#antisocial ghost

[constantcrisis19]

Making Progress

Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN S/O

AN: So I did a thing. I was dragged into the COD fandom kicking and screaming and now I can't get the skull man or the feral Scot out of my head. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2,172

You gracelessly slumped into one of the seats that lined the right wall of the helo's hull with a relieved groan that probably wasn't all that appropriate outside of certain bedroom activities if the several wide-eyed stares you suddenly found aimed your way by the soldiers dutifully filing into the bird was any indication, but you were much too tired to care about the mix of shocked and judgmental looks being thrown your way.

You still had your headphones on, the low bass music humming through the speakers keeping your hands from shaking like they wanted to when you weren't holding a weapon. The weariness that seemed intent on weighing down your frame reared its ugly head now that you were coming down from the rush of adrenaline that you got every time you went out into the field. 

You leaned your head back on the metal wall behind your chosen seat and closed your eyes, not even bothering to buckle yourself in as you instead focused on taking deep breaths, the floor under your boots vibrating as the rest of your haggard team moved about to secure the helo for lift off. 

You figured that it wouldn’t be much longer before they closed the bay doors to seal them in if the faint rumbling sound of the engine warming up echoing through the hull as the massive blades atop the helo slowly began to spin was any indication. 

You were distracted from your musings when you heard someone take the open seat next to you. You looked over to see none other than Ghost, the man not bothering to even look up from his task to meet your questioning stare as he meticulously buckled in.

A silent and awkward tension slowly built up between you two, and Ghost still hadn't even offered a word of greeting.

You were about to break the silence with something when the helo began picking up speed, its blades spinning faster and louder and causing you to quickly buckle your own seat belt without even thinking about it, the noise of the engine drowning out the music that you had been listening to.

The helo slowly began to rise into the air as its rotors reached the speed needed for it to lift off, moving up until you could see the city below through the windows getting smaller.

You lifted a hand up to grab your headphones, shifting one of the earpads away from your ear to rest against the side of your head before you decided to break the silence yourself, clearing your throat nervously before speaking.

"Been a hell of a day, huh, sir?" You said while staring at the side of Ghost's head, his intimidating skull mask blocking your view of his face as you tried to break the ice.

The only response you got from Ghost was a slight grunt, his mask not moving from his straight and relaxed staring. His complete lack of emotion made it feel as if he hadn't even heard you, his only other reaction being him shifting his gun to the side, the barrel pointed off behind him. And, after a few more seconds of silence, he finally spoke up again. "Yes. It has."

"What are you gonna do to unwind when we get back? I personally feel that we could all do with a nap." You stated with a longing sigh, you desperately missed your bed but, at the rate that you were going, you'd be willing to lay on a slab of concrete if it meant that you could get a few uninterrupted hours of sleep.

"Nothing." Ghost stated coldly, his answer blunt and almost unnaturally calm. He didn't seem to be annoyed or anything, just that simple answer of 'nothing'. "You?"

You blinked at him for a moment, caught off guard by Ghost actually actively engaging you in conversation by prompting you to give an answer of your own. "Uh, I was thinking that I'd take a shower and then crawl into bed and stay there until somebody checks up on me to make sure I haven't suddenly up and died." You replied with a shrug before squinting at Ghost curiously. "You really have absolutely no routine to come down from such a shitty mission?"

"No."

Again, his response was short and blunt, no trace of any emotion in his voice as he stared out into nothing. His lack of any kind of routine was almost eerie, it was as if he simply didn't have a need for it, as if he simply had no reaction whatsoever to the exhausting and life-threatening events that you and the rest of the squad constantly got dragged into.

"Come on, Lt, there's gotta be something. Humor me." You prompted with a good-natured smile, and Ghost finally turned his head to level his dull, brown eyes at you.

"I sit in the dark. Sometimes for hours. And I think." Ghost responded simply, the fact that his eyes didn't betray a single hint of emotion even as he described this almost frighteningly dark process he went through after each mission only made that statement even more unsettling.

"Jesus." You breathed in response, not even sure if a paid therapist could successfully unpack all that laid beneath such a simple statement. "You like tea, right?" You asked a little bit desperately. "Why don't you try making a cup for yourself when we get back? I'll even join you if you'd like?"

You weren't even that big a fan of tea, but you'd tolerate the less than desirable taste if it meant that Ghost didn't sit in his room, in the dark, all by himself.

"Tea?" Ghost questioned blankly, still staring at you with that same cold, blank expression on his face, a slight head tilt accompanying his question as if it had simply never occurred to him to take up such an action. He then stayed silent for a few moments as he thought over the idea, before eventually responding in a soft yet simple, non-committal way. "Why not."

"Cool. Do you have a specific flavor of tea that you tend to gravitate towards?" You asked, feeling proud of the progress you've made in engaging Ghost in conversation so far. The man was antisocial, sure, but that didn't mean that he was impossible to talk to, it just meant that it took a little bit of elbow grease to get him to loosen up.

"...earl gray." Ghost stated with that same non-emotional blankness. It almost sounded more as if he was reciting his tea preference, like it was something that he had been programmed to say, rather than an actual personal decision.

"Oh, jeez. Could you be any more British?" You teased with a lighthearted grin.

"What would you like?" Ghost continued, countering your question with a question of his own, and completely ignoring your comment about his tea preferences.

You thought about it for a moment, tipping your head back against the metal hull behind you to squint up at the bright fluorescent lights that lit up the enclosed space before answering. "I'm personally fond of London Fog. Though, I feel inclined to warn you that it's very sweet."

The tea you liked took copious amounts of both milk and sugar to make, but you had one hell of a sweet tooth so you believed that it was very much worth the potential cavities. That being said, you figured that Ghost most likely wouldn’t enjoy London Fog tea since you’ve never even seen him use sugar in his own preferred tea on the rare occasion he had some free time to make some. 

"I see." Ghost said in a slightly more questioning tone than usual, a sign that your comment about the tea being sweet had caught him off guard. Still, he didn't show any signs of dislike about the idea, and instead kept up his same blank stare as he considered this new information.

"Alright." He then said, seemingly approving of your choice.

"Perfect." You stated with a wide grin, feeling pleased as pie that you managed to rope the infamously reclusive Ghost into some social interaction with you.

"Oh! I have a playlist that I usually play to help me wind down and it's become kind of a habit to listen to it after missions. You don't mind if I were to play it aloud while we drink tea, do you?" You asked when the thought came to you, looking at Ghost imploringly and hoping that he wouldn't mind.

"I don't mind."

This time, Ghost replied in a slightly more casual tone, his statement sounding more like him stating an honest personal answer rather than merely a programmed response.

He then gave a simple nod as he added, "You can play it."

Your smile widened, an intense feeling of giddiness rising inside you as you realized that Ghost was warming up to you, the man's slow but steady emergence from his shell making you bold. "Do you listen to any music?"

This question seemed to catch Ghost off guard a little bit, a noticeable flinching of his eyebrows in surprise as a slow and confused nod crept up on his face.

"Rarely." He said hesitantly, seeming deep in thought for a few moments as he was clearly struggling to remember a song. "Classical, usually."

Your eyes widened as you stared at him incredulously. Heavy metal, sure you could see him listening to that angry stuff. Alternate, yeah maybe certain starving artists that sang about their like trauma and struggles or something. But classical? Never in a million years would you have guessed that the dark, brooding Ghost listened to classical music and if anybody would have suggested it, you would've laughed in their face.

"No way." You laughed, not unkindly, and lightly nudged his shoulder with your own, barely enough force to even jostle him since the last thing you wanted was for him to see the gesture as some sort of attack. "Who's your favorite composer?"

"...Beethoven." Ghost said simply, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. "You?" He then asked after a short pause.

"You know... that actually makes a lot of sense." You mused as you stretched your arms over your head. From what you remembered of Beethoven's compositions, most of them were dark, powerful swells of music that scratched a very specific itch in the back of your hindbrain. "As for my favorite, I'll have to go with Bach."

"...Bach." Ghost echoed blandly, as if he were trying out the name for the first time and figuring how it sounded. After a few seconds, he replied. "What do you like about him?"

Ghost had never shown much curiosity to anything outside the scope of his usual tasks or duties, so seeing him so interested in such a mundane topic was... intriguing, to say the least.

"I guess I just like powerful music that tells a story and makes you feel something, ya know?" You said as you slouched back in your seat as much as the straps would let you.

"Powerful." Ghost echoed the word in a slow, monotonous drawl, and seemed to mull over the word for a few seconds before speaking again. "Define 'powerful' in this context."

He seemed oddly fixated on this particular word.

"The slow crescendo into a thunderous roar as the climax of the composition hits... until that intense mix of harmonies are all that's ringing in your ears... I suppose a word that I could've used instead of powerful could be 'all-consuming'." You gesticulated as you spoke. You were very passionate about music, as evidenced by how animated you became while rambling.

Ghost nodded slowly, seeming to consider your words as his unblinking, unmoving stare pierced through the helo's hull.

"And Bach's music makes you feel that way?"

There was that same note of mild surprise in his voice as he spoke, as if he couldn't quite believe you were able to describe the sensation so clearly.

"Yeah, I can add a few of my favorites to my playlist, just for you if you're interested." You said with a smile, only half teasing. There was no doubt in your mind that if Ghost did end up saying yes, you would absolutely add some classical tracks to your wind down playlist, if not to further encourage future get-togethers with you and maybe broaden his music tastes in the process.

Ghost stayed silent for another few moments, his face turning into a slight and rare grin as he found something genuinely amusing about what you had said.

"Sure." Ghost said simply, once again with that simple, neutral tone of voice. "...Thanks."

It was his first instance of genuine kindness throughout this entire short conversation, a small thank you that he added on in a soft, genuinely appreciative tone. He even flashed you a faint yet real smile, and while it was brief, it was more than most people had seen from him.

It was progress.

[theblesseddamozel]

Everyone told me it would be so easy to make friends in college. This was a lie.

[clementine-thedestroyer]

141 80’s Arcade AU

Featuring implied/eventual Soap x reader, Gaz x reader, and Ghost x reader.

The small- slightly shabby arcade on the corner- that may not look like much from outside, but was easily the busiest place in town on a Friday night.

Where the constant buzz of games’ themes and sound effects filled the space wall-to-wall, where rows of game cabinets and players crowded the floor, and where you could play a hand full of games for a quarter, but the rest for a nickel.

Where Soap and Gaz- the two college kids the owner hired as arcade attendants- know you by name from how often you come in- and have long since begun to involve you in their shenanigans.

Where Price, the owner of the arcade, can usually be found helping Soap and Gaz or, on slower days, in the back of the building in his “office” (because it’s really a converted cleaning closet). Usually with the door propped open so he can keep an eye on the arcade as he leans back in his desk chair and props his feet up on the corner of his messy desk- giving both customers and Soap or Gaz a stern glare if they start to get too rowdy.

Where Price will never chastise you quite as firmly as he does Soap or Gaz when the three of you cause trouble, even if it had been mostly your idea. Where, when he had found out Soap, Gaz, and you spent an entire day trying (and almost succeeding) to get the leaderboard of one of the less popular games to spell out a minor profanity, he thought it was hilarious. He spent a good minute cracking up at the misspelled curse before wiping the machine’s memory and ruffling your hair before going back to his office- still chuckling to himself.

Where Soap and Gaz won’t let you leave when the arcade closes for the night. Instead, they’ll insist that it’s fine if you stay while they shut down for the night. No, no, of course Price won’t mind. Why would he? It’s you.

Where soap and Gaz coerce you into staying late enough times- sometimes just chatting, other times helping them close up- that Price starts to joke that he needs to talk to you about getting you a paycheck sooner or later.

Where Price always insists that “just John’s fine, love.” whenever you address him as “Mr. Price”.

Where, as finals week at the local college approaches, Gaz (and Soap too, to an extent) is overwhelmed with school work, and you find yourself more and more just trying to… help out. Because poor Gaz is drowning in course work, and it’s really not that big of a deal for you to just wipe up that spill before either of them notice it.

Where there’s actually a fourth person important at the arcade, although you don’t know him.

Ghost had worked there with Soap and Gaz a few years ago, back when the three of them were still young enough to be considered teenagers. But where Gaz and Soap had chosen to stay close, Ghost had left as soon as he could.

He still visits- and is just as close with Soap, Price, and Gaz as before- but he hasn’t had a chance to come around since you’ve begun to get close with them.

But, when he finds out about Gaz, Soap, and even Price’s new favorite person- he decides he wants to get to know you too. From the way Soap and Gaz talk about you, he’s not sure what to expect. He hasn’t seen them this worked up in a while.

But, in place of actually meeting you, he decides it would be absolutely hilarious to beat every highscore you’ve ever set and forbid Soap and Gaz from telling you who he is.

Call it… initiation. That’s what he’s calling it, at least.

Cue you very angrily trying to figure out who the fucking hell “Ghost” is, because for the 3rd time, they’ve beaten your high score by exactly 1 point.

But also cue Soap and Gaz giggling as snapping a photo of your red, angry face to send to a group chat with ghost.

[hezekiahwakely]

Martin Blackwood really was cut out to be an avatar of the Lonely huh. He was SO good at feeding it the loneliness he caused.

[aspd-culture]

ASPD culture is not knowing what to do with the sinking realisation that someone might be your Exception and wondering how the hell did you end up in a friend with benefit situation with him. Thankfully it's with my Exception because I would gag if it's with anyone else

aspd-culture is

[spooky-scary-hedgies]

A few months ago, I was on a Mario Mix kick and made an official Mario Mix of AnxietEXE!

The basic premise is that it's a haunted copy of Luigi's Mansion filled with real human spirits. The mansion is genuinely scary, full of horrific ghosts and monsters. Luigi, or Paranouigi, is tormented by them, having no way to fight back. Ironically, though, he's got a human soul inside him of someone named Wyatt. Along with all the creatures, there's a monsterous Mario apparition that stalks the halls. As it turns out, though, once pacified, Mario is also possessed by a human girl named Huyana. Mario is also a girl, and she calls herself Yūrei. So, the two team up to survive the mansion and release their spirits so they can rest.

[movie-whore]

If Cardinal Copia ever got married he would drop the rings and chase them down the aisle because of course they started rolling and as he is running he would trip and fall somehow. When he gets back up, he's all sweaty and his hair is disheveled while he walks back up to the altar and apologizes to everyone. (He would also have hurt his knee when he fell so he would have a limp for the rest of the wedding, so during the first dance he keeps on stepping on his s/o's feet.)

Idk I just thought of that cause I'm at a wedding right now being antisocial as hell. (It's my dad's wedding😭)

[gwensy]

we're so back

[yoohoosara]

Be fighting the urge every damn day to block everyone and ghost

[deusinabsentiaa]

Sitting in the theater waiting for the movie to start! I’m so excited I have no words 😭

[g-g-gh00st]

Is there an appropriate way to join your friend on skyco for the purpose of doing the “use an expression near a friend” quest because I feel bad spawning in, emoting, and leaving without a word but like I also don’t want to talk to them at all

[chargoeson]

my only reason for this new character to do what she does is: why the fuck not??

[rivilu]

good morning everyone, I am experiencing the Horrors again!

[kastlequill]

i love being a writer because it allows for me to ask questions like “hey, how can i kill someone inconspicuously in a hospital if they’re hooked up to an iv?” and my medical whump expert friend to respond with “oh, air would work for sure”

i was afraid to use google but who needs google when you have writer friends… love them

[mimipunk]

I only love the thrill of the chase, but i never chase, i only hallucinate and walk around like a ghost

[01zfan]

paint you | l. at

swimmer!anton x art student!reader | 7.6k words

this fic has a little bit of everything good lord…set in uni, childhood friends to strangers to lovers, pining…very much a slice of life i think…i hope everything isn’t too scattered or hectic

contains: semi public sex, no protection (DON’T BE LIKE THEM)

you didn’t say a word as you watched the movers take all your belongings into your new home. you were like that now, completely silent as your form of rebellion. you had moved far away from everything you knew to come here. your mom was happy, talking about new beginnings and more adventures. you only thought about your going away card and bouquet of flowers you smothered to death on your way here.

you crouched in the driveway, drawing in the dirt with your stick as your mother called to you. you were no longer the sweet child that would come anytime their name was called. you only focused on the dirt and long lines you drew, imagining it was your path back home. you didn’t look up until a shadow was casted over you, and you saw someone foot over the line you drew in the dirt.

you looked up slowly, squinting as you took in the sun above the person looking down at you.

“my mom said i have to come say hi to you.” the boy said quietly.

you looked over to your mom, chatting with a lady while the movers continued to do all the work. you ignored the boy, looking back down at the path back home you etched into the earth.

“you don’t talk?” the boy asked.

you ignored him. you only continued to draw your lines, making your way to his foot. he took a small step backwards, letting you complete your line.

“i don’t like to talk either.” he said.

he crouched beside you silently and grabbed a stick. it was smaller than yours but still did the same. he started drawing shapes in the sand next to your lines and winding circles. you looked to him again, to see that he was focused on playing in the dirt the same way you were. you scooted over in the grass, leaving a space open for the boy to come next to you. he caught on immediately, moving from in front of you to be by your side. you two played in the dirt, pushing around the earth to mold it into shapes and lines. your mother’s got along, not noticing their kids getting their clothes dirty until it was too late. 

“anton!” 

both you and the boy snapped your heads to the voice of anton’s mother. seeing anton respond immediately to his name being called made you do the same. both of you got up from the dirt to walk to your mother’s and both of you were scolded the same, hearing a speech about how expensive clothes were. both of your mother’s were smiling the whole time, seeing their two antisocial and quiet kids get along. 

from then on, it was history. you stuck close to anton, trailing behind him in school, quiet and stealthy like a ghost to everyone but him. anton was understanding, becoming your representative anytime someone threw a glance over his shoulder to eye you, like they were confused if you were real or not. each time he would smile and pull you beside him, introducing you as his bestfriend. 

you and anton remained close. he was with you when you started speaking for yourself, no longer needing him to be your voice. you were with eachother all throughout school, spending more time with him than you did your family. 

the amount of time you spent together through swim and school made him know you better than anyone else. you were by eachothers side through the transition from kids to teens and the growing pains of puberty. you even made it through the trials and tribulations of being friends in highschool, surviving through the countless dating rumors that seemed to arise every week. none of it mattered, anton was there for you and you were there for him. you guys challenged eachothers personal records in swimming and were neck and neck in class. sometimes you were convinced he was the mirror image of you, your platonic soulmate. that’s what comes with the territory of being with someone for nearly twelve hours a day—you end up knowing them better than anyone else.

so it was unfortunate, after all the time you spent together as kids it was college that did you two in. you blamed it on the fact that you and anton both chose different paths in college. he stayed with swimming while you went to the arts. it called to you, the ability to make something with your hands. you never regretted your decision, but you did find yourself thinking about anton often. sometimes your mom would call and ask about him, and you would be forced to pretend like you had actually spoken to him and not just regurgitating rumors you heard on campus. the only truth you told your mom in relation to anton was that you passed by him on the way to class. that’s all you seemed to do, only seeing him in snatches as he walked around campus. 

each time you saw anton, something about him was different. he had somehow grown more, and his dedication to swim contoured his muscles and made him broad. he was visibly bigger than all of his friends, your eyes drawn to him each time he came in your vicinity. each time he waved back to you, the two of you reduced to sharing pleasantries while walking in opposite directions. sometimes it felt like it would’ve hurt less to be completely ignored, but you knew that wasn’t anton’s style. within his friend group he was the social butterfly, once he was able to get past his introverted nature he became the glue of his group, bringing all of them together and planning the gatherings. anton was such a social butterfly to the point that everyone seemed to know him, and before you knew it your friend groups began mingling and overlapping.

you were afraid you were going to regress back to the shy girl you were as a child when anton came to you at a gathering. you had practiced this moment, him approaching you and asked what you were up to now. you had your hobbies written down on your hand and your new interests saved to your phone. you had made a playlist of the songs you liked now and a folder filled with art from your class. you wanted to desperately show anton you had grown up too, that you used your hands to hold a brush instead of slicing through water and you smelled like oil paint now instead of chlorine. 

“how’ve you been?” anton asked.

he held a barely touched drink in his hand and you had a solo cup filled with soda in yours—neither of you were really fans of drinking.

“i’m good.” when anton nodded you looked around the living room of your mutual friend. everyone was mingling, engaged in conversation except for you too. “i read now.” you said abruptly.

anton smiled, tilting his head at your new hobby.

“what have you been reading?” anton asked.

“oedipus rex.” your grip on the red cup almost bent the plastic around your fingers when anton looked you in your eyes. when you held his eyes for too long you instinctually looked down at your feet, focusing on a crack in the floorboard. “it’s for class, but i like it alot.” you said to the floor.

“hey.” anton reached his hand towards you, making you pull your eyes back up to him. his eyes were warm, his smile lines made you smile too. “that’s cool, really.” anton assured you.

you suddenly felt comfortable, the imaginary tension dissipated like the smoke clouds around you two. you put your hands on your hips ironically and shrugged your shoulders.

“you know, it’s nothing.” anton laughed a little at your reaction, copying your little pose. “i read shakespeare during the weekends.” you joke.

“something light?” anton jokes back.

“you get it.” you say.

for the rest of the night, you and anton caught up. you talked about everything that happened between the last time you saw eachother, laughing at funny stories and eyes going wide when something scandalous was said. no time passed at all between the two of you, you went back to your old routine like it was second nature. you talked in every part of the house, sitting on your friends bed while talking about class then standing in the kitchen when you mentioned life at home. you guys stood by the restroom talking about life and next steps, and ended on the couch while the night was winding down.

even though you didn’t have a single thing to drink that night, you felt dizzy staring at anton. he had his arm on the back of the couch, head leaning against his closed fist as he listened to you so intently. you felt yourself forgetting some words, looking to him to fill in what you were forgetting. you saw his smile grow big as you talked his ear off about art—once he got you started you couldn’t stop. you related your major to swimming, how you get in the zone the same way you used to before starting relays. talking with anton about swim made you realize how much you missed it. you missed the camaraderie with your teammates, how it felt like they were the only ones who understood what it was like to be so dedicated to the water. you ended the conversation on a somber note, but anton looked wistfully at his hands as he recalled his own memories.

“i miss being in swim with you, but i’m happy you’re doing what makes you happy.” anton says.

he puts his hand on your knee and you quickly put your hand on top, enjoying that you have an excuse to touch him. his hand is soft like it always was.

“i appreciate it.” you don’t let go of anton’s hand, squeezing it slightly. “you should come to my class sometime. sometimes we get extra credit on assignments if we bring in live models.” you say.

“you want me to slut myself out so you can get an A for the semester?” anton asks.

you scratch the nape of your neck to hide embarrassment. you recover well, looking at anton jokingly.

“isn’t that what friends do?” you ask.

anton throws his head back to laugh. his hand on your leg squeezes your knee, causing you to move too. both of you laugh for a moment, but you can feel your face heating at the thought of anton posing for your class.

“maybe your next solo assignment.” anton looks forward at the party. a couple flirts in front of you guys on the shag rug, holding a joint to the others lips as they breathe it in. “i don’t know if i can do that in front of your whole class.” anton says, looking back to you.

you turn to look at the couple now, face feeling even hotter at the thought of anton posing just for you. you can’t stop your mind racing. suddenly you are inspired, the dynamic poses you see anton in flashes through your mind as you try to speak. you wondered if anton would be able to stay still as long as you needed him to, if he could keep his lips parted the perfect amount for hours on end. the ideas couldn’t stop flowing—you had to slightly shake your head to refocus.

“it wouldn’t be nude. i’ve seen it all before amyways.” you say casually.

when anton laughs shyly you turn back to him. he has a smirk on his lips, and you can feel your hands get restless. you want to paint his lips and his perfect teeth that show when he smirks. you think that if you were to paint it and show it to anton he would understand why you suddenly feel sheepish looking at him.

“first of all, you haven’t seen it all, you’ve seen my top half. second of all, i’m not that flimsy prepubescent kid anymore. i’m a man.” anton says, posing to show off his muscles.

you have to nod and smile to act like nothing is a big deal. you reach forward and poke his flexed arms for comedic effect. before you can say anything, the host of the party tells everyone it’s time to leave. the lights cut on and anton’s blushing face is revealed to you. when your eyes go wide he draws his hand away from your leg, hiding it behind a stretch.

“before i pose for you though, i’d like to actually see you again.” anton gets up from the couch, and holds out his hand to help you up. you grab it and stand right in front of him, looking at his broad chest. anton’s hands to to your shoulders, and you look up to him. “not just by chance at a gathering but like actually planning something out.” he says.

you nod your head. you find your hands to be restless again, the only way to get them to be still is to stuff them into the small pockets of your jeans.

“you have my number.” you say back.

“anton, let’s go.” you look and see anton’s friends beckon to him from the entryway. 

“were you drinking? you’re our DD.” another friend said.

“it’s literally kombucha.” anton shakes his head, and you can see the nonalcoholic text on the label. he faces you as he walks backwards to his friends, pulling out his phone. “i’ll text you.” he says.

anton turned back to his friends before you could say okay. when you walk out with your friends a few minutes later you felt the buzzing in your back pocket, and you open your screen to read the message.

let’s hang out tomorrow

this is anton btw

ever since that night, you started seeing anton everyday. whether it was a quick stop to eachothers dorms in between classes or eating together you were with him everyday. in a weeks time anton gave you the spare key to his dorm, emphasizing that you could crash there whenever you’d like. you had no sense of self preservation and neither did anton—both of you went all in, spending so much time together you started getting the urge to swim again. 

although you spent time together like when you were in highschool, there was a different feeling to it. there was a line you two silently set in the dirt when you got to highschool. you two came to the agreement then that friends didn’t hold hands, they sat on opposite sides of the couch, and had crushes on other people. it was upsetting, both of you mourned the loss of innocence and degree of closeness brought by skinship. but you guys were becoming adults, it was time to draw a line in the dirt the same way you did when you were children. sometimes you thought about the line, how it might’ve been the thing that drove you two apart. you two were on opposite sides, heading off in different directions. 

but time is a flat circle and you two went around the world to meet at the same line. this time, it was the division in his couch, the line down the middle that separated the two cushions the both of you sat on. a romantic movie played on the television in anton’s dorm, one about two people finding their way back to eachother. you scooted closer to the division in the couch and anton did too, still watching at the movie. 

that’s how it was at first, you two getting so close to the line until your thighs touched, but nothing more. you felt the cold sweats all over you body and heat across your cheeks and neck as your mind wandered to all the possibilities. his hand went to your knee first, the same way it did at the gathering. everything was different, the implication of being alone and him touching you made goosebumps spread across your skin. heat came from anton in waves, and you could smell chlorine and his body wash when he settled deeper into the couch, moving his body slightly towards you.

“i really like this movie.” anton said.

you nodded your head, feeling anton squeeze your knee. you tried mimicking him, relaxing further into the couch until you could lean against his body. when your head rested on his shoulder he visibly relaxed, lowering his body more to give you more space. his hand moved from your knee to your thigh, squeezing and rubbing what he could reach. you felt hot all over, trying not to read too much into how anton was holding you. 

anton was the one that crossed the line first. he stepped over the line in the dirt when he picked up your legs and moved them over his, coming completely into your space. a tiny sound left your mouth, you were excited, feeling static electricity across your body and inside your mind. you could only put your hands over anton’s as you got used to his touch. 

nothing happened that night, nothing seemed to happen when you guys would spend time together. it was grueling and agonizingly slow how you two were working up to being in eachothers space again. anton would hold you in the privacy of his room timidly, touches light as a feather like he was worried you’d flinch away. you were worried you were enjoying it too much, the way he’d look at you sweetly and hesitate when bringing the back of your hand to his lips. anton grabbed your hand while walking you back to your building, fingers lacing with yours casually as he talked about his schedule for tomorrow. the both of you could only speak absentmindedly and nod, too focused on how your hands fit together like puzzle pieces. 

even though you didn’t spend as much time with anton as you did when you were in swim, he still took up an unhealthy amount of your mind. the slow and delicate pace you two moved at burned across your skin, leaving your brain frayed at the edges. it was the worst when you were painting. you’d be focused on an object in front of you for a study and your mind would drift to anton. your fingers and your strokes would turn into half assed portraits of the boy you were getting close to again. it became an obsession, you were hiding your unfinished work of anton in the studio space, scared he’d find it if you put it in your room. 

just when it got to be too much, it was like the art gods were smiling down on you. your class got assignments to do a human anatomy study. you wrote down your name to rent the studio space to accommodate anton’s schedule that you now had memorized. when leaving class you texted anton, telling him about your upcoming project.

are you going to draw me like one of your french girls?

i’ll try my best.

you didn’t even have to ask anton to be your model. he agreed on the spot, only asking for the time, place, and how many clothes he needed to bring. he showed up to the studio shortly after his class, wearing a matching gray sweatsuit. anton had a duffle slung over his shoulder, and he held on tightly to the strap as he navigated his way around the studio space. he was unbelivably careful, almost tiptoeing around the half done sculptures that littered the floor. droplets from anton’s hair fell on the ground as he walked—he came straight from swim practice, not wasting the time to go back home.

you both hesitated before going in for a hug, making it an awkward embrace. you both knew the implications, and the tension made hairs on the back of your neck raise. anton patted your back twice, pulling away and asking about your day. his voice was sweet and nonchalant, but the blush appearing across anton’s cheeks told you he was nervous. you were the same, refusing to make eye contact as you stared at the zipper on anton’s tracksuit.

his hands rested at his sides when you were done exchanging pleasantries, trying to figure out what was next. you cleared your throat and motioned towards the block in the center of the studio surrounded by a circle of easels.

“just pose there however you’d like.” you pointed to the sheet neatly folded on top of the block. “there’s a sheet to cover yourself up with.” you said.

you walked past the block, weaving through a row of easels until you made it to yours. you focused on your name carved into the wood as anton rolled his shoulders to try and relieve tension. he slid his duffle down his arm first, and you had to stare at the blank canvas in front of you to stop yourself from stealing glances at anton’s body. his curly hair peaked out above the canvas, moving slightly as he got undressed. you focused on the curls when you hear anton but when you heard anton unzip his jacket you went to playing with the charcoal utensils. you had to duck your head when you heard anton’s jacket fall to the ground and him messing with the drawstring on his pants. you count the little paint splotches on the ground over and over again when you see the gray sweats pool at anton’s feet. you watch his feet as he steps out and makes his way towards the block. you hear him bump into an easel, how slow his steps are. you almost pinch your skin when you hear the fabric of the sheet move, hoping that the self inflicted pain will give you something else to focus on.

you refuse to look up until you hear anton’s voice in front of you.

“can you help me?” anton asks.

you realize it was a mistake inviting anton when you finally get the courage to look past the easel and at him. instantly you are bothered, watching anton sit on the block while looking at you hopelessly. anton’s stares right through you as you slowly walk over towards him, causing your palms to feel sweaty. you wipe them on your jeans a million times before you stand in front of anton. from up here you can see overheard lights in the studio reflect in his large brown eyes as he looks up to you.

you make minor adjustments to the sheet that wraps around anton’s body, trying not to focus on his smooth skin that’s exposed or the peak of toned muscle you see. you make the mistake of looking at anton’s abdomen as you move his legs to a more comfortable position. his stomach is chiseled, intense workouts carved anton’s body out of stone. no matter where you touch him he is so soft and so solid underneath your fingertips. you focus on anton’s shoulder, but you can feel him staring directly at your face. you move a piece of hair from anton’s face and travel down. you look at his nose before you can look at him in the eyes.

“looks good now.” you say.

before you can turn away anton’s hands go to your waist. he keeps them there, fingers splayed out but he applies no pressure. 

“what looks good?” anton asks.

you shrug quickly, trying not to shiver underneath anton’s look. he presses his fingers into your hips a little harder, and his thumb messes with the bottom of your shirt before slipping under. your hands go to his shoulders as he pulls you closer.

anton’s expression is almost pained when he leans his head back, blinking quickly before he opens them fully. his brown eyes almost look glossy when he focuses back on you. you see your reflection in anton’s eyes he pulls you in a little closer. your hands creep from anton’s shoulders to the nape of his neck. you let one of your hands splay across the back of anton’s neck, rubbing the pads of your fingers against his scalp. he leans his head into your hand with a sigh and a smile on his face. he brings your other hand that rests on his shoulder to his lips, looking directly at you when he kisses your hand.

he doesn’t stop at your knuckles. he works his way up slowly, moving his hand to graze over each kiss. you let him kiss you gently, and you let him pull you down until you’re face to face with him. anton stops at your tricep, his shaking hands still pressed to his trail of kisses.

“anton.” you say.

you close your eyes and lean in when anton looks back at you. for a moment you’re floating in space, heading towards the unknown. the thought of rejection flashes across your mind before you feel anton’s reciprocating, soft and gentle against your lips. 

you press into him gently, your hand fully goes into his curly head of hair to finger the ends and twirl them around your finger. anton’s hands hold your arms first, gripping them slightly as he brings you in place. when it’s not enough anton slides off the block he was sitting on, the thin sheet that was covering his naked body falls with him. more of anton is exposed to you but you don’t shy away, you place your hands on his skin and press into his solid frame. anton pulls you down to the ground with him, not breaking the kiss as you become more desperate. you two almost bump into the easels surrounding you, but neither of you can be bothered.

you cross the line of his lips to push your tongue into his mouth, and anton tilts his head so he can do the same. you guys find a rhythm, lips languidly moving in sync while your tongues press against eachother. 

“i rented out this space for the next hour.” even when anton pulls away from you while you keep a hand locked in his curly hair. “just us.” you say breathlessly.

anton hums and nods his head, pulling you closer by a hand wrapped around your waist. your back bows against his hold, giving anton space to drag his hands up your sides to grip your clothed chest. your shirt creases underneath anton’s hand, and you whimper when he presses his plush lips to your exposed collarbone.

“just us?” anton asks against your skin.

you nod your head vigorously when anton looks up at you from your chest, and you straighten your posture to try and bring your body closer to his. anton smiles, the creases in his eyes almost covered by the curls that cascade down the frame of his face. he presses his forehead to yours and the two of you look down between your two bodies. anton focuses on you two fitting together like puzzle pieces while you focus on his dick resting against his stomach. his tip is red and angry, the beading pre-cum making a patch of anton’s abdomen sticky.

anton pulls you onto his bare lap, his dick resting heavy against his stomach. his hands map your body, so desperate and unaware of his own strength that he overstretches the fabric of your shirt and causes you to move at his will. his hands mess with your jeans, pulling you closer by your belt loops. he rearranges himself on the sheet he used to cover himself as the charcoal staining your hands rubs off on his chest.

both of you are still, letting the weight of the situation sink in. your hand pressed against anton’s chest while the other grips his shoulder for stability. his hand on your chest, and the other on the small of your back as he splays his hand across the expanse. you look at your charcoal stained hand resting on anton’s chest. his heart thuds against your palm, mirroring the hammering in your own ribcage. your quickened heart rates effects everything, the way your breathing has turned into short huffs, the way your eyes flicker across anton’s face. the only thing that remains slow and steady is your hand as you drag it down anton’s chest. you make it past his heart, keeping eye contact as you trail down his stomach. when anton’s eyes close you let your hand finally wrap around his length, twitching and hard in your hand. 

anton sighs in relief, taking one hand off of you to prop himself up as he leans back. the other hand on your body doesn’t calm down. even with his eyes closed anton finds the bottom of your shirt, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat when you start pumping his dick. anton’s grabs at any part of your body he can get a viable grip on. he kneads the flesh on your stomach before reaching up and holding your chest over your bra.

when he opens his eyes again anton brings his other hand to you to lift your shirt over your head. you’re forced to take your hand off his dick to discard your shirt, but when it’s thrown somewhere in the studio you go right back to him. you don’t pay the sound of and easel moving or the sound of paintbrushes clattering any mind—you’re focused on something else. 

anton pauses only for a second, placing a kiss on your chest before he grabs a handful of you again. you go back to him, grabbing his dick in your hands. the slow pace you were going at previously was abandoned, you have waited too long to tease. the angle is awkward, almost uncomfortable—but the way anton’s eyes close and his mouth slightly opens in ecstasy drives your hand to go faster. anton’s precum makes your hand glide easily. the wet sound of you jerking anton off is subtle and quiet, almost as quiet as the whimpers that slip from anton’s mouth. you open your mouth too, mirroring the way anton whimpers pitifully when you tighten your hand around him.

anton lifts his hips and lifts you too, bringing both of you off the ground momentarily so he can fuck your hand. you look down at anton, how his body flexes to fuck himself and how his face is contorted in pure pleasure. you use your free hand to run over anton’s stomach, admiring the chiseled beauty in front of you. you can feel his abs ripple underneath his taut skin as you press your hand deeper into him.

“you look like a painting.” you murmur. 

when you start pulsing your fist around his twitching dick anton puts his hand over yours. he brings you both back to the present.

“i won’t last long.” he says sheepishly.

you can see anton’s face already becoming flushed, the blush adorning his face in splotches. anton pulls your hand away from his dick, placing your wet hand on his chest instead. you both start feeling eachother again, letting your hands feel everything in the calm of heavy breathing and occasional sighs. anton brings you in close, nudging your ear with his nose as he lets out a shaky breath.

“how do you want it?” he whispers into your ear.

“we have to be quick.” you say just as quiet.

anton nods, sliding you off his lap onto the sheet. he moves his body fast, resting on his haunches as he works the button of your jeans. the fact that you two are running low on time looms over your heads, and the thrill of getting caught makes you two desperate. anton’s dick is rigid in the air, twitching upwards when he imagines someone walking in on the two of you. 

you work your bra off your body, unclasping it quickly as anton pulls your pants down your legs. when he gets the denim down to your mid thigh he stops to abruptly lean over and kiss your exposed chest. it’s quick, a small peck right on your erect nipple. you wish you had more time with anton in this cramped studio, so you could whimper and while asking him to do it again. but you didn’t have time, and you were getting uncomfortable in your panties so you let anton pull your pants off the rest of the way.

anton pulls you in for a kiss, moving to stand on his knees and you do the same. he brings you in by an arm wrapped behind your back. you put your hands on his broad chest, letting his teeth clash against yours before pulling away.

“we have to be quick.” anton says.

he warns the two of you, but he still takes his time looking down at you and brushing hair behind your ear. being quick is lost on him as he caresses your cheek. he almost asks you how you’ve been before you pull away from him, turning around to get on your hands and knees.

“we have to be quick.” you echo.

anton laughs, looking at the position you got into so quickly. he doesn’t have anymore time to waste, he’s been doing that for the past fifteen years. so anton slots himself between your legs, letting his hard dick rest against your ass as he gets comfortable.

”i don’t have any condoms.” anton says. 

he looks at your dick rest against your ass, twitching each time you move.

“i’m on birth control.” you wiggle your hips, scooting backwards to get closer to anton. “i’m not seeing anyone.” you add.

“me neither.” anton says immediately.

you nod, moving your hand back to grab anton’s dick. he guides himself into your hand, and shuffles forward until his tip prods your entrance. he can see a translucent pearl of precum mix with your slick. anton grabs his dick where you held it previously, running his tip up and down your folds. he sees you sigh and shiver, pressing your hands flat to the ground to mentally prepare yourself.

“the door is locked right?” anton asks.

both of you look towards the small classroom door. it’s halfway across the room, but you can vividly remember turning the metal bolt. it was ironic how much you hated distractions in the studio but here you were on your hands and knees, the most distracted you’ve ever been in your entire life.

“it’s locked and no one comes here during the weekends.” you let out a sigh when you feel anton come closer to you. “it’s like if we were in the locker rooms on a saturday night.” you say.

anton visibly relaxes behind you, finding comfort in the fact that you remembered saturday night competitions. everyone cleared out of immediately when the swim meets were over, everyone desperately trying to enjoy the start of their weekend. by the time the meets were done there wasn’t a soul around, not even the cleaning staff. so it was truly just you and anton here, completely engrossed in eachother. he leans over to press a kiss to your shoulder blades before moving a hand to your ass. he spreads you out, wanting a clear view of you spread out. anton sighs, wishing he had the time to press gentle kisses to your bottom half. anton tells himself silently that you have no idea how well he’d eat you out, how he’d take his time and not stop until you begged him to. but time was of the essence and anton was getting impatient—he rubbed a hand down your back while he lined himself up.

“are you ready?” anton asks sweetly. 

you nod against the sheet underneath you. anton looks past your ass to smile at you. you’re so pretty with your lips pouted in anticipation anad your cheeks smushed from pressing into the sheet.

“yes.” you answer.

anton nods, and stays in the same position so he can see your face when he slides in. your eyes close instantly and your lips part, anton does the same as he watches you. he’s bewitched, locked in on how he’s making you feel. you suck him in more and more, and when anton bottom’s out he sees you bite down on your finger to stop yourself from moaning. he pulls all the way out before sliding back in, just as slow.

anton looks around at the easels surrounding your bodies, and the platform anton was posing on not even five minutes ago. he almost feels bad, he feels like he’s tainted the space you’ve created for yourself. he remembers when you used to be so shy you couldn’t look at someone in the eye, but now you gave presentations to seasoned artists about something as personal as art. he was proud of you, he thinks he loves you as he looks around and sees the art you’re working on. anton swears he sees a drawing pinned to the wall, an unfinished bust where the curls and side profile is unmistakable. anton looks down at your face, where you have tears prickling your vision and your teeth dig into your bottom lip. 

when anton notices you staring at him he sees your hand reach back for him. anton sees your other hand gripping the sheets, and how you slide forward each time his hips kiss yours. before he knows it anton reaches forward to grab both of your arms, causing your knees to move forward as you sit on the back of your legs.

when anton grabs your arms at your sides, he pulls you back to him. you grab onto his biceps, the only stability you have in your position. you can hear anton grunt as he thrusts forward, using his hold on your body to bring you back. each time he thrusts his hips forward he exerts his strength, nearly knocking the breath out of you each time. 

the sound of your skin slapping against his fills the room, and you can hear paintbrushes on the easels shake. your teeth digging into your bottom lip is the only thing stopping you from crying out anton’s name.

anton looks up from where he fucks you for behind, focusing on your nails that dig into his arm. he hisses from the pain, already feeling sensitive all over his body.

“feels good?” anton asks.

his voice is still sweet and airy as he talks to you. and you let a moan slip from your lips to let him know, and he sighs in response. the two of you can barely form sentences, becoming twitching messes as anton continues fucking you from behind. all communication turns to high-pitched whines and tightening grips from your hands. eventually it’s not enough, you let go of anton’s biceps to clench your fists to relieve the tension. he pulls your body back each time he thrusts forward, causing your body to jolt and the easels around you shake. you hear paintbrushes clatter against the linoleum floors far off in your mind, it barely registers when anton moans about how good you feel.

anton lets go of your hands and you plant them on the sheet. you can feel him behind you, his hand pressing into your stomach as he brings his sweaty chest to your back. anton continues to fuck you, a handful of your stomach in anton’s hands helps him drive your body backwards to meet his hips. 

anton lets a whimper slip from his lips as he presses his cheek into your shoulder blades. his thrusts turns to ruts, and his free hand starts gripping your ass. you start acting on your own needs, purposely clamping your walls around anton’s dick so you can feel every inch of him inside of you. you start pathetically pushing your hips backwards, trying to do some of the work.

anton brings his face forward, hitting deep inside of you as his body superimposes over yours. you can feel puffs of hot air fan your ear as anton presses his face into the side of yours.

“you feel so good.” anton whimpers into your sticky skin.

“your dick is perfect.” you whine.

“you’re so perfect.” anton moans when you clamp around him again. “you have no idea.” he says.

you can feel anton’s smile against the shell of your ear as he continues to desperately rut into you. his smile falls when your walls squeeze around him sporadically. you can hear the moans he tried to silence, how they recklessly slip past his lips. he’s loud, unmistakably loud. you think about the rare chance there’s someone on the other side, pressing their ear to the door as they try to make out the sounds they hear over the music.

anton realizes he’s being too loud, he moves his mouth to the crook of your neck so your skin can muffle his sounds. you can feel the vibration of anton’s voice against your neck, and his teeth pressing into your clammy skin to calm himself. hearing anton causes you to spasm around him more. you’re slowly losing control of your body, the same way you lose control when painting. you let the feeling wash over the same way your ideas do, following the strokes of your brush and the sound of anton’s whimpers becoming more desperate. his hand goes from your ass to your chest, kneading your breasts roughly as he pants into your neck. 

“i’m close.” you whisper.

you say it only for anton and for yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. you see anton pass by your eyes in a blur, all the times he’s looked like a painting you wanted to keep locked away in your sketchbook. the fleeting touches and palpitations in your heart seared to the back of your eyelids. just before the coil in your stomach snaps, anton pulls away from your body. 

“i need to see you.” anton says earnestly.

you’re on your back in seconds, laying on the white sheets anton used to cover himself. you can’t look away from anton’s wet eyes or his mussed curly hair. his chest is pressed up against yours in an instant when he pulls your legs to bring you closer to his hips. he kisses your forehead quickly, slowing down before kissing your lips then each cheek. you wish you could’ve kissed him back, but your brain was still foggy from being on the brink of an orgasm. only one thing is on your mind as you look at anton with big teary eyes.

“put it back in.” you nearly cry. “please.”

anton grabs his length, gliding it down your folds until he finds your hole. he doesn’t waste time sliding in, fully pushing inside of you. anton has to go to the crook of your neck to moan out his frustrations, feeling his hot pants bounce off your skin.

“i love you.” 

anton says it into the sweaty skin of your neck. if he had any self control he would’ve saved it for a better time, like a romantic dinner date or a trip back to your hometown. but anton can’t help it, he’s driven by needing you as close to him as possible. he tells himself he’ll confess to you properly again, when you both have time.

before you can tell anton you feel the same way, the words are taken from your throat as picks a brutal pace. you can only nod your head and pull your legs closer to your chest to help him hit deeper. you can feel anton everywhere, and you can see his curls bounce above your head as the ends become heavy from sweat. you can only pout, feeling your own eyes become teary from all the emotions.

“anton.” you whimper his name pitifully. anton puts one of your legs over his shoulder to free your hand so he can hold it.

“i know.” anton coos. he moans at the new angle and squeezes your hand tighter. “i know.”

when anton presses his lips to yours, you walls spasm around his dick again. this time anton doesn’t stop, driving his hips into yours while his name falls from your lips a million times. anton uses it as motivation, using the last bit of self control he has left to fuck you through your orgasm. when your legs become weak and anton’s name turns into incoherent babbles, he goes back into your neck.

“where can i?” he huffs.

you let your hands press into his shoulder blades, bringing his sweaty chest to yours.

“anywhere” you clench around anton, feeling yourself getting week. “don’t make a mess.” you mumble.

“fuck.” 

anton can’t hold on any longer, especially when your lips attach to his neck sucking harshly. he twitches inside of you and he goes as deep as he can one more time before stilling inside of you. your back arches from the ground when you feel him cum inside of you, hot and sticky in spurts. each time anton twitches inside of you his whole body shudders, and he lets out a sigh you think he’s been holding in for years. his grip of your hand never loosened, still white-knuckled as he presses your hand into the sheet. you let your leg wrap around anton to keep his waist in place and it’s your turn to coo at him now.

you two stay like that, sweaty chests heaving as anton stays inside of you. neither of you want to pull away, and you feel a pang in your chest when you can feel anton’s cum seep out of you. he pulls out, whole body shuddering as he slides out of you. 

anton taps your bent knee affectionately, and you nod your head as you try to breathe normally again. anton looks around the studio before pushing off your knee.

you see him meander around the studio for a second before wlaking to the paint stained sink. anton turns on the water and washes his hands before pulling out more paper towels than necessary.

he comes back to your body on the floor, wiping away the cum that seeped out of you and drying your sweaty face with another paper towel. you can only smile as anton cleans you up, and when he’s done he grabs your face in both of his hands and presses a fat kiss to your lips. both of you smile when he pulls away, and you run your hand through his curly hair.

“how much time do you have left?” anton asks.