#dark riize

you were too tired to care the first time you saw him.

it was past seven, and everything outside grew darker as the sun set. the train coach smelled faintly of damp coats and old air conditioning. you’d just finished your last class of the week, eyes dry from staring at slides for hours, your shoulders aching under the weight of your tote... all you wanted was to lean against the cool glass and zone out until your stop. that’s when you noticed him.

a tall guy, maybe early twenties... your age. leaning casually against the wall near the far doors. black hoodie, plain jeans, one hand loosely hooked into his pocket. his face was unfairly sharp for someone you’d see on public transport. hair falling into his eyes, cheekbones high, the kind of bone structure you’d expect from a campus heartthrob or some underground model. a handsome stranger. that was all you thought. your stop came, and you forgot about him.

but the next time you boarded, there he was again. same coach. same spot. same hoodie.

you thought it was a coincidence. you even caught yourself glancing over once or twice, just to check. he didn’t smile, didn’t look away when your eyes met, just watched you with an unreadable focus. it wasn’t the kind of stare that tried to be polite or quick. it lingered, like he was cataloging you piece by piece.

the following night, you noticed the little things. how he didnt have a bag with him, despite it being late enough that most people were heading home from either work or school. the way he boarded from the same door you did, no matter which station you got on from. the way he stood far enough to never touch you, yet close enough that you could hear the faint shift of fabric whenever he adjusted his stance.

when you stepped onto the train again the next day, your chest tightened. different hoodie this time, dark grey instead of black, but he stood in the same posture, eyes flicking to you like he’d been waiting. you told yourself you were imagining it. big city. busy nights. people overlapped all the time.

and yet… there was that moment, when the train rattled through a tunnel and you caught his reflection in the window beside you. he wasn’t pretending to look elsewhere. he wasn’t pretending at all. his gaze stayed on you... unblinking.

another night came, the pattern repeated. you were already tense before you even saw him. the station platform was unusually quiet, just the hum of the escalator and the faint echoes of footsteps. you told yourself not to check. don’t look for him. don’t give yourself more reasons to feel paranoid. but when the train doors slid open, there he was. same seat, same demeanor. watching you step in like it was routine. you sat two rows down, pulling your bag onto your lap, pretending to scroll through your phone. your eyes stayed fixed on the screen, but you could feel it. the prickling awareness of being seen.

then you heard it. at first you thought it was the hiss of the train brakes or the mumble of someone’s music bleeding from their headphones. but no… his voice was low, soft, almost too quiet to catch.

“…pretty… so tired tonight…”

your stomach dropped. was he talking to you? you looked up, and his gaze didn’t waver. lips moving faintly, his tone just above the clatter of the tracks.

“…mm… wanna see you… closer…”

you couldn’t be sure. maybe it wasn’t meant for you. maybe he was on a call. but his hands were empty, no phone, no earbuds. just that soft, muttered thread of words. like he wasn’t speaking to you exactly, but to himself… about you.

you tried really hard to ignore him let yourself sink further into the seat, body heavy with exhaustion, but then a lady stepped in. pregnant. her hands resting protectively over her rounded belly. the sight made guilt stab through your chest. you hated how your first thought was selfish, how badly you wanted to stay sitting, how the ache in your legs begged you not to move. it felt mean, wrong, but you couldn’t ignore it. with a reluctant sigh, you pushed yourself up, every muscle protesting. you forced a small smile at her as you passed, then made your way near the door, planting yourself against it for support.

you only closed your eyes for a few minutes when you realized the mystery guy got closer. you didn’t notice until you felt the warmth of someone behind you and the faint rustle of his jacket when the train swayed. he didn’t touch you, not really… but when you glanced over your shoulder, his head tilted the slightest bit, like he’d been leaning just enough to catch the scent of your shampoo.

your gaze should’ve snapped away, but it didn’t. it dipped lower, catching the unmistakable shape of his hand pressed flat against himself. he wasn’t hiding it. his palm cupped the heavy outline straining beneath the dark fabric of his sweatpants, fingers flexing like he couldn’t stop himself. the movement was deliberate… up, down, squeezing along the bulge of his cock like he was testing how hard he’d gotten just from standing this close to you. you saw the way his knuckles tightened, how his hips twitched forward almost subtly, dragging his length against his own hand.

that was when you noticed it. looped to his belt, half hidden under his hoodie. a faded lanyard, the kind given out by campuses. the ID card inside was scratched, edges cloudy, but the print was still legible. Anton Lee.

the name stuck in your head, sharp as a splinter. anton. not just a stranger anymore.

heat rose in your face, a sick, crawling kind of awareness rooting you in place. around you, the train rattled, people shifted, no one noticed. but you saw it. you saw the way his jaw clenched, a thin breath shuddering from his chest as he ground his palm down slow, like he was savoring it. then, he mouthed something. you couldn’t hear it over the chatter, but you could read it.

don’t get off alone.

it sent a chill down your spine. his voice was quiet, but the intent was clear. your instincts screamed for you to run, to escape his intoxicating presence. you didn’t want to engage, didn’t want to acknowledge what lay beneath the surface of this interaction.

your stop came. people filtered out around you, and you didn’t look back. until you reached the escalator.

you heard his footsteps. steady and matching yours. you took the long way out of the station, looping past the convenience store instead of going straight home. he didn’t close the distance, didn’t say a word... just trailed at that perfect distance, far enough to vanish at a glance, near enough to follow without looking like he was.

when you finally reached your street, you dared a glance over your shoulder. he was there. hands in pockets. watching you. and this time, when you unlocked your door, you swore you saw the corner of his mouth lift.

your body shivered and your hair was still frizzy from the gentle drizzle of rain. it had been days since you last saw anton, and as you boarded the train, you were too busy wiping your glasses to notice him. exhaustion from a late lecture weighed heavily on you. it wasn’t until the train jolted into motion that you felt that familiar itch at the back of your neck. you didn’t need to look, you already know. his reflection in the window confirmed your suspicion, same sharp jawline, same stillness, and that steady gaze that held yours even when you caught it.

the ride was quiet. just the squeal of the tracks, a cough from someone three rows away, and his whispers again. not constant and never obvious. just small bursts, like thoughts escaping before he could swallow them back.

“…mm… wearing that again…”

“…wet hair… pretty…”

you tried to tune him out, eyes glued to the scrolling station names. you told yourself not to flinch when the train rocked and his arm brushed yours. when your stop came, you moved fast, slipping into the crowd, hoping the rain would be enough to make him stay behind.

it wasn’t.

you caught the sound first. the unhurried taps of his shoes on wet pavement behind you. he walked slow, not rushing and that made your skin crawl even more. you took the usual route home, but halfway down the narrow side street, your umbrella got caught on a low hanging branch. cursing yourself, you stopped for a split second to free it, and it was long enough for him to close the distance. when you straightened, he was there. not touching, not blocking the way. just close enough that you could feel the faint heat of him against the cool rain. his eyes dragged slowly over your face, down your shoulders, then back up again.

“you always walk this way...” anton said finally. not a question. just an observation. his voice was quiet, low enough that you had to lean in without meaning to. the corner of his mouth curled, the same creepy smile you’d seen the other night.

“you don’t look scared...”

“i’m not.” you lied.

he chuckled under his breath, tilting his head like he was studying something rare. then, softer, almost to himself. “…bet you’d look so pretty pressed against that wall.”

you felt your heart pulsing in your throat. the wall he meant was right there, rough brick and half hidden from the streetlights. before you could move, his hand brushed your wrist. not gripping, just a fleeting touch, like he was testing how far you’d let him go. when you didn’t pull away fast enough, his fingers slid higher, curling loosely around your forearm as he guided you backward, step by step, until your shoulders met the damp brick.

the rain pattered harder, masking the sound of his breathing. you didn’t want to show him how scared you were, but you can’t control the tears from leaving your eyes. at this point, you’re helpless. he leaned in, close enough that you could feel his words against your cheek when he murmured.

“been thinking about you, every night on that train… how soft you’d be if i just…” his hand skimmed your hip. not groping. just slow traces that made your stomach knot.

“you’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

the rain clung to your clothes, making the fabric heavy, clingy, almost see through under the weak streetlight. anton’s gaze was fixed on the way your shirt stuck to your chest, his breath slowing like he was trying to savor every inch. his fingers tightened just enough on your hip to make you feel the pressure through the damp fabric.

“god, you’re so fucking small up close...” he muttered, almost like it wasn’t meant for you to hear. his other hand came up, brushing the hair from your cheek, then lingering, his thumb dragging along your jaw. his lips ghosting yours, the hot breath fanning your face made you want to throw up.

“you’ve been walking past me for days, and you didn’t even notice...” he whispered, his voice rough.

“you think i don’t know exactly what time your classes end? what seat you take on the train?”

the words made you tense, but his body was warm, the wall behind you cold, and his hand… now sliding down, under your shirt. it made your stopped breathing. he touches were careful, like he’d been imagining this in detail long before tonight. his palm smoothed over your stomach before dipping lower, fingers pressing against the heat between your legs through your skirt.

“mm… so warm. if i split you open right now, you’d leak all over yourself...” he murmured, his eyes flicking up to watch your face.

the press of his fingertips grew firmer, pushing and poking sharply on your sensitive nub until you felt the heat coil low in your belly despite yourself hating it. his breathing hitched when you shifted against him, like the smallest reaction from you fed something in him. without warning, he stepped in closer. chest to yours, his knee sliding between your legs, nudging them apart just enough for him to slip his hand underneath. cold air rushed in before his fingers found you again, this time against bare skin.

“…fuck—so soft.” he hissed, curling his fingers, spreading you open just slightly. “been thinking about how you’d struggle to take me, squeezing me like a stupid girl” two fingers dipped lower, brushing where you were already slick from the mix of adrenaline and something you didn’t want to name.

“yeah just like that… let me feel you…”

he leaned in, his mouth at your ear, voice low and shaky now. “if you don’t stop me, i’m not stopping either.” the hand between your legs didn’t leave, even when you squirmed against the wall in a nervous half step. anton’s voice was low, almost soothing, like he was talking you into something instead of forcing it.

“that’s it… just relax for me, pretty.” he murmured, rubbing slow circles against your clit with the pads of his fingers, making the slick sounds between you embarrassingly loud in the quiet alley. “i told you… i’ve been waiting. you don’t have to think, just feel me.”

you barely had a moment to breathe before he pulled his fingers away, only to fumble at his belt. the quiet clink of the buckle felt deafening. your felt like your chest about to explode, back pressed harder into the wall like maybe if you tried hard enough, it could save you from him, but your body stayed where it was… like you were pinned by something invisible. anton didn’t look away from your face when he freed himself, his cock heavy and flushed in the cold night air. he stroked himself once, slow, the sound of his palm wet from you.

“look at you..” he whispered, almost a laugh in his tone. “already messy for me.”

he grabbed your thigh, lifting it slightly, pressing forward until the head of his cock nudged between your folds. anton didn’t even bother to take your panty off, just pulled it to the side and started shoving himself in you. you wanted to scream but nothing came out. the heat and the stretch were torture, your fingers instinctively clutching at the front of his shirt.

“shhh...” he soothed, his mouth brushing your temple. “let me in… you’re so tight, pretty… fuck—”

he pushed deeper, slow but relentless, until he was fully seated inside you, the wet sound of him filling you making his breath stutter. his hips pressed flush against yours, his hand still gripping your thigh to keep you open for him. the way he started kissing your neck like it was full of love... oh, you wished the thunder would strike you dead. you hated how it made you feel.

“god… i knew you’d fit me...” he breathed, eyes half lidded, lips brushing your ear. “knew you’d take me all the way in like a good doll.”

his thrusts started shallow, grinding deep into you with each push, his other hand cupping the back of your neck to hold you still. every time you made a small sound, he groaned, like your noises were enabling him.

“that’s right… just let me fuck my pretty passenger…” his words were broken by sharp exhales as his pace grew harder. “you’ve been walking past me for days, and all i could think about was this...” his hips slammed forward, abusing your cervix. you swear you weren’t able to breathe for a few seconds. he chuckled softly, the sound dark and almost affectionate.

“mine now… all mine, pretty thing.”

the pace turned rougher, the slap of his hips echoing in the narrow space, his breath coming out in short, desperate bursts. you barely realized his hand had slid between you again until his thumb pressed against your clit, forcing you to gasp as a wave of involuntary pleasure hit you.

“come on, doll… come with me.” he groaned, and your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. heat coiling, snapping, your cry muffled against his shoulder as you clenched around him.

anton’s thrusts turned brutal, chasing his own high even when your pleas were loud in his ears. he spilled into you without warning, the sensation was overwhelming you could feel your consciousness starting to leave you. he stayed buried inside you, his breath hot and rough against your neck, one hand still gripping the back of your head like he wasn’t ready to let go.

when he finally pulled back, it wasn’t gentle. the sudden emptiness made you stumble, and his hand caught your jaw, forcing your eyes up to his. the warmth you saw in his eyes from moments ago was gone. his expression was dead, the dark gleam in his eyes making the cold night felt harsher against your skin.

He learned your routine in one week. It wasn't hard. You're a creature of habit, which he loves about you. You go to class, you go to the library, you go to the café on 8th and Maple. The one where he works. The one where he makes your drink before you even order it because he knows oat milk latte, extra shot, one pump vanilla. You always look surprised when he hands it to you, like you can't believe someone remembered. 

He tells himself he's only following you to make sure you're safe. That's reasonable. That's what anyone would do. The world is full of bad people, and you're so soft, so trusting, walking around with your headphones in and your head in the clouds. Someone has to watch out for you. Someone has to be there.

Today was like any other, at first. You wrapped up your last class of the week, and he watched you pack your bag, watched you tuck your hair behind your ear, watched you take your time the way you always do. But then you didn't. You looked at your phone, and your face changed to this little flicker of something, excitement maybe and suddenly you were shoving your books in your bag and heading for the door. 

He had to push past three people to get out, knocked someone's coffee out of their hand, and didn't care. He caught up to you half a block later, kept his distance, followed you home. You rushed inside like you had somewhere to be, and he stood across the street and watched your window until the light came on. second floor, second from the left. He smiled. You were home. You were safe.

He was already turning to leave for his shift when your door opened again.

And there you were. Different. You'd changed into a dress, something dark blue, something that showed your shoulders, and you'd put on makeup, and your hair was down and shiny, and you looked like a dream. You looked like someone he didn't know. You looked like someone going somewhere he couldn't follow.

But he followed. Of course he followed.

You walked to the nice part of town, the part with the valet parking and the restaurants that don't have menus in the window. You went into one of them, all candlelight and white tablecloths, and he stood outside and watched you through the glass. He watched you walk to a table in the corner. He watched you smile at someone sitting there. A guy. Dark hair, nice jacket, the kind of face that probably never had to try.

He thought, okay. A friend. You're meeting a friend. That's fine. You're allowed to have friends. And then you leaned down and kissed him. Not on the cheek. On the mouth. A real kiss, the kind that means something, the kind that means everything.

Eunseok doesn't remember walking away. He just knows that suddenly he's on the other side of the street, and his hands are shaking, and there's this noise in his head, this high, thin whine, like a tea kettle about to scream. Because that guy in there, with his hand on your waist, with his mouth on yours and he doesn't know you.

 He doesn't know that you bite your lip when you're thinking. He doesn't know that you trace shapes on tabletops when you're bored. He doesn't know that you leave your blinds open at night, just a crack, and that sometimes Eunseok stands on the fire escape and watches you read, watches you fall asleep, watches you turn over and mumble things in your sleep. He doesn't know any of that.

That guy is a stranger. And you kissed him like he wasn't.

Eunseok stands on the street corner, and he watches the restaurant, and he waits. He'll wait all night. He'll wait forever if he has to. Because eventually you'll come out, and you'll walk home, and you'll be alone again. And he'll be there. He'll always be there.

You don't know it yet, but you're his. You've been his since that Tuesday at 11:47. You just forgot to tell that guy. He'll help you remember.

Eunseok had a plan. A good one. He was going to meet you, finally meet you, in a way that felt natural. Like fate. Maybe you'd drop your books at the café, and he'd be there to pick them up. Maybe you'd order your usual and he'd say something funny about the weather, something charming, and you'd laugh that pretty laugh, and he'd say, hey, I get off in an hour, if you want to hang out. 

And you'd say yes. Of course you'd say yes. Because you're supposed to be together. That's the whole point. But this stranger had to ruin everything.

Eunseok stood outside the restaurant, hands in his pockets, and watched you through the window. Watched you smile. Watched you eat. Watched you laugh at something that guy said, some stupid joke probably, and your head tipped back and your shoulders shook and Eunseok wanted to be the one making you do that. 

He wanted to be sitting across from you, watching your eyes crinkle, watching you forget the rest of the world exists. Hours passed. He didn't move. 

Finally you stood up. Paid. Left. And there you were, standing outside under the streetlight, looking up at the sky like a little kid. You pointed at something, a star, a planet, who cares and that guy smiled at you like he had any right to look at you that way. You checked your phone, said something, and then you both turned and started walking.

Down the street. Toward your building. Holding hands.

Eunseok followed. Of course he followed. He stayed behind a parked car across the street. His heart was hammering. You didn't notice him. You were too busy looking at that guy, smiling at that guy, your fingers tangled with his like they belonged there. Like they'd always belonged there.

And Eunseok looked at that guy's neck. Looked at the curve of it, the way it moved when he laughed. He thought about how easy it would be. How fast. One second, two seconds, and that guy would never touch you again.

You reached your building. You stopped at the door. And you smiled at him at that stranger, that nobody like you was in love. Like you were actually in love with him. And Eunseok felt something boil over inside him, something hot and ugly and red.

You kissed him. Not a long kiss, but long enough. Long enough to mean something. And then you said something, words Eunseok couldn't hear, and you walked up to your door. You turned around at the last second, and you blew a kiss. A flying kiss.

The stranger pretended to catch it and you laughed. That pretty sound. The one that belongs to Eunseok. The one he hears in his sleep. And then you went inside.

The door closed. The guy stood there for a minute, smiling like an idiot, then turned and walked away. Eunseok watched him go, watched his back get smaller and smaller. And he thought about how easy it would be. How fast. Next time.

He stayed there, behind the car, and looked up at your window. The light came on. second floor, second from the left. He saw your shadow move across the curtain. He imagined you taking off your dress, washing your face, climbing into bed. 

He imagined you thinking about that guy, smiling about that guy, falling asleep with that guy's name in your head. He waited until your light went out. And then he waited some more.

Eunseok waited until the street was empty. Until the cars stopped passing, until the windows across the way went dark, until the world felt like it belonged to just him and you. Then he crossed the street.

Your door. He'd imagined touching this door a thousand times. Running his hands over the wood, pressing his ear against it, wondering what sounds lived on the other side. And now here he was. Here he actually was.

His hand traced the wood. Slow. Reverent. Like touching something holy. He smiled, because this was happening, this was really happening, and then he bent down. The mat. The ugly little mat with the flowers on it, the one you never remember to straighten. 

He'd watched you lift it so many times, watched you crouch down and feel around for the key you always forgot, and he'd thought, someday. Someday I'll be the one reaching under that mat.

Today was someday.

The key glinted in the streetlight. Small. Ordinary. Everything. He picked it up, and his fingers closed around it, and he felt the warmth of it, the warmth of your hands on it, and he almost couldn't breathe. He put it in the lock. Turned. Heard the click. And then he was inside.

Your home. Your actual home. The air was different here softer, warmer, and there was a smell, that sweet smell, the one that clings to your clothes and your hair and the back of your neck. He stood in the dark hallway and just breathed it in. Let it fill his lungs. Let it become part of him.

He gave himself a little tour. Why not? It's his home too, eventually. He walked through the archway into the living room. Cozy. That's the word. You made it cozy, with the soft blankets and the candles you never burn and the books stacked on the floor because you don't have enough shelves. 

He sat on your couch. Your couch. He could feel the dent where you sit, the way the cushion gives a little more on one side. He closed his eyes and imagined you there, curled up, reading, maybe wearing those soft socks with the patterns on them. And then he opened his eyes and saw the picture.

On the center table. Right there, like you wanted him to see it. You and that guy. That stranger. Your faces pressed together, smiling, happy, like you belonged to each other. Like you'd always belonged to each other. 

Eunseok picked up the frame, held it in both hands. Looked at your face first, your pretty, pretty face and then looked at the guys. That stupid smile. That stupid jacket. That stupid hand on your shoulder like he had any right.

He ripped open the back of the frame. The little metal tabs cut his thumb, but he didn't feel it. He pulled the picture out and tore it right down the middle. Your half. Guys half. He dropped his part on the floor, let it fall like trash, because that's what it was. 

And the other half, your half, your beautiful half he folded carefully and slid into his pocket. Right over his heart. Then he stood up. There was more. There was always more.

He made his way up the stairs, slow, savoring. His hand traced the railing, and he imagined your hand doing the same thing every day. Your palm on this wood. Your fingers curling around it. He wondered if you ran up when you were excited or trudged up when you were tired. 

He wondered about everything. The top of the stairs. A hallway. Two doors. One open, the bathroom, he could see the edge of the shower curtain. One closed. Your bedroom.

He put his hand on the knob. Cold metal. Perfect. And he thought about how easy it would be. How fast. One twist, and he could be inside. He could lie on your bed. He could put his face in your pillow. He could wait for you to come home, and when you walked in, when you saw him there, you'd understand. 

You'd finally understand that this is where you belong. With him. Together. He didn't open the door. Not yet. But his hand stayed on the knob. And he smiled. Because he could. That's the thing. He could do it whenever he wants. Tonight. Tomorrow. Any night.

Eunseok pushed the door open, and there you were. There you actually were.

In all your glory. Sleeping. Pretty. So pretty it made his chest hurt. The light from the window spilled a little light across your bed, just enough to see, just enough to drink you in. You were on your side, the sheet pooled at your waist, and your top half..god, your top half was covered by this little tank top, something small and soft, with a tiny bow right in the center. 

Right between your breasts. The swell of them moved with your breathing, slow and steady, like waves. Like you were dreaming something nice. Something peaceful.

Your skin. He'd imagined your skin a thousand times. Imagine what it would feel like, what it would taste like, whether you'd be warm or cool to the touch. And now here you are. Here he was. He sat down on the edge of your bed and the mattress dipped, just a little.

He reached out. He couldn't help it. His fingers found your neck, that soft curve where your pulse lived, and he traced it. Light. Gentle. Like you were made of glass. Like you were made for him.

He was so caught up…so lost in the feel of you, the warmth of you, the impossible reality of finally touching you that he didn't notice at first. Didn't notice that your breathing changed. Didn't notice that your eyes were open. And then he looked up. And you were looking at him.

Wide eyes. Huge eyes. The kind of eyes that see a stranger in their bedroom in the middle of the night. The kind of eyes that don't understand yet. "Hey babe," he said, and his voice came out soft, gentle, the way you talk to something frightened. "I missed you." You blinked. Your mouth opened. Closed. It opened again.

"Who are you?"

The words hit him like a slap. Who are you? Like he was nobody. Like he was nothing. Like you didn't know that he's the one who makes your coffee every morning, the one who watches you walk home every night, the one who's been loving you since that Tuesday at 11:47.

"It's me," he said, and he tried to smile, trying to make it okay. "It's Eunseok." You pushed his hand away. Actually pushed it. Like he was garbage. Like he was a stranger. "Get out." Your voice was small but sharp. "Get out now, and I won't call the police." Police. The word hung in the air between you, ugly and wrong. Police. Like this was a crime. Like love was a crime.

Eunseok tilted his head. Frowned. You were confused, that was all. Still sleepy. Still not understanding. "Calm down, love," he said, and he reached for your face again, wanting to smooth the fear away, wanting to make you see. "You're probably still sleepy. Just—"

You slapped his hand. Actually slapped it. The sound cracked through the room, sharp and disrespectful. And Eunseok felt something shift. Something went hot and tight in his chest.

He reached for you again to grab you, to hold you, to make you understand and your fist connected with his nose. A punch. You punched him. Pain exploded across his face, hot and wet, and his head snapped back and he let go, hands flying to his nose, blood dripping through his fingers.

And when he looked at you again, everything was red.

He grabbed you by the hair. Handful of it, yanking, and you screamed, the kind that should wake the neighbors but he didn't care. He pulled you off the bed, dragged you across the floor, and you landed hard, the impact punching the air out of you. 

He stood over you, breathing hard, blood still dripping, and he heard himself yelling but the words didn't matter. What mattered was that you did this. You made it ugly. You made it violent. This could've been sweet. This could've been beautiful. But you had to be such a noisy bitch.

You scrambled up. Ran for the door. Fast, faster than he expected, but not fast enough. He caught you, grabbed you, slammed you into the wall. Your body hit hard, and he was on you, pressing against you, trapping you there with his weight and his heat and his anger. And then you stopped moving.

You went still. Completely still. And he knew why. Because you could feel him. Pressing into you from behind. Hard and ready and so desperate for you it hurts.

"You feel what you do to me?" he murmured, and his voice was soft again now, almost wondering. His nose nestled into your hair, breathing in. Roses. Sweet roses. Your shampoo. He'd smelled it a hundred times from across the café, but this…this was different. This was everywhere. This was everything.

"Eunseok… please get off me." Your voice was shaking. Begging. You turned your neck, trying to look at him, trying to reach him with your eyes. He smiled. "No, love." The words came out whiny. Needy. The way a child asks for something they want more than anything in the world.

"I need you. I need this." His hand slid around your body, down your stomach, lower, lower, until he found you. And when he did when he felt how wet you were, how ready he smiled against your hair. "And it seems you want this too."

You tried to squirm away, but he was faster. His hand grabbed the hem of your shorts, yanked them down, and they fell to the floor with your underwear, pooling around your ankles. His hand came back, found you again, and his fingers started moving. Circles. Slow at first. Teasing. Exploring. Your breath hitched. You couldn't help it. He heard it, felt it, and he smiled.

The other hand wrapped around your waist, pressing you harder into the wall, holding you steady while his fingers worked. Circles, then deeper, then a finger pushing inside. Slow. So slow. He wanted you to feel every second of it. Every inch. You groaned. Tried to hide it. Failed.

"Please," you whispered. "Please stop." But you were tight around him, and when he felt you clench, he sped up. Faster. Harder. Matching the rhythm of his own breathing, his own need. "You gonna come, love?" he whispered against your ear. "This pussy gonna come?"

You didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Your body was betraying you, arching into his hand, chasing something you didn't want to want. And when you came..when you finally shattered against his fingers, body lurching forward, a sound escaping your throat that wasn't quite a scream, he smiled. He pulled out slowly. Let you feel the emptiness. And then he tapped your clit. Lightly. Once. Twice. Three times.

You flinched with every tap. Every flinch made him laugh. "See?" he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair. "I knew you'd understand eventually. I knew you'd feel it too."

He pulled back and turned you around just enough to look at you. To see your face. Your tears. Your fear. And he smiled, soft and sweet, like this was exactly what he'd always wanted. “Fuck” he said looking at you.

He pushed you into the wall. Not hard, not mean, just firm. The way you push someone when you need them to understand something important. The wall shook a little but you didn't notice. You never notice anything. That's okay. He notices enough for both of you.

He kissed you like a hungry man. Like a man who'd been starving his whole life and finally, finally got to eat. His mouth on yours, taking, taking, because you'd been holding out on him and he deserved this. He deserved you.

His free hand, the one not gripping your waist, not holding you in place that hand went to his pants. Unbuttoned. Unzipped. Pulled himself out because he needed you to feel him, needed you to know what you did to him. 

He stroked himself while he kissed down your neck, slow, savoring, and then he found that spot, that perfect spot right below your ear, and he sucked. Hard. He was going to leave a mark. A big one. The kind that takes days to fade. The kind that makes people look and wonder and know. Know that you belong to someone. Know that you belong to him.

He grabbed your legs and you yelped, that little sound, that perfect little surprised sound and your hands flew to his neck, holding on, and your legs wrapped around his waist like they were made to be there. Like they'd always been waiting for this moment. He used one hand to reach under you, position himself, line up, and then he pushed in. The sound you made. God. The sound you made.

He smiled. He couldn't help it. Because you felt like home. You felt like everything. He started fucking into you, hard and fast and desperate, because he'd waited so long and he couldn't wait anymore.

 "Oh god," he said. "Fuck….Lord…" His voice came out whiny, high, like he was the one being taken apart. "Shit…Fuck….Oh god." He pressed his face into your neck, breathed you in. "God, baby, you feel so good. You feel so fucking good."

He lifted you a little, adjusted his grip, held you by the underside of your thighs so he could look at you. Really look at you. And there you were. Your face, that beautiful face, was completely wrecked. Mouth open, little breaths puffing out, eyes half-closed, gone. You were gone. You were his.

He smiled again and walked to the bed. Dropped both of you down, never pulling out, never stopping, just kept moving inside you because he couldn't not. Because stopping would be like stopping breathing.

Your hands let go of his neck, fell above your head, and he looked at you. Your body on his bed..your bed, laid out like an offering. Pornographic. Perfect. He was close. So close. But he wanted to hold out. He wanted to make this last.

"Baby," he chanted. "Baby, baby, baby." "Eunseok," you whispered. "Eunseok." Soft. Like a prayer. He loved the way his name sounded in your mouth. Loved it.

"You close, baby?" he asked, and his voice was sweet, so sweet, like he was asking if you wanted more cream in your coffee. "You about to come on my cock, huh, baby? You gonna do that for me?" He reached down and found your clit. Red and puffy. 

He started rubbing, slow circles at first, then faster, because he knew what you needed even if you didn't. Your hand came up, tried to push him away. "Too much," you begged. "Too much, too sensitive—"

But Eunseok didn't care. He grabbed your wrist, pinned it down, and used his other hand to keep rubbing. He pushed into you harder, faster, and set a rhythm that left no room for argument. His thumb worked your clit at a ridiculous speed, merciless, because mercy was for people who didn't understand what this was.

"Too sensitive," you begged again, and your voice broke, and it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. "Come on this cock, baby," he said, and he knew that didn't make sense, but nothing made sense anymore except you. "It's yours. It's always been yours. So make it yours. Come. Come for me, baby."

"Shit," he gasped. "I'm cumming. I'm—" And he did. He came inside you hard, painted your walls, filled you up, and some spilled out, leaked onto the sheets, and he kept moving, kept going, because you weren't there yet, you weren't..

And then you were. Seconds later. Your body spasming around him, pulling him deeper, and he felt every pulse, every clench, every tiny movement you made. He stayed inside you after. Didn't want to leave. Didn't want to ever leave.

When he finally pulled out, he laid next to you. Your fucked-out body, limp and spent and perfect. He turned to look at you. Smiled. Reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, the way he'd imagined doing a thousand times.

"Now," he said, soft and sweet, like this was normal, like this was how people said hello. "Let's try this again. Hi, babe. I missed you."

pine barrens, new jersey. 1.1 million acres

the drive down south was roughly 3 hours, give or take. anton was quiet, as he always is, throughout the drive. the both of you wanted to have a quiet weekend away from the hustle and bustle of the city, and he suggested that the both of you could take a short trip to the cabin his family owned in the new jersey woods. he says the view is beautiful, surrounded by pine trees, the air crisp and clean. there's a lake facing the cabin where he used to go fishing with his father when he was a child. what better way to unwind than to reconnect with nature?

"we're almost there," he says, calmly, eyes fixated on the road ahead and hands on the steering wheel. as you both got deeper into the woods, the trees started becoming thicker, branches like black veins, twirling upwards into the grey sky. you passed by a faded, rusted metal signboard- welcome to pine barrens, new jersey. the car's gps signal started to glitch, and your phone's signal started to falter. you got slightly nervous, but he says that it's common, the connection around these parts is weak.

"how long more, anton?" you ask, reconnecting and connecting your phone's data signal again and again.

"20 minutes," he answers. not curt, but not kind either. you nod. it has been a long drive, after all… you place a warm, comforting hand on his thigh to reassure him, but he doesn't react. his facial muscles tight and concentrated on the road, his eyes partially covered by his glasses.

the cabin soon appeared at a isolated clearing, small and quaint. it was surrounded by trees on each side, and strategically located facing a lake. there was a small shed next to it. anton killed the car's engine.

"welcome," he said.

the inside of the cabin was well-furnished, small but cozy, two bedrooms (one for his parents, and one for him and his brother, you presume), a kitchen, a living room with a fireplace. there was a old family picture on the fireplace, and some other decorations. it looked just like how you'd imagine how a cabin would look like.

"it's a little dusty, huh… haven't visited in awhile," he says, almost apologetic.

"i like it, it's cute and cozy," you leaned in to kiss his cheek.

you unpacked your belongings while anton went out to check the gas, electricity and to gather and cut up some firewood. he returned with wood, placing it in the fireplace. the wood caught fire, crackling. the both of you quickly cooked a simple carbonara meal on the gas stove, with the ingredients you brought. the night fell into a comfortable rhythm, having dinner and drinking wine infront of the fireplace, just talking and enjoying the tranquility of the cabin. soon, midnight arrived and the both of you retreated to a bedroom, falling asleep.

you woke up in the middle of the night to the sheets rustling and movement. you rub your eyes, vision slightly blurry. anton was sitting up in bed, staring at the closed bedroom door.

"anton?"

he didn't answer, but turned his head slowly to you. his eyes weren't the usual, soft, warm eyes, but something hollow. something omnious.

"you shouldn't have come," he says, his voice flat and empty.

"haha-… anton? you're scaring me," you laughed nervously.

he blinked, and the emptiness in his eyes faded. he smiled, his usual smile.

"oh, sorry…. bad dream…" you nodded sympathetically, sitting up to hug him. he must've been tired from work recently, and having to drive that long. you got up to get him a cup of water. he thanked you sheepishly, drinking it in one gulp like he was parched. the both of you went back to sleep.

the next morning, something felt off, different about him. he stared blankly at breakfast, picking at the scrambled eggs and toast, and spoke slower than usual, as though he was clouded with heavy thoughts.

"everything okay, anton?" you asked, concerned. maybe he wasn't feeling well? maybe he didn't sleep well because of the nightmare?

"there's something here…" he said flatly, looking straight at you. your skin crawled. "w-what, anton…?"

he shook his head suddenly, like a dog trying to shake off water. "oh. nothing, just tired." he stepped out of the cabin, saying that he wants some fresh air and needs to gather somemore firewood. you nod, slightly worried but letting it go.

he spent about an hour outside. you looked out of the window and saw him moving around outside but didn't think much of it. you curled on the couch with your coffee, trying to scroll social media with the weak connection that your phone could receive. sigh.

he came back inside a while later, his flannel shirt rolled to his forearms, dirtied. he held up an axe, and smiling. that wrong, unfamiliar smile. the axe was rusted, but the edge was sharp and gleaming. just sharpened. you raised your eyebrow at him. he sets it near the door, and walked in without a word.

after lunch, anton's actions became stranger. he stood at the window, staring out quietly to the woods, his hands unmoving by his side. you called out to him multiple times, but he didn't respond. you chatted with him, going on and on, trying to fill the silence. you talked about work, the weather, how calm and relaxing it is here, and that the both of you should come more often.

"hey, anton? you okay, baby?" you asked him curiously. he was always one to let you talk while he was more than happy to listen, but it seemed odd that he wasn't even responding with nods today.

he turned, his eyes was that strange, emptiness. he smiled at you.

"shall we go for a walk?" he suggested. you nodded, smiling at him.

you followed him out the door, putting on your flats. the sky was grey, the sun was starting to set. the woods seemed to be quiet, like as though time stopped. there was no birds chirping, no wind rustling. just the sound of the crunch of fallen tree leaves beneath your feet. anton carried the axe by his side. it looked heavy, but he carried it with an ease.

"anton, where are we going? do you need more firewood?" you asked innocently, since he had brought the axe along.

"you'll see."

the both of you walked for what felt like forever, but in reality, it was probably only about 30 minutes. the trees started to grow thicker, the light from the sky growing dimmer. you continued chatting with anton, but it seemed one-sided. he only hummed and looked ahead as you spoke. you started to get nervous, your heart pounding. but you continued to try to keep your cool, continued to chat and pretend like everything's fine. but you're scared. you've lived in the city your whole life and had never been to the woods…

"it's so peaceful out here, i'm glad we came, anton," you chattered nervously.

anton stopped, and turned to face you.

"you're scared," he said matter-of-factly, like he could see right through you. it wasn't a question.

"no, i'm just.. a little tired, anton…" you laughed, nervously, your hand gripping your elbow, shivering from the cool forest air.

"you should be scared."

anton lifted the axe and swung it at in your direction. not at you, no, but at the tree right behind you. he missed you on purpose, almost like a warning shot. the blade buried deep into the bark, splinters flying. you screamed, and stumbled backwards, your back falling into the foliage.

he smiled widely. that wrong, twisted smile.

"run."

you quickly pulled yourself up, and ran. you turned and he was still standing still, watching you, giving you a headstart. you didn't know which direction to run. the cabin…? or the main road? you don't know how many kilometers out you are. you were too lost, too deep in the woods. the branches brushed past you, hitting your face. scratches bloomed on your face, your lungs burned. you heard him walking, not far behind you.

"you're not trying very hard," he mocks, yelling out at you. the sound of his voice echoing in the woods. you tripped over a large tree root, and your flats fell off. you quickly scrambled up, your feet dirtied and bloodied, running over the broken branches, the jagged rocks and forest floor foliage digging into your bare soles. your feet, knees, your white sun dress and hands are all scraped up and covered in dirt. the adrenaline racing in your body numbed out the pain temporarily.

the woods was endless, the light in the sky slowly fading. your eyes scanned the woods that never changed, seemed as thought you were running in circles. until you spotted a large, fallen log. the tree must've been hundreds, hundreds of years old. it was massive and uprooted. you ran towards it, crouching and hiding against the wood, damp and surrounded by fallen pine. you brought your knees to your chest and clamped your hand over your mouth. what was going on…? what happened to anton-…?

the fallen leaves crunched underneath his boots, the sound heavy and devastating. anton was right there, barely a few meters away, scanning the area for any signs of you. you could hear his breathing, steady and calm, a stark constrast to your quickened breaths, gasping for air. you tightly pursed your lips and squeezed your eyes shut, holding your breath.

you heard his boots circling around the log, to your left, then behind, then fading. he must've went to look elsewhere. you waited for ten seconds. twenty seconds. you had to make sure that he really had went away. your lungs burned, but after awhile, you dared to breath, letting out a sigh of relief. you thought you couldn't outrun him, after all, he was once a competitive swimmer… but you managed to.

then you saw it.

the metal axe cut through the air, swinging at your face. it landed just mere inches from you.

anton didn't go away, he had circled steathtily behind you.

"thought you lost me…?" his voice was kind, smiling. "i was just letting you rest, sweetheart…" he released the blade from the bark and pressed the dull end against your cheek, wet from tears. you inhaled the bloodied smell of rust. you stumbled back, your palms scraping against the bark and ran again, deeper, and deeper into the woods. you felt disorientated, running till your bones and every muscle in your body hurt.

the trees parted open, to a clearing. an abandoned church.

you ran inside without hesitating.

the large crucifix was still hanging on the wall. the stained glass windows were shattered, the glass shards laying on the floor, glinting like precious jewels. religious paintings on the walls were faded and withering, crosses fallen on the floor, the wooden ornaments and pews were damp and rotting.

the air inside was dusty, thick and suffocating. the scent of incense lingered, like it had seeped into the walls. you ducked underneath the back rows of the pews, hiding underneath the seats, covering your mouth with your palm to dampen the sounds that come out subconciously.

you heard the wooden doors creak wide open, his boots softly hitting the wood. thud, thud, thud… he walked down the aisle, slowly, the sound of the axe scraping against the floorboards.

he reached to the front of the altar, dropping the axe. he clasped his hands together and closed his eyes.

"we have come together in this church today… in the presence of God..." his voice, reverent, ever so gentle and as soft as a sound of a dewdrop…. "to give your consent to the holy sacrement of this matrimony."

your blood went cold at his words, your palm tightening across your face to quieten your whimpers of fear. it feels like this was all planned... you were led into this church.

"sorry, my bride-to-be is shy…" you shiver at his words that seem to be directed to no one in particular. he opened his eyes and scanned the rows of pews. as if instinctively, he slowly walked down the aisle till he reached the back row.

"there you are," he walked over and swung the axe right above you, cracking open the wood of the pew that shielded you from him. you screamed as the wood splints above you, wooden shards flying in all directions. he grabbed you by the wrist, harshly pulling you to the aisle. your body slams against the damaged pews, bruising. you fell to your face at his feet, then he lifts you up by your neck like a mother cat carrying its kitten.

"i always wanted to walk down the aisle with you…" he admits with a shy, boyish smile. his voice shifting back to the soft, tender voice that you've always known. he roughly drags you with a bruising grip, his axe in his other hand, slowly grating against the floor. your bare feet stumble against the damaged wooden floors and the broken glass shards, making it even more bloodied.

he started humming, a broken, eerie, lifeless, yet familiar tune. here comes the bride, all dressed in white…

the both of you stopped at the front of the altar. he turned you to face him.

"do you promise to love and cherish each other, in the good times and the bad times, in sickness and in health?"

you throat closed up, like an allergic reaction, tears streaming down your face.

"i do," he says his vows with a relaxed smile, like this is the most natural thing in the world, like he has waited his whole life for this.

"say i do," he threatens, his voice shifting back, grip tightening on the axe. "say i do, or i'll…"

"i… i- i do..". your dream was always to get married to anton and to have a beautiful wedding with him. not like this.

"i love you, y/n… till death do us part," he lets go of the axe, slides his hands into your hair, bringing you in for a kiss; soft at first, like the anton you always knew. then deeper, painfully biting at your lips, forcefully shoving his tongue down your throat.

"let us consummate this sacred union…"

he roughly pushes you down, forcefully bending you over the altar, the wooden edges digging painfully into your hips. you try to fight back, but you can't. anton seems.. stronger than usual.

"stop it-.. anton!" you scream, but to no avail. he pushes the dirty, bloodied white linen of your knee length sundress up to your hips and rips off your underwear. you hear his pants unzipping, his length pressing against you. your nails scrambled against the altar, scratching against it, your nails- usually beautifully manicured are now caked with dirt and dried blood.

he flips you around as though you weighed nothing, then forces his length in without preparing. you scream in pain, the wretched sound resonating against the hollowed church walls. he moves at an inhuman speed, hammering in and out of you, your vision spinning. the wooden splinters dug into your back, coupled with the painful thrusts. a sharp pain, burned your body, as though you were an unholy being doused in holy water.

you glance up at the statue of jesus on the cross above you, his head bowed, face frozen, turned away. his eyes closed as though he couldn't even bear to look at you, at what was happening infront of him. your lips moved, you weren't religious, but you tried to pray. nothing came out. anton laughs.

"don't look at him, look at me," he roughly grabs your face, his thrusts never relenting. your eyes focus on anton's face, searching for the man that you knew and loved. his eyes, that were usually dark brown, warm like hot chocolate, were now black, flat, devoid of feelings. this wasn't anton… it was something wearing his skin…

"anton," your dry, pained throat croaks out. everything feels unfamiliar, his hands on you feel different; like he has never touched you before, learning you for the first time

"anton's not here now," …that thing finally admits, that since the both of you arrived here, anton is no longer. "he put up a good fight, but i'm sure he'll like this."

"no-! anton wouldn't!" you scream, trying to fight back with whatever little strength you had. 'anton' laughs evilly, brutally keeping his pace. it snarls, demonic, never slowing down. it isn't a human. it doesn't stop. your vision starts to fade.

god loves you, but not enough to save you.

alternate ending (can skip)

you awake in cold sweat, dressed in your pyjamas, lying on the bed in the cabin. the morning sunlight filters through the windows. you gasp, shooting up in shock. you grab at your body. you don't feel any pain. there are no wounds, no scraped knees. you look at your hands. your nails are still perfectly manicured. you smell the scent of bacon and you hear the sizzling of a pan. you got up and slowly, quietly walked out.

anton's in the kitchen, cooking breakfast, humming a broken tune on the radio. just like before.. he stops and looks at you, smiling. you can't decipher it anymore.

"morning, what's wrong? you look like you seen a ghost," he says, curiously. he places the bacon and scrambled eggs on two plates.

"nothing… must've been a nightmare," you answer dazedly, scratching your head. it must've been a bad dream, no doubt about it. it doesn't make sense. but that dream was so... real… so vivid.

he laughs, gesturing for you to take a seat at the dining table. "coffee, tea, or orange juice?" he asks.

"uhh…. coffee, i guess, thanks," you take a seat at the dining table. you look around the cabin, and caught sight of the axe… by the door. anton places the plate of breakfast infront of you.

"uhh… what's that, anton?" your finger shakily points to the axe. his sight follows the direction of your pointed finger.

"oh! i need to cut some firewood later. shall we go for a walk?" he suggested, smiling at you.

your heart sank to your stomach.

you jumped slightly, your head snapping up. anton was standing at the end of the row of bookshelves, his tall, lanky frame relaxed as he leaned against the metal casing.

he was wearing a washed-out, oversized black hoodie that practically swallowed his hands, his messy dark hair falling right into his eyes. he looked exactly like he always did—the quiet, soft-spoken music major who had randomly sat next to you in the dining hall three months ago and awkwardly struck up a conversation about playlist curation.

since then, he’d become your shadow. your sweet, harmless best friend who always happened to be walking in the same direction as you, always knew exactly what kind of coffee you liked, and always offered to walk you back to your dorm late at night.

"anton, oh my god, you scared me" you breathed, letting out a shaky laugh as you pressed a hand to your chest. "what are you even doing down here? i thought you went back to the dorms hours ago."

he didn't answer right away. he walked over, his movements slow, almost heavy, before he slipped into the plastic chair right next to yours. the proximity was instant. anton was big—much bigger than his shy demeanor let on—and when he sat next to you, his broad shoulders completely blocked out the rest of the dim basement row.

"i saw your laptop was still active on our shared drive" anton murmured, his voice that low, raspy cadence that always sounded like he’d just woken up. he tilted his head, his dark eyes fixed on your face, tracking the way your eyelashes fluttered. "and i knew you hadn't walked home yet. it's dangerous for you to be out here alone. you're too careless."

"i'm fine, anton, it's just campus" you smiled, turning back to your laptop.

you didn't see the way his expression completely shifted the second your back was turned. the soft, gentle "best friend" smile vanished, replaced by an intense, heavy stare that dark-eyed and predatory.

anton hadn't just "happened" to see your laptop active. he had a tracking app synced to your student login. he knew exactly which desk you sat at every tuesday and thursday.

he knew the exact route you took through the quad, the brand of laundry detergent you used because he lingered a second too long whenever he hugged you goodbye, and he had a hidden folder on his hard drive filled with candid photos he’d taken of you when you weren't looking—laughing in class, biting the end of your pen while studying, walking in the rain.

he had orchestrated the entire friendship. the shy, awkward boy routine was the only way to get inside your perimeter without scaring you off. he needed to be close enough to touch you, to smell you, to listen to the sweet, naive way you complained about your day while completely oblivious to the fact that he was drowning in a sickening, dark obsession with you.

"you look tired" anton whispered, his hand slowly coming up to rest on the back of your chair. his long fingers brushed against a stray strand of your hair, the touch so light it was almost accidental. "your skin is all flushed. are you warm?"

"a little" you muttered, shifting slightly. the air in the basement felt suddenly thick, almost suffocating. "the heating down here is weird."

"let me help" he said softly.

before you could say anything, anton reached over. his large, warm hands caught the hem of your oversized crewneck sweater. he didn't wait for permission; he just pulled it up and over your head in one smooth, practiced motion, leaving you sitting there in just your thin, ribbed tank top. the cool air hit your bare arms, making your nipples instantly harden against the thin cotton of your bra underneath.

your breath hitched. anton didn't look away. his eyes dropped directly to your chest, his gaze heavy and completely unbothered by the fact that he was staring. the shy nerd act was completely slipping, a dark, perverted hunger taking its place.

"anton..." you murmured, your heart suddenly hammering against your ribs. the way he was looking at you didn't feel like a friend at all. it felt dangerous. "what are you doing?"

"you're so pretty" he choked out, his voice dropping into a rough, demanding register you’d never heard from him before. he didn't give you space to think. he reached out, his long, pale fingers wrapping firmly around your jaw, his thumb digging into your cheekbone to force your head back.

"you have no idea how long i've been sitting next to you, watching you breathe, watching your mouth move, just waiting for you to be completely alone with me."

"wait— anton, stop, you're hurting me a little—" you gasped, your hands flying up to grip his thick wrists. you tried to pull away, but he didn't budge an inch. his grip was like iron, his tall body leaning over you until you were pinned flat against the plastic back of the library chair.

"i'm not going to hurt you, sweetgirl" he murmured, his face inches from yours. through the dark fringe of his hair, his eyes were completely blown out, black and wild with obsession.

"but you've been driving me crazy for months. you think it was an accident that i sat next to you that day? you think it's a coincidence that i know exactly when you're sad, or what you want to eat? i know everything about you. i watch you constantly."

your brain scrambled, a sudden chill running down your spine as his words registered. he was watching you. the late-night texts, the accidental run-ins—it hadn't been luck. he was stalking you.

"you're crazy" you whimpered, a tear of pure overstimulation and panic slipping down your cheek. "let me go, anton, please—"

"shh" he hissed softly, leaning down to lick the tear right off your skin, his tongue hot and wet against your cheek before his mouth moved to your ear. he bit the soft lobe, hard enough to make you arch your back with a sharp cry. "don't say that. i'm your best friend, remember? i'm the only one who takes care of you. and right now, i'm going to take care of how wet you are."

before you could scream, his free hand slid down your stomach, his large palm heavy and unyielding as it shoved straight down the waistband of your sweatpants. his fingers ripped your underwear aside, his thick middle finger driving deep inside your damp center without a single bit of preparation.

a choked-out scream ripped from your throat, but anton instantly slammed his mouth over yours, cutting off the sound. the kiss was sloppy, violent, and utterly dominating, his tongue invading your mouth, tasting like the mints he always chewed. down below, his fingers were moving in a brutal, fast rhythm, bottoming out against your cervix over and over until your legs were shaking uncontrollably.

"mmph—!" you thrashed against him, your fists uselessly beating against his broad chest, but the more you fought, the harder he fucked you with his hand, his thumb brutally grinding against your clit until your brain completely short-circuited.

he broke the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips as he panted heavily, his face flushed and sweating.

"look at you" he growled, watching your eyes roll back as your walls clenched frantically around his fingers. "you're so tight. you're soaking wet for your stalker, aren't you? you love how dirty i am. you love that i know exactly how to break you."

"no— stop— tony, please, it's too much—" you sobbed, your hips bucking off the chair involuntarily as a massive, shattering climax tore through you.

anton let out a low, guttural growl at the feeling of your walls crushing his hand. he pulled his wet fingers out with a loud, slick sound and immediately stood up. he didn't even bother to take his pants off the right way—he just unzipped his sweats, pulling his thick, pulsing shaft free. it was covered in pre-cum, throbbing angrily in the dim light of the basement.

he grabbed your hips, sitting you easily on top of the table before dragging your body forward until your ass was at the very edge of the table, your legs forced wide open over his broad shoulders.

"look at me" he commanded, his voice vibrating in your chest. "i want you to see exactly who's taking this from you. your sweet little friend."

he didn't give you another second to breathe. anton leaned all his weight forward and slammed his entire length inside you in one blunt, unyielding motion.

the massive invasion made your head snap back, a broken, jagged shriek echoing through the empty library stacks as his thick cock bottomed out against your womb. the friction was intense, borderline painful, but as he immediately started pounding into you in a heavy, punishing rhythm, the pain quickly melted into an overwhelming, blinding heat.

"fuck! you're so small" anton choked out, his hands gripping your hips so tightly his fingers left immediate red marks on your skin. his chest was heaving, his pelvis slapping violently against yours with a wet, heavy sound.

"i'm going to fill you up so deep you're never going to forget what i look like. you're mine now. i'm never letting you walk away from me."

you were a complete mess beneath him, crying, shaking, your fingers clawing at his shoulders as he completely ruined you.

he kept talking dirty, his voice sweet but his actions entirely predatory, telling you how he was going to walk you home after this and lock the door behind him, how he was going to watch you sleep every single night.

"cum for me again" he groaned, his pace becoming frantic, his thrusts shallower but faster as he reached his limit.

"clench around me, baby. show me how good you take your friend's cock."

you screamed, your body stiffening as a second, even more violent orgasm locked your muscles. the extreme pressure broke anton completely. he let out a loud, animalistic moan, burying his face in your neck as he delivered one final, deepest thrust, holding himself inside you as he came hard. you felt every single hot, thick pulse of his semen pumping deep into your core, overflowing until it was dripping down the plastic chair.

he stayed there for a long time, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his breath ragged as he slowly came down from the high.

finally, he pulled out with a wet pop. anton quietly zipped his pants, his expression instantly shifting back to that soft, gentle calmness. he reached over, grabbed your sweater from the floor, and gently shook the dust off it before wrapping it carefully around your shivering shoulders.

anton had always been good with people. 

his mother said he was charming. his friends told him that he was pleasing to look at and be around with. he’s heard girls saying he’s easy on the eye. 

he made girls glance thrice and made them giggle behind their hands as they whispered to one another. 

anton had an effortless kind of charm—it’s in the way he smiled, in the way his eyes held warmth that made someone feel like they were special. like, he was seeing only them. he was great with his words too—he knew the right adjectives to use, the right tone to take, the exact moment to pause so his words could sink in just right. the right expression to have on his face, every crinkle and wrinkle, frowning, and nodding. it wasn’t something he forced—anton simply knew people. 

he knew how to make them want to be around him, how to have and hold their attention without needing to put too much effort.

but that didn't mean they stayed. 

because charm alone wasn’t sufficient. 

for all the attention he received, anton was shy. painfully so.

a disease that ruined him.

it stole his words, made him hesitate, lost the chance, let opportunity after opportunity slip right through his fingers like silk. pretty pretty girls liked him, fawned over, swept under—but never stayed long enough to really know him as a person. they just liked him as an idea, a concept, an abstraction. they never saw past the quiet exterior nor understood that his silence wasn’t disinterest—that it was a hurdle, one that needed time, patience, and a little bit of faith.

they lost interest before he could show them what could’ve been. what he could’ve been. before he could even try.

it wasn’t fair—it wasn’t his fault. 

so anton was determined to do something —to fix, to learn.

he learned how to tilt things in his favour, how to bend and mend moments to make them his. all needed was a little push, a little persistence, a little manipulation sprinkled here and there—there was no harm in that. as long as they never knew.  anton could make fate bend.

if the universe wasn’t going to give him what he wanted, he would make it happen.

and for a while, it worked. too well, in fact.

anton got good, got better at it—he got better in wovening people to where he wanted them to be. it was so easy for him that the thrill of it dulled over time. there was no challenge, no fixation, no reward. once they were his, he realised that he didn’t want them anymore.

it was frustrating at first—he got what he wanted in his palm, but now he’s scraping them away like they meant nothing. he had worked so hard and learned so much to unfold things exactly where he intended. so he moved on—over and over—new person, new thread to tug, new tactics learned for his book—until he lost the appeal.

then he stopped altogether. went back to his old ways—not entirely—just focusing on what truly made him happy; his friends, his mother. but that didn’t last long.

until you. 

until he saw you.

anton hadn’t even meant to see you that day. he was simply dropping off his friend, sohee, at his university since he had promised him the day before. and anton was barely paying attention to his vicinity until he did—because suddenly you walked past by his car.

and everything that anton thought he knew about himself, the things he thought he had grown tired of came roaring back to his life. it was like a realisation, a wake up call—so violent it nearly knocked the breath out of him.

the difference with you was you didn’t spare another, not even a glance in anton’s way. you walked past without a single idea that something about you had flipped a switch within anton that he never knew he’d never be able to turn it off.

you’re so perfect in anton’s eyes.

so perfect that he didn’t see you as a game—a challenge—but an end to his new persona. he had already learned how to make things happen; he just needed to do it again, and do it right this time. 

this time, there would be no losing interest.

because this time, he wasn’t going to let you go again.

——

it started small. anton always started small.

a few days after something in him lurched, he'd gotten your name. it wasn’t hard at all—he just went through sohee’s following, and from there, searched for you in other people’s following. and after what felt like hundreds of profiles clicking, he found your social. 

your schedule was another. thankfully, the university you attended didn’t offer as many courses as other universities did. you took nursing—anton thought it suited you. a pretty girl with a kind heart, and anton could only guess a purer soul. 

a little bit of information that wasn’t his to have but found its way into his hands anyway was what anton called fate. sohee had access to the university’s system—just his academic email and password, and anton had the namelist of students, their course, and their class schedule. oh, where she would be and when.

then, it wasn’t about coincidences anymore. anton knew that much—he couldn’t just come up to you, throw some compliments and sweet talks, and expect things to fall into place. anton might be shy, but he wasn’t stupid.

with you, he needed precision, needed a reassurance that your paths would cross again. anton had played a game of luck and chances, and each time he did, he lost the enjoyment right after. so he tweaked things a little, modified, adjusted his ways to ensure you would not slip through his fingers the way so many others had. 

he started watching. 

initially, it was just curiosity. he told himself he just wanted to confirm that the university’s course schedule was accurate. just a few lingering glances and parking a bit too long after dropping sohee off. anton just wanted to know what kind of outfits you wore on monday, tuesday, wednesday, and friday. 

then it became a habit.

he’s looking for excuses to be near the university—with only one being through sohee. he started sending, and picking sohee up after his classes. accompanied him, ate lunch with him, and even going as far as purposely having sohee toured him around the campus. he started memorising the times students flooded out of buildings, until he spotted you again.

but even that, merely observing wasn’t enough. 

you still didn’t know he existed—didn’t notice his car or his presence lingering around too long for society’s acceptance around the nursing building.

so with the patience he had, he waited until the semester was over and it was dreadful for him. anton knew what he was doing was bad—practically stalking and coming up with nonsense excuses to be within your perimeter. with no idea of where you lived, or where you worked, he only knew so little about you through your social—the one where you barely posted anything.

if it was the old him, he would’ve given up—but that version of him died long ago. anton simply stopped for a while, took a breather, rested a little… gave you some freedom and peace before the new semester began.

it was the weekend of the first week of semester break when anton was over sohee’s shared apartment. sohee had invited some friends over—their high school friends—for a boys’ night where they just usually drank alcohol, played games, and talked. anton wasn’t much of a drinker, but he enjoyed his friends’ company—an easy camaraderie that naturally came with a decade of familiarity. 

he was sitting on the couch, half-listening and nodding to a conversation about a professor sungchan loathed for being an asshole when a movement beside him caught his attention. 

sohee was scrolling through tinder.

anton didn’t think much of it except the fact that sohee’s attention was on something else while his friend was ranting, and he wasn’t interested either—at first. 

but then, sohee swiped left to the previous girl, and he saw you.

anton had almost missed it by a second—but there you were.

your profile was a picture you never posted on your instagram. your bio was short, just for fun, anton read in his mind. he didn’t know how long had you had your tinder account up—and he felt stupid for not going on that app when he’s around your campus.

he didn’t say anything, didn’t react—just kept watching from the corner of his eyes as sohee hovered over your profile, debating whether to swipe left or right. 

by the look of it, it didn’t seem like sohee knew or recognised you from his university as he swiped right. anton’s grip on his drink tightened—it didn’t matter. anton had already seen what he needed to see. it was an opening to him. it was fate—and anton didn’t even believe in fate. he believed in making things happen.

…and he did. he excused himself to the bathroom to create an account—chose the best selfie, the one that his mother complimented a lot, the one he didn’t use for his instagram’s display picture. put up a nice bio upon first impression, set his location radius around your university to ensure his face, or yours, would land on either one’s screen.

then it was just a matter of time.

anton knew good things took time—patience always yielded results but… it had been days since he made his tinder account and you still hadn’t shown up on his feed. he knew for one that tinder’s algorithm centred on location-based and it prioritised people nearby which meant…

he wasn’t close enough to you. physically. 

that night, an idea came to his head. he decided to look for you.

taking a long drive, anton’s fingers idly tapped against the steering wheel as he made his way towards where he first met you, the university. but a campus was too broad, so he needed to narrow it down. he drove around the neighbourhood with his tinder app on, refreshing every few minutes until your profile finally showed up.

anton inhaled sharply, throwing his head back against the headrest then took a screenshot of your profile, and swiped right. praying to all gods that it would be reciprocated. that you’d swipe right on him too. he was parked in front of an apartment complex. he had the base, knowing your room number wouldn’t be difficult then. 

a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

it wouldn’t be long now.

——

“no please, anton—i’ll—i’ll unblock you please, please,” your lips begin to tremble, pleads and words spilling out in broken gasps. your breath feels short and thin, as if the air fails to reach your lungs. anton’s grip on your wrist tightens, his slender fingers pressing into your skin with insistence. 

despite that, anton only smiles as he tugs you towards him. soft, patient, and mocking. “why do you always act like i’m a bad guy?” his grip squeezes around the curve of your wrist like a warning. “you act like i’m going to hurt you,” he chuckles—like it’s funny. 

your stomach churns, feet stumbling as he tugs you away from the restaurant—away from your friends’ laughter and voices inside. panic bursts through your veins like ice as you think of every horrible outcome out of this. “no—please,” your breath hitches, you place your other hand on his hand, nails pressed into his skin in desperation to pry him off. “i swear, fuck, anton please, please—”

his fingers only tighten when he feels your effort—digging your heels into the ground and struggling against his grip, but it’s useless. the night air is too cold, but somehow your skin is burning and your chest is heaving in panic attacks as he drags you past the sidewalk. 

no one’s paying attention, no one’s looking—just as anton likes it. 

tears spill down your cheek before you even realise that you’re crying. there’s a heavy pressure in your chest that swells, crushes, and suffocates you. you shake your head wildly while hitting anton’s hand and wrist—anywhere that you can hit, reach, hurt him with all your might. your hair sticks to the dampness on your cheeks.

you can’t breathe.

the fear only becomes unbearable when your mind reminds you that anton was a swimmer—broad shoulders, muscular, long arms—stronger, stronger, stronger than you. the thought crawls up your spine and chokes the breath right out of you. you can’t go against him, you realise. 

the tears only come faster and it’s starting to blur your vision as you beg and plead anton to let you go. he doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even look back at you. he’s already made up his mind on what he’s going to do to you. your pleas are falling on deaf ears.

the restaurant lights are getting smaller, your mother’s voice telling you to stay safe only gets louder in your head as you pray to all gods to save you. but the street is empty—and the sky is dark.

the only answer you get is the sight of anton’s car, and the sound of him unlocking it.

anton exhales through his nose, his grip shifting and tightening. 

it happens so fast you don’t even have time to process it. 

he tugs you forward towards him and moves his arm to press against the small of your back—you feel the ground slip from under your feet. a panicked cry rips from your throat as your frail body jerks forward. it doesn’t matter how hard you fight, or how much you beg—your limbs feel useless, like you’re not even in control of them anymore. 

your hands push against his chest, gripping and tugging onto the fabric of his sweater but to no avail. your fingers ball into weak fists as you pound against him with all your might, sobs wracking your body.

anton doesn’t budge, nor does he flinch.

anton exhales—exasperated—he’s tired of your struggling. and suddenly, before you can react—let out a piercing scream and cry for help; his hands clamp down—curling around your wrist, the other gripping the back of your neck. hard. 

“anton—fuck! i’m sorry—!” your voice cracks as your hip slams against the door, the handle digs into your side. you’re being so fucking hard to handle. anton yanks the backseat door open. “get in,” his voice is low, a quiet command laced with something you don’t want to push.

you shake your head frantically, rubbing your hands together in a gesture of supplication, tears streaming down like waterfall. “i’ll talk to you, anton, just—please don’t do this—” anton doesn’t respond. your tears and pleads don’t move him.

they only tighten his pants.

he rolls his eyes and groans as he grips your hair with his fist, lowering your head to propel you in. your breath punches out of you as your palms skid helplessly against the leather seat. immediately, anton slides into the backseat with you. 

oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.

you crawl and press yourself against the other door, fingers clawing at the handle as you yank it open—it’s locked and it’s not even budging. “anton, please,” your voice barely comes out, your chest heaving with short sobs. you pressed your back hard, as if trying to merge yourself with his car, to distance yourself from him, but it’s a vehicle, there’s nowhere to go. 

you feel suffocated, claustrophobic, the space closing in around you.

anton leans against the other side of the backseat. exhaling, slow and steady. one arm draped over the headrest as his long legs stretched out, manspreading like he didn’t just force a girl inside the backseat of his car. you’re choking on your own panic while he’s taking all the time in the world.

his eyes flicker over you, you’re not looking at him. you can’t bring yourself to look at him—you don’t want to look at the expression he has on his face. because it won’t match yours. it’s not regret, or fear, fear of getting… raped.

“i don’t know why you’re scared,” he finally says, tilting his head slightly as he looks at you. his voice is soft and… as usual, like it’s his effort to soothe you. it only makes the horror settle in your bones. 

this guy is fucking nuts, you thought. you shake your head, tears slipping down on his leather seat. maybe if you speak nicer—softer, he’d think twice. hesitate. “please, anton—just let me go… i’m so, so sorry,” you sob, your voice barely above a whisper. your heartbeat slams against your ribs, your body rigid and uncontrollable. 

anton simply watches you, then wraps his hand around your ankle. your instinct—in this case, fight or fight—kicks in before logic. you try to twist away, but his grip is unyielding. “no—no—!” you whimper and try to scramble back. 

anton shifts his weight—his body crowding yours as he forces you down against his seat. you squirm, your voice high and desperate. his hand finds your wrists, pinning them down above your head. he has you trapped underneath him completely. “shhh, shhh,” he murmurs, his other hand snatches your cheek gently, lovingly, squishing your cheeks, your trembling lips pursed together. “you’re okay, you’re okay…” 

anton hums as your pearly tears pile down his hand. “you always make things difficult,” he continues, tilting his head slightly as he leans down closer. his breath warm against your damp cheek “you’ll hurt yourself if you keep struggling.” he soothes.

he tilts his head slightly to graze the shell of your ear. his teeth catch on the skin. you feel his breath, the sensation and warmth shooting down your spine. “it’s just me,” his voice gentle—much like a lover than an assaulter—as he rolls his thumb against the beat of your pulse. he licks and sucks on the shell of your ear. “it’s just me,” he repeats. 

you let out another quiet sob when you feel his bulge pressed against your clothed pussy. anton lets out a soft groan in your ear, “do you feel that pretty? i’m so hard for you,” he moans softly as he continues to rub his tent against your pussy. you shake your head violently, letting out whimpers and soft sobs. anton lets out a sharp exhale before clicking his tongue, looking at you struggling beneath. 

your sobs are slowly grating against his patience…

“yn,” he says, his eyes sharp and irritated. his usual softness is gone.”i’ve been nothing but good, and patience with you,” he mutters, his grip on your cheeks tightening—almost bruising. “if you do anything weird, i’ll fucking kill you,” he continues, voice low and threatening. 

terror grips you like a vice. your breath lodges in your throat as your body immediately stiffens. you stomach churns, you think you might be sick. puke on him, puke on him—his threat echoes, louder than the pounding of your heartbeat in your head. i’ll fucking kill you.

his threat sounds more like a promise—and you try to say something, apologise, or anything, but nothing comes out. you force a nod but your body won’t move. you’re trapless and helpless as you try to pacify him. 

anton cracks a smile as he moves his hand from your cheeks, to pat your head, caressing your hair. “don’t make a sound,” he mutters as he begins tugging at your clothes—one by one—shushing and soothing your cries as he leaves you with nothing on but your pants and bra, his motions unhurried.

he sat back, humming softly. “‘m going to let go of your hands—and unless you want to touch me too, don’t even think about anything else.” anton says, slowly releasing his iron grip around your wrists. there’s an ache still pulsing, your arms remain above your head, fingers twitching to remember how to do something—but you don’t. you can’t.

anton leans down to place his lips on yours, his eyes flutter shut as he sighs against your lips. you don’t kiss back, but he doesn’t care. he deepens the kiss like it’s something you want too, smiling between the kisses. you only whimper. 

anton continues to ravish you with his lips, his free hand travels down to unbutton your jeans, tugging it down just enough to display your plain panties, and to position himself between your thighs. “i really want to take my time with you, but it’s so cold,” he lets out a dry chuckle, but nothing’s funny.  “anton, can—can we talk, please? please,” your voice comes in short. the air inside his car is thick as he slips his hand inside your panties.

it might be cold outside, but your pussy feels too warm for someone who claims to not want it.

you cry and squirm as you feel his palm makes contact with your bare cunt—anton now kisses the corner of your lips, slowly travelling down along your jaw and the curve of your shoulder. “you’re so tense. relax, pretty.” your stomach churns as his fingertips make minute circles on the nub of your clit. anton continues the simulation—drawing your juices out of you. 

he smacks gently on your pussy and it makes a slick, wet sound in the car. you flinch, disgusted and humiliated with yourself. you can feel how wet you’re getting—you chant that it’s your body’s natural response to being touched in a sexual manner. this is not what you want—this is rape, rape, rape.

anton simply smiles at your reaction before finding your entrance, and slips his index finger in. he feels your gummy walls as he finger-fucks you. anton’s single finger reaches the angle and parts your hand couldn’t. he is in the position to push deeper, and he does. after a few seconds of thrusting his index finger back and forth, anton slides another finger inside, stretching your entrance. “you’re so tight, it’s only my fingers…” he murmurs innocently, lips pressed forward slightly in a pouting manner. 

anton picks up his pace in fucking your pussy with his fingers, curling and pushing against your g-spot, your juices ooze on his hand, coating his fingers in a layer of your sweet fluid. anton watches you in amusement, lips parting slightly as he pulls out his fingers, glancing between his fingers, your teary face, and the way your pussy is twitching from merely his digits. 

wow, he’d break you with his cock… 

you cry and shut your eyes as tight as you can, refusing to believe that you are being put in this position. anton has you completely merciless underneath him—and there’s nothing you could do except pray that a meteor crashes the car and kills you, and him. 

wasting no time, anton unzips and pulls down his jeans; you don’t see it but you can feel—tell that his cock is hung, throbbing, needy. he picks up your hips easily, bringing you up against his pelvis. “i hope i’m your first,” you hear anton mumble. you don’t know if he’s talking to himself, or you.

you feel him positioning the head of his cock at your clenching pussy, slowly pushing himself inside. your breath hitches and you almost let out a muffled moan before biting down hard on your bottom lip. you’re not going to give anton the satisfaction of getting a moan out of you. it burns, and it hurts, a lot. you feel his cock expanding and stretching and overwhelmingly filling the empty tunnel in the worst way possible. you cry.

on the other hand, anton grunts, sinking his erection deeper that he can’t see the base of his cock, totally ignoring the way you’re sobbing on his leather seat. “my goodness baby, you’re so,” anton exhales, feeling your muscles clamp around his cock. he pushes his hips forward, thrusting and beginning to move. the friction of his cock sliding back and forth out of you sends sparks to your core. 

you can’t contain it—the air knocks from your lungs as anton only increases his pace. your tightness and your warmness sends anton to ecstasy. you clamp your hands on your mouth to suppress moanings, and anton doesn’t seem to mind it—not when he has you where he wants to. 

he reaches really deep inside of you—mercilessly driving and ramming his cock in-and-out of your pussy. “anton…” you mewled, muffled. anton nods, biting hard his lower lip as he leans down to place a soft kiss on your hands. “say it baby, say my name, c’mon,” he moans, his voice strains. 

you shake your head, turning your head to the side as your body betrays you. the shame of growing wetter sears through you. it disgusts you more than the man violating on top of you. your body betrays you—you can never forgive yourself, you’d kill yourself before ever admitting that it’s pleasurable. 

anton’s hands move to your hips, digging his nails into your plush flesh as he pulls you towards him to sink his cock deeper—past your cervix, knocking on your womb. he rams into you while planting kisses all over your face and body. nipping and biting and marking on your skin like canvas.

this was an experience you’ve never thought you’d face. every inch of anton—as he drags his cock halfway out before forcing it back inside of you makes your body withers beneath him. you let out another round of muffled sobs. anton notices and his heart swells and aches—almost. he hums as he dips his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your natural body’s scent. 

“you’re so soft, yn,” he murmurs against your skin. his movement slows, now pounding short and hard in what anton calls it intimate. “i love you so, so much, goodness,” he whispers, confessing on the curve of your shoulder, descending to your jaw, and up to your ear. anton kisses you everywhere his lips can reach, his hands combing and holding onto your head as he fucks you like a fleshlight. 

“‘m gonna cum, pretty,” he moans in your ear as he rocks his hips back and forth, uneven breaths hitting your skin. his thrusts become more erratic as he chases his high—nearing his peak. you choke on your sobs as you finally move your hands off your mouth to place it on his chest—distancing yourself as much as possible. “anton, please, no,” you whimper, weakly protesting as it goes in one ear, and exits on the other. he doesn’t care—can’t bring himself to care about what you want at the moment. not when your warm, squelching wet pussy is inviting and begging him to fill your womb full with his love semen. “gonna fill your pretty body up with my cum, fuck—,”

not when he has you completely under his mercy.

anton’s thrusts become sloppy, his languid strokes losing its rhythm as his hips jerk spastically as he pumps his cock to its peak. he overstimulates and rams the spongy spot inside you. with a final slam, anton buries his aching cock to the deepest part of your cunt—his cock pulsing and throbbing and pumping as he empties himself inside of you. he feels his scrotum contracts as he spurts out thick ropes of cum inside your womb. you whimper—and you think you can feel the way your tummy bulge over and over as anton continues to fuck his cum into you. “mmh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” a low guttural groan builds in his throat as he moans, burying his face deep into your neck. 

you don’t move. your body convulsing and you feel nothing besides—tainted, tarnished, corrupted. your body feels foreign—it doesn’t belong to you anymore, it’s his, his, his. your chest rises and falls in uneven breaths. the air you desperately need only sticks to the roof of your mouth because it refuses to get past the lump that died in your throat.

your fingers twitch at his chest as anton still hasn’t stopped… besides his cum, disgust coils in your stomach. your ears ring, muffling his groans and moans and confessions. you wish you could die.

“i love you so much, pretty.” anton slowly pulls out, making sure his semen doesn’t ooze out of your pussy too much. he exhales at the sight of a white ring and the way his cum, and your juices coat nicely around his cock. a sight he wants to see everyday. his adam’s apple bobs as he tugs on his bottom lip, holding his cock by its base to scoop his cum trailing out of your pussy back in—just slightly slipping the head in. 

he pulls back up your panties and pants—seeing his thick cum pass through the cotton fabric of your cute panties as he stuffs himself back in his boxer and jeans. he lets out a soft sigh as he leans down, wrapping his big arms around your shattered body. his chin rests against the crown of your head and his hand smooth over your back in mocking comfort. anton’s fingers trace patterns down the curve of your spine—letting out another sigh of content. 

he’s way too warm. 

when anton speaks, he’s back to his usual self. his voice gentle, soft, like the first time he had talked to you. “see?” he murmurs against your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo, that now is mixed with the smell of sex floating in the air. “i’ve got you,” he soothes, smiling. you shouldn’t have blocked him.

your stomach churns in agony as you stare at his sleepy face in your blurry vision.

——

“no, it’s okay, i got you,” you said, offering him a soft smile before tapping your card on the terminal. you placed your own snacks on the counter. anton, still holding his wallet in his hands, didn’t move as he stared at you—head empty a second too long. he was short a few dollars for some beers and cup noodles… 

 “oh—uhm,” he stammered, feeling guilty. “thanks…” he murmured shyly, throat suddenly dry. 

you just replied with a nod, preoccupied with paying for your own things to notice that anton was still looking at you as he picked up his plastic bag from the counter. he swallowed his saliva, mind scrambling trying to figure out something else to say—to keep you just a second longer—trying to talk to you despite his shyness. 

but before he could do anything, the cashier handed you your plastic bag, and you thanked her before walking away. 

you didn’t even look at anton for the second time. 

the door chimed and you were gone.

leaving anton dumbfounded, embarrassed as he stared at the door swung shut behind you.

anton swore that if he saw you again, he wouldn’t let you slip away so easily.