Archive of Our Own

two weeks without anton

the days felt longer when he wasn’t around.

but that week, it wasn’t just his absence that hurt—it was the silence too.

there was no room to complain: both of you were drowning in responsibilities.

classes, deadlines, assignme

nts, sleepless nights…

anton had told you he’d be sleeping at the studio two nights in a row. you were barely eating between classes.

and even though the messages didn’t stop, each one became shorter. more practical. more spaced out.

sweet words, yes.

but they made you cry more than they comforted you.

because you knew he was just like you: exhausted. and still, he made sure to write that.

to never forget the “my girl” at the end.

not even once.

and you missed him.

you missed his voice, his comfortable silences, the way his presence could fill a room without saying much.

anton wasn’t someone who spoke too much, but when he did, you could read yourself entirely in his voice.

in the way he’d say “come here” with a soft laugh, or when he’d gently stroke your back with a distracted hand while you talked about nonsense.

not having him near felt like walking around with your chest half-shut.

you slept wrapped in his hoodie, the one that still smelled like him, like that scent that always smelled better when mixed with his skin.

and every night you fell asleep wishing he’d walk through the door and surprise you. that he’d hold you. that he’d kiss you slowly.

that night in particular, you came home more tired than usual.

your head felt heavy, your legs ached.

you just wanted to shower and sink into the blankets.

as you picked up the notes that had fallen on the floor, something caught your eye.

under the bed, a simple fabric bag, with something inside it.

you blinked, confused.

your room had been locked. you hadn’t received any packages.

you walked closer, heart racing, as if you already knew—yes, you knew.

it was from him.

you grabbed it with trembling hands. it was light. it didn’t make a sound. it didn’t smell like anything in particular.

but you recognized something in the way it was folded, in how the ribbon was just barely tied on the side…

anton.

suddenly, a memory clicked in your mind.

a message from him, days ago, between laughs:

“i left you something under the bed.

don’t use it until you miss me so much you can’t take it anymore.”

at the time, you thought he was joking. or that it was a note, a letter.

but now it all made sense.

you crouched down, heart in your throat, felt the dust beneath the bed, grabbed the bag and pulled out the little black box.

small. elegant.

heavier than you expected.

and on top of it, a carefully folded note, in that handwriting you knew better than your own.

you opened it, fingers trembling.

“for when i can't be near, but want you to remember how much i desire you.

— a .”

your heart sank.

and suddenly, all the emotions of the week collapsed into your chest:

the anxiety. the loneliness. the longing to hold him.

and now this detail.

this gesture.

this reminder that he missed you too. that his desire for you was stronger than any distance.

you stayed still for a moment, sitting on the bed, staring at the little box without daring to open it yet.

you took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and imagined him:

anton, alone in his room, thinking of you.

choosing that gift.

writing that note.

picturing you reading it, with that nervous smile he adored so much.

and that’s when you decided to open it.

your fingers trace the smooth edge of the black box.

the matte finish contrasts with the weight in your hands—light, but not empty.

you open it slowly. as if doing it any faster would break the intimacy of the moment.

inside, surrounded by delicate cream-colored tissue paper, there’s a small, delicate object…

a toy.

not the kind you were expecting. not vulgar. not loud.

elegant. minimalist. beautiful.

in a soft, satin tone, it looks more like a designer jewel than something sexual.

and still, your body reacts immediately.

your stomach flips. your cheeks burn.

your hands… shake a little. as if touching it might somehow defile a gift so intimate.

you stay silent for a second.

it’s as if you can hear him whispering:

“i want you to remember how much i desire you.”

you lift it gently. turn it between your fingers.

you notice the details.

the shape. the exact weight. the texture.

anton chose it with you in mind, that much is clear.

it’s not random. it’s not some dirty whim.

it’s a gift full of intention.

care. design. aesthetic. desire.

when you thought you’d seen everything, you notice something else beneath the paper.

another note.

folded tighter.

the paper slightly more wrinkled, you recognize it right away: his handwriting. like it had been written in a rush. with more emotion. with more urgency.

you open it.

“last night i thought of you.

in your voice.

 in how you say my name when you can't take it anymore.

in how you arch when i kiss your neck.

in how you tremble when i slide my fingers around your waist.

and in how you look at me when you know there's no escape.”

“it cost me not to run to you.

i want these weeks not to be so long for you without me.

i want you to touch yourself like it's me.

i want you to listen to yourself.

i want you to know what you do to me.

and if you do...

record me something.

send me an audio.

or just tell me you need me.

and you don't know how fast i'm going to cross town.”

—a.

your breath catches.

your lips part.

you feel the pulse in your throat, in your fingers, between your legs.

your whole body activates as if his hands are really on you.

the note trembles between your fingers.

you imagine him writing it.

maybe just out of the shower.

with wet hair, a towel tied around his waist, his skin still damp.

maybe with his voice deep from sleep, or from desire.

you hold the note to your chest.

and for an instant, you close your eyes, feeling that invisible closeness.

as if anton is right behind you, murmuring that in your ear.

your legs cross. instinctively.

and you find yourself wondering if you should.

if you could...

you've never worn anything like this before.

it makes you nervous. it makes you shy. it makes you... want to.

and before you can think about it too much, you pick up your cell phone.

your hands are still shaking.

y/n:

not even two minutes go by when he responds.

toni:

you stare at the screen, heart pounding.

the image of him in that calm tone, with the dark eyes of desire and tenderness, makes you clench your legs.

y/n:

toni:

you close the chat.

you look at the little box.

you look at the note.

you feel the heat rising all over your body.

and you decide...

you're not going to sleep so early tonight.

you put the cell phone aside.

your chest rises and falls, nervous.

your fingertips caress the note one more time. you reread it.

“i want you to touch yourself as if it were me.”

your body remembers it. your body asks.

the room is quiet.

the dim lamp casts a warm light on the white sheets.

you sit on them, legs tucked in, and put the box aside.

the object in your hands seems so cold at first...

but your skin warms it right up.

you lie down slowly.

take a deep breath.

close your eyes.

and think about it.

anton.

the warmth of his body.

the way his breath brushes your neck.

that look that holds you without words.

the way his fingers always find their way without you having to ask for it.

you touch the toy with reverent gentleness.

you activate it.

a soft, barely audible hum vibrates between your fingers.

your breath catches. a soft, almost silent vibration ignites in the palm of your hand.

your body responds as if it already knows what's coming.

you slide it along the skin of your thigh, over the fabric of your underwear.

the vibration is an electric whisper.

your body shudders.

your skin prickles.

your back arches slightly, as if your body already knows how to react to the memory of him.

you bite your lip.

a nervous laugh escapes from your throat.

this is new. this is yours.

this is anton, even though he's not here.

you bite your lip.

your fingertips tremble.

you bring it close to your skin, slowly running it down your belly.

you haven't even touched it directly yet.

but your underwear is already wet.

you run it over.

the vibration is shy... at first.

but each pass makes you close your eyes tighter.

your thighs tighten.

your hips arch, seeking more.

your mind fills with him.

anton.

of his husky voice as he whispers in your ear.

of the pressure of his hands on your waist.

of the way he presses you against his body as he wants you all to himself.

you bite your lip.

a nervous laugh escapes your throat.

this is new. this is yours.

this is anton, even though he's not here.

you run it over the damp cloth.

again and again.

closer.

slower.

the tingling grows.

the heat grows too.

your hips move seeking more. seeking him.

you increase the pressure and intensity on your clit.

a faint moan escapes your throat.

your back curves.

your fingers tremble.

your nipples are hard under the shirt, sensitive, seeking attention.

the fabric is no longer enough.

you want no barriers.

you slide it inside your underwear, against you, hot and vibrating.

your hips give a jump.

the pulse in your throat jumps.

the tension grows with every breath.

your parted lips barely manage to contain the sighs.

you don't know if it's the toy, or the way he gave it to you.

the desire.

the intention.

the tenderness hidden in the daring.

a moan chokes in your throat.

your mouth ajar.

the toy vibrates against the exact spot, as if it knows it.

as if it has programmed it.

your clit throbs with each thrust.

your breath catches.

the rhythm of your hips begins to mark itself.

you begin to thrust the toy in and out of your soaking wet entrance, with need.

"ah... a-anton..."

you tremble.

you feel.

you vibrate.

and the knot inside you grows until your body bends, caught between the pleasure and the name you can't help but say softly:

“anton...”

you whisper his name without realizing it.

you imagine him looking at you.

licking his lip.

saying in that deep voice:

“that's it, my girl. do it like it's my fingers.”

the sensation rises like a slow wave.

an exquisite heat that envelops you from inside.

you're about to.

so close.

but you can't help it.

you need to tell him.

you need him to know.

you grab the cell phone with a trembling hand.

your legs are still open.

the toy is still inside you, in place, vibrating, teasing.

you send the message.

y/n:

three seconds.

five.

ten.

and his answer comes in, direct. immediate.

toni:

you knew he wasn't asking you.

was an order.

the heat explodes in your chest.

your cheeks burn.

your fingers hesitate.

but you don't say no.

because he doesn't demand.

he just wants to.

you settle in.

you place your phone in front of you, propped up on a pillow giving you an explicit view of your naked body.

you are unable to even hold your phone while recording.

your heart is pounding.

your other hand between your legs, the toy shaking.

you click and start recording.

yes, you are recording.

your body arches over the sheets.

the toy vibrates right where you need it, your hips chase it, and your fingers don't know whether to squeeze the sheet or one of your breasts.

your face is flushed, shiny, wet.

your lower lip between your teeth.

your eyes, shut tight.

your legs, trembling.

"anton... a-ah... please... don't stop... i'm so close..."

your voice is recorded without filters.

sweet.

broken.

wet.

you touch yourself as he has touched you.

you press right where he does.

you imagine his tongue, his fingers, his breath on your neck.

and let go.

your back curves suddenly.

your legs close against your hand.

your chest rises and falls like crazy.

your breath hitches.

your legs tense.

your hips move as if he's there.

your voice low, breathy, whispering his name over and over.

“anton... a-anton, please...”

your orgasm is on the brink, just one more touch, one more word.

and the moan you let out -that contained, deep moan of yours- comes out without permission:

"a-anton!"

your body trembles.

your hand falls.

your chest is on fire.

your skin, soaked.

you open your eyes.

the light still warm.

the silence still intimate.

the note on the pillow.

your chest rising and falling, trembling.

a wave.

a heat rising and releasing in soft, slow waves.

as if he's hugging you from a distance.

as if his hands are there.

as if he's looking at you, telling you you did good.

that it was just for you.

you stop the recording.

still with your lips swollen.

still with the toy between your thighs, inert now.

still gasping for breath.

you watch the video.

you bite your lip.

you don't think about it too much.

y/n:

[video attached]

silence.

one minute.

two.

three.

until his message comes in.

toni:

you smile.

your heart still pounding.

your body still burning.

you write to him:

y/n:

three seconds.

toni:

your skin crawls.

your insides tighten again.

and you smile like crazy.