#riize suggestive

week 1:

the door clicks shut behind you with that specific sound it makes when the humidity is high and the wood swells in the frame. you don't say anything at first, just drop your keys in the ceramic bowl on the entryway table. the bowl you two bought at a thrift store three years ago because anton said it looked like a melted jellyfish and you laughed so hard the cashier asked if you were okay. you haven't thought about that in months. the apartment smells like the ramen he probably made three hours ago, the broth having settled into that stale, salty air that sticks to the curtains.

you see his back first. he's sitting on the floor in front of the couch, knees pulled up, laptop balanced on the coffee table. he's wearing that gray hoodie with the frayed cuff. you know the one. you used to steal it. now you just notice that the string is missing from the hood because it came out in the wash and neither of you has bothered to thread it back in. that's the thing about living together for this long. you stop fixing the small things because the energy required to thread a hoodie string feels monumental when you're already carrying the weight of a forgotten reservation.

he doesn't turn around. he knows it's you. the lock is distinct, and you both know the rhythm of each other's footsteps in the hallway. the weight of your walk, the way you pause to check the mail slot even though it's always just flyers for pizza places you don't order from anymore. you stand in the kitchen archway and watch the back of his head, the way his hair curls a little at the nape where he needs a haircut. three weeks ago you would have walked over and run your fingers through it just to annoy him. now your hands stay at your sides, and you realize you're gripping the edge of your own sleeve. it's a tic you've developed recently, this holding onto yourself because holding onto him feels like asking for something you're not sure you deserve.

this all started the way water starts boiling. you don't notice it until it's already rolling, until it's too hot to touch the pot. the first thing was the restaurant. thai place on fifth. he'd been talking about their khao soi for two weeks because his roommate from freshman year said it was "life-altering" and anton, being anton, decided he needed to have a life-altering soup experience with you. he made a reservation. he told you twice, maybe three times. he even sent you a calendar invite with a stupid subject line that said "soup acquisition mission" and a little rocket emoji. you accepted it on your phone while walking to your 2 p.m. lecture and then your brain immediately filed it away in the same drawer where you keep your student id number from sophomore year and the name of your neighbor's cat.

the day of, you were in the studio. you'd been working on a project that was eating you alive, the kind of deadline that makes you forget to eat or blink or check the time. by the time you looked up, it was 9:47 p.m. and your phone had seven messages from him. the first one, sent at 7:02 p.m., just said "got the table by the window :)". the last one, sent at 8:34 p.m., was just "okay." no emoji. no punctuation. just the word sitting there like a stone dropped into still water. you called him immediately, your hands shaking from caffeine and guilt, and he answered on the fourth ring. he wasn't yelling. anton almost never yells. that's what makes it worse. he just said, "they gave the table away at 8:15. i'm in the car now." and you heard the sound of his turn signal clicking in the background. a small, steady, mechanical sound that felt louder than any fight you'd ever had.

you tried to apologize. you said it was work, you said you lost track of time, you said all the things that are technically true but don't actually matter when someone has been sitting alone at a table for two for over an hour, picking at the condensation on a water glass and telling the server "she's probably just running late." he accepted the apology. or at least, he said the words "it's fine." but "it's fine" is never fine. "it's fine" is what you say when you're too tired to explain why it's not, when the math of expressing the hurt doesn't add up to the energy you have left. he came home that night with a paper bag from the bodega, a sad looking sandwich and a bottle of green tea. he ate it standing at the counter, not at the table. you sat on the couch and watched him out of the corner of your eye, and you felt the first hairline crack form in whatever foundation you'd built since junior year of high school.

week 2:

then there was the parking lot. that was a week later, maybe five weeks. you'd both been at a friend's gathering off-campus, one of those parties where the music is just loud enough that you have to lean in to talk but quiet enough that you can still hear the awkward silences. you'd been off all night. he'd been talking to someone about a film restoration project, his face doing that thing it does when he's genuinely interested, and you'd been standing next to him scrolling through your phone. not because you were bored, but because you didn't know how to insert yourself into the conversation without feeling like you were interrupting. you felt like a plus-one at a party you'd both been invited to. on the walk back to his car, the air was cold and wet, the kind of early spring night that makes your joints ache. he was walking slightly ahead of you. not fast, just not beside you.

in the car, the windows fogged up immediately. he turned the defroster on high and the fan made that rattling sound it always makes when it's on the third setting. you sat in the passenger seat and stared at the dashboard. the clock read 12:04 a.m. he asked if you were coming back to the apartment. you said you didn't know. you said maybe you'd sleep in your own dorm room. it was a lie, or maybe a test. you haven't actually slept in your dorm room in six months. your pillow is on his bed. your charger is plugged in on your side of the mattress. but in that moment, the thought of lying next to him in the dark, the both of you breathing but not speaking, felt like a punishment you wanted to avoid.

he didn't start the car. he just sat there with his hands on the wheel, thumbs tapping against the leather in a rhythm that wasn't a song. it was just nerves. "why do you do that?" he asked. his voice was low, the way it gets when he's trying really hard to keep it level. "why do you always run back to your own space when things feel off?" and you didn't have a good answer.

you just had the truth, which was that sometimes being in a room with someone you love while you're both hurting feels like being in a room with the volume turned up too high. the parking lot was empty except for a few cars with student parking decals and a single streetlamp that buzzed like it was full of bees. you told him you just needed air. you got out of the car and stood by the trunk for four minutes. he waited inside. neither of you moved toward the other. you got back in, and you drove home in a silence that was only broken by the gps voice saying "turn left in five hundred feet."

the worst one, the one that sits in your stomach like a rock even now, was the night you called him selfish. you can't even remember what started it. it was a tuesday. something about the dishes. something about how he'd left his shoes in the hallway and you'd tripped on them. it was so small, so unbearably domestic and petty. but the argument bloomed fast, like mold in a dark corner. it grew from shoes to "you never listen" to "you always think your stress is the only stress that exists." and in the heat of it, standing in the kitchen with the faucet dripping because he'd been about to wash a pan but stopped mid-action, you said it. "you're being so selfish right now."

his face changed. not dramatically. anton's face is like a calm lake, you have to watch the edges to see the disturbance. his jaw tightened. he put the sponge down on the counter very carefully, like it was made of glass. "i waited for you for an hour and forty-five minutes," he said. his voice was quiet. "i didn't say anything mean when you forgot. i didn't bring it up again. i didn't guilt you. i let it go because i know how hard your semester is. but i'm selfish." he didn't say it like a question. he said it like he was reading a fact off a page. and then he walked into the bedroom and closed the door. not a slam. just a soft, firm click. the sound of the wood swollen in the frame.

you stood in the kitchen for a long time. the faucet dripped. the pan sat on the drying rack, still dirty. you could hear him moving around in the bedroom, the creak of the floorboard by the closet. and you realized with a sick clarity that you had just taken the thing you both were supposed to be holding carefully and you'd thrown it on the ground just to see if it would bounce. the word "selfish" hung in the air of the apartment like smoke. it was still there the next morning, and the morning after that. it's the kind of word that doesn't wash out of the curtains easily.

now, standing in the kitchen archway watching him sit on the floor in front of the couch, you can feel that word between you. he still hasn't turned around. his laptop screen glows blue against his face, and you can see the reflection of his eyes moving as he reads something. he's wearing earbuds. you know he can't hear you, but you also know he knows you're standing there. the air in the apartment is thick with everything you haven't said. the ramen smell. the dripping faucet. the gray hoodie without the string. you take a step forward, your sock catching slightly on a rough patch in the floorboards. he still doesn't move. you don't know if you're going to touch his shoulder or just walk past him to the bedroom. you don't know which one is the right move anymore. that's the thing about building something since high school. eventually, the blueprint you started with doesn't match the house you're standing in, and you're both too scared to open a wall and see if the foundation is still holding.

week 3:

it came on a thursday. not a dramatic night with rain against the window or a public scene at a party. it was 3:14 p.m. and you were both in the living room, him on the floor with his laptop, you on the couch with a textbook open to a page you hadn't read in twenty minutes. the sun was coming through the blinds in those thin strips that make dust motes look like floating gold. you'd been sitting there for almost an hour without either of you saying a word, and the quiet wasn't the comfortable kind. it was the kind that feels like holding your breath underwater, waiting for someone to come up first.

you don't remember exactly what triggered it. maybe he sighed. maybe you shifted and the couch cushion made a sound. but suddenly you were looking at the back of his head and thinking about the restaurant reservation, the parking lot, the word "selfish" that had been living in the walls of this apartment for weeks now. and something in your chest just gave way. not like a snap, more like a rope that had been fraying thread by thread finally parting under its own weight. you said his name. your voice sounded foreign to you, like it belonged to someone braver or more tired.

he turned around. he took out one earbud and let it dangle against his hoodie. his face was blank in that way it gets when he's bracing for something. he knew. you could see it in the way his shoulders were already set, the way his eyes didn't quite meet yours but fixed on a point just over your left shoulder. he'd known this was coming for weeks. maybe months. but knowing a wave is coming doesn't make it easier to stand in the surf. "i don't think i can do this anymore," you said. the words came out flatter than you expected, like you were reading a line you'd rehearsed without realizing.

"this," you continued, and you gestured vaguely at the space between you two, at the apartment, at the air itself. "i feel heavy all the time. even when we're not fighting. i feel like i'm waiting for it to get bad again. that's not... healthy. for either of us." you said healthy like it was a foreign concept you'd just learned in a textbook. he didn't flinch. he just sat there with one earbud hanging and looked at you. the sun stripe moved across his cheek and you watched it catch the faint stubble he hadn't shaved because he'd barely left the apartment in three days to study for midterms. you wanted to reach out and touch his face. you didn't.

he nodded. just once. a small, mechanical movement of his chin. "okay," he said. it was the same "okay" he'd sent you in that text message from the restaurant. flat. a stone dropped into water. he didn't ask why. he didn't ask if you were sure. he didn't ask if there was someone else or if you needed time to think. he just said okay and turned back to his laptop. his fingers hovered over the keyboard but didn't type anything. you sat there for another thirty seconds, waiting for something. a question. a protest. a plea. anything to show that the last four years had actually happened. but he just sat there, still as a photograph, and eventually you got up and walked to the bedroom and closed the door with that same soft, swollen click.

the first three days were a kind of purgatory you didn't know existed. you were both still living in the same apartment because the lease didn't end for another two months and neither of you had anywhere else to go on short notice. he slept on the couch. you didn't ask him to. he just came out of the bedroom on the first night with his pillow under his arm and a blanket you'd bought together at ikea two years ago. he didn't look at you. he just set up on the couch like it was the most normal thing in the world, and you stood in the hallway in your pajamas and watched the light from the living room go off.

you could hear him at night. not crying. anton doesn't cry easy. but you could hear him shifting on the couch, that creak of the old springs every ten or fifteen minutes. you'd lie in the bed that still smelled like both of you and listen to him not sleeping, and you'd press your face into the pillow to keep from making any sound yourself. the first morning, you came out to make coffee and found him sitting at the kitchen counter with his head in his hands. his laptop was open to a study guide for his film theory midterm, but the screen had gone dark from inactivity. the coffee maker was beeping because he'd started it and then forgotten. he looked up when you walked in and his eyes were red-rimmed but dry, like he'd been staring at something bright for too long.

wonbin noticed on day two. anton showed up to their shared study session in the library basement, the one they'd had scheduled for weeks, and he just sat there. didn't open his notebook. didn't make a single dry comment about the guy two tables over who always ate tuna sandwiches. wonbin said his name twice before anton blinked and looked at him like he'd just remembered where he was. "we broke up," anton said. he said it the same way someone might say "i missed the bus." flat. factual. and then he went back to staring at the wood grain of the table.

wonbin didn't push. he's good like that. he just closed his own textbook and sat there with him for forty minutes in silence. eventually he said, "you want to get out of here?" and anton shook his head. "i just need to sit somewhere that isn't the apartment," he said. his voice was hoarse, like he hadn't used it all day. wonbin told you this later, not as a way to make you feel guilty, but because you asked. you'd run into him outside the humanities building and the question just fell out of you before you could stop it. "is he okay?" and wonbin looked at you with something that wasn't pity but was adjacent to it. "he will be," he said. "he just doesn't know how to do this. four years is a long time to learn a person's scent and then try to forget it."

you cried for a week straight. not the pretty kind of crying you see in movies where a single tear slides down a perfect cheek. this was the kind where your face gets swollen and your nose runs and you make sounds that you didn't know you were capable of making. minji came over on the second night with takeout containers of jjajangmyeon and two bottles of soju. she didn't say anything at first. she just sat on your bedroom floor with you while you sobbed into a pillow that still had a faint trace of his shampoo on it. "i hate this," you kept saying. "i hate this so much. i regret everything. i regret saying it. i regret meaning it. i don't know what i want."

minji let you spiral. she's the kind of friend who knows that sometimes you just need to let the words fall out in whatever order they come, even if they contradict each other. "you said it because you meant it," she said finally, picking at the edge of the soju label with her thumbnail. "you wouldn't have said it if it wasn't true, at least a little bit. that doesn't mean you don't love him. it just means love isn't enough to fix what was broken." you wanted to argue with her. you wanted to tell her she was wrong, that love should be enough, that you'd made a terrible mistake. but the words wouldn't come because somewhere underneath the grief, you knew she was right.

the apartment feels cavernous now. you've started noticing things you never noticed before. the way the bathroom faucet drips if you don't turn it off at a specific angle. the fact that he always bought the orange juice with extra pulp even though you complained about it every single time. you found one of his hoodies balled up in the back of the closet, the gray one with the frayed cuff and the missing hood string. you held it for a long time without putting it on. it still smelled like him, but fainter now, like a candle that's almost burned out. you folded it carefully and put it back where you found it. you don't know if you're keeping it for him or for yourself.

he still moves around the apartment like a ghost. you hear him in the kitchen at odd hours, the soft clink of a spoon against a mug. he's been drinking tea instead of coffee, which you know means his stomach is upset because he only switches to tea when he's anxious. you've caught yourself making enough coffee for two in the morning out of muscle memory, standing there with a full carafe and nowhere for the second cup to go. the two of you orbit each other in the small space, careful not to collide, careful not to touch, careful not to look too long. it's the most present you've both been in the same space in months, and it's only happening now that you're no longer together.

he doesn't think he can learn another scent. wonbin told you that too, or maybe you overheard it through a friend of a friend. the way anton said it, apparently, was like he was admitting something shameful. "i know how she smells when she's stressed, when she's just woken up. i know the sound of her breathing when she's about to fall asleep. i don't know how to un-know that. i don't think i can learn it again for someone else." you heard this and you had to sit down on the edge of the bathtub with the door locked for twenty minutes because it made your chest feel like it was caving in.

you haven't spoken about the breakup. not really. there was no closure conversation, no "this is why it happened" discussion. it just happened, sudden and natural like a tree branch finally giving way under too much snow. one moment you were a unit, however fractured, and the next you were two people who used to be in love, sharing a lease and a fridge and the unbearable weight of four years of memories. you don't know what comes next. neither does he. all you know is that tonight you'll go to sleep in the bed that used to be both of yours, and he'll lie on the couch with the ikea blanket, and you'll both listen to the sound of the other not sleeping through the thin apartment walls. and maybe that's just what the beginning of the end looks like. quiet. swollen. full of things you're both too tired to say.

week 4:

you said you’d move out. you weren’t ready. he was too, but he didn’t say it. but seeing you pack up your things while he’s still there. he stares at your back. quietly. you didn’t know he was still there.

“you’re leaving.”

you pause, fingers tightening around the strap of your duffel. “i am.”

he looks away, jaw working like he’s swallowing words. he stayed like he didn’t want you to go.

“can we at least try to talk about it?”

“maybe,” you said. but then you left.

the whole trimester felt hollow. for both of you trying to start over.

week 5:

not until friday came. it was fourth sem, wonbin’s birthday. you both bumped into each other again. and this time he refused to let you go.

it was just supposed to be a soft kiss. pls come back, im sorry the dorm feels hollow without you. and you’d just nod and kiss back. but your back pressed against an empty room door. you thought he’d stop but he even pushed you further. tf.

he was hungry. kissing, biting, tongue inside your mouth. you felt his fingers and he’s already apologizing. he fucks you standing, your front pressed against the wall. he’ll pull out. he keeps apologizing, kissing, etc.

the hallway smelled like spilled beer and the faint burn of someone’s vape. wonbin’s door was cracked open, bass leaking out with bursts of laughter. you’d stepped out just to breathe, the party inside feeling too loud after three drinks and too many forced smiles. your phone was in your hand, thumb hovering over the ride app, when anton appeared at the end of the hall.

he looked the same — tall, shoulders a little hunched like he was carrying the same weight you were. his eyes found yours immediately. no smile, just that quiet recognition that used to feel like home.

neither of you planned it. you tried to keep walking. he stepped in front of you, not blocking, just there.

“hey,” he said, voice low enough that it almost got lost under the music.

“hey.”

silence stretched for a second. then he nodded toward the end of the hallway. “there’s an empty room down there. can we talk? just for a minute.”

you should’ve said no. the trimester had been hard enough — classes blurring together, nights spent staring at the ceiling in your new place, wondering if you’d made the right call. but you followed him anyway. the door at the end was unlocked, probably someone’s temporary storage or a friend crashing elsewhere. it clicked shut behind you and the noise from the party dulled to a distant hum.

anton turned to face you. the room was dim, only the light from the hallway window spilling in. he looked tired. you probably did too.

“i’ve been thinking about what you said,” he started. “about maybe talking.”

you leaned against the door, arms crossed. “yeah.”

he took a step closer. then another. “the dorm feels hollow without you. everything does. i keep expecting to hear your keys or see your stuff on the counter.”

his hand came up, hesitant, brushing a strand of hair from your face. the touch was soft. familiar. you didn’t pull away. when he leaned in, the kiss started gentle — lips meeting like they were scared to break something. you kissed back, slow, the kind of kiss that carried months of missing someone without admitting it.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered against your mouth. “for how it ended. for not saying anything when you were packing.”

you nodded, fingers curling into the front of his shirt. that was supposed to be enough. a quiet moment, a soft apology, then back to the party or back to your separate lives.

but the kiss deepened. his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer until your back pressed fully against the door. his tongue slipped in, tasting like the beer he’d been drinking, and something shifted. the hunger was sudden, raw. he bit your bottom lip, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make your breath catch. you felt his body press in, solid and warm, the way it used to when nights got long and words ran out.

“anton,” you breathed, but it came out more like a question.

“i know,” he said, already apologizing as his fingers worked the button of your jeans open. “i shouldn’t. fuck, i know.”

your jeans slid down just enough, along with your panties. his hand was between your legs before you could think straight, two fingers sliding through the slick heat. you were wet — had been since the kiss turned heavy — and he groaned quietly when he felt it.

“shit… you’re soaked,” he muttered, forehead dropping to your shoulder. his fingers pushed inside, curling in that way he knew you liked. “i’m sorry. i just missed you. missed this.”

the stretch felt good, too good. your head tipped back against the door with a soft thud. his mouth found your neck, sucking lightly, then biting down as his fingers moved faster. the sounds were quiet but filthy — the wet slide, your uneven breathing, his low curses.

he pulled his hand away only to free himself. you heard the belt, the zipper. then he was lifting your leg, hooking it over his hip, turning you slightly so your front pressed to the wall beside the door. the cool surface met your cheek as he lined up and pushed in.

no condom. just the raw heat of him sliding inside, slow at first, then deeper. you gasped at the fullness, the familiar way he filled you. anton’s hand braced beside your head on the wall, the other gripping your hip to hold you steady.

“i’ll pull out,” he promised, voice strained as he started to move. “i swear.”

he fucked you like that — standing, your body trapped between him and the wall. the thrusts started measured but quickly turned harder, hips snapping forward. each push pressed you tighter against the surface, your palms flat on the wall for balance. it wasn’t gentle. it was needy, desperate, like he was trying to erase the months apart in one go.

“fuck,” he groaned against your ear. “you feel so good. i’m sorry — i know this is messed up.”

he kept apologizing even as his pace picked up. his mouth stayed on you — kissing your shoulder, your neck, the spot behind your ear. every thrust dragged a quiet sound from your throat. the angle hit deep, making your toes curl in your shoes. you could feel the tension building fast, the way your body remembered him too well.

his hand slipped around to your front, fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles. that pushed you over. you came with a choked moan, clenching around him, legs shaking. anton followed seconds later, pulling out with a harsh breath. you felt the warm spurts hit your lower back and ass, his body shuddering behind yours as he stroked himself through it.

for a long moment, the only sound was your breathing. heavy, uneven. his forehead rested against your shoulder, arms loosely wrapped around your waist now that the urgency had faded.

“i’m sorry,” he said again, softer this time. “i didn’t plan for that. it just… happened.”

you stayed still, trying to catch your breath. your jeans were still halfway down your legs, his cum cooling on your skin. the party noise filtered back in — someone shouting a happy birthday, glass clinking. reality settled slowly, heavy and awkward.

anton reached for some tissues from a nearby desk, cleaning you up as best he could in the dim light. his touch was careful now, almost shy. he helped pull your jeans back up, fingers lingering a second too long on your hips.

“you okay?” he asked quietly.

you nodded, turning to face him. his hair was messy, lips a little swollen. he looked like the anton you knew — the one who used to make you coffee in the mornings and steal your hoodies.

“yeah,” you said. your voice came out hoarse. “you?”

he shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “i don’t know. i meant what i said about the dorm. it’s been shit without you.”

the silence stretched again. not the angry kind from before the breakup, but the uncertain one. the kind that came after crossing a line you couldn’t uncross.

“we should probably get back,” you said eventually, smoothing your shirt down.

he nodded, but didn’t move right away. “can we still talk? for real this time. not like this.”

you looked at him, really looked. the trimester had left marks on both of you — tired eyes, the weight of starting over alone. maybe that was why it felt so easy to fall back into old patterns.

“maybe,” you said. it was the same word you’d given him when you left the apartment. but this time it felt a little less final.

anton opened the door first, letting the hallway light spill in. you followed him out, the noise of the party swallowing you both again. your bodies didn’t touch as you walked back toward wonbin’s room, but the air between you felt different now. charged. unfinished.

inside, someone handed you a new drink. anton stayed nearby, not crowding but not leaving either. you caught his eye across the room once, and he gave a small, tired smile.

the night wasn’t fixed. the hollow feeling in your chest wasn’t gone. but for the first time in months, it felt like there might be something after the silences. not a guarantee. just a maybe that didn’t hurt as much as before.

week 6:

but you’ve ghosted him again. because you were unsure. scared to go back to that. your phone had been lighting up for four days straight.

anton [tue 11:47pm]: you home safe?

anton [wed 9:12am]: can we talk today? i meant what i said about the dorm feeling empty

anton [thu 2:34pm]: you’re really doing this again? just disappearing after we fucked?

anton [fri 7:05pm]: i’m coming over tomorrow if you don’t answer. don’t ghost me again.

you read every single one. you just didn’t reply. the fear sat heavy — going back meant risking the same quiet fights, the same silences that had grown too loud in the apartment. so you left the messages on read and tried to focus on lectures and takeout dinners alone.

saturday night the knock came hard on your dorm door. you opened it still in your hoodie and sleep shorts, surprised to see anton standing there with his hood up, rain spotting the fabric. his eyes were dark, jaw set.

“anton? what are you—”

he cut you off by stepping inside, pushing the door shut behind him with his foot. before you could finish the sentence his hands were on your face, mouth crashing into yours in a messy, angry kiss. teeth bumped, tongues sliding wet and desperate. he tasted like rain and the faint mint from gum he’d probably chewed on the walk over.

you pulled back just enough to breathe. “we said we’d talk. not this.”

“talk?” he laughed once, short and bitter, walking you backward until your legs hit the bed. “you said we’d talk after the party and then you left me on read for three fucking days. again. you always do this.”

his hoodie came off in one rough pull. you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his chest rose and fell too fast. he pushed you down onto the mattress, crawling over you, knees bracketing your hips.

“i was scared,” you said, hands coming up to his chest, not pushing him away but not pulling him closer either. “that night felt too good and too fast. i didn’t know how to face you after. what if we just end up back in the same place? avoiding each other on the couch, not talking about the real shit?”

he leaned down, mouth brushing your jaw, then biting down on your neck hard enough to make you hiss. “you left me again. packed your shit, said maybe we could talk, and walked out. then at the party you let me fuck you against the wall and still disappeared. how many times do i have to watch you leave?”

his hands shoved your hoodie up and off, tossing it somewhere on the floor. your shorts followed quickly, his fingers hooking into the waistband and yanking them down with your panties in one go. you were already wet — the angry kiss and the weight of him over you doing more than you wanted to admit.

“anton, slow down,” you tried, even as your legs spread for him anyway. “we can talk now. i’m here.”

“yeah, you’re here now,” he muttered, shoving his own sweats and boxers down just enough to free his cock. it was hard, flushed dark at the tip, already leaking. he rubbed the head against your slick folds, teasing your entrance. “but for how long? till you get scared and ghost me again?”

you moaned softly when he pushed in the first inch, stretching you open. no condom, just raw heat. he didn’t go slow. he sank in deep in one thrust, bottoming out with a groan that vibrated against your chest.

“fuck,” he breathed, forehead dropping to yours. “you feel too good. always do. that’s the problem.”

he started moving right away — hard, deep strokes that made the bed creak. your hands gripped his back, nails digging in as he fucked into you. skin slapped against skin, wet and loud in the small dorm room.

“tell me why you ghosted,” he demanded between thrusts, one hand sliding under your knee to push your leg higher, opening you up more. “say it while i’m inside you.”

you gasped, hips rocking up to meet him. “because i’m scared we’ll keep hurting each other. we’ve been together since high school. i know how you smell when you’re stressed, how you breathe when you’re falling asleep. i don’t know how to unlearn that if this falls apart again.”

he groaned, pace turning rougher, hips snapping harder. “then stop running. every time it gets real you leave. you left the apartment. you left after the party. i’m tired of it.”

his mouth found yours again, kissing messy and deep, tongues sliding together while he fucked you harder. you could feel every inch of him dragging inside, hitting that spot that made your toes curl.

“what do you want me to do?” he asked against your lips, voice strained and angry. “keep waiting around while you decide if you want me or not?”

you clenched around him, close already from the intensity. “i want us to actually talk. not just fuck and then disappear.”

“talk?” he thrust deep and stayed there for a second, grinding against you. “fine. here’s me talking. if you keep leaving like this, maybe i should just knock you up so you won’t leave.”

the words hit heavy. he didn’t soften them, didn’t take them back. his eyes stayed locked on yours, angry and desperate, hips still moving in slow, punishing rolls.

“you don’t mean that,” you whispered, even as another moan slipped out when he hit deeper.

“right now i do,” he said, voice rough. “i’m so fucking tired of watching you walk away. you think i want to learn how someone else smells or sounds? no. i want you. here. not running every time shit gets hard.”

he picked up speed again, fucking you harder, the angle making your back arch off the bed. his hand slipped between your bodies, fingers rubbing your clit in tight, fast circles.

“come on,” he growled. “cum for me. show me you’re still mine even when you’re scared.”

you came hard, thighs shaking, a broken moan tearing from your throat as you clenched tight around his cock. he followed right after, pulling out at the last second with a curse. hot stripes of cum landed across your stomach and tits, his hand stroking himself through it until he was spent.

both of you stayed there panting, bodies slick with sweat. anton grabbed tissues from your nightstand, cleaning you up with surprisingly gentle hands despite the anger still simmering in his eyes. he wiped his own mess off your skin, then tossed the tissues and collapsed beside you, pulling you against his chest.

the rain tapped against the window. your leg draped over his, his arm heavy around your waist.

“i meant what i said,” he said quietly after a minute, no apology in his tone. “if you keep ghosting and leaving, maybe knocking you up is the only way you’ll stay. i’m not joking about being done watching you go.”

you traced a finger over his chest, feeling his heartbeat slowly calm down. “that’s fucked up to say.”

“yeah, it is,” he admitted. “but it’s how i feel right now. you know me too well. i know you too well. we’ve been doing this since high school. i don’t want the dorm to feel hollow. i don’t want your bed to feel temporary. i want you to stop running.”

you stayed silent for a moment, listening to the rain and his breathing. the fear was still there, but so was the warmth of his body, the familiar way he held you.

“i won’t ghost again,” you said finally. “we’ll talk. every day if we have to. no more disappearing.”

he turned his head, kissing your forehead. “good. because next time you try to leave without talking, i’m not letting you out that door so easy.”

the room felt smaller now, but not in the bad way. the silences weren’t empty anymore. they were filled with heavy breathing, rain on glass, and two people who had known each other too long to pretend they could just walk away clean.

⭑.ᐟ shotaro 𖹭 hair

Shotaro is obsessed with your hair, in a way that feels anything but normal now. It’s not just that he grips your hair tightly when he’s fucking your face, but it’s gotten to the point where, without realizing it, he tugs on it slightly while stroking it in public.

"Sorry, force of habit."

⭑.ᐟ eunseok 𖹭 neck

He’s obsessed (and so are you) with seeing his hand on your neck. It fits so perfectly, and to his eyes, you look adorable with his hand squeezing your neck just enough to drive you insane. It’s also common for him to drape his arm over your shoulders and gently stroke your neck in public, something that feels perfectly normal to both of you.

⭑.ᐟ sungchan 𖹭 breasts

Sungchan is definitely a tits lover (especially when it comes to yours). The way he always manages to have one or both of his hands on them whenever he gets the chance is wild. Whether he’s gently stroking or giving them soft squeezes, he can’t help himself.

"It’s not my fault, they’re really soft..."

⭑.ᐟ wonbin 𖹭 mouth

The first time Wonbin saw you sucking on his fingers, he couldn’t help but think it was the hottest thing ever. Since then, whenever you’re alone (or sometimes just because he feels like it), he’ll casually ask you to open your mouth for him.

⭑.ᐟ seunghan 𖹭 inner thighs

Who could blame him? It feels so warm to have his hands there. Whenever he’s sitting next to you, his hand always starts on your thigh but inevitably makes its way to your inner thighs, softly stroking the area with his thumb and giving little squeezes here and there. Bonus! It’s also his favorite spot because it’s where his hands naturally go when he’s eating you out, something he absolutely loves.

⭑.ᐟ sohee 𖹭 ass

All the time. If you’re walking together, it’s not unusual for Sohee’s hands to start on your back but end up on your ass. He loves having his hands there, slipping them into the back pockets of your jeans and just leaving them there for a while. Of course, he doesn’t forget to give it gentle squeezes, and when he gets excited, he’s been known to deliver the occasional playful smack.

⭑.ᐟ anton 𖹭 wrists

Well... it’s not just something Anton loves—it drives you absolutely wild. The way one of his hands can completely wrap around both your wrists and pin you anywhere, whether it’s on the bed or against the wall, wow... Even if it doesn’t always show, Anton loves the feeling of having control over you, and grabbing your wrists is one of his favorite things because it makes him feel exactly that.

eunseok . . . loves seeing the glint of shame in your eyes when he's touching you.

something about the way you hide against his chest with pink cheeks after he tells his friends how good you taste is so adorable. so adorable that he'd do anything to see it again. in public outings or social gatherings, he likes to trail his fingers up your thighs and watch your eyes dart to him with heat rising to your face. in dire situations, he'd sneak his hand up your skirt and run his finger over the damp spot in your panties, watching you squirm beneath his touch, holding back shaky moans.

you're just too adorable.

sungchan . . . loves how easily you fit into his grip.

at first, he'd always feel guilty for getting hard when you were so eager to hug him, wrapping your arms around his neck and standing on your tippy toes to reach his shoulders. but how could he remain calm when all he could think of was pinning your small hands above your head while driving into you? he especially loves how snug he fits inside of you, loving the way your eyes light up when he says, "you take me so well, princess."

he knew your body was made for him.

wonbin . . . loves seeing the darkness in your eyes as you ride him.

the knot in his stomach always seems to tighten whenever your grip on his hair tightens, pulling his head up to face you, spewing dirty words at him. "you're a fucking mess for me, wonbin." you'd tease, laughing at his ruined appearance. he'll always be a loser for you; melting under your touch, waiting for your next commands.

he's all yours.

seunghan . . . loves the little smile on your face when he calls you a good girl.

he's always been nothing but sweet to you throughout your entire relationship, giving you soothing kisses of sweet reassurance at any given chance. but he'd treat you especially well in bed. at times, he'd get a little too carried away when you give him full possession of your body, tugging on you harder than usual or biting your neck hard enough to leave marks. but none of that mattered when he's whispering sweet shushes into your ear. "you're such a sweet girl.. you treat me so well, angel." he'd whisper, earning sweet moans from you.

you're his angel, and he works endlessly to prove it.

sohee . . . loves the sight of you bound beneath him.

sohee loves when you take charge, leaning him down on the bed, using him to your heart's content. but something about the helpless look in your eyes as gentle "please"s leave your lips while he's tying you to the bed is so intoxicating. his heart can't seem to relax as he watches your restless squirms in the grasp of the ropes around your arms and chest. he could spend hours taking in your beauty; the way the ropes enhance the plumpness of your tits in its grip, the way your hips slightly rock at the sensation of the rope hovering above your clit, and of course those adorable eyes that look up at him, begging for his touch.

he loves knowing you need him.

anton . . . loves marking you, painting you as his.

he gets weak in the knees when he thinks of being deep inside you, painting your insides with his seed. anton will not think twice before cumming onto you, anywhere and everywhere. when you're on your knees taking him in your throat, he can't help but pull out and watch your eyes squeeze shut as his warmth spills down your pretty face. or when you're extra needy in public, asking him to meet you in the bathroom for an "emergency," pounding into you against the stall door, making sure every spare drop stays inside of you to avoid making a mess. he grins, walking out of that bathroom knowing his cum is dripping from your messy cunt.

he loves making a mess out of you.

user1 SUNGCHAN WILL WIN SILVERSTONE

user2 ferrari on top ❤️

user3 pls just one (1) chance 🙏🏻

yourusername • 5 min ago

liked by jurin.asaya and 200 others

yourusername airport pics ft jurin

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jurin.asaya out of all the pics 😭

⤷yourusername u look like a cutie patootie

sohee have fun in london losers

⤷yourusername thank u !! 🇬🇧

⤷jurin.asaya sohee i’ll bring u back smth cute

yourusername •15 min ago

liked by jurin.asaya, sohee and 257 others

yourusername first few days in london with my lover

view all 15 comments

jurin.asaya 🇬🇧

sohee lovely day innit?

⤷yourusername chip chip cherry-o

⤷sohee erm idk if that’s right

jurin.asaya •4 min ago

liked by yourusername, sohee, ohpolly and 6,472 others

jurin.asaya pretty face, no waist and a big bank or whatever flo milli said

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ohpolly looking stunning as always ♥︎ by author

sohee caption creds ??

⤷jurin.asaya no. hope that helps 🙏🏻

user1 red looks good on you 😘

yourusername shawty where did you go??😭

yourusername •18 min ago

liked by jruin.asaya, user1 and 217 others

yourusername race weekend #teampapaya (?)

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jurin.asaya remove the question mark today you support mclaren

⤷yourusername ask nicely pls

sohee praying ferrari wins and humbles jurin 🙏🏻

⤷yourusername take it back she’s raging

jurin.asaya anton and lando WILL get p1 and p2🙏🏻

⤷yourusername whatever that means

jungsungchan • 10 min ago

liked by yukitsunoda0511, shotaroosaki25, and 872,954 others

jungsungchan forza ferrari ! silverstone was a hard track but we were able to bring it home with p1 and and p2.

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user1 FORZA FERRARI

user2 i used to pray for ferrari double podium 😭🙏🏾

user3 rookie of the year

user4 i wonder if paddocktea will post about the girl who came out of his drivers room🤔

⤷user5 he was alone though ?

charles_leclerc good job today mate ! ♥︎ by author

antonity great race! coming for your sport next week in barcelona ♥︎ by author

⤷jungsungchan in your dreams maybe 🤣

⤷user6 pls i love their friendship

yourusername dawg jurin is going to kill me😭

paddocktea • 10 min ago

liked by user1, user2 and others

paddocktea allegedly ferrari’s golden boy sungchan might be off the market ! multiple fans spotted a girl coming out of his drivers garage last race weekend at silverstone and sources say he’s been glued to his phone ever since. what do you think, is there a new wag? 👀

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user1 pls this is a reach

user2 anything that keeps him at the top of the grid😭

user3 what’s her @?

user4 congrats to whoever’s riding it

jungsungchan • 8 min ago

liked by yourusername, eunseoksong, and 748,230 others

jungsungchan 📸 dump

view all 19,927 comments

user1 any news of when you’re moving to mercedes king 🙏

user2 is what paddocktea posted true?

user3 day 762 of simping for this man

user4 pretty boy and his pretty friends

user5 where’s anton 😕

paddocktea looking good like always

user6 the rumors are true guys, he’s taken….by me❤️

⤷user7 delusion is a hell of a drug 😭🙏🏼

yourusername fits tough or whatever ♥︎ by author

⤷user8 help??? he liked this

⤷user9 how does it feel to live my dream 😭

⤷paddocktea ☕️

yourusername •1 min ago

liked by jruin.asaya, jungsungchan and 693 others

yourusername you're everything i ever dreamed of

view all 300 comments

jurin.asaya i wonder who took these amazing pics 😍

⤷yourusername hehe pic creds jurin.asaya

sohee wonder who the caption is about 🤣

⤷yourusername u must have a death wish

user1 why is sungchan in her likes?

⤷user2 must have been an accident

user3 sungchan?? what are you doing here

yourusername where did all these people come from?😭

⤷user4 how do you know sungchan

⤷jurin.asaya i fear it might be time to go private yourusername

jungsungchan • 1 hour ago

liked by yourusername, jurin.asaya, and 556,119 others

jungsungchan paradise

view all 87,671 comments

user1 BOOM SHAKALAKA

user2 he looks so good 😩

antonity thanks for having us 🫡

⤷jungsungchan anytime mate

eunseoksong thanks big daddy😘

⤷jungsungchan blocked.

user3 are you dating

⤷user4 girl bye😭😭

⤷user5 just bc paddocktea post smth doesn’t make it true 💀

yourusername •31 min ago

liked by antonity, jurin.asaya, and 100,890 others

yourusername 🌊🐬

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user1 anton AND sungchan in the likes? oh who is youuu

user2 am i blind or is that sungchan in the second pic??

⤷user3 in what world is that sungchan😭

jurin.asaya not the matching posts

⤷yourusername i have no clue what you’re talking about

sohee pls private your account i fear for you 😭

⤷yourusername might have to bc 100k likes is ridiculous

user4 paddocktea is this her??

⤷yourusername oh hell no 😭

paddocktea • now

liked by user1, user2 and others

paddocktea looks like ferrari’s golden boy might be off the market for real this time. jung sungchan was spotted on a yacht in barcelona this week, where he was seen making out with a mystery girl on the upper deck very publicly, we might add. sources say the two have been glued to each other since silverstone and if the pics are anything to go by, he’s not hiding it anymore. are we witnessing the soft launch of the paddock’s newest it couple?

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user1 just fell to my knees in agony

user2 he could do so much better…

user3 man’s could date anyone and he chose a nobody like her? 💀

user4 calling it now she’s a clout chaser 🤷‍♀️

jurin.asaya nasty work.

sohee take this down.

user5 🤮

⤷ jurin.asaya says the one who has a face only their mom could love. this comment has been removed

scuderiaferrari • now

liked by antonity, charles_leclerc and 1,738,983 others

scuderiaferrari An unfortunate end to Jung Sungchan’s qualifying session today in Barcelona. Following a high-impact crash in Sector 3, Sungchan has been ruled out for Sunday’s race on medical grounds. The team is with him every step of the way. Forza, Sungchan—we race again soon.

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jungsungchan • 1 day ago

liked by yourusername, jurin.asaya, and 960,417 others

jungsungchan didn’t get the results we wanted at barcelona but we ride again this weekend in monaco

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user1 pls dump whoever she is so we get pole position again 😩

⤷user2 what a nasty spirited thing to say.

user3 break up with your girlfriend

user4 streets are saying they broke up 😭🙏🏼

⤷ user5 chat is this true

user6 no more distractions

user7 manifesting a ferrari 1-2 ❗️

user8 try not to crash today

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yourusername •25 min ago

liked by shotaroosaki25, jurin.asaya and 87,236 others

yourusername monaco how i love you

user1 clout chaser 🤮

user2 we don’t want you !!

user3 he’s out of your league

user4 the audacity to show up at monaco of all races

antonity happy to have you! ♥︎ by author

⤷yourusername happy to be here!

jurin.asaya turn off your comments before i get reported for bullying 😭

user5 not the homie hopping 🤢

comments on this post have been disabled

jungsungchan • 7 min ago

♫ ordinary - alex warren

liked by jurin.asaya, sohee, eunseoksong and 826,391 others

jungsungchan you got me kissing the ground of your sanctuary

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yourusername ❤️ 📌 comment

jurin.asaya officially lost my bestie to ferrari. sick.

⤷yourusername #papaya4ever

sohee soft launching as if the whole world doesn’t know who she is😭

⤷yourusername shhhh

user1 dude has officially ruined his career for a slut😭

user2 kiss that ferrari seat goodbye 🤣

comments on this post have been limited

yourusername •7 min ago

♫ until i found you - stephen Sanchez

liked by antonity, jungsungchan, sohee and 32,679 others

yourusername ❤️❤️❤️

view all 9,368 comments

jungsungchan my girl 📌 comment

⤷yourusername forever and always

⤷antonity SIMP

⤷yourusername where’s your gf? 🤣

⤷antonity 😕

⤷shotaroosaki25 not too much on my son yourusername

user1 do the man a favor and break up with him.

user2 pls don’t break his heart 😭

user3 keep doing what you’re doing! i need my parlay to go through 😩