Would you ever write for non-KNT? Or for m/m relationship or a male reader?
maybe sure???
this blog specifically is meant for knt, but i've written for fandoms that are not knt for many years. 🥰🥰🥰 tho i guess in the football world, knt is the only thing i've written so far. they're just who i'm most passionate abt and inspired for in the football world!
ooh yes, i've written m/m (i'm a sucker for cutison tbh and mickyson lately is creeping up on me........ 🤭🤭🤭).
i've never actually written from the pov of a male reader tho! for this particular blog, i think i try to keep my imagines very personal and very intimate? as i'm a female myself, it's easy for me to draw inspiration from my own experiences and thoughts and write from that perspective. it's why i tend to lean towards female pov or completely gender neutral pov altogether!
(also football world is so funny. the fact that someone who just turned 31 can be considered "old" is so funny to me -- esp when i think of some of the old men i used to write abt from kdramas LMAO choi mujin had me by my throat tbh)
((but also yes i totally agree LMAO i feel like i watched him grow and mature over the last 10 years and it's ?? truly?? insane??? how his attractiveness just continues?? to grow and grow???))
things you said under the stars and in the grass >> Cho Guesung, because you know he is our starry-eyed babie.
things you said -> still accepting!
things you said under the stars and in the grass.
couple: cho guesung x gender neutral reader
rating: G
notes: ??? unconfirmed r/s status? lmao
♫
He's lying in the grass.
Arms and legs sprawled out, chin up, eyes wide open. You can make out the way they shine even in the darkness, the lights of the training grounds long since shut down now.
"Everyone was looking for you, you know," you murmur, not bothering to announce yourself. He knows it's you.
He knows it'll always be you.
Guesung merely grins, a lazy, sideways tilt of a thing as he pats the ground beside him. You settle down beside him, legs folded in front of you. It's clearly not what he had had in mind.
"You're doing it wrong," he rolls his eyes.
His hand wraps around your wrist and he gives you a tug. One time. And then once more, with purpose. You roll your eyes back at him before flopping backwards onto your back as well.
The grass scratches at the back of your neck and your ears and you shiver at the sensation. He wiggles beside you until you're pressed to his side, shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm. The bare skin of his arm is warm against yours, even in the cool evening air.
"I don't know why you enjoy this," you whisper. It's much too cold for May. "The grass is so prickly."
He merely snorts.
"Very romantic," he teases back -- but there is nothing teasing about the way he shifts his position, then.
Guesung slides one arm under your head, pulling you into his side easily; prickly grass suddenly replaced by his very solid, very warm chest.
If he can feel your breath hitch, he thankfully doesn't comment on it.
"Look," he whispers into your hair. "The stars look amazing tonight."
You twist slightly, glancing at the way his face is still turned up to the night sky, and then follow his gaze. Up, up, and up -- past the empty goal net, past the training ground stands, past the concrete of the building that has come to mean so much to him in such a short period of time.
Up, up, and up -- until all you can see are stars.
Endlessly, they stretch on, sparkling in the air as if someone has painstakingly sewn them into this blanket of peace and night.
"They're beautiful," you agree, voice so soft you wonder if he'll even hear you. His grip around your shoulders tightens. "I don't think I've ever seen them like this."
He hums in agreement, tilting his cheek until it rests against the top of your head. Your hair catches his stubble and you want to laugh but the moment seems too fragile for it. The stars are too delicate. You're not sure when you'll get a moment like this with him again.
After all...
"I'm going to see the stars in England, too," Guesung promises quietly. You wonder if it's meant more for him than you. "I'm going to see the stars in England. Maybe Spain. Maybe Germany. But definitely England."
Something catches in your throat and you force yourself to continue staring up, up, and up.
(After all, come the end of this summer, who knows when he'll be here like this again?)
"I know," you murmur into the fabric of his shirt. He still smells of his shampoo and body wash and freshly cut grass, still soft and worn post-training. You try to commit the scent to memory. "You'll see them in England. I know you will."
The silence that stretches between the two of you after that feels like the stars. Endless. Fragile.
But then his lips are on your forehead, brushing a soft kiss there. Barely touching, but quietly hopeful in its own gentle, careful way. You grip at his shirt more tightly, your heart pounding.
"You'll see them with me too," he murmurs against your hair.
You can't tell if it's an invitation -- or a question.
Regardless, you shift slightly to look up at him. At his eyes, still shining in the darkness, staring right back at you. The prettiest stars you've seen all night.
"If you want me to," you reply.
This time, his smile is full. Wide and sincere and warm as he pulls you in, strong arms firm and secure around you.
"Of course. I want you to be there," his voice comes rough, when he finally replies. The sound seems to resonate deep in his chest and it shakes you right through from your fingers to your toes. "I always want you."
I thought of more (because I really needed more?), so I’m adding them here:
24. things you said when we were alone
25. things you said in front of other people
26. things you said in writing
27. things you said through a closed door
28. things you said in the dark
29. things you said in the rain
30. things I wish you’d said
31. things you said right before goodbye
32. things you said right after hello
33. things you said from across the room
34. things you whispered in my ear
35. things you said at the top of your lungs
36. things you said but didn’t mean
37. things you said through someone else
38. things you said when I was (you were) sick
39. things you forgot to say
40. things you interrupted me to say
send me a prompt and specify the soccer player please!!
your girl here finally has the mental capacity to create so i want to exercise my writing muscles a little bit hehe. i will try to keep these quick and speedy, no second guessing or editing or doubting myself (rip to my cgs fluff imagine that i couldn't bring myself to post) - so maybe send at your own risk?? 😅
Do you like any other soccer players besides the Korean Men's National Team players? Love your writing lady!
ty for the sweet words anonnie!!
hmmmmm! well, i absolutely adore cuti romero and alisson. 🥰 altho to be completely frank, it's most likely just bc i love the interactions i've seen between them and my sonny lmaoooo.
Hi!! I like your writing a lot. Do you take request???
so sweet tyvm lovely!!
hmm i wasn't for a while but maybe???
i'm considering clearing out my backlog and accepting new requests again instead now. a lot of the ones on my old to do list are very outdated now (abt the world cup or holiday season etc 😅)
couple: son heungmin x reader
rating: PG
tags: hurt, comfort, talks about beheading (yeah) from the drama my liberation notes.
notes: the newcastle game was a massacre. i don't have the heart to have him say "i'm alright, i'm fine" because he wouldn't lie like that. but i just need to know that heungmin will have someone hold him tight and take him home. please listen to agust d's snooze, that's what i had quoted at the end. thanks. please support son heungmin's future. it will get better.
/
Before the final whistle blows, you are already down the tunnel, down the hall, expression grim as you scan the treatment room. Ryan finds you like this, his own expression ashen, having aged ten years through the match himself.
He’s in Treatment Room A. Hesitation. …I think he wants to be alone.
You thank Ryan but pay no heed to the message.
He’s not the one you need to see.
/
“Don’t.”
It is the first word shared in that dim, empty room and it forces you to stop in your tracks. Heungmin’s voice is rough and torn and tight. Your hand falters by the light switch before, finally, falling back to your side. You let him sit in the darkness, face illuminated only by the faint light that hums above the emergency exit.
You can barely recognize him in the darkness, but still you go to him.
“Don’t,” he repeats, more forcefully this time. “Stop.”
Still, you go to him.
From where he sits, his knees bump against your thighs and he resolutely refuses to give way. You step into his space regardless. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, his face finally comes into view. He has screwed his eyes shut now, mouth pressed into a grim line. You reach up to trace the faint scar above his eye, but hesitate, not quite touching him just yet.
You’ve been through so much.
What can I do to make this better?
Tell me where it hurts. I would take it all away if I could.
The words sit on the very tip of your tongue but you swallow them down. They are not the words he wants or needs to hear right now. He does not need to hear you ask how he feels or if he’s alright or if this is still the game that he has loved his whole goddamn life. He does not need your sympathy. He does not need your pity.
Right now, all he needs is…
“So. Bad day, huh?”
Your comment seems to come as such a surprise that he chokes out a pained laugh despite himself.
The sound is so sudden that it seems to startle the both of you equally – and then Heungmin’s eyes are open and he’s staring at you, eyes shining, disbelief clear as day on his face.
“What?” he chokes out, half-laugh and half-groan.
The pain is still evident on his face and this time you let yourself touch the scar. You press down on it slightly, tracing it with the very tip of your finger. He slowly reaches up, long fingers wrapping around your wrist. You half expect him to push your hand away.
He doesn’t.
He lets you linger there, his grip warm around your wrist and your touch gentle against his skin.
“Yeah,” he finally whispers back, incredulous laughter gone now. Something softening in his expression. “Had a real shit day today.”
You let your hand slide down until your palm cradles his cheek. He moves with you, grip never leaving yours as he leans into your touch. He swallows thickly and you can hear it in the silence that sits between you. Your own eyes prickle with the heat and promise of oncoming tears, but you swallow that down with him too.
His hair is still damp from the showers and he smells of your shampoo. A stray droplet lands on the back of your hand. Still, you do not move away.
“I know,” you whisper into the darkness. “I know.”
(You had been watching a drama a few months back.
The woman on the television screen had a crazed look in her eyes, sitting across the cafe table from her blind date, explaining why she was dubbed the Pick Up Girl by all of her friends.
Once, with my friends, we were talking about what true love was. I was reminded of something I saw in a textbook when I was a child. It was about a woman who ran to pick up the severed head of her husband in her skirt.
When I was young, it was too gruesome for me to understand. But now, as an adult, I found myself agreeing. Yes, I would pick it up. I would have to pick it up. I can’t let it fall to the ground, I must catch it in my skirt.
Heungmin had burst out laughing, then. The man sitting across from her in the scene appeared horrified, but Heungmin had only appeared delighted.
He had pressed a loud raspberry to the side of your neck then.
“Would you catch me too?” he had teased, nosing into the crook of your shoulder, your neck, your jaw, mouth dragging along the skin there as he laughed loudly. You had laughed back, shivering at the ticklish touch.
It had been a joke then.
But today, you were reminded of it.
Perched in the stands, watching his team go down in flames. Watching the light leave his eyes as more and more fans exited the stadium. Watching as his shoulders heaved beneath the heavy weight of loss and failure and disappointment.
Several family members had looked away by then. His agent had slumped back in his seat, scrolling through his phone anxiously, clearly anticipating the press and media that would be awaiting him at the end of the tunnel.
Only Heungmin’s father and you had kept watching.
You did not look away. You refused to look away. Even when the booing only grew exponentially in volume, even when his teammates fumbled yet another horrible, horrible ball. You kept your eyes on the game, you kept your eyes on him. Only when his number appeared on the screen to be subbed out, did you finally let out the breath you had been holding.
Heungmin hadn’t spared a second glance towards your box when he was subbed out. You couldn’t blame him. He probably hadn’t had the heart to look.
If he had looked… if he had looked back at you…
If he had looked back: he would’ve seen you looking right back at him. He would’ve seen you finally, slowly, sitting back down in your seat, his father taking his seat beside you as well.
His father hadn’t said much in the box – he never did.
But when his hand had found yours in your lap, grip tight, you knew he was saying more than words ever could.
Thank you. Thank you for watching Heungmin until the very end. Thank you for catching Heungmin, even when the world waits to tear him apart, limb by limb. Thank you. Thank you.
If your throat hadn’t been so tight, you would’ve responded: Don’t thank me. I will always watch him. I will always catch him.
Instead, you had simply covered his hand with your own.
The truest love there ever was.)
Heungmin finally shifts. He parts his legs, lets you slide between them until you are flush against him, even from where he sits on this treatment table.
You let both of your arms reach up and around his neck, wrapping around his shoulders, his own dropping to fold around your waist. His grip is almost painfully tight as he burrows into you, solid and warm. His heartbeat thrums in your ear and you match your own breaths to the sound.
“I know,” you repeat again, voice muffled against the soft fabric of his tee. “I’m here, I’m right here.”
He holds onto you like a man drowning.
I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.
“Let’s go home.”
/
Everything will be okay, everything will be okay
Everything will be okay, everything will be okay
Everything will be okay, everything will be okay
Everything will be okay, everything will be okay
honestly just upset for all my men this past week lmao
such crappy games and crappy team play (where is the service???) and undeserved yellow (and ofc a stolen assist) for baby kangin. jbh fumbling the ball and bag for guesung and then having the gall to act as tho they were only looking out for him (after initially blaming it on his condition instead). and now sonny getting dragged in the mud today when his entire team has been doing a pisspoor job in every match (but ofc he's the only one to blame) ???
please don't mind me if i churn out a buncha comfort drabbles this week lmao
i'm not feeling SUPER inspired for any of the requests on my to do list right now......... so i'm considering doing a series for players (in bullet point form) on things like:
what kind of boyfriend would ___ be
what kind of lover would ___ be
what would it be like to breakup with ___
what kind of dad would ___ be
etc etc LOL
thoughts??? please comment or send me an ask tyvm 🥰🥰🥰
hey! I’m really excited to see your upcoming writes because it’s very rare to see writers write long imagines for korean footballers. love your writing!
ahhhhhhhh this was sweet
sometimes i worry that people won't like my imagines because i have no concept of writing short things LOL i commit x10000 to everything i do LOL
