I don't write a lot usually so hopefully this helps me get better. I write for Seventeen!
Non-kpop writing on @to-cross-the-stars
Yapping on @im-perfect-love
If you know me from other spaces, no you don't <3
Requests are closed
When requesting please put the idea + genre + sfw/nsfw + length [reaction (bulleted list or short paragraph), short (1-5k drabble) or long (5k+ full story)]
you cannot ask anonymously for 18+ requests, if you don't want people to know it was you, say so in the request and I will write it without sharing the username. I need to know your age, sorry not sorry.
note that full stories will take a little longer for me to write, but lets be honest I'm not quick at writing anything.
if you don't include length I'll do whatever I see fit but there's a chance I will end up writing something way too long
Guidelines M.list Taglist
Networks: @svthub @dorereef
Jeonghan lover since 2017
pretty much all graphics (excluding banners on fics) by @saradika-graphics
PSA to all my authors who are tired of the hatred online (specifically, the jjk community because it's getting toxic af over there but I know this is happening everywhere):
if someone is being a bitch, complaining about writing, etc, tumblr won't do anything if you report them for that.
you CAN, however, report them for misusing tags. someone complaining under the 'x reader' tag for a character? they're not writing that character x reader, report them for spamming.
obviously we'd all prefer incels to just shut the computer and stop complaining about content we write for fun and they consume for free, but bitches will be bitches.
stay safe <3
seriously, keep your whiny asses away from my x reader tag, i'm just trying to read
POV: jerking off Nerd!Mingyu
slight popular!reader x nerd dynamic
MDNI, SMUTTY DRABBLE 18+
warnings: handjobs, pwp, big dick loser!mingyu
WC: 2.2k
BETA READ BY THE LOML @nerdycheol
Mingyu had been studying for finals all week. Your poor boyfriend, locked in his dorm instead of doing his rightful job of spending time with you—it was infuriating! Top of his class, on a full-ride academic scholarship that he maintained so easily, yet you hadn’t seen him in a whole seven days (besides passing him in the hallways, and the good morning and good night texts, and the kisses he’d always plant on your cheek when you’d meet for coffee, but you insisted those didn’t count)—you were getting desperate.
So today, when you’d walked into his dorm room, using the key he’d so graciously given you, it was no wonder you had the urge to absolutely devour him. Especially when he had that furrow in his brows, the sharp canines you adored sinking into the plush pink of his lips. His glasses were perched cutely on his nose, a knit sweater hanging off his broad shoulders. Your boyfriend was an absolute snack, and it would’ve been wasteful to do nothing. So when you shut his door and he stood to greet you, who could blame you for wrapping your arms around him and kissing him stupid?
That was the thing about Mingyu. For all his smarts, for all the prodigal genius he was, he simply melted for you. The second your hands were on him, the boy was gone. You felt the tightening in his pants against your leg immediately and grinned victoriously.
“Study break?”
It didn’t take long for you to have him pressed against his wooden bookshelf, even shorter for your hands to wander to the waistband of his pants. you worked at his belt, the zipper and button following until his pants bunched around his knees.
You pulled back just enough to look at him, lip jutting out when you saw the growing wet spot on the front of his boxers where his tip stained them with precum already, the fabric stretched tight. You cooed at him, teasingly. "Oh, poor baby." Pressing your palm to the bulge, rubbing and squeezing lightly. "Missed me that much? Should’ve told me you were so pent up, you know I’m always here to help you, Gyu."
Mingyu let out a sharp, strangled sound, as your palm made contact. The sensation of the damp, tight fabric being squeezed was almost too much to bear. He felt the heat of the friction radiating through his entire lower body, a pulsing, heavy ache that made his vision swim.
"F-fuck," he whined, though he made absolutely no effort to move away. "Don't tease me—ah—please."
He looked down at you, his eyes hooded and dark, watching the way you looked at him—the teasing pout, the knowing glint in your eyes. The sheer, unashamed confidence of your touch, the way you could call him baby and mock his desperation while simultaneously driving him to the brink, was enough to make him want to both laugh and lose his mind.
His gaze dropped to where your hand was working, the sight of the dark, damp stain on his boxers a testament to how much power you held over him. He felt exposed, stripped of his dignity and left with nothing but raw, pulsing need, but he was right where he wanted to be. He gripped the edge of the shelf so hard his knuckles turned white, his hips twitching involuntarily against your hand. "Ngh, don’t stop. Please don’t stop." He panted as his brows pinched together.
"M'not gonna stop, promise." You chuckled, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips as you finally tug the fabric down. He sprung out, slapping against his abs, and your hand wasted no time to wrap around him and start slowly tugging, coaxing out more sticky pre and whimpering moans. "That's it. You're doing so good for me."
He's hot and heavy in your hand, pulsing as the tip spurts more liquid, your thumb dragging over the sensitive skin to gather it and spread it along his length. It added a slickness to the friction, a slow wet shlick, shlick, shlick filling the room in response. But you don't speed up, don't let it build quickly, instead placing each brick, to unravel him until there's tears in his pretty eyes.
A broken, high pitched sound—a sound he would have died before letting anyone else hear— escaped his throat. It was a whimper, raw and unrefined, swallowed by the quiet of the room.
He was a man of discipline, a man who thrived on being the one in control, but as you began that slow, agonizingly deliberate rhythm, he felt his entire foundation dissolve. The feeling of your hand, the wet, repetitive sound of skin sliding against skin, seemed to echo in the narrow aisle, filling his head until there was nothing else.
He gasped your name, his voice a wrecked, breathless shadow of itself. He reached down, his fingers tangling in your long hair, not to pull you away, but to anchor himself as the world began to tilt. You weren't rushing him, no, you were being cruel in the most exquisite way, dragging out the tension, building the sensation brick by agonizing brick. Every time he thought he was about to tip over the edge, every time his hips began to buck instinctively to find a faster pace, you would slow down, teasing the sensitivity of the tip, spreading the slickness of his own release until he was practically vibrating with the effort of staying upright.
His breath came in shallow, jagged hitches. His vision was blurred, the dim light of the room turning into a haze of gold and shadow. He felt a stinging heat behind his eyelids, a physical manifestation of the sheer, overwhelming sensory overload. He was being unraveled, stripped of every layer of his composure until there was nothing left but the friction, the heat, and your voice..
His hips jerked upward, a desperate, involuntary movement seeking more of that friction, his muscles coiling tight as the pressure built to an unbearable peak.
"Oh fuck," he choked out, his eyes opening just enough to see the dark, beautiful shape of you in the gloom. "Don't... don't make me wait..."
You grinned, hand speeding up slightly at his plea. "Yeah? Does that feel good, baby?" When he nodded frantically, breath hitching as more whines were ripped from his throat, her tongue clicked. "Come on, use your words. You can do it." You goaded, hand tightening fractionally.
Mingyu’s fingers tightened in your hair, his knuckles white as he fought to keep his balance. The slight increase in speed was a torture he didn't want to end, a frantic, rhythmic friction that made his entire lower body feel like it was made of liquid lightning. Every time you tightened your grip, a fresh wave of heat crashed over him, leaving him gasping for air that wouldn't come.
"It... it feels..." He swallowed hard, his voice breaking on the syllable.
He looked down at you, his green eyes blown wide, glazed with a mixture of pleasure and desperation. "Feels s’good," he finally managed to choke out, the words a slurred, breathless confession. "God... it feels so fucking good."
He let out a long, shuddering moan as you squeezed him again, the pressure hitting the most sensitive part of his length with devastating precision. He was right there, teetering on the precipice, his muscles coiled so tight they were trembling. The sensation of the slick, wet friction was building into a roar in his ears, drowning out the noise outside the dorm, drowning out the thought of studying, drowning out everything but the feeling of you.
"Please," he groaned, his hips bucking upward in a frantic attempt to meet your hand, his voice dropping to a raw rasp that was nearly a sob. "Don't make me say it again. Just... now. Give it to me now."
"So demanding." You hummed. "Is that how we ask for things?" Your hand stopped entirely, squeezing at the base.
The sudden absence of friction was a physical blow, making Mingyu’s entire body jolt. His hips jerked upward in a desperate, instinctive search for the heat that had just been stolen from him. The silence that followed was deafening, filled only by the sound of his own ragged, panicked breathing. He felt suspended in a state of agonizing tension, his nerves screaming for the release that was being cruelly withheld.
Your name gasped from his lips as a broken, breathless plea, eyes, wet and wide, searched yours with a frantic, unshielded desperation. He reached down, his large hands trembling as he gripped your wrist, his fingers digging into your skin. Mingyu didn't try to pull your hand away; he tried to force it back, to command the motion to resume, but hands trembled, his muscles weak.
"Don't..." he choked out, a small, pathetic sound that he would have loathed if he weren't so close to the brink. "Don't do that. Don't stop now. Please."
His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his chest heaving. He looked down at where your hand remained, squeezing the base of him, and the sensation was almost more than he could bear a teasing, heavy weight that promised everything and gave nothing. He was a man on the verge of tears, his muscles coiled so tightly they were vibrating, his entire existence narrowed down to the single, desperate need for the friction to return.
“Now that wasn't so hard, was it? Good boy." Your hand resumed its movement as you teased him, faster now, watching his back arch and his abs tense.
The moment the friction returned, Mingyu let out a sound that was less a moan and more a broken sob tears finally slipping from his glossy eyes down his cheeks. The sudden, rapid movement of your hand was a violent, beautiful shock to his system, a rhythm that didn't give him a single second to breathe or prepare. His back arched sharply, his spine pressing hard against the wood behind him as his entire body strained toward the sensation.
"Fuck!" he choked out, his head falling back so hard it nearly hit the shelf again.
The speed was punishing. It was a relentless, driving force that bypassed all his remaining defenses, turning his thoughts into a white hot blur of pleasure. His abs were locked in a rigid, trembling knot, his muscles coiling and rippling under the strain of trying to hold himself together while being systematically dismantled.
Every time your palm slid over the sensitive, slick skin of his length, a fresh jolt of electricity shot through him, making his toes curl and his vision swim with dark spots.
"Oh fuck— baby— baby!" he gasped, the words coming out in jagged bursts, shaky and trembling.
He reached down, his hands no longer just guiding you but clutching at your shoulders, his fingers digging into your skin as he fought to stay upright. He was close—so close that the pressure felt like it was going to burst. His hips began to move in an uncoordinated rhythm, trying to match the speed of your hand, his breath coming in short, sharp hitches that sounded like he was drowning. The tension in his entire body reached a breaking point, a singular, vibrating frequency that demanded release.
Mingyu’s head thrashed, his eyes squeezed shut so tightly that stars danced behind his lids. The demand for words was a cruel, beautiful torture, a final hurdle placed right at the peak of the mountain. He was vibrating, his entire frame caught in the violent pull of a climax.
"Please!" he choked out, the word tearing from his throat, raw and stripped of every ounce of his usual poise. He was undone, begging and sobbing your name like a prayer. "Ngh—please... ahh..."
The moment the words left his lips, the dam broke.
His hips bucked violently, a sharp, uncontrolled surge of motion as the first wave of release slammed into him. A loud, guttural groan was ripped from his lungs, a sound of pure, unadulterated surrender that echoed through the room. The sound was half groan, half sob—followed by a whiny whimper that had your lips twitching. His entire body went rigid, his muscles locking into hard, trembling cords as he felt the hot, pulsing sensation of his release spilling over your hand.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you…” He repeated over and over, like a mantra, tears slipping down his cheeks as he trembled.
His breath came in ragged, sobbing gasps, his chest heaving as he fought to stay upright. He leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes opening just enough to see the beautiful silhouette of you through the haze of his own ecstasy. As the waves began to subside, leaving him trembling and spent, he slumped back, his breath hitching in his chest. He stayed there for a moment, his forehead pressed to yours, his eyes closed as he tried to find his bearings in the sudden, heavy silence of the room.
You licked the release off your hand with a hum. “See? You shouldn’t keep me waiting so long, Gyu. It’s rude.”
A choked chuckle escaped his lips before he pressed them reverently to your cheek. “You’re right, baby. You’re always right.” His hands slid up, fidgeting with the edge of your shirt before slipping under it slightly, just enough for his rough palms to meet the soft skin of your back.
“Wanna help me with my anatomy homework?”
don't ask about the layout, i'm too lazy to make a banner for a drabble and idk what i'm doing anymore, man.
POV: jerking off Nerd!Mingyu
slight popular!reader x nerd dynamic
MDNI, SMUTTY DRABBLE 18+
warnings: handjobs, pwp, big dick loser!mingyu
WC: 2.2k
BETA READ BY THE LOML @nerdycheol
Mingyu had been studying for finals all week. Your poor boyfriend, locked in his dorm instead of doing his rightful job of spending time with you—it was infuriating! Top of his class, on a full-ride academic scholarship that he maintained so easily, yet you hadn’t seen him in a whole seven days (besides passing him in the hallways, and the good morning and good night texts, and the kisses he’d always plant on your cheek when you’d meet for coffee, but you insisted those didn’t count)—you were getting desperate.
So today, when you’d walked into his dorm room, using the key he’d so graciously given you, it was no wonder you had the urge to absolutely devour him. Especially when he had that furrow in his brows, the sharp canines you adored sinking into the plush pink of his lips. His glasses were perched cutely on his nose, a knit sweater hanging off his broad shoulders. Your boyfriend was an absolute snack, and it would’ve been wasteful to do nothing. So when you shut his door and he stood to greet you, who could blame you for wrapping your arms around him and kissing him stupid?
That was the thing about Mingyu. For all his smarts, for all the prodigal genius he was, he simply melted for you. The second your hands were on him, the boy was gone. You felt the tightening in his pants against your leg immediately and grinned victoriously.
“Study break?”
It didn’t take long for you to have him pressed against his wooden bookshelf, even shorter for your hands to wander to the waistband of his pants. you worked at his belt, the zipper and button following until his pants bunched around his knees.
You pulled back just enough to look at him, lip jutting out when you saw the growing wet spot on the front of his boxers where his tip stained them with precum already, the fabric stretched tight. You cooed at him, teasingly. "Oh, poor baby." Pressing your palm to the bulge, rubbing and squeezing lightly. "Missed me that much? Should’ve told me you were so pent up, you know I’m always here to help you, Gyu."
Mingyu let out a sharp, strangled sound, as your palm made contact. The sensation of the damp, tight fabric being squeezed was almost too much to bear. He felt the heat of the friction radiating through his entire lower body, a pulsing, heavy ache that made his vision swim.
"F-fuck," he whined, though he made absolutely no effort to move away. "Don't tease me—ah—please."
He looked down at you, his eyes hooded and dark, watching the way you looked at him—the teasing pout, the knowing glint in your eyes. The sheer, unashamed confidence of your touch, the way you could call him baby and mock his desperation while simultaneously driving him to the brink, was enough to make him want to both laugh and lose his mind.
His gaze dropped to where your hand was working, the sight of the dark, damp stain on his boxers a testament to how much power you held over him. He felt exposed, stripped of his dignity and left with nothing but raw, pulsing need, but he was right where he wanted to be. He gripped the edge of the shelf so hard his knuckles turned white, his hips twitching involuntarily against your hand. "Ngh, don’t stop. Please don’t stop." He panted as his brows pinched together.
"M'not gonna stop, promise." You chuckled, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips as you finally tug the fabric down. He sprung out, slapping against his abs, and your hand wasted no time to wrap around him and start slowly tugging, coaxing out more sticky pre and whimpering moans. "That's it. You're doing so good for me."
He's hot and heavy in your hand, pulsing as the tip spurts more liquid, your thumb dragging over the sensitive skin to gather it and spread it along his length. It added a slickness to the friction, a slow wet shlick, shlick, shlick filling the room in response. But you don't speed up, don't let it build quickly, instead placing each brick, to unravel him until there's tears in his pretty eyes.
A broken, high pitched sound—a sound he would have died before letting anyone else hear— escaped his throat. It was a whimper, raw and unrefined, swallowed by the quiet of the room.
He was a man of discipline, a man who thrived on being the one in control, but as you began that slow, agonizingly deliberate rhythm, he felt his entire foundation dissolve. The feeling of your hand, the wet, repetitive sound of skin sliding against skin, seemed to echo in the narrow aisle, filling his head until there was nothing else.
He gasped your name, his voice a wrecked, breathless shadow of itself. He reached down, his fingers tangling in your long hair, not to pull you away, but to anchor himself as the world began to tilt. You weren't rushing him, no, you were being cruel in the most exquisite way, dragging out the tension, building the sensation brick by agonizing brick. Every time he thought he was about to tip over the edge, every time his hips began to buck instinctively to find a faster pace, you would slow down, teasing the sensitivity of the tip, spreading the slickness of his own release until he was practically vibrating with the effort of staying upright.
His breath came in shallow, jagged hitches. His vision was blurred, the dim light of the room turning into a haze of gold and shadow. He felt a stinging heat behind his eyelids, a physical manifestation of the sheer, overwhelming sensory overload. He was being unraveled, stripped of every layer of his composure until there was nothing left but the friction, the heat, and your voice..
His hips jerked upward, a desperate, involuntary movement seeking more of that friction, his muscles coiling tight as the pressure built to an unbearable peak.
"Oh fuck," he choked out, his eyes opening just enough to see the dark, beautiful shape of you in the gloom. "Don't... don't make me wait..."
You grinned, hand speeding up slightly at his plea. "Yeah? Does that feel good, baby?" When he nodded frantically, breath hitching as more whines were ripped from his throat, her tongue clicked. "Come on, use your words. You can do it." You goaded, hand tightening fractionally.
Mingyu’s fingers tightened in your hair, his knuckles white as he fought to keep his balance. The slight increase in speed was a torture he didn't want to end, a frantic, rhythmic friction that made his entire lower body feel like it was made of liquid lightning. Every time you tightened your grip, a fresh wave of heat crashed over him, leaving him gasping for air that wouldn't come.
"It... it feels..." He swallowed hard, his voice breaking on the syllable.
He looked down at you, his green eyes blown wide, glazed with a mixture of pleasure and desperation. "Feels s’good," he finally managed to choke out, the words a slurred, breathless confession. "God... it feels so fucking good."
He let out a long, shuddering moan as you squeezed him again, the pressure hitting the most sensitive part of his length with devastating precision. He was right there, teetering on the precipice, his muscles coiled so tight they were trembling. The sensation of the slick, wet friction was building into a roar in his ears, drowning out the noise outside the dorm, drowning out the thought of studying, drowning out everything but the feeling of you.
"Please," he groaned, his hips bucking upward in a frantic attempt to meet your hand, his voice dropping to a raw rasp that was nearly a sob. "Don't make me say it again. Just... now. Give it to me now."
"So demanding." You hummed. "Is that how we ask for things?" Your hand stopped entirely, squeezing at the base.
The sudden absence of friction was a physical blow, making Mingyu’s entire body jolt. His hips jerked upward in a desperate, instinctive search for the heat that had just been stolen from him. The silence that followed was deafening, filled only by the sound of his own ragged, panicked breathing. He felt suspended in a state of agonizing tension, his nerves screaming for the release that was being cruelly withheld.
Your name gasped from his lips as a broken, breathless plea, eyes, wet and wide, searched yours with a frantic, unshielded desperation. He reached down, his large hands trembling as he gripped your wrist, his fingers digging into your skin. Mingyu didn't try to pull your hand away; he tried to force it back, to command the motion to resume, but hands trembled, his muscles weak.
"Don't..." he choked out, a small, pathetic sound that he would have loathed if he weren't so close to the brink. "Don't do that. Don't stop now. Please."
His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his chest heaving. He looked down at where your hand remained, squeezing the base of him, and the sensation was almost more than he could bear a teasing, heavy weight that promised everything and gave nothing. He was a man on the verge of tears, his muscles coiled so tightly they were vibrating, his entire existence narrowed down to the single, desperate need for the friction to return.
“Now that wasn't so hard, was it? Good boy." Your hand resumed its movement as you teased him, faster now, watching his back arch and his abs tense.
The moment the friction returned, Mingyu let out a sound that was less a moan and more a broken sob tears finally slipping from his glossy eyes down his cheeks. The sudden, rapid movement of your hand was a violent, beautiful shock to his system, a rhythm that didn't give him a single second to breathe or prepare. His back arched sharply, his spine pressing hard against the wood behind him as his entire body strained toward the sensation.
"Fuck!" he choked out, his head falling back so hard it nearly hit the shelf again.
The speed was punishing. It was a relentless, driving force that bypassed all his remaining defenses, turning his thoughts into a white hot blur of pleasure. His abs were locked in a rigid, trembling knot, his muscles coiling and rippling under the strain of trying to hold himself together while being systematically dismantled.
Every time your palm slid over the sensitive, slick skin of his length, a fresh jolt of electricity shot through him, making his toes curl and his vision swim with dark spots.
"Oh fuck— baby— baby!" he gasped, the words coming out in jagged bursts, shaky and trembling.
He reached down, his hands no longer just guiding you but clutching at your shoulders, his fingers digging into your skin as he fought to stay upright. He was close—so close that the pressure felt like it was going to burst. His hips began to move in an uncoordinated rhythm, trying to match the speed of your hand, his breath coming in short, sharp hitches that sounded like he was drowning. The tension in his entire body reached a breaking point, a singular, vibrating frequency that demanded release.
Mingyu’s head thrashed, his eyes squeezed shut so tightly that stars danced behind his lids. The demand for words was a cruel, beautiful torture, a final hurdle placed right at the peak of the mountain. He was vibrating, his entire frame caught in the violent pull of a climax.
"Please!" he choked out, the word tearing from his throat, raw and stripped of every ounce of his usual poise. He was undone, begging and sobbing your name like a prayer. "Ngh—please... ahh..."
The moment the words left his lips, the dam broke.
His hips bucked violently, a sharp, uncontrolled surge of motion as the first wave of release slammed into him. A loud, guttural groan was ripped from his lungs, a sound of pure, unadulterated surrender that echoed through the room. The sound was half groan, half sob—followed by a whiny whimper that had your lips twitching. His entire body went rigid, his muscles locking into hard, trembling cords as he felt the hot, pulsing sensation of his release spilling over your hand.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you…” He repeated over and over, like a mantra, tears slipping down his cheeks as he trembled.
His breath came in ragged, sobbing gasps, his chest heaving as he fought to stay upright. He leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes opening just enough to see the beautiful silhouette of you through the haze of his own ecstasy. As the waves began to subside, leaving him trembling and spent, he slumped back, his breath hitching in his chest. He stayed there for a moment, his forehead pressed to yours, his eyes closed as he tried to find his bearings in the sudden, heavy silence of the room.
You licked the release off your hand with a hum. “See? You shouldn’t keep me waiting so long, Gyu. It’s rude.”
A choked chuckle escaped his lips before he pressed them reverently to your cheek. “You’re right, baby. You’re always right.” His hands slid up, fidgeting with the edge of your shirt before slipping under it slightly, just enough for his rough palms to meet the soft skin of your back.
“Wanna help me with my anatomy homework?”
don't ask about the layout, i'm too lazy to make a banner for a drabble and idk what i'm doing anymore, man.
Pairing: Seungcheol x reader
Word Count: 3.7k
Genre: Pure fluff
Warnings: self-indulgent nerdiness once again, thats it
Summary: When Seungcheol finds out you've married someone else in your little farm game, he takes it upon himself to change things.
Can be read stand alone, original couple made in this fic
thank you to my new amazing friend @hanniehaeo for beta-reading this on such short notice, you came in clutch and I wouldn't be here without you ✊😔
“What do you mean you married someone else?!”
Seungcheol’s outraged voice is only met by a small shrug from where you’re bundled in his blanket, perched in his gaming chair, using his PC to play his copy of Stardew Valley.
In your defense… okay, you don’t have much of one. You didn’t realize that a simple farming game would have a hot emo man waiting in his basement for you to fix his broken computer and heart.
“Sorry, baby,” you say, half-hiding a grin. “But I’m a married woman now. Anyway, the more relevant question is—what should Sebastian and I name our kid?”
The sound Seungcheol makes behind you is somewhere between a scoff and an actual growl. “Your kid? You’ve been playing this save for, what, three in-game months? You barely even upgraded your watering can!”
You swivel slowly in his chair, cocooned like a very smug burrito. “Three in-game months is 3/4ths of a year! Besides, we bonded over shared trauma,” you counter, gesturing at the pixelated couple standing in front of their cozy farmhouse. “He liked me when I was just the weird girl who kept fainting in the mines. That’s real love.”
Seungcheol’s jaw drops. “You fainted because you kept trying to fight slimes with a hoe!”
“And yet,” you say, clicking to pet your virtual dog, “he never judged me. He just stood there in the rain, smoking under that pixel tree, saying mysterious things like ‘What am I going to do today? Probably nothing.’”
Seungcheol groans like you’ve personally offended his soul. “That’s not mysterious, that’s depression!”
You gasp dramatically. “He’s deep, Seungcheol. You wouldn’t understand.”
“I would understand,” he fires back, stepping closer to peer over your shoulder, “if you didn’t just—oh my god, did you name the farm after him?”
You grin at the screen. “Sebby Acres has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
He just stares. “You didn’t even name your real plants, but this guy gets an estate.”
“Love changes people.”
“Yeah, apparently it changes your standards too,” he mutters, crossing his arms as he glares at Sebastian’s pixel sprite. “He’s just… standing there. Doing nothing.”
“He’s thinking,” you defend.
“About what, the void?”
“Maybe,” you whisper dramatically, “maybe me.”
That earns you a loud, disbelieving laugh. “You’re actually insane. You know that, right?”
You click through a few menus, ignoring him. “He made me coffee this morning.”
“Oh, so now we’re romanticizing caffeine dependency?”
“Better than romanticizing being a jealous gamer boyfriend,” you shoot back, smug.
That stops him for half a second—just enough for you to glance up and catch the exact moment he schools his expression, trying not to smile.
“I’m not jealous,” he says finally, voice lower now, softer. “I just think it’s tragic that my girlfriend is out here emotionally cheating with a pixel.”
You grin. “Emotionally cheating? Bold of you to assume it’s not physical.”
His jaw drops. “You did not just say that.”
“Oh, I did.” You spin back toward the screen. “Sebastian’s got those 16-bit biceps for a reason.”
He groans again, but this time it sounds closer to laughter than despair. You can feel him behind you now—his presence warm and looming as he leans down over the back of the chair. His chin brushes your shoulder as he squints at the screen.
“Okay,” he murmurs, voice close enough that it sends a little shiver through you, “so what happens if I—” he reaches over you, taking the mouse, “—go into your house and delete your save file?”
You gasp, clutching your blanket like a shield. “That’s a war crime!”
“Oh, it’s justice,” he says, smirking now, the corner of his mouth curling as he hovers over the [Delete] option just to watch you panic.
You twist in the chair to glare up at him. “You wouldn’t.”
“I might,” he says, teasing, but there’s that glint in his eyes—half mischief, half affection. “Maybe then you’ll stop flirting with trench-coat Minecraft boy and pay attention to your real-life boyfriend.”
You hold his gaze for a beat, heart skipping in that annoying, traitorous way it does when he’s too close. Then you say, voice quiet but pointed, “You wanna start a new save together?”
He pauses, just for a second, before burying his face in the crook of your neck and taking a deep breath. You can feel the hesitation before his hair brushes your skin as he nods.
“Even though it's a ‘boring farm game with limited rpg capabilities and—”
“Yes, yes, okay! I was wrong. M’sorry.” He pouts into your shoulder, “Promise to never judge your taste in games again. Just… marry me in our save?”
You bite back a smile, trying not to sound too triumphant. “I’ll consider it.” You turn your head to press a kiss to the top of his. “Dork.”
Seungcheol hums against your skin, the sound low and satisfied—like a man who’s just won a battle he didn’t actually fight. “ ‘Consider it,’ ” he echoes, voice muffled against your neck. “That’s not a yes.”
“That’s a maybe,” you correct, scrolling back to your cozy pixel house. “You’ll have to prove yourself worthy first.”
He leans back just enough for you to see the mock offense on his face. “Worthy? You’re acting like I have to duel Sebastian for your hand.”
You don’t look away from the screen as you murmur, “You could try, but he’s got a motorcycle.”
Seungcheol scoffs. “Oh, please. I’ve got a car.”
“Yeah, but can your car brood under the moonlight?”
“I can brood under the moonlight!” he protests, and you lose it—bursting into laughter that makes the chair spin slightly. He catches it before it can whirl too far, one hand steady on the armrest, the other landing lightly on your knee, caging you in and surrounding you with his warmth.
“See?” he says softly, the teasing edge fading to something gentler. “I can brood, I can farm, I can mine—hell, I’ll even water crops every morning if that’s what it takes.”
You blink at him. “You hate resource management.”
“I hate losing you to a pixel more.”
That earns him a snort, but the warmth that blooms in your chest gives you away. You tilt your head, studying him from under your blanket hood. “You’d actually play with me?”
“I’d actually play with you,” he repeats, earnest this time. “Even if I die every five minutes in the mines.”
You grin, leaning closer until your noses almost bump. “Then we can faint together.”
He laughs—a bright, unguarded sound—and before you can say another word, he kisses you. Just a small one, soft and warm, like punctuation on a joke that suddenly got too sincere.
When you pull back, you whisper, “You’re trying to distract me.”
Seungcheol’s smile is slow and lopsided, still close enough that you can feel his breath when he answers, “Is it working?”
You narrow your eyes at him. “Maybe.”
He chuckles, thumb brushing idly against your knee through the blanket. “Guess I’ll have to try again—hey! You’re not supposed to go back to your game!” He whines as you spin the chair back to face the screen.
“Why not?” you tease. “Keeps you guessing. Builds character.”
“Oh, I’ve got plenty of character,” he says, voice dropping just a little as he leans in again, lips brushing the skin under your ear. “I’m literally offering to play farm husband, and you’re still playing hard to get.”
“Correction,” you say, spinning back toward the monitor with a grin, “I’m playing hard to marry.” You click a few times, pretending to focus very seriously on harvesting your pixelated strawberries. “There’s a difference.”
He exhales through a laugh, resting his chin on your shoulder. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet, you’re still here,” you sing-song, clicking to water your crops. “Let me just finish this day and I’ll start us a new save file, m’kay, you big baby?”
He groans softly, the sound vibrating against your back. “You just called me a big baby while wrapped in my blanket, stealing my chair, and emotionally cheating on me with a two-dimensional man.”
You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You love me.”
He huffs out a laugh, “Clearly not enough, if you’re settling for emo-boy.” He replies as he hooks his chin over your shoulder again, watching you play with that soft, restless energy he always gets when he’s trying not to admit he’s enjoying himself. His thumb starts tracing idle circles against your leg, absent-minded but distracting.
Finally, after you finish the day and save, you click back to the main menu and open a new save folder. “Go get the switch.”
He’s up before you can even finish, Nintendo Switch in hand as you create the farm and add him. You only pause to yelp when he lifts you out of the chair to settle instead with you in his lap, his arms around you, and his chin tucked over your shoulder so he can see what he’s doing.
“Clingy.” You mutter, pecking his cheek as you set up the new game. “Name suggestions?”
He hums, pretending to think very seriously as his hands settle around your waist. “Hmm… Revenge Acres.”
You blink. “Revenge?”
“For the fallen Sebastian,” he says solemnly, eyes locked on the screen. “May his emo soul rest in pixels.”
You snort, nearly dropping the controller. “You’re insufferable.”
“Or—hear me out—‘Farmy McFarmface.’”
“Absolutely not.”
He grins, delighted at your horror. “Okay, fine, fine. What about… Coups Crops?”
You stare at him flatly. “That’s the worst pun I’ve ever heard.”
“Thank you,” he says proudly. “I try.”
You roll your eyes, trying not to smile. “We’re naming it something cute. Something wholesome. Like—” You pause dramatically. “Snugglefield.”
Seungcheol physically recoils. “Snugglefield?! You’re going to make me farm turnips on Snugglefield?!”
“You’d rather live on Coups Crops?” you shoot back, turning in his lap to raise a brow.
“Yes! It’s branding!” He gestures broadly. “Imagine: local farmer S.Coups, humble provider of the valley’s finest parsnips.”
You can’t help laughing at that. “Fine, farmer Coups, but if you ever actually refer to yourself like that again, I’m divorcing you.”
He grins wide, unbothered. “You can’t divorce me if you never say yes.”
“Oh, so now it’s blackmail?”
“Strategic patience,” he says, fingers squeezing gently at your sides until you squirm.
“Mm, that’s cheating,” you warn, even as you’re giggling. “You can’t just tickle me into saying yes.”
“I can try,” he murmurs, voice dropping just enough that your breath catches. “But I’d rather earn it.” He presses his lips to your neck, softly kissing the sensitive skin.
“Focus.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
You type Coup’s Crops and Co. Farm into the [Farm Name] field before selecting a type (four corners because you’re co-opping and it's clearly the only correct answer) and loading up the new farm.
“Why am I in a different house than you?” You can feel Cheol’s pout against your neck, and you laugh.
“Because you’re my farmhand. How inappropriate would a farmhand in the main house be?”
Seungcheol lets out an incredulous scoff, the kind that vibrates against your back because he’s still got his chin hooked over your shoulder. “Farmhand? Excuse me—” he reaches forward to poke your screen accusingly, “—I am co-owner material, at the very least. You think I’m waking up at 6 a.m. to water your crops for free?”
You stifle a laugh. “Technically, you’d be waking up at 6 a.m. because I’d make you.”
“Oh, so now I’m your underpaid labourer and your husband-in-waiting?” he deadpans.
You hum thoughtfully. “Sounds accurate.”
He narrows his eyes. “This is a scam.”
“Welcome to marriage.”
That makes him groan—loud and dramatic, like you’ve just told him he’s being exiled to the mines forever. “You’re lucky you’re cute, you know that?”
You grin, smug. “I am aware.”
The first few minutes of the game are chaos. You both spawn into the pixel farm surrounded by weeds, rocks, and trees—your avatar immediately starts chopping trees with your axe while Seungcheol’s stands there doing absolutely nothing.
“Cheol,” you say, suspicious, “why are you just standing there?”
“I’m observing the land,” he says sagely. “Assessing productivity potential.”
“Translation: you forgot what button makes you move.”
“...That too,” he mutters.
You giggle and hand him a quick tutorial rundown, watching his character start to move in clumsy little jerks across the field. He immediately starts cutting down grass with his scythe.
“Don’t cut that down! We need it for the animals once we build a silo!" you cry.
“It’s in the way!”
“You’re starving our future chickens and ruining my vision!”
He pauses, his avatar mid-swing, then looks over at you in real life with that slow, knowing smirk. “You mean our vision, boss.”
You turn to glare at him, but he looks way too pleased with himself, leaning back in his seat and drumming his fingers against your waist like he’s keeping score.
“Fine,” you say, feigning exasperation. “You can have a say in our vision. What’s your idea, Mr. Efficiency?”
He leans in, lowering his voice like he’s about to drop the world’s greatest strategy. “Simple. We build one big field. No decorations, no fences, just pure money-making crops.”
You stare at him, horrified. “So… you want to make a corporate farm?”
He grins, unashamed. “Coup’s Crops, LLC.”
“That’s horrifying.”
“That’s capitalism.”
“That’s worse than Joja.” You swat at his arm, laughing so hard your character stops moving entirely. “We’re not doing this. We’re gonna have flowers and beehives and cute scarecrows, and maybe—” you click a few times, placing a chest by your cabin, “—a little pond area where we can sit together.”
“...You’re making a kissing spot, aren’t you?”
You pause. “I’m making an ambiance.”
He lets out a low laugh and presses a kiss to the side of your jaw, catching you off guard. “Sure, baby. Ambiance.”
You nudge him with your elbow, trying not to smile too widely. “You’re supposed to be chopping wood, not flirting with your boss.”
“I multitask,” he says smoothly, returning his focus to the game—though his hands never quite leave you, thumbs tracing slow circles on your waist.
A few quiet minutes pass like that—soft music from the game, faint tapping of keys, the occasional ping of harvested wood—until he breaks the silence again.
“So,” he says casually, “when do I get to move into your house?”
You grin, pretending to think. “Hmm… maybe after your first successful harvest.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he complains immediately. “Sebastian didn’t have to harvest anything to get into your house.”
“Sebastian had emotional depth,” you tease, deadpan.
He gasps. “I have pecs!”
You nearly choke on your laughter. “Not the same thing, Cheol.”
He turns you slightly in his lap, enough to catch your eye with a mock glare that’s betrayed by his smile. “Oh, it’s exactly the same thing. Wait till you see me water these crops. You’ll be proposing to me by the end of the season.”
You arch an eyebrow, amused. “Confident, aren’t you?”
He grins, leaning in until his nose brushes your temple. “Farmer Coups doesn’t need confidence. He’s got irrigation.”
You groan, half laughing, half sighing. “If you make one more irrigation joke, I’m marrying Shane next.”
He stiffens. “The chicken guy?!”
You smirk. “He gives me beer.”
Seungcheol squints, pretending to process that like you’ve actually betrayed him. Then, slowly, he shakes his head. “No. Nope. That’s it.”
You blink. “What are you—hey!”
Because he’s already reaching past you, grabbing your mouse, muttering, “War crime time.”
“CHEOL—don’t you dare delete this save!”
“I’m saving it!” he insists, laughing now, “And we’re going to bed. It’s almost midnight.”
“Still early by your usual hours!” You argue as you make an attempt to grab the mouse back, but he’s stronger, and it devolves into chaos—tickling, laughing, your blanket half falling off, his voice all smug and breathless as he says, “Say you’ll marry me and I’ll stop.”
You freeze for a heartbeat, cheeks warm, eyes meeting his—he’s still grinning, but there’s a softness underneath, something a little too real.
The laughter fades just enough for the sound of your breathing to fill the space between you—shallow, uneven, caught somewhere between teasing and something that feels a lot like the truth.
“Say you’ll marry me,” he repeats, quieter this time. The playful lilt is still there, but it’s gentler now, the edge rounded by sincerity.
You blink up at him, still half-tangled in the blanket, your hair a mess, and your cursor hovering over the in-game farmhouse. “In the game,” you clarify, but your voice wavers just slightly, and he catches it—of course he does.
His grin softens, that dimple showing for just a second before he dips his head closer. “Sure,” he murmurs, “in the game.” His eyes flick toward your screen. “But, you know… maybe also not just in the game.”
You laugh, breathless and a little flustered. “You can’t just say things like that,” you whisper, trying to sound lighter than you feel.
For once, Seungcheol doesn’t immediately joke back. Instead, his grin falters—just slightly—and when he looks at you, there’s something different in his eyes. Still warm, still mischievous, but threaded through with something steadier that makes your heart stutter
He shifts, the chair creaking under both your weight, and his hand comes up to cup your jaw, gentle and grounding, “You think I’m joking?” he asks, quiet enough that the words barely clear the space between you.
All you can do is blink, breath caught in your throat as he goes on.
“I…” He exhales, a soft sound that's half nervous, half fond. “This isn’t how I planned this. I—I bought a ring like, months ago. Fuck, give me a minute.”
He picks you up and sets you down gently on the chair, leaving you wide-eyed as he rushes to rifle through his nightstand before returning with a small velvet box.
“Okay. Fuck, I had this whole plan. Flowers, dinner at the restaurant we had our first date, Jihoon was even gonna play live music like we were in a drama—”
You snort at that, despite the tears welling in your eyes as he takes one of your hands in his, getting on his knee in front of the gaming chair.
“Well, cats out of the bag now, so I guess I’ll just go with it. It’s very us.” He presses a kiss to the back of your hand, but it seems more to ground him than you. “The past three years with you have been… everything. Being able to spend time with you, have your face be the first thing I see when I wake up, and the last thing I see when I go to sleep… it made me realize that I want that forever. With you. I want every sleepy morning, or loud ones where you forget your keys and yell at me for not reminding you, even though I did.” You let out a shaky laugh, and he smiles, squeezing your hand gently. “I want to argue about our in-game farms and real-life living rooms. I want to grow old hearing you tell me how insufferable I am and how I can’t design for shit.”
You swallow hard, letting the tears fall from your eyes because there was no way you’d let them blur the vision that is Seungcheol in this moment. Your fingers shake where they hold his.
“I don’t care if we’re rich, or if we’re still living off of takeout and late-night gaming sessions,” he continues softly. “I always wanted to build something—a life, a home. But I realized that I can’t have any of that if you aren’t there. Before you, those were just words, but now… now they’re a person. They’re you.”
There’s a beat where neither of you says anything, and the only sound is the hum of the PC, the faint game music looping quietly in the background.
Then, he releases your hand to open the velvet box, revealing a ring that makes you choke out a sob. You’d only talked with him a few times about styles, gems, and rings in general, and this man listened. His hands are steady as he looks up at you, eyes filled with security and hope and fear and love as he murmurs, “Marry me.”
It’s not a question. It’s a confession, an offering.
Your hand comes up almost on instinct, fingers threading into his hair as your forehead presses back against his. “You’re supposed to have music,” you say softly. “And flowers.”
He laughs, the sound low and rough. “You’re supposed to say yes anyway.”
You breathe out a shaky laugh, tears now flowing steadily down your cheeks. “You’re unbelievable.”
He brushes his thumb over your cheek again. “And you love me.”
“I do,” you whisper, and the words feel too big, too right.
His breath catches. “Then marry me.”
You look at him—really look—and realize there’s no version of your life where you wouldn’t.
You nod, smiling through the tears. “Okay,” you say softly. “Yes.”
For a second, he just stares, eyes wide, like his brain short-circuits. Then he laughs—quiet, disbelieving—and presses a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, and your mouth, all in a flurry of warmth and relief.
He slips the ring onto your finger with a boyish smile. “This part I did plan,” he says quietly. “Just didn’t plan for you to be already married to some pixel guy first.”
You laugh through your tears, covering your face. “You’re impossible.”
SCREAMINGGG SVT AND SDV IN ONE FIC?? op i love you and i’m asking for YOUR hand in marriage for writing this fic 🧎♀️ (sorry that’s the only kneeling emoji, ik proposing on both knees gives shane dawson i apologize)
literally so fluffy and so cute <33 the dialogue is so banter-y and adorable, i’m literally kicking my feet and giggling rn 🤞 SO GOOD
i can, i just haven't really thought of any recently 😅
on that note, i did open my inbox for headcanons only, so if theres anything you want to see feel free to ask, because i may close them again pretty soon
Tumblr is rolling out a new reblog/notes system that completely disregards creators. In their new system, they're taking a twitter-style approach where reblogs will have their own notes that DO NOT contribute to the original post's notes.
Because of this, creators will no longer be able to see an accurate display of likes/reblogs/etc. This is completely altering the way feedback and responses to works are going to be received on this website.
If you come across a fan work that you enjoy, please take the extra step to go to OPs original post, and leave your comment/like/reblog there. Or go one step further and send an ask to OP directly to tell them what you liked!
I really hope Tumblr staff reverses course and reverts to the original reblog system for the sake of the large base of creators who use this site to share their works, but until then, please be considerate and make sure the creators here see/feel the love.
what are the last five lines you've written? share and then tag five mutuals!
Oh man, they're sad TT (gave you a little more than five)
Vignette: Sacrifice
Through The Darkness series (cybrsoup collab)
---------
Oh, his eyes. They’re what grabs Mingi’s attention the most.
They’re wide, dark, and far too alert, flicking from Mingi’s face, to the knife in his hand, to the nearest alley. Mapping exits, weighing risk. The boy likely would have fled already if he didn’t look like the next gust of wind would blow him over.
“I wasn’t—” The boy’s voice cracks from disuse, fizzling out. His stomach speaks louder than he does, growling.
thank you for the tag zanna 💗had to think about this because it might be a bit of a spoiler but then again it wouldn't make much sense without context so here we go
what the fire spares act 4
“If anyone realises who you are—” Seungcheol starts.
“They won’t,” Joshua cuts in. “She can barely keep herself upright. No one is looking past that.”
Seungcheol’s jaw tightens. His gaze flicks to you then, taking in the way your head lolls slightly against Joshua’s shoulder, the sheen of sweat along your temple, the faint tremor that still hasn’t left your hands. Whatever argument he’d been building seems to lose its footing.
(no pressure!) tags: @nerdycheol @ohmytyong @shinysobi @seokminfilm @orbitondgtl
thank you for tagging me calli!! i've not written kpop fic for the past two days, but i have an asoiaf fic~ and also ig this is not the last five sentence, but the last 5 paragraphs lol
above the bar-part two
I scroll up on the chat with Valarr, only to find nothing. All we've had by way of textual conversation has been him asking about class details and exam stuff, and me replying to them. I doubt I've ever initiated a conversation with him over text.
Unlike my conversations with Gwin, where I talk about what food I want for dinner and how my classes are killing me and she replies about what movie she wants to watch over dinner and what clothes we should buy when we can save enough money.
But, after a single conversation, I'm here, cosplaying as his ‘girlfriend’ because Valarr's got a stalker he needs to let down gently, and I need a proper law internship to prove everyone else that I'm just as good as them.
I take off my glasses, rubbing at my forehead. I'm getting a headache because of this. Valarr Targaryen. I'm going to beat your ass. Not really. Sorry. I'm sure you're very nice to your girlfriends.
lmao have fun reading this! tagging @mylovesstuffs, @belovedgyu, @haologram, @hannieoftheyear @jakedustry @/anyone else who wants to participate!
heheh, ty for the tag ro. i recently just started writing this :3
sealed by fate
“Hey, don’t wander off,” a voice calls. You look up to see a man running toward him as his hands reach out immediately as he kneels beside the boy. He checks him over and brushes imaginary dust from his shirt, making sure nothing is scratched or scraped. “Why did you let go of my hand? Huh? You’re supposed to stay close,” he says, lightly scolding the boy but ruffling his hair. The boy giggles and shrugs but not upset, and the man sighs a mixture of exasperation and love, pressing a kiss to the forehead of who you now think is his son.
no pressure tags: @nothoughtsjustfic @nerdycheol @joshujin @cheers-to-you-th @gyuswhore
ty for the tag cel, don't get on me for being awake plz • 3 •
this is for something i should have finished a really long time ago
Deep-Set
“Please. Let explain, I’ll fix everything, just—”
You pull away and his heart shatters again, fragments embedding themselves in his chest until your hands come to his face. “Hey. Let's get home first, then talk. I don’t forgive you for what you said. But,” you continue before he can interrupt, “you can’t explain anything until you’ve stopped freaking out. Home first, talk later. Okay?”
He nods, not trusting his voice because, despite everything, you were giving him something he didn’t deserve.
You were giving him a chance.
now, these were written at 4AM and are unbetad (clearly, its still a WIP) so they're not great. but thats the last thing i wrote.
no pressure tags: @kyeomofhearts @okiedokrie-main and solely because multiple people tagged you and I like being annoying (also bc ily) @nerdycheol
