fleurliz

[fleurliz]

        𝗠𝗢𝗟𝗘    ★    L.SH

🦢 ・ 𝓎𝑜𝓊’𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓃𝓁𝓎 person sohee allow to touch his face. 소희        ──────        ◜ ᗜ ◝         𝓰𝓷.reader         fluff              ✧       0380.     【  nav  】       𓇼    i forgot how to write but i kinda like this one !

The boys were loud as always, their voices overlapping as they argued over what to order for dinner. You, however, were tucked in the corner of the couch beside Sohee, your legs curled up as you scrolled lazily through your phone.

He didn’t say much, just leaned against the armrest with that calm, unreadable look he always had. But when your hand absentmindedly reached up to brush a strand of hair away from his forehead, you expected him to flinch or pull back like he usually did with everyone else.

Instead, his gaze flickered to you for just a second, and then… nothing. No complaint, no teasing. Just quiet acceptance.

“Mm,” he mumbled, eyes closing briefly under your touch. “You’re the only one I let do that, you know.”

Your heart skipped. “Do what?”

“Touch my face.” His voice was soft, almost like he was admitting a secret. “Anyone else, I’d move away.”

You smiled, letting your fingers linger against his cheek. “Guess I’m special, then.”

He opened one eye, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve always been special.”

And before you could even think of a reply, he leaned just slightly into your palm — the tiniest gesture, but enough to make the whole room fade away.

It was such a simple statement, but it hit you like he’d just told you a secret no one else knew. You softened, letting your thumb brush lightly over his cheekbone. He closed his eyes for a moment, almost leaning into the touch, and your chest felt warm in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

From the other side of the room, one of the boys yelled something about your “gross couple energy,” and Sohee cracked a quiet laugh, though he didn’t move your hand.

“Let them talk,” he murmured, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “I’m comfortable.”

And so you stayed like that — your hand cupping his face, his expression relaxed in a way he didn’t let many people see, the chaos around you fading into background noise. When the food finally arrived and everyone scrambled toward the door, he caught your wrist before you could move away.

“Stay here,” he said, and you knew he wasn’t talking about the couch. He meant with him.

1st i like something i wrote since favOrite

[fleurliz]

𝐻azy

wonbin x f!r    𓂃⋆.˚    suggestive (?) ──────✿  ❕ alcohol consumption , make out sess , mention of soju       m.list 🎱

The apartment door barely clicked shut before you felt his hands on your waist, tugging you backwards against him.

“Bin—” you laughed, still holding your soju bottle, “at least let me—”

But he was already turning you around, backing you into the wall. “No,” he mumbled, voice low and a little hoarse from the night. “You’re not running off after teasing me all night.”

Your smirk grew. “Teasing?”

He didn’t answer. Just kissed you—fast and clumsy, like he’d been holding back for hours. His hand slid up your side while the other took the bottle from you, setting it on the counter without breaking the kiss.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, lips brushing his as you murmured, “You taste like beer.”

“And you taste like soju,” he shot back, leaning in again, deeper this time. “Way too much.”

The kiss turned messy quickly—your back hitting the wall, his body pressed into yours, his hands holding your hips firmly as if he was scared you’d slip away. You could feel him smiling into the kiss, that shy, boyish grin even as he tilted his head to get closer, closer—

“C’mere,” he whispered, tugging you toward the couch.

The next second, you were straddling him, his head tipped back to meet your mouth. Your fingers tangled in his hair while he kissed you like he couldn’t decide between slow and desperate—his hands gripping your thighs, sliding higher every so often, making you laugh breathlessly against his lips.

You pulled back just to take a sip of your drink, and his eyes followed the movement like he was hypnotized.

“Give me,” he said.

You raised a brow. “You want some?”

“Want you after some.”

You snorted but leaned down anyway, letting him taste the soju on your tongue when he kissed you again—this time slower, lingering, the alcohol warm between you both.

When you finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard, foreheads resting together. He kept his arms around your waist like if he let go, the moment would slip away.

“Okay,” you murmured, trying to move off him, but his grip only tightened.

“Mm-mm. Stay.”

“Bin, my legs are numb—”

“Don’t care.” He nuzzled into your neck, voice muffled. “You still smell like the party and I hate it, but you taste better than anything I had there. So I’m keeping you here.”

You let out a quiet laugh, brushing his hair back. “That’s not even romantic, you know.”

“Didn’t say it was,” he replied, looking up at you with that shy, post-kiss smile. “It’s just the truth.”

And before you could argue, he was pulling you back down into another kiss—slower this time, like he had all night to make sure you didn’t get up.

hey people… im still alive dont ask me why my last post was on FCKING JULY 18TH

[fleurliz]

im so normal about this 😋

[fleurliz]

istg im gonna cry OMG TYSM LOVE YALL SMMM🥹🫶 working on a smau rn why is it so hard😓

[fleurliz]

𝒯ired

【 ## 】    —   PAIRING    …    anton    x  fem!reader   ⋆     fluff    //   shirtless ton(again)    +     pet  names ,     …               —    m.list   ˖ 

The bed was cold.

You blinked a few times, still tucked in the mess of blankets you’d fallen asleep under with him. But your arms reached out and hit nothing but sheets. Your face scrunched as you turned around fully — empty. No anton. No warmth. No steady breathing in your ear or that slow little sleepy murmur he always did when you shifted beside him.

“…the hell,” you whispered to yourself, still raspy and pouty from sleep.

You dragged yourself out of bed, an oversized t-shirt swallowing your body, hair a little messy and steps wobbly. The apartment was dark, the faint hum of the fridge the only sound. And then—

Clink.

The soft sound of a spoon tapping something. You squinted toward the kitchen.

And there he was.

Anton, your sweet, sweet boy, standing by the counter with a glass of water and a tub of yogurt, shirtless in those grey sweats — the ones you swore he wore on purpose when he wanted to ruin your night’s peace. His hair was messy, like he’d been running his hands through it, his eyes still puffy with sleep.

You stared.

You always stared.

And then you moved, padding across the floor until you were behind him. You wrapped your arms around his waist from the back, face pressing between his shoulder blades with a soft little sigh.

He froze for a second. And then you felt the way his back shook with a quiet chuckle.“Couldn’t sleep without me, huh?”

his voice was husky, slow, laced in that late-night softness that made you melt every time.

“I woke up and you were gone,” you mumbled into his skin, already frowning. “Not cute. I was cold.”

He turned around slowly in your arms,

and his hands found your waist immediately — warm, big palms running lazy circles on the small of your back.

“I didn’t wanna wake you,” he said gently, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You looked so cute sleeping.”

You hugged him tighter, burying yourself into his chest. “Let’s go back to bed.”

He chuckled softly, letting you hold him like he was the blanket you’d been missing. His arms circled your waist again, pulling you in with this slow, sleepy strength that always felt so secure — like you could fall asleep standing up in his arms and it’d still be the safest place in the world.

“I was literally gone for 10 minutes,” he whispered into your hair.

“Too long,” you mumbled back. “Missed you.”

You felt his smile against your scalp, and he kissed your head, a little longer this time. “You’re so clingy when you’re sleepy.”

“Am not,” you grumbled, already burrowing further into him.

“You are,” he laughed gently, “but I like it.”

You were quiet for a moment, just letting yourself melt into his chest — the steady beat of his heart, the heat of his bare skin under your palms. His hand rubbed slow circles into your lower back, like he was trying to memorize the curve of you all over again.

And then, out of nowhere—

“Wait… why are you shirtless?” you suddenly asked, brows furrowing as you pulled back to look at him. “Isn’t it cold?”

He blinked, deadpan. “…You always steal the blanket.”

You gasped. “That’s not true—!”

“It is. I literally woke up freezing,” he said, fake serious. “You had all the covers wrapped around you like a sushi roll.”

You laughed — a sleepy, snorty giggle that made his heart do flips. And then your fingers brushed down his abs, featherlight. Not for any reason. Just… touch.

“Well, I’ll keep you warm now,” you said with a pout, reaching up to kiss his jaw — then his cheek — then the tip of his nose.

He blinked slowly, the tips of his ears pinking.

“…You’re not gonna let me eat my yogurt, are you.”

“Nope,” you said, all smug and clingy, tugging him back toward the bedroom by the waistband of his sweats. “You can have breakfast in the morning. Right now I need cuddles. Urgently.”

“Yes ma’am,” he sighed playfully — but there was no resistance.

Back under the covers, he tangled his legs with yours, pressed his chest to your back, and whispered, “Is this better?” against your neck.

You just hummed, half-asleep already.

“Best boyfriend ever,” you mumbled, and he smiled so hard it hurt.

He kissed your shoulder — and finally, finally let himself fall back asleep, now that his favorite girl was warm in his arms again.

—🤍 :: we’re getting less and less creative with those imagine name🔥 (idk if thats even the right word…)

[fleurliz]

𝒪nly one

【 ## 】    —   PAIRING    …    eunseok    x  fem!reader   ⋆     fluff    //     pet  names ,     …    ꔫა          —   m.list    ˖    ⋆｡𓏲𝄢

Eunseok knew he was doomed the second he saw you holding your little pink makeup pouch, eyes wide and hopeful.

“No,” he said immediately, voice steady as a rock. “Absolutely not.”

“But whyyyyy,” you whined, scooting closer on the couch and giving him that look—head tilted, lower lip pouting, eyelashes fluttering. “I just wanna see how it looks on you!”

“I’m not your practice doll,” he grumbled, though he didn’t budge when you climbed into his lap. “Baby—seriously—no.”

You propped your chin on his shoulder, voice soft and pleading. “Please? Just once? I got all this new makeup and you have such a pretty face.”

His ears turned pink. “That’s not—” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s not going to work on me.”

“It is,” you said sweetly. “Because you love me.”

He tried to hold your gaze like he wasn’t melting inside, but after a beat of silence, he finally slumped back against the cushions, defeated. “…Fine. But only because you’re cute.”

“Yay!” you squealed, hugging him tight. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

“Please don’t tell the guys,” he muttered under his breath as you dug out your brushes.

You sat on his thighs and carefully started with a little concealer on the tip of your finger. Eunseok kept trying to look away, but every time you cupped his cheek to turn his face back, he went bright red.

“You’re not even letting me see,” you complained, dabbing under his eyes.

“Because you’re staring at me like you’re about to eat me,” he grumbled, eyes flicking up to glare at you—but you could tell he was fighting a smile.

When you finally picked up the little peach blush, he actually groaned. “Baby, no. Please. Not that one.”

“It’s going to look so cute, I promise.”

“No. I—”

“Love.”

“…Fine.”

You gently swept it over his cheekbones, trying not to giggle at how his expression pinched in pure embarrassment.

“You look like a little fairy,” you teased, tapping his nose with the brush.

“Stop,” he whined, voice muffled as he covered his face with both hands. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“And you secretly love it,” you teased, prying his fingers away. “Look at you, blushing and everything.”

When you picked up your lip tint, he looked like he was about to jump out the window.

“Absolutely not.”

“Seok.”

“No.”

“Eunseok,” you repeated, leaning closer so your lips almost brushed his. “Please, baby?”

He swallowed hard, jaw flexing. “…Just this once.”

You pressed the tiniest bit of coral gloss onto his lips with your finger, then sat back to admire your work, heart squeezing because he looked so endearingly shy.

“Can I take a picture?” you asked in a hushed voice, feeling a little shy yourself.

“…You already know the answer.”

“Okay, I won’t.” You set down the lip tint and smoothed a hand through his hair, your voice softening. “You really do look handsome, though.”

He finally opened his eyes to look at you—and the way he softened, the way his shoulders relaxed, made your chest feel too small for your heart.

“You’re lucky I love you,” he murmured.

“You do,” you whispered back, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “I love you too.”

He pulled you closer, big hands splayed over your back, letting you nuzzle into his neck.

“…Are we done now?” he asked, sounding exhausted.

“One more thing!” You grabbed a tiny hello kitty hair clip and clipped it to his hair.

He just sighed—long-suffering, resigned, but with a tiny smile playing on his lips.

“Cute,” you said, giggling as you traced the flush on his cheek. “My pretty boy.”

And even though he groaned and tried to hide behind his hands again, he didn’t push you away.

Because no matter how much he grumbled—he’d let you do anything, as long as it made you happy.

[fleurliz]

i HATE having writer’s block like give me my inspiration back 🙏🏽

[fleurliz]

𝒥ellyous

【 ## 】    —   PAIRING    …    성찬    x  clueless!reader   ⋆     fluff    //    ,     …     💬      ��   —     m.list   ˖    ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

The worst part wasn’t that you were in love with someone else.

No.

The worst part was that you weren’t in love with anyone—you were just so hopelessly, blindingly clueless that you never realized Sungchan was in love with you.

Everyone else knew.

You’d call him at 2 a.m. because you’d lost your keys, and he’d show up half-asleep in sweats, unlocking your door without complaint. You’d crawl into his bed during movie nights, tucking yourself under his arm like it was the most normal thing in the world. You’d steal his hoodies—never giving them back—and he’d pretend not to notice just so you’d keep wearing them.

You thought it was friendly.

You thought he held your hand when you were tired because he was “comforting you.” That he brushed your hair behind your ear because it was “in your face.”

You were the kind of girl who’d giggle and say, You’re so nice to me, Chan, never realizing he was mentally proposing marriage every time you smiled.

And the worst thing?

You did it without even trying.

Like last weekend—when you’d slipped your hand into his at the street crossing. Or the time you’d fed him a bite of your ice cream without blinking. Or when you’d fallen asleep on his shoulder, wearing his hoodie, legs draped across his lap.

You had no idea how many times he’d nearly leaned in to kiss you, how many nights he’d lain awake, heart a bruised thing in his chest, wondering how you could be so painfully, heartbreakingly oblivious.

And that’s why now—

You burst into his apartment, a tiny pink shopping bag swinging from your wrist, wearing that innocent smile that could unravel him in seconds.

You had no idea how many times you’d nearly given him a heart attack.

Like right now, when you burst into his apartment, a tiny pink shopping bag swinging from your wrist, wearing that innocent smile that could unravel him in seconds.

“Sungchan,” you chirp, “I need your opinion!”

He’s sprawled on the couch in a black hoodie and gray sweats, hair falling into his eyes, because he’s been sulking for the past two hours thinking about you out on your little coffee date with that guy from your history class. His jaw tenses.

“Opinion on what?” he asks carefully, because he knows if he sounds too jealous you’ll notice—though honestly, you never notice anything.

You plop down beside him, so close he can smell your perfume—soft and sweet, like vanilla—and his brain short-circuits.

“On this,” you say, pulling out a dainty hair clip. It’s shaped like a cherry. “Do you think it’s cute?”

He blinks. “Yeah. Cute.”

“Like…should I wear it on my next date?”

He almost chokes. “Date?”

“Yeah! Remember the guy I told you about? The one who’s in my class ?”

Oh, he remembers. The walking highlighter who’s been trying to flirt with you for weeks. Sungchan’s hands curl into loose fists, and he swallows the sharp thing in his throat.

“You really…like him?” His voice is too tight.

You frown, tilting your head. “I mean…he’s nice?”

That’s it? Nice? He wants to laugh, or scream, or just grab your face and say I’m nice too, but you don’t see me taking you on dumb coffee dates.

Instead, he says:

“Don’t go.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t go with him.”

“Why not?” you ask, wide-eyed. You look genuinely puzzled, and it only makes him feel more insane.

He rakes a hand through his hair. “Because—”

“Because what?”

Because I’m so in love with you it makes me stupid.

But you just sit there, blinking at him, clutching your cherry clip like it’s the most important thing in the world.

“You don’t even see it, do you?” he says hoarsely.

“See what?”

“How much I—” He breaks off, chest heaving. Your eyes soften in concern.

“Sungchan…are you okay?”

“No,” he mutters. “I’m not.”

Before you can reply, he grabs your wrist, tugging you closer until your knees bump. His heart is pounding like he’s run a marathon.

“I’m not okay because you keep going on these dates and talking about other guys and you never, ever realize—”

“Realize what?”

He exhales shakily, voice dropping low. “That you’re mine.”

You freeze, lips parted.

“…Yours?”

He tips his forehead to yours. “Yeah,” he breathes. “You’re mine.”

For a second, neither of you moves. Your pulse is thrumming under his fingers.

“You’re always mine,” he whispers. “And it’s driving me crazy that you can’t tell.”

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

Then, very softly, you say, “You…like me?”

His laugh is ragged. “I’m in love with you.”

Your heart skips.

“You’re so clueless,” he groans, burying his face in your neck, voice muffled. “God, you make me jealous over everyone who so much as looks at you.”

You swallow, feeling your cheeks burn. “…Even the guy with the pens?”

“Especially him.”

“…Oh.”

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, searching for any sign that you’re going to run away. Instead, you smile—shy and sweet.

“…So…should I cancel my date?” you whisper.

His thumb brushes your lower lip, gaze dark. “Yes.”

“Okay,” you murmur, “but…what if I still want to wear the clip?”

He groans again, and you giggle as he kisses you—finally, after all that time, your clueless heart catching up with his.

And in that moment, there’s no more jealousy.

Just you. And him. And all the sweetness you never noticed until now.

[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]

𝒷𝒶𝒷𝓎 𝒾𝓂 𝑔𝑜𝓃 keep my options open, oh                     𝒾𝓂 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒷𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉  and I'm not chosen

    In my lotion, 𝒇eel my rhythm. A riddle only you and I know Whisper to mе a little ₊˚.ꪆ.   

‧₊˚𝐂𝐋!𝐂𝐊

[fleurliz]

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

— 𝑴asterlist —

• 𝑹iizeִ   ࣪   ⋆

shotaro — tba..

eunseok — 𝒪nly one

sungchan — 𝒥ellyous

wonbin — 𝐜herry-flavored lies |

seunghan — tba..

sohee — tba..

anton — 𝒟iet pepsi | 𝑅aison 𝒟´𝐞tre | 𝐹avOriTe | 𝒯ired

[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.”