fleurliz

[fleurliz]

𝒟rop top

anton x f!r    (  ≧ᗜ≦)    fluff   ──────✿  ❕ kissing , reader wear a skirt,pure fluff

The sky cracked open sometime after sunset — you felt the first drops as you and Anton stumbled out of the old café, hands brushing but not quite holding yet.

When he looked up and saw the black clouds and the first fat raindrops, he laughed. “Uh-oh.”

Neither of you had an umbrella. Neither of you even thought about running for shelter.

You were in that little skirt he always said he liked, the one that made his ears turn pink when you spun around in it. Now it was sticking to your thighs, rain dripping from your hair, but all you could see was him.

“God, you’re gonna catch a cold,” he murmured, but his hands were already cradling your face, thumbs swiping at the wet strands stuck to your cheeks.

“And you’re gonna ruin your pretty hair,” you shot back, breathless. It made him laugh, that quiet little laugh only you ever heard.

You squealed when a cold drop splashed on your forehead. He caught your hand — warm, so warm even as the rain fell colder — and tugged you down the street.

“Run!” he yelled, laughing so hard he nearly tripped.

You ran with him, both of you dodging puddles, laughing too loud, the rain soaking through your clothes in seconds. You clutched his hand like your life depended on it — like if you let go, the sky itself would swallow you whole.

At the corner, he slowed down, breathless, hair plastered to his forehead. You were both panting, chests heaving, raindrops running down your eyelashes.

You were about to say something stupid — a giggly “We’re so wet!” — when he caught your wrist and yanked you flush against him. The laughter died in your throat.

His eyes darted over your face, wide and dark, searching. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, and the rain kept drumming on his shoulders, yours, the street around you.

Then he kissed you.

Not gentle. Not shy.

He kissed you like he’d been drowning for years and only just found air again. His mouth moved against yours with an aching hunger — tasting the rain on your tongue, stealing every breath you tried to take. His fingers slid into your wet hair, tugging just enough to make your knees weak.

You gasped into him, hands fisting his shirt so hard you knew you’d stretch it out. He didn’t care. His other hand splayed wide over your back, holding you there, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat.

It was messy. It was wet. It was everything.

When he finally pulled back, your lips were swollen, your eyes half-closed, and your laugh came out shaky. He pressed his forehead to yours, still breathing hard, a grin splitting his face.

“God, I’ve wanted to do that since you ordered that stupid iced latte,” he panted.

You giggled, pushing your nose against his. “You’re insane, Anton.”

“Only for you.” And just like that — he kissed you again, harder this time, in the middle of the street while the rain kept falling like it would never stop.

guyss i had this in my draft for so long so i dont rlly know if thats great ?😭 i just wanted to post something and it sas there soo… u can send req if u want about any of the riize’s member !!

[fleurliz]

• 𝐈𝐌 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋 — love is like an arcade

— 𝑨𝑩𝑶𝑼𝑻 me

2006’ 𓇼 call me august 𓇼 french 𓇼 esfp

:: 𝑹ules +𝑫ni ꩜.ᐟ

★I only write for riize but i sometimes write for enha & bnd !

★if you’re over 26 you can interact but please don’t follow except if i followed you 1st,im not very comfortable thats all <3

★ Israël supporter,ot6 briize,🎺 supporter,homophobia,transphobia,Islamophobia etc,racism,pls don’t interact

★ I do write smut/suggestive but NO 🍇,step sister/brother (if they have the same mom/dad),incest ect…noncon,dubcon

:: 𝑭av ꩜.ᐟ

🛸୭ riize ;; anton | stayc ;; sumin | rescene ;; woni | enha ;; won | ive ;; liz | loona ;; Hyeju | tripleS ;; jiyeon,nakyoung,seoyeon|

[fleurliz]

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐄 ── maman voulait que je brille,que je passe à la radio moi je prie pour ne pas 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

‧₊˚𝐂𝐋!𝐂𝐊

[fleurliz]

• 𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐆𝐎 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘 ? — except you,you can stay

— 𝑴asterlist —

• 𝑹iizeִ   ࣪   ⋆

shotaro —

eunseok —

sungchan —

wonbin —

𝐜herry-flavored lies |

seunghan —

sohee —

anton —

𝒟iet pepsi | 𝑅aison 𝒟´𝐞tre | 𝐹avOriTe |

• 𝑬nhypen

sunghoon —

𝑀eant to be |

[fleurliz]

𝐃iet Pepsi

anton x f!r    ༏ིྀ   suggestive   ───࣪𖤐 ❕making out,mention of hickeys,inspired by "Diet Pepsi"(Addison Rae)

˖   ✦  › boycott Pepsi and free Palestine 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊

Your legs are draped across Anton’s lap, leather squeaking under your thighs every time you shift. The streetlight outside flickers through the fogged windows of his car, but you’re too busy tracing your nail over the curve of his jaw to care.

A half-empty Diet Pepsi can is balanced dangerously close to your knee. You take a slow sip, the carbonation fizzing on your tongue, eyes locked on his.

He watches you with that soft, dangerous gaze — the one that makes you squirm, the one that tells you he knows exactly what you’re doing.

“You’re gonna spill that,” he murmurs, voice low, hand settling on your bare thigh, thumb brushing the hem of your skirt.

You hum, pop the can down in the cup holder, and lean closer, lips brushing his ear.

“Maybe I want to make a mess,” you whisper, your breath sending a shiver down his neck.

His eyes flick to your mouth, then your chest — he’s been trying not to stare all night, but you can feel how tense his shoulders are under your palm.

You push yourself up just enough to swing a leg over him, straddling his lap. The car rocks under your weight. He inhales sharply when your hips press down, all that tension coiling tighter in his gut.

“Baby…” he warns, but it’s so weak, so ruined by the grin tugging at your glossed lips.

You lean in and brush your lips over his throat. “You know what I want to do?” you whisper, words a soft threat against his pulse.

He shivers. “What?”

“Mark you up so good no one’ll ever wonder who you belong to again.”

Before he can bark back something cocky, you’re already kissing your way down his neck — soft, wet, greedy kisses. You nip just below his jaw and his grip on your thigh tightens enough to bruise.

“Baby…” His voice is half a moan, half a warning.

“Shh,” you giggle, pulling the collar of his shirt wide open. “Hold still for me.”

Then you go to town.

You press open-mouthed kisses to his collarbones, trailing lower, sucking just hard enough to make him hiss your name through gritted teeth. Your lipstick leaves pink smudges but mostly you want the deep purple marks blooming across his skin — messy proof that he’s yours.

“Look at you,” you coo, pulling back to admire your handiwork. His chest is littered with your hickeys, his eyes half-lidded, lips swollen. He looks like sin, and you did that.

“You think this is cute?” he rasps, voice wrecked. “Making a mess of me like this?”

You grin, wicked. “Mhm. You love it.”

He laughs once, dark and breathless. Then he grabs your hips so fast you gasp, flipping you onto your back across the leather seat. Your Diet Pepsi nearly spills but neither of you care.

Anton hovers over you, breath ragged, shirt collar gaping open to show off every hickey you left.

“Think it’s funny?” he murmurs, lips ghosting yours. “Marking me up like a brat?”

You whine, arching into him, one hand fisting his hair, the other slipping under his shirt to feel the warmth of your handiwork.

“Anton—”

“Shh, baby. Gonna remind you exactly who gave you permission to make me look like this.”

His mouth crashes into yours — hungry, angry, desperate. The backseat rocks with every grind of his hips against yours. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging him closer, drinking in his soft groans like they’re your favorite cocktail.

When you pull back for air, your lips are swollen, your giggle lost against his jaw.

“You taste like Diet Pepsi,” he pants.

You lick his bottom lip teasingly. “You taste like me.”

He laughs, low and ruined, then kisses you again so hard your head spins. Outside, the streetlamp flickers. Inside, your whole universe is his mouth, his hands, his hickeys — your name invisible but burned into every inch of him.

Innocence lost? Long gone. Guilt? Zero. Regrets? Absolutely none.

And you know tomorrow, when he peels off his shirt in that stupid locker room, everyone will see exactly who got their hands on perfect, pretty Anton first.

Spoiler: it’s you. Always has been. Always will be.

| 🎱— TYY for the support I wrote this a long time ago about Eunseok I read it again and I’m so so sorry if I wrote eunseok’s name instead of Anton’s one😔 last post until a long time ig ? (TT)

[fleurliz]

𝑅aison 𝒟´𝐞tre

bf!anton x f!r  𓂃⋆.˚   fluff, comfort   ──────✿  ❕ nothing only fluff     

You don’t even remember what triggered it — just that the day was heavy and everything felt too loud, too fast, too much. You’re curled up in the corner of Anton’s bed now, wrapped in his giant grey hoodie, knees tucked to your chest like it might keep you from falling apart.

He finds you like that when he comes home — fresh from practice, hair damp, duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He stops in the doorway, eyes softening instantly at the sight of you.

“Hey,” he says, so gentle it makes your throat close up. You can’t look at him. You bury your face in your arms instead.

There’s a quiet rustle as he drops his bag and crosses the room. You feel the mattress dip when he sits next to you, a warm hand smoothing over your back. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. He never does — because Anton knows sometimes the why doesn’t matter.

“Come here, baby,” he murmurs, tugging at your hands until you uncurl, pliant in his arms. He pulls you into his lap like you weigh nothing. His chest is solid and warm under your cheek, the steady beat of his heart an anchor against the storm in your head.

You sniffle, blinking hard against the burn in your eyes. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, voice muffled by his shirt. “I don’t know why I’m like this.”

His arms tighten around you, one hand cupping the back of your head, thumb stroking slow circles into your hair. “Don’t say that.” His voice is quiet but firm. “You don’t have to be anything for me. You don’t have to be okay all the time. Just be here. That’s enough.”

You feel your chest crack open at that — how easily he says it, like it’s the simplest truth in the world. You pull back a little, enough to see his face. His hair is messy from your touch, eyes dark and gentle and unwavering.

“Why do you love me?” you whisper, almost scared of the answer.

Anton smiles, so soft it aches. He leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re my life,” he breathes. The words taste foreign, soft, sacred on his tongue. “My reason for being. That’s it. That’s everything.”

You let out a shaky laugh that cracks halfway into a sob. He kisses it away — your cheeks, your nose, the corner of your mouth — until you’re hiccuping giggles into his skin instead of tears.

“You wanna lay down?” he asks, voice still laced with a smile. You nod, small and quiet, and he shifts you down onto the pillows, crawling in beside you. He slots himself behind you, arm draped around your waist, his chest pressed to your back so you can feel every rise and fall of his breathing.

For a while, there’s only this: his hand tracing idle shapes on your stomach under the hoodie, his lips brushing your temple every so often, the hush of the world beyond his bedroom door fading into nothing.

“Thank you,” you whisper into the dark. “For what?” he murmurs back, half-asleep already. “For being my reason to stay,” you say, your voice breaking in the sweetest way.

Anton’s hold tightens, impossibly warm, impossibly safe. “Always, baby,” he breathes against your hair. “Always.”

[fleurliz]

𝐹avOriTe

bf!anton x f!r    (  ≧ᗜ≦)    fluff    ──────✿  ❕ clinginess and shirtless ton  1.1k   💌      

The apartment is quiet when Anton slips in, the soft click of the door lock followed by the shuffle of his shoes. It's late — much later than he wanted — but rehearsals ran long and no one had the heart to leave until everything was perfect. Still, he hates being away from you for this long.

He drops his bag gently by the door and heads toward the faint blue light coming from the living room.

You're there, curled up on the couch, one leg tossed over a pillow, the other peeking out from beneath the hem of hisoversized shirt — a shirt that hangs off your frame like a blanket. The TV is still playing Ginny & Georgia — of all things — and the remote is loosely gripped in your hand, thumb resting just beside the volume button.

Anton smiles.

You must’ve tried to wait for him.

He pads over and crouches beside you, brushing a few strands of hair from your cheek. Your face is relaxed, lips parted slightly in your sleep. The kind of sleep where nothing could wake you.

Gently, he slips an arm beneath your knees and the other around your shoulders, lifting you bridal style. You stir a little, nose scrunching as you unconsciously curl against him, tucking your face into the crook of his neck.

His heart melts.

“Of course you're cuddly now,” he mumbles with a grin, carrying you to the bedroom.

He lays you down carefully, but before he can even pull away, your hand tugs weakly at his shirt.

“No—stay.”

He chuckles softly. “Baby, I need to shower. I smell like a gym.”

“Don’t care,” you mumble, eyes still shut. “Smell like… Anton.”

“I don’t even know if that’s a compliment,” he says, amused. But he presses a kiss to your forehead anyway, lingering for a second longer than necessary.

You let go, eventually, and Anton slips into the bathroom.

The sound of water running fills the apartment. You drift in and out of sleep, only properly waking when you hear the door click open and the faint whirr of a blow dryer. You peek through barely opened eyes.

He’s standing in front of the mirror, towel around his waist, head bowed slightly as he runs his fingers through his damp hair while drying it. The muscles in his back shift with each movement, and even in your sleepy haze, you can’t help but admire the view.

Without a word, you stand and pad across the room. He doesn't notice you until your arms snake around his waist from behind and your cheek presses into his back.

He stills.

Then: “Why are you awake?” His voice is quieter now, low and sweet, like it’s reserved just for you.

You smirk against his skin. “God forbid a girl misses her boyfriend.”

Anton lets out a breathy laugh. He turns the dryer off, setting it on the counter.

He twists in your hold, turning to face you. Your arms stay wrapped around him loosely, and he dips his head until your foreheads touch.

“Still sleepy?” he murmurs.

You nod. “Mhm.”

“But not too sleepy to sneak up on me in my towel?”

You smirk. “Maybe I like what I see.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Should I dry my hair more often, then?”

You giggle, fingers tracing the edge of the towel just to mess with him. “You’re so cocky.”

“And yet,” he leans in, brushing your nose with his, “you’re wearing my shirt. Again.”

“It’s comfortable.”

“It’s mine.”

“And I’m yours,” you counter, eyes twinkling.

He kisses you then — soft, slow, like he’s been waiting for this all day. His hands settle on your hips, thumbs brushing the skin above your shorts, and when he pulls away, you chase his lips instinctively.

“I missed you,” you whisper against his mouth.

“I missed you more,” he says, voice almost a sigh. “Come back to bed with me?”

You nod, eyes fluttering. “Only if you carry me again.”

He laughs, shaking his head, but he lifts you easily. “Spoiled.”

You nuzzle into his chest, a content smile on your face. “Yours.”

[fleurliz]

𝑀eant to be —

⭑. dark!sunghoon x fem!reader ⭑. 2.6k ⭑. stalking, obsessive behavior,invasion of privacy, social media tracking, voyeurism, possessiveness,jealousy, unhealthy fixation, dark themes,

001 002

He saw you long before you ever saw him. And the world hasn’t looked the same since.

It was winter. Not cold enough for snow, but grey in that way that made your skin feel thin. He’d been walking through your neighborhood—he didn’t even know why he was there. Wandering. Killing time. Avoiding home.

And then he saw you.

Through a second-story window. Sitting on your bed, legs crossed, eyes glued to a notebook. You were writing something. Scribbling fast, like your hand was chasing thoughts that didn’t want to be caught.

He couldn’t see your whole face. Just the curve of your cheek in the soft lamplight. The slope of your shoulder in an oversized hoodie. But it was enough.

Enough to make the breath catch in his throat.

You looked… untouched. Not in the cliché way people talk about innocence. No. You looked unbothered. Like you lived in your own world. Like no one had ever broken it.

He stood across the street for ten minutes that night. Just watching.

It became a habit.

At first, once or twice a week. Then every day. He learned the light in your room stayed on late. That you chewed pens when you studied. That you sometimes danced when you thought no one was looking.

Then one night, you left your window cracked open.

And he heard you laugh.

It wasn’t a laugh you gave to other people. It was private. Quiet. The kind that slips out when you're completely alone. It made his jaw tighten. He needed more.

So he searched.

He scrolled through mutuals. Tagged photos. Likes. Too many girls looked like you. Too many usernames could have been yours. But then he found it.

A tagged photo. A school hoodie. The same one you always wore when you got home. And there you were.

He started checking your page every day.

He learned your friends’ names. Sophia. Haruna. Manon. He found your Spotify playlists, your Tumblr (private, but not that private), your pinned tweet. He screenshotted selfies you deleted after two minutes. Saved every picture you were tagged in — even the ones where you were just in the background.

He made a folder for you.

You didn’t know it yet, but you were already his.

He watched you cry once. Lights off. Just your silhouette curled up on the mattress, shoulders trembling. He didn’t know why. And he hated not knowing.

That was the night he realized he couldn’t stop.

That was the night he whispered your name into the dark — just to feel it in his mouth. Even though you’d never told it to him.

Not yet.

—

When he found out what university you were applying to, it wasn’t a coincidence that he started showing up there too. Sitting on benches. Watching people pass. Waiting. Looking.

He didn’t need to follow you anymore.

You had a rhythm now. A schedule. He knew your favorite café. Your route home. The way you liked your coffee.

And worse — he knew who you spent time with.

That boy.

The one always standing too close. The one who looked at you like he deserved you, like he thought your smile meant something more.

Jungwon.

He hated him.

Hated the way Jungwon smiled when you made a joke. Hated how his hand always grazed your arm like he had a right. Hated how he stood between you and the rest of the world like you needed to be protected.

You didn’t need him.

You didn’t need any of them.

You needed someone who saw you. Really saw you. Someone who understood that the world had tried — and failed — to break you. Someone who would burn everything down just to keep you warm.

So when you finally looked at him — really looked — at that fence, by the court, he knew. It was fate.

He hadn’t imagined the way your eyes froze on his. The way your lips parted like you felt it too.

You were drawn to him. You just didn’t know it yet.

—

He watched you leave your P.E. class alone. He watched you laugh with your friends but always glance toward the street. He watched you freeze when you saw him at the café, your smile faltering for just a second — like your body remembered something your mind hadn’t caught up to.

He didn’t need to rush.

He could wait.

Because the moment you spoke to him — on that balcony, under a weak city sky — he knew the door had opened. Even if just a crack.

And once he was in…

he wasn’t going to leave.

Ever

He saw things he shouldn’t have. Things you only posted for friends. He watched your socials like clockwork—close friends stories, locked accounts, even your tumblr, even the ones you thought were private. He knew your throwaways. Your finsta. He read your captions like gospel. He made burner after burner after burner, just to keep watching when you blocked him the first time.

It didn’t hurt. Not really.

You just didn’t know yet.

He wasn’t trying to scare you. He just needed to know more.

He needed to know who you were when no one was watching. The version of you that only existed in the dark.

The playlists you never shared. The books you dog-eared. The drafts you never posted. He wanted all of it. Deserved all of it.

Because no one would love you like he would.

He saved everything. The tweets you deleted. The selfies you regretted. The songs you listened to at 2 a.m. when you couldn’t sleep. He knew when you were lonely. He knew when you were sad. He knew what kind of texts would make your heart stutter, even if you’d never admit it out loud.

He practiced writing them. Over and over. Wrote your name in cursive across napkins. Doodled it in the margins of his notebook. Said it like a prayer under his breath while he watched you walk by with Jungwon.

That’s what made him snap.

The way Jungwon touched your hair like it was nothing. The way he laughed like he didn’t even see how lucky he was. The way you let him.

You didn’t know better. That’s all.

But you would.

One day you’d look up and realize it had always been him. That no one else had waited this long. Watched this closely. Loved you this much.

And the second you let him in— just a little— just once—

You wouldn’t want anyone else.

🎱 — tag :: @just1moodz

[fleurliz]

𝑀eant to be —

⭑.dark!sunghoon x reader ⭑. wc: 2.8k (or whatever the final word count is!) ⭑. content warnings: cigarette use, mention of party,nothing too crazy for part 1,not proofread.

001 002

You’ve never liked P.E., and it has never liked you. Somehow, the teacher caught on quickly—your disinterest, your half-hearted excuses—and now, you’re excused from most classes. You tell yourself it’s a blessing, but sometimes, it feels like exile.

You sit on the bleachers, earbuds in but nothing playing, watching everyone move below you on the court like figures in a snow globe you can’t shake. They laugh. They sweat. They live in a world you can’t seem to reach into. Your legs swing slightly off the bench, eyes trailing over familiar shapes and colors… until they stop.

You don’t know what makes you look up that second time. Maybe it’s the weight of someone’s gaze on you. Maybe it’s just boredom. But when your eyes rise and scan the outer gate by the basketball court—the one that opens up to the city—you see him.

A boy. No, a man.

Not part of your school. Just leaning against the fence, dark hoodie up, hands in his pockets, like he’s waiting for something. Or someone.

His face doesn’t hit you all at once. It unfolds. Pale skin touched by the afternoon sun, dark eyes framed by messy hair falling perfectly over his forehead. Sharp nose, lips set somewhere between a smirk and silence. He looks too beautiful to be real, like someone you’d see in a film, not behind school fencing.

And he’s looking at you.

You blink first.

You look away, heart skipping, unsure if you imagined it. When you glance back a second later, he’s still there—but this time, he’s not looking at you. He’s lighting a cigarette. He exhales, lazily, and walks off. Like nothing happened.

“Do you know him?”

You flinch. Jungwon is suddenly beside you, a little out of breath, sweat glistening on his temples. His eyes are already searching your face. You swallow.

“No,” you say too fast.

He follows your gaze. “He was staring.”

“I don’t know him,” you repeat, quieter now.

Jungwon doesn’t push. But you feel his eyes on you long after the boy—whoever he was—is gone.

—

You don’t see him again for three days.

And honestly,you didn’t care. He was just a handsome man,nothing more. Just a distraction.

But then you go to the café with Sophia and Manon after class—the one with the tall windows, cheap pastries, and terrible iced lattes you still order every time. You’re laughing about something dumb when you feel it again. That tap-tap-tap in your chest, like a match being struck too close to the wick.

He’s outside.

On the other side of the glass.

He’s not looking at you this time, not yet. He’s looking at the sky. The world. The nothing that you pretend not to crave. Then he tilts his head slightly—just enough to lock eyes with you. Just enough to make your laughter die in your throat.

You hold his gaze for two seconds. Three. Four.

Manon call you and you turn your head in her direction. By the time you turn your head in his direction agin he’s gone.

Like smoke.

—-

The third time is at a party you didn’t want to go to.

You’re on the balcony, clutching a plastic cup filled with warm, flat soda. The music is pulsing inside, and you’re hoping no one follows you out. You hate crowds. You hate the feeling of pretending you're having fun when you're not.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” a voice says.

You turn. He’s standing beside you.

Closer now.

You can see the faint shadow of a healing cut on his cheek. The chain around his neck. The cigarette between his fingers.

He offers it to you. You shake your head.

“I see you everywhere,” he murmurs. “It’s like we’re meant to be.”

His voice is low. Smooth. And warm in a way that crawls under your skin before you can stop it. You don’t respond right away. You don’t know what to say. His presence feels heavy in the air, like thunder just waiting.

“What’s your name?” you finally ask.

He smiles—crooked, amused.

“You first.”

Your throat goes dry. “Y/n.”

He tilts his head. “Pretty name.”

“And you are…?” you press.

But he just exhales, cigarette burning to ash.

“You’ll find out.”

[fleurliz]

𝑀eant to be —

⭑. dark!sunghoon x fem!reader ⭑. 2.6k ⭑. stalking, obsessive behavior,invasion of privacy, social media tracking, voyeurism, possessiveness,jealousy, unhealthy fixation, dark themes,

001 002

He saw you long before you ever saw him. And the world hasn’t looked the same since.

It was winter. Not cold enough for snow, but grey in that way that made your skin feel thin. He’d been walking through your neighborhood—he didn’t even know why he was there. Wandering. Killing time. Avoiding home.

And then he saw you.

Through a second-story window. Sitting on your bed, legs crossed, eyes glued to a notebook. You were writing something. Scribbling fast, like your hand was chasing thoughts that didn’t want to be caught.

He couldn’t see your whole face. Just the curve of your cheek in the soft lamplight. The slope of your shoulder in an oversized hoodie. But it was enough.

Enough to make the breath catch in his throat.

You looked… untouched. Not in the cliché way people talk about innocence. No. You looked unbothered. Like you lived in your own world. Like no one had ever broken it.

He stood across the street for ten minutes that night. Just watching.

It became a habit.

At first, once or twice a week. Then every day. He learned the light in your room stayed on late. That you chewed pens when you studied. That you sometimes danced when you thought no one was looking.

Then one night, you left your window cracked open.

And he heard you laugh.

It wasn’t a laugh you gave to other people. It was private. Quiet. The kind that slips out when you're completely alone. It made his jaw tighten. He needed more.

So he searched.

He scrolled through mutuals. Tagged photos. Likes. Too many girls looked like you. Too many usernames could have been yours. But then he found it.

A tagged photo. A school hoodie. The same one you always wore when you got home. And there you were.

He started checking your page every day.

He learned your friends’ names. Sophia. Haruna. Manon. He found your Spotify playlists, your Tumblr (private, but not that private), your pinned tweet. He screenshotted selfies you deleted after two minutes. Saved every picture you were tagged in — even the ones where you were just in the background.

He made a folder for you.

You didn’t know it yet, but you were already his.

He watched you cry once. Lights off. Just your silhouette curled up on the mattress, shoulders trembling. He didn’t know why. And he hated not knowing.

That was the night he realized he couldn’t stop.

That was the night he whispered your name into the dark — just to feel it in his mouth. Even though you’d never told it to him.

Not yet.

—

When he found out what university you were applying to, it wasn’t a coincidence that he started showing up there too. Sitting on benches. Watching people pass. Waiting. Looking.

He didn’t need to follow you anymore.

You had a rhythm now. A schedule. He knew your favorite café. Your route home. The way you liked your coffee.

And worse — he knew who you spent time with.

That boy.

The one always standing too close. The one who looked at you like he deserved you, like he thought your smile meant something more.

Jungwon.

He hated him.

Hated the way Jungwon smiled when you made a joke. Hated how his hand always grazed your arm like he had a right. Hated how he stood between you and the rest of the world like you needed to be protected.

You didn’t need him.

You didn’t need any of them.

You needed someone who saw you. Really saw you. Someone who understood that the world had tried — and failed — to break you. Someone who would burn everything down just to keep you warm.

So when you finally looked at him — really looked — at that fence, by the court, he knew. It was fate.

He hadn’t imagined the way your eyes froze on his. The way your lips parted like you felt it too.

You were drawn to him. You just didn’t know it yet.

—

He watched you leave your P.E. class alone. He watched you laugh with your friends but always glance toward the street. He watched you freeze when you saw him at the café, your smile faltering for just a second — like your body remembered something your mind hadn’t caught up to.

He didn’t need to rush.

He could wait.

Because the moment you spoke to him — on that balcony, under a weak city sky — he knew the door had opened. Even if just a crack.

And once he was in…

he wasn’t going to leave.

Ever

He saw things he shouldn’t have. Things you only posted for friends. He watched your socials like clockwork—close friends stories, locked accounts, even your tumblr, even the ones you thought were private. He knew your throwaways. Your finsta. He read your captions like gospel. He made burner after burner after burner, just to keep watching when you blocked him the first time.

It didn’t hurt. Not really.

You just didn’t know yet.

He wasn’t trying to scare you. He just needed to know more.

He needed to know who you were when no one was watching. The version of you that only existed in the dark.

The playlists you never shared. The books you dog-eared. The drafts you never posted. He wanted all of it. Deserved all of it.

Because no one would love you like he would.

He saved everything. The tweets you deleted. The selfies you regretted. The songs you listened to at 2 a.m. when you couldn’t sleep. He knew when you were lonely. He knew when you were sad. He knew what kind of texts would make your heart stutter, even if you’d never admit it out loud.

He practiced writing them. Over and over. Wrote your name in cursive across napkins. Doodled it in the margins of his notebook. Said it like a prayer under his breath while he watched you walk by with Jungwon.

That’s what made him snap.

The way Jungwon touched your hair like it was nothing. The way he laughed like he didn’t even see how lucky he was. The way you let him.

You didn’t know better. That’s all.

But you would.

One day you’d look up and realize it had always been him. That no one else had waited this long. Watched this closely. Loved you this much.

And the second you let him in— just a little— just once—

You wouldn’t want anyone else.

🎱 — tag :: @just1moodz

[fleurliz]

𝑀eant to be —

⭑.dark!sunghoon x reader ⭑. wc: 2.8k (or whatever the final word count is!) ⭑. content warnings: cigarette use, mention of party,nothing too crazy for part 1,not proofread.

001 002

You’ve never liked P.E., and it has never liked you. Somehow, the teacher caught on quickly—your disinterest, your half-hearted excuses—and now, you’re excused from most classes. You tell yourself it’s a blessing, but sometimes, it feels like exile.

You sit on the bleachers, earbuds in but nothing playing, watching everyone move below you on the court like figures in a snow globe you can’t shake. They laugh. They sweat. They live in a world you can’t seem to reach into. Your legs swing slightly off the bench, eyes trailing over familiar shapes and colors… until they stop.

You don’t know what makes you look up that second time. Maybe it’s the weight of someone’s gaze on you. Maybe it’s just boredom. But when your eyes rise and scan the outer gate by the basketball court—the one that opens up to the city—you see him.

A boy. No, a man.

Not part of your school. Just leaning against the fence, dark hoodie up, hands in his pockets, like he’s waiting for something. Or someone.

His face doesn’t hit you all at once. It unfolds. Pale skin touched by the afternoon sun, dark eyes framed by messy hair falling perfectly over his forehead. Sharp nose, lips set somewhere between a smirk and silence. He looks too beautiful to be real, like someone you’d see in a film, not behind school fencing.

And he’s looking at you.

You blink first.

You look away, heart skipping, unsure if you imagined it. When you glance back a second later, he’s still there—but this time, he’s not looking at you. He’s lighting a cigarette. He exhales, lazily, and walks off. Like nothing happened.

“Do you know him?”

You flinch. Jungwon is suddenly beside you, a little out of breath, sweat glistening on his temples. His eyes are already searching your face. You swallow.

“No,” you say too fast.

He follows your gaze. “He was staring.”

“I don’t know him,” you repeat, quieter now.

Jungwon doesn’t push. But you feel his eyes on you long after the boy—whoever he was—is gone.

—

You don’t see him again for three days.

And honestly,you didn’t care. He was just a handsome man,nothing more. Just a distraction.

But then you go to the café with Sophia and Manon after class—the one with the tall windows, cheap pastries, and terrible iced lattes you still order every time. You’re laughing about something dumb when you feel it again. That tap-tap-tap in your chest, like a match being struck too close to the wick.

He’s outside.

On the other side of the glass.

He’s not looking at you this time, not yet. He’s looking at the sky. The world. The nothing that you pretend not to crave. Then he tilts his head slightly—just enough to lock eyes with you. Just enough to make your laughter die in your throat.

You hold his gaze for two seconds. Three. Four.

Manon call you and you turn your head in her direction. By the time you turn your head in his direction agin he’s gone.

Like smoke.

—-

The third time is at a party you didn’t want to go to.

You’re on the balcony, clutching a plastic cup filled with warm, flat soda. The music is pulsing inside, and you’re hoping no one follows you out. You hate crowds. You hate the feeling of pretending you're having fun when you're not.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” a voice says.

You turn. He’s standing beside you.

Closer now.

You can see the faint shadow of a healing cut on his cheek. The chain around his neck. The cigarette between his fingers.

He offers it to you. You shake your head.

“I see you everywhere,” he murmurs. “It’s like we’re meant to be.”

His voice is low. Smooth. And warm in a way that crawls under your skin before you can stop it. You don’t respond right away. You don’t know what to say. His presence feels heavy in the air, like thunder just waiting.

“What’s your name?” you finally ask.

He smiles—crooked, amused.

“You first.”

Your throat goes dry. “Y/n.”

He tilts his head. “Pretty name.”

“And you are…?” you press.

But he just exhales, cigarette burning to ash.

“You’ll find out.”

[fleurliz]

𝐜herry-flavored lies

Pairing: Wonbin (RIIZE) x Reader Genre: Friends-to-(almost)-lovers, slow tension Content warning: alcohol consumption (not excessive), morally gray behavior Word count: ~1.1k (1st time posting here actually stressed asf😋)

you didn’t know what you and wonbin were, but you were definitely something.

not quite lovers. not quite friends either — at least not in the way people thought. you touched him too much for that. he lingered too long for that. and no one ever really asked, because the way he looked at you made people afraid of the answer.

sometimes he showed up at your door past midnight with takeout and wet hair. sometimes you found yourself already reaching for him before he knocked.

tonight, it’s a party. neither of you wanted to go, but both of you came anyway — the kind of co-dependence that lived in silence. he leans on your shoulder as you sit on the couch, a little tired, a little bored, his fingers grazing your thigh absentmindedly. you don’t say anything about it. you never do.

you talk to people separately. laugh from across the room. catch each other’s eyes from time to time. it’s easy. it’s always been easy — until you drink.

you don’t usually, but you sip something fizzy and bitter out of someone else’s red cup, just enough to make your cheeks warm and your thoughts slow. when you find him again, you’re swaying, half-leaning against the wall.

“wonbin,” you say, soft and breathy, like his name’s a secret. he’s at your side in a second. “you okay?” you nod, then shake your head. your lashes flutter a little. “my head hurts. i think i left my pill in your bag…”

he blinks. he always carries your things, even when you don’t ask. “yeah? come here,” he says, already guiding you away from the noise, hand steady on your back.

he takes you to a quieter room. someone’s bedroom, maybe. the lights are dim and the bed’s unmade. you sit at the edge, watching him dig through his bag. you look small. softer than usual.

he frowns as he rummages. “i don’t see it,” he mumbles, “what does it look like again?” you don’t answer. he turns around — and you’re standing now, a little too close.

“hey,” you say.

he looks up. and you kiss him.

it’s not rushed. it’s not desperate. it’s… gentle. like you’ve done it before. like it’s just a thing you do. his hands hover in the air for a moment, unsure. your lip gloss tastes like cherries and something else he can’t place.

then he breathes out, like the wind’s been knocked out of him, and kisses you back.

he shouldn’t. he knows he shouldn’t. you’re drunk — aren’t you?

he pulls away, forehead brushing yours. “we can’t,” he says, softly. “you’re not thinking straight.” you tilt your head at him, all doe eyes and flushed cheeks. “but i want to.”

he wants to believe you. god, he does. but he can’t let himself. he opens his mouth to say something else — and then you giggle.

not drunk. not slurred. just amused.

you pull something out of your jacket pocket.

“you mean this?” you say, teasing. the pills rattle.

wonbin stares. speechless.

you weren’t dizzy. you weren’t out of it. you weren’t drunk at all. you just wanted to kiss him. and you didn’t know how else to ask.