priszilla.

今を楽しめ ♱

♱ priszilla. ♱ 18, s.her, filipino

♱ mainly for: lngshot ryul & riize anton

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

list of my stuff 🦇

⟡ random texts w/ anton

⟡ secretly dating anton headcanons

⟡ affectionate bf anton headcanons

⟡ santa doesn’t know you like i do

⟡ birthday confessions

⟡ “my birthday’s today?”

⟡ love is cannibalism

⟡ texts with bf!anton

⟡ boyfriend ryul headcanons

⟡ backseat?

⟡ “i can be that body”

⟡ moth to a flame

⟡ cigarettes during sex?

════════════════════════

notes:

cigarettes during sex? | ryul x reader

smoker!ryul x smoker!reader in this (nsfw link)

⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰

thinking about how ryul’s the type to light a cigarette in the middle of sex—like he needs something to ground him while everything else is already too much.

it was a heavy night for the both of you.

the kind that leaves your shoulders tense, your head full, your body aching—not just from exhaustion, but from everything you’ve been holding in all day.

and somehow, nights like this always end the same way.

like you both already know what the other needs.

“baby, please,” ryul murmurs, voice rougher than usual.

he’s slouched against the couch, still in his suit from earlier, tie loosened, collar slightly open. your lipstick’s smudged faintly at the corner of his mouth—evidence of how long he’s been kissing you instead of resting.

his hands slide over your hips, pulling you closer until you’re right between his legs.

“please what?” you tease, even though your fingers are already threading through his hair.

he exhales, forehead pressing lightly against your stomach.

“i want you.”

he presses a slow kiss just below your navel, lingering there like he’s savoring the moment instead of rushing it.

next thing you know, you’re in the bedroom, in all fours, the air thick, movements unsteady and desperate in that way that only happens after a long day apart.

ryul’s breathing is uneven behind you, hands firm on your hips, grounding you as he pulls you even closer, digging in you even deeper every push.

“fuck…” he exhales under his breath, voice low.

one of his hands leaves your hip briefly.

you hear it. the soft flick. a lighter.

smoke curls faintly into the air, mixing with heat, with tension, with everything building between you.

messy and a little reckless.

just like him.

and just like this— something you both know you’ll keep coming back to, no matter how exhausting the day gets.

“open,” he says, tone light—but there’s an edge to it.

like an automatic response, you open your mouth slightly, eyes meeting his.

he slides the cigarette between them, adjusting it carefully like he’s taking his time on purpose. his eyes darting from your eyes to your lips back and forth.

your breath stutters.

another flick.

the lighter sparks.

he leans in close, his dick drilling even deeper in you as he leans, making you whimper. his chest on your back, the smoke from the cigarette between his lips warm against your skin. his other hand comes up beside your face, shielding the flame from the air.

your eyes meet his reflection faintly in the mirror ahead.

focused.

locked on you.

the flame catches.

and right when you inhale—

he moves.

a sharp, sudden shift that pulls a broken sound from your throat, your grip tightening instantly.

the cigarette trembles slightly between your lips.

“ryul—”

he exhales softly behind you, almost like a quiet laugh.

“breathe, doll” he murmurs.

like he didn’t just do that on purpose.

like he’s not fully aware of the way your body reacts to every small thing he does.

his hand steadies your jaw briefly, thumb brushing just under your lip.

“you good?” he asks, putting his cigarette between his fingers to plant a kiss on your back, voice lower now.

you exhale slowly, smoke slipping past your lips, mixing with the heat between you.

your chest rises, falls.

unsteady.

he watches.

of course he does.

taking in every reaction, every shift, every breath you can’t quite control.

“you’re unbelievable,” you manage, voice quieter than before.

he hums.

“you like it.”

you don’t answer.

but you don’t take the cigarette out either.

and that's enough answer for him.

moth to a flame | ryul x reader 🚭

w.c: 1.2K

“you got a lighter?”

you barely look up at first.

just another voice in the middle of a smoke break, another stranger leaning against the same dim wall outside the bar.

but when you do, he’s already looking at you.

hoodie, messy half-bleached hair, cigarette tucked between his lips like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

you flick your lighter open without a word and hold it out.

he leans in. you watch him. the flame catches on the stick between his lips.

for a second, it’s just that—orange light between the two of you, close enough to feel his breath when he inhales.

then he pulls back, exhaling slowly.

his eyes drop to your hand.

“…kuromi?” he says, amused.

you glance at the lighter. the little black-and-pink case wrapped around it.

“what about it?”

he smirks.

“didn’t expect that from you.”

“from me?” you raise a brow. “you don’t know me.”

“exactly.”

he takes another drag, still watching you.

“makes it cuter.”

you scoff, looking away—but there’s a small smile tugging at your lips.

“you’re welcome, by the way.”

“for what?”

“the lighter.”

he laughs softly.

“right. thanks.”

cars pass. muffled music leaks from inside the bar. smoke lingers between you.

“rough night?” he asks.

you shrug.

“something like that.”

“same.”

you glance at him.

“you’ll survive.”

he chuckles then studies you for a second.

like he’s deciding something.

“what’s your name?”

you hesitate.

normally, you wouldn’t.

but there’s something about strangers—how easy it is to talk when nothing sticks.

you tell him anyway.

he repeats it, like he’s testing how it feels in his mouth.

“i’m ryul” he says after.

you nod.

“figured.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“you look like a ryul.”

he laughs, shaking his head.

“i don’t even know if that’s an insult.”

“it’s not.”

another pause.

longer this time.

but not awkward.

just… charged.

his gaze lingers a little too long.

yours does too.

“you always talk to strangers like this?” you ask.

“only the ones with cute lighters.”

you roll your eyes.

“that line probably works on a lot of people.”

“only when they don’t walk away.”

you don’t.

“see?” he says, teasing smirk annoyingly on his lips.

you roll your eyes, taking a long drag before pressing the cigarette against the ground.

“you done?” ryul asks.

“yeah.”

“light another one.”

you glance at him, amused. “clingy, are we?”

you tap the cigarette box, sliding another stick out.

as you bring the lighter up, you step a little closer—barely noticeable.

but he notices. his eyes flicker down. then back up.

“clingy, are we?” he murmurs.

“you asked for a lighter.”

“i think i got more than that.”

you hum.

“don’t get ahead of yourself.”

he leans back against the wall, watching you.

“so what did i get, then?”

you close the distance just a little more as you look at him.

“a conversation.” you manage to mutter out with a cigarette between your lips.

you flick the lighter—

once. twice.

it sparks, but doesn’t catch.

you frown slightly, trying again.

“seriously?” you mutter.

ryul huffs a quiet laugh, then takes the lighter from your hand.

“give it here.”

his cigarette hangs between his lips as he brings the lighter up to yours, his other hand cupping around it, shielding the flame from the wind.

you don’t move. you just watch him.

the flame catches this time.

you lean in, inhaling slowly.

your eyes meet his.

his gaze drops—just for a second—to your lips.

then back up. you exhale.

“feels like it’s more than that,” he says quietly.

your fingers brush his when you take the lighter back.

just for a second, but it lingers.

his breath catches—barely.

you notice. of course you do.

you tilt your head slightly, studying him.

“so what now?” you ask

“what do you mean?”

“you got your lighter. your conversation.”

you take a step back—just slightly.

“we can’t keep on lighting new sticks to stick around”

“oh so you wanna stick around?”

“just reading your mind”

he watches you carefully.

like he’s thinking.

calculating.

then he pushes off the wall.

“then stick around”

you hold his gaze.

the space between you feels smaller again.

dangerous in a way that doesn’t make you step back.

“and what happens if i don’t?” you ask.

he shrugs.

“then i go back inside.”

“that easy?”

“no,” he admits. “just… what i’d do.”

you take one last drag before lowering your hand.

“and if i do want to?”

his eyes flicker again.

down.

up.

those damn eyes. the way he looks at you burns deeper than any cigarette ever could.

“then i stay.”

he presses his cigarette on the ground, stretching his neck as he stands back up, meeting your eyes.

“and do what?” you ask, tilting your head slightly

his lips curve slightly.

“figure it out.”

you let out a soft laugh.

“you’re really just making this up as you go, aren’t you?”

“it’s working so far.”

he glanced at your cigarette.

almost finished.

then back at your eyes.

he reaches up— slowly— and take the cigarette between your fingers, bringing it to his lips.

inhale.

your eyes track the movement. his eyes track yours.

he exhale, pressing it on the ground

“finished it for you. people say it’s bad for your lungs”

the both of you laugh lowly.

“you’re pushing your luck.”

he steps closer.

just enough.

“was never luck.”

your heart skips.

just once.

annoyingly noticeable.

a voice suddenly cuts through the night—

“ryul! stop fucking burning your lungs. come here!”

he doesn’t look away from you immediately.

just exhales slowly, like he’s debating whether to ignore it.

you tilt your head, amused. “you’re getting called.”

“yeah,” he mutters, still looking at you.

another voice follows, louder this time.

“ryul!”

he clicks his tongue softly, finally glancing back over his shoulder.

then back at you.

there’s something different now—like the moment’s about to slip, and he knows it.

“don’t lose the lighter next time,” you say, already stepping back.

creating distance.

just a little.

his gaze lingers.

then he smiles—slower this time, less teasing, more certain.

“don’t worry,” he replies, voice lower now.

“i’ll remember exactly who to ask.”

you hum, turning slightly, ready to leave—

“wait—fuck” he says, followed by looking like he didn’t mean to say that out loud.

you pause.

look back at him. he’s already pulling his phone out.

“you’re not just gonna disappear after that, right?”

you raise a brow.

“after what?”

“after making me want to see you again.”

you let out a soft scoff.

“playboy.”

“romantic.” he corrects

a beat. you stare at him for a second.

the messy hair. the way he looks at you like he’s already decided something.

you shouldn’t.

you know you shouldn’t.

but—you walk back. just enough distance to take his phone from his hand.

type your number in.

save it.

your name.

you hand it back.

“now you won’t have to rely on luck,” you say.

his lips curve slightly as he looks at the screen.

then back at you.

“told you it was never luck.”

“what was it then?”

“destiny?”

“hell nah”

the both of you laugh.

you roll your eyes, turning again. this time, you actually walk away.

but you can feel it—

his gaze following you.

lingering.

like he’s already memorizing the way you leave.

and when you finally disappear past the corner—

ryul exhales.

quiet.

to himself.

“fuck.”

because he already knows that this wasn’t just a smoke break.

——————————————

note: was NOT proofread ,,, i hope i did the req right aaa 🥲 REQUESTS R STILL OPEN (the pending requests r in progress 🤞)

what the fuck (me)

nghhhh craving for smoker ryul ,,, craving for a smoke break w ryul 😛😛 idgaf i’ll 4ever write fics w/ smoker ryul 😸😸 also, requests r open 😛😛

“i can be that body” - ryul

♠️ : is it really advisable to get a stranger to fulfill the needs of your broken heart? maybe not. but at 3am, on a quiet beach with a cigarette between your fingers and a boy you’ve never met sitting beside you, some bad decisions start to feel a little comforting.

♣️ : strangers to ?, suggestive, making out, smoking [ ryul x reader, ryul x fem!reader ]

w.c : 1.9K — not proofread..

the call ended at 2:03am.

you stared at your phone screen long after it went dark, like maybe the silence would explain itself.

it didn’t.

four years together and the end of it came through a tired voice on the other end of the line.

“i think we should break up.”

no fight. no warning. just a quiet decision that didn’t seem to include you anymore.

by the time the line went dead, you were already grabbing your keys.

the beach is empty when you arrive.

the sand is cold when you sit down, the ocean wind brushing against your skin while the waves roll in slowly.

you thought you’d cry. thought the tears would come at some point during the drive here.

but nothing does. just the hollow feeling behind your ribs.

you pull a cigarette from your pocket and light it, watching the smoke drift into the wind.

the cold settles into your bones.

the kind that makes you wish for two things:

a cigarette in one hand and someone’s arms around you.

just as you were about to cry after realizing how cold it was to be alone in an empty beach at 3 am, you saw a figure.

a boy walks toward the shoreline, hoodie pulled over messy hair, hands tucked into his pockets.

normally, you’d be scared of a man in black in the same dark place as you. for some reason, you just wondered: is he also sad tonight?

he pauses when he notices you. probably had the same train of thought as you before he approached.

“mind if i sit?” he asks.

you shrug. “free beach.”

he huffs a small laugh and drops down beside you. he kept a very respectful distance– like two more people would fit between the two of you.

for a minute, neither of you talk.

“breakup?” he asks casually.

you snort softly.

“is it that obvious?”

“you’re smoking on a beach at three in the morning looking like the ocean personally betrayed you.”

you laugh under your breath.

“fair.”

the quiet between strangers settles in easily.

the waves keep moving.

the wind keeps pushing against your shirt.

you cursed your ex in your head. why did he have to breakup with you through the phone at 2am? now you didn’t even bring a jacket.

after a while you say, almost absentmindedly, “you know what’s weird?”

he glances at you.

“what?”

“people always say it’s easier to talk to strangers.”

he hums.

“it is.”

“why?”

“because we don’t know you,” he says simply. “no expectations. no history. we can’t judge you properly. and sometimes strangers give better opinions.”

you think about that.

about how your friends would react if you called them right now.

they’d pick sides. defend you. say your ex was trash. this boy beside you wouldn’t do that. he has no reason to.

“okay,” you say slowly.

he raises an eyebrow.

“okay?”

“let’s test that theory.”

he smirks faintly.

“alright. go ahead.”

you exhale slowly.

“four years,” you say. “that’s how long we were together.”

he whistles softly.

“that’s a long time.”

“yeah.”

you stare out at the ocean.

“he called tonight and just… ended it.”

“why?”

“said things changed.”

ryul nods quietly.

no judgment.

no dramatic reaction.

just listening.

“do you miss him?” he asks after a moment.

you think about it.

“i think i’ll miss… having somebody.”

he tilts his head.

“what do you mean?”

you shrug.

“just… you know.”

“i actually don’t.”

you laugh softly.

“like having someone there. physically.”

his eyebrow lifts.

“physically.”

“yeah,” you say, a little embarrassed now. “like someone around. next to me. on me. whatever.”

ryul watches you carefully.

“sucks”

“you’re very bad with words, stranger”

“thanks. i get that a lot”

“what? you offer your ears to sad girls in dark beaches at 2am?”

“that’s false. it’s 3am now”

you laugh. a real and loud one. he watches you and eventually laughs with you.

“do you think there’d still be somebody out there? maybe i already wasted four years of my life and rotted”

“somebody out where?” he asks, looking around

“the only body im seeing here aside from yours is mine” he says

“is that an offer?” you chuckle

“if it is?”

you fixed your posture, brows meeting halfway. “doubt it”

“try me” ryul said with a cocky smirk.

“you don’t even know my name”

“do i have to know? i’m just gonna be some body after all”

you chuckle, shaking your head.

“i’d offer my jacket but it’s 10 degrees. i think not bringing a jacket is on you” he says

you both let out a laugh.

“very manly of you”

“thanks”

“wasn’t a compliment’’

he laughs. a moment later, he moves a bit closer to you.

“wanna hug then? my jacket fits two people”

you look at him to rethink your life decisions.

you’re about to cuddle with a stranger at 3am in a beach after your ex broke up with you through the phone.

“alright” you said.

he pulls you in gently, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as you lean your back against his chest.

fucking. warm. so. fucking. warm.

it felt like your body and soul is experiencing the exact warmth you were yearning for twenty minutes ago.

you melt in his touch and he definitely noticed, tightening his grip a bit, his thumb brushing mindlessly on ur skin.

“see?” he murmurs above your head. “problem solved.”

you huff a quiet laugh.

“don’t get cocky.”

“too late.”

for a while neither of you move. the waves keep crashing softly in front of you, the sound filling the silence that settles between two people who technically still don’t know each other.

but somehow it doesn’t feel strange.

his chin rests lightly near your shoulder, breath warm against the side of your neck. his arms are now loose around you, like he’s giving you space to pull away anytime.

you don’t.

instead you relax further into him.

“hey,” you say quietly.

“hm?”

“you do this a lot?”

“cuddle sad girls on beaches at three in the morning?”

“yeah.”

he snorts.

“first time.”

“sure.”

“seriously.”

his arms tighten slightly, just for a second.

“you just looked like you needed it.”

something about that makes your chest ache again, though softer this time.

you tilt your head back a little to look at him.

“and what if i need more than a hug?”

his eyebrow lifts slowly.

“more?”

you shrug, trying to sound casual even though your heartbeat just picked up.

“i told you earlier. i’ll miss having somebody.”

“physically,” he says.

you groan.

“don’t repeat it like that.”

“why not? it was honest.”

you roll your eyes, but you can’t stop smiling a little.

ryul studies your face for a moment.

then he says quietly,

“i could still volunteer.”

“you’re unbelievable.”

“you started it.”

“i was joking.”

“i wasn’t.”

you turn around slightly in his arms now, enough that you’re facing him instead of the ocean.

his hoodie still drapes over both of you, turning the space between your bodies into something smaller. warmer.

more private.

“you’re very bold for someone who met me fifteen minutes ago,” you say.

“you’re very comfortable for someone who’s basically sitting in a stranger’s lap.”

you blink.

you hadn’t realized how close you shifted.

your legs are between his now, your hands resting lightly on his chest to steady yourself in the sand.

his hands slide to your waist automatically.

not grabbing.

just holding.

“you know,” you say.

“yeah?”

“this is how people make terrible decisions.”

“i know.”

“and?”

he smiles faintly.

“i’m okay with that.”

the wind pushes your hair across your face. he brushes it aside without thinking, fingers grazing your cheek.

the touch lingers.

your breath catches slightly.

the distance between your faces gets smaller without either of you really deciding it should.

“hey,” you whisper.

“hm?”

“if i kissed you…”

he smiles.

“…would that be part of the volunteering part?”

he laughs softly.

“that would definitely be step one.”

you don’t give yourself time to rethink it.

you lean forward and kiss him.

it’s quick at first.

soft.

like you’re testing the moment.

ryul freezes for half a second—clearly surprised you actually did it—before his hands tighten gently at your waist and he kisses you back.

your fingers curl into the front of his hoodie as he pulls you closer, the fabric of it sliding slightly as your bodies press together.

the cold from earlier is completely gone now.

when you shift in his lap, trying to get more comfortable in the sand, the movement makes both of you pause.

your breath hitches.

ryul exhales slowly against your lips.

“you feel that?” he murmurs.

“well, that was fast” you whisper, kissing him again.

he laughs quietly but pulls you closer anyway, one hand sliding up your back while the other stays firm at your waist.

your hips shift again without thinking.

the friction makes you both inhale sharply.

“okay,” he says under his breath. “now we’re definitely making bad decisions.”

“you’re the one who volunteered,” you remind him.

“i’m starting to think you planned this.”

you roll your eyes but your arms slide around his neck now, holding him as you kiss him again.

slower this time. lingering.

his hoodie is still wrapped around both of you, trapping the warmth between your bodies as you move closer and closer.

your knees press into the sand on either side of his legs.

his hands tighten slightly on your hips when you shift again, instinctively pulling you closer into his lap.

the friction makes your breath catch.

ryul lets out a quiet laugh against your mouth.

“yeah,” he murmurs. “this is definitely not helping your heartbreak.”

“i didn’t ask for help,” you whisper back.

“what did you ask for then?”

you tilt your head, brushing your nose against his.

“somebody.”

his eyes darken slightly.

“i remember.”

another kiss.

longer.

your fingers slide into his hair this time, tugging lightly as he tilts his head back with a quiet groan.

“you’re dangerous,” he murmurs.

“you approached me.”

“biggest mistake of my life.”

“liar.”

he grins.

then his hands slide lower along your waist, steadying you when you shift again against him.

both of you go quiet for a moment.

the ocean keeps moving behind you.

the wind keeps blowing.

but inside the hoodie the two of you share, everything feels warm and close and a little reckless.

ryul rests his forehead against yours.

“my apartment is five minutes away,” he says quietly.

you bite your lip.

“that sounds like another bad idea.”

“probably.”

“and?”

his thumb brushes slowly along your side.

“you still look cold.”

you glance toward the dark shoreline, then back at him.

your lips curve slightly.

“lead the way, volunteer.”

backseat? | lngshot ryul

🕷️ : to form connections & exposure for lngshot, jay park brought the oldest members out to a party. ryul caught ur eye— timid but relaxed, looks hella lost but also looks like he fits right in— u wanted him. how will the night go with two complete opposite strangers?

♠️: idol!ryul x rapper!reader, fem!reader x kim ryul

♟️: mentions of smoking & drinking. reader is tattooed. making out. suggestive content.

the party is loud, hazy, pulsing.

you weren’t planning on staying long.

you definitely weren’t planning on wanting someone.

then you see him.

he’s standing a little off to the side of the main crowd. not awkward, not stiff— just… observing. hands in his pockets, jaw sharp under the dim lights, nodding politely whenever someone speaks to him. he looks calm. contained.

intimidating, even.

but there’s something about the way he scans the room that makes him look out of place. like he’s here for work, not for fun.

you don’t know his name yet.

you just know you want him.

your stare lingers too long. you don’t even try to hide it.

he doesn’t notice it at first. then Jay Park calls him over to ur table.

“ryul,” he says, clapping him on the shoulder. “you rap, she raps. talk.”

so that’s his name. ryul.

he steps forward, bows slightly out of habit. “nice to meet you.”

you don’t bow. you just smile, slow.

“i’ve seen your stages,” you say. “you don’t look like this on stage.”

his brow lifts faintly. “like what?”

“quiet.”

jay park keeps talking — something about collaborations, about exposure, about lngshot’s growth — but your attention isn’t on him anymore.

it’s on ryul.

and he feels it.

your eyes don’t leave his face. not when jay park jokes. not when someone interrupts. not when music swells louder.

his gaze flickers to you.

lingers.

away.

back again.

two hours pass like that.

different conversations. different circles. but somehow you always end up within each other’s line of sight.

once, across the room, he catches you staring again.

you don’t look away.

he doesn’t either.

his jaw tightens just slightly.

eventually, you get bored of waiting.

you grab a fresh drink and walk straight toward him.

“you look thirsty,” you say, holding it out.

he glances at the glass, then at you. “i don’t drink.”

you tilt your head. “at all?”

“at all.”

“idol image?”

a faint smirk. “discipline.”

interesting.

you take a sip instead. “your loss.”

you reach into your pocket, pulling out a cigarette pack, offering one casually. “what about this?”

his eyes flick briefly toward the corners of the ceiling.

cameras.

always cameras.

he shakes his head. “not here.”

you hum. “so you do.”

“i didn’t say that.”

you laugh. he laughs. god, you loved that laugh.

there it is— the first real crack in the intimidating aura.

“what are you doing here?” you ask

“promo” he says

“saw u guys with another young kid. where is he?”

“ohyul. probably hookin up” he says as he looks around.

“ur dpn lets u guys? i thought kpop stuff’s fucking strict w/ allat?” u ask as u puff out a smoke

“as long as we don’t get caught”

you study him openly. the rings on his fingers. the controlled posture. the way he keeps a polite distance even though you’re standing close enough to test him.

“you always this serious?” you ask.

“you always this bold?”

“only when i want something.”

his eyes darken slightly. “and what do you want?”

“you.”

“you don’t even know me,” he says quietly.

“then let me.”

“we feel.. idk.. different?”

“how so?”

“i don’t.. i’m not a fan of tattoos.. i also don’t drink. i think i’ll be boring for u”

you let out a chuckle

“i’m not looking for a husband, darling.”

“what do u want then? like.. from me”

“you. tonight.”

“just tonight?”

“just tonight.”

someone bumps into you from behind, and instinctively his hand shoots out — steadying your waist for half a second.

it’s brief.

careful.

but his fingers press warm against your skin before he pulls back like he touched something dangerous.

you notice.

“relax,” you murmur. “i don’t bite.”

“i didn’t say you do.”

“you’re thinking it.”

he exhales softly through his nose, fighting a smile again. “you’re trouble.”

“and you’re pretending you don’t like that.”

silence stretches between you — but it’s thick now. charged.

“come outside,” you say. “no cameras.”

he hesitates.

not because he doesn’t want to.

because he does.

too much.

“five minutes” he finally says.

you nod like you’ve already won.

“black suv. u’ll see me there.” you tell him

as you start walking toward the exit, you glance back.

he’s watching you again.

this time, he doesn’t look away at all.

during ur first three minutes in the car, you js keep the window open for him (and for ur smoke)—after all, it’ll be tough to spot u in a tinted car.

soon enough, u see him.

he slides in quickly, hood up now, mask pulled down once the door shuts & the window rolls up. the party noise becomes muffled. contained.

just the two of you.

for a second, neither of you speak.

the only light is from the dashboard, faint blue against his jaw.

“this is smarter,” he says quietly.

“i’m thoughtful like that.”

he exhales, a small huff of amusement.

“just tonight,” you remind him.

he nods once. “just tonight.”

no exchange of numbers.

no promises.

no tomorrow morning texts.

just this sealed space and the tension that’s been building for hours.

“you always this restrained?” you ask.

“i’ve got to be.”

“don’t.”

that’s all you say.

don’t.

you reach over first this time, fingers hooking lightly into the front of his jacket and pulling him toward you.

he lets you.

once ur faces are close enough, he smiles and presses his lips on yours.

it wasn’t rushed— not at first.

your lips brush, slow, deliberate.

then his hand slides to your waist, firm, grounding, and the control snaps.

he kisses you properly.

deeper.

hungrier.

like the car door locking gave him permission.

your back presses against the seat as he leans over you, one hand braced beside your shoulder, the other tightening at your waist.

your fingers slide into his hair and he exhales sharply against your mouth— a low sound he probably never lets anyone hear.

the windows fog slightly.

you pull back just enough to breathe.

“thought you were disciplined,” you murmur.

his thumb drags along your side slowly.

“i am,” he says.

then he kisses you again like he’s contradicting himself on purpose.

this one is slower.

intentional.

his hand moves from your waist to your jaw, tilting your face the way he wants. controlled but not rough.

your hand slips under his jacket, feeling the warmth of him through thin fabric.

his mouth trails briefly to your jaw— not messy, not reckless— just enough to make your breath hitch.

then back to your lips.

after a long moment, he pulls back first.

breathing heavier than he’d like.

forehead resting lightly against yours.

“this stays here,” he says quietly.

“it does.”

he studies your face like he’s making sure you mean that.

you do.

unfortunately.

his hand lingers at your waist a second longer before he finally sits back in his seat.

“backseat?” he says, chuckling, like he dropped a joke.

“u think u can handle that?”

“i don’t know. might miss u”

you shake ur head as you laugh, wiping the lipstick stains left on the sides of his mouth.

“careful” you say

“i was”

“was?”

“i don’t know now”

“backseat?”

and god, he never nodded that fast before in his entire life.

boyfriend ryul headcanons

🗒️: fluff, established relationship, idol!ryul x idol!reader, mentions of making out & other mild(?) stuff

‼️: was NOT proofread. expect a mess,,, oh and it’s actually so long yk what i am too obsessed w ryul can someone (ryul) strangle me

the hallway is loud. stylists passing, managers calling names, idols bowing to each other in quick succession. ryul stands near the vending machine like he’s just a lost kid as he waits for you.

you finally step out with your members, fixing your in-ears, laughing at something one of them said. he doesn’t smile immediately. keeps his usual composed expression.

then you look up. eye contact.

one brow lifts.

just slightly.

you fight a smile. barely.

he pushes off the wall, walking over like this was spontaneous. like he didn’t memorize your schedule down to the minute.

he bows and greets you and your members politely. “are you free right now?” hell yeah you are— you got a shared calendar. you nodded.

“would it be okay if we shoot a tiktok together? just for our new song— moonwalkin’.” he asks

“oh! sure. conveniently enough, i’ve already learned the tiktok choreo” you smile

yeah, conveniently enough….

last night you were both in your apartment at 1:47am, music playing softly from your speaker, him standing behind you guiding your arms through the choreography.

“no, you’re rushing this part,” he murmured, hands settling on your waist to steady you.

“i’m not rushing.”

“you are.”

he leaned closer, his fingers traced the motion over your hips, slower than necessary. “slow here. then roll.”

you glanced back at him. one brow raised.

“are you actually teaching me or just touching me?”

he smirked. “multitasking.”

“again,” he said quietly, but his hands didn’t leave. when you nailed the sequence, he clapped once. “see? you only listen when i’m holding you.”

you shoved his shoulder. he caught your wrist, pulled you back in, and kissed you quick and firm before whispering, “we’re gonna have to pretend we learned this separately.”

—

“is that so? im honored” he says, smiling.

the staff quickly clear a little space. someone props a phone up.

music starts.

“don’t laugh,” he murmurs under the music.

you bite the inside of your cheek to stay composed.

the song ends.

both of you turn to the camera, cool, effortless, professional.

the staff clap lightly. “that was fast. it’s like you practiced together” she jokes

you and ryul chuckle nervously as the staff prepare for another tiktok— this time for your group’s song.

while everybody seems to be busy with their own stuff, ryul pretends to be clarifying a part in ur song’s choreography as he murmurs: “you’re still rushing that part”

you tilt your head. “come over tonight and fix it then.”

he smiles— the kind of big smile that he tries hard to keep in. before he can even say anything, the staff says that they’re ready to shoot.

of course, this song’s also part of what u practiced last night.

—————————

“do u wanna marry me?” ryul asks while building a lego house.

“no.” you answer

“ok… wait no i’m actually sad about that. take that back.”

bf!anton texts

love is cannibalism

“When did it start?”

The question lingers in the air, but it has lived inside Anton far longer than the room, the voice, or this moment.

When did it start? When did he begin searching for her in every crowd, even when he told himself he wasn’t? When did he start memorizing her laughter like lyrics?

When did he notice how she smiled brighter at everyone else— anyone else— as long as it wasn’t him?

When did he start writing because of her?

When did every song become hers?

When did his love begin to devour him?

“I… don’t know,” Anton answers, eyes fixed on the blank white wall across from him.

She had always been there — a constant in a world that kept changing. Childhood scraped knees and plastic bandages.

Anton knew the names of the boys she liked before she ever admitted them. He knew the way her voice trembled just before she cried. He knew which jokes made her laugh even when she pretended to roll her eyes.

Knowing became habit. Habit became hunger.

He convinced himself it wasn’t love — love was supposed to be loud, dramatic, undeniable. Love confesses itself. Love demands.

He would know.

He told himself this was different.

Gentler. Smaller. Safer.

Until college.

Until distance arrived gently at first — slow replies, shorter conversations, the way she started standing farther from him whenever others were around.

Rumors grew like mold in dark corners.

“Best friends can’t stay best friends forever.”

“Her boyfriend doesn’t like that she still talks to you.”

“Maybe you should give her space.”

And she did.

She gave him space.

Space wide enough to fall into.

She stopped walking beside him between classes.

Stopped laughing at his jokes.

Stopped sitting with him at lunch because someone might misunderstand.

She kept saying, You understand, right? I just don’t want problems in my relationship.

He nodded every time.

Understanding became sacrifice. Sacrifice became starvation.

“Is this not obsession?”

The voice is calm. Careful. Observing. Enough to snap him out of his bubble.

“Love & Obsession, how does one tell the difference?” he asks.

Anton stopped sleeping because night was loud and full of her name.

Stopped eating because hunger felt like her hands around his ribs.

Stopped singing because every note sounded like her voice.

Stopped writing because every letter seems to spell her name.

There was nothing inside him anymore except where she used to be.

If love was cannibalism, then he welcomed the bite.

“But you let it happen, didn’t you?” The words are gentle, but they land like weight on his chest.

Anton blinks. “What?”

“You could’ve moved on. You knew that it was affecting you negatively— whatever it was, love or obsession, but you didn’t even try. Why?” the voice continues — not accusing, just searching.

Silence stretches.

Anton’s jaw tightens. His fingers curl into the bedsheets as if to anchor himself to what little of him is left.

He exhales slowly.

"If love is hunger, then I was the only thing I was willing to feed it.”

"I’ve seen what it does to people — how it gnaws at them slowly, how they call it devotion as it hollows them out. I didn’t want that to happen to her."

His eyes stay fixed on the wall, as if the truth can only be spoken to something that will not look back at him.

“Because if love is hunger,” he whispers,

“then I’d rather feed it my own ribs than let it touch her.”

A faint tremor runs through his voice.

“I’d rather let it eat me alive… than let it consume her.”

He swallows.

“At least this way,” he adds, almost to himself,

“the only one it destroys… is me.”

She closes the folder gently.

“Anton,” she says, voice steady. “That will be all for today.”

He swallows.

His throat feels dry. His hands tremble against the blanket.

“When…” His voice cracks. “When can I go home?”

There is a pause. A kind pause. A careful one.

“Once you’re better, sweetheart.”

She prepares to leave.

“No.” Anton speaks.

“Sorry?”

“It wasn’t an obsession.”

She smiles warmly & gave a knowing nod. Her hand rests briefly on his wrist before she leaves.

The door clicks shut.

Only then does Anton truly see the room.

The sterile walls.

The muted lights.

The wristband around his arm.

He looks down at himself and realizes:

There is nothing left.

No songs.

No words.

He has been carved out slowly, bit by bit —

until only his love for her remains.

And it is all that’s keeping him here.

All that’s left of him is what consumed him.

"my birthday's today?" ㅡ anton au

ㅡ idol!anton x idol!reader celebrating anton's forgotten birthday.

☆★☆★☆★☆

it wasn’t that anton didn’t care about his birthday—he just… forgot.

with schedules packed from morning to midnight, rehearsals, recordings, and fan events, the date barely registered in his mind. by the time he finally got a break, he was too drained to think about anything but sleep.

so when he walked into his dimly lit room that night, expecting silence, he nearly tripped over his own feet when he saw you sitting on the floor, surrounded by takeout containers and a small cake in the middle.

"what… is this?" his voice came out hoarse from exhaustion.

"your birthday dinner," you say, grinning as you pat the spot beside you. "surprise?"

he blinked, brain slow to process. "my—wait. my birthday’s today?"

you sighed & pouted, "anton, seriously?"

he groaned, dropping beside you. "i forgot."

"i knew it," you said, passing him a pair of chopsticks. "good thing i didn’t."

for the first time that day, anton let himself relax. the weight of schedules, expectations, and exhaustion melted away as he buries his face in the crook of ur neck. the warmth of your presence making everything feel… lighter.

"you always do this," he muttered after a while.

"do what?"

"make me feel like i matter." he says, his eyes softly staring at you as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

you held his hand, meeting his gaze. "because you do, anton."

his grip on the chopsticks faltered, and for a split second, he looked away—blinking rapidly, lips pressing into a thin line.

"wait… are you crying?" you teased, tilting your head as you leaned in closer.

"no," he mumbled, turning his face away.

"you totally are!" you gasped, biting back a grin.

"nuh uh," he sniffled, rubbing at his eyes aggressively. "it’s just… i wasn’t expecting this."

you softened, nudging his shoulder. "i know you weren’t. but you’re allowed to be taken care of too, anton."

‎"this is your gift?" he sniffled dramatically, shaking his head. "making me cry?"

‎"nope," you smirked, reaching over to swipe your thumb under his eye. "i have a better gift."

‎silence.

‎

‎anton blinked at you. you blinked back.

‎then, as if your brains short-circuited at the same time, your gazes locked, and an unspoken thought passed between you.

‎"wait—" anton started, but it was too late.

‎you both burst into laughter, doubling over as the realization hit. anton covered his face, his ears burning red as he wheezed, "why did that sound so wrong?"

‎"i swear i didn’t mean it like that," you choked out, clutching your stomach.

‎"liar," he shot back, still cackling.

‎you rolled your eyes, shoving his arm lightly. "you’re the one who thought of something dirty first!"

‎"you said it!"

‎"i meant a thoughtful gift, you menace!"

‎he groaned, leaning forward until his forehead bumped against your shoulder. "worst birthday ever," he muttered, voice muffled against your sweater.

‎"oh, shut up," you snorted, patting his back. "you're literally clinging to me right now"

‎he let out a dramatic sigh, but you could feel the smile against your shoulder. and in the quiet hum of the night, you both just sat there, warm and content.

‎

birthday confessions

anton never expected much for his birthday. a few messages, a cake, maybe dinner with the people he cared about—that was enough. but tonight, he feels something different, something heavier in his chest as he sits across from you in the dim glow of the birthday candles.

it’s just the two of you, tucked in the quiet corner of a nearly empty café, a slice of cake between you. you fork a piece, holding it up to his lips with a teasing smile. "birthday boy gets the first bite."

he takes it, chewing slowly, watching you laugh when a bit of frosting smears at the corner of his mouth. you reach forward, thumb swiping it away, and for a second, time slows. your eyes meet. something lingers. something unsaid.

he swallows thickly. "you're my favorite part of today."

your fork pauses mid-air.

his eyes widen. "of every day, actually."

silence.

your lips part slightly as if to say something, but nothing comes out. anton realizes what he’s just said, his face turning a deep shade of pink. "wait—"

too late. you heard him. and now, he’s scrambling. "i mean, like—i just—because you’re always—" he groans, covering his face with his hands. "oh my god."

you blink. then, a small, amused smile tugs at your lips. "so… i'm your favorite?"

anton peeks through his fingers, ears burning. "are you seriously making me say it again?"

santa doesn't know you like i do

"i wonder if santa could bring a whole damn 6ft man this midnight" you said, pouring yourself another glass of red wine.

"...is that what you wished for this christmas?" anton, your best friend asked. he seems concerned & LOOKS concerned.

"i mean, i can't really think of anything i want for christmas except for an intelligent, hot, athletic, 6foot man to ruin my 2025." you said

you & anton have been friends since your womb era considering the fact that both of your parents have been friends for decades.

your friendship is basically fixed & y'all can't do anything about it anymore. proven & tested when you tried to cut him off during elementary after stabbing his arm with a pencil but you found each other in one dining table the next evening.

now that your parents wanted some time to themselves, the "kids" are left to take care of the house this christmas eve.

now, you're sitting on the couch next to anton, trying to figure out how the hell would santa fit in the chimney.

"you brought the cookies out, didn't you?" you asked, checking the table near the tree.

"for santa? are we seriously gonna do that?" anton asked, looking at you like you're some 5-year-old.

"um, no? it's for my future husband that he's bringing over." you rolled your eyes jokingly.

"what did you wish for anyway?" you asked

"i wished for someone to like me back" anton said, sitting back comfortably, looking at the ceiling.

silence.

anton waited for your response but you weren't saying anything. curious (and nervous), anton looked at you to check your reaction.

there you are, spacing out.

"what's on your mind?" anton asked, popping your lil bubble.

"how the hell would santa grant that? it's not like he can put that in a box & leave it under the tree" you said

anton laughed loudly for a minute or two which made you think that he's going insane.

anton, on the other hand, found your thoughts funny. he expected you to tease him about his lil crush or ask him about who it is. but instead, you were worrying about santa.

"i can't think of anything else. plus, i don't really believe in santa." anton replied

silence.

but this time, it was because the conversation was done. silence has never been awkward with anton which is mainly why you've learned to love anton's company.

his presence doesn't make you worry about what you're gonna say next nor how you're gonna continue the conversation. you can just exist in one place in silence & it can be the best hours of your day.

"what exactly did you write to santa?" anton asked, looking at you. for some reason, you felt nervous to look back & engage in eye contact so you stared at the tree.

"good morning, santa. if i'm on your good kid list, i'd like to have a good company for christmas. preferably a 6ft man in his 20s, smart, nice, soft spoken, family oriented, athletic, and hot. thank you, santa. merry christmasㅡ with a bunch of hearts" you recited from your memory.

"that's basically me" anton whispered

"huh? are you badmouthing me on christmas?" you raised your brow

"i said that your wish is not that specific" he said sarcastically.

"santa observed me for years as a good kid, he knows me & he knows my type" you rolled your eyes jokingly at him

"i've been with you for more than a decade, i think i know you more than santa" anton mindlessly replied

"your point being?" you asked

anton gulped. he doesn't know what he's going to say & confessing to his longtime crush is definitely not part of his 2024 bingo card.

"that i'm more than qualified than santa in fulfilling your wish" anton said confidently, succeeding in hiding his nervousness (at least in his end)

"i don't think any of your friends fit the criteria" you said, lowkey hoping that anton will offer himself

"i do" and he did

"huh?"

"i fit your criteria, don't i? am i not enough as a christmas gift?" anton teased, leaning over to your side of the couch. anton's confidence grew once he saw how flustered you are.

"hahaha what are you saying? stop it hahahaㅡ i wonder if they're home? i'll checkㅡ" you said, standing up to go to the front door. your face is obviously heating up from the unexpected turn of events.

"i like you" anton interrupted you. you stood frozen to your spot, looking at anton who's already looking at you.

"i love our little moments together like how we spent hours just walking around town last weekend, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. you make the most random things feel important." anton smiled while recalling your little moments together. you couldn't help but smile as well.

"it's the way you laugh at your own jokes, even when no one else does. it's honestly one of my favorite things. you'll say something dumb, then look at me with that "I know it was bad but I’m laughing anyway" expression, and I’ll always laugh too, because I get it. " anton said, slightly teasing you. you rolled your eyes jokingly, chuckling of how accurate he is as if he has read your mind during those moments.

"also, right, you've always hated wearing those big jackets in the winter, but I know you’d never leave the house without it because someone else might be cold. i mean, you always let someone borrow your jacket without a second thoughtㅡyou act like it’s no big deal, but I know it’s because you don’t mind being a little uncomfortable if it means someone else feels better." anton continued.

his words warmed your heart. you didn't know that he noticed that.

"is that why you always wear two jackets and i somehow find a magic jacket on my shoulder?" you laughed

"yeah, and you always tease me about how dramatic i am for wearing two jackets." anton sighed

"you could've just made me hold the other jacket just in case" you said

"you hate holding stuffㅡ it's always ME who's holding your bag anywhere" anton quickly rebutted which made you zip your mouth.

anton chuckled and continued.

"anyway, i admire your perspective on different things & how you view people. it's like, no matter how messy the situation looks, you always manage to find the good in it. you see beauty in the things other people might miss, like how you can walk through a crowded street and notice a little detail, like the color of someone’s shoes or the way a kid is laughing, that makes everything feel lighter. " he said.

"there’s something about the way you move through the world—so real, so unbothered, but always with purpose—that makes me want to be better too."

anton said, looking at you sincerely.

"i can’t help but fall more for the person you are when no one’s looking. I’m not sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way, you became someone I want to know more, be more, and be with." anton said, walking closer to you.

"so.. merry christmas?" anton laughed the awkwardness off.

"i don't know what to say, i'm really bad at words" you said, tearing up

"obviously, i'm aware. you're not obligated to say anythingㅡ i just wanted toㅡ i just felt likeㅡ" anton's words were soon interrupted by you.

"i love you. like, fuck it, i stabbed you with a pencil when we were 7 because i was sad because you didn't like me" you confessed. you were so close to crying because of anton's words and anton just stood there, laughing his ass off.

"you're pretty violent..." anton said, acting so offended

"h-heyㅡ"

"i'm sorry for the late confession. i should've known." anton suddenly said. he was about to say more but you immediately interrupted him with a hug.

"...maybe i should start believing in santa" anton chuckled, burying his face on your neck.

"merry christmas, ant." you said, breaking the hug to look at him.

"oh my god. thank you, santa" anton said, completely taken away by your beauty & by the thought of how the situation escalated to this.

you laughed at how chaotic he is. the anton you love, the anton you've loved that seemed to have never changedㅡ and you're glad that he didn't.

"i actually wrote your name on my santa wishlist" you confessed

"good to know. after all, santa won't give you somebody that loves you more than me".

"your boyfriend looks really intimidating & mean.."

..my boyfriend? .. this boyfriend?

i find it funny how im a lesbian & im the man-hater type of lesbian but i'd do anything for anton.

anton probably had so many attempts in taking THEE perfect gym pic & gave a shy giggle while looking at his photos 🫠 i js know that bro's not cocky about it & is very humble abt it like I JUST LOVE IT WHEN BOYS (anton, just anton) DOESB'T SEEM LIKE THEY'RE FLEXING BECAUSE THEY KNOW THAT THEY'RE HOT. i mean, anton's aware that he makes briize go crazy but point is, he doesn't make that obvious 😵‍💫

guys do u get me