mess you’ve already made.

“look at me.”

you do. you always do.

he pushes in slow. all the way. doesn’t stop until his hips are flush against yours and you’re full and shaking under him. for half a second his forehead drops to yours and you almost think he’s going to soften. then he starts moving and the thought disappears.

he fucks you like he’s trying to prove something. deep. steady. a little too hard. every thrust punches a sound out of you that he seems to like, because his rhythm only gets meaner when you start getting loud.

“this is what you wanted, right?” his voice is low and rough against your ear. “came over hoping i’d use you. hoping i’d be mean enough to make you feel something.” he shifts the angle and you cry out. he doesn’t slow down. “so fucking wet for it. so easy to ruin. and you’ll still text me first tomorrow like nothing happened.”

you try to say his name and it comes out broken. he laughs under his breath, soft and cold.

“yeah. just like that. take it.”

he keeps you there for a long time. pinned. full. overstimulated. every time you get close he changes the pace just enough to pull you back from the edge, watching your face with that same sharp look even as his own breathing starts to get uneven.

“you don’t come until i say. understand?”

you nod, desperate. he doesn’t look convinced.

“use your words.”

“i understand—”

“good girl.” the praise hits harder than the mean shit. it always does. your stomach twists and your eyes burn and he thrusts in harder right after saying it, like he’s punishing you for liking it. “now stay still and let me finish using you.”

when he finally lets you come it’s with his hand around your throat and his cock buried so deep it feels like you can’t breathe around it. you shake apart under him, loud and wrecked and a little teary, and he fucks you through it without slowing down, chasing his own orgasm with sharp, selfish thrusts until he spills inside you with a low, punched-out sound.

he doesn’t pull out right away. just stays there, breathing hard, still pinning your wrists. your body is still twitching around him. your chest feels too full. the words have been sitting on your tongue for weeks and right now, with him still inside you and your eyes stinging, they just… slip out.

“i love you.”

it’s quiet. small. pathetic.

anton goes still.

for a second the whole room feels too quiet. his breathing is the only sound. then he pulls back just enough to look at you properly. his expression is unreadable at first. then something cold settles over it.

“don’t,” he says.

your throat tightens. “anton—”

“don’t say that.” his voice is flat. final. he pulls out of you and sits back on his heels, looking down at the mess between your legs like it’s mildly interesting instead of looking at your face. “you don’t mean it. you’re just high off getting fucked.”

“i do mean it,” you whisper. your voice cracks. you hate how small you sound. “i love you. i know you’re mean and i know i shouldn’t keep coming back but i do. i always do. because it’s you.”

he stares at you for a long moment. something almost like discomfort flickers across his face before he shuts it down.

“you’re embarrassing yourself,” he says quietly. he gets off the bed and reaches for his sweats. “clean yourself up. and next time don’t be late.”

he walks out of the room without looking back.

you stay there for a while, thighs sticky, chest tight, eyes burning. the words are still hanging in the air like they never should have been said. and still… still you already know you’re going to text him first tomorrow. because the sex is too good and you’re too much of a lover girl for him and no matter how mean he is, no matter how he looks at you after you say it, you still end up here.

soft and pathetic and his.

you had been quiet and teary all evening, curled up on anton’s lap like a little ball of sadness. he noticed immediately. his big arms wrapped around you, one hand rubbing slow circles on your back while the other gently stroked your hair.

“what is going on in that pretty head, baby?” he asked softly, voice so patient and warm. “you can tell me. i am right here.”

you sniffled and hid your face in his chest, fresh tears soaking his shirt. “i just… i feel like i am not good enough lately. i keep messing up and overthinking everything and everyone else seems so much better than me…”

anton’s heart squeezed. he cupped your face with both hands, thumbs wiping your tears away so tenderly. he looked at you like you hung the stars.

“hey. listen to me,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “you are more than good enough. you are my perfect girl. the way you smile when you see me, how hard you try at everything, how sweet and shy and caring you are… i love every single part of you. you do not have to be anything else. you are already everything i could ever want.”

more tears fell, but this time they felt like relief. you cried harder into his chest while anton kept whispering the sweetest things, kissing your wet cheeks and telling you how proud he was of you, how beautiful you were, how no one could ever replace his shy crybaby.

when your sobs finally quieted into little hiccups, he tilted your chin up and kissed you slow and deep. his eyes had that dark edge now, the one that made your tummy flutter.

“you cry so prettily for me,” he murmured, thumb brushing another tear. “makes me wonder how much prettier you would look crying because it feels too good…”

you blushed hard, but your thighs pressed together. anton smiled softly, like he could read your mind.

“let me take care of you, baby. let me make you feel so good that all that sadness goes away.”

he carried you to the bedroom like you weighed nothing, laying you down gently before undressing you with patient hands. when he finally pushed inside you, slow and deep, you started crying again. overwhelmed by how full you felt, how safe, how much you needed him.

“shhh, i know,” he cooed, hips rolling in that perfect rhythm. “it is a lot, right? my big cock stretching my shy little crybaby open. you are taking it so well though… such a good girl for me.”

you sobbed and clung to him, tears streaming down your face. the pleasure was too intense, too much, but so so good. every deep thrust made fresh tears fall.

anton groaned softly, eyes half-lidded as he watched you. “fuck… look at those tears. you cry even prettier when i am inside you. my sensitive baby cannot handle how deep i am, huh?”

he sped up just a little, hitting that spot that made you see stars. you cried louder, legs shaking around his waist. anton leaned down and licked a tear off your cheek, then kissed you messily, tasting the salt on your lips.

“that is it. cry for me, baby. let it all out while i fuck all that sadness away,” he whispered, voice low and perverted. “you look so fucking cute when you are overwhelmed and teary just from my cock. my perfect crybaby.”

you were a complete mess underneath him — sobbing, moaning, nails digging into his back. anton kept talking you through it, filthy but loving.

“you are squeezing me so tight when you cry. such a good girl. gonna fill you up until the only thing you can think about is me. no more overthinking, just my cum leaking out of you.”

you came hard with a broken sob, clenching around him like you never wanted to let go. anton fucked you through it, then flipped you onto your stomach and pulled your hips up. he slid back in even deeper, one hand reaching around to rub your clit while the other held your waist.

“one more, baby. i know you can give me one more. cry as much as you want — i will kiss every single tear away after.”

you came again, shaking and wailing into the pillow. anton finally let himself go, burying himself deep and filling you up with hot thick pulses while groaning your name.

afterwards he immediately pulled out and wrapped you in his arms, cradling your trembling, tear-stained body against his chest like you were the most precious thing in the world. he wiped your face with gentle fingers, kissing every wet spot.

“you did so so well for me,” he whispered, voice full of love. “my strong shy girl. you feel any better now?”

you nodded weakly, still sniffling but smiling. “yes… thank you, anton.”

he kissed your forehead and held you tighter, big hand rubbing your back. “good. because i love making my crybaby feel good. even when you are all teary and overwhelmed… especially then.”

the dorm common room is dead quiet at 4 a.m. except for the low buzz of the vending machine dying in the corner and the occasional creak of the old couch springs under seven bodies that refuse to stay still.

they’ve got you in the middle like always free use doesn’t have a schedule it just has you and six sets of hands that haven’t left your skin since they dragged you down here after practice.

anton’s behind you chest glued to your back chin hooked over your shoulder his arms are locked around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go even an inch long fingers splayed across your stomach pressing just hard enough that you feel the faint outline of his cock still half hard inside you from earlier he’s not moving much just slow lazy rolls of his hips every few minutes to remind you he’s there deep thick stretching you open even when he’s barely thrusting.

“stay still baby” he murmurs against your neck voice soft but edged “you keep clenching and i’m gonna have to fill you again before the others get a turn.”

wonbin’s on your left kneeling on the cushion hoodie off shirt sleeves shoved up one hand wrapped loosely around your throat just resting there thumb stroking your pulse while the other kneads your tit roughly pinches the nipple until you gasp then soothes it with his tongue he’s been alternating between sucking marks into your collarbone and whispering filthy praise in your ear.

“look how pretty you are like this” he says voice low and amused “all spread out and dripping you love being our little toy don’t you?”

sohee’s on your right the neediest one tonight he’s got your hand wrapped around his cock guiding you to stroke him slow while he whines against your shoulder every time you twist your wrist he bucks into your palm and lets out a high broken moan.

“please faster fuck your hand feels so good” he’s trembling cheeks flushed eyes glassy “wanna come on your tits again”

sungchan’s kneeling between your spread legs skirt long gone panties ripped and discarded somewhere near the tv he’s eating you out like it’s a competition tongue flat and relentless sucking your clit hard enough to make your hips jerk every time you try to close your thighs he forces them wider with his shoulders and growls against your cunt.

“keep them open” he snaps “you don’t get to hide this pussy it’s ours.”

eunseok’s at your feet hands gripping your ankles spreading you even wider for sungchan he’s quiet tonight just watching with those dark intense eyes occasionally leans in to lick a stripe up your inner thigh tasting the mess everyone’s already left when sungchan pulls back for air eunseok takes his place tongue slow and teasing fingers sliding in alongside it curling against that spot until you’re shaking and sobbing.

shotaro’s standing behind the couch leaning over you hands on your shoulders massaging slow circles while he watches the others take turns he’s hard again cock straining against his sweats every time someone makes you cry he tightens his grip like he’s grounding himself.

“pass her” shotaro says voice soft but firm “my turn to feel her mouth.”

they do.

anton lifts you off his cock with a wet sound that makes everyone groan cum leaks out immediately thick white dripping down your thighs sohee whines at the sight.

shotaro guides you to your knees on the floor circle forms around you instantly six cocks hard and leaking waiting.

he strokes your cheek gentle “open baby.”

you do.

he slides in slow letting you taste him letting you feel every inch stretch your lips you gag when he hits the back of your throat tears spill instantly.

“good girl” he breathes hand gentle in your hair “take me deeper.”

wonbin’s next rougher fucks your mouth hard hand fisted in your hair “look at those tears so pretty when you choke on my cock”

sungchan’s thick makes you gag harder “swallow it all fuck yes”

eunseok’s gentle but deep holds your face “eyes on me yeah just like that”

sohee’s the neediest whines when you lick his balls hips bucking “please please don’t stop love your tongue there”

anton’s last makes you look up at him the whole time “good girl taking all of us such a perfect little free use slut”

they come one after another painting your tongue your lips your chin dripping down your neck onto your tits you swallow what you can the rest they smear across your skin like they’re marking territory.

when they’re done they don’t let you rest.

just pull you back onto the couch bodies everywhere hands everywhere mouths everywhere.

anton’s inside you again slow deep grinding while wonbin fucks your mouth sungchan’s fingers in your ass prepping you eunseok’s tongue on your clit sohee’s cock in your hand shotaro’s mouth on your tits.

they pass you between them all night.

filling every hole
covering every inch of skin
making you come until you’re shaking sobbing begging.

“please too much”

“not enough” sungchan growls “not until we’ve all had you again.”

and they do.

hands never leaving
mouths never stopping
cocks never far from your body.

because in this dorm in this room at 5 a.m.

you’re not just their girlfriend.

you’re their free use.

of course, further into your relationship, you and anton talked about this, reassuring anton he deserved everything from the moon and back, which honestly made him fall for you harder, that is if he could even fall any harder. 

now here you are, with your beautiful boy snuggled into your chest in your room.. “and there's this restaurant near there that’s super good, i have to take you, you’d love it, and they also sell these cute matching keychains that we have to get, like imagine how cute they’d look on our bags” he mumbling into the crook on your neck as you play with this hair, softly humming to his words to let him know your listening to every word, “ and there’s a bakery not far from that restaurant that i also wanna take you, i hear the creeps there are really-” the boy continues as he slowly begins to look up at you, only to be met with your eyes staring right back into his. 

instantly,  a tint of pink scatters across his cheeks as he lets out a soft giggle, the corners of his mouth moving up. he dropped his head back down. “what? i was listening. keep talking,” you softly muttered at the boy whilst still playing with his hair. anton brings his head up “it’s just..” he paused “i looked up and…” another pause, he let out a sigh "you're so beautiful, seriously how can you look so beautiful?” he brings his hand up you cup the lower half of your face, you both sat in silence for a bit, admiring each other.

 the silence quickly came to an end when you brought your lips to his forehead, then his cheek, his ear, his eyebrow, and soon you had kissed all over his face, with anton letting out small giggles in between. once you had pulled back, he gave you a pouty frown, you lifted your eyebrow in a questioning expression, wondering what he was frowning about. he quickly spoke up, “you missed” he mumbled, still confused, you were about to ask him what he meant, but before you could do that he softly grabbed the back of your head with one hand and you waist with the other one, pulling you closer to him as he brought his soft pink lips into contact with yours, easing into it with a soft sigh. you were taken aback for just a quick second before slowly melting into the kiss as well. your mouths moved at a steady rhythm, not too fast, not too slow, just perfect. anton held you tight, as if he didn’t, you’d vanish.

 after a little while, you both pull away, lightly gasping for air. you found yourself making eye contact with anton again, he looked back at you with a loving smile. “I love you, you know that?” he said with the softest voice ever as if his voice couldn’t get any softer, you giggled “ of course, i love you too toni” you replied, smiling back at him before placing one final kiss on the tip of his nose “now finish telling me about that bakery” you said in a fake stern voice, anton giggled.

with a quiet sigh, you shifted, searching for a more comfortable position— or at least you tried to. your brows pinched together. why couldn’t you move?

you squinted your eyes— attempting to see in the darkness, slowly collecting that the pillow you normally hook under your leg was radiating warmth. it wasn’t a pillow. it was your best friend.

jungwons arm was thrown around your waist, your leg thrown over his lap and hooked around him. memories of staying up too late watching obsession and pausing every second to make funny comments came flooding back to you.

you slowly began to pull your leg off of him, trying way too hard not to wake him.

“mmm… don’t.” jungwons eyes stayed closed, his voice rough with sleep as he absentmindedly rested a hand on your knee, holding it exactly where it was. “comfy.”

your mouth fell open. you lay back down, readjusting your thigh over him— jesus. he’s fucking bricked.

“jungwon,” your breath hitched, still looking at him.

“hm?” he propped his head up, eyes pulling open, laced with sleep.

“you’re…” you looked down then back at jungwon, who was now smiling lazily.

“morning thing,” he dragged his words on, clearly tired. “help me with it, hm?”

your eyes widened. did he mean what you think he did? “you mean like-“

“only if you want.”

you were dumbfounded. sure, you’d had sex. but with jungwon? you were sure you would never have a chance with him— you gave it up years ago when he started throwing around the ‘best friend’ title. “yeah,” your voice came out strained.

he sat up against the headboard, pulling you onto his lap and rolling his hips against yours, earning a low moan out of both of you.

he put his hand on the nape of your neck and slammed his mouth against yours. continuing to guide you against him as his grip on your hips grew tighter.

you tore your shirt off before continuing the kiss, your hips still rutting against the tent in his sweatpants.

“shit—” you panted, digging your nails into jungwons shoulders as the knot in your stomach grew needier.

the friction brought a low whimper out of jungwon that only made you wetter. he gave in, pulling his boxers down just enough— cock springing free while you lifted off him to discard the rest of your clothes.

he groaned at the feeling of your entrance. a small wet squelch noise filled the room as you whimpered, adjusting to the stretch.

a ragged trail of red runs down his cheeks, his eyes filled with lust watching your walls surround his cock. it was a beautiful sight, even in the dark.

you whined, sitting in place and looking down, his size causing pain that was hardly allowing you to move yourself. “sorry,” you felt bad making him wait, slowly getting used to the new feeling.

he chuckled lowly, tracing comforting circles in your arm. “it’s ok,” he reassured. “when you’re ready.”

you started slowly pulling on and off of him, both of your uncontrollable noises from years of yearning filling the room. “nngh— fuck!” your arm flew to grab his bicep as your pace grew faster.

your slick covered the base of his cock, slowly dripping down with every thrust until it reached his lower stomach.

he whimpered through his teeth, bringing a desperate hand to your tit and throwing his head back. “shit— m’ gonna-“

your vision grew hazy at the extreme amounts of bliss, lashes fluttering and jaw slack.

you grinded down one last desperate circle, crying out as your walls clenched hard around him and you both tipped over the edge, his hips instinctively jerking upward into you.

“did that help?” you said mockingly, pulling yourself off and falling beside him.

- - -

a/n: sorry this took so long anon i have too many drafts

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

the night air is a blade against your cheeks, yet it cannot cut through the slow, molten burn that has settled low in your belly, a burn that started hours ago and has only grown heavier, wetter, more insistent with every passing minute.

you stand outside sohee’s building, shoulders hunched inside your jacket, the wool pulled so tight across your waist it feels like the only thing keeping your body from splitting open and spilling its shameless want onto the pavement.

your thighs are already slick, the inside seams of your stockings darkened where the heat has been leaking steadily, silently, traitorously, ever since you kissed your boyfriend’s sleepy forehead and slipped out with a whispered lie about needing to go to a sleepover with your best friend. each pulse between your legs is a dull, greedy fist unclenching and clenching again, a rhythm older than thought, older than guilt.

the soft buzz of your phone in your pocket again, another heart, another “miss you baby”, another message you will answer tomorrow with a smile and a kiss and a mouth still tasting of someone else.

it wasn’t your fault you were carrying this sickness. this cruel, wordless hunger that wakes you before the sun, that slicks your folds while you are still half-dreaming, that tightens like wire around your spine in lecture halls and grocery lines until you have to dig your nails into your palms just to keep from rocking against the nearest hard surface.

your boyfriend, anton, your sweet, patient, beautiful boy, tries so hard; he kisses the tears from the corners of your eyes, murmurs love against your throat, laps at you with gentle devotion until you cum, once, maybe twice, his fingers laced tenderly with yours.

but the moment the last shiver leaves your body the hunger surges back twice as vicious, a starving animal that gnaws at your ribs while he sleeps, leaving you to grind helplessly against his mattress in the dark, muffling broken sobs into the pillow so he never wakes to the truth of what you are.

six months ago sohee discovered it by accident, or perhaps by instinct.

a house party, too much vodka, your boyfriend somewhere in the living room calling your name while you were already bent over the bathroom sink, skirt rucked to your waist, sohee’s hand clamped over your mouth and his cock driving into you with a force that rattled the mirror on its hinges.

four orgasms tore through you in under twenty minutes, each one wrenched out harder than the last until you were squirting in helpless, violent arcs that soaked his hoodie, the waistband of his sweats, the cheap tile beneath your feet. when he pressed his palm just beneath your navel and thrust himself to the hilt something inside you cracked open like a fault line and, for five impossible seconds, the hunger went perfectly, blissfully still. you blacked out with his name muffled against his fingers, limbs liquefied, vision whited out, the sickness finally lulled into silence by the brutal, perfect fit of him.

since that night you have betrayed every promise, every week, sometimes multiple times a week too, slipping away to feed the beast only he can quiet.

your boyfriend’s best friend since high school, the lazy-eyed boy with the careless mouth who laughs when you beg, who calls you filthy names and still fucks you until your body forgets its own name. only sohee can empty you out, leave you boneless and drifting in the soft, floating aftermath where nothing claws or burns or demands.

your phone vibrates again and you silence it with trembling fingers, feeling the fresh rush of warmth coat the inside of your thighs like liquid confession.

you had messaged sohee, texts piling up in a one-sided stream:

‘please, i need you, sohee, it’s bad tonight, answer me’, and called, the phone ringing into silence, his voicemail a cold, mechanical rejection that stung almost as much as his indifference.

but you’re here anyway, driven by the ache, the need, the addiction that’s consumed you since the night you met him, a night that feels like both a curse and a revelation, etched into your soul like a brand.

standing in the flickering light of the building’s entrance, your hands shaking as you fish the spare key from your bag and slip it into the lock. the one you had forged in a quiet act of desperation months ago, when sohee’s gaming marathons stretched into endless hours of unanswered knocks, unanswered texts, leaving you stranded on his doorstep, heart pounding, body thrumming with an ache that clawed at your core like a beast caged within your flesh. relentless, unyielding, a persistent, pulsing need to be filled, to be touched, to be seen, a fire that burns without end, no matter how many times you try to douse it.

the door creaks open, and the apartment yawns before you, a shadowed crypt of neglect, the air heavy with the stale scent of burnt ramen, the faint chemical tang of energy drinks, and the sour undercurrent of unwashed dishes festering somewhere in the gloom. no light spills from the hallway, no warmth greets you, only the faint hum of electronics and a sharp, muffled curse slicing through the silence.

“fucking idiot, i told you to go left,” sohee’s voice, low and laced with venom, punctuated by the rapid, staccato click of his keyboard, the rhythm of his world, one that spins without you, oblivious to the need that drives you here, night after night, like a moth to a flame that singes but never consumes.

you step inside, your heels clicking softly on the worn floorboards, the sound swallowed by the oppressive gloom. you’re dressed for him, always for him, hyper-feminine in a way that feels like both armor and surrender: a delicate pink dress, soft and clinging to your curves, lace trim grazing the tops of your thighs, lips glossy with cherry shine, lashes heavy with mascara, every detail a fragile plea for his attention, a desperate bid to be enough for a boy who’d rather grip his mouse than your body, your low self-esteem woven into every careful curl of your hair, every swipe of blush across your cheeks, a futile attempt to be seen in a world where you’re nothing but a shadow.

the bedroom door is ajar, a sliver of blue light spilling from his monitor, casting flickering shadows across the chaos—bedsheets twisted on the floor, an empty ramen bowl teetering on his desk, its broth a congealed ghost, a crumpled energy drink can glinting faintly in the glow.

sohee sits there, hunched forward, a fitted white tee stretched across his lean frame, grey sweatpants slung low on his hips, the waistband dipping to reveal a sliver of taut, pale skin, damp with the faint sheen of sweat from hours in this chair. his hair was a messy tangle of dark strands, the tips tickling his neck, somehow still maddeningly alluring, a careless beauty that makes your breath hitch, your core clench, the ache sharpening like a knife twisting in your gut.

his headset clamps over his ears, eyes glued to the screen, fingers dancing across the keyboard with a grace that sends a shiver through you. slender, quick, precise, moving with an effortless dexterity that you can’t help but imagine inside you, fucking you with the same skill he pours into his game, if only he’d care enough to try.

he’s a loser, a gamer boy lost in his virtual empire, but god, he’s beautiful, the kind of beautiful that breaks you, makes your body beg, your pussy weep, even as he ignores you.

he doesn’t notice you at first, too deep in his match, jaw tight, lips parted as he snarls another curse into the mic, “move, you fucking moron,” the words sharp, slicing through the haze of your lust like a lash.

you stand there, trembling, the ache in your core a living thing, pulsing with a need so intense it’s like your body is screaming, your panties already soaked through, clinging to your skin, your thighs pressing together in a futile attempt to quell the fire, a relentless, unadulterated lust that won’t rest until you’re filled, until you’re fucked senseless.

when his eyes finally flick to you, it’s not with warmth or want but with a cold, cutting irritation, a darkening in those sharp irises as he registers what your presence means—the never-ending hunger that clings to you like a second skin, the lust that spills over in the way your hands twist in your dress, the way your breath catches, your body vibrating with raw, primal need.

“fuck, you again?” he snaps, voice low and edged with venom, his fingers never pausing on the keyboard, the game’s frenetic soundtrack a mocking counterpoint to your desperation.

“i’m this close to winning, you can’t fucking wait?”

his words are a blade, carving through your fragile self-esteem, but they only make the ache worse, the barbed wire of his cruelty coiling tighter around your insides, your pussy throbbing with a need that drowns out the shame.

you shake your head, a small, pathetic gesture, your voice barely a whisper, “sohee, please, i can’t. i need–“ but he cuts you off with a scoff, his lips curling into a cruel, mocking smirk, the indifference in his gaze a wound that festers deeper than his words.

“pathetic,” he mutters, eyes flicking back to the screen, the click of his mouse relentless.

“fine, get over here. but i’m not pausing this for you,”his tone is a command, not a kindness, a dismissal wrapped in permission, and you hate how it sets your skin alight, the ache flaring into a fire that burns hotter at his cruelty, your hands trembling as you lift your dress, your soaked panties sticking to your skin, a testament to how deeply you’re caught in this toxic spiral.

you settle down onto his lap, the worn leather of the gaming chair cool against the backs of your thighs. your back presses flush to his chest, his body heat seeping through the thin cotton of his tee, heartbeat steady and indifferent beneath your shoulder blades while yours ricochets like a trapped bird. the monitors bathe you both in shifting violet and crimson, the game’s frantic soundtrack bleeding into the room, gunfire and explosions and the low, constant chatter of his friends through the headset that never leaves his ears.

sohee doesn’t speak.

he doesn’t need to.

one arm stays locked on the keyboard, fingers flying, wrist flicking the mouse in sharp, precise arcs, while the other slides down between your spread thighs without ceremony. the second his skin meets the mess you’ve made, he hisses through his teeth, a soft, scornful sound that vibrates against the shell of your ear.

“jesus fuck, you’re disgusting,”

he mutters, so quiet only you can hear, the words brushing the shell of your ear like a slap. no one in the call catches it; the mic stays angled away, for now. his fingertips come away glazed, strings of you stretching between them before he wipes the excess on the inside of your thigh like you’re a rag. then he’s back, parting your folds with two fingers, spreading you open just enough to make you feel how swollen you already are, how ready, how pathetic.

you bite down on your lip hard enough to sting, trying to trap the sound that wants to crawl out of your throat.

it doesn’t work.

the moment his thumb settles on your clit with just the right amount of pressure a broken sigh spills free, soft and wet and desperate. he circles once, slow and mean, dragging the slick up and around, coating you until every nerve is screaming. your hips jerk without permission, chasing the touch, thighs trembling over his.

he doesn’t look at you. doesn’t slow the game. his gaze stays locked on the center monitor, jaw tight, lips parted around silent curses at whatever idiot is feeding on the other team. the only sign he’s aware you exist is the way his fingers move; deliberate, mechanical, perfect. thumb still rubbing those cruel circles, he gathers more of your wetness and drags it downward, painting your entrance before he pushes two fingers in to the knuckle in one slick thrust.

the sudden, filthy stretch you’ve been aching for all day, the one your boyfriend could never give you because he’s too gentle, too careful, too in love with you to treat you the way your body demands. sohee doesn’t love you. he barely likes you. and that’s why it feels like heaven when his fingers bottom out, curling once, hard, against that spot that makes your vision white out.

every stroke is deliberate, unhurried, like he’s testing how little effort it actually takes to unravel you. the wet sound is soft at first, a quiet, obscene squelch each time he drags out and pushes back in, coating his knuckles, dripping onto the leather beneath you. you squirm helplessly, thighs trembling over his, hips rolling forward to chase the pressure because it’s never enough and it’s already too much.

you bite down on your lower lip until you taste gloss and blood, trying to cage the sounds clawing up your throat. a breathy moan slips free anyway, high and broken, but still too quiet for the headset to catch.

his curses keep spilling into the mic, low and vicious, “fucking die already, useless,” and every sharp syllable lands between your legs like another stroke, feeding the ache instead of killing it.

he picks up speed without warning, fingers driving deeper, curling on every inward thrust to scrape that spot that makes your vision flicker. the squelch turns louder, wetter, unmistakable now, and your hips buck hard, grinding down onto his hand like you’re trying to take more than he’s willing to give. another moan tears loose, louder this time, and you slap your own palm over your mouth to smother it.

sohee doesn’t even flinch.

he just spreads you wider with those two fingers, stretches you open for a heartbeat, then forces a third in alongside them. the burn is instant, perfect, a deep, filthy stretch that makes your back bow and your toes curl in your heels. your head lolls against his shoulder, eyes rolling back beneath fluttering lids, tears gathering hot and useless at the corners. your cunt flutters wildly around the sudden intrusion, walls rippling, trying to adjust, trying to swallow him deeper.

the orgasm hits like a wave breaking over jagged rock, sudden, violent, merciless. your entire body seizes, thighs locking rigid over his, pussy clamping down so hard on his fingers you feel the pulse in your throat. slick gushes out around his knuckles, hot and shameful, dripping down his wrist, pooling beneath you on the chair in a dark, spreading stain.

for two breathless seconds the ache goes quiet, a cruel, fleeting mercy, like the world narrows to nothing but the white-hot throb behind your eyes and the way your body shakes itself apart on his hand. your breath catches on a silent scream, tears finally spilling over, rolling down your temples into your hair.

the aftershocks still ripple through you, thighs twitching, cunt fluttering weakly around the three fingers he keeps buried deep, unmoving for a moment while the rgb lights strobe across your wet cheeks and parted lips. two seconds, maybe three, of that cruel, blessed quiet where the ache finally shuts up, where your body feels almost sated.

then it creeps back in.

a slow, treacherous heat unfurling low in your belly, the familiar pulse waking up again like it’s mocking the orgasm you just had. your hips give a tiny, involuntary roll, chasing the fingers that haven’t moved since you came. a soft, pathetic sound slips from your throat before you can stop it.

sohee feels it, of course he does.

he knows your body better than the boy who tucks you in at night and whispers i love you while you stare at the ceiling and count the minutes until you can sneak out. he knows one is never enough, knows the second the high fades you’ll be grinding down again like a desperate animal.

his fingers start moving while the next round is still loading, slow at first, dragging out with a filthy twist before slamming back in, rougher now, no pretence of gentleness. the squelch is louder, wetter, your cum and fresh slick coating his hand all the way to the wrist. your hips follow the rhythm without permission, bucking helplessly into every thrust, chasing that brutal pressure that only he gives you.

“not enough, huh?” he mutters, voice low and disgusted, meant only for you. his thumb finds your clit again, grinds hard once, twice, and your back arches off his chest.

the loading screen flashes and he uses the countdown. his hand suddenly leaves the mouse, snakes up to your throat, long fingers wrapping around it in one swift, vicious squeeze. your breath cuts off instantly, head jerked back against his shoulder, pulse hammering against his palm. his lips brush the shell of your ear, hot and cruel.

“fucking slut,” he hisses, so quiet the mic will never catch it, grip tightening until black dots bloom at the edges of your vision. “can’t even let me play without begging for more.”

he shoves a fourth finger in alongside the others without warning.

the stretch is blinding, a deep, burning ache that punches the air from your lungs and shoots straight to your lower stomach. you feel it there, a heavy, obscene pressure, like he’s rearranging your insides with one careless hand. your cunt spasms around the impossible fullness, walls fluttering wildly, slick gushing out around his knuckles and dripping down his wrist in thick, shameful rivulets. your legs kick once, heels scraping the floor, toes curling so hard they cramp.

he releases your throat the second the game drops back in, fingers flying to the keyboard again like nothing happened, but the ones inside you never stop, pumping hard, fast, merciless.

your second orgasm barrels through you before you can brace for it, sharper than the first, ripping a broken cry from your raw throat. your whole body locks up, thighs clamping around his arm, pussy clenching so hard on his fingers it hurts, another flood of cum soaking his sweatpants, the chair, your dress. your vision whites out for a heartbeat, tears spilling sideways into your hair, mouth open on a soundless scream.

the second orgasm is still pulsing through you when he keeps going, four fingers driving into you with the same ruthless rhythm, knuckles slamming deep, curling hard against the front wall of your cunt like he’s trying to punish it. the burn is vicious for the first few seconds, raw, oversensitive flesh screaming at the intrusion, but the ache underneath it is already waking up again, greedy and shameless, licking at the edges of the pain until they blur together.

your hips won’t stay still. they roll forward on every thrust, chasing the stretch, the pressure, the way he refuses to give you even a breath to recover. your own hand has found its way under the neckline of your dress without permission, fingers pinching and twisting your nipple hard enough to make you gasp into the humid air. your tongue slips out, just the tip, resting against your lower lip like a dog panting in summer heat, eyes half-lidded and glassy, tears drying on your temples.

he hits that spot again, again, again, the same brutal hook of his fingers that drags over your g-spot with every stroke. it makes your head swim, makes the room tilt, makes pleasure coil so tight in your pelvis you feel it behind your urethra, a deep, swelling fullness that presses outward like something alive trying to escape.

a shaky moan slips free before you can stop it, high and desperate. sohee’s head tilts a fraction, the only warning you get.

“be. fucking. quiet.”

each word is punctuated by a vicious thrust, fingers slamming in so hard your whole body jolts forward in the chair. you bite down on your lip until you taste blood, copper blooming sharp across your tongue. your free hand scrabbles for something to hold onto and finds the soft waistband of his joggers, bunching the fabric into a white-knuckled fist as your hips buck wildly, riding his hand like you’re trying to fuse yourself to it.

the pressure builds impossibly fast. a sudden, involuntary tightening low in your abdomen, muscles grabbing at his fingers and then letting go in frantic little pulses. your lower stomach cramps, thighs trembling harder, the opening of your cunt fluttering around his knuckles like it’s trying to push him out and pull him deeper at the same time. there’s a split-second of pure urgency, a hot, terrifying fullness right behind your pubic bone that makes you panic and crave all at once.

then it breaks.

the pressure drops like a dam bursting. a sudden, heavy push from deep inside, and warm fluid gushes out of you in a hard, forward arc, soaking his wrist, his forearm, splattering onto the floor between his spread legs. your pelvic muscles let go completely, spasming in violent waves, each contraction forcing another pulse of clear liquid out of you in rhythmic, humiliating spurts. your left leg starts shaking uncontrollably, thigh jerking against his, lower abdomen cramping in sharp, fluttering bursts that feel almost like pain.

you can’t breathe. can’t think. your vision tunnels to static and rgb light, mouth open on a silent scream, tears streaking sideways into your hair. the overstimulation is immediate and brutal, every nerve lit up and screaming, clit throbbing so hard it hurts where his thumb still rests against it.

the last spurt leaves you in a helpless pulse, warm fluid streaking down his forearm, dripping from his elbow onto the already ruined leather. the chair is destroyed, dark, spreading stains blooming across the seat, soaking through to the foam and his favourite grey sweatpants are plastered to his thigh in a cold, sticky patch that clings every time he shifts. you feel it cooling against your bare skin, the evidence of what your body just did, what it always does when he touches you.

sohee makes a low, disgusted sound against the back of your neck.

“messy slut,” he mutters, voice rough with contempt, but his fingers don’t stop.

if anything he drives them deeper, four thick digits spearing into you with wet, punishing thrusts that force another helpless gush of fluid out around his knuckles. each stroke is met with a small, shameful pulse, more slick leaking in rhythmic spurts every time your wrecked cunt tries to clamp down and fails.

the overstimulation is brutal, a hot, stinging ache that makes your thighs jerk and your breath hitch on tiny, broken sobs, but the hunger underneath it is worse. it’s already clawing back up your spine, greedy, insatiable, whispering that fingers aren’t enough, that you need to be stretched wider, filled heavier, fucked until your legs give out and the ache finally shuts up for good.

you need his cock.

you need it so badly your hips are rocking again without permission, grinding down onto his hand like an animal, chasing the promise of something thicker, longer, something that will press against your cervix and stay there until you can’t remember your own name. a pathetic whine vibrates in your throat, muffled against the heel of your palm, but he hears it anyway.

his fingers slow just enough to make you suffer, curling deliberately, dragging across that spot again so another weak spurt of fluid leaks out and drips off his wrist. your walls flutter uselessly around the intrusion, overworked and trembling, but still trying to pull him deeper.

“greedy little thing,” he says under his breath, barely audible over the constant clack of his keyboard and the low laughter of his friends in the call.

“just squirted all over my shit and you’re already begging for my cock.”

your answering moan is small, desperate, impossible to hide.

your hips roll forward again, shameless, chasing the slow drag of his knuckles, and you feel the hard line of him beneath the soaked fabric of his sweatpants, thick and half-hard and so close you could sob.

he lifts you just enough, one arm hooked under your thigh like you’re weightless, and the sudden emptiness inside you is a physical ache, a hollow, pulsing void that makes you whimper before you can stop yourself. slick drips in slow, syrupy strands from your cunt, landing on the soaked leather with soft, wet sounds that feel louder than the gunfire still blasting through his headset. the rgb lights strobe across your trembling thighs, painting them violet, crimson, violet again, every shift of colour catching on the sheen of sweat and cum coating your skin.

he doesn’t look at you.

he shoves the waistband of his sweatpants lower with one impatient jerk, cotton catching on the sharp jut of his hipbones before his cock springs free and lands heavy against his stomach.

it steals the air from your lungs.

thick in a way that feels almost violent, flushed a dark, angry red that borders on purple at the swollen head, veins thick and raised along the shaft like cables under silk, the slit already glistening with a fat bead of precum that trembles, then spills over, sliding slow and obscene down the underside.

he fists himself once, lazy, spreading the precum in a slow, deliberate stroke that makes the whole length gleam wet under the shifting colours. his eyes flick to you for half a heartbeat, just long enough to watch your lips part, to see the way your tongue touches your bottom lip without permission, then snap back to the centre monitor. the smirk that curls the corner of his mouth is small, cruel, and utterly satisfied.

“turn around,” he mutters, voice flat, already clicking again. “i’ll give you what you’ve been waiting for.”

your knees are shaking too hard to trust, but you move anyway, turning in the narrow space between his body and the desk, dress rucked up under your armpits now. you straddle him properly, knees sinking into the ruined leather on either side of his hips, and the heat radiating off his skin is a shock against your raw, oversensitive thighs.

his left hand never leaves the keyboard.

his right hand grips your hip hard enough that his fingertips dig crescents into your flesh, and he lines himself up with no ceremony, just the blunt, impossibly thick head of his cock nudging your entrance, smearing your own slick and the remnants of your last orgasm over your swollen folds.

you lower yourself onto him, feeling an actual slow, searing burn that starts where he’s stretching you open and radiates outward in white-hot rings, up into your belly, down the backs of your thighs, behind your knees. tears flood your eyes instantly, spilling over before you can blink them away, rolling in hot tracks down your cheeks and dripping off your jaw onto his shirt. your breath comes in tiny, wounded gasps, each one catching in your throat as another fraction of an inch forces its way inside, parting raw, overworked walls that flutter and spasm and still try to pull him deeper.

you’re only halfway down and you’re already full, forehead pressed to the damp cotton over his collarbone, nails carving burning crescents into his chest through the thin fabric. every vein drags like a ridge of fire, every subtle shift of his hips making the head nudge deeper, pressing against places so far inside you that your vision tunnels, black at the edges. sweat beads along your hairline, rolls down your temples, drips from your chin. your thighs tremble violently, muscles jumping, trying to spread wider and failing because there’s simply no more room, no more space for your body to give.

he still doesn’t look at you, eyes locked on the centre monitor, jaw tight, tongue touching the corner of his mouth in concentration while your entire world narrows to the impossible, exquisite split of being opened on his cock. your cunt clamps down hard, a frantic, milking spasm that drags a low, barely there, hiss from between his teeth, and his smirk widens, lazy, cruel, triumphant, because he can feel exactly how ruined you are and it still isn’t enough to make him pause the game.

you sink the final stretch, ass finally meeting his thighs, his cock buried so deep you feel the pulse of it behind your navel, a heavy, unyielding pressure that sits low in your pelvis like he’s rearranged everything inside you to make room for himself.

tears stream freely now, dripping off your chin in steady drops, your breath coming in shallow, open-mouthed pants against the hollow of his throat. you can’t move, can’t think, can only shake there impaled and stuffed so full it feels like he’s in your ribcage, your heartbeat fluttering wildly around the thick intrusion.

he gives you four full seconds of nothing.

then shifts your hips a fraction to the side so his left hand never leaves the keyboard, and starts fucking up into you with short, vicious, perfectly timed snaps that match the clack-clack-clack of his cherry mx blues like a metronome made of cruelty.

each thrust drags that fat, ruthless head across the spot your boyfriend has never reached, a spot that makes your spine bow and your toes curl and your vision white out in sheets. the wet sound of your cunt taking him is louder than his switches, louder than the explosions in his headset, louder than the broken, high-pitched noises you can’t swallow anymore.

you feel him, every inch, every pulse, the thick, unyielding girth stretching you to the brink, the tip pressing against your cervix with a pressure that’s both pain and pleasure, a raw, primal fullness that makes your thighs tremble, your acrylic nails digging into his thighs first, clawing through the soft fabric of his sweatpants, leaving crescent marks in his skin as you try to anchor yourself against the onslaught.

you’re getting hotter, sweat beading on your brow, dripping down your spine, soaking your dress, your body trembling as you try to bite your lip to suppress the sounds, to keep the moans from spilling out, but it’s no use. your voice fractures into high-pitched squeals, low, desperate groans, incoherent pleas.

“sohee, please,” the words lost in the haze of your lust, your body rocking against him, each movement sending jolts of sensation through you, the pressure building, a coiling tension in your core that winds tighter with every thrust of your hips.

you get louder, too loud, your moans fracturing into cries, and suddenly his hand leaves the keyboard, snaking around your throat with a swift, ruthless grip, fingers tightening until your breath catches in a soft, startled gasp, your head spinning as the edges of your vision blur.

“shut the fuck up, you whore,” he growls, his voice a low, vibrating snarl in your ear, the words dripping with venom, sending a fresh wave of arousal crashing through you, your pussy clenching harder around him, the degradation only fueling the fire, making you wetter, needier, your body betraying you with its eager response.

a particularly shattered cry tears itself from your throat, high and raw and utterly wrecked, the kind of sound that has no business existing outside a locked room. it spills into the headset like liquid, crystal-clear, impossible to pretend was anything else.

the discord call falls into a frozen hush for half a heartbeat, nothing but the faint electric hum of multiple headsets breathing in unison, the distant, arrhythmic clack of someone else’s keyboard echoing like a ghost in the background, then a low, drawn-out whistle slices through the tension, sharp as a knife’s edge. this is followed by a choked, incredulous laugh that builds like thunder, another voice muttering “no fucking way” in a tone thick with disbelief and amusement, and suddenly the dam shatters, unleashing a rolling wave of crude, masculine laughter that crackles through the speakers like wildfire through dry brush, each burst layered with the weight of mockery and unspoken envy, saturating the air with a sensory storm of humiliation that coils tight in your chest, hot and suffocating, even as it sends fresh sparks of forbidden arousal racing down your spine to pool between your legs.

sohee’s lips curl slowly into that lazy, cruel smirk, a subtle twist of his mouth that deepens the shadows on his face, carving lines of indifference and triumph into his features as if he’s savoring the taste of your degradation.

his hips keep snapping up into you in that same short, vicious rhythm, the fat head of his cock dragging mercilessly across the spot that makes your spine bow and your vision fracture into white-hot shards. the smirk that crawls across his mouth is slow, lazy, devastatingly satisfied, the kind of expression that belongs to someone who just won a bet he never even told you he placed.

he tilts his head just enough for the mic to catch every word, voice perfectly calm, perfectly flat, like he’s reading the scoreboard instead of buried balls-deep in the girl who’s currently sobbing his name.

“see, told you she was a slut,” he says into the mic, loud enough for his gaming friends to hear, their laughter crackling faintly through the headset, a humiliating chorus that burns hotter than your shame.

“came to see me and hopped straight on my dick.”

tears prick your eyes, humiliation creeping up your cheeks in a hot, burning flush, but you can’t stop, your hips bouncing harder, faster. the creak of his gaming chair grows louder, a relentless rhythm that matches the wet squelch of your pussy, the way his cock fills you, every vein, every ridge dragging against your sensitive walls, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core.

“moaning while my friends can hear you, fucking whore,” he snarls, his breath hot against your neck, his hair tickling your skin as he leans closer, the words slicing through you, making your pussy clench tighter, your body trembling with the intensity.

“bet you’d want them all to stuff those holes for you. maybe then you’d stop humping me like a dog every fucking second.” his hand tightens on your throat, just enough to make you dizzy, your acrylic nails scrabbling at his desk now, clawing at the edge, leaving scratches on the wood, and he slaps your hand away with a sharp, “don’t touch my shit,” his voice a vicious snap as he protects his precious gaming throne.

“greedy little slut, i bet you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” he sneers, his voice loud enough for the mic to catch, his friends’ laughter faintly audible.

his words are still ringing in your ears, cruel, filthy, perfect, when the next orgasm starts gathering low in your pelvis like a storm you can already feel breaking.

you mewl, a small, pathetic sound of denial, shaking your head against his shoulder, but your body has already chosen its truth. your cunt spasms around him in greedy, fluttering waves, milking the thick length of him with every desperate bounce, every mindless grind, every shuddering breath. the laughter from the headset is a distant, tiny roar now, but it doesn’t matter; nothing matters except the way he fills you so completely that every shallow snap of his hips feels like it’s rearranging your insides, the fat head of his cock dragging across that spot again and again and again until pleasure becomes a living thing clawing its way up your spine.

he’s so deep.

deeper than anyone has ever been, deeper than you thought a body could take, the blunt, swollen head kissing your cervix on every perfectly timed thrust, a pressure that blooms into a dark, exquisite ache behind your pubic bone. every vein along his shaft drags against your raw walls like it’s branding you, every ridge catching on places so sensitive you see sparks behind your eyelids. your hips roll helplessly, chasing that pressure, chasing the stretch, chasing the way he refuses to give you more than the game allows and somehow it’s still too much.

the coil winds tighter, vicious and unstoppable.

your lower belly cramps with it, a hot, urgent fullness that makes your breath hitch in tiny, wounded gasps. your clit throbs against the coarse hair at the base of his cock, every grind sending white-hot jolts straight up your spine. tears spill sideways into your hair, mixing with the sweat at your temples, your mouth open on a continuous stream of broken sounds, high-pitched squeals melting into low, animal groans that don’t even sound human anymore.

you’re close.

so close your vision tunnels, the rgb lights strobing red and violet across the tears clinging to your lashes. your nails carve fresh crescents into his chest, dragging down until the cotton rucks up and your fingers find hot skin, slick with sweat. your thighs clamp tighter around his hips, trying to pull him deeper, trying to fuse yourself to the source of the only relief you’ve ever known.

and then it hits.

a sudden, violent clench low in your pelvis, your cunt locking down so hard around him that his rhythm stutters for the first time all night. your back bows off his chest, spine arching impossibly, head thrown back against his shoulder as the orgasm rips through you like a riptide.

pleasure explodes behind your eyes in white-hot sheets, every muscle seizing, thighs shaking so hard your knees skid on the soaked leather. a gushing flood of slick forces its way out around his cock, warm and unstoppable, squirting in messy, rhythmic pulses that soak his stomach, his sweatpants, the chair, the floor, until everything beneath you is drenched and shining under the shifting lights.

your whole body convulses, wave after wave, your walls fluttering and spasming in frantic, milking waves that try to drag him deeper even as the overstimulation starts to burn. tears stream freely now, dripping off your jaw, your voice cracking into a raw, continuous sob of his name, “sohee, sohee, fuck, sohee,” until the syllables lose all meaning and it’s just sound, just desperation, just the wrecked evidence of how completely he owns you.

sohee’s eyes flick to you, part shock, part cruel amusement, his lips curling as he takes in the sight of you—still going, still cumming, your pussy squirting in relentless waves, your body pushing past its limits, insatiable, unstoppable.

the last aftershock is still rippling through your ruined body, a trembling, liquid echo that leaves your thighs jerking and your cunt fluttering weakly around him, when sohee decides the game is finally, irrevocably over.

the headset lies discarded on the desk like a corpse, wires tangled, his friends’ laughter reduced to a faint, dying pulse in the background, irrelevant now, swallowed by the thick, humid roar of blood in your ears. both of his hands clamp onto your hips with a violence that steals what little breath you have left, fingers sinking into soft flesh until bone meets bone, until you know the bruises will bloom tomorrow in perfect, violet replicas of his grip.

the shift is instantaneous. no more shallow, controlled snaps timed to keystrokes.

he slams you down onto his cock in one savage, merciless stroke, bottoming out so hard your teeth clack together and a raw, guttural scream rips itself from the deepest part of your chest, echoing off the walls like a wounded animal finally set free.

the gaming chair shrieks beneath you, metal joints groaning, leather splitting at the seams, threatening to collapse under the sheer brutality of his rhythm. your breasts spill completely free of the soaked dress, bouncing with every punishing thrust, nipples dragging across the damp cotton of his shirt in sparks of oversensitive fire that shoot straight to your clit and make your spine bow like a drawn bowstring.

the outline of him is visible in your lower stomach, a thick, obscene bulge that rises and vanishes with every stroke, a living proof of how deeply he’s carved himself into you. his palm flattens over it, pressing down hard, cruel, forcing you to feel the shape of his cock moving inside your body like a second skeleton.

“look at this, whore,” he growls, voice shredded raw, all lazy gamer-boy detachment shattered into something feral and ancient. his other hand cracks across your ass with a full-force slap that detonates white-hot across your skin, the sting blooming into molten pleasure so intense your cunt clamps down hard enough to wrench a rare, startled grunt from his throat.

he fists your hair in one brutal yank, wrenching your head back until your neck is a straining, elegant arch, scalp screaming, tears streaming sideways into your ears in hot, endless rivers. pain and pleasure braid together so tightly you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

he fucks you like he hates you, like he’s trying to split you in half and watch the pieces scatter, each thrust so deep your vision fractures into constellations, your cervix battered into a dull, exquisite ache, your walls stretched raw and trembling around the impossible girth of him. the wet slap of skin on skin is deafening, a primal, rhythmic hymn that drowns out your own wrecked sobs, drowns out the creak of the chair, drowns out the blood thundering in your ears.

drool slips from the corner of your parted lips, glistening on your chin, dripping in slow, silver threads onto his shirt. your tongue lolls uselessly, eyes rolled back to whites, tears and sweat and slick painting your face into a ruined, devotional mask. you’re floating deep in subspace now, suspended in a velvet dark where nothing exists except sohee: the salt of his sweat under your nails, the sharp bite of his cologne laced with fresh exertion, the chemical ghost of red bull clinging to his breath, the relentless, punishing stretch of his cock carving you open from the inside out until you’re nothing but a vessel for him, a shrine built of trembling flesh and desperate, endless want.

you’ve cum so many times the numbers have dissolved into meaninglessness. the chair is a swamp beneath you, leather gleaming wet, puddles of your release cooling on the floor in dark, spreading lakes. every thrust forces another helpless gush out around his cock, squirting in messy, violent arcs that splatter his stomach, his thighs, the desk, the monitor, until the room reeks of sex so thick it coats your tongue like a second skin.

he grunts with every stroke now, low and animal, the first real sounds he’s made all night that belong only to you. the chair rocks dangerously, legs screeching across the floor, metal screaming, but he doesn’t care. he uses you like something bought and paid for, hips snapping up to meet every downward slam with brutal, perfect force, forcing you to take every inch, forcing your body to give and give and give until there’s nothing left but the wet, wrecked shell of you impaled and trembling.

you love the way he’s splitting you in half, love the way pain melts into pleasure so intense it feels like dying and being reborn in the same breath, love the way he’s finally, finally looking at you like you’re the only thing in the universe worth destroying.

your voice is gone, reduced to cracked, hiccupping sobs and high, desperate whimpers that spill out every time he bottoms out. your nails rake down his arms, his shoulders, anywhere you can reach, leaving red trails that make him hiss and fuck you harder, faster, deeper. your thighs are jelly, trembling uncontrollably, toes cramping inside your heels until the straps cut bloody lines.

he has you exactly where he had you the first time, that night months ago when he fucked you so stupid the beast inside you finally curled up and purred, quiet for once, sated, trembling, believing the lie that it could ever be enough.

your body is a live wire stripped bare, every nerve scorched and singing, thighs shaking so violently they can barely hold your weight, cunt stretched raw and fluttering around the impossible girth of him, so overstimulated that even the air feels like teeth against your skin. for one merciful heartbeat the insatiable hunger inside you seems tamed, lulled into a heavy, dazed silence by the sheer brutality of being stuffed so full you can taste him at the back of your throat.

but sohee doesn’t give a fuck about mercy. he never has.

he wants you broken beyond walking tomorrow, wants your legs to give out the second you try to stand, wants you curled on his floor whimpering while he queues up another twelve-hour session uninterrupted, headphones on, your ruined body nothing more than background noise he can ignore.

“take it,” he snarls through clenched teeth, hips snapping up into you with fresh, vicious force, each thrust a deliberate punishment. “fucking take it.”

your body is going limp, melting against his chest like wax under flame, nerves fried to cinders. a weak, trembling hand snakes out on instinct, fingers scrabbling at the sweat-slick plane of his lower stomach, trying to slow him, trying to beg for a breath that isn’t a sob. he swats it away like it’s nothing, the sharp crack of his palm against your wrist ringing out, and punishes you instantly by driving deeper, harder, the fat head of his cock punching against your cervix with a brutality that makes your vision white out and your spine bow.

you try again, both hands pushing feebly at his chest, nails scraping uselessly over damp cotton.

“s-sohee, i-i can’t—” your voice is a trembling whimper, cracked in half, barely audible over the wet, relentless slap of his hips against yours. “it’s t-too, fuck, much—”

he slaps your hands away again, harder this time, the sting blooming bright across your knuckles. his eyes are black under the strobing lights, pupils blown wide, mouth curled into something between a snarl and a smile.

“don’t fucking lie to me, you needy bitch,” he spits, voice raw and vicious, still contempt.

“you always come crawling back for more. you’ll be on my dick again before the sun’s up, crying for it like the desperate little whore you are.”

he fucks you through the protests, through the tears, through the way your body tries to curl in on itself. each thrust is deeper than the last, harder, faster, the stretch so overwhelming it feels like he’s trying to turn you inside out. your cunt clamps down in frantic, overstretched spasms, trying to take him, trying to survive him, squirting again in helpless, humiliating pulses that soak the ruined chair and drip in warm rivulets down your thighs.

you’re sobbing openly now, head lolling against his shoulder, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth, body jerking with every brutal stroke like a doll he’s shaking apart. your hands fall limp at your sides, fingers twitching, no strength left to fight, only to take.

a faint ping slices through the haze, the discord notification, a new avatar blinking into the lobby like a ghost rising from the digital grave.

anton.

sohee’s headset is off, tossed aside in a careless heap on the desk, but the mic is still hot, the call never ended, every sound, every gasp, every wet slap of skin hanging in the open air like an invitation to ruin, a forbidden broadcast of your betrayal echoing into the void where innocence goes to die.

sohee freezes for half a heartbeat, his cock twitching deep inside you at the delicious, forbidden realisation, a dark thrill that sends a fresh pulse of heat through your core, then a predatory grin spreads across his face, slow and vicious, like shadows lengthening at dusk across a forbidden threshold, his eyes gleaming with the kind of cruel delight that stirs something primal and broken in your soul.

he doesn’t mute. doesn’t leave the call. doesn’t even slow his rhythm. instead, he leans back in the wrecked chair, one hand splayed possessively over the obscene bulge of himself in your stomach, fingers pressing down just enough to make you feel the imprint of his dominance, and starts grinding slow, deliberate circles that force fresh tears from your eyes and a shattered whimper from your lips, the motion a torturous drag that rubs every vein, every ridge against your raw walls in a way that makes the shame twist into something darker, hotter.

the knowledge that anton, sweet, oblivious anton, might hear you unraveling for another man sending a forbidden rush of arousal crashing through you, making your cunt clench despite the exhaustion, making you want it more because it’s so wrong, so filthy, the ultimate aphrodisiac wrapped in guilt.

anton’s voice filters through the abandoned headset on the desk, soft, confused, heartbreakingly innocent, a gentle lilt that cuts through the haze of lust like a knife through silk, landing in your gut with a twist of horror and heat.

“sohee hyung? you there? i thought we were queuing up…”

sohee’s hips snap up once, hard, forcing another wrecked moan from your throat that echoes crystal-clear through the speakers, a sound so raw and filthy it could shatter glass, a betrayal broadcast in real time that makes your skin prickle with shame even as it sends a fresh wave of slick gushing around him.

“say thank you,” he murmurs against your ear, low and commanding, voice dripping with the kind of dark honey that makes your cunt clench despite the exhaustion, a command laced with the thrill of exposure.

“thank me for fucking you properly. say it loud.”

your tongue is thick, words slurred and jumbled, brain fogged by the haze of subspace and the relentless overstimulation, but you try, you always try for him, the syllables tumbling out broken and wet, each one a confession of your darkest desire.

“th-thank you… f-f-fucking me… making… feel so… so full… s-so good…”

he presses harder on your stomach, forcing you to feel every pulsing inch of him buried inside, a cruel reminder of your betrayal, the bulge shifting under his palm like a living testament to how completely he’s claimed what anton could never touch.

“good little slut,” he praises, loud and clear for the mic, his voice carrying through the open call like a blade unsheathed, slicing through the air with deliberate cruelty.

then, casual, conversational, like he’s discussing the weather while his cock drags slow and deep inside you, stirring the shame into something intoxicating

“and anton will never be able to fuck you like this, right? this pussy only cums for me.”

your body answers before your brain can, cunt spasming hard in greedy waves, another helpless gush of slick squirting out around him as shame and pleasure detonate together in a firestorm that leaves you shaking, sobbing, grinding down despite the burn, making the wrongness feel so right, so arousing that you want to drown in it, want the listener on the other end to hear how completely you’ve surrendered, even as the guilt twists like a knife in your chest.

anton’s voice cracks through the headset again, small and trembling, laced with the exact moment his world crumbles, a gentle tone filtering through the speakers abandoned on sohee’s desk, close enough that it cuts through the haze of lust and lands like a knife in your gut, piercing the veil of your darkest desire with the sharp sting of reality.

“babe?”

just that one word, soft, wounded, hanging in the air like a fragile thing about to shatter, his innocent confusion wrapping around your throat tighter than sohee’s hand ever could, a sound so heartbreaking it should stop everything, but instead it ignites the shame into an aphrodisiac so potent your cunt clenches harder, another wave of slick flooding out as the wrongness makes you wetter, needier, the thrill of being caught fueling the fire until you’re burning from the inside out.

sohee laughs, low and filthy, a sound that vibrates through his chest into yours, a dark rumble that sends shivers racing across your skin, and snaps his hips up harder, grinding deep, forcing another wrecked, slurred moan out of you that spills straight into the open call, a betrayal broadcast in high definition.

“hear that, anton?” he says, voice dripping with mock sympathy that’s laced with triumph, never slowing, never stopping, his thrusts turning even more deliberate as if to punctuate every word.

“that’s what she sounds like when she’s finally getting fucked right. by me.”

the line is silent for an eternity compressed into seconds, a silence so dense it has texture, like oil poured over water, thick and suffocating, heavy with the collective held breath of strangers and the boy who once traced constellations on your back with gentle fingertips, the boy who believed you were made of light.

every heartbeat in the room feels magnified, every wet shift of sohee’s cock inside you, every tremor of your ruined thighs, every tear sliding sideways into your hair amplified into something obscene by the knowledge that anton is listening, really listening, to the sound of his entire universe collapsing in real time.

then anton speaks again, and the voice that reaches you is not the soft, wounded thing you continued to expect, not the shattered cry of betrayal you had braced for, but something lower, steadier, laced with a darkness that curls hot and treacherous in the cradle of your belly, a tone you have never heard from him before, one that makes your overfucked cunt clench involuntarily around sohee’s cock even as fresh tears flood your eyes.

“is that true, my love?”

the question is quiet, almost conversational, yet it lands like a hand sliding between your legs in the dark, curious, possessive, hungry. a pause, thick enough to choke on, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid, everything suddenly possible.

“he fucks you that good? better than me?”

another breath, slower this time, deeper, the kind of inhale a man takes when he’s tasting something forbidden for the first time and realising he likes the flavour.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

the silence that follows anton’s question is a fragile veil, drawn taut over the humid chaos of the room, its threads woven from the faint, erratic beeps of the game ending on sohee’s monitor and the ragged cadence of your own breathing, each inhale a shallow rasp that scrapes against your raw throat like sandpaper on silk. the immediate aftermath clings to you like a second skin, heavy and humid, the air in sohee’s room thick with the sharp, musky tang of release and sweat.

your body slumps against his chest, boneless and trembling, the aftershocks rippling through you in faint, involuntary twitches, your walls fluttering weakly, the persistent throb low in your belly, raw and oversensitive from the relentless stretch. slick still leaks from you in slow, cooling trails, pooling on the ruined leather chair beneath you in dark, spreading stains that soak through to the foam, the wet squelch of it shifting under your weight a humiliating reminder of how completely he’s wrecked you tonight, your thighs quivering with exhaustion, muscles jumping sporadically as if protesting the abuse.

overstimulation lingers like a bruise you can’t shake, every nerve ending lit up and protesting even the slightest brush of air against your flushed skin, your clit pulsing faintly with a dull, insistent ache that shame only sharpens into something sharper, more demanding, the compulsion stirring faintly beneath the fatigue despite your mind screaming for respite. dread coils in your chest alongside it, cold and serpentine, wrapping around the lingering heat until they blur, a morally ambiguous haze where guilt wars with the biological urge that drove you here, the emotional love for anton a gentle tether fraying under the weight of your physical betrayal.

sohee’s smirk is a tangible thing, a slow unfurling you sense in the way his chest vibrates against your back, his breath ghosting hot and teasing over the shell of your ear, carrying the faint, acrid tang of his sweat and the artificial sweetness of whatever gum he’s been chewing between matches. he doesn’t withdraw immediately, instead indulging in a few more shallow thrusts, languid rolls of his hips that drag the blunt head of his cock through your oversensitive folds, each glide a spark against raw nerves that sends tremors rippling outward from your core, your clit pulsing faintly against the coarse friction of his pubic hair.

the wet, obscene sounds fill the space, soft squelches that echo in your ears like whispers of your own depravity, and you feel every inch of him, the vein along his shaft throbbing in time with your erratic pulse, a reminder of how deeply he’s embedded, how completely he’s claimed the parts of you that anton’s gentleness could never reach.

“you’re finally getting what you want,” he murmurs, his voice a low, velvet rumble that vibrates through your ear canal, tickling the fine hairs there and sending involuntary shivers cascading down your neck, raising goosebumps in their wake.

his hand, still splayed possessively over your lower stomach, presses firmer, forcing you to confront the obscene bulge where he fills you, a firm ridge beneath your skin that shifts with each breath, a living testament to your addiction, the physical need that eclipses emotional love in these stolen moments, leaving guilt to fester like a wound that never heals.

you’re too spent to muster more than a faint, breathless hum, your body a boneless weight slumped against him, limbs heavy as lead, muscles aching from the earlier convulsions, your mind adrift in the foggy aftermath where thoughts fragment into sensations. the dull throb between your legs, the sticky residue coating your inner thighs, the faint metallic taste of blood where you’ve bitten your lip raw. exhaustion pulls at you like gravity, but beneath it, the compulsion stirs faintly, a whisper of that persistent arousal syndrome that haunts your waking hours, implying through bodily twitches what your rational mind denies.

he chuckles then, a dark, resonant sound that rumbles through his chest into yours, stirring the embers of desire despite your fatigue, his amusement a cruel balm over the shame that pricks at your skin like needles. 

“greedy girl finally gets to be stuffed by two dicks in one night. i bet you’re enjoying this.”

you shake your head no, the motion violent and desperate, your tangled hair whipping across your face in wild strands that stick to your damp cheeks. a vehement denial rooted in the shreds of loyalty clinging to your heart, the emotional tether to anton, a soft, patient love built on whispered promises and gentle touches, fraying under the onslaught of this physical betrayal. where dominance eclipses gentleness, and shame amplifies arousal into something voracious. 

but your body, ever the traitor, contradicts you: a deep, involuntary clench of your walls around his cock, a subtle pulse that milks him unconsciously, revealing the subconscious thrill anticipating anton’s arrival, that forbidden corner where desire thrives on exposure and validation, where the fear of consequences only heightens the biological impulse, turning morality into a blurred shadow.

sohee senses it immediately, his smirk sharpening into something predatory, and with one final, lazy grind that grinds his hips against yours, he pulls out slowly, the drag of his cock leaving you excruciatingly empty, your cunt fluttering weakly around the void. slick gushes in a warm rush that trickles down your thighs, pooling on the chair in copious amounts, the scent rising sharp and intimate, a humiliating confession etched in fluid. he eases you down onto the gaming chair with a casual indifference, your body slumping into the worn leather, thighs quivering uncontrollably as the cum leaks out in slow, viscous strands, mingling with sweat to create a slick film that cools against your skin, raising chills that dance up your spine. 

your makeup is a ruined canvas, mascara smudged into dark halos under your eyes, lipstick smeared across your chin like a hasty afterthought, your dress hiked up to your waist, exposing the flushed, marked skin of your core. your hair was a messy tangle from sohee’s habitual grip, fistfuls pulled taut during thrusts that arched your back and tore cries from your throat, a thin sheen of sweat glazing your body, catching the light in a deceptive glow that masks the wreckage beneath.

he saunters from the room without a backward glance, his footsteps a lazy echo down the hallway toward the kitchen, leaving you alone in the oppressive gloom. the mechanical hum of the computer fans fills the silence, a steady drone that amplifies the quiet, making it thicker, more oppressive, your heartbeat pounding in your ears like a drum signaling an impending storm, each thump echoing the dread building in your chest.

fear surges then, coiling around your ribs and squeezing until your breaths come short and labored, triggered by the echo of anton’s tone through the headset. that unfamiliar steel, a quiet dominance laced with hurt, a far cry from the soft-spoken affection you’re accustomed to, the shift unnerving in its intensity, making your skin prickle with anticipation that’s equal parts dread and unwelcome thrill. you’ve never heard him wield his voice like that, a blade honed by betrayal, and now your mind races through scenarios.

will he come, storming through the door with rage in his eyes, or won’t he, leaving you to stew in this limbo of guilt and need? 

you rehearse apologies in the fractured mirror of your thoughts:

it was a mistake, i’m so sorry, i love you, anton, please believe me.

clinging to a veneer of innocence, the emotional intimacy you share with him a lifeline amid the storm, yet the words ring hollow even in your head, undermined by the compulsion that drives you here night after night. the unfulfilled ache that anton’s gentleness can’t quench, his tender laps and laced fingers a soft rain against the wildfire of your needs. guilt twists deeper, a vine choking the breath from your lungs, yet it only sharpens the sensory haze.

 you try to steady yourself, drawing deep breaths that catch on the edges of panic, convincing your trembling limbs that freshening up is the path to salvation, that you can wash away the evidence with soap and water, smooth the tangles from your hair, tug the dress down over your marked skin, pretend this was a fleeting nightmare, a deviation from the love that defines you.

but in this suspended moment, a desperate wish flickers for sohee to help, to shed his smug detachment and offer some semblance of support, a hand to steady you or a word to ease the knot in your stomach, as he reenters the room with a glass of water clutched in his fist, condensation beading on the surface like tiny accusations. of course nothing for you, his eyes alight with that cruel amusement as he takes in your pathetic struggle—legs wobbling like a newborn fawn’s as you push up from the chair, hands gripping the armrests for leverage, the leather slick and unforgiving under your palms, sending you slipping back once, twice, before you find precarious balance. 

he chuckles, the sound low and mocking, slicing through the tension like a serrated edge, cooing in faux sympathy as he reaches out to pat your head, fingers tangling briefly in the messy strands with a condescending gentleness that makes your skin crawl and your core clench in forbidden response.

“fucked you so dumb you can’t even walk now?” his voice drips with venomous delight, the words a barbed hook that lodges in your self-esteem, pulling at the threads until they unravel, shame flooding hot and prickling across your chest, yet inexplicably stirring the embers of arousal, your nipples peaking against the fabric as if the degradation is just another form of foreplay.

“can’t wait to see what your boyfriend thinks when he sees i’ve got you walking like bambi. maybe that will get him to grow some balls and fuck you like a real man. you’re welcome by the way.”

the taunt lands like a slap, your stomach twisting in a vise of dread and unwelcome heat, the moral conflict sharpening. how can you feign normalcy when your legs quiver like this, weak and unsteady, the evidence of your ruin leaking in slow trails down your skin, cooling to a sticky reminder that clings like guilt itself? sohee’s casual cruelty only amplifies the panic, his laughter a dark melody that echoes in your ears, heightening the sensory overload until the room feels too small, the air too thick, the anticipation of anton’s arrival a gathering storm that presses down on your chest, heavy and inescapable.

eventually, his amusement ebbs, fading into a territorial glint as he scoops you up with effortless strength, hiking you over his shoulder despite your feeble protests consisting of weak slaps against his back that lack conviction, your voice a muffled whine swallowed by the fabric of his shirt. the world inverting in a dizzying spin, the floor receding as he carries you to the bathroom like a trophy claimed in battle, the jostle of each step sending jolts through your core, rekindling the ache with every bounce. 

he sets you down on the counter, the cool marble a shocking contrast against your heated skin, biting into your thighs like ice on fire,  before putting you down and turning you to face the mirror with firm hands, one clamping onto your head to force your gaze forward, the other resting possessively on your hip, his body a cage behind yours, solid and unyielding.

“you see that? see how much of a slut you are? how ruined you got by your boyfriend’s best friend’s cock?”

the reflection assaults you, a vivid portrait of devastation under the harsh fluorescent light. eyes glassy with a haze of tears and lingering subspace, mascara tracked in dark rivers down your cheeks like warpaint from a lost battle, lips swollen and bruised from bites and kisses, parted on shallow breaths that fog the glass faintly, neck a canvas of blooming hickeys, purple and red like violent blossoms pressed into your skin, the dress a wrinkled ruin clinging to your sweat-slick curves, hem rucked up to expose the flushed, marked expanse of your thighs and core. 

shame crashes over you in waves, hot and suffocating, your body trembling under his grip as emotional realism pierces through. the love for anton a tender bruise in your chest, clashing with the raw fulfillment sohee provides.

“i did that to you. i made you this way.”

you shake your head, a desperate bid to deny the truth staring back, trying to avert your eyes from the wreckage, but he won’t allow it, his body pressing closer, caging you against the counter, his erection rubbing insistently against your ass through the thin barrier of his sweatpants, a hard, insistent reminder of the power he wields, the dynamic that thrills and terrifies in equal measure. he snakes two fingers around to your pussy, the touch deliberate and invasive, rubbing two slow, deliberate circles around your clit that ignite your oversensitive nerves like fireworks in a storm, the sensation a lightning bolt through your fried synapses, your head snapping back against his shoulder with a shattered moan, pussy twitching and clenching in helpless spasms, fresh slick coating his digits in a warm glaze despite the exhaustion dragging at your limbs like chains.

he withdraws them leisurely, holding them up to your lips in the mirror’s reflection, glistening with your release, the scent sharp and intimate rising to mingle with the faint bleach tang of the bathroom, a heady cocktail that makes your head spin.

“open up. can’t have your boyfriend seeing you look so filthy.”

he taps your lips with the soiled fingers, insistent yet patient, your eyes hazy and unfocused as you comply, parting your mouth with a soft, obedient sigh, sucking on them with a mindless rhythm born from the compulsion, the taste of yourself—salty, tangy, laced with his skin—a forbidden elixir that swirls on your tongue. 

he coos in your ear, the words a degrading caress, “good slut”, that sends shivers racing down your spine, your core clenching around nothing, the praise a twisted validation that heightens the moral ambiguity, making desire feel involuntary, complicated by the emotional love waiting just beyond the door.

he lets you suck for a lingering while, the act almost meditative, the suckle of your lips around his fingers a rhythmic pull that echoes the earlier thrusts, before pulling them away with a wet pop, only to dip them back into your folds for more, repeating the cycle in a slow, torturous loop that imprints the degradation deeper, each iteration a reminder of your surrender. 

it’s so wrong, this suspended intimacy with anton en route, the knowledge a weight in your chest that should spur you to stop, to scramble for words of apology, to reclaim some shred of agency, yet here you are, lost in the sensory vortex, a mix of your cum and his skin swirling on your tongue like a sacrament of sin, the flavor embedding itself in your memory.

“good fucking girl. always listening to instructions.”

the spell shatters with the banging on the door, loud but measured, not frantic. a deliberate summons that reverberates through the apartment like thunder in a bottle, freezing your blood in your veins as panic surges, body locking rigid, heart slamming against your ribs in wild, erratic bursts that drown out everything else. 

you know it’s him, the certainty a cold blade twisting in your gut, the anticipation boiling over into terror that makes your hands shake uncontrollably.

sohee’s smugness peaks, a competitive gleam in his eyes as he presses a few lingering kisses to your neck, lips grazing the fresh hickeys where they bloom like dark secrets under your skin, the touch sending unwelcome sparks racing down your spine, rekindling the ache even as panic claws at your throat. then he saunters to the door, unhurried, his posture a lazy swagger that speaks of entertainment found in chaos.

your fingers fumble with tissues to wipe at the makeup smudges, dabbing frantically at the leftover cum streaking your thighs, flattening your hair in hasty pats that do little to tame the chaos, pulling down your dress with trembling tugs that snag on damp skin. but fear renders you clumsy, the toilet roll tumbling from the holder with a clatter that echoes too loudly, the soap bar slipping from your grasp to skitter across the tile like a fleeing animal, all because your heart pounds in your chest like a war drum, hands quaking with adrenaline, legs wobbly not just from the overstimulation but from the dread heightening every sense. the cool tile under your feet a grounding chill, the fluorescent light buzzing overhead like an accusatory hum, the air thick with the mingled scents of sex and cleanser, turning the bathroom into a confessional you can’t escape.

you stagger from the bathroom into the bedroom on unsteady legs, perching on the edge of sohee’s bed where the sheets still bear the imprint of your body, damp and rumpled, clinging to your thighs like a guilty embrace.

the temperature plunges the instant anton’s presence registers beyond the threshold, a metaphorical frost that seeps through the walls, raising goosebumps along your arms and making you shiver as if winter has invaded the room. the quiet whir of sohee’s gaming system remains a persistent undertone that amplifies your labored breaths, each one a visible puff in the chilled air, chest heaving with the effort to contain the storm within. 

you can’t meet his eyes at first, gaze fixed on the floor where shadows pool like spilled ink, but you glimpse the fury in his stance. it’s the first time you’ve seen him unraveled like this, the soft contours of his face hardened into sharp lines, jaw clenched so tight the muscle ticks visibly, eyes cold as glacial depths, brows furrowed in a thunderous scowl that darkens his expression, transforming the boy who would cradle you in sleep into a figure of restrained rage.

he halts abruptly, his gaze raking over you in a searing, methodical sweep that feels like flames licking at your skin as he approaches you: the dried tears crystalline on your cheeks like fragile salt trails, the flushed hue of your skin glowing with a feverish sheen under the dim light, rosy lips swollen and parted on gasps that betray your turmoil. your heels still strapped to your feet, scuffed from frantic scrambles across the floor, your dress barely concealing your body, clinging to every curve with the tenacity of a lover’s grasp, slick with sweat and release that darkens the fabric in telltale patches. 

he scoffs, the sound low and bitter, slicing through the silence like a whip crack, his head shaking in slow disbelief, as if the sight of you is a punch to the gut, expected yet gut-wrenching, a visual echo of the betrayal broadcast moments ago.

his hand darts out, fingers clamping around your chin with a bruising force that draws a hiss from your lips, pain blooming sharp and immediate across your jaw, radiating outward like ripples in disturbed water, his grip unyielding, thumb digging into the soft underside until fresh tears well up, blurring the room into a watery haze. terror grips you for the first time, genuine and bone-deep, the affectionate boy evaporated into this cold, furious stranger whose touch is a brand, possessive and punishing, arousal intertwined with reclamation in a way that makes your core throb despite the fear.

he leans in close, studying the minutiae of your ruin up close: the mascara etched into purplish bruises under your eyes, the bite marks flowering on your neck like illicit tattoos, lips puffy from sohee’s demanding kisses, your dress now a stained relic, heels bearing the scuffs of desperation. the air between you thickens with his scent, clean cologne undercut by the faint salt of anger-induced sweat, a stark contrast to the raw musk clinging to you, the proximity amplifying the emotional heavy dominance radiating from him, pressing down like a storm cloud.

“seeing as you came wearing the dress i bought you last week,” he says, his voice a steady murmur, calm on the surface but laced with venom that seeps into your veins, raising goosebumps along your arms as the words wrap around you like chains, “this wasn’t some mistake. you got all pretty in something i paid for… to come here and get whored out?”

his tongue prods the inside of his cheek, a tic of restrained fury, jaw clenching tighter, the seriousness in his eyes a brewing tempest that accelerates your heart to a frantic gallop, fear and twisted anticipation blending until you can taste them on your tongue.

“i’m s—” you begin, the apology a tremulous whisper, born from the guilt that gnaws at your insides like a starving beast.

“don’t you dare fucking apologise,” he interrupts, thumb pressing harder into your jaw until the pain sharpens your vision, tears spilling hot and silent down your cheeks. 

“you let him fuck you for months behind my back and think sorry fixes it?”

his gaze shifts to sohee, venom pure and undiluted flashing in the cold blue, the triangular tension igniting like a spark on dry tinder, silent accusations hanging heavy as both men stake their claims over your trembling form.

“what kind of friend are you?”

sohee shrugs against the wall, arms crossed in casual defiance, his smirk a widening crease that gleams with amusement, his energy provocative, taunting, detached from morality as he revels in the power play, viewing anton’s intrusion as prime entertainment, a chance to assert his psychological edge.

“not my fault your girlfriend came crying to me every week, begging for my cock. she needed it. i just gave her what you couldn’t.”

anton’s hold on your chin constricts for a split second, a pulse of rage that radiates through his fingers, then releases as he pivots to face sohee fully, his voice plummeting to an icy timbre that chills the room further.

“shut the fuck up.”

sohee’s smirk holds firm, eyes alight with glee at anton’s unraveling, the once-sweet friend now a vortex of betrayal and fury, the competition a delicious undercurrent that sharpens his territorial instincts.

anton turns back to you, his eyes scouring your quaking body once more, a dark resolve crystallizing in their depths, the hurt morphing into a fierce need to reclaim, to demonstrate his capability through controlled dominance. the betrayal simmers in anton’s veins like poison, a toxic brew of hurt and rage that twists his usual tenderness into something unrecognizable, a shadow self he’s always kept leashed during your intimate moments, the soft kisses, the careful caresses, the whispered i love yous that wrapped your encounters in gentle care. but you’ve pushed him beyond that now, shattered the illusion with your deceit, and he no longer cares about leading with love; the pain demands punishment, a rough, physical reckoning that channels his anger into every brutal motion.

“get on the bed,” he commands, voice hushed yet authoritative, the prelude to a tempest. “on all fours.”

you comply in a scramble, legs faltering beneath you, crawling onto the mattress with knees that buckle like brittle twigs, the bed yielding under your weight, sheets damp and cool against your palms, clinging to your skin as you assume the position. ass elevated, face buried in the fabric, the vulnerability a exposed nerve that thrums with fear and expectancy, shame intensifying the arousal until your clit pulses faintly, body yielding involuntarily to his command. 

anton advances, the atmosphere thickening with his aura, hands coarse as they seize your hips, maneuvering you into the position he wants with a vigor that elicits a gasp, the mattress creaking under his knees as he aligns behind you. now grabbing your hips with a harshness that digs his fingers into your flesh, nails biting deep enough to draw crescent moons of blood to the surface, the sting a sharp prelude that makes you gasp, your body already oversensitive from sohee’s earlier ravages, nerves frayed and screaming.

for the first time in your shared history, anton doesn't do foreplay. no tender traces along your folds, no murmured endearments against your nape; your arousal from sohee’s providing more than enough lubrication, a glistening invitation. he’s learned the hard way that none of that was what you craved, not the gentle buildup but the raw force, the manhandling that treats you like something to be used, broken, remade in the fire of his fury. 

he slams into you in one savage stroke, his longer cock, sleeker than sohee’s thickness but reaching depths that nudge your cervix with punishing accuracy, forcing a choked cry from your throat as he bottoms out, the stretch a burning invasion that steals your breath, your walls clenching in futile protest around the intrusion, slick from before but not enough to dull the edge of pain that blooms into a dark, addictive pleasure.

the thrusts come fast and relentless, his swimmer’s stamina turning him into an unyielding machine, hips snapping forward with a speed and power that jolts the bedframe, the headboard thumping against the wall in a rhythmic accusation that echoes through the room, the creak of wood straining under the force mingling with the wet squelch of your juices as he drives in, each plunge forcing out a fresh gush of slick that coats his shaft and drips down your thighs in warm, sticky trails.

"o-oh… g-god…"

your body lurches ahead with each viscous impact, breasts spilling fully from your dress in heavy bounces that scrape your nipples against the damp sheets, the friction a torturous tease amid the chaos, the noises you make high-pitched whimpers that fracture into sharp gasps, air forced from your lungs in ragged bursts, anton’s low groans rumbling from his chest like thunder, raw and animalistic, a sound you’ve never heard from him before, laced with the grit of his anger.

the sleek sounds from sohee’s direction add to the symphony. the faint, wet glide of his hand stroking his cock in lazy pulls, the soft schlick of skin on skin as he watches, his breaths coming in measured huffs, amusement coloring his voice in occasional low chuckles that cut through the haze, fueling anton’s rage further. 

the build-up is brutal, a slow-growing pressure in your lower stomach that starts as a faint tightness, coiling tighter with every deep thrust, the length of him hitting so deep it feels like he’s pressing against your insides from the wrong side. the sensation grows and grows, a relentless tide that makes your thighs quiver, muscles tensing in anticipation, your moans turning longer, more drawn-out as the pleasure mounts, half pulling you closer to him with desperate rolls of your hips, half trying to push away as the intensity borders on too much, tears pricking your eyes from the overwhelming fullness.

you never imagined this transformation, the soft boy you knew morphing into a storm of fury, his usual tenderness evaporated into something raw and punishing, the speed of his thrusts verging on brutality, the merciless rhythm battering your core like waves crashing against jagged rock, body shuddering against the tangled sheets as you reach a hand back toward his stomach, fingers trembling in a futile plea to slow the pace.

he catches your wrist in an instant, using his strength to twist your arm behind you, his other hand knotting in your hair, pulling until your scalp burns like fire under his grip, neck craned back, ear pressed to his mouth as he growls, his breath hot and ragged against your skin, words laced with pain and command that send a fresh flood slickening around him.

“move that fucking hand. you want to act like a slut, you’ll get fucked like one.”

“a-an-anton fuck,” you babble, tears blurring your vision, words spilling in shattered fragments, your voice a quivering sob that only spurs him on.

you try again to get him to slow down, the words bubbling up in a desperate whine, “p-please, too-too fast”, used to his gentleness, the way he’d always ease you into it with tender kisses and careful touches, but all he sees in his mind’s eye are flashes of sohee fucking you. 

the images sear like brands on his retinas, fueling the anger until it boils over, his thrusts turning sharper, deeper, hips snapping forward with a punishing rhythm that rattles the bedframe harder, the creak turning into a groan of protest from the wood. your head spins, thoughts fragmenting into sensation alone, fucked so good you can’t form words, just releases of air in high-pitched whimpers and sharp gasps that fill the room like broken music, your cunt clenching around him in helpless spasms, the squelching louder now, obscene and wet as slick gushes with every withdrawal, coating your thighs and the sheets in a messy sheen that catches the rgb lights in glistening reflections.

anton’s voice breaks through the haze, degrading you for the first time, grit roughening the usually soft timbre, turning it into something gravelly and mean that sends a forbidden thrill racing between your legs. 

“so fucking wet,” he growls, one hand leaving your hip to slap your ass with a crack that echoes, the sting blooming hot and immediate, making you arch despite yourself, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat as the pain twists into pleasure. 

“sohee fucked you good, didn’t he? bet you were a good little whore for him.”

you can’t answer, can’t do anything but whine, the words dissolving on your tongue as another thrust punches the air from your lungs, tears spilling over as shame and arousal entwine, your body betraying you with fresh slick that eases his brutal pace. the pressure in your lower stomach builds slowly, a coiling tension that grows with every deep plunge, starting as a faint warmth and swelling into a heavy fullness that makes your breaths come shorter, your moans turning into drawn-out pleas as it mounts higher, your thighs quivering harder, muscles tensing and releasing in frantic waves.

"sh-shit… deep…"

he drags you up roughly then, one arm banding around your waist like iron, pulling you back until your spine is flush against his chest, the heat of him searing through your dress, his breath hot and ragged against your ear, the squelch of your juices louder in this position, each thrust forcing out a wet gush that trickles down his balls in warm streams. 

“look at sohee,” he snarls, fingers tangling in your hair to yank your head toward the chair, forcing your gaze to meet sohee’s amused eyes, the vulnerability a exposed wire sparking fear and desire in equal measure, his strokes on his cock turning slower, more deliberate, the sleek sound of precum slicking his length a taunting accompaniment. 

“tell him how much of a slut you are.”

you try, but the words fracture into small babbles and whines, your mind a fractured mosaic from the relentless pounding, each thrust grinding him deeper, the angle hitting that spot inside that makes stars burst behind your eyelids, tears gathering at your lashes as overstimulation continues to build. your cunt flutters wildly around him, the pressure growing heavier in your lower stomach, a tight knot that winds tighter with every snap of his hips, your moans turning into long, keening sounds that fill the room, mingling with anton’s low groans and the creak of the bed straining under the force. 

it makes anton angrier, the betrayal fueling the fire, and his free hand cracks across your face in a harsh slap, the sting blooming sharp and immediate across your cheek, forcing another moan from your lips, the pain twisting inexplicably into pleasure, slick dripping in fresh waves that make the squelching even louder, obscene and unrelenting.

“do…as…i… fucking… say,” he punctuates each word with a deep thrust, hips slamming forward so viciously it jars your bones, the length of him driving impossibly deeper, nudging your cervix with a pressure that builds the coil tighter.

you moan and writhe in his hold, the sensation growing from a heavy fullness to an urgent, burning need that makes your thighs quiver harder, your breaths coming in short, ragged pants, the build-up brutal, seconds stretching as the tension mounts higher, your lower stomach cramping with the intensity, half pulling you closer with desperate clenches, half trying to push away as it teeters on the edge of too much.

“tell sohee how much of a slut you are. say it out loud,” he repeats.

“i-i— fuck. a-an-t-ton plea—fuck,” you gasp, the words tumbling out in broken fragments, your voice a trembling thread barely holding together against the onslaught, the pressure swelling further, a hot, insistent knot that makes your hips roll involuntarily, chasing the release even as it terrifies you in its intensity.

“stop fucking sniveling and acting like a little bitch. let my best friend know that you’re nothing but a slut. a slut that cheats on their boyfriend just for some dick.”

“i-i’m a-a sl— fuck anton so deep.”

“i’m a-a slu-slut," you try again.

“can’t hear you, say it louder.”

he makes you repeat it, yanking your hair harder, thrusts digging deeper, leaving bruises on your hips where his fingers press like vice grips, squelches mingling with skin slapping skin, your high-pitched moans fracturing into sobs, anton’s groans turning rougher, more guttural as he loses himself in the rhythm. it's paired with sohee’s lazy strokes, his dick leaking precum in glistening beads that he spreads with his palm, the sleek sounds adding to the auditory chaos, the sight pushing you closer to the edge. the pressure in your lower stomach grows heavier, a coiling tension that starts low and spreads upward, making your thighs quiver uncontrollably, muscles tensing in waves as the orgasm approaches like a distant storm building on the horizon, each thrust adding to the fire until it’s a blazing inferno, your breaths turning into short, desperate gasps, tears streaming as the knot tightens to breaking point.

anton feels it, your walls clamping down in frantic pulses, and he yanks your head back further, exposing your throat, literring kisses up your throat as he fucks you through the cresting wave that continues to build.

“anton, fuck i’m—“

the climax crashes over you in violent surges that leave you shaking, your body convulsing as slick gushes out in hot, rhythmic spurts, squirting around his cock in messy arcs that soak the sheets and his thighs, your thighs quivering so hard they cramp.

a high, keening moan tears from your throat that echoes off the walls, half-scream, half-sob, your hips bucking wildly against him, half pulling closer to chase the blinding pleasure, half trying to push away from the overwhelming intensity that borders on pain. anton pushes through it all with relentless thrusts, his groans low and satisfied as he feels you shatter around him, but he doesn’t stop. 

even as the overstimulation turns the pleasure into a stinging ache, nerves screaming for mercy, your whines turning into babbled pleas.

“anton, too much, please.”

your body twitches uncontrollably, cunt spasming in helpless waves around his length, fresh tears spilling as the pressure builds again almost immediately, the compulsion overriding exhaustion, shame fueling the fire until you’re grinding back despite the burn, your moans continuing to rise in pitch.

"c-can-can't… t-take…"

eventually, his voice cuts through the haze, rough and commanding, “come over and shut her up”, beckoning sohee with a jerk of his chin, the invitation a bridge into deeper degradation, jealousy transforming into reluctant synergy. sohee approaches the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, his energy provocative and taunting as he kneels in front of you, dick hard and curving toward his stomach, precum smeared along the length in shiny trails, leaking in fresh beads that glisten.

you’re forced to take him, anton’s thrusts pushing you forward onto sohee’s cock, the intrusion immediate and filthy, his hands fisting your hair to guide you deeper, using your mouth like a sleeve in the best, most depraved way. saliva spilling from the corners of your lips in messy strings that drip down your chin, pooling on the sheets, your throat convulsing around him as he hits the back with each shove, gagging you until tears stream freely, mascara running in black rivers that stain your cheeks. the taste is salty, musky, mixed with the faint tang of your earlier release still clinging to him, his hips snapping forward to fuck your face with a rhythm that matches anton’s.

bubbles of spit form at the base of his cock where your lips seal around him, dripping down his balls in frothy trails that he smears back up with his thumb, pushing it into your mouth alongside his dick for a moment, making you suck harder, your whines making him push deeper.

“that’s it, choke on it baby,” the nastiness is a sensory overload, your nose buried in the coarse hair at his base with each deep thrust, inhaling the sharp scent of his arousal, anton’s hands roaming your body, possessive even in his anger. the triangular tension is a power struggle where you’re the prize, trembling between fear and desire.

the build-up starts again, brutal under the dual assault, the pressure in your lower stomach returning as anton’s thrusts hit deep, the length of him grinding against that spot with every plunge, sohee’s cock filling your mouth in rhythmic pushes that make saliva drool down your chin in steady streams, the squelching from your cunt louder now, mingled with the wet glucks from your throat. your moans are muffled around sohee’s thickness, attempting to say something to anton—pleas for mercy or more, you can’t tell—but coming out as garbled vibrations that make sohee groan low in his chest, his hips stuttering as the sensation travels through him. 

your body shakes with the effort to hold it back, but anton drives deeper, harder, his voice a growl in your ear.

“you’re a filthy cockdrunk whore. this feels good doesn’t it?” driving impossibly deeper into you, the pressure exploding in a blinding release that has you quivering and shaking, mouth barely able to form words around sohee but he doesn’t care, pushing further as you try to babble a semblance of a coherent response.

“n-need to—“

you can’t take it, quivering and shaking, mouth barely able to form words, his thrusts digging deeper with each word, the squelch turning into a wet, relentless symphony as slick gushes anew, your thighs slick and trembling, minutes of relentless pounding making your moans turn into long, drawn-out wails.

“c-cumming-“

your body convulses in violent waves, a high-pitched moan vibrating around sohee’s cock as slick squirts in hot spurts, soaking anton’s thighs and the sheets again, your walls spasming in frantic milking waves that drag a groan from anton’s chest.

your body slumps onto the mattress, limbs heavy as lead, every muscle quivering with the aftershocks of overuse, your inner thighs slick and sticky with a mixture of cum and your own arousal that cools against your skin in uncomfortable patches, raising goosebumps that mingle exhaustion with the persistent, dull throb low in your belly, raw and protesting yet still greedy, the compulsion a relentless whisper beneath the fatigue despite your mind begging for mercy.

but he still doesn’t stop, pushing through the sensitivity even as you thrash and writhe. each thrust rolling his pelvis against you so the base of his cock grinds directly over your clit, the coarse hair there adding a rough friction that’s unbearable after the shattering orgasm you’ve already endured, the sensation a lightning bolt through your oversensitive nerves, making your hips jerk forward involuntarily even as you whimper, the wet, filthy squelch of him moving inside you filling the room louder than before. 

“still think sohee’s dick is better princess? still think it’s good enough to cheat on me with?”

you can’t speak, can’t breathe, can only choke and drool and whimper around the length filling your mouth, your body shaking between them like a ragdoll, skin flushed hot and slick with sweat that beads and drips.

sohee laughs again, dark and pleased, and reaches around to find your clit with two fingers, rubbing messy, firm circles that make your hips jerk forward involuntarily, the friction a lightning strike through your oversensitive nerves, pushing you deeper onto anton’s cock.

“she can’t even talk,” he taunts, pinching your clit lightly between his knuckles until you keen around anton’s shaf.

“too full of cock to form words. pathetic.”

sohee pulls out of your mouth with a wet, obscene pop, strings of saliva and precum stretching between your swollen lips and the flushed head of his cock before snapping, dripping in thick, glistening trails down your chin to splatter onto your heaving chest. your throat burns, raw from the relentless fucking it took, every swallow tasting of salt and musk and the faint metallic edge of your own tears. you gasp for air in shallow, ragged pulls, chest rising and falling too fast, the room spinning at the edges from how lightheaded you’ve become.

anton is still buried inside you, hips rolling in slow, punishing circles that keep you stretched and aching, every subtle shift grinding the long length of him against that bruised, oversensitive front wall until your cunt flutters weakly around him again, a helpless little spasm that draws a low, satisfied growl from deep in his chest. his fingers stay knotted viciously in your hair, yanking your head back harder, forcing your eyes to the ceiling while your body jerks between them like meat on a spit. the betrayal is still pouring off him in waves. you can feel it in the brutal grip, in the way his cock twitches angrily inside your ruined hole every time he remembers what you let sohee do to you behind his back.

sohee wipes the slick mess from your lower lip with the pad of his thumb, smearing it across your cheek like war paint, then leans down until his mouth is level with your ear. 

“greedy little whore,” he breathes, voice thick with cruel amusement, teeth grazing the shell of your ear before he bites down just hard enough to make you flinch. “bet you’re already thinking about how full you would feel with both of us wrecking that sloppy cunt.”

the words hit anton like a blade dragged across raw bone. you felt the exact second something inside him snapped and then reforged itself into something colder, sharper, more deliberate. his arms tightened around your waist until the bruises deepened, his breath stalled against your neck, and when he exhaled again it carried no heat, only the quiet, terrifying weight of a decision that had already been made.

he did not want this. that was the first truth clawing at him. some broken, still-loving part of him wanted to pull out, to shove sohee away, to gather what was left of you against his chest and pretend none of this had happened. but that part was drowning now, suffocating beneath the flood of images he could not unhear — your voice moaning sohee’s name through the discord call, the way your body had opened so easily for his best friend while anton had been gentle with you for months, believing it was enough. the betrayal was not just that you had fucked someone else, it was that you had chosen the very roughness he had always held back, the very intensity he had thought you didn’t need. you had thrown away everything gentle and real between you for this. for filth. for sohee.

so if filth was what you wanted, then he would give it to you. not out of generosity, not out of lust. out of pure, vengeful grief. he would make the destruction match the crime exactly. he would force you to take the thing you had betrayed him for in the most complete, most humiliating way possible, while he was still inside you, while he still controlled it. he would make sure the memory of this night lived permanently inside your body like a scar, so that every time your cunt ached for roughness in the future, the only thing you would feel was this moment — his cock and his best friend’s cock stretching you open together, the sick wet sound of it, the way he had looked you in the eyes while he did it. he would ruin you so thoroughly that you could never again separate the pleasure you had chased from the man you had destroyed to get it.

anton’s grip tightens in your hair until your scalp stings, a sharp hiss of possession escaping him as he suddenly yanks you and spins your limp body around like you weigh nothing. your knees sink into the rumpled sheets as he tugs you down hard onto his lap, his back braced against the headboard, legs spread wide so your thighs are forced open obscenely over his.

he reaches back over your shoulder without a word, his hand wrapping around sohee’s throbbing cock in a rough, possessive stroke. he milks a thick bead of precum from the tip, smearing the warm, sticky fluid over your already dripping folds and around the place where his own cock is. the filthy sound of the wet, obscene squelching as he coats both their cocks and your ruined hole  fills the room while he stares sohee dead in the eyes.

“since you love my sloppy seconds,” anton spits, voice low and venomous, cracking with raw hurt and fury.

sohee let out a dark, lazy laugh that vibrated against your ear. “fuck yeah i do,” he drawled, eyes flicking up to meet anton’s over your shoulder.

the air between them thickened instantly, heavy and electric, two dominant stares locked hard, something raw and territorial passing between them, charged with the kind of heat that had nothing to do with you for that single suspended second. sohee’s smirk deepened, slow and filthy, while anton’s jaw flexed, his fingers still wrapped tight around sohee’s throbbing cock, stroking it once more in a deliberate, possessive glide that made the tension crackle even hotter.

anton’s arms clamp around your waist like iron bands, fingers digging bruises into your skin as he forces your soaked pussy down onto his cock in one brutal drop, burying himself to the hilt with a wet slap that makes fresh cum and slick squirt out around the base and run down his balls in sticky rivers. your thighs spread wide and trembling over his lap, calves already shaking from the strain.

sohee moves without being told, his thick cock dragging hot and heavy along the curve of your ass, smearing precum across your skin in glossy streaks while his hands grip your hips hard enough to leave marks that match anton’s. you’re trapped between them now, body pinned and spread wide, cunt already stretched obscenely around anton’s length while sohee’s fat head nudges right up against your entrance alongside it, the blunt pressure already threatening to tear you open before he's even pushed inside.

the burning stretch hits as your pussy is forced wider, the rim yielding with a hot sting. you feel them slide against each other inside you, slick and rigid, rubbing together through your thin walls and pulling deep groans from both men.

once sohee sinks deeper the heavy splitting ache settles deep in your pelvis, your walls stretched paper-thin around two thick shafts, every vein and ridge dragging against you at once. the pressure is constant and blunt, making your breath come in short, ragged gasps.

“f-full…”

your body shakes violently between them, thighs trembling, sweat and cum dripping down your skin in messy trails, every breath shallow and desperate as the room seems to hold its breath for the moment.

the sensation keeps building in slow relentless layers, your walls fluttering and clenching around the constant rub of two cocks sharing the same overstretched hole, cream leaking out in thick messy pulses that coat their shafts. you are drenched, sweat pouring down your back and between your breasts, your whole body slick and shining while your consciousness starts to slip further at the edges, the room softening into a hazy blur around the edges of your tear-filled eyes as the overstimulation begins to coil tighter and tighter like a wire pulled taut across your nerves.

anton stares up at your face, eyes dark with months of betrayal boiling over into something feral and broken. his voice comes out rough and ugly for the first time ever, laced with pure venom that cuts deeper than any thrust. 

“look at you, cocksleeve. been letting my best friend use this sloppy cunt for months behind my back and now you’re creaming on both of us like a desperate cum rag.” 

he doesn’t soften the words. he snaps his hips up harder instead, driving both cocks deeper through the fluttering spasms that are already starting to ripple through you, fingers bruising your waist as he forces you to feel every inch of their shared claim while your head falls forward against his shoulder and a broken whimper slips out, “no—too deep—ahh—”

“cry harder, you pathetic cum whore.”

sohee's mouth finds your shoulder again, lips brushing the already bruised skin before he sucks hard, teeth grazing, leaving another dark bloom that throbs in time with your heartbeat. his kisses trail up the side of your neck. wet, open-mouthed, possessive, each one pulling a weak, shuddering sound from your throat.

"bet you're happy, princess," he murmurs against your ear, voice low and mocking, breath hot and damp. "you get the best of both worlds after sneaking around like a little whore."

his hips slam forward again, driving his thicker cock in deep alongside anton’s, stretching you wider with every punishing thrust while your body jolts and another weak overwhelmed sound tears from your throat.

they keep fucking you like that for long dragging minutes that feel like hours, rough and uncoordinated, the wet sounds of your creaming cunt growing louder and sloppier while your muscles locked and released in violent, uncontrollable spasms that rippled through your entire body. the ache deep inside keeps twisting and tightening, waves of heat rolling through your core in slow overlapping surges that make your breath hitch and your nails dig harder into anton’s shoulders, your body clenching around them in helpless fluttering pulses. yet they never slow, never give you a single moment to catch your breath, just keep grinding and slamming through every helpless contraction until the pleasure blurs into something deeper and more overwhelming and your sanity starts to fray at the edges like threads pulled loose from a tapestry already torn apart.

"s-sl-slow….please…slow d-down…“

in the tight enclosed space between bodies your hand snakes out on its own, trembling and weak, palm pressing against anton’s waist in a pathetic attempt to push him back, to create even an inch of relief from how impossibly deep they both are, how every thrust feels like they are splitting you open and flooding you with too much pleasure at once. your fingers twitch helplessly against his skin, every muscle seizing in violent little spasms as the brutal stretch and constant friction of two cocks sliding against each other through your thin walls turns your insides into liquid fire. the pressure is so deep and unrelenting it steals the air from your lungs, forcing out nothing but broken, overwhelmed whimpers while hot tears spill down your cheeks, blurring the world until all you can see is shifting colors and the sharp outline of anton’s face above you.

anton’s eyes flash with fresh rage. he grabs your wrist in one bruising grip and shoves your hand away like it is nothing.

“fucking take it,” he snarls, voice low and vicious, “and move that fucking hand before i tie it up for you.”

he drives his hips up harder, forcing both cocks even deeper, the brutal snap making your walls stretch tighter around them and sending fresh waves of unbearable pleasure crashing through you, so intense your vision flickers white at the edges and your thighs jerk violently against his lap while you sob out another broken string of words.

d-d-de-deep," is all you can manage, the word fracturing on your tongue, barely a whisper, hoarse and broken. your lungs feel crushed, every inhale shallow and stuttering, the weight of them both pressing inward from front and back stealing the space your diaphragm needs.

sohee laughs right in your ear, the sound dark and mocking as he cages you in tighter from behind, his chest pressed flush to your back so there is nowhere to go, nowhere to hide from the relentless double stretch.

“what happened to the slut that came to see me tonight?” he taunts, breath hot and wet against your skin.

“the one begging to be fucked like a desperate little whore? look at you now, twitching and trying to push him away when you’re finally getting exactly what you deserve, split open on both our cocks like the greedy bitch you are.”

his thrusts grow meaner, slamming in deep and holding for a second before pulling back, letting you feel the full drag of both of them sliding against each other inside you while your body keeps creaming nonstop, messy and loud, the overstimulation turning sharp and stinging at the edges while the pleasure underneath only grows heavier and more consuming, your limbs feeling heavier, weaker, barely able to do anything except tremble and take.

you can barely hold yourself up anymore, limbs limp and shaking, only their iron grips and the way they keep pounding into you keeping your body from collapsing completely while your consciousness slips further, vision swimming as your mouth stays open on soft broken sounds that barely form words anymore, “t-too much… ah—ahh—f-fuck…” and “f-full… s-so f-f—” over and over like a prayer you cannot stop whispering even as the relentless double stretch keeps forcing you wider, forcing you to take more even though your body is already spent and trembling and trying to pull away on instinct with every weak twitch of muscle.

minutes stretch into what feels like an eternity of punishing rhythm, their cocks rubbing together inside your overstretched cunt with every clash of their hips, the friction so constant and raw that it sends sparks shooting through every oversensitive nerve until your walls flutter continuously around them, clenching and releasing in helpless little spasms that milk them both. every movement sends fresh sparks through your clit and deeper inside, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in your core until your entire body trembles between them, pinned and owned and slowly coming apart in long shuddering waves that refuse to end. the ache has turned into something thick and pulsing and almost unbearable, your breath coming in short desperate gasps against anton’s shoulder while more tears slip down your face and your mind drifts further into that hazy broken place where nothing exists except the overwhelming fullness and the way they refuse to let you escape it, the way every thrust drags you deeper into the storm of pleasure and pain and shame that has swallowed you whole.

anton’s stare never softens, his hands bruising your waist as he thrusts up harder, voice cracking with raw possession and rage.

“that’s it baby. squeeze both our cocks like the cheating little cocksleeve you are. you don’t get to tap out now after months of making me look like an idiot” the degradation spills out of him raw, every word dripping with the pain of months of lies, and it only makes your walls clamp down tighter, your body answering with another long rolling wave of spasms that leaves you whimpering.

sohee tightens his fist in your hair, pulling your head back just enough to growl against your ear, the words sinking into you like teeth.

“that's right princess. you’re taking two cocks in that greedy little cunt because you couldn’t keep your legs closed. pathetic. crying and twitching like you didn’t beg for this all those nights you snuck out to ride me instead.”

sohee's hand slides around to your clit , fingers circling with rough precision, the touch too much on nerves already raw and screaming. the pressure builds fast, swelling knot low in your belly that tightens with every grind, every deep plunge, the fullness so absolute you feel it behind your eyes, in your throat, in the tips of your fingers. another orgasm crashes through you without warning, violent and merciless, your cunt clamping down so hard around them both that they groan in unison, the contraction forcing out a hot gush of squirt that soaks their thighs and the sheets beneath you.

anton kisses you, desperate, messy, all clashing teeth and saliva, his tongue pushing into your mouth like he's trying to claim the last piece of you that hasn't been taken. sohee's mouth moves to the other side of your neck, sucking another bruise into the skin just below your ear, his thrusts turning sharper, more forceful, driving so deep you feel the shape of him pressed against your lower belly from the inside. the overstimulation is brutal now, pleasure long since curdled into pain, every nerve screaming, your body shaking so hard your teeth chatter, breath coming in short, panicked gasps between kisses.

"t-too much," you manage, the words slurring into a sob, barely coherent. "d-deep—'s too—"

sohee laughs softly against your neck, the sound vibrating through you, and snaps his hips forward harder, forcing both of them deeper at once. the stretch becomes unbearable, a burning, tearing fullness that steals every thought, every breath, your walls spasming so violently they push against the intrusion, trying to force them out even as your body betrays you with another gush of slick.

the pressure coils tighter and tighter in your core after what feels like endless minutes of being used without mercy, your walls fluttering continuously, breath coming in short desperate gasps against anton’s shoulder while your body instinctively tries to pull away again with another weak twitch of muscle that only earns you another bruising snap of anton’s hips.

the heat under your skin builds into something feverish, every inch of you burning as if the air itself has grown too thick to breathe, your eyes rolling back until the room dissolves into streaks of light and shadow. you writhe helplessly between them, trapped so completely that every twist of your hips meets only the solid wall of their bodies, no escape, no mercy.

when your release finally tears through you it unfolds in violent rolling waves that start deep in your belly and crash outward without warning, your cunt clamping down brutally hard around both shafts, spasming so intensely that a massive gush of squirt erupts from your overstretched pussy. the force is so strong it physically pushes both cocks out of you in one wet obscene rush, your holes fluttering and gaping in the sudden emptiness as heavy pulses of release soak anton’s thighs and the sheets below.

your body collapses forward, completely boneless, face pressing hard into anton’s chest while the aftershocks tear through you in trembling waves that leave you barely conscious, eyes heavy and fluttering, the world reduced to the frantic thud of his heartbeat against your cheek and the faint, broken chant that slips from your lips again and again, barely loud enough to be heard, “n-n-no m-more pl-please… n-n-no m-more pl-please…” the words dissolving into soft, exhausted sobs as your strength fails you, your mind drifting in and out of awareness.

the room grew quieter, still, the only sounds your shared breathing and the faint wet sounds as your body continued to leak slowly onto the sheets, the overstimulation fading into a deep bone weary satisfaction. anton stays buried inside you for one long, final second, his cock still twitching against your fluttering walls as though some last stubborn part of him cannot bear to release you. his arms remain locked around your waist, holding your limp frame against him like something he once loved and can no longer bear to touch. you feel the frantic hammer of his heartbeat against your breasts, the hot, uneven rush of his breath on your neck, the faint tremor in his muscles that tells you the rage has finally burned itself out and left only ash behind.

he pulls out of you with deliberate slowness, the wet, obscene sound of it echoing in the quiet room as another thick rush of cum leaks from your stretched, aching cunt and drips onto his thigh. you whimper at the sudden emptiness, your body still twitching with aftershocks, but he offered no comfort. he simply lifted your weightless frame off him and laid you down on the ruined sheets as though you were something fragile and repulsive at the same time, something that had once been precious and was now only evidence of ruin. his eyes moved over you in a slow, unhurried sweep: the black rivers of mascara dried on your cheeks, the purple blooms of bite marks across your shoulders, the dark handprints bruised into your hips, the way your legs remained parted and trembling, cum still leaking steadily from your swollen folds onto the mattress in slow, glistening drops. then his gaze lifted past you to sohee, still kneeling on the sheets, cock hard and glistening, that familiar smug curl beginning to form at the corner of his mouth.

sohee opened his mouth, the first cocky syllable already shaping itself, but anton silenced him with nothing more than a flat, empty look. no words passed between them. the silence stretched, thick and suffocating, broken only by the ragged, shallow sound of your own breathing. the rgb lights continued their slow, indifferent shift across the walls, painting everything in shifting hues of blue and violet and red, but none of it touched the cold that had settled in the space between the three of you.

anton stood up without hurry. he wiped himself clean with one of sohee’s discarded shirts, the motion mechanical and distant, as if his hands were performing a task his mind had already left behind. he pulled his clothes back on piece by piece — boxers, jeans, hoodie — each rustle of fabric loud in the quiet, each small movement precise and final. you felt the weight of your own body then, impossibly heavy, limbs useless and trembling, your mind floating somewhere just above the mattress in a hazy grey fog where the compulsion had finally gone quiet and left only the hollow ache of what remained.

still you tried. your arms shook as you pushed yourself up, barely managing to lift your upper body from the damp sheets. your voice came out hoarse and cracked, little more than a broken whisper as you reached one weak hand toward him.

“anton… please…”

he paused at the edge of the bed, back still half-turned, and for a moment the room seemed to hold its breath with you. then he turned, and whatever fragile thing you were holding onto collapses instantly. because the look on his face isn’t anger, isn’t even the kind of hurt you could beg forgiveness from, it’s something stripped raw and exposed, something that looks at you like you’ve undone him in a way that can’t be fixed. the softness that used to live in his eyes is gone, completely gone, replaced with something sharp and unguarded, something that doesn’t try to hide the way his gaze flicks over you, your body, the marks, the damp sheen of everything that still clings to your skin, and recoils, subtle but unmistakable, like the sight of you makes something inside him turn.

for a second, just a second, his eyes shine. it’s quick, almost invisible, but it’s there, a flicker of something wet and breaking, something that looks like it hurts, like this is hurting him in a way he doesn’t know how to hold. and then it’s gone, swallowed down, replaced with something colder, something that steadies him.

“anton i lov—”

“don’t,” the word cuts clean through you, sharp and immediate, his voice rough, stripped of anything soft, like it’s been dragged out of him and left jagged at the edges evidence of the quiet devastation that had taken root in his bones.

“you fucking disgust me. i don't want to see you again.”

it lands slowly, not all at once, but in pieces, each word pressing into you deeper than the last, forcing you to feel it properly, fully, until there’s no space left to misinterpret, no way to soften what he means. it’s not just this moment, it’s everything behind it. everything you let build quietly, everything you hid, everything you took from him while he was still giving you something real. the nights he held you without asking for anything back, the way his hands used to move over you like you were something to be careful with, the way he looked at you like you were worth loving . all of it folds in on itself, twisting into something unbearable now that you know what you were doing at the same time, who you were letting touch you, how easily you let it continue.

something in your chest gives under the weight of it.

the feeling isn’t sharp, not at first. it’s heavy, suffocating, like something thick and cold pouring into you, filling you up until there’s no room left to breathe properly, your lungs working against it, each inhale shallow and strained. your eyes burn, sting with the pressure of tears that won’t fall, like even your body knows there’s no relief in that now, no release that would make any of this smaller.

anton turned away again. his footsteps fell quiet across the floorboards, each soft creak of wood slicing through the room like the last breath of something dying, the only sound left in a world that had suddenly gone still and cold. you watched the line of his shoulders, tense and unyielding, the familiar curve of his back that you had once traced with loving fingers in the dark, the way his hand reached for the doorknob with the same steady certainty he had once used to pull you close at night, to hold you like you were the only thing that mattered. he did not look back, not once. not even a flicker of hesitation, not a single glance over his shoulder to the broken, leaking mess he was leaving behind on the sheets.

the door clicked shut behind him without a slam or a shout. nothing dramatic or loud enough to match the violence that had just torn through all three of you. just a soft, final sound, small and ordinary, yet it landed in your chest like a blade driven slow and deep, twisting until the pain bloomed hot and endless. the silence that followed was worse than anything that had come before it, thick and endless and complete, it wrapped around you like a shroud, pressing down on your ribs until every shallow breath felt like drowning in the cold, grey waters of your own ruin, filling your lungs with the bitter taste of everything you had destroyed.

sohee shifts from his position on the bed, the movement unhurried, almost absent-minded, his body stretching loose again. the space he leaves behind cools too quickly, the heat of him disappearing from your skin in a way that feels abrupt, unfinished, like something has been taken and not replaced.

he drags a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his damp forehead, fingers catching slightly in the mess of it before falling away, and for a moment he just sits there, shoulders rolling once, settling back into himself, back into something familiar and unaffected. his gaze flicks toward you briefly, not lingering, not searching, just a quick, passing look like he’s checking something off rather than really seeing you.

“clean up. you know where the bathroom is,” he says, voice even, casual, stripped of anything that might resemble care, like it’s an afterthought more than anything else, like it doesn’t matter whether you go or stay or fall apart right there in front of him.

without sparing your limp, leaking body even a second glance his body turns away from you completely as he moves back toward his desk, dropping into the chair with an ease that feels practiced, automatic, the soft creak of it filling the space. the glow of the monitor catches his face again, washing it in that familiar, artificial light, flattening everything, making him look the same as he always does.

focused, distant, untouched.

his hand settles on the mouse, fingers flexing once before clicking, the sound sharp in the quiet, followed by the low hum of the game loading back in, pulling his headset over his ears without a second thought. whatever this was, whatever just happened in this room, folds in on itself and disappears for him almost instantly, reduced to something small, something forgettable.

you lay there, twitching faintly, skin sticky and cooling, the taste of both of them still thick on your tongue, the deep, constant ache between your legs refusing to fade. tears slipped silently from the corners of your eyes, mixing with the drying mascara and spit on your cheeks, but you made no sound. the compulsion that had screamed inside you for months was finally quiet, exhausted, sated for the first time. and in its place was only the slow, crushing weight of what you had done.

anton was gone. the one person who had loved you gently, who had truly seen you, who had tried with everything he had to keep you safe and whole. you had destroyed it all, not in secret anymore, not in stolen afternoons or whispered late-night texts, but right in front of him, with his best friend’s cock buried deep inside you alongside his own, the three of you tangled together in the filth you had created. the shame no longer burned hot and sharp. it simply sat there now, heavy and grey and endless, pressing down on your chest until every breath felt like drowning in the slow, merciless ruin you had chosen.

this was your guilty pleasure, you understood at last, in the crushing silence that followed. not the heat, not the roughness, not even the filthy fullness of two cocks tearing you apart. it was the slow, merciless ruin that followed, the kind that hollowed you out from the inside and left nothing but aching emptiness behind. you were tethered to this hunger by invisible threads, frayed and worn yet unbreakable, and the harder you pulled against them, the tighter they bound you, until you were suffocating beneath the crushing weight of your own betrayal.

You’d thrown on one of Sohee’s shirts, it hung loose on your shoulders, brushing the tops of your thighs, and pulled on the tiniest pair of sleep shorts you had. The fabric was barely there, soft and worn in, and your skin still felt warm and sensitive from the long, sticky day. Now, curled up on the cool hotel sheets, you scrolled aimlessly through your phone. Your eyes were heavy, mind too tired to focus on anything. A few minutes passed before you heard the soft click of the bathroom door. Sohee stepped out, towel slung around his neck, rubbing it lazily through his hair. His white tee clung slightly to his damp skin, collar stretched just enough to show a peek of his collarbone and the curve of his chest underneath. His checkered pajama pants hung dangerously low on his hips, the waistband of his boxers peeking above the fabric, and when he raised his arms to dry the back of his hair, his shirt lifted just enough for his abs to catch the light.

You looked up from your phone, gaze trailing slowly across his frame. He didn’t notice, too busy yawning and tossing the towel onto the back of a chair. Then he turned toward the bed, rubbing his eyes as he walked over. Without a word, he climbed in next to you, the mattress dipping with his weight, his warmth immediately soaking into the space between your bodies. You turned your phone off and looked over at him. Sohee was already settling in, arm behind his head, the other draped over his stomach, lids heavy as he looked up at the ceiling. He let out a soft groan. “I’m never letting Wonbin plan anything again.” You snorted. “You say that every time.” He didn’t answer, just smiled, slow and lazy, eyes flicking over to you.

You shift closer to him, cheek resting against his bare arm for a moment as your hand drifts beneath his shirt. Your fingers brush over the ridges of his stomach, warm, smooth skin stretched over soft muscle. He tenses just a little, inhaling through his nose, but doesn’t stop you. Your fingertips trace lightly down the line of his abs, then up again, slow and aimless. “You look so good right now.” you murmur, voice barely audible in the quiet. Sohee turns his head toward you, eyes half-lidded, lips curving into a lazy, boyish smile. “Yeah?” You nod, and before you can say anything else, he leans in and kisses you, soft and slow, tasting of mint and sleep, lips brushing yours like he’s savoring you. You hum into his mouth, hand still resting under his shirt, feeling the way his stomach tightens every time your fingers move. The kiss deepens. Slowly at first, like neither of you meant for it to go further, but it does. His hand comes up to cup your jaw, holding you there as he kisses you harder, more open, more hungry.

You gasp into him when he pulls you suddenly, until you’re straddling his lap, legs on either side of his hips, the soft pressure of his bulge pressing up right between your thighs. His hands are everywhere now, warm palms sliding under your shirt, roaming your back, your sides, until they cup your tits, squeezing softly, thumbs brushing over your nipples through the thin fabric. His mouth doesn’t leave yours, kissing you like he’s starved, teeth catching your bottom lip, breathing heavier with every second. “You’re so soft,” he mutters against your mouth, hands sliding up your bare waist, thumbs drawing lazy circles into your skin. “So warm…” You grind down just a little, teasing, and his head falls back with a soft groan. “Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re gonna kill me.” You smile into his neck, kissing under his jaw, hands tugging gently at the hem of his shirt. He lets you pull it up, arms raised, and the second it’s off, his mouth is on you again, hungrier now, messier, lips dragging down your throat as his hands slide under your shirt again, pushing it up until your chest is bare.

His thumbs brush over your nipples again and you whimper, hips rocking against his automatically, the fabric of your shorts soaked against the hard line of his cock through his pants. Your body’s moving on instinct now—grinding down on him harder, wetter, needier, your tiny shorts doing nothing to muffle the heat or friction between you. Your hands find him again. One slides behind his neck, fingers threading through his hair, tugging just a little. The other presses gently to the front of his throat, not tight, just there, feeling the pulse beating fast under your palm. Your lips brush against his ear, breath shaky as you whisper, “Please, Sohee…want you so so bad right now.” His whole body twitches beneath you, like your voice alone punched the air out of him. You grind down harder, your clit catching perfectly against the outline of his cock through his pants, and he moans, sharp and breathy, hips bucking up into you.

“Fuck…just like that, baby,” he gasps, his voice breaking, hands gripping your waist tight. “Don’t stop—don’t stop.” You’re not sure you could even if you wanted to. You’re soaked through your shorts, the pressure between your thighs building fast, your body chasing it like it needs to finish now or it’ll tear itself apart. Sohee’s eyes are on you, half-lidded, lips parted, letting out these soft little whimpers every time your hips roll just right. His hands slip under your shirt again, squeezing your tits, dragging his fingers over your nipples like he’s trying to make it even worse—make it more. You can’t take it anymore. The drag of your soaked sleep shorts is almost too much, too thick, too dull.

Your hand slides down between you, and Sohee watches with his mouth parted, eyes dark and glassy as you hook two fingers into your waistband and tug your shorts to the side—just enough to expose the soft cotton of your panties beneath. They’re drenched. You settle back down onto him, the heat of your pussy pressed directly to the thick bulge in his pants now, only one thin layer between you. The second your hips roll forward again, Sohee chokes on a moan. “Fuck—fuck, baby,” he gasps, hands flying to your ass, squeezing hard as he guides you. “Just like that—just like that.” You nod into his neck, lips parting against his skin as your hips rock in slow, needy circles. His hands are so big on you, gripping and pulling you down, moving you back and forth against him.

And then he’s kissing your neck, sloppy, hungry, open-mouthed kisses that turn into sucking. Hard. His lips latch onto the skin just below your jaw and you whimper, clutching at his shoulders as your body bucks into his. “You’re so hot.” he whispers into your neck, voice hoarse, breath hot. “You feel how wet you are, baby? Fuck—can’t even think.” You’re soaking through your panties, the pressure building fast and hard and messy. Every grind sends a jolt through your core, your clit catching perfectly on the seam of his pants. Sohee bites down gently, just enough to leave a mark, then kisses it, his grip tightening on your ass like he can’t get you close enough.“You gonna cum like this?” he whispers, dazed. “Grinding that soaked little pussy on my cock, hm?” Your moan gets caught in your throat, and your thighs tremble around his hips. “S-Sohee—‘m gonna—”

He groans, low and desperate, guiding your hips faster, grinding you down harder. “You close?” he breathes, voice raw. “Cum for me, baby. Come on, I got you.” And you do, your orgasm hits fast, soaking through the fabric, body seizing up as you cry out his name, trembling in his lap while he holds you down, cock pulsing through his pants from how fucking wrecked he is under you. You feel him come seconds later, hips jerking up into you with a strained groan, cock pulsing through his boxers as he holds you tight against him, panting into your shoulder. Both of you stay there—trembling, sticky, breathless, clinging to each other in the quiet after. But even as your thighs twitch and your chest heaves, the need in you doesn’t fade.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Sohee grabs your waist and flips you onto your back. Your head hits the pillow, hair fanned out around you, chest heaving. His body is over yours in seconds, pressing you into the mattress, eyes locked on yours like he’s starving. He kisses you hard, all tongue and heat and teeth. One hand braces beside your head while the other slips between your legs, cupping your soaked pussy through your bunched-up shorts. “You’re so wet,” he murmurs against your lips, rubbing slow, firm pressure right over your clit. “My needy girl.” You whimper, hips twitching up into his hand. His fingers squeeze gently over the fabric, dragging slow, teasing circles that make your thighs shake again. Then he starts kissing lower. Down your neck, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses across your collarbones. Lower, tugging your shirt up just to mouth at your tits briefly, sucking a soft mark into the curve of one. You gasp, back arching. And then he’s lower. His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and panties, and he peels them down at once.

You feel the air hit your soaked folds, your legs falling open without thinking. “Fuck,” he breathes, voice thick. “Look at you…” He kisses your thighs first, soft and gentle, nothing like the way he was touching you a minute ago. He trails his lips up the inside of one, then switches to the other, his hands stroking slowly up and down your legs as if to calm you, or maybe himself. And then you feel it, his fingers sliding between your folds, slick and slow, running through the mess you’ve made. You moan the second he touches your clit, hips jerking. But he doesn’t stop, just keeps dragging two fingers through your slick, spreading it. Then his fingers push inside—deep, slow, curling just right. You cry out, hand shooting down to grab his wrist, not to stop him but to hold onto something. “S-Sohee—”. He looks up at you from between your legs with that dazed, desperate look, he’s obsessed with how you sound, how you taste, how you twitch when he curls his fingers again. And then he leans down.

His mouth replaces his hand, tongue sliding through your folds, slow and heavy, then circling your clit with just enough pressure to make your eyes roll back. You gasp, fingers flying to his hair, hips lifting toward his mouth. He groans into you, deep, needy, like you’re the one feeding him now. “Taste so fucking good…” he mumbles against you, tongue fucking into you like he’s addicted. “Wanna make you cum again.” And from the way your thighs are already shaking around his head—you know it won’t take long. His tongue keeps working you over, lapping at your clit in slow, tight circles while his fingers thrust in and out of you, steady, deep, curling just right. You can’t stop moaning. Your hips buck under him, thighs tightening around his head, but he just groans low in his throat and pushes them wider—holding you open like he needs to ruin you.

His fingers plunge deeper, slick sounds filling the room as he fucks them in and out of your soaked pussy, and you cry out when he finds that spot that makes your whole body seize. “Right there—” you gasp, eyes fluttering, hands flying to his hair again. You tug hard this time, fingers curling tight into his damp strands, and he moans against you, soft and wrecked, the sound vibrating against your clit in the most sinful way. “That’s it,” he breathes, not even lifting his head. “Fuck—keep pulling like that.” He pushes his fingers deeper, faster, thumb now rubbing circles just under his tongue. You’re unraveling. Eyes glossy, jaw slack, legs trembling uncontrollably. “You’re so close,” he whispers. “I can feel it, baby—cum on my fingers. Come on. Let go for me.” You try to hold it, just for a second, but his fingers curl up and hit it again, and that’s it.

You break. “Sohee—!” You cry out as your orgasm crashes through you, pussy clenching hard around his fingers, your whole body tensing under his mouth. He doesn’t stop—licks you through it, fingers still moving, helping you ride it out as you sob and twitch, completely wrecked. Your grip on his hair loosens slowly, your chest rising and falling in fast, shallow breaths as you fall back into the sheets. Sohee finally pulls back, mouth shiny, lips parted as he looks up at you, absolutely wrecked himself.He crawls back up your body like he’s possessed. His fingers are still wet when they trail up your skin, his hand wraps around your throat and he kisses you. It’s hungry, filthy, his tongue in your mouth, his teeth grazing your lips. Your hands slide down his bare waist, and your hips lift, grinding up against the thick, aching bulge pressing against your soaked core. “Please,” you whisper between kisses, breathless, desperate. “Please Sohee…want you in me. Please, please—need it so bad.”

He groans into your mouth, hand tightening just slightly on your throat as his forehead presses against yours. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, baby,” he whispers, voice shaking. “You’re already dripping, you want more?” You nod frantically, grinding up again, feeling the hot drag of his cock through his damp pajama pants, so hard and leaking from how long he’s been holding back. Sohee pulls away to shove his pants and boxers down—just enough to free himself, big and flushed, already twitching. His jaw is tight, chest rising and falling, as he looks down at you spread open under him, sleepy and tired but still wanting more.“So pretty,” he murmurs, running the head of his cock through your folds. “Fucking soaking for me.”

And then he slides in, slow and deep, inch by inch. Your cunt welcomes him so easily, your walls fluttering around him as he sinks into you fully, bottoming out with a low, broken groan. “Oh my god,” you whimper, “Sohee…”, your legs wrapping around his waist, hands flying to his back. “Shit, baby,” he gasps, forehead falling to your shoulder. “You feel too good—fuck, I’m not gonna last if you keep clenching like that.” He holds still for a second, just breathing, buried so deep inside you while your body stretches around him perfectly. Then he starts to move. Slowly, hips rolling deep and steady, his cock dragging along every soaked inch of your walls. His hand is still at your throat, just holding you there, grounding you, claiming you. His mouth is on yours, open, breathless, tongues sliding, both of you moaning into each other.

You tug on his hair with one hand, the other gripping his shoulder like it’s the only thing keeping you from floating off. “Fuck,” you pant, barely able to breathe. “I’m the luckiest girl alive…” He groans into your mouth at that, and his hips start to pick up, thrusts getting faster, harder, the bed creaking softly beneath you. You can’t stop moaning. His name. The filth spilling from your lips. The way he fills you so completely, stretching you open perfectly, his cock slamming deeper and deeper every time he pulls you down onto him. “Sohee—fuck, oh my god—” He suddenly pulls out almost all the way, then slams back in, and you scream, back arching off the mattress. “You wanted this so bad, huh?” he pants, thrusting harder now. “You’re taking me so good, baby…” After a few more punishing thrusts, he sits up, kneeling between your legs, shirtless, sweat-slicked and flushed, his hair a messy halo around his face.

He grabs the backs of your thighs and yanks you down toward him, making you gasp as he slams back in, deeper than before. “Fucking hell.” he groans, eyes dropping to where you’re joined. A creamy white ring around his cock. The wet mess of you coating him completely. He’s completely lost in it, and so are you. The sight of him—shirtless, flushed pink, lips swollen, his abs flexing every time he thrusts into you, his large hands gripping your thighs like he owns you, it makes you feral. You reach down blindly, dragging your hand across his slick stomach, fingers trembling, then scratching lightly across his abs, needing something to hold, to mark, to tear into. “Oh my fucking god, Sohee,” you cry out, staring up at him, eyes wide and wrecked. “You’re so fucking hot.” That does it.

He snaps his hips harder, slamming into you, his jaw tight, his moans getting higher, more broken. His hand drops to your clit and he starts rubbing fast circles. “Cum for me again,” he pleads, voice trembling. “I wanna feel you—fuck, I need to feel you cum on me.” You can’t even respond. Your orgasm crashes down out of nowhere, your body arching, legs shaking as you cry out his name, scratching harder at his abs, barely able to breathe through it. “That’s it, baby—fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight—” he moans, voice wrecked. And then he loses it, slamming in deep one last time before he spills inside you with a strangled groan, shaking, burying his face into your neck as he rides it out, hips twitching from the overstimulation.

Sohee lays back against the pillows, sleepy, dazed, arms wrapped around your waist like he’s trying to anchor himself. His cock is still buried inside you, twitching slightly, he’s softening—spent. But your need isn’t done. You cup his face with both hands, fingers brushing his cheeks as you kiss him hard, deep and greedy. You moan into his mouth, pressing your body to his, feeling every inch of skin, every tremble under your hands. Then, before he can even register what’s happening, you sit up, shift your hips, and straddle him fully, his cock slipping out of you for just a second before you reach down, line him up again, and sink down on him in one slow, desperate push. “F-fuck—ahh, baby—wait—” he gasps, hands flying to your thighs as his eyes fly open. He’s still overstimulated, and your heat is so wet, so tight, clenching around him immediately. But you just shake your head, whimpering as your hips start to rock.

“Can’t help it…” you whine, “Want your dick again and again—can’t stop, Sohee…” voice shaky, needy. “Shit, shit—you’re so fucking tight, baby,” he groans, head falling back, his stomach flexing under your touch. “You’re gonna make me lose my mind—”You ride him slow, too sensitive to go fast, but the drag is perfect. Your pussy squeezes around him with every drop of your hips, your legs trembling from how full you feel, how raw your body is after everything. His cock twitches inside you constantly, and every time you sink back down he whimpers, high and shaky. “You feel so good,” you whine, nails dragging down his chest. “So deep… Sohee—fuck, want you so bad.” He watches you, eyes wide and blown out, his hands gripping your thighs tight enough to bruise, trying to ground himself.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he whispers, hips stuttering up into you without meaning to. “Can’t take much more—but fuck, don’t stop.” You don’t. You keep riding him, messier now, body rocking up and down, chasing one more high, even as your clit aches, even as your pussy clenches too tight from how sensitive you are and his cum leaks from you. Your moans get higher, more broken, tears welling in your eyes. “I’m gonna cum,” you sob, nails scratching down his abs, your body shaking. “Gonna—fuck—gonna cum on your dick again—” Sohee sits up halfway, one arm wrapping around your waist, his other hand slipping down to rub your clit in desperate circles. “Do it, baby,” he begs, panting against your mouth. “Cum on my cock again. Wanna feel you lose it for me—”

You shatter. With a long, broken moan, your orgasm rips through you, body locking up as you clamp down around him, shaking in his lap. He follows almost immediately after, hips jerking up into you as he comes inside you again with a deep, raw moan of your name, his voice cracking, arms holding you tight, his whole body twitching with it. And then you collapse forward against his chest, both of you done. Sticky, sore, trembling. He kisses your temple, arms wrapped around you, breathing shallow and shaky. “No more,” he whispers with a soft, breathless laugh. “You’re gonna fucking destroy me.” You smile against his skin, half-asleep already. “I’ll let you sleep now,” you mumble.“Might have to tie you down,” he groans. You hum, already drifting. “Maybe next time.”

Osaki Shotaro ☆

You have been in a relationship with Shotaro for over 3 months now when you get a text from him asking if you could sleep over for the first time. You were a little shy about it at first but he assures you that it'll be fun. So you happily accept.

The moment you arrive at his place, you see how neat and well-arranged his place is, as if he took his time to make the place welcoming for you. He offers to help you with your belongings before asking you to sit and make yourself feel at-home. As you sit, he asks what you would like to do before offering a list of things he has planned for the night — watching a movie or a series, cooking, the dinner he plans to make, etc. You are in awe with how he has had planned everything beforehand.

You have been starving for a while so you ask if the two of you can cook something. Taro smiles at the suggestion before leading you to the kitchen. He shows you all the available ingredients before suggesting making pasta or steak. You think for a while before settling on pasta and he agrees as you two start preparing the ingredients.

While the pasta is boiling, you are preparing the vegetables when suddenly, Shotaro's arms wrap around your waist and he buries his face in your neck. You giggle before warning him that you are holding a knife and you don't want to hurt yourself or him. One hand crawls to your hand holding the knife as he sets the knife down and spins you around, facing him as his hands crawl down to your ass, massaging it.

You chuckle as you remind him that the pasta is still boiling but he shushes you, laying you down on the kitchen counter before leaning down to kiss you.

"Forget the pasta, I only want to have you," he mutters before unbuttoning your and his pants, ready for a meal that can never be surpassed by pasta.

•

Song Eunseok ☆

You return home from a long day at work when you get a text from Eunseok asking you if you're coming over for sleepover at his place. You forgot that the two of you planned one at his place a week prior and it was supposed to be today, so you hastily grab whatever you can fit into your duffel bag and rush to his place, not being bothered to change from your work clothes into regular ones. Being your first sleepover with him within a couple of months of you two dating amidst the two of you being busy with your respective jobs, you wanted to make the most of it and didn't want to waste any time since who knows when would be the next time the two of you get to have free time together?

As you arrive at his place, Eunseok looks at your disheveled state, before offering to take you to his bathroom for a shower. You smile as he takes the duffel bag off your shoulder and guides you to his room, before settling the bag down on the bed and reaching to his closet to retrieve some towels. You rummage through your duffel bag before realizing that you forgot your night clothes and sigh in frustration. Eunseok notices your expression and then the lack of night clothes before handing you a shirt large enough for you to pass off as a small nightgown. You thank him as you grab the necessities and enter the bathroom, Eunseok waiting for you as he sits down on the bed.

Minutes later, you walk out, drying your damp hair with a towel and wearing his shirt which reaches down to your mid-thighs. Eunseok stares you up and down for a while before turning on the TV in front of him and offering to watch a movie. You accept as you sit next to him on the bed, cross-legged. As the movie plays, Eunseok's hand stays on your thigh, casually moving up and down, maybe a little too up your thigh. You look down to see his hand just casually being close to your inner thigh. Eunseok notices where your eyes are directed at before the two of you turn to look at each other.

"Seok," you speak up, "you know you could just say that you want it, instead of being all subtle."

"Sorry," Eunseok responds, "you just look so irresistible in my shirt, I couldn't help myself."

"It's okay," you then crawl on top of him, straddling him, "maybe let's ditch the movie idea and get straight to it?"

"I'd love that," Eunseok then grabs the back of your head before kissing you, any noises made by you two being drowned out by the movie still playing on the TV.

•

Jung Sungchan ☆

'Hey, wanna come over at my place for a sleepover? Could use some company,' the notification pops up on your phone. You haven't been over at Sungchan's place for a sleepover in the 5 months you two have been dating. His busy schedule barely allowed it so it was a nice opportunity for the two of you to bond well so you respond back, accepting his invitation.

A couple hours later, you show up at his place. Sungchan looked tired but he still offered to carry your bag to his room. You wanted to refuse but he seemed insistent, taking your bag as he led you to his room. His room was a little messy, to which he apologized, mentioning that he had a long day at work and didn't get enough time to prepare anything for you. You understand and assure him that it's okay before kissing his cheek. He smiles and suggests watching a movie or ordering takeout. You happily accept it.

A while later, as you two cuddle while watching a movie, Sungchan sighs a breath of relief. You ask him what's wrong when he responds that he is just burnt out from the events of the day, with all the fan events, practices and workouts but now that you are here, he feels relaxed. He leans against your chest, his cheek nuzzling and squishing your breast as one arm wraps around your waist. You chuckle as you lightly tap his head.

"Chan-ie," you giggle, "you pervert, I'm not a pillow!"

"But your tits feels like one," Sungchan pouts.

"Yeah but you can't expect to sleep on them all night! It hurts!"

"But I'm so sleepy and I also need you so bad, baby, can't you help a sleepy man?"

"Fine," you sigh as you push Sungchan onto his back before straddling him, "I'll help you sleep, baby~"

"[y/n]," Sungchan whines, "god, I need you so much."

"I know," you rub yourself against his crotch, causing him to groan out loud, "just sit back and relax, I'll take care of you."

•

Park Wonbin ☆

'Hey, wanna sleep over at my place tomorrow, I thought it'll be fun to do spend the night together.'

You look at the message your boyfriend, Wonbin sends you. It's the first time in the 3 weeks of you dating that he calls you over to his place for a sleepover. You get giddy at the thought of spending a night with your boyfriend and accept his invitation.

The next day, you arrive at his place. You are surprised to see how beautiful the living room looks. The room is dimly lit with candles and fairylights with a tent made from a quilt where the couch is, having been turned into a bed. The table is covered with bowls of snacks and chocolate and drinks. You are in awe with how beautiful and cozy the room looks like. Wonbin emerges from the tent, gesturing you to join him in the couchbed under the tent. You happily drop your bag on the floor before kicking your shoes out and hopping on the couchbed next to him. He wraps an arm around you before asking you what you want to do. You think for a while and observe the cozy yet intimate setting before suggesting a massage. Wonbin's face turns a bright red before shyly accepting the offer.

A while later, Wonbin's on the couchbed, lying on his stomach with his shirt off and the entire room is filled with the scent of essential oils and scented candles. He insisted massaging you first since you were the guest but you insisted on giving him one first since he worked so hard to set up the room so he had no choice but to accept. He sighs as the first few drops of cold essential oil squirts on his back before your gentle hands knead the skin, roaming around his back, shoulders and neck, feeling himself relax with every second of your touch. You continue on before he stops you and tells you to lay on your stomach. You then take off your shirt, now in just your bra before lying down on the couchbed. You nearly melt the instant you feel the oil on your back before Wonbin's hands massage your skin, making sure the oil absorbs deep into your skin. You are lost in pleasure until you feel your bra unhooking, the straps falling onto your sides.

"Sorry," Wonbin chuckles, "have to massage every inch of your body, you know?"

"You cheeky bastard," you snicker as you feel the weight undernearth you shuffle, Wonbin now straddling you, leaning closer to you until you feel your hair shift, his face nuzzling your neck, taking in the scent.

"You smell so good right now," he kisses your neck as you shudder in pleasure, arching onto him.

"Fuck, Bin," you groan, "you are killing me."

"Is that so? Then maybe I can make you feel better," Wonbin then pulls your hips up, his bulge touching your crotch, "of course, only if you say yes."

"Yes, please," you can't help but rub yourself against him, causing Wonbin to groan.

"Alright, if my angel asks for it, who am I to deny her? I promise I'll make you feel better than any massage ever will."

•

Lee Sohee ☆

You get a text from Sohee inviting you to his place for a sleepover out of the blue. You are a bit hesitant since you had some important projects due in a week, but he insists since you were working so hard and he also barely got a break from his schedules and who knows when would be the next time he'll be free. You think about it for a while and realize that you have been overworking yourself all week and this could be a nice little break time from the work and a way to bond with Sohee as well. So you accept his invitation, getting ready for the evening.

A couple hours later, you show up at Sohee's apartment. He nearly tackles you with a hug the instant he opens the door before leading you to his place.

"So, I was thinking that we could watch a movie or try karoake or dance or try cooking or better, pair beer with candy! It'll be fun to try that!" he exclaims with such excitement, you can see him nearly bouncing around.

"Okay, Sohee, calm down! Let me think for a while, I just arrived," you light-heartedly scold him as he lists off all the things he could do with you tonight. You think of his suggestions before agreeing to watching a movie while trying the beer and candy pairing. He happily agrees.

As you scroll through all the movie options, Sohee walks in with a bowl full of all sorts of candies — chocolates, gummy bears, sour patches, skittles and four bottles of beer of different brands.

"I thought it'll be fun to experiment if I bought beer of different brands, to see which candy compliments what beer!" He places the contents on the table in front of you as you put the remote aside.

"Hehe, Sohee," you chuckle as you pour yourself a glass and taste it, "hmm, this one is a bit bitter, maybe chocolates can balance it a bit."

Sohee pours himself a glass of the same beer and grabs a chocolate piece before drinking the beer and then eating the chocolate, "ooh, you're right! It fits well!" You smile as you take another sip before eating the same chocolate.

For the next hour, the two of you have been trying different pairings of beer and candy, finding some too bitter, some too sweet, some the perfect balance. And before you know it, the two of you are now flushed red and clinging onto each other.

"Sohee~" you coo, "c'mere baby, let me cuddle my lovely boy~"

"[y/n]~" Sohee whines, pressing his lips against yours, "I missed you so much, baby~"

"Hehe," you hiccup as Sohee reaches down to kiss your neck, "me too, god, I needed you so much."

"Mmh~" Sohee trails his kisses down your neck to your breasts, kissing each one of them while his hands reach down to your ass, "I want you so much, can we make up for the lost time like we never made up? Please~"

"Go for it, baby, show me how much you missed me," you whine as Sohee lets out a small "yay" before kissing your lips again, the remainder of the night passing by like a blur, a dream with pleasure that feels too real.

•

Anton Lee ☆

"'sup? Wanna come over for a sleepover? It'll be fun."

You look at the text message Anton has send you just now. The two of you never had a sleepover despite being together for a long time, so you were curious. Yet also, the two of you haven't seen each other in a while so it'd be a fun way to reconnect as well. So you accept his invitation.

Hours later, you arrive at his place, Anton smiles as he warmly greets you, offering to carry your bag to his room. You smile back as he takes you to his room, placing the bag on his bed.

"So, what do you want to do? We can watch a movie, play UNO, cook or maybe do our nails for fun," he says the last bit with a cheeky grin.

"Or," you smile widely, "we can watch a horror movie!"

"You freak," Anton wags his finger at you, "you sick, sick freak."

"Come on, at least you got me!" you pout, "come on, Ton-ie, it'll be fun!"

"Fine," Anton sighs, "but if I get nightmares tonight, you're gonna pay for my therapy."

"Alright," you jokingly roll your eyes as you put on a movie, Anton already hoping onto the bed, covering himself up to his neck with a quilt. He moves aside the blanket on the spot next to him, inviting you to sit. You sit next to him, resting your head on his shoulder.

Throughout the movie, you see Anton slump further and further onto the bed, to the point he's almost lying down. At one point, you feel his hand holding your thigh, nothing too strong, but his grip tightens everytime a scary scene appears. At the end of the movie, a jumpscare scene appears, to which he hugs you tight, burying his face in between your breasts.

"Come on, Anton!" you ruffle his hair, "I promise the nun isn't going to jump out of the screen."

"Yeah but she is going to haunt my dreams now thanks to you," he mutters.

"So you're just gonna bury your face on my tits all night then?"

"Yep!"

"Yah, I also need to sleep, how will I sleep then if you're gonna be on top of me like this?"

"Yeah but it makes me feel safe being in between your tits! And besides, it's your fault I'm in this predicament!"

"Well, will seeing them help you sleep better?"

"Yes, please!" Anton's ears perk up at that, licking his lips at the thought of seeing you topless.

"You pervert," you now push Anton onto his back, straddling him, "I'm not falling for it."

"Please," he pouts, "I won't be able to sleep well then."

"Well," you trail your hands down his chest to his abs and then to his crotch, his bulge now hard and visible, "if I take care of this little thing while you sit and take it like a good boy, you get to see my tits, okay?"

"Oh god, please [y/n]," Anton whines as you palm his bulge, "I'll do anything, just distract me from the movie!"

"Alright, my sweet, scared little puppy, just sit back, I'll help you get sweet dreams, okay? You got nothing to worry about, I'm here."

••••••••••☆••••••••••

Author's note: yeesh, that was a chore 😭 but I hope the wait was worth it, I feel like I still need to hone my writing skills so please bear with me on this one </3

anton has broken your heart three times, and counting.

the first time was at the sandbox, when you were both four. he didn’t say hi when you joined him, and he didn’t offer you any of his shovels. your mom laughed when you cried about it later at home.

the second time was in the third grade, when you saw him for the first time in years at an arts summer camp. the two of you were in different camp groups, but you happened to share the same time slot for music class. he was still cute and quiet. he smiled the same way he used to.

you sat beside him with a shy smile. he scooted away.

“anton,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

he looked at you from the corner of his eye before slowly turning toward you.

“we went to preschool together. i’m yn.”

you watched anton open and close his mouth.

“oh, really. that’s cool,” he said dryly, before turning away.

your heart dropped straight to your stomach. it was a worse reply than anything you could have imagined.

your mom laughed about that incident, too.

because your parents knew each other, you heard about anton every now and then. when your mom told you he’d be attending the same middle school as you, you really didn’t care. after the failed conversation at summer camp, you had sworn him off.

but then you saw him.

anton at twelve years old was handsome. his hair had been freshly cut, leaving the back of his neck clean and exposed. he stood slightly taller than the other boys, all long limbs and awkward movements, like he’d grown too quickly and hadn’t figured out what to do with the extra inches yet.

you shared the same homeroom, and this time he greeted you first. you pretended not to care, and he shrugged in response and gave you a tight-lipped smile.

a few weeks into the school year, you learned that anton was musically gifted compared to the rest of your peers, some sort of cello genius. you also learned that he was awkward in more ways than one. not only in the way he moved, but socially, too.

from across the courtyard, you watched him take a step back when a girl approached him with a smile. anton’s cheeks turned pink when she reached up to poke his shoulder. he nodded slowly at whatever she was saying, and you couldn’t help but wonder what could have possibly made him blush like that.

you felt frustrated and wronged at the sight of another girl standing so close to anton. you decided it couldn’t happen again.

after school, you found him slouching outside, leaning against the brick wall of the building.

“anton!” you waved from the door and walked toward him. he didn’t step back the way he had with the girl in the courtyard, and that made you smile.

“hey, yn,” he smiled back.

you wish he wouldn’t. you had to look away before he noticed the pink blooming across your cheeks.

“i’m sorry i didn’t say hi back to you earlier.”

anton watched you tuck your hair behind your ear, only to pull it free and tuck it back again. you were chewing on your lip. he realized he hadn’t answered you.

“it’s ok, i get it,” he gave you a tight-lipped smile.

you let out a relieved sigh and told him that was great. then you waved goodbye and told him you’d see him tomorrow.

anton had been your best friend ever since.

your eyes follow anton as he walks into the cafeteria, shoulders slouched beneath a backpack that is definitely full of things he could get rid of.

he sits at a lonely table in the corner of the room and pulls out a meal-prepped lunch of ground beef and rice. he doesn’t take a bite until he’s put on his expensive noise-canceling headphones and started his music. His eyes stay fixed downward. his leg bounces frantically beneath the table.

you think anton should be more confident. he’s smart, talented, kind, and everything about the boy is gorgeous. you wish he could see himself through your eyes. but then he would be in love with himself.

“i still don’t understand how you’re such good friends with him,” giselle follows your gaze and points her yogurt spoon in anton’s direction.

“i genuinely don’t think i’ve ever seen him open his mouth to speak.”

your other friends glance up from their phones and giggle, looking between you and anton before returning to their screens.

“it’s just been so long. we’re comfortable. we grew up together,” you shrug, and it’s true.

you and anton have grown into completely different people.

he’s continued with orchestra, eventually becoming section leader and making most of his friends there. outside of orchestra, he’s a record-breaking swimmer who, ironically, can barely speak above forty decibels.

no one pays Anton much attention unless he’s standing beside you.

when high school began, you found yourself in the center of everything. teachers loved you, you had friends in every class, and your grades were good. while anton was always alone, you found yourself constantly surrounded by people.

“but do you think that'll last?” giselle stirs her yogurt without looking at you.

“what? me and anton being friends?”

“yeah.”

you furrow your brows. giselle finally looks back up.

“boys and girls can't just be friends,” she says knowingly.

“it’s worked all this time. i can’t see why it would stop,” you answer.

the look on her face makes you want to eat your words, because she knows you like anton, and you know you like anton, and everyone besides anton knows you like anton.

“you’ll meet someone better in college, anyways.” one of your friend offers, nudging your shoulder.

you ponder the reality of college. for the first time in eight years, you and anton will be going separate ways. what if everything between you really does end?

you stop by the orchestra room at the end of the day, as always. anton is sitting on the ground with his back to you. his head hangs low over his phone.

you think he’s adorable.

maybe it’s because he’s so earnest. maybe it’s because he’s so nerdy and quirky. there’s something endlessly endearing about him, something that makes your chest ache whenever you look too long.

you walk over quietly and wrap your arms around his neck.

anton knows it’s you.

he knows how you smell, and he knows how you feel. it’s crazy, but anton thinks he could even recognize the way you breathe. even so, he still freezes every time you’re near. he doesn’t know why.

“i’ll be over after cheer practice,” you say against his ear.

you know his face is red. he brings one of his large hands up and closes it around both of yours, gently pulling you off him.

“i know,” he says so softly, you almost think you imagined it.

the way anton looks at you makes it seem like he wants something more. the way he keeps holding your hands makes it seem even more possible. he shifts his body until he’s facing you completely, and for a moment—just one—you think he might kiss you right here in front of everyone.

then he breaks into a smile and stands up, offering you a hand.

anton is a sweet boy. he’s always been a good boy. sometimes you worry he might be too sweet for his own good. especially in moments like this, when he offers you his hand to help you up. when he insists on carrying your backpack all the way across campus to the gym, even though his car is parked in the opposite direction. when he does things that feel so much like love and never once calls them that.

it would feel right to kiss him on the cheek before you part ways. it would feel natural.

but you know you can’t. so instead, you punch his arm lightly and tell him to drive safe. and anton smiles that small, gentle smile that has been breaking your heart for years.

it’s the end of your last summer with anton and you’ve finally figured out the breaststroke he’s been trying to teach you every week.

being a fresh alumnus on a swimming scholarship to a big university, anton had been granted personal hours at the pool whenever he wanted. the hours you two didn’t spend bussing tables for pocket money were spent at the indoor pool, where anton and you played coach and student.

you’re wearing your lucky bikini when it finally clicks.

the first time you wore it, last summer, anton had been completely lost for words. he’d turned red and coughed whenever you got too close. by the end of the day, after working up an almost painful amount of courage, he’d quietly told you that you looked pretty. you think about it more often than you should.

when you emerge from the water, anton is grinning from the next lane over, shaking his head. You immediately swim beneath the lane line until you’re only a foot away from him. he hasn’t smiled at you like that in a while. it means more than usual.

“i really didn’t think it’d happen this summer,” he admits.

his voice is so soft you probably wouldn’t have heard it from any farther away. so you move closer.

your chest is still rising and falling from the swim when you make your way toward him. underwater, your footing slips. before you can lose your balance completely, anton’s arm wraps securely around your waist. he catches you without hesitation.

one second you’re falling, and the next you’re pressed flush against him.

you’re suddenly terrified that anton can feel your heartbeat through your chest.

the last time his arm had been around your waist like this was when he kissed you in the basement of his family’s lake house.

you never thought your parents would agree to let you and anton spend a few days there together. anton’s parents, sure. yours, never. it was a testament to how much they trusted anton, they’d said.

you brought giselle, and anton brought a friend, too.

even though you’d spent the entire summer in swimsuits around one another, everything felt different at the lake house.

the lake house was skin against skin and stolen glances. it was lingering looks quickly disguised whenever the other person noticed.

every time you climbed out of the water, anton was there waiting with a warm towel. every morning, after his run, he brought back an iced latte for you before you’d even gotten out of bed.

one morning, anton disappeared on a hike with his friend without telling you. so when he came back, you picked a fight with him out of pure spite. you’re not proud of it. in the middle of your anger, you stormed down to the dock and slipped off the edge.

the moment panic set in and your arms began flailing, anton dove in after you. one second you were alone. the next, his familiar arms were around you. he pulled you back to shore.

“are you okay?” his voice had sounded frantic. his eyes looked even worse.

wet hair dripped onto your shoulders as he waited for an answer.

you already knew you loved anton. you’d known for years. but in that moment, it was staring you in the face.

he hadn’t even stopped to take off his shirt. his clothes were soaked through with lake water. all because he’d been worried about you.

a few tears escaped before you could stop them. thankfully, they blended in with the water on your face.

you searched his eyes for any sign that he didn’t love you back. you couldn’t find one. you couldn’t find the courage to speak, either. so you just nodded.

anton spent the rest of the day convinced it was his fault. if he had told you about the hike, you wouldn’t have gotten upset. if you hadn’t gotten upset, you wouldn’t have wandered off. if you hadn’t wandered off, you wouldn’t have fallen. the logic didn’t make much sense, but neither did anton whenever it came to you.

he spent the rest of the afternoon hovering nearby, catering to you in every way he could think of. anton hated when you were mad at him. he hated feeling like he’d done something wrong. sometimes you thought he would do absolutely anything if it meant seeing you happy.

after dinner, giselle puts on a movie that no one is particularly interested in. it’s the last night and you need to pack, so you retreat to your room first, then followed an hour later by giselle, then anton’s friend. around midnight, you sneak out of bed, careful not to step on the creaky floorboards as you make your way downstairs. 

the basement was dark except for the television.

anton was still there. another movie played quietly across the screen while his head rested against the back of the couch.

he looked up when he heard you. he scoots over when he sees you at the foot of the stairs, but you sit right beside him anyways, resting your head on his shoulder.

“thank you for saving me earlier, anton.” your voice always sounded softer around him.

“of course, yn,” he replies before sitting up.

“i’m glad you’re ok.”

he’s looking into your eyes again. the basement was dim, but somehow that only made him prettier. your faces are only inches apart, and you think he’s getting even closer.

you were suddenly aware of every breath, every blink, every tiny movement.

“i’m sorry for getting mad at you, too,” you whispered.

anton’s eyes kept dropping to your lips, the same way yours kept drifting toward his. he shook his head.

“it’s okay,” he mumbled. his voice was barely audible.

“you’re the only thing that matters anyway.”

for a moment, neither of you moved. then anton kissed you softly.

the world seemed to stop. you felt detached from your own body, as though you were floating somewhere above the room, watching it happen to someone else.

your first love became your first kiss.

when you kissed him back, you felt him smile against your lips.

his hand found yours. he pulled you closer until there was nowhere left to go, gently trapping you between the couch arm and the warmth of his chest.

it was clumsy and messy, but it was anton, so you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

after kissing for what felt like an hour, anton tucked you under the covers in your room and kissed your forehead before retreating to his own room. neither of you ever brought it up again.

“i didn’t think a lot of things would happen this summer,” you admit softly, your fingers tracing absent-minded shapes through the water droplets scattered across anton’s chest. anton coughs and immediately drops his arm from your waist.

anton has been different since the lake house. he’s been more awkward. distant.

you let your hand fall from his chest, but you stay where you are. you’re close enough to see the way his jaw tightens, and to notice that he still won’t look at you. that’s how you know something is wrong. because anton always looks at you.

“our time slot’s almost over,” he says after a moment with a quick glance at his watch. his voice is flat and careful.

when he turns away again, you feel something sink inside your chest.

he doesn't even offer you a hand to get out of the pool.

it’s incredibly hot outside.

the second you step into the sun, you almost groan. the heat presses against your skin like a heavy hand. the pavement shimmers. the air feels thick enough to drink.

but you don’t. you don’t want to do anything that could possibly upset anton. you already think he’s mad at you.

normally, he opens the passenger door before you even reach it. today, he walks straight past you and gets into the driver’s seat.

your stomach sinks.

the heat trapped inside anton’s car is almost as suffocating as the silence between you.

he starts the engine and immediately cranks the air conditioning. then he pulls out of the parking lot without turning on any music. he doesn’t offer you his aux cord, so the two of you drive in silence.

by the time anton parks outside your house, you feel confused and nervous and scared all at once. everything is ending. you move into your dorm next week, so today was the last swimming session of the summer. you and anton don’t have any plans after this. the thought sits heavily in your chest. the way he’s acting makes it worse. the fact that he’s been acting like this ever since the lake house makes you feel sick.

because what happened at the lake only deepened your feelings for him. it solidified them and made you completely confident that he liked you too. because who kisses someone they don’t like? not your anton, you’re sure of it.

you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn toward him.

“thank you again,” you say, leaning closer.

anton leans toward you, too. almost unconscious, almost instinctive. a small smile appears on his face, shy and reluctant, like he doesn’t entirely mean for it to happen.

“for what?” his voice is quiet, always quiet.

“teaching me the breast stroke.”

neither of you say anything.

you could kiss him right now. you could close the distance and relive that night at the lake house, when everything felt simple and life seemed to settle into the shape it was always meant to have.

your eyes drift to his lips, soft and pink. only inches away.

anton notices. he watches your gaze drop before it returns to his eyes.

his chest tightens. he thinks his heart might burst out of his chest if you get any closer. he’s been a nervous wreck since he picked you up this morning. his pulse hasn’t slowed down once.

everything is a mess.

“i should never have kissed you.”

the words come out suddenly. anton pulls away as if he’s been burned and sinks back into his seat.

for a second, you think you misheard him.

“what?” your heart drops. you watch him drag his hands down his face. the motion looks exhausted. desperate.

you think you stop breathing.

“i never should have kissed you, yn.”

“anton—” you reach for his wrist, but he pulls away immediately. the rejection is so quick it stings.

“i kissed you and i messed everything up, and now things are never going to be the same.”

“wait, stop—”

“i didn’t want to go to college without kissing a girl, okay?”

you shake your head. tears immediately fill your eyes. you know anton. you know him better than anyone, and you know that isn’t true. he wouldn’t care about something like that. he wouldn’t use you. he couldn't.

anton keeps talking, but the words blur together. you can see his mouth moving, and you can hear his voice. but you’re somewhere else. you’re back in the lake, and the water is dark and cold. you’re reaching for something solid, but this time, anton isn’t there to pull you out.

“anton, i’m in love with you.”

the words escape before you can stop them. tears spill down your cheeks, and your bottom lip trembles. this isn’t how you wanted to tell him. you imagined a hundred different confessions over the years. none of them looked like this.

none of them happened inside a sweltering car with tears on your face and your heart hanging open between you.

anton freezes. his brows furrow. he looks confused, flustered.

you tell yourself it’s because he didn’t expect you to say it first. you tell yourself he likes you too. that even though he’s shaking his head right now, he’s going to smile in a second. you tell yourself he loves you the same way you love him.

that he’s going to reach for you. that he’s going to kiss you again before you go inside.

“you shouldn’t have said that.”

silence follows. only the hum of the engine remains. the steady rush of air from the vents fills the space between you.

you feel your heart physically shatter. your chest aches so suddenly and so sharply that you struggle to breathe. anton’s voice sounds unfamiliar. it’s still hushed, but now there’s something harsh underneath it, something final. the worst part is that you know he means it.

“what?” is all you can manage to croak.

anton refuses to look at you. “you shouldn’t have said that, and i shouldn’t have kissed you.” he swallows hard. “everything is all… fucked up now.”

you stare at him. you don’t know who you’re sitting beside anymore. the anton you knew seems to have disappeared sometime during this conversation. this person looks like him, sounds like him. but it isn’t him. it can’t be.

“i’m not someone you can like, yn,” anton says it after a long pause. you don’t understand what he means. the sentence sounds absurd. it sounds insane, and so not anton.

“i love you, anton,” your voice cracks on his name, and it feels like a plea. it feels like a final attempt to save something that’s already sinking.

anton turns farther toward the window, away from you, and everything.

the closest thing you get to a response is a slow shake of his head, followed by a heavy silence. the last five minutes is all it took to destroy the future you’d spent years dreaming of.

your mind drifts back to the sandbox, where anton first rejected you. then the summer camp, where anton ignored you.

maybe he’s always been the same. the realization settles quietly inside your chest.

this is the third time anton has broken your heart. when it finally sinks in, you open the car door and this time, you don’t look back.

you leave in tears.

you haven’t seen anton since.

for the next four years, you do everything you can to avoid going back home.

during the summers, you stay in the same city as your university and work as much as you can. when winter break comes around, you spend most of it shut inside your house, only leaving when absolutely necessary.

you become good at avoiding places that might still remember you.

there is only one sighting of anton during your entire college career, when your only serious college boyfriend wanted to meet your parents.

it was your twentieth birthday, the second one you would celebrate without anton. you'd been missing home lately, and taesan thought surprising both you and your parents would make the day feel special. he told you he was taking you somewhere nice for dinner. you believed him. it isn't until he merges onto the interstate that your stomach drops. you know exactly where he's taking you.

when taesan insists on stopping at the grocery store to buy your mom a bouquet of flowers, you convince yourself it'll be fine.

it's the end of september. anton would be at school. there's no reason for him to be home. there's no reason for him to be here.

but there he is, standing in front of the cake display near taesan.

you hear him before you see him and somehow, that's enough.

his younger brother has shot up over the past few years, nearly as tall as anton now. anton himself has grown even taller. broader. stronger. his shoulders stretch wider beneath his sweatshirt than you remember, the kind that could probably block out the sun if he stood in front of it.

he's wearing a baseball cap. from the strands of dark hair curling out beneath it, you can already tell it's the longest you've ever seen him wear it. you can't bring yourself to imagine what he looks like from the front.

then he laughs, and suddenly you're back in the basement of the lake house. your first kiss. his hand in yours. his smile against your lips.

you wonder if he remembers it's your birthday. you wonder if that's why he's standing in front of the cakes. you wonder why he's here. you wonder if you still love him.

it becomes too much.

your chest tightens and the grocery store disappears.

you're back inside anton's car, the air conditioning blasting against your skin while you struggle to catch your breath. two years of running away haven't changed anything. you're still the same girl and somehow, anton is still the same boy.

you hear someone say your name. you aren't sure whether it was anton, or junyoung, or taesan. you see anton begin to turn and you dash. you text taesan that you forgot your purse in the car, that you’ll wait for him there. you broke up with him two months later.

anton can’t wait to see you. or rather, he can’t wait for you to see him. he knows it’s selfish of him. you still have his number blocked and he’s never been able to find your instagram. still, anton believes you'll find your way back to each other. because if you weren’t meant to, you wouldn’t have spent so much energy avoiding him. people don’t run from strangers, they run from the people who still matter.

he hears through your mom that you'll be moving back home after graduation while you search for a place in the city, just like him. he thinks it's fate. he can't wait to see you. he wants to show you that he's different now. better. he isn't the painfully quiet boy you left behind four years ago. he's confident now, almost too confident. his body he built through swimming at the collegiate level is something he’s proud of. he’s read so many self-help books in the past three years he prides himself in his mindset. he likes the person he’s becoming. anton thinks everything he’s done to improve himself was to ultimately benefit you. he thinks he’s finally deserving of you. that now he could be someone you can like.

when he runs into your mom at the grocery store, it feels like confirmation that he's right. she smiles at him with the same warmth she always has, like she's finally found a son who wandered too far from home. his own grin appears before he can stop it. when he tells her he'd love to see you sometime soon, she gives him a hint about where you spend most of your weekdays.

anton smiles for the rest of the afternoon.

it’s been a month since you’ve graduated, and you’ve accepted that seeing anton again is a possibility. you’ve spent that same month hoping it never happens.

a part of you believes you’ll be ok if it does. you don’t think you’ll feel the same anymore. you’ve grown. you’ve lived. you’ve dated, you’ve broken up. you’ve learned to move on. anton is a memory at most.

“you’d never guess who i ran into at the store, yn.” your mom’s voice drifts in from the kitchen along with the rustle of grocery bags. anton comes to mind. you have a feeling he's the only person she'd bother making you guess. still, you decide to play dumb.

“oh. who’d you see?”

your mom sets her purse on the counter before taking a seat at the island, leaving you to put the groceries away.

“you’re supposed to guess.”

you have to fight back an eye roll and instead settle for a heavy sigh and make your voice flat. “i genuinely have no idea.” 

she takes a long drink from her water without taking her eyes off you. she’s being careful, so you know it has to be anton. she wouldn’t dance around anyone else’s  name like this. her gaze grows heavier by the second. you turn away and busy yourself washing grapes beneath the faucet.

"i ran into anton," she says at last, her voice softer now that she can only see your back. "he was picking up groceries for his mom. always been such a sweet boy, that one."

“tiny toni?” your dad enters the kitchen, saving you from having to respond. he nudges your shoulder and grabs a grape. “the one who broke my daughter’s heart?”

you freeze. he catches your expression and laughs.

“that was so long ago,” you say lightly. it really was. you and anton are different people now.

"i'm not sure we can call him tiny toni anymore," your mom says.

teenie tiny toni started as something a sixth-grade boy called anton to make fun of him. you'd stolen it before it could hurt him and turned it into something affectionate, something that belonged only to you and your parents.

he would always be tiny toni. his voice had been tiny. his body had been tiny. he'd always seemed too gentle for the world. hearing your mom say there was no more tiny toni feels strangely unsettling.

"and judging by the way he looks now," she continues with a smile, "i'm sure he's broken more than just yn's heart."

your hands stop beneath the running water. "what?"

you turn around, your brows pulling together. the words don't make sense. how could anton possibly look like someone who breaks hearts?

anton, the quiet orchestra kid. anton, who apologized when someone else bumped into him. anton, who never believed there was anything particularly special about himself. anton, who once looked you in the eye and told you you couldn't possibly like him.

"impossible," you mumble, your thoughts somewhere else entirely. "he's a total nerd."

you know that version of anton. or at least, you used to. the realization settles heavily inside your chest. you don't know who anton is anymore. and somehow, that's harder to accept than never seeing him again.

your mom smiles, almost knowingly.

"you'll have to see for yourself, sweetie."

being back at home is boring.

giselle would normally be your only option for someone to hang out with, but she’s moved to tokyo. with nothing much to fill your days, your mind keeps circling back to anton. you find yourself wondering what he could possibly be like in 2026. what he did in college. whether he ever dated anyone. whether he fell in love with a concert pianist, or maybe a ballerina, and convinced himself that because they were alike, he was finally someone she could like. you wonder if he’s even taller now. your mom seemed to think so. the last time you saw him, he'd already filled out in a way that caught you off guard, but you wonder if swimming had changed him even more. you wonder if he finally thinks well of himself. if he ever thinks about you at all.

by the third night of lying awake imagining anton, you decide you need to put your mind somewhere else.

hardly anyone is at the gym at 10:30 p.m. you're halfway through your cooldown on the treadmill when your attention drifts toward a girl struggling beneath a bench press. her arms are shaking so badly that you're almost certain she'd have trouble lifting the empty bar.

"help," she calls weakly. it sounds almost theatrical. you notice her turn her head deliberately to the right, toward someone whose view is blocked by a row of machines. you assume help is already on the way and turn your attention back to the treadmill.

"thanks, toni." the syrup in her voice makes your stomach tighten.

without even looking over, you know she's batting her eyelashes at him. you hope it isn't your toni. you hope it isn't anton. you don't want to hear his voice. you don't want to find out.

closing your eyes for a brief second, you decide to cut your cooldown short. you'd come here to get your mind off him, and somehow he'd followed you anyway. of course the first time you'd run into anton in years would be when you're sweaty, exhausted, and feeling like the least attractive version of yourself. you need to leave before he sees you.

you hurriedly stop the treadmill and grab your things. by the time you're speed-walking toward the exit, you hear footsteps quickening behind you. you walk faster, but it doesn't help.

"do you always come to the gym at such degenerate hours, yn?" it's anton's voice, or at least you think it is. it's deeper than you remember. louder. steadier. somehow more certain of itself.

maybe you can still get away. maybe he'll think your music is playing too loudly through your headphones. maybe if you just keep walking—

a careful hand closes around your arm. "yn."

you brace yourself before turning around. somehow, the reality is worse.

it would be ridiculous to call him tiny toni now, even as a joke. he's settled into himself in a way you never imagined he would. the awkward, lanky boy you grew up with is gone.

anton's shoulders have broadened enough to stretch the black compression tank across his chest, the fabric hugging muscle that simply hadn't existed the last time you saw him. a faint sheen of sweat catches the light along the curve of his arms before disappearing beneath the edge of the tank. when he lets go of your arm, the muscle shifts naturally beneath his skin.

his face has changed, too. the softness is gone. his cheeks have given way to defined cheekbones and the beginning of a sharp jawline. he's handsome. he’s anton.

he's looking at you with the same bright grin you've known since middle school, the same familiar gleam sitting quietly in his eyes. for one dangerous second, you think maybe he isn't just a memory anymore. maybe anton could still be your friend.

"do you let other girls call you toni now, too?"

you watch his grin stretch into an even bigger smile. you almost smile back, almost. your question was genuine.

instead, you roll your eyes, and for the briefest moment everything feels strangely familiar.

"you're still the only one who gets to put a 'tiny' in front of it," he says. "if that makes you feel any better."

"aw, thanks." you clap your hands together dramatically, smiling only for show.

anton laughs, and the sound lands somewhere deep inside your chest.

"and no," you continue, "i'm only here this late because i couldn't sleep." you hesitate. the last thing you want is to stand here talking to anton while you're flushed and sweaty and he somehow looks like that. "but i think i'm pretty tired now."

his smile fades into the slightest pout. "but we—"

"we can make plans," you interrupt quickly, turning back towards the door. "you know where to find me."

anton blinks, then breaks into a blinding smile. “yeah. i do.”

everybody wants anton now. at least, that’s how it feels to him. and from what you’ve seen, that’s how it feels to you, too. so why didn’t you want him? why couldn’t he have you?

anton asks himself those questions as he knocks on your front door for the third day in a row. he comes around midday, when he knows your parents will be at work and you'll most likely be home. today seems like it'll end the same way the last two did, in silence.

he waits anyway. it's been almost five minutes before he smiles to himself. he knows exactly where to find you. the problem is, you don't want to be found.

he can't blame you. some days, he still isn't sure he's forgiven himself for what he did four years ago. but he wants you. and somewhere beneath all the hurt, he thinks you might still want him, too.

he fishes around the center console until he finds an old receipt, flips it over, and scribbles across the blank side before sliding it beneath the flower pot beside your front door.

let’s grab a bite. pick u up @ 6 on friday - your toni.

giselle doesn’t believe that anton could be hot. when you go as far as using the word sexy, she decides she really doesn't believe you and that she’ll need a picture as proof. you tell yourself that’s the only reason you’re taking so much time to doll yourself up for tonight. it’s only because giselle wants proof. that’s what you tell yourself.

the days after running into anton at the gym had been spent mourning the version of him you'd always known. the quiet, awkward boy seemed to have disappeared somewhere during college, replaced by broad shoulders, easy confidence, and a smile that flirted without even trying. you used to be the only girl anton talked to. now you're fairly certain you're the only girl in town who isn't talking to him.

you're not even sure you want to know this version of him. what if you still like him? worse—what if after all these years, you still want him just as much?

but curiosity has always been your biggest weakness. what did anton do in college? what did his weekends look like? did he ever fall in love? what kind of people became his friends? did they know the shy little boy who used to hide behind you? or only the man he seems to have become?

by five-thirty on friday evening, you feel sixteen again. it's embarrassing.

you're standing in front of the bathroom mirror curling your hair because you're excited to see a boy. except this isn’t any boy, it’s anton. a version of anton you’ve never met before, one that’s sexy and charming and confident. one you're quietly afraid has nothing left in common with the boy you fell in love with.

when the doorbell rings, you immediately decide you hate him. anton’s wearing a fitted black tee with jeans. the shirt sits just short enough that if he lifts his arms even a little, you're certain the abs you already know exist would be visible. his thumbs are hooked casually through his belt loops. he leans against your doorway with a grin that belongs somewhere between charming and evil. it’s unfair.

“you might be the first person i’ve ever seen to enter a room dick first,” your voice light. anton's brows knit together in confusion before you wave a dismissive hand toward him.

"my parents are out of town for the weekend." you start toward the stairs. "wait here. i forgot my purse."

he listens, without arguing, without following. maybe this still is your anton.

"i think you clean up pretty well, too, yn," he calls after you.

you hate how quickly your cheeks warm.

the drive starts quietly. you try very hard not to stare at anton's forearms. you fail.

it's not just the veins. it's the way they trace beneath his skin whenever his hand turns the steering wheel. the way muscle shifts so effortlessly underneath them. the way one hand rests lazily across the wheel while the other taps absentmindedly along with the music. he looks comfortable, like this version of himself fits.

it's distracting enough that you almost forget the last time you sat in one of anton's cars. this one's newer, nicer. it still smells faintly like him and clean laundry. he hums softly beneath his breath as the song plays through the speakers, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. you wonder if he even realizes he's doing it.

at a red light, he glances over. there's that smile again, small and knowing, almost like he can hear every thought running through your head. instead of looking away like you want to, you hold his gaze. before you know it, you're smiling too.

anton reaches across the center console. his fingertips brush lightly against the hem of your denim skirt. it's barely a touch, more of a graze than anything. still, warmth spreads through your entire body. his hand is so much bigger than you remember. you wonder when that happened. you wonder where else he could put his hand.

"it's a little short, yn." his voice is casual and teasing. the light turns green, and he pulls his hand back to the wheel.

"do you always wear stuff like this when you go on dates?"

your heart is still racing from where he'd touched you. it takes a second for his words to register. date? you let out a laugh before you can stop yourself. "who said this is a date?" you glance over at him with a grin. "we're only friends, toni."

"are we?" he tilts his head slightly. the question is quiet and more hopeful than teasing.

you look back out the window.

"we were." you pause. "we still can be."

for a moment, anton doesn't answer. you catch him jutting out his bottom lip, nodding once as though he's carefully turning your words over in his head. you smile to yourself.

"but..." you say after a moment, chewing absentmindedly on your bottom lip, "if you want this to be a date..." you glance at him from the corner of your eye. "...i guess we'll see how it goes."

the longer you spend with anton, the more it feels like nothing has changed. somehow, he’s still your best friend, and you’re both seventeen years old and secretly in love with each other.

two and a half hours later, your cheeks are warm and your face is flushed from laughing. anton sits across from you in the booth, looking at you the way he always used to. everything feels funny and every minute you spend with him makes you feel lighter than the last. you think that if anton keeps looking at you with that adoring gaze of his, you might not make it to the car before throwing yourself at him. anton can’t drink because he’s driving, but he insists on letting you order all the fun drinks your heart desires. every time your glass gets low, he asks if you want another. meanwhile, you’re working very hard to convince him that you aren’t nearly as drunk as you apparently look.

you’ve already learned that college was kinder to anton than high school ever was. most of his closest friends came from the swim team, mostly because he spent nearly every waking hour training with them. he double majored in business and audio production because he wanted to work somewhere in the music industry one day. he stayed involved with the campus orchestra all four years and somehow found time to become swim captain his senior year. he graduated summa cum laude, and for reasons you can’t quite explain, you’re relieved to hear he almost joined a fraternity but decided against it. 

there’s only one thing you haven’t asked him. it’s also the only thing you’ve wanted to know all night.

“how many girls have you dated?” the question slips out before you can stop it.

the second anton laughs, your embarrassment immediately turns into irritation.

“don’t laugh at me,” you pout, lifting your hand like you’re about to smack him across the table.

he only laughs harder. reaching over, he gently catches your wrist before you can follow through, guiding your hand back down onto the table.

“what do you want to hear, yn?” he asks, resting his chin in his palm as he looks at you. his eyes seem softer tonight, warmer.

you try to remember if he’s always looked at you this way. then you realize he’s flirting with you and nothing is funny.

“just tell me the truth,” you mumble, bringing your straw back to your lips. after a moment, you add, “i had three boyfriends.”

anton leans back against the booth and lets out a slow breath, tipping his head toward the ceiling.

“three boyfriends,” he repeats quietly. his lips twitch into a smile. his brows pinch together for just a second before relaxing again.

anton has learned over the course of the evening that your patience has gotten noticeably shorter over the last four years. you’ve already gotten annoyed with him more times than he can count tonight. he thinks it’s adorable. he also isn’t sure how much more teasing you’ll tolerate.

“i didn’t date.”

anton has always been able to read you. he could when you were twelve. he could when you were seventeen. he still can. he watches you roll his answer around in your head, searching for something that isn’t there. you’re chewing on your bottom lip now, avoiding his eyes completely. that wasn’t the answer you expected, he can tell. he can also tell you don’t like it.

“that might be worse than if you said one.” you frown into your drink. you aren’t sure you believe yourself, either.

if anton had spent all four years in love with one girl, maybe that would’ve been worse. maybe she’d still have his heart.

but if he’d never dated anyone...

you glance back up at him. with the way he looks now, with the confidence he somehow grew into, it’s hard to imagine he spent four years alone. maybe he just never stayed long enough. maybe he had his fun without ever making anyone his.

“see...” anton begins, his voice quieter now.

he laces both hands behind his head, stretching the fabric of his shirt across his chest and your eyes betray you immediately.

“there was this one girl in my past.” his smile softens.

“she kind of ruined everyone else for me.”

the words leave his mouth before he has the chance to think better of them. he hadn’t meant to say it so plainly. he certainly hadn’t meant to hand you the truth so easily. all he can do now is hope you’re too tipsy to understand what he really means.

you do. you hear every word. worse—you feel them. heat blooms beneath your skin until you swear your entire body is burning. your thoughts disappear. whatever you’d been trying to figure out only seconds ago is completely gone.

all you can think about is anton.

about the lake house. about your first kiss. about the way he looked at you then. and the way he’s looking at you now. all at once, you realize something you’d spent four years trying not to hope for. he loved you too. he loved you enough that every girl after you became impossible.

“anton.”

he looks up. he’s never heard you say his name like that before, so quietly. he can’t tell whether you’re about to cry, or kiss him, or yell at him. he only knows you’re leaning closer. close enough that your perfume reaches him before you do. close enough that he can feel himself making the same mistake twice.

“come home with me.” the words are barely louder than a whisper.

you blame the alcohol as you cling to anton’s arm on the way out of the restaurant.

your fingers wrap around the solid curve of his bicep, your nails pressing lightly into his skin as you stumble beside him. anton lets out a quiet laugh beneath his breath and settles his hand over yours. he smells good, clean, familiar. like anton.

he opens the passenger door for you before walking around to his side. when he leans across you to fasten your seatbelt, he gets so close that your lips nearly brush his cheek. you breathe him in before he pulls away. when he catches you doing it, he only grins. then he closes your door.

the air between you and anton buzzes in the close confines of the car. you rest your elbow on the center console and your chin atop your fist, ogling anton. you find the strength to keep your hands off of the boy, and he keeps his hands to himself as well. each time he glances over to see your big eyes fixed on him, his grin grows a little wider.

when anton parks in your driveway, you’re out of the car before he can open your door for you. you stumble out of your boots, slip your jacket off of your shoulders, and leave them at the foot of the stairs. you know anton will pick them up.

he reaches your room with a smile plastered on his face and your belongings in his arms. you’re sitting on the edge of your bed with your legs crossed and break into a giggle. you watch him gently set your things down near your closet. he wanders around the room, picking things up and examining them. you grow impatient.

“you’ve been here before, anton.”

“i know.” he pauses, voice soft like how it used to be. “everything’s still the same.”

you dig the heels of your palms into the mattress and lean your weight back. “i barely spent any time here during college.”

“i know,” anton repeats. finally, he turns back to you. when he’s close enough, you hook your fingers into his belt loops and pull him toward you. you rise to your feet and reach your hands up to his shoulders, tracing the broadness of them.

“you’re drunk, yn.” anton’s voice is soft. hearing it in your room again makes you smile. you bring your hands to press against the hard muscles in his chest.

“and you’re…very sexy.” you have to rise onto your toes to try to reach anton’s lips.

“come on, toni. it’s just a kiss.” you whisper against his lips with a grin.

anton knows it won’t just be a kiss. the air between you and him tells him it won’t just be a kiss, too. he remembers the last time he kissed you, and even that wasn’t just a kiss, either. but he knows he can’t leave you hanging there with your lips puckered and your eyes closed. he’s still the same anton who’d do anything to make you happy.

both of you immediately sigh when your lips touch. anton tilts his head down further and brings a hand up to cup the back of your head, deepening the kiss so he can reach you better. he’s gotten better at kissing, but you’re still taken back to the basement of the lake house. you’re still the girl hopelessly in love with her best friend, and anton is still the boy who finally found the courage to kiss you.

the way anton kisses you makes you more and more desperate. when it feels like he’s beginning to pull away, you instinctively rise onto your toes to chase his lips, needing just one more second. you’re fisting the fabric covering his chest and breathing into him when you feel him chuckle against your lips. when you both pull back, there’s saliva around both of your mouths. you watch anton’s tongue dart out to taste you on his lips.

you’re scared he’s going to say something cheeky about how badly you need him, so you push him down to sit on the bed before he gets the chance. the smug grin anton was wearing is replaced with a puzzled raise of his eyebrow. when you pull your leg up to straddle him, the grin returns. anton’s hands find your hips and press you against him. you crash your lips against his again and bring your hands to his hair.

anton’s hands move to your ass as he sucks on your face. you start lifting your hips to settle them back onto his lap, your hands in his hair tugging lightly in desperation. you pull away for air and anton goes to your neck, craning his head to suck and nip at the skin. you throw your head back to give him more room and sigh in content.

anton’s plush lips against your skin make you feel even more needy. the breeze from ceiling fan makes anton’s remaining spit on your skin feel cool in comparison to your body burning up. you can feel his bulge beneath you, and the size of him like this already makes your mouth feel dry. he returns to your lips and sticks his tongue into your mouth.

anton’s hands bring your hips down on his and grind you against his dick. he swears he can feel you. a moan escapes your lips that makes him throb in his pants. he has to hide his face in the crook of your neck, and your arms cradle his head to hold him there.

you stop moving suddenly and anton wonders if you came. he pulls away from your neck to find your eyes closed. “yn?” he murmurs.

you don’t answer. anton laughs in disbelief. he’d kissed you to sleep.

he wipes off your makeup and tucks you under the covers before he leaves.

in the morning, you wake up with an upset stomach and swollen lips. you aren’t afraid to check your phone because anton’s number is still blocked. memories of last night flash through your mind as you brush your teeth, making you giggle to yourself. when you change out of your clothes, you notice anton even left a mark near your shoulder. you can’t help but smile.

you don’t remember how it all ended, though.

it isn’t until later that afternoon that you notice the note tucked by your door.

anton has broken your heart three times, and counting.

the first time was at the sandbox, when you were both four. he didn’t say hi when you joined him, and he didn’t offer you any of his shovels. your mom laughed when you cried about it later at home.

the second time was in the third grade, when you saw him for the first time in years at an arts summer camp. the two of you were in different camp groups, but you happened to share the same time slot for music class. he was still cute and quiet. he smiled the same way he used to.

you sat beside him with a shy smile. he scooted away.

“anton,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

he looked at you from the corner of his eye before slowly turning toward you.

“we went to preschool together. i’m yn.”

you watched anton open and close his mouth.

“oh, really. that’s cool,” he said dryly, before turning away.

your heart dropped straight to your stomach. it was a worse reply than anything you could have imagined.

your mom laughed about that incident, too.

because your parents knew each other, you heard about anton every now and then. when your mom told you he’d be attending the same middle school as you, you really didn’t care. after the failed conversation at summer camp, you had sworn him off.

but then you saw him.

anton at twelve years old was handsome. his hair had been freshly cut, leaving the back of his neck clean and exposed. he stood slightly taller than the other boys, all long limbs and awkward movements, like he’d grown too quickly and hadn’t figured out what to do with the extra inches yet.

you shared the same homeroom, and this time he greeted you first. you pretended not to care, and he shrugged in response and gave you a tight-lipped smile.

a few weeks into the school year, you learned that anton was musically gifted compared to the rest of your peers, some sort of cello genius. you also learned that he was awkward in more ways than one. not only in the way he moved, but socially, too.

from across the courtyard, you watched him take a step back when a girl approached him with a smile. anton’s cheeks turned pink when she reached up to poke his shoulder. he nodded slowly at whatever she was saying, and you couldn’t help but wonder what could have possibly made him blush like that.

you felt frustrated and wronged at the sight of another girl standing so close to anton. you decided it couldn’t happen again.

after school, you found him slouching outside, leaning against the brick wall of the building.

“anton!” you waved from the door and walked toward him. he didn’t step back the way he had with the girl in the courtyard, and that made you smile.

“hey, yn,” he smiled back.

you wish he wouldn’t. you had to look away before he noticed the pink blooming across your cheeks.

“i’m sorry i didn’t say hi back to you earlier.”

anton watched you tuck your hair behind your ear, only to pull it free and tuck it back again. you were chewing on your lip. he realized he hadn’t answered you.

“it’s ok, i get it,” he gave you a tight-lipped smile.

you let out a relieved sigh and told him that was great. then you waved goodbye and told him you’d see him tomorrow.

anton had been your best friend ever since.

your eyes follow anton as he walks into the cafeteria, shoulders slouched beneath a backpack that is definitely full of things he could get rid of.

he sits at a lonely table in the corner of the room and pulls out a meal-prepped lunch of ground beef and rice. he doesn’t take a bite until he’s put on his expensive noise-canceling headphones and started his music. His eyes stay fixed downward. his leg bounces frantically beneath the table.

you think anton should be more confident. he’s smart, talented, kind, and everything about the boy is gorgeous. you wish he could see himself through your eyes. but then he would be in love with himself.

“i still don’t understand how you’re such good friends with him,” giselle follows your gaze and points her yogurt spoon in anton’s direction.

“i genuinely don’t think i’ve ever seen him open his mouth to speak.”

your other friends glance up from their phones and giggle, looking between you and anton before returning to their screens.

“it’s just been so long. we’re comfortable. we grew up together,” you shrug, and it’s true.

you and anton have grown into completely different people.

he’s continued with orchestra, eventually becoming section leader and making most of his friends there. outside of orchestra, he’s a record-breaking swimmer who, ironically, can barely speak above forty decibels.

no one pays Anton much attention unless he’s standing beside you.

when high school began, you found yourself in the center of everything. teachers loved you, you had friends in every class, and your grades were good. while anton was always alone, you found yourself constantly surrounded by people.

“but do you think that'll last?” giselle stirs her yogurt without looking at you.

“what? me and anton being friends?”

“yeah.”

you furrow your brows. giselle finally looks back up.

“boys and girls can't just be friends,” she says knowingly.

“it’s worked all this time. i can’t see why it would stop,” you answer.

the look on her face makes you want to eat your words, because she knows you like anton, and you know you like anton, and everyone besides anton knows you like anton.

“you’ll meet someone better in college, anyways.” one of your friend offers, nudging your shoulder.

you ponder the reality of college. for the first time in eight years, you and anton will be going separate ways. what if everything between you really does end?

you stop by the orchestra room at the end of the day, as always. anton is sitting on the ground with his back to you. his head hangs low over his phone.

you think he’s adorable.

maybe it’s because he’s so earnest. maybe it’s because he’s so nerdy and quirky. there’s something endlessly endearing about him, something that makes your chest ache whenever you look too long.

you walk over quietly and wrap your arms around his neck.

anton knows it’s you.

he knows how you smell, and he knows how you feel. it’s crazy, but anton thinks he could even recognize the way you breathe. even so, he still freezes every time you’re near. he doesn’t know why.

“i’ll be over after cheer practice,” you say against his ear.

you know his face is red. he brings one of his large hands up and closes it around both of yours, gently pulling you off him.

“i know,” he says so softly, you almost think you imagined it.

the way anton looks at you makes it seem like he wants something more. the way he keeps holding your hands makes it seem even more possible. he shifts his body until he’s facing you completely, and for a moment—just one—you think he might kiss you right here in front of everyone.

then he breaks into a smile and stands up, offering you a hand.

anton is a sweet boy. he’s always been a good boy. sometimes you worry he might be too sweet for his own good. especially in moments like this, when he offers you his hand to help you up. when he insists on carrying your backpack all the way across campus to the gym, even though his car is parked in the opposite direction. when he does things that feel so much like love and never once calls them that.

it would feel right to kiss him on the cheek before you part ways. it would feel natural.

but you know you can’t. so instead, you punch his arm lightly and tell him to drive safe. and anton smiles that small, gentle smile that has been breaking your heart for years.

it’s the end of your last summer with anton and you’ve finally figured out the breaststroke he’s been trying to teach you every week.

being a fresh alumnus on a swimming scholarship to a big university, anton had been granted personal hours at the pool whenever he wanted. the hours you two didn’t spend bussing tables for pocket money were spent at the indoor pool, where anton and you played coach and student.

you’re wearing your lucky bikini when it finally clicks.

the first time you wore it, last summer, anton had been completely lost for words. he’d turned red and coughed whenever you got too close. by the end of the day, after working up an almost painful amount of courage, he’d quietly told you that you looked pretty. you think about it more often than you should.

when you emerge from the water, anton is grinning from the next lane over, shaking his head. You immediately swim beneath the lane line until you’re only a foot away from him. he hasn’t smiled at you like that in a while. it means more than usual.

“i really didn’t think it’d happen this summer,” he admits.

his voice is so soft you probably wouldn’t have heard it from any farther away. so you move closer.

your chest is still rising and falling from the swim when you make your way toward him. underwater, your footing slips. before you can lose your balance completely, anton’s arm wraps securely around your waist. he catches you without hesitation.

one second you’re falling, and the next you’re pressed flush against him.

you’re suddenly terrified that anton can feel your heartbeat through your chest.

the last time his arm had been around your waist like this was when he kissed you in the basement of his family’s lake house.

you never thought your parents would agree to let you and anton spend a few days there together. anton’s parents, sure. yours, never. it was a testament to how much they trusted anton, they’d said.

you brought giselle, and anton brought a friend, too.

even though you’d spent the entire summer in swimsuits around one another, everything felt different at the lake house.

the lake house was skin against skin and stolen glances. it was lingering looks quickly disguised whenever the other person noticed.

every time you climbed out of the water, anton was there waiting with a warm towel. every morning, after his run, he brought back an iced latte for you before you’d even gotten out of bed.

one morning, anton disappeared on a hike with his friend without telling you. so when he came back, you picked a fight with him out of pure spite. you’re not proud of it. in the middle of your anger, you stormed down to the dock and slipped off the edge.

the moment panic set in and your arms began flailing, anton dove in after you. one second you were alone. the next, his familiar arms were around you. he pulled you back to shore.

“are you okay?” his voice had sounded frantic. his eyes looked even worse.

wet hair dripped onto your shoulders as he waited for an answer.

you already knew you loved anton. you’d known for years. but in that moment, it was staring you in the face.

he hadn’t even stopped to take off his shirt. his clothes were soaked through with lake water. all because he’d been worried about you.

a few tears escaped before you could stop them. thankfully, they blended in with the water on your face.

you searched his eyes for any sign that he didn’t love you back. you couldn’t find one. you couldn’t find the courage to speak, either. so you just nodded.

anton spent the rest of the day convinced it was his fault. if he had told you about the hike, you wouldn’t have gotten upset. if you hadn’t gotten upset, you wouldn’t have wandered off. if you hadn’t wandered off, you wouldn’t have fallen. the logic didn’t make much sense, but neither did anton whenever it came to you.

he spent the rest of the afternoon hovering nearby, catering to you in every way he could think of. anton hated when you were mad at him. he hated feeling like he’d done something wrong. sometimes you thought he would do absolutely anything if it meant seeing you happy.

after dinner, giselle puts on a movie that no one is particularly interested in. it’s the last night and you need to pack, so you retreat to your room first, then followed an hour later by giselle, then anton’s friend. around midnight, you sneak out of bed, careful not to step on the creaky floorboards as you make your way downstairs. 

the basement was dark except for the television.

anton was still there. another movie played quietly across the screen while his head rested against the back of the couch.

he looked up when he heard you. he scoots over when he sees you at the foot of the stairs, but you sit right beside him anyways, resting your head on his shoulder.

“thank you for saving me earlier, anton.” your voice always sounded softer around him.

“of course, yn,” he replies before sitting up.

“i’m glad you’re ok.”

he’s looking into your eyes again. the basement was dim, but somehow that only made him prettier. your faces are only inches apart, and you think he’s getting even closer.

you were suddenly aware of every breath, every blink, every tiny movement.

“i’m sorry for getting mad at you, too,” you whispered.

anton’s eyes kept dropping to your lips, the same way yours kept drifting toward his. he shook his head.

“it’s okay,” he mumbled. his voice was barely audible.

“you’re the only thing that matters anyway.”

for a moment, neither of you moved. then anton kissed you softly.

the world seemed to stop. you felt detached from your own body, as though you were floating somewhere above the room, watching it happen to someone else.

your first love became your first kiss.

when you kissed him back, you felt him smile against your lips.

his hand found yours. he pulled you closer until there was nowhere left to go, gently trapping you between the couch arm and the warmth of his chest.

it was clumsy and messy, but it was anton, so you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

after kissing for what felt like an hour, anton tucked you under the covers in your room and kissed your forehead before retreating to his own room. neither of you ever brought it up again.

“i didn’t think a lot of things would happen this summer,” you admit softly, your fingers tracing absent-minded shapes through the water droplets scattered across anton’s chest. anton coughs and immediately drops his arm from your waist.

anton has been different since the lake house. he’s been more awkward. distant.

you let your hand fall from his chest, but you stay where you are. you’re close enough to see the way his jaw tightens, and to notice that he still won’t look at you. that’s how you know something is wrong. because anton always looks at you.

“our time slot’s almost over,” he says after a moment with a quick glance at his watch. his voice is flat and careful.

when he turns away again, you feel something sink inside your chest.

he doesn't even offer you a hand to get out of the pool.

it’s incredibly hot outside.

the second you step into the sun, you almost groan. the heat presses against your skin like a heavy hand. the pavement shimmers. the air feels thick enough to drink.

but you don’t. you don’t want to do anything that could possibly upset anton. you already think he’s mad at you.

normally, he opens the passenger door before you even reach it. today, he walks straight past you and gets into the driver’s seat.

your stomach sinks.

the heat trapped inside anton’s car is almost as suffocating as the silence between you.

he starts the engine and immediately cranks the air conditioning. then he pulls out of the parking lot without turning on any music. he doesn’t offer you his aux cord, so the two of you drive in silence.

by the time anton parks outside your house, you feel confused and nervous and scared all at once. everything is ending. you move into your dorm next week, so today was the last swimming session of the summer. you and anton don’t have any plans after this. the thought sits heavily in your chest. the way he’s acting makes it worse. the fact that he’s been acting like this ever since the lake house makes you feel sick.

because what happened at the lake only deepened your feelings for him. it solidified them and made you completely confident that he liked you too. because who kisses someone they don’t like? not your anton, you’re sure of it.

you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn toward him.

“thank you again,” you say, leaning closer.

anton leans toward you, too. almost unconscious, almost instinctive. a small smile appears on his face, shy and reluctant, like he doesn’t entirely mean for it to happen.

“for what?” his voice is quiet, always quiet.

“teaching me the breast stroke.”

neither of you say anything.

you could kiss him right now. you could close the distance and relive that night at the lake house, when everything felt simple and life seemed to settle into the shape it was always meant to have.

your eyes drift to his lips, soft and pink. only inches away.

anton notices. he watches your gaze drop before it returns to his eyes.

his chest tightens. he thinks his heart might burst out of his chest if you get any closer. he’s been a nervous wreck since he picked you up this morning. his pulse hasn’t slowed down once.

everything is a mess.

“i should never have kissed you.”

the words come out suddenly. anton pulls away as if he’s been burned and sinks back into his seat.

for a second, you think you misheard him.

“what?” your heart drops. you watch him drag his hands down his face. the motion looks exhausted. desperate.

you think you stop breathing.

“i never should have kissed you, yn.”

“anton—” you reach for his wrist, but he pulls away immediately. the rejection is so quick it stings.

“i kissed you and i messed everything up, and now things are never going to be the same.”

“wait, stop—”

“i didn’t want to go to college without kissing a girl, okay?”

you shake your head. tears immediately fill your eyes. you know anton. you know him better than anyone, and you know that isn’t true. he wouldn’t care about something like that. he wouldn’t use you. he couldn't.

anton keeps talking, but the words blur together. you can see his mouth moving, and you can hear his voice. but you’re somewhere else. you’re back in the lake, and the water is dark and cold. you’re reaching for something solid, but this time, anton isn’t there to pull you out.

“anton, i’m in love with you.”

the words escape before you can stop them. tears spill down your cheeks, and your bottom lip trembles. this isn’t how you wanted to tell him. you imagined a hundred different confessions over the years. none of them looked like this.

none of them happened inside a sweltering car with tears on your face and your heart hanging open between you.

anton freezes. his brows furrow. he looks confused, flustered.

you tell yourself it’s because he didn’t expect you to say it first. you tell yourself he likes you too. that even though he’s shaking his head right now, he’s going to smile in a second. you tell yourself he loves you the same way you love him.

that he’s going to reach for you. that he’s going to kiss you again before you go inside.

“you shouldn’t have said that.”

silence follows. only the hum of the engine remains. the steady rush of air from the vents fills the space between you.

you feel your heart physically shatter. your chest aches so suddenly and so sharply that you struggle to breathe. anton’s voice sounds unfamiliar. it’s still hushed, but now there’s something harsh underneath it, something final. the worst part is that you know he means it.

“what?” is all you can manage to croak.

anton refuses to look at you. “you shouldn’t have said that, and i shouldn’t have kissed you.” he swallows hard. “everything is all… fucked up now.”

you stare at him. you don’t know who you’re sitting beside anymore. the anton you knew seems to have disappeared sometime during this conversation. this person looks like him, sounds like him. but it isn’t him. it can’t be.

“i’m not someone you can like, yn,” anton says it after a long pause. you don’t understand what he means. the sentence sounds absurd. it sounds insane, and so not anton.

“i love you, anton,” your voice cracks on his name, and it feels like a plea. it feels like a final attempt to save something that’s already sinking.

anton turns farther toward the window, away from you, and everything.

the closest thing you get to a response is a slow shake of his head, followed by a heavy silence. the last five minutes is all it took to destroy the future you’d spent years dreaming of.

your mind drifts back to the sandbox, where anton first rejected you. then the summer camp, where anton ignored you.

maybe he’s always been the same. the realization settles quietly inside your chest.

this is the third time anton has broken your heart. when it finally sinks in, you open the car door and this time, you don’t look back.

you leave in tears.

you haven’t seen anton since.

for the next four years, you do everything you can to avoid going back home.

during the summers, you stay in the same city as your university and work as much as you can. when winter break comes around, you spend most of it shut inside your house, only leaving when absolutely necessary.

you become good at avoiding places that might still remember you.

there is only one sighting of anton during your entire college career, when your only serious college boyfriend wanted to meet your parents.

it was your twentieth birthday, the second one you would celebrate without anton. you'd been missing home lately, and taesan thought surprising both you and your parents would make the day feel special. he told you he was taking you somewhere nice for dinner. you believed him. it isn't until he merges onto the interstate that your stomach drops. you know exactly where he's taking you.

when taesan insists on stopping at the grocery store to buy your mom a bouquet of flowers, you convince yourself it'll be fine.

it's the end of september. anton would be at school. there's no reason for him to be home. there's no reason for him to be here.

but there he is, standing in front of the cake display near taesan.

you hear him before you see him and somehow, that's enough.

his younger brother has shot up over the past few years, nearly as tall as anton now. anton himself has grown even taller. broader. stronger. his shoulders stretch wider beneath his sweatshirt than you remember, the kind that could probably block out the sun if he stood in front of it.

he's wearing a baseball cap. from the strands of dark hair curling out beneath it, you can already tell it's the longest you've ever seen him wear it. you can't bring yourself to imagine what he looks like from the front.

then he laughs, and suddenly you're back in the basement of the lake house. your first kiss. his hand in yours. his smile against your lips.

you wonder if he remembers it's your birthday. you wonder if that's why he's standing in front of the cakes. you wonder why he's here. you wonder if you still love him.

it becomes too much.

your chest tightens and the grocery store disappears.

you're back inside anton's car, the air conditioning blasting against your skin while you struggle to catch your breath. two years of running away haven't changed anything. you're still the same girl and somehow, anton is still the same boy.

you hear someone say your name. you aren't sure whether it was anton, or junyoung, or taesan. you see anton begin to turn and you dash. you text taesan that you forgot your purse in the car, that you’ll wait for him there. you broke up with him two months later.

anton can’t wait to see you. or rather, he can’t wait for you to see him. he knows it’s selfish of him. you still have his number blocked and he’s never been able to find your instagram. still, anton believes you'll find your way back to each other. because if you weren’t meant to, you wouldn’t have spent so much energy avoiding him. people don’t run from strangers, they run from the people who still matter.

he hears through your mom that you'll be moving back home after graduation while you search for a place in the city, just like him. he thinks it's fate. he can't wait to see you. he wants to show you that he's different now. better. he isn't the painfully quiet boy you left behind four years ago. he's confident now, almost too confident. his body he built through swimming at the collegiate level is something he’s proud of. he’s read so many self-help books in the past three years he prides himself in his mindset. he likes the person he’s becoming. anton thinks everything he’s done to improve himself was to ultimately benefit you. he thinks he’s finally deserving of you. that now he could be someone you can like.

when he runs into your mom at the grocery store, it feels like confirmation that he's right. she smiles at him with the same warmth she always has, like she's finally found a son who wandered too far from home. his own grin appears before he can stop it. when he tells her he'd love to see you sometime soon, she gives him a hint about where you spend most of your weekdays.

anton smiles for the rest of the afternoon.

it’s been a month since you’ve graduated, and you’ve accepted that seeing anton again is a possibility. you’ve spent that same month hoping it never happens.

a part of you believes you’ll be ok if it does. you don’t think you’ll feel the same anymore. you’ve grown. you’ve lived. you’ve dated, you’ve broken up. you’ve learned to move on. anton is a memory at most.

“you’d never guess who i ran into at the store, yn.” your mom’s voice drifts in from the kitchen along with the rustle of grocery bags. anton comes to mind. you have a feeling he's the only person she'd bother making you guess. still, you decide to play dumb.

“oh. who’d you see?”

your mom sets her purse on the counter before taking a seat at the island, leaving you to put the groceries away.

“you’re supposed to guess.”

you have to fight back an eye roll and instead settle for a heavy sigh and make your voice flat. “i genuinely have no idea.” 

she takes a long drink from her water without taking her eyes off you. she’s being careful, so you know it has to be anton. she wouldn’t dance around anyone else’s  name like this. her gaze grows heavier by the second. you turn away and busy yourself washing grapes beneath the faucet.

"i ran into anton," she says at last, her voice softer now that she can only see your back. "he was picking up groceries for his mom. always been such a sweet boy, that one."

“tiny toni?” your dad enters the kitchen, saving you from having to respond. he nudges your shoulder and grabs a grape. “the one who broke my daughter’s heart?”

you freeze. he catches your expression and laughs.

“that was so long ago,” you say lightly. it really was. you and anton are different people now.

"i'm not sure we can call him tiny toni anymore," your mom says.

teenie tiny toni started as something a sixth-grade boy called anton to make fun of him. you'd stolen it before it could hurt him and turned it into something affectionate, something that belonged only to you and your parents.

he would always be tiny toni. his voice had been tiny. his body had been tiny. he'd always seemed too gentle for the world. hearing your mom say there was no more tiny toni feels strangely unsettling.

"and judging by the way he looks now," she continues with a smile, "i'm sure he's broken more than just yn's heart."

your hands stop beneath the running water. "what?"

you turn around, your brows pulling together. the words don't make sense. how could anton possibly look like someone who breaks hearts?

anton, the quiet orchestra kid. anton, who apologized when someone else bumped into him. anton, who never believed there was anything particularly special about himself. anton, who once looked you in the eye and told you you couldn't possibly like him.

"impossible," you mumble, your thoughts somewhere else entirely. "he's a total nerd."

you know that version of anton. or at least, you used to. the realization settles heavily inside your chest. you don't know who anton is anymore. and somehow, that's harder to accept than never seeing him again.

your mom smiles, almost knowingly.

"you'll have to see for yourself, sweetie."

being back at home is boring.

giselle would normally be your only option for someone to hang out with, but she’s moved to tokyo. with nothing much to fill your days, your mind keeps circling back to anton. you find yourself wondering what he could possibly be like in 2026. what he did in college. whether he ever dated anyone. whether he fell in love with a concert pianist, or maybe a ballerina, and convinced himself that because they were alike, he was finally someone she could like. you wonder if he’s even taller now. your mom seemed to think so. the last time you saw him, he'd already filled out in a way that caught you off guard, but you wonder if swimming had changed him even more. you wonder if he finally thinks well of himself. if he ever thinks about you at all.

by the third night of lying awake imagining anton, you decide you need to put your mind somewhere else.

hardly anyone is at the gym at 10:30 p.m. you're halfway through your cooldown on the treadmill when your attention drifts toward a girl struggling beneath a bench press. her arms are shaking so badly that you're almost certain she'd have trouble lifting the empty bar.

"help," she calls weakly. it sounds almost theatrical. you notice her turn her head deliberately to the right, toward someone whose view is blocked by a row of machines. you assume help is already on the way and turn your attention back to the treadmill.

"thanks, toni." the syrup in her voice makes your stomach tighten.

without even looking over, you know she's batting her eyelashes at him. you hope it isn't your toni. you hope it isn't anton. you don't want to hear his voice. you don't want to find out.

closing your eyes for a brief second, you decide to cut your cooldown short. you'd come here to get your mind off him, and somehow he'd followed you anyway. of course the first time you'd run into anton in years would be when you're sweaty, exhausted, and feeling like the least attractive version of yourself. you need to leave before he sees you.

you hurriedly stop the treadmill and grab your things. by the time you're speed-walking toward the exit, you hear footsteps quickening behind you. you walk faster, but it doesn't help.

"do you always come to the gym at such degenerate hours, yn?" it's anton's voice, or at least you think it is. it's deeper than you remember. louder. steadier. somehow more certain of itself.

maybe you can still get away. maybe he'll think your music is playing too loudly through your headphones. maybe if you just keep walking—

a careful hand closes around your arm. "yn."

you brace yourself before turning around. somehow, the reality is worse.

it would be ridiculous to call him tiny toni now, even as a joke. he's settled into himself in a way you never imagined he would. the awkward, lanky boy you grew up with is gone.

anton's shoulders have broadened enough to stretch the black compression tank across his chest, the fabric hugging muscle that simply hadn't existed the last time you saw him. a faint sheen of sweat catches the light along the curve of his arms before disappearing beneath the edge of the tank. when he lets go of your arm, the muscle shifts naturally beneath his skin.

his face has changed, too. the softness is gone. his cheeks have given way to defined cheekbones and the beginning of a sharp jawline. he's handsome. he’s anton.

he's looking at you with the same bright grin you've known since middle school, the same familiar gleam sitting quietly in his eyes. for one dangerous second, you think maybe he isn't just a memory anymore. maybe anton could still be your friend.

"do you let other girls call you toni now, too?"

you watch his grin stretch into an even bigger smile. you almost smile back, almost. your question was genuine.

instead, you roll your eyes, and for the briefest moment everything feels strangely familiar.

"you're still the only one who gets to put a 'tiny' in front of it," he says. "if that makes you feel any better."

"aw, thanks." you clap your hands together dramatically, smiling only for show.

anton laughs, and the sound lands somewhere deep inside your chest.

"and no," you continue, "i'm only here this late because i couldn't sleep." you hesitate. the last thing you want is to stand here talking to anton while you're flushed and sweaty and he somehow looks like that. "but i think i'm pretty tired now."

his smile fades into the slightest pout. "but we—"

"we can make plans," you interrupt quickly, turning back towards the door. "you know where to find me."

anton blinks, then breaks into a blinding smile. “yeah. i do.”

everybody wants anton now. at least, that’s how it feels to him. and from what you’ve seen, that’s how it feels to you, too. so why didn’t you want him? why couldn’t he have you?

anton asks himself those questions as he knocks on your front door for the third day in a row. he comes around midday, when he knows your parents will be at work and you'll most likely be home. today seems like it'll end the same way the last two did, in silence.

he waits anyway. it's been almost five minutes before he smiles to himself. he knows exactly where to find you. the problem is, you don't want to be found.

he can't blame you. some days, he still isn't sure he's forgiven himself for what he did four years ago. but he wants you. and somewhere beneath all the hurt, he thinks you might still want him, too.

he fishes around the center console until he finds an old receipt, flips it over, and scribbles across the blank side before sliding it beneath the flower pot beside your front door.

let’s grab a bite. pick u up @ 6 on friday - your toni.

giselle doesn’t believe that anton could be hot. when you go as far as using the word sexy, she decides she really doesn't believe you and that she’ll need a picture as proof. you tell yourself that’s the only reason you’re taking so much time to doll yourself up for tonight. it’s only because giselle wants proof. that’s what you tell yourself.

the days after running into anton at the gym had been spent mourning the version of him you'd always known. the quiet, awkward boy seemed to have disappeared somewhere during college, replaced by broad shoulders, easy confidence, and a smile that flirted without even trying. you used to be the only girl anton talked to. now you're fairly certain you're the only girl in town who isn't talking to him.

you're not even sure you want to know this version of him. what if you still like him? worse—what if after all these years, you still want him just as much?

but curiosity has always been your biggest weakness. what did anton do in college? what did his weekends look like? did he ever fall in love? what kind of people became his friends? did they know the shy little boy who used to hide behind you? or only the man he seems to have become?

by five-thirty on friday evening, you feel sixteen again. it's embarrassing.

you're standing in front of the bathroom mirror curling your hair because you're excited to see a boy. except this isn’t any boy, it’s anton. a version of anton you’ve never met before, one that’s sexy and charming and confident. one you're quietly afraid has nothing left in common with the boy you fell in love with.

when the doorbell rings, you immediately decide you hate him. anton’s wearing a fitted black tee with jeans. the shirt sits just short enough that if he lifts his arms even a little, you're certain the abs you already know exist would be visible. his thumbs are hooked casually through his belt loops. he leans against your doorway with a grin that belongs somewhere between charming and evil. it’s unfair.

“you might be the first person i’ve ever seen to enter a room dick first,” your voice light. anton's brows knit together in confusion before you wave a dismissive hand toward him.

"my parents are out of town for the weekend." you start toward the stairs. "wait here. i forgot my purse."

he listens, without arguing, without following. maybe this still is your anton.

"i think you clean up pretty well, too, yn," he calls after you.

you hate how quickly your cheeks warm.

the drive starts quietly. you try very hard not to stare at anton's forearms. you fail.

it's not just the veins. it's the way they trace beneath his skin whenever his hand turns the steering wheel. the way muscle shifts so effortlessly underneath them. the way one hand rests lazily across the wheel while the other taps absentmindedly along with the music. he looks comfortable, like this version of himself fits.

it's distracting enough that you almost forget the last time you sat in one of anton's cars. this one's newer, nicer. it still smells faintly like him and clean laundry. he hums softly beneath his breath as the song plays through the speakers, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. you wonder if he even realizes he's doing it.

at a red light, he glances over. there's that smile again, small and knowing, almost like he can hear every thought running through your head. instead of looking away like you want to, you hold his gaze. before you know it, you're smiling too.

anton reaches across the center console. his fingertips brush lightly against the hem of your denim skirt. it's barely a touch, more of a graze than anything. still, warmth spreads through your entire body. his hand is so much bigger than you remember. you wonder when that happened. you wonder where else he could put his hand.

"it's a little short, yn." his voice is casual and teasing. the light turns green, and he pulls his hand back to the wheel.

"do you always wear stuff like this when you go on dates?"

your heart is still racing from where he'd touched you. it takes a second for his words to register. date? you let out a laugh before you can stop yourself. "who said this is a date?" you glance over at him with a grin. "we're only friends, toni."

"are we?" he tilts his head slightly. the question is quiet and more hopeful than teasing.

you look back out the window.

"we were." you pause. "we still can be."

for a moment, anton doesn't answer. you catch him jutting out his bottom lip, nodding once as though he's carefully turning your words over in his head. you smile to yourself.

"but..." you say after a moment, chewing absentmindedly on your bottom lip, "if you want this to be a date..." you glance at him from the corner of your eye. "...i guess we'll see how it goes."

the longer you spend with anton, the more it feels like nothing has changed. somehow, he’s still your best friend, and you’re both seventeen years old and secretly in love with each other.

two and a half hours later, your cheeks are warm and your face is flushed from laughing. anton sits across from you in the booth, looking at you the way he always used to. everything feels funny and every minute you spend with him makes you feel lighter than the last. you think that if anton keeps looking at you with that adoring gaze of his, you might not make it to the car before throwing yourself at him. anton can’t drink because he’s driving, but he insists on letting you order all the fun drinks your heart desires. every time your glass gets low, he asks if you want another. meanwhile, you’re working very hard to convince him that you aren’t nearly as drunk as you apparently look.

you’ve already learned that college was kinder to anton than high school ever was. most of his closest friends came from the swim team, mostly because he spent nearly every waking hour training with them. he double majored in business and audio production because he wanted to work somewhere in the music industry one day. he stayed involved with the campus orchestra all four years and somehow found time to become swim captain his senior year. he graduated summa cum laude, and for reasons you can’t quite explain, you’re relieved to hear he almost joined a fraternity but decided against it. 

there’s only one thing you haven’t asked him. it’s also the only thing you’ve wanted to know all night.

“how many girls have you dated?” the question slips out before you can stop it.

the second anton laughs, your embarrassment immediately turns into irritation.

“don’t laugh at me,” you pout, lifting your hand like you’re about to smack him across the table.

he only laughs harder. reaching over, he gently catches your wrist before you can follow through, guiding your hand back down onto the table.

“what do you want to hear, yn?” he asks, resting his chin in his palm as he looks at you. his eyes seem softer tonight, warmer.

you try to remember if he’s always looked at you this way. then you realize he’s flirting with you and nothing is funny.

“just tell me the truth,” you mumble, bringing your straw back to your lips. after a moment, you add, “i had three boyfriends.”

anton leans back against the booth and lets out a slow breath, tipping his head toward the ceiling.

“three boyfriends,” he repeats quietly. his lips twitch into a smile. his brows pinch together for just a second before relaxing again.

anton has learned over the course of the evening that your patience has gotten noticeably shorter over the last four years. you’ve already gotten annoyed with him more times than he can count tonight. he thinks it’s adorable. he also isn’t sure how much more teasing you’ll tolerate.

“i didn’t date.”

anton has always been able to read you. he could when you were twelve. he could when you were seventeen. he still can. he watches you roll his answer around in your head, searching for something that isn’t there. you’re chewing on your bottom lip now, avoiding his eyes completely. that wasn’t the answer you expected, he can tell. he can also tell you don’t like it.

“that might be worse than if you said one.” you frown into your drink. you aren’t sure you believe yourself, either.

if anton had spent all four years in love with one girl, maybe that would’ve been worse. maybe she’d still have his heart.

but if he’d never dated anyone...

you glance back up at him. with the way he looks now, with the confidence he somehow grew into, it’s hard to imagine he spent four years alone. maybe he just never stayed long enough. maybe he had his fun without ever making anyone his.

“see...” anton begins, his voice quieter now.

he laces both hands behind his head, stretching the fabric of his shirt across his chest and your eyes betray you immediately.

“there was this one girl in my past.” his smile softens.

“she kind of ruined everyone else for me.”

the words leave his mouth before he has the chance to think better of them. he hadn’t meant to say it so plainly. he certainly hadn’t meant to hand you the truth so easily. all he can do now is hope you’re too tipsy to understand what he really means.

you do. you hear every word. worse—you feel them. heat blooms beneath your skin until you swear your entire body is burning. your thoughts disappear. whatever you’d been trying to figure out only seconds ago is completely gone.

all you can think about is anton.

about the lake house. about your first kiss. about the way he looked at you then. and the way he’s looking at you now. all at once, you realize something you’d spent four years trying not to hope for. he loved you too. he loved you enough that every girl after you became impossible.

“anton.”

he looks up. he’s never heard you say his name like that before, so quietly. he can’t tell whether you’re about to cry, or kiss him, or yell at him. he only knows you’re leaning closer. close enough that your perfume reaches him before you do. close enough that he can feel himself making the same mistake twice.

“come home with me.” the words are barely louder than a whisper.

you blame the alcohol as you cling to anton’s arm on the way out of the restaurant.

your fingers wrap around the solid curve of his bicep, your nails pressing lightly into his skin as you stumble beside him. anton lets out a quiet laugh beneath his breath and settles his hand over yours. he smells good, clean, familiar. like anton.

he opens the passenger door for you before walking around to his side. when he leans across you to fasten your seatbelt, he gets so close that your lips nearly brush his cheek. you breathe him in before he pulls away. when he catches you doing it, he only grins. then he closes your door.

the air between you and anton buzzes in the close confines of the car. you rest your elbow on the center console and your chin atop your fist, ogling anton. you find the strength to keep your hands off of the boy, and he keeps his hands to himself as well. each time he glances over to see your big eyes fixed on him, his grin grows a little wider.

when anton parks in your driveway, you’re out of the car before he can open your door for you. you stumble out of your boots, slip your jacket off of your shoulders, and leave them at the foot of the stairs. you know anton will pick them up.

he reaches your room with a smile plastered on his face and your belongings in his arms. you’re sitting on the edge of your bed with your legs crossed and break into a giggle. you watch him gently set your things down near your closet. he wanders around the room, picking things up and examining them. you grow impatient.

“you’ve been here before, anton.”

“i know.” he pauses, voice soft like how it used to be. “everything’s still the same.”

you dig the heels of your palms into the mattress and lean your weight back. “i barely spent any time here during college.”

“i know,” anton repeats. finally, he turns back to you. when he’s close enough, you hook your fingers into his belt loops and pull him toward you. you rise to your feet and reach your hands up to his shoulders, tracing the broadness of them.

“you’re drunk, yn.” anton’s voice is soft. hearing it in your room again makes you smile. you bring your hands to press against the hard muscles in his chest.

“and you’re…very sexy.” you have to rise onto your toes to try to reach anton’s lips.

“come on, toni. it’s just a kiss.” you whisper against his lips with a grin.

anton knows it won’t just be a kiss. the air between you and him tells him it won’t just be a kiss, too. he remembers the last time he kissed you, and even that wasn’t just a kiss, either. but he knows he can’t leave you hanging there with your lips puckered and your eyes closed. he’s still the same anton who’d do anything to make you happy.

both of you immediately sigh when your lips touch. anton tilts his head down further and brings a hand up to cup the back of your head, deepening the kiss so he can reach you better. he’s gotten better at kissing, but you’re still taken back to the basement of the lake house. you’re still the girl hopelessly in love with her best friend, and anton is still the boy who finally found the courage to kiss you.

the way anton kisses you makes you more and more desperate. when it feels like he’s beginning to pull away, you instinctively rise onto your toes to chase his lips, needing just one more second. you’re fisting the fabric covering his chest and breathing into him when you feel him chuckle against your lips. when you both pull back, there’s saliva around both of your mouths. you watch anton’s tongue dart out to taste you on his lips.

you’re scared he’s going to say something cheeky about how badly you need him, so you push him down to sit on the bed before he gets the chance. the smug grin anton was wearing is replaced with a puzzled raise of his eyebrow. when you pull your leg up to straddle him, the grin returns. anton’s hands find your hips and press you against him. you crash your lips against his again and bring your hands to his hair.

anton’s hands move to your ass as he sucks on your face. you start lifting your hips to settle them back onto his lap, your hands in his hair tugging lightly in desperation. you pull away for air and anton goes to your neck, craning his head to suck and nip at the skin. you throw your head back to give him more room and sigh in content.

anton’s plush lips against your skin make you feel even more needy. the breeze from ceiling fan makes anton’s remaining spit on your skin feel cool in comparison to your body burning up. you can feel his bulge beneath you, and the size of him like this already makes your mouth feel dry. he returns to your lips and sticks his tongue into your mouth.

anton’s hands bring your hips down on his and grind you against his dick. he swears he can feel you. a moan escapes your lips that makes him throb in his pants. he has to hide his face in the crook of your neck, and your arms cradle his head to hold him there.

you stop moving suddenly and anton wonders if you came. he pulls away from your neck to find your eyes closed. “yn?” he murmurs.

you don’t answer. anton laughs in disbelief. he’d kissed you to sleep.

he wipes off your makeup and tucks you under the covers before he leaves.

in the morning, you wake up with an upset stomach and swollen lips. you aren’t afraid to check your phone because anton’s number is still blocked. memories of last night flash through your mind as you brush your teeth, making you giggle to yourself. when you change out of your clothes, you notice anton even left a mark near your shoulder. you can’t help but smile.

you don’t remember how it all ended, though.

it isn’t until later that afternoon that you notice the note tucked by your door.

YOUR APARTMENT FEELS STUPIDLY QUIET. you can hear your heartbeat and every hitch of your breath, and it feels as if everything around you has an echo.

you stare at the photo of you and jimin at that bookstore in atlanta. her hair was much longer then and you were still in your fall semester. she had her hand on your lower back, face tucked into your neck like she couldn’t help herself.

you were smiling. you both were. but now, you’re frowning at your phone like you need to be put into a boxing ring with it.

the shared folder you made months ago tilted “us <3” is full of screenshots, videos, blurry selfies, and multiple pictures of her asleep on your bed like you had all the time in the universe. you wished that you did.

you scroll past a screen recording of a video she sent you last month, voice low and breathy in a hotel bed while whispering that she misses your hands, mouth, and everything in between.

your thighs press together and you let out a groan before you can stop yourself.

“you suck. i hate you.” you mumble to the photo of her mid laugh, head thrown back and shirt half tucked.

obviously, you don’t. you love her. it’s just that it’s been exactly fifty three days since you last saw her in person. i mean, not that you’re counting or anything. not that your phone calendar has pasted heart emojis on all the days she was supposed to visit and didn’t.

soon, she keeps saying.

soon, baby. i’m sorry. i miss you so much.

you bite your lip and scroll all the way back to your one year anniversary. the day she sent you flowers and a long voicemail and said “if i were there, i’d spend the whole day making you smile.”

but you already cried into your pillow. now you’re just sulking. frustrated and overheated. your body keeps buzzing because it knows what time it is, and you’re too stubborn to do anything about it. you wanted her. only her. and she’s—

KNOCK KNOCK.

your heart stops. you sit up and blink.

knock knock knock.

you move without thinking, walking across the room in her shirt and socks, heart climbing up to your esophagus. you check the peephole and see black hair. a turquoise suitcase with shinchan stickers scattered over the material.

no fucking way.

you open the door and jimin is standing there, hair slightly disheveled from the wind. her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are soft when they land on you.

she lifts her hand in a shy little wave. “hey.”

you stare at her like she’s a hallucination.

“i’m dreaming.” you say.

“nope. definitely here.” she smiles and it’s tired and real and so pretty that it makes your chest ache.

“you’re supposed to be at work.”

“yeah. i skipped.”

you stare harder.

she shifts her weight, cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. “can i come in? or are you gonna leave me out here with my very, very heavy suitcase?”

you yank her inside and wrap your arms around her neck without another word.

she catches you like she’s been waiting to. her lips press to your cheek, your jaw, your hair. everywhere. her hands slide under your shirt to find your waist.

you cling harder and breathe her in. “you said soon.”

she laughs breathlessly against your neck. “surprise. i meant now.”

you give her a second to drag in her suitcase and then you’re back on her. but this time, you don’t let go. not even after she closes the door behind you.

she walks you both backwards with her arms around your waist, nose brushing your cheek. her breath is warm when she exhales softly, and then she’s pulling back just enough to look at you.

“your hair is longer.” she says.

you roll your eyes. “took you long enough.”

she grins. “you’re still the prettiest girl i’ve ever seen.”

“you’re tired.”

“not important.”

you exhale and her forehead tips into yours like it’s second nature. it always takes a second for you two to settle when she’s here again, like your body doesn’t believe it until you’re giggling under the pressure of the shower head.

you don’t realize your fingers are still holding the hem of her shirt until she leans back and glances around the space. then her eyebrows lift.

“…it’s so clean in here.”

you raise a brow. “thanks?”

“i’m just saying. you usually have like… three hoodies and snacks somewhere on the coffee table.”

you huff. “i cleaned before i started crying. it was too sad.”

that earns you a laugh. she presses a kiss to your cheek then another to your temple.

“are you eating properly?”

you shrug and she gives you a look.

“yes. kind of. why?” you lie.

“‘cause. everything’s clean. and you’re holding onto me like this.”

your lip trembles. you try to blink it away.

jimin softens immediately.

“did you miss me?”

you bury your face in her chest.

“yeah. missed you so bad i was being mean to your selfies.” you whisper.

she laughs again, wrapping her arms tighter around you.

“come here.” she walks you to the couch, dragging you with her like she’s afraid you might disappear next. then she sinks down and pulls you onto her lap.

you straddle her hips without thinking, arms around her neck again with muscle memory like your brain forgot any other way to exist. she grabs the remote and flips through your streaming apps with one hand, settling on some random movie. it’s something with explosions. you don’t care.

she tucks you closer. you bury your nose in her neck, and for a while, you stay like that.

she leaves soft kisses to your hairline. her fingers trace lazy shapes under your shirt, and her cock hardens slowly against your thigh without even meaning to. your thighs clench without realizing it.

she presses a soft kiss to your jaw.

then another. right under your ear.

then one to the corner of your mouth.

you turn your head just slightly and your lips catch.

and then the kiss that follows is slow, so slow. like she’s trying to remember how your lips taste. you shift, arms tightening around her. her hands slide to your waist, pulling you closer into her lap. her tongue brushes yours and you both sigh into it.

it’s soft. but it’s not innocent.

you break for breath but she doesn’t move far.

“i missed you. i missed you so much.” she murmurs, lips still brushing yours.

you nod with a shaky breath. “kiss me again.”

and she does. her lips move against yours like she forgot how to stop.

the second kiss is hungrier and messier. your noses bump once. your teeth clash softly. but neither of you care.

your fingers slide into her hair, tugging just enough to make her sigh into your mouth. she kisses you like she’s making up for lost time. like every second you spent apart is stored in her body and now that she’s finally here, she’s humming with it. everywhere.

you grind forward without meaning to. just a little. but she feels it. you know because her hands go tight at your waist.

you gasp into her mouth and she swallows it like it’s the first sound she’s ever heard from you.

her hands slip under your shirt, her shirt, dragging along your bare waist, back, and stomach. her thumbs settle right under your chest, but she doesn’t push further. not yet.

she pulls back. barely. her lips are red and her breathing’s uneven. her eyes search yours like they’re asking a question that you already answered.

“baby… did you get this wet just from kissing me?” she murmurs, voice lower now.

your cheeks flush hot. your thighs twitch around her hips as you try to come up with a lie, but then she shifts slightly and presses her thigh between your legs.

the moan that slips from your lips is soft. embarrassing.

her eyes darken immediately.

“oh my god.” she whispers more to herself than to you.

then she leans forward again and kisses you slower this time. her tongue swipes along yours, grip on your waist tightening as you rock forward, grinding down on her leg in short, little motions.

“you’re already soaked.” she says against your mouth. “fuck. how long have you been like this?”

you whimper. “a while.”

she groans before pulling you closer, like that answer flipped something in her chest. you feel her dick twitch under her pants, thick and pulsing between your bodies. your hips move without thought.

you want her. you want her so bad it’s making you dizzy.

“please.” you whisper.

she noses down your jaw, voice shaking slightly. “please what, baby?”

“kiss me. touch me. anything.”

jimin stares at you for a moment too long. like you just gave her permission to completely lose her mind.

then her voice drops. “anything?”

“anything.”

her grip tightens on your waist. “then get on your knees, baby.”

you slide down without hesitation, eyes locked on hers the whole way. you’re already trembling, high off of the sound of her voice and the weight of her stare.

you hook your fingers into her waistband. “can i?”

she leans back, nodding slowly. “yeah. take it off. want you to show me how much you missed it.”

you drag her pants and briefs down her thighs. her cock springs free, thick and flushed and already leaking.

you go still and she smirks. “something wrong, baby?”

you shake your head. “it’s just been a while. and you’re already so hard.”

“yeah. because i walked in and saw you in my shirt with no panties and—” she murmurs, but you cut her off once you moan softly and wrap your hand around her. her cock is warm in your palm, tip sticky with precum.

“fuck.” she breathes, hips flexing just barely. she grabs her base with one hand and taps her tip against your tongue. once. twice. then again, a little harder.

wet sounds echo in the room as her cock slaps your tongue, precum smearing across your lips and chin. you moan for it, eyes fluttering as your jaw goes slack.

“fuck, look at you. tongue out for me like a good little slut.” she groans.

you nod and slowly lick a stripe up her shaft, letting your tongue swirl around the head before leaving a soft and open mouthed kiss. she curses under her breath.

“tease.” she mutters.

you hum and take her in deeper.

the first moan that leaves her is low. you feel it vibrate all the way down to your toes.

“fuck, that’s it. just like that, baby.” she moans, sliding her hand into your hair.

you take more of her in, slow and steady, until your nose brushes the base and she groans.

“shit— missed this mouth so bad. been jerking off for weeks thinking about how wet you get this dick.” she pants, barely holding still.

you hollow your cheeks and suck harder, taking more of her with every pass. your eyes flutter closed and your free hand trails down your own body. you’re soaked. aching, even. you slip two fingers inside yourself and moan around her length.

her head tips back. “oh my god. you’re fingering yourself?”

you whimper in response.

“shit— shit, baby, don’t stop. fuck— yeah, just like that—”

her voice is a mess, slipping between moans and praise and panting curses. her hips jerk every time your throat tightens around her.

you start moving faster, spit dripping down your chin. your fingers speed up in your cunt and you’re whining around her dick, hips grinding against nothing.

“fuck, baby— you love this dick, don’t you?” she groans.

you nod with glazed eyes, cockdrunk and desperate.

“shit, angel— look at me. you’re so fucking pretty like this.” she grips your chin, pulling you up slightly. her cock slides halfway out of your mouth.

you try to take her back in, but she stops you. you whimper in protest.

then she pushes your head back down, slow and steady, and fucks your mouth. soft at first, then rougher, like it’s been too long without you and she can’t control it. you moan around her and her whole body shudders.

“i need to be inside you.” she says suddenly, pulling you off with a wet pop. your lips are swollen, hand still shamelessly buried between your legs. she drags you up into her lap and kisses you hard. she bites your lip she wants her cock back in your mouth but needs it in your cunt more.

“please. fuck me, jimin.” you beg.

she exhales hard through her nose then grabs you under the thighs and lifts you up a bit, pushing you back onto the couch until you’re flat. your legs bend over her lap, shirt riding up your waist.

“begging like that. you don’t even know what you’re asking for.” she breathes, standing up on one knee.

“i do— i want it. want you—” you gasp.

she groans deep in her chest and grabs the base of her length, angling it against your slick entrance but not pushing in. she drags the head up and down your soaked folds, tapping it right against your clit.

you bite your lip. “fuck, jimin..”

“you missed this dick that bad?” she asks, slapping the tip against your cunt again. you nod frantically, fingers digging into her arms.

“please, put it in, i need it so bad—”

“say it louder.” she breathes.

“missed you, baby. need you to fill me up. need to feel you inside me, please—“

she strokes herself once then lines up and presses the tip to your entrance. her eyes stay locked on yours the whole time as she sinks in. all the way.

your jaw drops open on a moan. she fills you so deep and slow it almost hurts. your walls clench tight around her, and her hands go to your waist like she needs to hold you steady or she might lose it.

“shit. you’re fucking soaking.” she moans.

“because i— fuck, jimin— i missed you so much.” you whimper as she bottoms out.

“yeah? this needy over my dick, baby? you’ve been waiting like this?” you nod fast.

“i’ve been— all month. thought about you every night—”

she pulls out halfway then slams back in. you arch, clutching the cushions.

“every night? did you touch yourself thinking about me filling you up?” she pants, pace already picking up.

“yes— fuck, yes—”

“let me hear it, baby. let the whole building hear how good i make you feel.”

you cry out when she starts to fuck you rougher, hips moving in sharp thrusts that punch moans out of your throat. her hands slide under your knees, pushing your legs up and wider. you’re splayed open, dripping around her cock. the wet sound of your cunt is so obscene it makes her curse.

“taking me so good. you’re so fucking pretty— fuck.” she huffs.

your eyes roll back, back arching. “yes— fuck, jimin!”

you’re dizzy with it. the way she’s stretching you, how good the pace feels, and she leans down and kisses you hard even when you can barely breathe.

then she stops.

you whine, panicking, until she grins. her hand slides down your back as she flips you over onto your stomach.

you don’t even have time to react. she grabs your hips and pulls you up to your knees, then she’s sliding back in from behind in one thrust.

you sob into the couch.

“oh my god— baby—!”

“shh. you wanted this. keep your legs open. let me fuck you how you need it.” she moans in your ear.

you nod, drooling on the cushion, thighs shaking.

her thrusts are deep and brutal, length dragging along your g-spot so good you can’t do anything but moan and take it. her hand finds your wrists, yanking them behind your back.

then she firmly grabs both and holds them there with one hand while the other anchors your waist.

she starts fucking you harder. deeper. your body jerks forward with every stroke, but her grip keeps you right where she wants you.

“say it. say whose pussy this is.” she demands. the couch is creaking.

“yours— fuck, jimin— yours, yours—”

“so fucking good for me. god, you’re so sexy.”

you feel her lean over you, chest pressed to your back, length still slamming into you while her mouth brushes your neck.

“want me to fill you up, baby?” she whispers.

“yes, please! need it so bad—“

“yeah? you want me to breed you, huh?” she pants.

your jaw falls open and your legs tremble, unable to keep holding you up. “fuck— fuck!”

you cum like that. hands bound while you’re bent over, crying out her name into the couch cushions as you clench around her. she’s not far behind.

she curses, losing her rhythm before she thrusts deep one last time and stays there. her cock pulses as she cums inside you with a moan so hot you clench and almost cum again.

you both stay there, panting.

she doesn’t let go of your wrists right away or pull out either. she rests her cheek against your back and hums like she finally feels complete again.

then you grind your ass against her hips.

“fuck, baby. you wanna go again?” she mumbles, still buried in your soaked cunt.

“y-yeah.” you hum greedily, turning your head to look at her.

she groans, slapping your ass. “yeah? you want it?”

you grind harder, yelping and nodding quickly as she sits up again. “yeah— fuck me. fuck me ‘til i can’t walk.”

jimin laughs under her breath, almost disbelieving. “you’re insane.” she murmurs, but her voice is low, wrecked with how much she wants you. “my girl’s gone fucking stupid on dick already.”

“mhm.” you hum, dizzy and cockdrunk, eyes fluttering as you push back against her again, needy and desperate. “so fuckin’ dumb for you. please, jimin. please.”

she groans and pulls out, the wet drag making you shudder. then she’s standing, grabbing your jaw, tilting your face back with fingers still trembling from how tight you were.

you don’t know how long it’s been. minutes? maybe hours? time stopped meaning anything after your third orgasm.

but you got exactly what you asked for.

you’re bent over the kitchen counter now, one leg lifted onto the cool marble, cheek pressed to your forearm while jimin rails you from behind like she’s trying to fuck the sanity out of you.

your throat is hoarse from moaning. your cunt is drenched. the marble underneath you is smeared with slick.

“f-fuck— fuck, jimin—” your voice breaks on a sob.

“so fucking tight, baby.” she breathes behind you, voice low and fucked out. “so good— you’re creaming all over me.”

her thrusts don’t let up. her length is dragging against your walls like she’s trying to ruin you, hips slapping into your ass with a rhythm so brutal you can’t keep your moans in. you’re shaking under her, legs rendered completely useless.

“you said— said you wanted this, right?” she pants, one hand digging into your hip, the other sliding up your spine to press between your shoulders and arch your back deeper. “said fuck you til you can’t walk. you meant it?”

you nod frantically, walls clenching around her cock. “yes— yes— i meant it—”

“fucking filthy girl. been thinking about this pussy for weeks. been dreaming about this— fuck— every night.” she groans and you feel her lean over you, chest pressing into your back as she grinds in deep.

you whimper, drool smeared across your arm. “shoulda called me— would’ve let you hear me cum.”

“don’t say that shit or i’ll fucking lose it.” she groans, slamming into you harder.

you cry out, knees buckling.

“shit, baby. you’re making a mess on the counter, dripping down your fucking legs. this pussy missed me that bad?” she mutters like she’s in awe.

“needed you— been needy for you all month, jimin, please—” your voice is wrecked.

“yeah? you needed me to fill you up?” she pants, hand sliding down to your stomach.

you sob, nodding like your life depends on it. “please— fill me again— wanna cum with you inside—”

“fuck. say it again.” her hips stutter like she can’t get enough of hearing you say that.

“fill me up, jimin. please. wanna be full of you. want your cum dripping out of me—”

she moans deep in her chest and grabs your jaw, yanking your head back so she can kiss you sideways. her other hand stays at your hip, steadying you while her cock pounds up into your cunt.

you moan into her mouth and she pulls back with a gasp. “gonna knock you up, baby. shit, you’re shaking.”

“i’m close.” you cry, thighs trembling violently.

“cum on my dick then, baby. make a mess on it.”

and your orgasm hits you. you’re loud, sobbing and shaking. you clench so tight around her she curses, eyes slamming shut as she fucks you through it.

“fuck, fuck— baby— gonna cum— gonna fill this pretty pussy up—“ she pants, hips jerking.

you push back onto her cock desperately. “please, jimin— wanna be leaking all night—”

her eyes roll back and she cums with a broken groan, cock buried to the hilt as she unloads inside of you. her hips grind through the aftershocks like she’s high on the feeling of you.

you both go still, panting and trembling.

then she pulls out slowly, and it’s wet. her cum spills out and her hand strokes over your ass once, then slides back between your legs to spread you open and watch more of it drip.

“fuck. wanna fuck you again just to push it deeper.” she whispers.

you whimper and look back at her. “then do it.”

jimin smirks. “kitchen’s not the only room in this apartment.”

“then fuck me in every single one.”