#riize fluff

Because Anton was also…a nerd. A real, honest-to-god, anime watching, figurine collecting, jerking off to hentai nerd. You knew this because you’d seen the way he decorated his laptop with holographic stickers of anime girls, the kind with thigh-highs and jiggly boobs and sparkly eyes. His phone lock screen? Ahri from League of Legends. His bag? Covered in pins of little anime mascots and game logos. You’d heard the rumors too, that his dorm was basically a shrine to 2D girls. Shelves of figures, walls lined with posters, LED lights glowing purple like a teenage boy’s wet dream. And yet none of it made you like him less. If anything, it made your crush worse.

Maybe it was because he was so quiet. Always sitting in the back, earbuds in, sketching something in his notebook or scrolling on his phone, head ducked down behind the collar of his hoodie like he didn’t want to be perceived. And yet you always perceived him. You noticed him. The way he adjusted his glasses when he was concentrating. The way his fingers tapped against his thigh when he was bored. The way he blushed when the professor called on him, even though he always gave the smartest answers in the room. You’d never spoken to him. Not once. But that didn’t stop you from wondering what his voice would sound like if he said your name.

It wasn’t just a little crush anymore. It was a full-blown obsession. The kind that made your stomach flip whenever you spotted him walking down the hallway, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket, headphones around his neck, backpack hanging low on those broad ass shoulders. God. He was so tall. Every time he stood up, you felt like the air shifted around him. Like he didn’t even realize how dreamy he looked, towering over everyone, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose while he blinked all soft and sleepy. It was so unfair. He looked like he belonged in an anime himself—tall, quiet, hot nerd that girls fight over. Except no one else seemed to be crushing on him. At least not the way you were. And that made it worse.

Because you were crushing hard. Pathetically hard. You thought about him too much, not just during class, but when you were alone in your bed at night, staring at the ceiling and wondering what kind of porn he watched. You probably knew the answer was anime girls with squeaky voices and thigh socks, and honestly? That only made him hotter. You loved that he was a nerd. You loved that he probably spent his Friday nights watching One Piece recaps or arguing on valorant with noobs. You loved that his fingers looked big and awkward when he fidgeted with the pins on his bag, those same fingers you thought about every time your thoughts drifted somewhere a little too dirty.

He was just so fucking cute. Too hot. And maybe it was bad, maybe you were going to hell or something, but there were moments where you looked at him and just thought ‘I want to bounce on your dick so bad it’s embarrassing’. And then you’d get flustered all over again. Heart pounding, thighs pressing together, face buried in your sleeve so no one could see how red you’d gotten. He’d just be sitting there, minding his business, adjusting his glasses with the tip of his finger, and you’d be staring at him like he was some kind of god. He had no idea. Absolutely no clue that you were slowly losing your mind over him from across the room.

You barely register what the professor is saying until you hear the words: “Partner project. Two people per group. If you don’t pick someone, I’ll assign you.” Your stomach sinks. You didn’t know anyone in this class, not well enough to pair up without looking like a weirdo, anyway. You shift nervously in your seat, clutching your pen like it’ll save you. You can already feel your cheeks heating up just from the pressure. “Alright, you and…Anton,” the professor says, glancing briefly between the two of you before moving on. “You’ll work together. Should be a good match.” You freeze. Your eyes flick behind you, and sure enough, there he is. Anton.

He’s blinking at you with wide eyes, clearly just as surprised as you are. His glasses are slightly crooked, lips parted like he wants to say something but can’t quite get there. You feel your heart stutter in your chest. This is real. You’re going to talk to him. Work with him. Be around him. Alone. You turn in your seat slowly, like any sudden movement might shatter the moment. “H-Hi,” you manage, voice soft and squeaky. “I guess we’re partners.” Anton sits up a little straighter, and you swear you see his fingers twitch on the edge of his desk. “Oh. Uh. Yeah. I guess we are.” He rubs the back of his neck, then smiles, small, nervous. “Hi.”

Up close, he’s even more handsome. Long lashes, flushed cheeks, that faint scent of clean laundry and something warm and boyish. He’s wearing a plain gray hoodie, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, and you have to fight the urge to stare at the veins in his hands. “I’m, um…” You tuck your hair behind your ear, trying not to melt. “I’m Y/N.”“I know,” he says quickly, too quickly. Then he winces. “I mean—not in, like, a creepy way. I’ve just…heard you answer a few questions in class before. You’re smart.” Your mouth goes dry. He knows who you are? You blink. “Oh. Wow. Thanks. That’s… really sweet.” You shift in your seat, fingers nervously playing with the hem of your sleeve. “You’re smart too. Like, really smart. Your notes are insane.”

He laughs under his breath and ducks his head, and you can barely hear him murmur,“That’s ‘cause I don’t talk to anyone. I have to overcompensate somehow…” You giggle quietly, shyly. He glances up at you again. And that’s when it happens. That flicker. That look. His eyes settle on your face, your lips, your eyes, just a little longer than normal. He swallows hard. “Sorry, I just…didn’t expect to be partnered with someone like…you.” You tilt your head. “Like me?” He hesitates. “You’re just…you’re really pretty.” Oh. Your brain short circuits.

“I—” You practically squeak. “You think I’m pretty?” He immediately looks away, ears turning red. “Was that weird? That was weird. I’m sorry.” “No!” you blurt, too fast, clutching your notebook to your chest. “No, it wasn’t. I…I think you’re…really cute too.” He stares. You stare. There’s a beat of silence where neither of you knows what to do. You’re both blushing, both shy, both clearly freaking out a little on the inside. “So,” he finally says, voice a little higher than before, “uh…where’d you wanna meet?”

You show up to the little café fifteen minutes early, heart racing and dress just a little shorter than it probably should be for a study session. But you’d spent so long picking it out. It hugged your waist and flared out right at your thighs, showing just enough skin to make you feel cute without trying too hard. When Anton walks in, you swear he almost drops his phone. He freezes in the doorway for half a second, blinking like he’s not sure he’s in the right place. Then his eyes land on you, and you see him double take. His gaze flicks down your body and then quickly jerks away, like he’s trying not to look. He shuffles over, clutching his backpack in front of him like a shield, and offers you a shy little smile as he sits down across from you. “H-Hey. You look…really nice.”

You blush instantly. “Thanks. You too.” You both stare at the table for a second. It’s a cozy café, low lighting, indie music playing softly, warm smells of coffee and pastries filling the air. You open your laptop with trembling fingers, trying to seem normal, like this is just a regular study session and not the hottest guy you’ve ever seen sitting right across from you. You pull up the project doc and smile nervously. “Okay, so…I was thinking we could start with the outline first? Just, like, divide the sections and go from there.” You glance up to see if he’s following, but he’s not.

Anton’s eyes are very much not on the screen. They’re a little lower. Right at your chest. You freeze. So does he. And then, like a switch flipped, his entire face erupts in red. “I—” He stammers, scrambling to sit up straighter and look anywhere else. “Sorry! I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—I just zoned out—”Your cheeks burn. You look down at your dress and then quickly cross your arms over your chest, suddenly very aware of how low-cut it actually is when you’re leaning forward. You clear your throat, voice tiny. “…It’s okay.” He still looks like he wants to crawl into a hole and die.

His hand comes up to adjust his glasses, but he’s shaking so hard he nearly knocks them off his face. You try to pretend you’re not just as flustered. You tuck your hair behind your ear and murmur softly, “So…should I repeat the question?” His eyes flick up to yours, hesitant. Then he gives the smallest, most adorable nod. You swallow, voice even softer now. “I said…should we start with the outline?” He nods again, still flushed, but smiling this time, a shy, crooked smile that makes your heart flutter. “Yeah. Let’s do that.” You try to focus. You really do. But his hand is brushing against his notebook, and his knees are so long they almost bump yours under the table. And every few minutes, you catch him sneaking glances at you like he can’t help it. And you don’t blame him. You kind of want him to.

You’re halfway through outlining the second section of the project when Anton suddenly stands up. “I’m, uh—I’m gonna get something. Do you want anything?”You glance up, smiling sweetly. “Mm…maybe a milkshake? If they have one?” He nods, “Milkshake. Got it.” He hurries off like he needs the walk to breathe, and honestly, he probably does. You watch him go with a soft little smile, noticing the way his hoodie sways as he moves, the curve of his back, the way he ducks his head at the counter, shy even with the barista. When he returns, he’s carrying a milkshake in one hand and a warm latte in the other, balancing it all carefully on a tray. He sets it down gently in front of you, then passes you the cold drink with a soft, slightly nervous look. “Here you go.” Your smile widens. “Thank you, Anton.”

You don’t notice the way his throat bobs when you wrap your lips around the straw. He freezes, barely blinking as he watches you take that first long sip, lips pursed around the plastic, cheeks hollowing slightly. You let out a soft little hum of approval at the taste, eyes fluttering shut for a second in pure satisfaction. And Anton…Anton is dying. His brain short-circuits. All he can see is your lips, pink, wet, soft, wrapped around something that isn’t a straw. And for a second, he’s imagining you on your knees between his legs, looking up at him with that same innocent expression as you suck him off like you don’t even realize what you’re doing to him.

You pull the straw from your mouth and swipe your tongue across the tip to catch the foam. A tiny bit of it clings to the corner of your lips. You giggle quietly. “Oops.” And then, as if you don’t already have him on the brink of death, you lick it off with a slow, casual flick of your tongue. He nearly chokes on his own spit. “Is everything okay?” Your voice is gentle, head tilted with that same soft concern you’ve had since class. You blink at him sweetly, sipping again like nothing happened. He’s flushed deep red. His hands are gripping his cup like it might ground him to reality. He forces a smile, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Uh. Y-Yeah. All good.” Then, quieter, with a softer smile. “Just… distracted.” You giggle again, eyes sparkling. “You sure?” He swallows hard. “Very sure.” But he can’t stop looking at your lips.

You take another slow sip of the milkshake, eyes flicking back to the laptop screen. Anton’s leaned in now, typing something into the shared document, brows furrowed in concentration, completely unaware of what he’s doing to you just by existing. Your gaze drifts. It always does. The sleeves of his hoodie are pushed up, revealing his forearms, all lean muscle and light veins, the skin pale and soft looking. Your eyes trail downward, to his hands on the keyboard, long fingers flying over the keys quickly. His hands are big. You hadn’t noticed it before. Or maybe you had, and your brain had just stored it away for later.

Now it was all you could think about. Those fingers. Those veins. The way his knuckles flex with every tap. You imagine them wrapped around your throat, firm but careful, his breath stuttering while he watches your eyes roll back. Or worse—better—you picture them inside you, slow and deep, your thighs trembling as he curls them just right, testing what makes you whimper. The idea makes you shift in your seat, thighs instinctively pressing together beneath the table. You blink and glance up at his face. God.

Even his profile is hot. His jaw is sharp, lips a little parted, the tip of his tongue just barely peeking out as he concentrates. His Adam’s apple bobs slightly when he swallows, and it makes something tighten in your gut. His hair is messy and soft, curling a little behind his ears, and all you can think about is how it would feel to tug on it while he’s between your legs. You press your thighs together again, harder this time. And he has no idea.

He’s just typing, all innocent and focused, while your mind is playing out filthy scenes in 4K. You look back down at his hands again, biting your lip without realizing it. His fingers twitch slightly as he types a number into the doc, the tendons in his hand flexing.

You whisper to yourself inside your head, ‘I want those fingers in me so bad’. And just like that, you realize you’re no better than him. Maybe you look sweet, sipping your milkshake in your little dress and smiling all shyly, but deep down? You’re starving for him.

You want him to ruin you with those hands, want to ride his thigh, want to hear what he sounds like when he moans. You glance up again. He’s blushing faintly, chewing on the inside of his cheek. You wonder if he’s thinking something dirty too, if maybe both of you are pretending to be normal while your thoughts are a mess. God, you hope so.

The project was technically done. Or at least, enough of it was done to call it a night. You both packed up slowly, lingering over every click of the laptop, every sip of your drinks, drawing it out like neither of you wanted to leave. The café was dimmer now, a few tables empty, the music quieter. When you finally stepped outside, the air was warm and gentle, the sky a dusky blue stretching wide. You walked side by side down the path toward the dorm buildings, your shoulder bag bouncing lightly against your hip, Anton’s long strides matching yours.

And yet neither of you spoke. There were little things, small glances, quiet smiles, an occasional “mm” when one of you pointed out something with a nod. But for the most part, the silence between you was soft. Comfortable. Tense in all the right ways. And then your hands almost touched. You both noticed it at the same time, that inch of space between his knuckles and yours. He was walking close, so close, his fingers slightly curled inward, yours swinging just a little too far to the left. When your pinkies brushed, you felt it like static. He flinched. So did you.

And when you both glanced at each other, eyes wide and startled, it was like being caught doing something scandalous. His cheeks were red. He laughed nervously under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck like he didn’t know what to do with himself. You ducked your head, smiling softly. By the time you reached your building, your heart was fluttering like crazy. You stopped at the bottom of the steps, turning to face him.

He looked even taller under the glow of the porch light. His hoodie was a little rumpled, hair tousled, glasses slipping down just slightly. He looked so effortlessly handsome and completely flustered, like he couldn’t believe he’d just spent two hours alone with you and somehow survived it. You swallowed, clutching your bag a little tighter. “…Thank you,” you said softly. His brows furrowed, confused but gentle. “For what?” You smiled shyly. “The milkshake.” Anton blinked. And then smiled, this soft, melted kind of smile, like you’d just said the sweetest thing in the world. “Oh. Yeah. Anytime.”

You hesitated for a second. And then, before you could overthink it, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him. His body froze. Completely still. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, the way his arms hung awkwardly at his sides like he didn’t know what to do. But then, after a second, he slowly brought them up and wrapped them around your waist gently, almost nervously, like he was scared he’d hurt you if he squeezed too tight.

His face was buried half in your hair, half in your shoulder, and you felt the shaky breath he let out. You pulled back just a little, just enough to meet his eyes. Both of you were red. Both of you smiling, small, breathless, bashful smiles. “…Goodnight, Anton.” He blinked like he was waking up from a dream.“G-Goodnight.” You turned and walked into the dorm building, heart pounding, fingers still tingling from the ghost of his touch. And behind you, Anton stood frozen in place for a good thirty seconds, like his brain had fully shut down.

You spot him as soon as you walk into the lecture hall. Anton, sitting alone near the middle, headphones on, bobbing his head faintly to whatever song he’s listening to. His laptop is open in front of him, but from the way his fingers tap lightly against the keyboard, you doubt he’s doing anything academic. Your stomach does that little nervous flip again. You stand there for a moment, working up the courage, then step forward and gently tap his shoulder.

He turns, pulling one side of his headphones down, and when he sees you, there’s this flicker of surprise followed by a quick flush of pink across his cheeks. “H-Hey…” he says, voice softer than you expected. You smile shyly. “Hey, Anton.” There’s a beat of silence where you just look at each other, and you swear you catch him glancing at your lips before quickly looking away. You shift your bag strap on your shoulder and try to sound casual, even though your voice comes out a little too nervous. “My friend didn’t come today, so…do you wanna…sit with me? Maybe?”

His eyes widen a fraction, and he blinks like you just asked him to solve a math problem in front of the whole class. “Uh—y-yeah, sure! Of course!” The words come out in a rush, and the pink in his cheeks deepens. You grin, and when he stands to follow you, he fumbles a little with unplugging his headphones and gathering his stuff, as if he’s suddenly hyperaware of every move he’s making. By the time you both settle into seats together, there’s a faint awkwardness in the air, not bad awkward, but the kind that makes your pulse race and your knees bounce under the desk.

The professor starts droning on at the front of the room, the scratch of pens and the faint clicking of laptop keys filling the air. You sneak a sideways glance at Anton, the way his hoodie sleeves are pushed up, his hair slightly messy, his glasses slipping a little down the bridge of his nose. You lean in just a bit, lowering your voice to a whisper. “You look good today, Anton.” He freezes mid-typing, fingers hovering over the keys. Slowly, he turns his head toward you, eyes wide behind his lenses. The blush is instant, creeping up from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

“Oh—uh… thanks,” he murmurs, voice cracking slightly before he clears his throat. Then, after a pause, he adds quietly, “You… you look good too.” The corners of your mouth lift into a shy smile, and for a moment, neither of you look at the professor, just each other. You both face forward again, but a minute later, you notice him stealing a quick glance at you from the corner of his eye. You bite your lip, leaning closer again. “What?” you ask softly, smiling.

He shakes his head quickly, the blush still there. “Nothing… just—you’re distracting.” You blink, startled, before letting out a soft laugh. “Distracting how?” His jaw tenses like he instantly regrets saying it. “Just…distracting.” he says again, almost shyly pouting, and turns back to his screen, though you can see the tips of his ears still red.

The lecture finally wraps up, chairs scraping against the floor as students start to file out. Anton closes his laptop with a quiet click, slipping it into his bag. You tuck your pen into your notebook, fingers fidgeting a little before you work up the courage to speak. “You heading out?” you ask softly, glancing at him through your lashes, heat blooming in your cheeks.

“Uh—yeah,” he says, voice low, almost unsure, like he wasn’t expecting you to talk to him first. You stand, swinging your bag over your shoulder. “Cool,” you say with a small, shy smile. “We can walk together…if you want.” For a second, he just looks at you, like the words took a moment to process. Then he nods quickly, lips twitching into a faint smile. “Y-yeah, yeah, sure.”

The two of you fall into step as you leave the classroom, the low hum of voices around you fading the moment you step outside into the crisp air. You walk side by side, the afternoon sun spilling gold across the pavement. Your shoulder nearly brushes his, and you catch yourself smiling before you even realize it. “So…” you say, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, “distracting, huh?”

Anton’s head snaps toward you, eyes widening. “Wha—I—” He stumbles over his words, his ears already turning pink. “I didn’t mean—I mean, I wasn’t—” You bite back a grin, pretending to look ahead. “Relax, I’m teasing.” He huffs a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re…uh…good at that.” Your smile softens. “Teasing you?” His gaze flickers to yours for half a second before dropping to the ground. “Yeah…that.”

You walk a few steps in silence, the kind that feels warm rather than awkward. “So…” you murmur, glancing up at him with a playful smile, “do you always get that flustered, or is it just when I’m around?” Anton’s blush deepens instantly. “Uh…maybe just when you’re around.” You bite your lip to hide a grin. “That’s cute.” He looks away, shoving one hand into his pocket. “Not sure that’s the word I’d use.”

“What word would you use, then?” you ask, tilting your head. His lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile. “Dangerous.” You blink at him, surprised. “Dangerous?” He shrugs, finally daring to meet your eyes again. “You make it hard to think straight.” Your stomach flips, and you quickly glance away before he can see just how much that got to you.

By the time you reach the dorm building, your pulse has settled into a strange mix of calm and nervous excitement. The late afternoon light makes the air feel softer somehow. Anton stops with you in front of the entrance. “So…I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks, his voice a little uncertain, like he’s not ready for this to end. “Yeah,” you say with a smile. “Thanks for walking me.”

Before you can overthink it, you shift up onto your tippy toes, your hand lightly brushing his arm for balance, and press a quick kiss to his cheek. You hear his breath catch, feel him go still for just a heartbeat before you pull away. When you step back, his cheeks are flushed a deep pink, his gaze flicking down to yours like he’s still processing what happened. You’re blushing just as hard. “Um…bye, Anton.” “B-bye,” he says, his voice low and almost dazed, watching you slip inside.

Anton stood there for a moment, staring at the glass doors you’d just walked through. His cheek still tingled faintly, the ghost of your lips lingering like it was branded there. He exhaled, running a hand over the spot, almost like he needed to confirm it actually happened. 'She kissed me'.

The thought looped in his head, each time making his stomach twist in the best way. He’d been kissed before—well… sort of, but never like that. Never so soft and sweet and completely unexpected. He caught himself smiling, then quickly shoved his hands into his pockets and started back toward his own dorm. His heart was still racing, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t stop thinking about how small your hand felt against his arm and how close your lips had been to his own.

The lecture was dragging, the professor’s voice a low drone in the background. You were scribbling down notes, leaning just slightly closer to Anton so you could peek at his laptop screen. He shifted in his seat, leaning toward you to point out a line in the slide you’d missed. As he did, his shoulder brushed yours, and he froze for half a second before murmuring, almost to himself, “You smell nice.”

Your pen paused mid-word. Heat rushed straight to your cheeks, and you turned your head to look at him. He was already back to staring at his screen, ears tinted pink like he hadn’t even realized what he’d said until it was too late. “...Thanks,” you whispered, smiling down at your notebook. You didn’t get much else written for the rest of the lecture.

Over the next couple of weeks, it became a quiet routine—finding each other before lectures, walking side by side to the café between classes, sharing fries at the food place near the uni while pretending not to notice how often your knees brushed under the table.

Sometimes it was a lingering glance over the rim of a coffee cup, sometimes a shy compliment slipped into the conversation when you thought the other wasn’t listening. Each time, it left you both smiling to yourselves for hours after.

One afternoon, as everyone was packing up after a lecture, you let out a small groan. “I forgot to write half the stuff from today,” you mumbled, shoving your notebook into your bag. Anton looked over from where he was closing his laptop. “Don’t worry. Gimme your number, I’ll send you my notes.”

You perked up instantly. “Really? Thank you so much, Toni!” The nickname rolled off your tongue so naturally that you didn’t even think about it until his ears flushed pink. Before he could react, you rocked up and ruffled his soft hair playfully.

“See you later!” you chirped, turning to leave.He stayed rooted in place, blinking after you like his brain had shut off. His cheeks were burning, half from the nickname, half from the unexpected warmth of your hand in his hair. And, god help him, he swore his jeans felt just a little tighter than they had a moment ago.

Anton

here are the notes :)

You

thanks so much toni! you’re a lifesaver

Anton

no problem :) i didn’t do much

You

you always do more than you think :3

Anton

haha…maybe :)

You

wanna grab a coffee after class tomorrow?

Anton

sure :) that sounds good

You

yay! i’ll see you then

Anton

looking forward to it :)

You slide into the chair across from Anton at the café, the smell of coffee and pastries wrapping around you. He sets his keys on the table as he takes out his wallet, and your eyes catch something dangling from the keyring. A tiny, metal Calcifer keychain. “Oh my god!” you exclaim softly, leaning a little closer. “Is that…Calcifer from Howl’s Moving Castle?” He freezes mid-motion, eyebrows shooting up. “Uh…yeah. You…you know that movie?”

You grin, trying not to squeal. “Love it! It’s one of my favorites!” He blinks at you, clearly surprised, adjusting his glasses. “…Wait. I didn’t know you liked anime.” You tilt your head, smirking slightly. “You never asked.” He chuckles softly, still a little flustered, and the conversation drifts naturally into talking about favorite scenes, characters, and little movie details. You laugh together, the atmosphere cozy and easy.

As the hangout winds down and you both finish your drinks, he fidgets slightly, looking down at the table, then up at you with a soft, shy smile. “Uh…so…you—if you want…maybe…you could come over sometime? Watch it…with me?” You freeze for a second, cheeks warming, before letting out a small, happy laugh. “I’d love that.” His relief is obvious, he lets out a quiet breath, smiling sheepishly. The flutter of excitement between you both feels electric.

“Uh…you can…come over tonight, if you want.” he says softly, voice barely above a murmur. Your heart skips a beat and warmth floods your cheeks. You bite your lip for a second, trying to play it cool, before smiling brightly. “Mhm! Tonight it is, then.” you say, the words coming out a little breathless, but cheerful. He blinks at you, clearly caught off guard by how naturally you accepted, and his ears tint pink. A small, shy smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

Anton told you to meet at 8pm. You glance down at your outfit one last time—shorts and a cozy sweater, nothing fancy, just casual. Your stomach twists with nerves. Taking a deep breath, you knock on Anton’s door. The second it opens, your breath catches. He’s…stunning. Damp hair clings slightly to his forehead from a recent shower, his pyjama pants hanging low on his hips, the white shirt stretched perfectly over broad shoulders.

He looks effortlessly perfect, and you realize you’ve been staring before you even noticed. Anton clears his throat, probably aware of the way your eyes linger. He scratches the back of his neck, cheeks already pink, like he’s caught in some awkward but very sexy moment. “Uh…hey.” he mutters, voice low and rougher than usual.

“Hey.” you manage, trying to force a casual smile, though your heart is racing and your palms feel hot. You can’t stop yourself from stealing another glance at him, and he seems to notice, quickly looking away with a small, flustered laugh. The room smells faintly of his shampoo, warm and inviting, and your nerves are suddenly tingling in a very different way.

You step into Anton’s room, eyes widening as you take it all in. Posters of anime and game characters cover the walls—some cute, some daring, and many of the girls featured have big tits and barely any clothes. Shelves lined with figurines catch the soft glow from the warm lights he has set up around the room, and a few of the figurines are equally risqué. A few plants sit on the windowsill, adding a touch of life to the space.

Despite all the decorations, the room is surprisingly tidy. Everything has its place, and it feels…comfortable, inviting. “Wow…I like your room,” you say softly, cheeks heating as you glance around. Anton shifts slightly, scratching the back of his neck, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks…I, uh…like to keep it cozy, I guess.”

You nod, still looking around, letting your gaze linger on the little details—the way some posters are slightly angled, the neat lineup of figurines, the LED light spilling across the floor. The room feels like him. Nerdy, thoughtful, and warm all at once. He watches you quietly, clearly noticing how absorbed you are, and feels a little thrill at how easily your eyes wander over his space.

You curl up on Anton’s bed, leaning against the wall as he sits cross-legged a little distance from you. It feels like you’re in a little world of your own. As the opening scenes of Howl’s Moving Castle play, you find yourself inching slightly closer to him. He glances at you, those soft brown eyes catching yours, and his cheeks pink. You notice how easily your knee brushes his, and your heart flutters.

At one point, the remote slides off the bed, landing on the floor with a soft thud. “Oops! I got it.” you say, bending over to pick it up. Anton’s breath catches. Your shorts ride up just enough that your ass is completely in his view, and he instantly curses under his breath, voice low and rough, fuck…

When you sit back up, you hold the remote triumphantly and smile up at him. “Got it!” you chirp, eyes sparkling. He forces a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck, trying not to look anywhere but your face, even though his gaze keeps flickering down in spite of himself. “Yeah…nice save,” he mutters, voice tight, cheeks burning. The tension between you both hums in the quiet of the room, the movie forgotten for just a few seconds as your proximity and the way you move sets his heart racing.

The movie’s been playing for a while now, the both of you leaning back against the headboard. You’re trying to keep your eyes on the screen, but Anton’s quiet presence beside you is almost louder than the sound coming from the TV. Halfway through, he lets out a soft sigh and stretches, lifting his arms above his head.

The hem of his loose white shirt rides up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin—smooth and pale, with a faint trail of hair dipping below the waistband of his pyjama pants. The faint outline of toned muscle is enough to make your breath hitch.

You don’t even realize you’re staring until you bite your lip without thinking. Anton freezes mid-stretch, his arms lowering quickly. When his eyes meet yours, he notices the way you’re looking at him. His face turns pink instantly. “Uh—” he starts, voice awkward and a little high, “comfortable?”

“Mhm.” you hum, looking back at the screen as if you hadn’t just been caught shamelessly staring. But then you notice something. Out of the corner of your eye, his gaze drifts downward… to your thighs. You’re sitting with them pressed together, the fabric of your shorts hugging your skin in a way that leaves very little to the imagination. His eyes linger for a few seconds too long before darting back up.

You catch it. You definitely catch it. But you don’t say anything. The air between you feels warmer now, charged with something unspoken. You try to focus on the film, but your heartbeat is loud in your ears. Somewhere around the hour mark, the coziness of his room and the warmth of his body next to yours start to lull you to sleep. Your head dips before you even realize it, landing softly against his chest.

Anton stiffens instantly. His eyes widen, and for a moment, he looks like he’s trying to compute what just happened. His heartbeat spikes, and he’s sure you can feel it under your cheek. You mumble something incoherent in your sleep and shift, curling slightly toward him until your arm almost wraps around his. His face turns a deeper shade of red. He doesn’t know where to put his hands.

He tells himself not to move. Not to touch you. If you woke up, you might think he was taking advantage of the situation. But then…he can’t help it. Slowly, carefully, his hand lifts to your hair. His fingers brush against it tentatively, then slide through the strands with the lightest touch. He pets your head so gently, as though afraid you might shatter if he pressed any harder.

The smell of your shampoo drifts up to him, and it makes his chest feel tight in a way he can’t quite explain. He’s so wrapped up in the moment that when your voice suddenly breaks the silence, his heart nearly jumps out of his chest. “Will you ever ask me on a date,” you murmur, voice groggy but teasing, “or do I have to do it?”

Anton freezes, every muscle going rigid. “You’re…awake?” he says softly, almost as if he’s in disbelief. You still don’t open your eyes, your cheek warm against him. “I have been for a while.” you admit with a faint smile.

His hand stills in your hair, and he swallows hard. “Oh…uh…I mean…if you want to go on a date with me…” Finally, you tilt your head up just enough to look at him, your smile small but certain. “I do.” He swears his chest has never felt so light and tight at the same time.

Anton’s lips twitch into the smallest smile, and he nods. “Okay then.” His voice is soft, almost shy. Slowly, reluctantly, he begins to lift his hand from your hair. “No.” you murmur, catching his wrist before he can pull away. His brows lift slightly, startled. You guide his hand right back onto your head, fingers threading gently through yours for a second before you let go. “Keep doing it…I like it.”

The tips of his ears turn pink, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “O-okay…” he says quietly, the faintest smile curling on his lips. And so, he keeps going, his fingertips brushing through your hair in slow, absent strokes while your attention drifts back to the TV. His heart is still racing, but there’s a strange calm in the rhythm of touching you like this.

By the time the movie ends, you’re wide awake again. You slip on your shoes while he stands by the door, watching you with that same gentle, slightly awkward expression. When you step into the doorway, you tilt your chin up at him, hands clasped behind your back, eyes wide and soft. “So…I’ll see you tomorrow?” He nods quickly, his Adam’s apple shifting as he swallows. “Y-yeah…” The corners of his mouth lift into a quiet smile. “It’s a date then! Goodnight, Toni.” You stand on your toes, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

The warmth of your lips lingers there, and Anton freezes, eyes widening before color floods his face. He blinks, flustered, clearly at a loss for words. “Goodnight.” he finally manages, giving you a small wave as you head down the hall. The door closes softly, and he leans back against it, pressing his palm over the spot you kissed, his heart hammering like it’s trying to escape.

When you stepped out to meet Anton, you didn’t miss the way his eyes widened before darting away, a flush creeping up his neck. White thigh-high socks, a short skirt, and a soft fitted sweater—it was exactly the kind of outfit you’d seen on some of the girls in his posters and figurines, and you knew it.

“Hey!” you greeted with an innocent smile, pretending you didn’t notice how his gaze kept flickering to your legs before he forced himself to focus on your face. “Hi,” he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You, uh…ready?”

The arcade was loud and bright, neon lights reflecting off his glasses. You started at the air hockey table, where you made an exaggerated show of celebrating each point you scored, and he just shook his head with that quiet, amused smile he always wore around you now. Then it was racing games—he won, of course, but the little spark of pride in his eyes told you he liked seeing you try to beat him.

“Okay, okay,” you said, catching your breath, “one more thing.” You tugged on his sleeve, leading him toward the claw machines. Your eyes landed on a soft, pastel plush near the center of one, and you pointed. “That one.” He stepped forward, feeding coins into the machine, and muttered under his breath each time the claw slipped. “This is rigged.” He scoffed.

“You just have to believe in yourself.” you teased, resting your elbow lightly on his arm. By the fourth try, the claw finally lifted the plush all the way to the chute. You squealed, grabbing it and hugging it to your chest. “My hero!” His ears turned pink immediately, especially when you added, “Thanks, Toni!”

“I—uh—yeah… you’re welcome,” he stammered, trying to hide a smile. When you hooked your hand around his arm in excitement, he went stock-still, like every muscle in his body froze at once. You felt the warmth under his sweater sleeve, and his heartbeat felt a little faster than normal, but he didn’t pull away.

As you stepped out of the arcade, still clutching the plush to your chest, your eyes caught a small ice cream shop glowing warmly on the corner. “Oh my god! Let’s go!” you gasped, pointing, not waiting for his answer before your fingers slipped into his hand. You tugged him toward it, the warmth of his palm making his steps a little hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he should hold back or just let you lead.

Inside, the place smelled like sugar and fresh waffle cones. You picked vanilla without hesitation, grinning as the server handed it to you. Anton shook his head when they asked him, mumbling, “I’m fine.” but when you reached for your wallet, he was already pulling out his own cash. “Anton—” “Nope,” he said, eyes dropping to the counter, “I’ve got it.” You beamed, leaning up on your toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Toni.” The heat in his ears spread to his neck instantly, and he muttered something under his breath you couldn’t quite catch.

You both sat outside on the shop’s little chairs, the evening air cool against your skin. You took slow licks of your ice cream, savoring it, completely unaware (or maybe not) of the way his gaze kept flicking to your mouth. Every time you let your tongue glide over the melting vanilla, he shifted in his seat, red creeping over his cheeks again. When you wrapped your lips around the tip of the cone, sucking lightly to keep it from dripping, he swallowed hard, his thoughts skittering somewhere very far from ice cream.

By the time you finished, you licked your lips, smiling at him like nothing was out of the ordinary. “Okay, we can go now!” He stood up a little too quickly, adjusting his pajama pants in a subtle, desperate motion. “Y-yeah…let’s go.”

The walk back started off quiet, the night air soft and cool against your skin. You were still clutching the plushie in one arm, your other hand swinging loosely at your side. Anton walked next to you, hands shoved deep into his hoodie, every now and then glancing at you like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite bring himself to.

Halfway down the block, you slowed your steps and then stopped entirely, turning to face him. Your lips curved into a small pout, eyes glimmering with something a little sad. “I don’t want this date to end yet.” you said softly, toeing the pavement. He froze, caught off guard, his breath visible in the cool air. The tips of his ears flushed pink. “We…could go to my place again,” he offered shyly, then, with a small smile, “Watch something?”

Your pout melted instantly into a grin. “Mhm! Yes, please.” You stepped forward and slipped your hand into his without warning, your fingers curling through his. Anton stiffened in surprise, eyes widening for just a second before his gaze darted away. He didn’t pull back though. If anything, his hand tightened slightly around yours.

You began swinging your joined hands back and forth in an exaggerated, playful rhythm, and his mouth twitched into a smile despite himself. Neither of you said much more, but the silence was comfortable now, each step bringing you closer to the dorms…and whatever would happen next.

By the time you reached his building, Anton still hadn’t let go of your hand. You didn’t point it out, you just smiled to yourself and followed him inside. His dorm room was exactly how you remembered it from last time—tidy, cozy, softly lit, with the faint scent of his shampoo still lingering from earlier. You kicked off your shoes and, without hesitation, plopped down onto the edge of his bed, hugging your plush to your chest.

He closed the door behind him, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at you. “Uh…what do you wanna watch?” You leaned back onto your hands, swinging your legs slightly. “Anything you want, Toni.” You said it cheerfully, the nickname rolling off your tongue in that way you knew made him blush.

And blush he did. He turned to his desk, pretending to scroll through his streaming options just to give himself a second to recover. “Okay…um how about A Silent Voice?” You nodded instantly. “Perfect.” He climbed onto the bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight.

At first, there was a polite little space between you—but as the opening scenes played, your legs brushed once, then twice. Neither of you pulled away. The warmth of him was right there, just inches from you, and you could already feel the air between you shifting, thickening, the same way it had last time.

The movie played softly in the background, the purple glow from the LEDs making the whole room feel hotter. You were sitting closer and cloer, each touch sending a little spark up your spine. At one point, Anton shifted, his arm resting on the bed behind you, and you leaned slightly into him without thinking. A quiet moment in the movie made you glance at him, and you caught him already looking at you. Neither of you moved.

His hair was sticking up a little in the front, and without thinking, you reached up to smooth it down. Your fingers lingered, brushing his forehead. You felt his breath hitch. When your hand dropped back to your lap, the space between you felt electric. You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears. “Anton.” you said softly. He hummed, almost nervously, “Hm?”

“Kiss me.” For a second, he froze—his wide eyes searching your face like he was making sure you meant it. And then, slowly, he leaned in. The first brush of his lips was hesitant, testing, but you pressed closer, kissing him back, and that tiny hesitation melted away. His hand came up to cup your cheek, warm and careful, as the kiss deepened. You shifted, closing the space entirely, and before you knew it you were in his lap, your knees on either side of him.

His breath caught against your mouth, and he gripped your waist like he was scared you’d pull away. But you didn’t. You rolled your hips experimentally, and his quiet, shaky whimper made you smile against his lips. Anton kissed you like he was afraid to mess it up, but the moment you tangled your fingers in his hair and gave a gentle tug, something inside him faltered. His breath stuttered, and you felt the way his grip on your waist tighten.

You deepened the kiss, your mouth moving against his with a slow hunger. His lips were soft, but the way he kissed you now was firmer, almost desperate. You tugged on his hair again, a little harder this time, and he let out the smallest, most breathless sound into your mouth. It made heat pool low in your stomach.

You whimpered—not loud, just enough for it to slip past your lips, and that sound seemed to wreck him. He shifted under you, his thighs tensing, and you felt the hardness pressing against you through his sweatpants. His breathing got heavier, more uneven, as you rolled your hips just enough to test him.

“Y-you’re…” he broke off, swallowing hard, his cheeks flushed deep red. He didn’t finish the sentence, just leaned forward to kiss you harder, like he couldn’t stop himself anymore. His hands slid up your sides, hesitant but needy, bunching the hem of your sweater as his thumbs brushed the bare skin of your waist.

Every little whimper from you made him twitch under you, his self-control fraying by the second. He didn’t even notice how tightly he was holding you until you pulled back slightly, both of you catching your breath, foreheads touching, his chest rising and falling quickly.

His hands, still trembling slightly, slid down from your waist to your thighs, caressing slowly as if he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you. The soft fabric of your thigh-high socks under his palms made his breath hitc, every inch of exposed skin between them and your skirt had him swallowing hard.

You could feel the way he was hesitating, his fingertips barely grazing, almost shy. So you reached down, took one of his hands gently, and guided it under the hem of your skirt until it rested against the warm fabric of your panties. His eyes widened, his entire body freezing for a second. “Please…touch me.” you pouted, your voice soft but desperate, looking up at him through your lashes.

Anton’s jaw clenched, his cheeks burning crimson. “I–I…” he stammered, clearly overwhelmed, but his fingers flexed ever so slightly against you, already feeling the dampness there. He swallowed, gaze flicking from your pleading expression to where his hand was between your legs, like he couldn’t believe this was really happening.

Slowly, hesitantly, he started to stroke you through the thin fabric, his breathing quickening with every tiny sound you made. The warmth and wetness beneath his touch sent a shiver through him, and when you whimpered again, he bit his lip hard, fighting the urge to just tear the panties aside and fuck you right there and there.

Anton’s breath was coming faster now, his fingers rubbing gentle, nervous circles over your clothed clit. The friction had you rolling your hips down against his touch, but every movement also pressed you into the growing bulge beneath his sweatpants. You couldn’t help it, you shifted closer, grinding lightly against him as his breath hitched, his other hand gripping the bed sheets like he didn’t know where else to put it.

You reached for that hand, guiding it up to your chest. His eyes flicked to yours in surprise, but when you placed it over your breast, his fingers curled instinctively, squeezing through your sweater and bra. The combination of his touches had you letting out a soft, shaky whimper against his lips, which made him groan quietly into the kiss. It wasn’t enough. You wanted to feel him, really feel him.

You broke the kiss for just a moment, your lips wet and swollen, and slid your panties down your thighs, kicking them aside on the bed. Without giving him time to process, you took his hand again, the one that had been rubbing you through the thin fabric, and guided it between your legs until his fingers met your bare, slick pussy.

Anton froze, a sharp breath escaping him, his pupils blown wide. His fingertips twitched slightly against you before he swallowed hard, the sound loud in the quiet room. “You’re…s-so warm.” he whispered, almost like he was talking to himself.

His thumb kept rubbing slow, deliberate circles on your clit, and you couldn’t stop yourself from rocking against his hand, chasing that sharp, sweet pleasure. Your breath came out in shaky bursts, your skirt bunched up around your hips, his eyes glued to the way you moved for him.

Then, without warning, you felt the gentle press of his finger slipping inside you. Your back arched instantly, a gasp spilling from your lips that quickly melted into a needy moan. “Ah—Anton!” you whined, your thighs trembling slightly as he moved that finger in and out of you in slow, careful motions.

His gaze flicked up to your face, flushed and focused. “Is that…okay?” he asked softly, almost like he was scared to break the moment. You nodded fast, your voice urgent. “More.” His lips parted, chest rising quickly, he didn’t hesitate. He slid another finger inside you. The stretch had you letting out a broken whimper, and his breath stuttered at the sound. He kept his pace gentle, curling them just enough to make your hips jerk.

His fingers moved inside you faster now, curling expertly as he matched the rhythm of your hips grinding against him. Every wet, slippery sound of your arousal seemed to drive him further, and he couldn’t help the small, shaky moans that escaped his lips.

You tugged at his hair, hard enough to make him gasp, and he let out a sharp, breathy whine, eyes closing for a split second. His pace didn’t falte. If anything, it quickened, fingers plunging deeper, curling just right to hit all the right spots. The room was filled with the slick, wet sounds of your pleasure and the occasional whimper or gasp that slipped past your lips.

Every noise you made made him harder beneath you, his own need pressing against your clothed heat. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours for a second, watching your expression contort with pleasure, and whispered, almost desperately, “You feel so good…”

As he kept fingering you, his other hand wandered nervously over his lap. You felt the hard outline of him through his sweatpants and palmed him gently. A small, shaky whimper escaped his lips, and you looked up at him, eyes wide and pleading. “Want you inside...” you breathed, voice soft and desperate. The sight of you like that—lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling—made him stiffen even more.

You slowly peeled off your sweater and bra, tossing them aside, and he couldn’t stop staring. His hands trembled slightly, but finally he pulled his own shirt off, revealing the toned chest and abs. Your breath hitched, and heat pooled low in your belly, you were already dripping just from looking at him.

You took him in your hand, drooling at how big and hard and pretty he was, slick with precum. A soft whine escaped him at your touch. Slowly, carefully, you began sliding down onto him, lips parted and breathing uneven. His length hit you and made you gasp, it was more than you expected, and you struggled a little to take him in fully.

“You’re so big, Toni…” you whimpered, the words shaking as your hips pressed down. He let out a deep moan at your words, fingers gripping your hips lightly, trying to help guide you, while his eyes stayed locked on your face, full of need and disbelief. You finally bottomed out with a sharp, breathy moan, and he immediately groaned, gripping your hips tightly. “F-fuck…” he stammered, voice low and shaky, eyes wide as he tried to take it all in.

Clinging to him, your arms wrapped around his neck, you started moving slowly, rocking up and down against him. Every little thrust made him whimper softly, his lips parting in short gasps. His hands pressed against your waist, thumbs brushing over your sides as you moved, both of you making quiet, desperate sounds. The tension and pleasure wrapped tightly around you, leaving no space for anything else.

“Toni…” you whispered between breaths, voice trembling, chest rising and falling. “S-s’big…” you added, eyes fluttering shut, heat pooling between your thighs as you slowly rode him, both of you lost in the new, intense sensations. You cupped his cheeks, leaning in close, and kissed him hard, teeth and lips mingling, tongues brushing. The feel of him beneath you, soft and firm at the same time, made your body tremble.

You started moving faster, bouncing and whispering in between shallow, desperate kisses, “Want you…feels so good…” Anton was a blushing mess, sitting there stunned, barely able to process how breathtaking you looked taking him like this. He let out a quiet, shaky whimper, unable to resist just watching you, the way your hips rolled and your chest pressed to his, the scent and sight of you overwhelming him.

Then, you pulled your lips back from his briefly, gasping, and as you continued bouncing, you pressed a hand flat against your belly. “Can feel you up here, Toni,” you whined, eyes half-lidded and desperate. That was it. Something snapped in him. Heat surged, his pupils blown wide, and he moaned deeply, leaning forward to grab your waist tightly. His hands dug into your hips as he started bouncing you hard on him, quick, punishing thrusts that made you gasp and whimper.

The switch had flipped—the shy, hesitant boy from earlier was gone. Every motion was confident, dominant, controlled. His eyes locked on yours as he guided your movements, his mouth open in low, needy moans, taking over completely as he rode you through the pleasure he’d been holding back.

The sudden shift in Anton’s behavior made your eyes go wide. The man under you, replaced with someone fierce, commanding, and hungry for you. Every hard, quick thrust made you gasp, moan, and shiver, high-pitched, desperate sounds spilled uncontrollably from your lips as he drove into you. He leaned down, pressing a hand to your chest, cupping your breast and rolling your nipple between his fingers. “You’re so fucking tight.” he groaned, voice low and serious.

You immediately clenched around him at that, your body responding to every word. “Fuck…you’re so wet.” he continued, sliding his hand a little, teasing and grinding as he kept his pace relentless. Your moans grew louder, each one feeding him, making him fuck into you harder, faster. Every time he hit that spot just right, a whimper escaped you, and you tugged at his hair desperately, needing to feel him closer.

His eyes rolled back at the sight of you writhing beneath him, every flicker of your expression only spurring him on. “You feel so good…so fucking good for me,” he whispered, low and dirty, each word a promise and a command. “Such a good girl…gonna make you scream for me.”

Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging in as the pleasure built unbearably high. His fingers dug into your hips and your chest, his dirty words and praise mixing with the way he pounded in you, making your vision blur and your body shiver uncontrollably under him.

His hand slid down from your breast, fingers circling your clit with a firm, insistent rhythm. Every motion made your hips buck uncontrollably, your breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. “Toni…m’so close…” you whimpered, voice high and trembling, moans spilling past your lips as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your stomach.

“Fuck—cum for me, baby,” he groaned, voice low and ragged, heat radiating off him. “You’re so fucking hot.” The pet name, him calling you baby for the first time, had an immediate effect. Your walls clenched around him, your toes curling, and a high-pitched, broken moan tore from your throat as you came hard, shivering against him.

He didn’t hesitate. He captured your lips in a hard, hungry kiss, pressing you flush against him as his hand moved to cradle the side of your throat, gentle pressure just enough to make your breath hitch. You whimpered into the kiss, muffled, overwhelmed by the combination of sensations—the taste of him, the feel of him, and how your walls pulsate around him.

Before you could even process it, Anton’s hands were under your hips, flipping you over onto your back. Your breath hitched, heart racing, but before you could protest, he gently urged you onto all fours, the curve of your ass pressing invitingly toward him. “Anton, I—” you started, breath trembling.

“One more, baby,” he cut in, voice low and commanding, pupils dilated with need. “I know you can do it for me, hm?” You swallowed, cheeks burning, and nodded eagerly. “Yes! Anything for you, Toni!” He smiled, a dangerous, possessive grin spreading across his face. “Good girl.” he murmured, voice rough.

With that, he positioned himself behind you, pressing against your slick pussy before sliding inside you again. The sudden fullness made you gasp, your hands digging into the bed for balance, and he didn’t hesitate to start thrusting, hard and fast, his hands gripping your waist firmly. He slammed into you again, hips snapping hard, hands gripping your waist as he drove in and out with relentless force. “Keep your ass up for me.” he commanded, voice low and rough.

You obeyed instantly, arching into him, a high-pitched whine escaping your lips as he hit that sensitive spot perfectly. The aftershocks of your previous orgasm made every motion even more intense, every touch unbearable in the best way. “You like it, baby? Me fucking you like this?” he asked, voice thick with lust, leaning close so his breath ghosted over your back.

“Mhm!!” you moaned, barely coherent, your nails digging into the bedsheets. “Fuck—say my name, baby.” he demanded, thrusts rougher, faster, more insistent. “Toni…!” you whimpered, voice shaky and desperate, clinging to the bed as he pounded into you, each stroke hitting harder and harder, making your back arch and your chest press to the mattress.

A sharp, hard smack landed on your ass, leaving a red handprint. You gasped loudly, the sting sending shivers of pleasure through you, your hips jerking involuntarily. “Fuck, baby…look at you,” he groaned, eyes dark and hungry. “Taking me so well…so perfect for me.”

Another slap landed on your other cheek, and you whimpered, pressing back into him. He grinned, low and possessive, tugging roughly at a handful of your hair to tilt your head just right. “Such a good girl…you like it when I spank you like this, hm?” he whispered, voice thick and rough, each word dripping with lust. You moaned, voice shaky, “Y-yes!…please, Toni…”

He responded with another hard smack, this time letting his hand linger, fingertips digging slightly into your skin as he pressed your ass against him. “So fucking wet, baby. You’re mine.” His other hand twisted through your hair again, tugging gently to make you arch back, giving him better access, and he leaned closer to your ear. “Tell me how good it feels… say it for me, baby.”

“So good, Toni!—Nghh!” you moaned, your hips practically slamming into him from your own desperation. His hand moved from your waist to your belly, pressing down just enough to make you moan loudly, hips jerking against him. “You feel me here, baby? So deep in you, yeah?” he groaned, voice low and rough.

You nodded uncontrollably, eyes watering from the overwhelming pleasure. He pressed down harder on your stomach, leaning back slightly to take in the sight of you—skirt bunched at your waist, thigh-high socks stretching over your legs, body pressed perfectly against him. “You’re so fucking cute…with your cute socks,” he murmured, voice thick with lust, his hand moving to squeeze your ass firmly. “Fuck, baby…so pretty. You know what you’re doing to me, hm?”

You nodded again and he smirked, a low chuckle escaping him. Without warning, his hand came down hard on your ass, leaving a stinging slap that made you yelp and moan at the same time. “You’re mine, baby,” he breathed, voice rough, eyes dark and intense. “Every inch of you…all mine.”

He kept slamming into you, each thrust hitting that perfect spot, his hand sliding down to circle your clit in tight, fast motions. “M’so close—ah!” you whimpered, voice trembling, your legs starting to shake. “Fuck, baby…me too.” he groaned, hips moving faster, almost desperate. That strange, overwhelming pressure built deep in your abdomen, making you gasp. “Toni! S’too m–much!”

“But you take it so well, baby,” he growled, his voice rough and filthy in your ear, “you’re such a good girl for me.” You cried, “Fuck! Anton!”, body tightening before the release hit you all at once—hot, messy, unstoppable. Your thighs trembled as you squirted around him, the sound of it mixing with his moan as he pounded you through it.

“Shit…you just squirted all over me…fuck, you’re perfect.” Anton groaned, his voice low and wrecked. You moaned at his words, your body still trembling from release. Before you could catch your breath, he pulled out abruptly, flipping you onto your back with surprising strength. His messy hair fell over his forehead, his flushed face twisted in pleasure as his hand pumped his cock fast.

The sight of you—skirt messy, socks on, your stomach rising and falling with every shaky breath, it pushed him over the edge. With a loud, broken whimper, he came hard, spilling hot ropes across your belly and chest, his shoulders tensing as his hips jerked. Anton stayed kneeling between your legs, chest heaving, hair a total mess. His wide eyes followed every rise and fall of your stomach as he tried to catch his breath.

You dragged your fingers through the warm mess on your belly, scooping some up without breaking eye contact. His gaze locked on you, pupils blown, as you slowly brought your fingers to your lips and licked them clean. He let out a strangled sound, half groan, half whimper, before whispering, “Holy…fucking…shit.”

You barely had time to smile before he leaned forward, kissing you hard, his hands cradling your face like he couldn’t get enough. “You’re the best girl, baby.” he murmured against your mouth, voice still wrecked. You tugged on his hair gently, and he sighed into the kiss, finally collapsing beside you.

A few moments later, you were lying flat on the bed, his head resting against your chest while your fingers played lazily with his hair, feeling the rapid thump of his heartbeat slowly calm. You’re lying there, feeling his warmth against you, your fingers lazily combing through his messy hair. The room is quiet except for the soft hum of the AC. “Anton?” you say suddenly, voice quiet and soft.

He hums against your chest, “Mm?” You swallow, heart thumping. “Will you be my boyfriend?” His head lifts immediately, eyes wide and cheeks flushing a deep pink. “A-are you for real?” You pout a little, glancing away before looking back at him. “Anton…you just made me squirt, I’ve never done that before…and besides—” you bite your lip, “I really like you. A lot.”

His mouth parts slightly, like he’s lost for words. Then, with a shaky little laugh, he leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. “I like you too…like really fucking like you. And yeah—yeah, I’ll be your boyfriend.” You grin, cheeks warm, and pull him back down against your chest, feeling him smile into your skin.

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after your friends announced the room and bed assignments to the whole group, everyone immediately changed into their swimming outfits and headed for the beach.

anton, on the other hand, was still hunting for his swim cap. you waited patiently for him on the bed assigned to the two of you: a double-sized mattress tucked into the far corner of the room next to the bathroom.

“i thought your trunks would match my set?” you pointed out as he slathered sunscreen onto his legs.

“i forgot, baby. i’m sorry.” you only nodded in response. once you saw he was finally ready to head out, you bolted from the room first, growing impatient since everyone else was already out having fun.

you missed the sight of anton shaking the bed frame, testing it to see if it would make a noise.

when you were a short distance away, you heard his hurried footsteps jogging toward you. he caught up and instantly hooked an arm around your waist.

“you’re so hot,” he whispered, pulling you flush against his side.

“if i see someone wearing the same color as your trunks, i’m giving you away,” you joked, pulling away from his grasp to walk ahead.

he let out a playful whine. “that’s not fair.”

“okay! i’m going to ride the jetski alone,” you teased.

he pouted, giving you his best fake sulky face. “you’re mean. although i was planning to do something on the jetski.”

“huh?” you were taken aback.

what could he possibly mean by do something?

once you reached the shore, you climbed onto the driver's seat of the jetski, revving the engine and laughing with the rest as everyone was figuring out how to control the ride.

anton settled behind you, his hands gripping your waist tightly as you sped off into the open water.

once you were far enough from the shore that the group looked like tiny specks, you felt his hands wander.

one hand stayed firm on your hip while the other began to slip beneath the hem of your bikini top, his fingers tracing the curve of your skin with a bold familiarity. the sudden heat of his touch against the cold ocean air made your heart skip.

“anton, stop it,” you yelled over the roar of the engine, though you couldn't help the small smile tugging at your lips.

not content with just a wandering hand, anton leaned forward, his plump lips grazing the sensitive skin of your shoulder.

he then reached down further to tease you, his fingers hooking into the elastics of your bottoms and instantly finding your heat down there.

the way you were bouncing over the waves made your breath hitch, not helping your current situation.

“we’re going to drown here!” you yelled again, nearly causing you to jerk the handles.

you felt his chest vibrate against your back as he laughed, his lips pressing a fleeting kiss to your shoulder before he reluctantly pulled his hand away and gripped your waist properly again. “you forgot i know how to swim.”

“and you forgot we’re in public!” you remarked, slightly leaning your head back so he can hear you.

“but no one’s gonna see.” you ignored what anton had just said, forcing you to hide a smile again.

after a heavy dinner that spiraled into a night of drinking, everyone eventually stumbled back to their rooms and drifted off to sleep.

however, your boyfriend seemed to have different plans.

“should i eat you out first?” anton hissed, pausing to look up at you from where he was.

right on your boobs.

when you looked down at him, it was the exact moment his lips attached again to your hardened nipple. his free hand was busy massaging the unoccupied one, kneading it with a possessive grip.

then, he pressed his thumb firmly against the nub of the breast he was massaging, while teasingly grazing the other with his teeth.

anton earned a soft, broken moan from you, and you instinctively fisted your hands in his hair.

as he began to provide alternating, wet licks to each bud, you found yourself pushing his face closer against your chest, desperate for more.

it was sensory overload. you were squirming so much that your legs wouldn't stay still, despite anton’s weight pinning you down.

the duvet didn’t rustle much, but if anyone were to glance over right now, it would be painfully obvious that a body was draped over yours, even in the shadows of the room.

anton continued to swirl his tongue around the sensitive tips, his breath hot and ragged against your damp skin. he buried his face between your breasts to muffle a low, guttural groan.

eventually, he slid under the duvet beside you, pulling you into his side so your head rested in the crook of his shoulder.

“don’t move too much,” he whispered. the two of you were already so close, but there was a desperate need to be closer, fueled by the fear of making too much noise.

“anton. there’s other people in the room,” you hissed back, suppressing a sudden gasp by pressing your hand over your mouth.

“they’re all blacked out, i promise.” he pulled you flush against him, his hands already working at the waistband of your shorts.

you sighed before shifting in one swift motion to face him. “we should’ve gone with your jetski idea instead,” you breathed against his lips.

you felt his lips curve into a smirk. “jetski or not, you know we were always going to end up like this.” you adjusted the duvet over the both of you, feeling hyper-conscious of every rustle of fabric.

your hands slid underneath his shirt, tracing the planes of his torso as you brought your lips to his. determined to catch him off guard, you pinched his nipple, hoping to coax a sound out of him.

anton couldn’t suppress the whimper that broke through the kiss. you quickly shushed him by continuing to lap at his soft, plush lips to keep him quiet.

his fingers were already pushing inside you. he didn't even attempt to start slow or tease you first; he just surged in. “hah. i was right about you being wet already.”

as he felt your reaction, his lips pulled away from yours to roam along your jawline, trailing down to the sensitive skin of your neck.

the duvet was making far too much noise given the supposed secrecy of the moment. you stopped him before he could go any further. “next time, i’m insisting on a solo room,” you murmured.

he gave a pathetic yet frantic nod, immediately returning to the crook of your neck.

before he could lose himself again, you pulled his face back to look at you. “anton, i’m serious. they’ll kill us tomorrow if they find out.”

“i don’t care. just stay quiet.” you let out a silent groan. at this rate, your heart was going to burst long before you reached an orgasm.

“it’s more fun when there’s a thrill, baby,” anton murmured, continuing to mark your sensitive spots while you bit your lip to stifle a moan. “we’ll be fast.”

this was completely shameless.

yielding to the friction, you reached down to find the hardened length of him. you massaged him through the fabric first, earning that low, hitched breath you loved, before pushing his shorts down just enough to grip him. his tip was already slick, so you spread the moisture and began a steady, rhythmic motion.

it was a struggle to give him a proper handjob, given the cramped space and how tightly your bodies were pinned together, but the risk only seemed to make him harder.

he didn't waste a second, his fingers picking up a rhythmic, messy pace inside you that had you arching your back off the mattress. his other free hand pulled you closer, even more, so you can steady your body and not make any extra noise with the duvet.

the pace of your hand going up and down on his length matched his. every wet thrust was punctuated by the faint, rhythmic sound of skin hitting skin.

you buried your face in the crook of his neck to muffle your ragged breathing, feeling the friction of his knuckles against your sensitive skin.

he leaned in close, his hot breath ghosting over your ear as he picked up the speed, his thumb finding your clit and pinning it down with a pressure that made your toes curl under the duvet.

"babe. need to fuck you now," he urged in a gravelly whisper, his movements becoming more urgent as he felt you begin to tremble against his hand.

you managed to respond despite the continuous low gasps overflowing from your mouth. “how t-the hell?”

before eventually stopping the movements your hands were doing on his length, you squeezed his tip. he hissed at the sudden gesture, and started lapping at your lips roughly.

“turn around, we’ll make less sound.” you rolled your eyes at his crazy suggestion.

you shifted as quietly as possible, but the duvet still rustled like thunder.

definitely not a good idea. still, you like it.

you had no choice but to just swallow the huge lump on your throat.

anton hooked a leg over yours to pull you into a tight, sideways spoon. you could feel the intense thud of his heart matching your own.

"stay just like that," he breathed, his hand reaching around to grip your hip. “try not to make any noise, okay?”

"i'm gonna put it in." he guided himself in with one smooth, agonizingly slow push, the sensation of him filling you sideways making your breath hitch in your throat.

you reached back blindly, your fingers digging into his thigh as he began to move, his rhythmic thrusts shallow and controlled to keep the bed from creaking.

every time he bottomed out, he pressed a stifled, hungry kiss to your shoulder blade, his low grunts muffled against your skin. you can only bite your lip to stifle any moans.

with every shallow thrust, he tilted his hips just enough to hit a specific spot.

it was agonizingly good. anton’s grip on your hip tightened, his fingers bruising your skin as he picked up the pace, seemingly not caring about the sound of the duvet rustling too much.

“fuck, you're so tight," anton hissed into your skin, sending shivers down your spine. you can’t help but let out a grin to what he had just told you.

you buried your face deep into the pillow that you grabbed next to you, the fabric damp from your breath as you fought the urge to ruin the silence.

“harder.” you moaned out. then, his movements become more desperate and less controlled.

anton leaned down even more, his teeth grazing the sensitive part of your nape as he struggled to keep his own composure.

your heart hammered so hard against your ribs. the bed gave a tiny creak, and the both of you froze instantly.

but anton didn’t stop with his persistent movements, his thrusts are deeper now, more insistent.

you attempted to peek to check if someone from the other side of the room stirred.

“we’re good,” anton let out a shaky, hot breath against your ear.

the sound of his skin slapping wetly against yours was a rhythmic and dangerous chorus filling the room’s quiet atmosphere. it was not that loud but you can only internally offer a prayer that the others were truly as deep in their sleep.

his thrusts became shorter and more desperate, resulting in a soft moan slipping off your mouth.

“ssshh…” he rested his free thumb on your lips. your hands went feral, not knowing where to place or grip it; your toes curling against the mattress.

“you’re doing good, baby.”

anton seemed to sense you were close. you felt the familiar coil of tension tightening in your stomach, so he reached down with his thumb to find your clit, applying a grounding pressure that sent you over the edge.

this put your brain to a short circuit as his actions followed by him barely pulling out now, and opting for deep, grinding hitches that forced you to bite down hard on your lips.

overstimulation has gotten into you. “close-” your body was already shaking, your hands grabbing his nape from the back as you attempted to bring his face close so you could kiss him messily.

anton’s quads were locked tight against your legs and his hand on your hip was practically pinning you down intensely.

“we’re not doing this again, anton lee.” you squirmed while he bottomed out again.

he let out a sharp, jagged inhale through his teeth, followed by an evident smirk you felt through his breath.

then, you felt that his entire frame shuddered with the effort of keeping a low groan only heard in the tiny proximity you were keeping.

with a heavy lunge, anton buried himself deep inside you and stayed, his entire body locking up as he’s almost reaching his limit.

anton’s grip on your hips finally slackened, leaving a muffled and guttural groan right on the skin of your shoulder. he then immediately replaced it with a soft peck.

slowly, he withdrew, pulling out at the last possible second. you didn’t even have the chance to fight the soft whimper from the sudden feeling of his absence.

anton adjusted your hips while you felt your body finally relaxing as you let out your release. neither of you moved, and you can hear the loud synchronized thud of your hearts.

both bodies tensed against each other and you were exchanging ragged exhales with him in the dark.

with a quiet urgency, anton gripped himself and directed his release away from the sheets. you could hear the faint, wet sound of him moving frantically to chase his high and finish.

“fuck.” his voice barely breathed. “i love you, baby.” blurting out those words as if he was launched to cloud nine.

your eyes were still closed, tired from the sneaky situation. “tissues in my bag beside you.” your hazy mind was still able to form some words.

you felt his heavy figure slumped back against the mattress with his chest rising and falling in jagged heaves that turned into a sudden low groan.

anton crawled back toward you as he tucked his face into your neck, "worth the risk," he whispered. you scoffed in return as you felt his soft lips on your skin.

he pulled you closer and draped a heavy, protective arm over your waist.

“hell no,” your chest was still heaving. “i think i prefer the jetski idea now.”

anton pressed a sleepy kiss to the top of your head, his fingers tracing mindless circles on your arm. "let’s clean up, baby. " he murmured against your hair, his voice thick with exhaustion. “bathroom’s just to our right, so…”

you let out a long, shaky sigh of pure contentment as you fix your clothes. “you okay?” anton helped you up, enough to not cause the bed to groan.

once the door clicked shut, you immediately pulled him in for a quick hug. he rested his chin on the top of your head while you feel the warmth of his embrace. your legs swaying slightly from fatigue.

“careful,” anton whispered as he guided you. “here,” his voice lost its rasp and returned to its usual gentle tone.

anton gave you a quick kiss on the forehead as he started carefully cleaning you.

you mumbled, “we are not sharing a room with anyone next time.”

he let out a small chuckle. “you didn’t like the thrill?”

“that’s your fantasy?” you lightly smacked his arm while he was busy helping you.

anton just nodded, a playful glint in his eyes.

There were too many noises, the sounds of the whistle blowing through the air and the swimmers taking off into the water. There was chatter from each of the teams, making the environment seem louder. 

Your coach turns to you to speak, getting his familiar pep-talk ready. “You’ve done this a hundred times. This isn’t anything new. Trust your start, keep your rhythm, and finish strong. You know you’re good — now just go out there and show it.”

You nodded curtly and walked over to your position, the tile beneath your feet is cold and slick with water, but you barely feel it. Your heartbeat is louder than the crowd now, thudding steadily in your ears as you step toward the block. 

You exhale once, sharp and steady, then lift your gaze.

And there he is. 

Anton is already at his block, rolling out his shoulders and infuriatingly calm – as he usually is before a race. His body is all lean lines and strong muscles, but tense. His teammates watch from behind him, trading jokes and last-minute advice, but Anton isn’t really paying attention to any of it. 

He’s too busy looking at you. 

It’s quick, a flicker of his attention locking onto yours almost like it's purely instinctual. His gaze makes a nauseous twist sit in your stomach. His lips lift just barely, an infuriating smirk on his face. Provoking you. 

Maybe it was a challenge, maybe an invitation for something else. You couldn’t tell. You never could with him. 

You force your chin up, refusing to be the one who looks away first. Not today. You held his gaze, refusing to let the flicker of smugness in his eyes burrow further beneath your skin. Anton didn’t blink, didn’t look away, not even when the starter's voice rang out in the humid air calling your attention. 

His eyes narrowed slightly, sizing you up – likely to see if you were the same girl he had beaten last month. He seemed to think he had you all figured out when he broke his gaze and let out a little chuckle to himself. 

The air was thick with the smell of chlorine and the adrenaline coursing through you. 

The whistle blew, the shrill sound cutting through the strong tension between the two of you. You got into position, your muscles coiled tight and ready. For a half-second, your focus drifted back to Anton, the cocky little tilt of his head and the flex in his own muscles as he took position. 

The buzzer sounded. 

You launched yourself, the world narrowing down to the rush of air and the cold feeling of the water on your skin. 

______

You barely had time to breathe and relish in your victory before Anton found you by the bleachers with your team. He started making his way over with the same infuriating smirk that was always on his face. Your skin was still wet as you met him halfway, not wanting your teammates to hear the bullshit he was most likely about to say. 

“Congrats,” he drawled, voice low. “Didn’t think you had it in you. Must’ve been luck, hm?” 

Gosh, he was insufferable. Your cheeks felt hot. 

You glared, pretending you didn’t notice the way his gaze slid over you. You also pretended you didn’t notice the way your skin prickled, blaming it mostly on the water giving you temporary hypothermia. 

“Luck?” you scoffed, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. “You can call it whatever you want.” Your voice surprised you – a little more breathless than you intended, but solid. 

Anton stepped closer, his presence cutting off the noise of the pool and the shouts of your teammates. You could smell the hint of chlorine and his body wash still clinging to him. For a second, you wondered if anyone was watching from the bleachers. If they could see your tense body language. It would be just your luck to have someone catch you even slightly flustered. 

“Or maybe you’ve just been watching me too much,” you added when he didn’t respond, your chin lifted. 

His mouth curved. It was most definitely a challenge. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he said softly, but his gaze lingered on your lips. “I just like knowing you’re not as good as me. Makes it easier to win.” 

He was so close now, the heat of his body radiant against your skin. Your heart hammered in your chest, and you could feel it in your throat. 

You knew the smart thing to do would be to brush him off and walk away, remind him that he’s just a smug asshole who has nothing better to do than annoy you. But you didn’t. You stood your ground, matched him glare for glare, your lips tingling from the way his eyes kept sweeping over them.

“Oh is that what happened today?” you sneered, the words coming out lower than you intended. “Becuase it looked like you were chasing me for a while there. Couldn’t catch up?” 

He laughed, but the sound was softer than you’d expected. You saw his jaw flex, and for a moment the competitive edge in his eyes shifted to something else. Something heavier, darker, and more personal. 

Before you could analyze the look in his eyes, your coach’s voice sounded in your ears, telling your team to pack it up so that you could head out. 

Anton blinked slowly, a lazy grin curling at his lips before he stepped back, leaving you with your pulse jumping and a flush high on your cheeks. You turned and walked away, not daring to look over your shoulder even though you could feel his eyes burning between your shoulder blades. 

Your team packed up, voices buzzing with post-race adrenaline and stupid gossip. The van ride back to the hotel was a blur of tired limbs and damp towels. Only when you stepped into the lobby did you realize Anton and his teammates were sprawled across the armchairs in the lobby, looking perfectly at home. 

Of fucking course. Just your luck. 

Your team found their own places to sit while your coach checked you in. You didn’t dare go anywhere close that asshole, but you could feel his heated gaze on you, never leaving. 

Your coach walked back up to your group and started handing out room keys. 

“Now, since there’s an odd number of us, someone gets their own room.” He grunted out. Your other teammates immediately started asking for it, not wanting to share a room with anyone else. You were too distracted by the gaze on you to partake in the begging. 

“Now, now, I’m giving it to our winner for today. She deserves it.” He said, handing the key out toward you and snapping you out of your daze. You smiled tightly and took the key card from him, your other teammates jokingly booing at you. You laughed and flicked some of them off. 

As you and your team walked up to your floor, you still felt those eyes on you, except this time you didn’t acknowledge him. 

You made your way down the corridor, damp hair still slinging to your neck, the low hush of your teammates' voices fading behind you as you drifted further from their cluster. The key card was thick between your fingers and you spun it around and around, unable to keep the restless energy from your hands or the sense of being watched from crawling up your spine. 

You told yourself you didn’t care. You had beaten him. You’d gotten the solo room. He could look all he wanted. 

The hallway was quiet, carpet muffling your footsteps and the air thick with the lingering scent of pool chemicals and the faint trace of someone’s cologne. Maybe his. You shoved that thought right back down where it came from and pushed your door open. 

The room was bright, a single bed crisply made, and silent except for the echo of your heart in your chest. 

You kicked your shoes off, dropped your bag by the desk, and peeled off your jacket. The adrenaline from earlier was still slightly there, and you sighed as you checked your phone for any new notifications. 

The knock at the door had your head snapping up from your phone to the door. 

They’re already knocking at the door? You saw them two minutes ago.

When you got to the door you pulled on the handle and opened it, ready to make a teasing remark at your teammate about already missing you. Only it wasn’t your teammate. It was Anton. 

He stood in your doorway, as if he belonged there. As if he’d been invited, when you both knew he hadn’t. He filled the space with unapologetic energy, one arm braced casually against the doorframe, his body still lean and strong and his hair slightly darker, like yours, from lingering moisture. The smell hit you: chlorine, the clean scent of his bodywash, and that cologne, subtle and sharp and unmistakably him.

You blinked. For a breathless second, neither of you spoke.

He smiled, slow and deliberate, with a hungry, slightly amused glint in his eyes. “Expecting someone else?” His voice was deep, edged with laughter.

You leaned your shoulder against the door, half blocking his view of the room. “You must be lost. The asshole convention’s down the hall.”

He huffed a short laugh, not moving. “I thought I’d congratulate you properly.” His eyes flicked from your face to your neck, to your collarbone. You felt the heat of his gaze like he was physically touching you. For a second, neither of you moved. The air between your bodies felt charged, riddled with tension and something else you couldn’t and didn’t want to name. 

“Funny,” he said, his voice lowering. “But I’m right where I want to be.”

You rolled your eyes, but the gesture felt weak even to you. Up close, his presence was suffocating. The width of his shoulders blocked out the hallway light. His arm, still braced against the doorframe, caged you even as you stood your ground.

“Congratulations delivered. You can go now,” you said, keeping your tone even, your chin up. But you didn’t close the door.

He tilted his head, studying you, and you realized he saw right through the confidence act. “You always this polite to your fans?” he asked, and the words made your skin crawl with irritation. 

But you didn’t take the bait. Instead, you fixed him with that look you’d perfected over the years of racing side-by-side – sharp, unimpressed. He leaned in, just enough that you could see the pretty shade of brown in the details of his eyes, and for a moment you allowed yourself to breathe him in.

“Only the ones who lose as pathetically as you,” you shot back, the words coming out huskier than you meant. It was impossible to ignore the way his eyes darkened at that, the twitch of his jaw as he processed your nearness. He was so close you could count the freckles across his collarbone, could see the way his throat worked as he swallowed.

He didn’t move back, but stepped closer, shifting his weight so that his hips brushed the edge of the door. His arm remained above your head, effectively pinning you in place, but you didn’t shrink away. You could feel the tension in his stare.

It vibrated between you, not quite touching, but almost – like electricity.

You licked your lips. His gaze tracked it, sharp and intent. Every sensible thought in your head told you to make a snarky comment and slam the door in his face, but you just… didn’t. Maybe you liked the way the air got thick when he stepped this close, the way his voice dipped when he spoke to you, just for you. Even if every word was meant to rile you up.

You wondered if he could see your pulse beating in your throat. It felt obvious, loud, like it was beating for his attention.

Anton dropped his face a little nearer, the shadow of his jaw cutting a clean line only inches from yours. “Go on, then,” he murmured, voice low. “Prove you’re better, yeah?”

The words set something wild loose in your chest, and you felt something pulse inside you. You should’ve laughed. You should’ve pushed him out, locked the door and gone straight to the shower and then to bed. But here you were, pulling him into your room and slamming the door shut behind him. 

He barely had a chance to react before you shoved him back, hard, the force of it sending his spine gently to the wall. You caught the flash of surprise in his eyes, but it only made his mouth curve higher. For a second, neither of you moved; you just stood together in that bright, silent room, close enough that your breaths mingled and the tension between you felt raw and almost physical.

He looked at you, really looked, heat pooling in his gaze, and you realized with a fierce jolt that he wanted this as badly as you did. You pressed forward, erasing the last bit of space, and kissed him.

It was nothing like you’d imagined—not soft, not tentative, but fever-hot and reckless, hungry and desperate and the taste of chlorine and him. He caught your lower lip between his teeth, sharp with need, and you felt his hands find your waist, fingers digging into your skin.

You let him, for just a moment, because it felt good and right and you wanted to hear what he’d do if you stopped pretending to hate his guts. 

But you didn’t give him all the control – not for a second. You pushed up on your toes, kissed him harder, your mouth parting under his, and the soft surprised sound he made vibrated straight through your chest and down in between your legs. 

His hands slid lower, splaying over your hips and dragging you flush against him, and you knew he was just as breathless and done for as you. 

He kissed like he competed: relentless, greedy, all-consuming. He caught your bottom lip between his teeth, not gentle, and he groaned against your mouth, one palm fisting the back of your shirt to pull you impossibly closer. 

The tension was so messy, and when your fingers tangled in his still-damp hair, tugging, he broke away just enough to let out a shaky breath against your cheek. 

You didn’t wait for him to say anything clever. You nipped sharply at his jaw, felt the muscle tense under your teeth, and heart the way his breath hitched. He chased your mouth, catching it again, but you tugged him back by his hair and continued your attack on his neck. 

You could feel the coiled tension in Anton’s arms, the way his fingers curled possessively around your hips, and the way his mouth kept trying to find yours hungrily. 

“Didn’t expect this to be your way of proving you’re better,” he said, a smirk on his mouth and his voice soft against your ear, “is it my turn yet?” 

You scoffed, let your teeth find his earlobe for just a second, sharp enough to make his take in a harsh breath, before you eased back just barely enough to meet his eyes. 

Anton’s hands tightened on your hips once more, bruising, like he was fighting the impulse to just take. The thought made you feel hot and dizzy. 

You wanted him, you wanted this, and the need was suddenly so sharp it scraped through your composure. You dragged Anton toward the bed, not caring how graceless it looked. 

His lips were on yours again, and your hands yanked desperately at the hem of his shirt. He returned the favor, fingers rough and greedy, hauling your clothes over your head and discarding them somewhere behind you. 

Everything was teeth and tongue and fumbling hands, hips bumping against the edge of the bed as the both of you reached for each other's bare skin. You laughed breathlessly when you finally got his shirt off, immediately eating him up with your eyes. You saw him half naked during competitions all the time, but it was different in this context – almost like you were truly seeing him. 

His eyes were devouring you. His hands were already sliding up to your chest, groping you as if he needed to touch every inch at once. You were pressed so close there was no space left at all. 

You felt Anton's fingers drag down your stomach, a rough, greedy slide that had you shivering and arching into his touch. 

“Look at you, already desperate for it,” he murmured, a smug, dark laugh pressed against your neck. He didn’t wait for you to respond, just slipped his hand between your legs, cupping you through your underwear. His fingers stroked you, slow at first, then harder, until you gasped against his mouth. 

“Knew you’d be greedy,” he said softly. “Could feel you looking at me all day. But I didn’t think you’d be this fucking wet, sweetheart.” The words made you clench around nothing, not even able to form a response, and when he finally slid your panties aside and pushed his fingers inside you, you nearly sobbed. 

He stretched you ruthlessly, thumb rubbing hard circles and making you squirm. He ran his other hand down to your waist, pushing down and holding you in place. 

“Please, I need- please…” you begged, needing him inside of you. 

His lips turned up into that infuriating smirk you love. He could tell you just wanted him to fuck you already. 

“I’ve gotta stretch you out first, angel. You can’t take all of me without it.” He said, so soft it was barely above a whisper. You couldn’t catch the hint of condescendence in his tone, you were too far gone already.  

You whined and whimpered until you felt pressure building in your stomach. Anton’s fingers kept their steady pace, his thumb working those intense circles on your clit until you shattered against his hand, his voice gentle and reassuring in your ear. 

“That’s right, show me how good you are. Bet you’ve never cum this fast for anyone else,” he breathed into your ear, and the words burned straight through you. 

You arched helplessly, muscles clenching around his fingers, your body already trembling with aftershocks and the humiliation of how easy he made it look. But you didn’t care – you wanted more, all of it, especially when his mouth found yours again, almost tender now, as if he was tasting just how desperate you were. 

You barely registered the way he manhandled you up onto the bed, dragging you higher so you sprawled beneath him, your legs open and shivering as he slotted his hips between them. 

You could feel his cock, hard and heavy, pressed right against you through his still-clinging briefs. He made no secret of how desperate he was, grinding into you just once, slow, so you could feel every inch. 

You reached for him without thinking, your fingers yanking the waistband down, impatient, and he let you, watching you through his lashes, his eyes heavy and blown as you freed him. 

He groaned softly, the pleasure in his eyes so vivid and unrestrained in the way he looked at you. You wrapped your fingers around him before you even thought about it, desperate to feel his weight and how hard he was for you. 

Anton was so thick and hot against your palm, and his hips jerked forward, the motion desperate and hungry. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, barely more than a groan, and you felt it everywhere, your body tightening with a new frantic need to have him inside of you. 

He caught your wrist and pinned it above your head, holding you there with holding you there with unsurprising ease. It was primal, the way he wanted to control the pace, and the way he didn’t want to give an inch without making you work for it. 

He finally pulled your panties off, your wetness sticking to them and making them practically see through. He threw them where his pants were on the ground, smirking at you. “I’m keeping those for later.” 

You rolled your eyes and tugged at his shoulders. “Just fuck me already. Please I’m so…please, Anton.”

He bit his lip at the sound of his name, the way it rolled off your tongue in that needy tone, and he swore he would’ve snapped and eaten you up right then and there if it weren’t for his impeccable control. 

“Say it again for me.” He demanded. He definitely wasn’t asking, and he made that clear through the look in his eyes. 

Your own eyes fluttered, breath sharp in your chest. “Anton,” you repeated, and it came out just as thin and just as desperate as the last time. “Please. I need you so bad.”

He looked at you like you’d never been rivals at all m and stripped away the last inch of space between you bodies. His hips slotted flush against yours. He lined himself up at your entrance, dragging his cock up and down your cunt, lubing himself up with all of your slick. You could feel the thick head of his cock pushing, just barely there, not enough, just a tease. 

He leaned over you, his mouth grazing the edge of your jaw, his voice hungry and rough. 

“Good girl.” The praise seared through your nerves. “You want it so bad, don’t you? Want me to fuck you so hard you can’t stand tomorrow?”

You nodded, too far gone for words. He grinned that pretty grin of his – all teeth and dimples – and bit his lip. 

He pressed into you. The slight stretch burned, his fingers only helping so much from how thick he was. 

You gasped, the sting of the stretch punching the breath out of you, his cock pressing into you slow and relentless. Anton watched you with a dark, greedy intensity, like he was cataloging every twitch, every whine, every whimper. He eased forward, sinking deeper, the drag of him inside you obscene.

Your thighs were shaking from how good he filled you up. His grip on your waist was bruising, and somewhere in the back of your mind you hoped the marks would show for more than just a few days. 

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, his forhead pressing to yours. You could feel him trembling slightly, his restraint becoming thinner and thinner. He wasn’t gentle, but he didn’t rush, letting you feel every deserved inch as he bottomoned out, hips flush to yours, bodies fused together. 

You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. He smirked, feeling your cunt squeeze impossibly tighter around him. It was taking every single atom in his body to not pound into you right then and there. 

His hips have a shallow, testing thrust. The friction was dizzying; you arched into him chasing it, desperate for more.

“Look at my pretty girl, hm?” Anton murmured, voice thick with hunger. “Taking it so well for me.” His breath was hot against your cheek, his body bracketed over you. You wanted every bit of him. You wanted him to leave you shaking and full and ruined. 

He pulled out to the tip, slow, and pushed back in so deep you thought he might be rearranging your guts. Each thrust was deliberate, hard enough to jolt the headboard and send a filthy noise into the echoey hotel room. 

You clung to him, nails raking his shoulder blades, and he groaned at the sting, rutting against you harder. The world blurred to the heat of his skin, the weight of his body on yours, and the slick friction with every roll of his hips. 

You tried to fight the sounds spilling from your lips, but it was useless – the moans, the needy, desperate whimpers. Anton ate up every sound, his mouth finding your neck, biting just enough to make you gasp and clench around his pulsing cock. 

“Wanna fill you up so bad. You like this don’t you?” he panted against your throat. He was getting talkative, and that made you think maybe he was going to cum soon. “I know you do, baby. I know.” 

You shuddered, unable to hide it, your legs locking hard around his waist. You wished you could say something – beg for something, dirty talk to him too – but nothing was making its way out of your mouth except the punched out little moans from his deep thrusts. 

The sound you made on a particularly harsh thrust was almost embarrassing, but Anton drank it in, his hips grinding deep and slow, the drag thick and obscene. He kept you pinned with one big hand, the other moving possessively over your throat and jaw. Not tight, just enough to remind you who had you, who was inside you, stretching you so wide it left you breathless. 

“You’re so needy for it, fuck. You keep squeezing me like that, I’m gonna cum.” 

You tightened around him again, just to feel how his hips stuttered inside you, his control fraying with every wet, slick thrust. You wanted to see him lose it, wanted to ruin him the way he’d already ruined you, so you let your hips rock up, catching the thick grind of his cock just perfectly. The sound he made was so raw, desperate. 

“Yeah?” you whispered, voice trembling but so fucking proud. “You gonna cum inside me, Anton?” You said his name like a taunt – or a promise – your lips brushing his jaw, your tongue flicking out to taste the salt and sweat where his pulse pounded. 

“Angel,” he gritted out, mouth hungry on your neck. “You feel so good, you have no idea.” He moaned, hand tightening at your throat just slightly, his big palm spanning across your jaw and cheek as he fucked into you rougher, harder, like he needed to imprint you on every part of his body. 

Anton’s other hand tightened on your hip, possessive. “You gonna take it for me?” he rasped against your mouth, his breath coming out in rough pants. “Let me fill you up?”

You nodded, dizzy, your entire body strung out and your mind gone with all of your thoughts. 

He watched you through hooded, hungry eyes, the lines of his face sharp with focus and something primal. He wanted you full and messy and gasping, and he wasn’t shy about it. With every thick, punishing thrust, he brought you closer to the edge, body pinning you hard to the mattress, his voice rough, but with a certain softness to it, in your ear. 

“That’s it, fuck…Let me feel you.” His hand slid from your throat to your jaw, his thumb pressing at the corner of your mouth, demanding, obsessive, yours to bite or suck or moan around if you dared. 

You did, lips parting so he could press his thumb inside. You sucked at it, greedy, eyes fluttering shut from the obscene pleasure of being taken this way, and Anton nearly came inside you right then and there. 

He swore, voice guttural against your skin, and the pace of his thrusts stuttered for a split second as you sucked at his thumb, greedy and shameless. He seemed to savor it, every slick pull of your mouth, and his hips surged forward with a new, frenzied need. The way he filled you was devastating and relentless – a slow, thick grind that made your entire body tighter in anticipation. 

“Such a good fucking girl, hm? So pretty, so fucking needy for me.” he whispered, forhead pressed to yours, obsession and awe wound together in every syllable. 

“Don’t stop, fuck, please- don’t stop.” You begged, your words slurring together and barely making it out of your mouth. You were so close to coming and you could tell it would be intense. 

The tension inside you built sharp and unyielding, pleasure turning molten, until you could barely hold yourself together. Anton’s body pressed you down, thick cock stretching you so perfectly, and the bed creaked beneath every rough thrust. His thumb dragged out from your mouth, wet with your spit, and he pressed it to your lips, watching the way you chased the touch, needy and shameless. 

The only sound in the room was broken breathing and the slap of skin, the wet pulse of your cunt around him, and the way you whimpered when he hit just right, over and over. You were making him lose his control and his restraint with every squeeze. 

“Listen to yourself,” Anton panted, his fingers digging deeper into your hip. “You’re soaking for me, I can hear your pretty pussy leaking for me.”

You whimpered, the shameful sound muffled by his hand as your body seized suddenly, pleasure snapping so hard you almost sobbed. Anton felt you clamp down and only rutted deeper, his hips never faltering, cock grinding against the spot inside you with brutal, perfect certainty. 

“Fuck that’s it. Knew you’d cum for me, but I didn’t think you’d fall apart this easy,” he taunted, voice rough, and his lips dragging a filthy smile across your jaw. 

You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, not when the aftershocks were already too much. Your thighs shook, muscles fluttering uncontrollably, but he didn’t give you a moment to recover. 

Instead, his fingers slid down, rubbing your clit mercilessly, circling fast and slick and mean. You jerked, crying out loudly and trying to squirm away, but Anton pinned you flat with his weight, pushing harder. “Sensitive now, aren’t you? Bet you can’t take it, yeah?” he crooned, his hand working you while his cock drove in and out. 

The pressure building in your stomach exploded again, your cunt getting even wetter, helpless under the overstimulation. Anton’s laugh was low in your ear as he forced you through another, even harsher orgasm. 

You writhed, sobbing into his shoulder, everything inside you seizing hard as the orgasm washed over you, pussy fluttering and squeezing around Anton’s cock. He fucking loved it. You could hear it in the way he let out a ragged, triumphant sound. You could feel it in the way his hips ground deeper, reducing to let you go. 

“Fuuuck, that’s it, just like that,” he choked, voice full of awe and hunger. “You’re milking me, sweetheart. Squeezing my cock so fucking perfect.” 

You couldn’t breathe, your nails scraping down his back again as he pounded you through every single trembling aftershock. He didn’t show you any mercy, fucking you even harder, the slap of skin echoing in the hotel room, the sound obscene. 

“Taking it so good, baby. You were made for this, weren’t you?” His hand slid up, cupping your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek and wiping your tears away. 

And then he reached up, found your hands gripping tight onto the sheets, and tangled his fingers with yours above your head. His grip was so sure, so grounding, you would have gasped at the intimacy of it if you were present instead of your brain being so fuzzy. 

His pace stuttered, and you felt him shudder above you, holding you through the way his body tensed, every muscle straining and trembling as he fucked you even harder, chasing his own orgasm. 

“I’m gonna fill you up, just like you want, Angel. Gonna make sure you know just who you belong to.” he growled, voice harsh and shaking slightly. His cock throbbed inside you, thick and perfect and sensitive. 

Your whole body arched to meet him, and you could feel his control slipping, unraveling right where you wanted him. 

He slammed into you, harder and harder, his rhythm erratic now and his breath ragged at your ear. “Fuck, fuck, you feel so good,” he gasped, every word running straight through you. “You’re gonna take it, yeah? Gonna let me give you all my cum?” 

You nodded, choking on a moan, your whole body seizing as his hips stuttered inside you one last time and he thrust into you one more time, his cock hitting so deep he touched your cervix. 

The moan he let out was animalistic and guttural, filling the room with raw noise. His body trembled over yours as he came, cock pulsing inside you, spilling himself deep where you ached for it. You felt every spasm of his, and the way he ground his hips down to make sure you took every desperate drop, like he wanted to fucking drown you in it. 

He stayed inside you, not loosening his hold on your hands, his forehead pressed into your neck and both of you panting like you’d just raced the length of the pool. Your whole body trembled, and you felt like the aftershocks were never ending. 

You could sense he was about to pull out, but you needed to be close to him. You couldn’t let him go just yet – not when he had just filled you up like he was trying to impregnate you. 

You freed your hands from his and wrapped your arm around his back, tugging him closer. “Don’t pull out. Wanna stay like this, want you to make sure your cum doesn’t go to waste.”

His cock twitched violently at that, and he let out a groan, his teeth gritted together like he was in pain. “Don’t say shit like that, Angel,” he said. It was already taking everything in him not to get hard again and fuck you through the night. 

But you liked the way his pulse jumped under your palm, the way his cock twitched inside you, overstimulated but still greedy for more. You wrapped your thighs tighter around his hips, locking him to you and not letting a single drop escape. 

You shouldn’t have said it, but you couldn’t help the way you ached, the way you’d take him over and over if he wanted. You wondered if he could tell, or if he’d just assumed you’d be done after that. But you weren’t. Every inch of you was perfectly sore, oversensitive, still trembling from the aftershocks of him, and yet, still greedy for whatever came next. 

Anton buried his face in your neck, breathing hard. His cock throbbed once inside you, a deep, hungry pulse. “You’re trouble,” he muttered, that pretty smirk on his lips. 

You stroked a slow line down his back. “If you get needy again…you can use me. Even if I’m asleep. Just wake me up, or don’t. I don’t care.”

His breath stuttered, and you felt the way his whole body tensed, the way his cock tried to harden inside you again at the promise. He pressed his lips to your jaw lingering there, claiming you with the press of his body and the heat in his eye. 

“Careful,” he whispered, “I might take you up on that.” 

the crowd was relatively quiet, but the moment anton stepped out? it’s like he was offering everyone a million dollars. girls screamed his name, standing up and jumping around in the bleachers as he walked out, giving you a small wave. 

“they really love your boyfriend, huh?” shotaro chuckled, still astonished by the volume of the mob despite experiencing this multiple times before. 

eunseok clicked his tongue at the sight of so many losing it over anton. “don’t they know he’s taken?” his head cocked to the side, eyes squinting. “gosh, they’re insane. look at those posters.” he pointed at a select few, reading them out. “...’lee anton, you’re mine’ oh, yeah no.” 

“i can’t believe even the older students do it.” sohee furrowed his brows, as annoyed as you. “it’s so childish.” 

shotaro saw how your smile slowly turned the other way around, quickly deciding to say something. “it’s okay, y/n. anton only has eyes for you.” he pat your shoulder, nodding his head. 

the swimmers had hardly touched the water and the rally got louder, piercing through your eardrum. and that was just the start. as the tournament went on, the yells for anton just kept on increasing. girls’ squeaking voices rang in your ear, shrills loud enough to break the glass windows. 

once anton had ultimately won most of his events, bringing home three golds and two silver medals, his fangirls snapped pictures of him, some even took pictures with him, posing like he was a celebrity. 

you made your way down the stairs, ready to congratulate your boyfriend, when another student, one in his year, stopped you in your way, blocking you from anton. 

“excuse me, i was here first.” she said in a stern voice, keeping her arm out, defending you as if she was a security guard for anton. “get in line.” 

“i’m his girlfriend,” you said, keeping your voice calm, though on the inside you were burning with anger. you attempted to push through her shield of an arm, but she used all of her strength, shoving you back to where you were. 

she rolled her eyes at your perseverance. “i don’t care if you’re his girlfriend. you don’t deserve to be, anyway. he should be with someone more mature, someone in his year, like me.” 

unbeknownst to her, anton had been listening the whole time behind her. 

“could you not block my girlfriend’s way?” he said, clearly annoyed. “i’m dating her and not you for a reason. i don’t care if you’re the same age as me, y/n’s the one for me.” 

her face turned bright red, full of embarrassment. “s-sorry…” she managed to mutter before scurrying away. 

anton eyed her as she ran away, glaring at her through the corner of his eyes. “hey, baby.” his medals clanked against one another as he walked toward you. “thanks for coming,” this time, he kissed you on the lips, holding your waist with a strong grip. “my lucky charm.” you could feel him smile as he kissed you, smugly showing you off in front of everyone who wishes they were in your position. 

“ugh, tonie…” you whined as you pulled away from his face. “your hair’s literally dripping.” you exhaled, grossed out by how your hands were soaked in pool water now. 

he drew you back into his arms, giggling as he shook his hair, flinging drops of water on you. “whatever.” he laughed at the way you complained about him drenching your uniform yet still hugged him back. 

You and Anton had been trying for weeks, but no matter how many times you did it, you just couldn't manage to fit his big cock inside you.

"It was barely in, Ton. What if we can never…” Your voice cracked.

You rolled onto your side, hiding your face from your boyfriend. 

Anton sighed. You felt the mattress dip behind you as he shuffled closer.

"Maybe we should just break up," you mumbled into the pillow. "You deserve a girlfriend who can actually fuck you right." 

Anton's large hand squeezed your shoulder. "Stop that talk."

He pulled you so that you were lying on your back and gazed into your eyes lovingly.

"Am I going to have to kiss you to shut you up?" He said, with no malice in his voice.

You gave him a small smile.

Anton leaned down and kissed you. His lips were soft, and tasted faintly of chlorine, like always. His hot tongue pressed into your mouth, making you shudder. 

Anton's hand trailed down your jaw and settled on your breast. He squeezed the soft flesh in his hand, moaning into the kiss. His fingers rolled over your nipple, sending licks of pleasure down to your core.

His hand skated further down, over your tummy, over your hips. His fingers stroked your soft curls before sliding across your pussy. You could tell he wanted to finger you.

"Wait!” You sat up, pulling the rumpled bed sheets over your naked body.

"There's something we could try. That would help it to… go in," You bit your lip. "But it's kinda... different."

"Tell me," he murmured. 

You gnawed at the end of your hair. "I've never tried it before, but I've thought about it... a lot."

Anton's arm muscles squeezed as he pushed himself up. He stared at you curiously. 

"I want you to choke me," you whispered, cheeks burning.

"I don't-" Anton spluttered. "You want me to...” He shook his head vigorously, the tips of his ears flushing red. "No way. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

"Are you sure you're not into it?" You pointed at his cock. "You're hard again."

You and Anton both looked down at his cock. It was thick and dark, and swelling in front of your eyes. The tip was already glistening.

Anton chewed his lip.

"Okay," he said, voice tight with excitement. 

You lay back down, and Anton settled between your thighs again. You could feel his cock, hot and heavy, pressing against your stomach.

Anton reached his hand towards your face. Your breath caught in your throat.

He tucked your hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing your sensitive lobe. Then he brought his hand lower, tracing over your jaw.

His fingers touched your neck, just tracing over the soft skin. You gasped. 

Then, Anton wrapped his hand around your throat.

You felt his large fingers on your neck. You felt prickles of fear and pleasure jolt down your spine. 

“That’s it,” you squeaked.

Anton squeezed your throat, just a little.

You were beginning to feel a little lightheaded. Suddenly, you felt a gush of wetness flood your core.

Anton rubbed his cock against your slit, pushing his dick over your clit and then down to your hole. 

"You're so wet," he said, looking down to where your bodies met in awe. 

“All for you,” you moaned. Your pussy was throbbing with a need for him.

Anton pushed his cock against your hole, squeezing the tip inside you. His eyes were almost crossed with concentration.

He pushed in more, going a few inches deeper.

You could feel your pussy being stretched around his big cock. It felt like heaven. 

With his hand on your throat and his cock inside you, you began to see stars.

"Nearly there..." Anton rocked his hips forwards, pushing harder. You closed your eyes and tried your best to relax into the sensation. Before you knew it, he had pushed his entire cock inside you, all the way to the base. 

You both groaned at the feeling.  

"I can't believe it!" You laughed breathlessly. 

Anton released your throat and covered his face with his free hand. That's when you noticed he’d gone a deep shade of red. 

"Trying not to come... fuck-" Anton groaned, squeezing his eyes shut.

You felt full with the weight of him inside you. Finally, finally, you had Anton where you wanted. You stroked his muscled arm as you waited for him to calm down.

Anton took two deep, shaky breaths. Then, he started to thrust.

He started to fuck you, slow and deep at first, before picking up the pace. Pleasure curled over your skin, sending delightful trickles all over you.

Anton grunted. "Fuck, this is so hot. You're so hot."

Anton grabbed your throat again, holding you in place as he slammed his cock into you. He used the entire strength of his athletic body to fuck you, no longer being gentle. 

You gripped onto his shoulders as his thrusts shook your entire body.

"More," you moaned, arching your back so your tits brushed against his muscled chest, shooting off sparks every time your nipples brushed his skin. 

"Look at you, fucking angel," Anton moaned. Sweat glistened on his brow, matting his dark fringe to his forehead. "Wanna fill you up."

You could feel Anton everywhere, his cock in you, his heavy body on top of you, the scent of his sweat and the love in his eyes. 

Anton pushed up one of your legs so that it was folded against your chest. With this new angle, you could feel him so much deeper. 

“So- good,” he said, voice getting whinier. You’d never heard him so riled up.

Anton fucked you harder, like he wanted to bury himself inside you and stay there forever. 

You were overwhelmed with the stretch and the pressure and the heat of him in you. You were wet. Wetter than you'd ever been before.

"Anton, I'm so close," you moaned. You were almost at your orgasm, your pleasure rising, the heat building. Anton picked up the pace, fucking you faster and faster until-

You felt an intense pressure building inside you like you'd never felt before. 

"Wait, Anton, I think I'm gonna-"

But it was too late. You felt a warm gush between your legs.

You both moaned in surprise, realising that you’d just squirted all over your boyfriend.

Anton’s eyes went wide. "Did you just… squirt?" 

You looked between you to see that Anton's abs were glistening with your slick. 

“I’ve never done that before,” you said, smiling shyly.

Anton thrusts were getting erratic now. He thrust once, twice, hips shuddering. He pushed all the way in and groaned, loud and filthy, as he came inside you. 

"Fuckkkk," he groaned, his head flopping down to your shoulder. 

You felt a hot sticky liquid fill you up and spill out onto your thighs. Your pussy was still throbbing from the aftermath of your orgasm. 

Anton dropped down onto you, his shaky muscles unable to hold himself up any longer. 

"Best. Day. Ever," he whispered, eyes slipping shut.

You stayed like that, Anton’s cock buried in your pussy, one of his hands wrapped loosely around your neck, as you both fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

—

kinktober masterlist 🎃 MAIN MASTERLIST

You were late. You were always late, and the irony wasn't lost on you as you adjusted the straps of the dress one last time in the reflection of the glass door. It was a slip of dark silk that felt like a second skin, a choice that felt like a declaration of war or a desperate peace offering—you weren't sure which yet.

When you finally spotted him, he was hunched over a drink, his large frame looking almost too big for the mid-century stool. He looked different, but the way he held his glass—fingers long and steady, tracing the rim—was exactly the same.

"You still take a long time to get ready, I see" Anton said before you even reached the bar.

He didn't look up immediately. He let the words hang there, a soft, teasing blow that landed right in the center of your chest. When he finally lifted his head, the dim light caught the sharp line of his jaw and the soft, observant depth of his eyes. His gaze didn't just land on your face; it swept down, taking in the dress, the way the fabric pooled at your hips, the way your collarbone dipped as you took a shaky breath.

He let out a short, dry huff of a laugh, shaking his head as he looked back at his drink. "You're really wearing that one? That's mean, even for you."

"I didn't think you'd remember it" you lied, sliding onto the stool next to him. The proximity was an immediate mistake. You could smell him—that familiar mix of something clean and something woody—and it made your head feel heavy, just like the lyrics of that song you’d both obsessed over.

"I remember the zip was stuck" he muttered, his voice dropping into that low, mumble-soft register that used to vibrate against your skin in the dark. "I remember how much you complained about the price. I remember everything, actually."

He finally turned his body toward you, his knee brushing against your thigh. It was a ghost of a touch, but in the vacuum of your shared history, it felt like an electric shock. Anton looked tired, his eyes carrying a weight that wasn't there a year ago. He looked like a man who had spent too much time thinking and not enough time feeling.

"We're just catching up, right?" he asked, though his eyes were searching yours for a contradiction. "No patching things up. No messy 'who-did-what' talk. Just... a drink. Like people who didn't ruin each other."

"Just a drink" you agreed, your voice sounding thin to your own ears.

Anton leaned in then, his elbow resting on the bar as he moved closer, invading your personal space with a practiced ease. He reached out, his thumb catching a stray strand of hair near your ear and tucking it back. His skin was warm, and he let his hand linger for a second too long, his thumb grazing the shell of your ear.

"Liars" he whispered, a small, sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "We're both such good liars."

You pursed your lips, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you shook your head. It was so typical of him—trying to set boundaries that he was already breaking with a single look.

"You're the one who started it" you murmured, watching as he signaled the bartender.

He led the way to a small, circular table tucked away in a booth that felt a little too private, a little too much like a sanctuary. He didn't even have to ask; he ordered a strawberry mojito for you and a simple plate of snacks to pick at. It was that effortless familiarity that hurt the most—the way he didn't need to consult a menu to know exactly what you wanted when your nerves were shot.

For a while, the conversation was safe. You talked about work, the mutual friends you’d drifted away from, and the mundane updates of a life lived apart. Anton listened with that quiet, heavy intensity of his, nodding along, his eyes never really leaving yours. It was easy, almost too easy, to pretend that the months of silence between you were just a long pause in a conversation that hadn't actually ended.

But then, a lull fell over the table. The kind of silence that happens when you run out of small talk and the big talk starts looming in the shadows.

The speakers overhead crackled softly before the first warbling, lo-fi chords of the song began to bleed into the room. It was raw and hazy, the guitar notes sounding like they were being pulled through water.

Anton froze for a split second, his glass halfway to his lips. He knew this song. He knew what it meant to both of you. He set the glass down with a slow, deliberate click and looked at you, his expression softening into something dangerously vulnerable.

"Dance with me" he said. It wasn't really a question.

You felt the heat crawl up your neck, a deep blush staining your cheeks as you instinctively shook your head, looking down at the melting ice in your drink. "Anton, no. There’s hardly any room, and I’m..."

"You're in that dress" he interrupted softly, standing up. He didn't wait for a second rejection. He moved around the table and came to a halt in front of you, towering over you in that way that always made the rest of the room disappear.

He reached down, offering his hands, palms up. His fingers were long and steady, waiting for yours. You let out a long, shaky sigh—the sound of someone who had already lost the fight—and placed your hands in his.

He led you to the small, cleared-out space near the back where a few other couples were swaying in the dim light. The floorboards creaked under his boots as he turned to face you.

Anton didn't hesitate. He slid one large hand around your waist, his palm warm and firm through the thin silk of your dress, pulling you just close enough that your breaths began to sync. His other hand stayed locked with yours, his thumb tracing the back of your knuckles.

You settled your free hand against the center of his chest, feeling the steady, heavy thrum of his heart beneath the fabric of his shirt. The song swirled around you, messy and emotive, and for a moment, the distance between "catching up" and "falling back" completely vanished.

You kept your gaze fixed on the buttons of his shirt, a bittersweet ache blooming in your chest that felt heavier than the silence between you. The scent of him was a cruel reminder of every night you’d spent trying to forget how safe you felt in his arms. It felt like standing on the edge of a cliff you’d already fallen off once before.

Anton seemed to sense the shift in your breathing. He shifted his weight, leaning down until his forehead brushed yours before he tucked his face into the crown of your head. He took a long, shaky breath, inhaling the scent of your hair as if he’d been starved of it.

"I'm sorry" he murmured, his voice muffled and thick with a regret he hadn't let himself voice until now. "I’m so sorry I pulled away."

His hand on your waist tightened, drawing you flush against him. "Things just got... too hard. Life was being mean, and I could feel myself starting to get meaner too. I didn't want to be that person for you. I didn't want to take it out on you, so I thought if I just backed off, I’d be saving us." He let out a ghost of a frustrated laugh against your hair. "But I just ended up hurting you more, didn't I? I was trying to be noble and I was just a coward."

Your fingers curled into the dark fabric of his shirt, bunching the material tightly in your fists. The honesty in his voice was a sharp blade, cutting through the protective layers you’d built up over the months. Your eyes stung, the familiar heat of tears blurring your vision as you shook your head against his chest.

"Anton" you whispered, your voice trembling. "Stop. You’re going to ruin my makeup."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb catching a stray tear before it could track down your cheek. His expression was soft, a pained sort of tenderness in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat.

"Sorry" he said again, his voice dropping into that low, gentle register. "Stay here."

He stepped away for a brief second, returning with a clean napkin from the bar. He didn't just hand it to you; he held your chin tilted up, watching with focused intensity as you took it from him and carefully dabbed at the corners of your eyes, mindful of the eyeliner you’d spent thirty minutes perfecting.

A small, genuine chuckle broke from his throat as he watched you work. "True. Sorry. It really would be mean to mess it all up now, especially when you took so long getting ready."

You let out a wet laugh, your hand flying out to hit his shoulder softly. "Shut up, Anton. Seriously."

"I'm being for real" he said, his smile lingering even as his gaze turned serious again. He reached out, his fingers skating over your hip, the touch lingering on the silk of the dress. The tension hadn't fully dissipated, but the air felt clearer, lighter. "Look, it’s late. Let me take you home, at least? Just so I know you got back okay."

You stayed quiet for a long moment, pursing your lips as you weighed the risk. You knew how this story usually went—one of you would say something you didn't mean, or worse, something you did mean, and the night would end in a beautiful, tangled mess. But as you looked at him standing there, wait-listed for a second chance he didn't even think he deserved, the logic didn't matter. You just needed him. You needed the closure, or the beginning, or whatever was left of the "us" you’d been grieving.

You gave a small, resigned nod, and the tension in his shoulders visibly ebbed away.

The walk to his car was brisk, the night air turning sharp and damp. True to form, he beat you to the passenger side, pulling the door open and holding it steady while you tucked the hem of your dress inside. The drive was a heavy, quiet blur. Anton didn't need to ask for directions; his hands moved on the steering wheel with the muscle memory of a thousand previous trips to your apartment.

Outside, a soft drizzle began to smear the streetlights into hazy orbs of gold against the pavement. The radio was nothing more than a low, static-laced hum, filling the gaps where neither of you knew what to say.

When he pulled up to the curb, he didn't just let you out. He reached into the back for an umbrella, stepping out into the rain and circling the car to shield you before you could even reach for the handle.

"Don't want the dress getting ruined" he murmured, tilting the umbrella toward you as he walked you toward the lobby door.

You stood under the small overhang of the entrance, the sound of the rain hitting the canvas above you like a frantic heartbeat. The silence here felt different—final. Anton looked at you, his face unreadable in the shadows, before he gave a slow, stiff nod. It wasn't an angry gesture; it was the look of a man accepting a sentence.

"Okay" he said, his voice barely audible over the rain. "I'll leave. Goodnight."

He started to turn away, his boots scuffing against the concrete, and for a second, you almost let him. But then your hand shot out, your fingers hooking around his pinky finger—a small, desperate anchor.

Anton froze. He looked down at your hand, then back up at your face. You were looking at him with wide, glassy eyes, your bottom lip trembling just enough to be dangerous. You smeared your lipgloss as you bit your lip, your head shaking a slow, silent no.

"Come... in?" you asked quietly, the words almost getting lost in the wind.

The umbrella tilted slightly as his grip on the handle tightened. He didn't answer with words; he just let out a long, shaky exhale and followed you toward the door.

The elevator ride up was a quiet hum of shared breath and unspoken questions. When the door to your apartment clicked open, the transition felt surreal. Anton stepped inside, leaning the dripping umbrella against the wall and stepping out of his shoes with a practiced ease that suggested he’d never really been gone.

You watched him as he moved into the living room. His eyes roamed the space, curious and sharp, landing on the new sage-green sofa and the plush rug that replaced the one you’d spilled wine on a year ago. He looked like a man visiting a museum of a life he’d helped build but was no longer a part of.

"You changed the rug" he noted softly, his voice echoing in the quiet of the room.

"Yeah" you breathed, standing in the middle of the floor, feeling suddenly shy in your own home. "It was... time for a change. Do you want some water? Or—"

You started to turn toward the kitchen, but Anton moved faster. He stepped into your space, his large hands reaching out to find your waist, the heat of his palms soaking through the silk of your dress instantly.

"No" he murmured, shaking his head before you could finish the offer.

He didn't pull you in roughly; instead, he leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours, his eyes fluttering shut. His thumbs traced the curve of your hip bones, steadying both of you. "No water. Just... stay here. Let me touch you for a second. I just need to know you're real."

The honesty in his voice broke the last of your defenses. You reached up, wrapping your arms around his neck and rising onto your tiptoes to close the gap. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, hugging him with a desperate, bone-deep tightness that said everything you hadn't been able to put into words.

Anton let out a jagged sigh, his arms winding around your back, crushing you against his chest as if he were trying to merge back into your life by sheer force of will. He held you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded, his nose brushing against your temple.

"I missed you" he whispered against your skin, a confession that felt like a prayer. "God, I missed you so much."

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands framing his face, your thumbs smoothing over the sharp line of his cheekbones. His eyes were dark, but the edges were beginning to soften into something much more tender.

Neither of you moved for a long beat, just staring, memorizing the way the low light hit the other’s features. Then, as if the gravity between you finally became too much to resist, Anton leaned in.

The kiss was soft at first—a tentative, bruisingly sweet question. It tasted like the strawberry of your drink and the lingering rain from outside, a slow-motion collision of two people finally finding their way home through the dark.

The kiss shifted instantly, losing its tentative edge and sharpening into something desperate. It was the sound of a year of holding your breath finally being exhaled. Anton’s hands, which had been so steady at the bar, were suddenly restless, his palms sliding up from your waist to cup your face, his thumbs hooking under your jaw to tilt your head back. He tasted like the night—cool rain and the lingering sweetness of fruit—and he made a low, needy sound in the back of his throat when your tongue flicked against his.

"The bedroom" he rasped against your lips, not waiting for an answer.

He didn't let go of you as he backed you toward the hallway, his socks scuffing the floor in a clumsy, urgent rhythm. He pinned you against the doorframe for a second, his mouth dropping to your neck. He wasn't being gentle anymore; he was breathing heavily, his open-mouthed kisses hot and damp against your skin, marking the spot right where your shoulder met your throat. A jagged moan escaped him, vibrating against your collarbone.

"Anton" you breathed, your hands scrambling for the buttons of his shirt. Your fingers were shaking, fumbling with the fabric until you managed to pop the first few. You pushed the shirt off his heavy shoulders, the material pooling on the floor as he finally reached for the back of your dress.

He found the zipper, his fingers catching on the familiar snag. "Still stuck" he muttered, a frustrated, breathless huff of a laugh escaping him. He didn't force it; he worked it with a focused intensity, until the silk finally gave way. The dress slid down your body, a dark puddle of fabric at your feet, leaving you in nothing but your bra and lace.

His eyes were dark, almost black in the shadows of the room, as he took you in. He reached behind you, his large hands dwarfing your frame as he unhooked your bra with a practiced flick of his wrist. When it fell away, he let out a sharp, hitching breath, his hands coming around to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples until you whimpered.

He moved you toward the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight as he pushed you back onto the pillows. He stayed between your legs, his hands roaming over your ribcage and down to your tummy, his kisses following the path of his fingers. He was so vocal now, every breath a heavy huff of desire, every touch accompanied by a low, guttural rumble of approval as he pulled your lace down your legs.

He leaned down, his mouth moving from your stomach to the soft skin of your inner thighs. He went agonizingly slow, peppering the sensitive skin with biting kisses that made your hips arch off the bed.

"You taste so good" he groaned, his voice thick and wrecked. "I’ve spent every night thinking about this."

He didn't make you wait. He moved lower, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you open for him. When his tongue finally met you, it wasn't tentative. He used his tongue flat and firm, tasting your sweetness with a rhythmic, hungry focus. He was thorough, his face pressed into you as he drank you in, his own moans muffled against your skin. The sensation was overwhelming—the heat of him, the friction, the way he seemed to know exactly how to drive you to the edge of the cliff you’d been hovering over all night.

Your fingers tangled into his hair, pulling softly—not enough to hurt, but just enough to ground him as a needy, broken sound left your throat. "Anton, please... I need you. I really need you."

He paused, looking up at you with a small, breathless smile that was more tender than anything you’d ever seen. He leaned in for one last lingering kiss on your inner thigh before standing up at the edge of the bed. You watched him, your breath hitching as he unbuckled his belt and let his jeans and boxers fall to the floor. Even in the dim light, he looked like a god—broad-shouldered and solid, a sight you’d replayed in your head a thousand times during the year of silence.

He crawled back onto the mattress, looming over you as he braced his weight on his forearms. He took a moment to wipe his face with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving yours, before leaning down to capture your lips in a deep, searing kiss. His hand reached down between you, coating himself in your shared dampness and his own saliva, preparing you both with a focus that made your stomach flip.

"I've got you" he whispered against your mouth. "I'm right here now."

Then, he guided himself in. He moved slowly, his face contorting with a low, guttural moan as he finally slid home, the friction of it making your eyes roll back. He didn't rush into a rhythm; he just stayed there for a beat, buried deep inside you, his forehead resting against yours as he let out a shaky exhale.

His hand found your waist, his fingers splaying wide across your skin, while his other arm braced himself firmly beside your head. He began to move, his thrusts deep and deliberate, pulling almost all the way back before pushing back in with a heavy, grounding force. He was navigating the familiar terrain of your body with a precision that only came from years of loving you.

When he adjusted his angle, finding that one specific spot that made your toes curl and your breath hitch, he let out a soft, triumphant huff. He smiled against the skin of your neck, his lips grazing your pulse point as he felt you pulse around him.

"There it is" he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "I remembered."

You couldn't answer, your hands reaching around to his back, your nails grazing the skin of his lats. You held him tight, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him even deeper, needing to close every millimeter of space between you. The sound of the rain outside was drowned out by the steady rhythm of his body against yours and the way he kept whispering your name like it was the only word he knew.

The pace began to climb, the friction of the silk sheets beneath you and the heat of his skin against yours creating a fever pitch. Anton was increasingly vocal, his usual quiet reserve completely shattered. He was making low, desperate sounds in the back of his throat, his breath coming in sharp, staggered hitches. He went faster, his movements turning into a blur of deep, heavy friction that made your vision swim and your heart hammer against your ribs.

He was focused, his eyes locked onto yours even as his face contorted with the effort of holding back. But then, his grip on your waist tightened until his knuckles went white, his head falling back as he reached the peak.

his body was shuddering with a violent release. He filled you up so completely, the sensation of him coming inside you making your own climax ripple through your nerves until you were breathless and shaking.

He didn't pull away. He collapsed forward, his weight heavy and grounding as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his chest heaving against yours. The room was silent except for the sound of your shared, frantic breathing and the rain still drumming against the window.

Anton shifted slightly, propping himself up on his elbows to look down at you. His hair was a mess, his eyes were blown wide, and he looked more "home" than he had in years. He reached out, his thumb gently wiping a stray, happy tear from the corner of your eye before he leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

"I love you" he whispered, the words steady and sure this time, no longer shadowed by the angst of the bar or the regret of the past.

You let out a long, shaky exhale, your eyes rolling back for a second in pure, exhausted bliss. A small, tired smile stretched across your lips as you reached up, tangling your fingers in his hair one last time to pull him down for a soft, sweet kiss.