for the first round, five slots will be open as to not overwhelm myself. all 5/5 slots are currently open!

each commission will be charged at a fixed price of $8 for up to 1k words. meaning up until the one thousandth word, your comm is still $8. any additional length will be priced at $0.010 a word.

examples :

≤ 1k words -> $8

1.1k (+100 words) -> $9

1.2k (+200 words) -> $10

and so on! hopefully that makes sense. for now, all works will cap at around 3-5k words. if i write over that amount, you will not be charged.

REQUESTING COMMISSIONS

commissions can either be requested directly through kofi or in tumblr dms. i highly suggest you request through kofi due to tumblr’s inability to function sometimes. though feel free to dm me here for anything you feel you’ve missed and i’ll get to it as soon as i see it.

once on kofi, you have the option of adding the personalization add-on to your commission, which is an extra $3. a google form is required to fill in for this add-on. please be as detailed as you’d like. that is where you would add more personal things, as opposed to a general x reader comm.

due to me being a full-time university student, i will ask that you give me a grace period of a standard work week before dm-ing me for updates. as we all know, life is unpredictable at best. if at any point i deduce that will be unable complete your comm during the agreed upon time frame, i will refund half of what you paid.

if for any reason you choose to cancel your commission, please let me know in advance. i’ll give updates as frequently as i can, and you’re more than welcome to ask to see any progress i’ve made.

COMMISSION COMPLETION

upon completing your commission, you have the choice of either receiving it personally through email or tumblr dms in a pdf or me posting it publicly on my account.

your commission is for personal use only, so please do not publicly claim it as your own writing.

PAYMENT

all payments for each commission sent in through kofi and in usd. if you live outside of america, please convert your currency to usd!

WHO I WRITE FOR + WHAT I WILL WRITE

as of october 18th, 2023, i currently write for all members of seventeen, stray kids, and the boyz. however, feel free to ask if you’d like someone else from any group i stan! (ex : txt, nct 127, ateez, etc.) i’d be more than willing to put in the research :)

as this is a sfw account, i will not be taking any nsfw comms. i do, however, have works with some suggestive themes, so feel free to let me know what you’d like. if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me through my inbox or dms. if you would like more privacy, my discord is juyomii.

if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading. making this post is nerve-racking but if i can create content for you while putting aside money for uni, then why not? (and quite frankly, internships are not cutting it. and job postings are stingy. you know how it is.)

i also have an added post on my ko-fi to spur me on to working on my drafts, but you don’t have to hit that one if you don’t want to. i’m grateful enough for the support i receive regardless. :)

the link to my kofi will be linked here as well as in my navigation and description. feel free to ask if you have any questions!

cece 🌷

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.” you hum, feigning confusion as his eyes flutter shut and he groans. his grip on your waist tightens and you hide a smile.

“don’t do this,” he tries again, peering up at you through long lashes and unruly hair and you think you can ignore the way he grinds you against where he needs it the most. “please.”

and yet. “words,” you remind him, fingers skimming against the back of his neck. he runs hot here the easiest, you’ve noticed. “you know i can’t give you what you want if you don’t ask.”

the sunwoo you know unravels here, thin layers of pride peeling away to reveal hidden desperation. it leaves a sharp taste in your mouth, his hunger for more and more of you, and you fear the sight of him might consume you whole.

you take pity on his debauched state and silence his half mumbled thoughts with a kiss, tilting your head a bit to side and vocalizing your content with a soft hum when he follows suit. you don’t acknowledge his wandering hands, or the way he pleads between breaths of air, or the near frantic push and pull in hopes to feel something.

his movements jitter between ache and compliance. your lips brush against the curve of his jawline and his skin burns. teeth graze across the sensitive surface just above his collarbone, his grip on your hips tighten from the effort to stay still alone. splotches of red bloom from underneath his cotton shirt, and for a moment, you wonder if he’d let you wrangle it off.

sunwoo tenses as if he’s heard your very thoughts, hips bucking into yours with in a silent question. the kiss you press against his skin is the only warning he gets before you bite down.

his reaction is instant—a sharp cry he tries to tamp down with his lower lip caught between his teeth paired with an exhale that leaves nothing to curious ears. his head falls back against the couch, already baring more skin to your greedy hands, but you hesitate before leaving any other marks.

instead, you let him draw you impossibly close, grappling for any part of you free to hold, and you swear you can feel his heartbeat against your own. time stops or freezes or something. you don’t know anything other than the bruising grip on your waist and raw look of infatuation in his eyes.

desire hisses through your core like hot coals and “mine,” is spat through clenched teeth. his eyes widen impossibly large, a gasp lodged within his throat, and more desperation seeps through when his head falls to rest against your shoulder. a choked moan reverbs against your skin, then he stills.

“fuck,” he croaks, voice tottering unevenly. you don’t look down, but you know he’s more than just ruined. a wet patch grows against your thigh and he bristles in embarrassment. “need to—”

your hips move before he can and he inhales sharply, gaze snapping back to meet yours. you don’t know what he sees but it makes the tips of his ears redden further. your hands wander above ruined sweats and slip underneath his shirt instead.

“you can give me one more, right?”

you know he will. eager to please despite his own limits—and you’ve sworn not to bite off more than he can take. but the more he tries to match the pace you’ve set, blinking back tears from the overstimulation, the more you can’t help but take what he’s so willing to give.

“mine.” you whisper once more against his skin for good measure.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.” you hum, feigning confusion as his eyes flutter shut and he groans. his grip on your waist tightens and you hide a smile.

“don’t do this,” he tries again, peering up at you through long lashes and unruly hair and you think you can ignore the way he grinds you against where he needs it the most. “please.”

and yet. “words,” you remind him, fingers skimming against the back of his neck. he runs hot here the easiest, you’ve noticed. “you know i can’t give you what you want if you don’t ask.”

the sunwoo you know unravels here, thin layers of pride peeling away to reveal hidden desperation. it leaves a sharp taste in your mouth, his hunger for more and more of you, and you fear the sight of him might consume you whole.

you take pity on his debauched state and silence his half mumbled thoughts with a kiss, tilting your head a bit to side and vocalizing your content with a soft hum when he follows suit. you don’t acknowledge his wandering hands, or the way he pleads between breaths of air, or the near frantic push and pull in hopes to feel something.

his movements jitter between ache and compliance. your lips brush against the curve of his jawline and his skin burns. teeth graze across the sensitive surface just above his collarbone, his grip on your hips tighten from the effort to stay still alone. splotches of red bloom from underneath his cotton shirt, and for a moment, you wonder if he’d let you wrangle it off.

sunwoo tenses as if he’s heard your very thoughts, hips bucking into yours with in a silent question. the kiss you press against his skin is the only warning he gets before you bite down.

his reaction is instant—a sharp cry he tries to tamp down with his lower lip caught between his teeth paired with an exhale that leaves nothing to curious ears. his head falls back against the couch, already baring more skin to your greedy hands, but you hesitate before leaving any other marks.

instead, you let him draw you impossibly close, grappling for any part of you free to hold, and you swear you can feel his heartbeat against your own. time stops or freezes or something. you don’t know anything other than the bruising grip on your waist and raw look of infatuation in his eyes.

desire hisses through your core like hot coals and “mine,” is spat through clenched teeth. his eyes widen impossibly large, a gasp lodged within his throat, and more desperation seeps through when his head falls to rest against your shoulder. a choked moan reverbs against your skin, then he stills.

“fuck,” he croaks, voice tottering unevenly. you don’t look down, but you know he’s more than just ruined. a wet patch grows against your thigh and he bristles in embarrassment. “need to—”

your hips move before he can and he inhales sharply, gaze snapping back to meet yours. you don’t know what he sees but it makes the tips of his ears redden further. your hands wander above ruined sweats and slip underneath his shirt instead.

“you can give me one more, right?”

you know he will. eager to please despite his own limits—and you’ve sworn not to bite off more than he can take. but the more he tries to match the pace you’ve set, blinking back tears from the overstimulation, the more you can’t help but take what he’s so willing to give.

“mine.” you whisper once more against his skin for good measure.

because the sight in front of you is sinful. his smile his faint, expression easygoing as always, but the more your gaze travels downward, the more the coil just below your stomach threatens to snap. your following exhale is broken, and he hums something soft in acknowledgment.

his shirt brushes against bare skin and you’re reminded about the state of your undress—and you look away from the mirror with something akin to embarrassment. jacob tuts lowly, lips brushing just shy of your ear when he frowns, and sighs quietly.

“you never learn,” he mutters, free hand moving to gently turn your head back forward. “what am i going to do with you?”

you sniffle quietly, lips parted to give some kind of an answer you think he might be willing to accept, but his fingers curl right when you take a breath and you lungs wheeze out something strangled instead.

“that’s new,” he notes, pleasant surprise written across his features. your head spins and spins and spins. “didn’t know you could do that.” do it again, is the underlying meaning, and a few tears slide down your cheeks.

you know he doesn’t mean to make you cry. jacob is far from the kind to even exude any kind of anger towards you—patience personified, you sometimes claim—but to put toying with your emotions behind closed doors beneath him? his touch deliberate even in front of others?

you’ve made that mistake more than once. he’s right, you know. you haven’t learned, but he’s more than happy to push and prode and take until it sticks.

“close—please.” voice warbled, fresh tears fill your waterline the more his relentless pace keeps up. he only hums faintly in response, seemingly amused by your weak attempts at closing your legs. “can i—i need—”

“go ahead.”

your body sags against his with relief, nails digging into his arms as words you’re sure are well off coherency spill past your lips. static buzzes in your ears against the heightened feeling of denied orgasms past—god, please the only thing you hear your voice turned hoarse plead almost pathetically.

he takes pity on you. like he always does, thumb swiping over your clit the same moment his lips brush against your neck, grazing the skin ever so softly, and oh—something white hot lights a spark up your entire spine. you think you might be crying but you can’t feel anything but his hands and the slow expanse of your lungs desperately trying to suck in air.

“pretty,” he coos, voice low at a whisper, and you can only duck your head and try to catch your breath.

his thigh tenses when your voice cracks and he answers with a different kind of need of his own, eyes trained solely on the wet patch spreading on the thin material of his grey sweats, but you can’t find it within you to care. your fingers dig into his arms, surely bruising, but he barely flinches.

“let me help.” he swallows thickly, eyes briefly flicking upwards to take in your state of debauchery and bravely settles his hands on your hips. not guiding, but merely resting. “wanna make you feel good. please.”

you can’t get the image out of your head. it had spurred you on more than you thought it would, and had you any more raw willpower than gifted to you in your hands alone, you’re sure you would have crushed your poor phone into bits. tight material straining across skin, posture lazy but knowingly deliberate. you paid no mind to the thousands of comments, knowing the look behind that phone was for you alone. knowing he was yours, alone.

another strained sound fills the air and you’re so close. your lower lip pulls between your teeth—and you know he’d give you the world if you’d ask him to—but something petty in you ignores his desperate pleas and continues to rock on his thigh. if he can play games, then you could too, right? if he could toy with you in front of the world, cheeky in the way he knows would prickle at your skin, who’s to tell you what couldn’t happen behind closed doors?

your sunwoo who pleads desperately with every second gone by ignored, used solely for what he could give—who, with enough pushing and prodding, would give you anything you asked for. when his pride strips down enough to not care, for this moment suspended in time, and it sparks something deep within you.

your nails dig into his shoulder, a wet gasp following suit. “that stupid picture,” is hissed out with a pointed roll of your hips, ignoring the whimper that follows immediately. “you just let anyone—out for everyone to see—”

broken apologies scatter left and right or something. focus isn’t your priority, not when your stomach twists and coils as you chase your imminent release. it dangles before you almost teasingly, eyes snapped shut to savor the feeling, legs wrapped around—

“—only for you, i swear.” your gaze snaps to his to meet blown out irises and need. one of his hands wiggle in between to feel, his moan muffled. “did it for you, wanted to see—a reaction. promise.”

his fingers curl inside before you can even form a response. the coil shatters, legs squeezing around his hand with a warbled cry, and you’re positive he cums not long after, untouched. your skin alights with frayed nerves.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbles, though the look in his eye suggests otherwise.

“don’t ‘my love’ me!” you hiss, smacking him lightly. “we could get caught!”

he hums again, leisurely, innocently. “by who?”

it’s times like these you really wonder how you end up in situations like this. the only reason you were in this godforsaken (you can only hope god isn’t watching) library in the first place on a friday night was because you had this cursed essay due at midnight, and by the time you’d arrived at the library in the afternoon, you hadn’t even started. jacob had joined you around six pm with the promise of dinner together, but as the minutes ticked by and the essay wasn’t exactly writing itself, that promise seemed more futile by the second.

(“let’s go,” he’d said, tucking his chin on your shoulder as he looked over at your laptop. “you can take a little break to go eat.”

“i can’t,” you bemoaned, fingers clacking away at your keyboard, 15 separate tabs opened on your browser along with multiple other windows. “this is life or death.”

well, it might as well have been. this damn thing was worth 15% of your grade.

jacob then drawled out your name slowly, sweetly, and instinctively, you tensed. the cursor blinked on your screen, halfway through typing a word. a chill ran up your spine—you’ve known him long enough to sense danger before it came.)

and that was how the situation escalated to this, secluded in the stacks of the library, completely at your boyfriend’s mercy.

“we’re going to get banned from the library,” you manage to make out through breathless puffs of air and restrained whines as jacob inches his fingers higher up your inner thigh, tracing little shapes onto the sensitive skin. he sucks on the thin skin of your throat once, like a point of emphasis, before letting go to murmur.

“don’t worry,” he assures. “no one’s coming by here at this hour. and besides—” jacob makes his first bold move, his thumb moving up and brushing slightly over your underwear. “even if we did get caught, we wouldn’t get banned. the librarian loves me.”

he gives a little more pressure, a soft tug at the nape of your neck, and a soft moan passes by your lips before you slap your hand over your mouth, squeaking out whatever was left. “jacob!”

“so you do want to get caught,” jacob muses, warm breath twisting your stomach into knots. “i’m okay with that too, but you should have just said so from the beginning. we could have chosen a much more conspicuous—” he strokes you again, harder, and your legs spread involuntarily “—spot.”

“th…that’s not what i—” you try to say, but it all comes out jumbled from your cotton-heavy tongue, brain foggy as the ugly yellow library lights clash with the blue light emitting from the computer screen, half-written document staring right back at you. “you know i have to get this done.”

“you can spare a few moments to go eat, love.” it must be a talent of his, the ability to sound so sweet and kind even as he watches you dissolve away in his palm like wet tissue paper. no wonder no one ever believes you when you tell them of your jacob-inflicted woes. “you haven’t had anything since breakfast.”

“i had a—ah—a protein bar.”

jacob tilts your chin towards him with his other hand, a disapproving look. “now we both know that isn’t a meal.”

you choke back a frustrated cry, squeezing your eyes shut. “jacob—”

“why are you calling me that?”

“what?”

“my name,” jacob says, thumbing the edge of your underwear aside. your gut twists again, breath catching as he ghosts a finger over you, fully bared for him. satisfaction seeps and settles into him, even as he tries to keep up the innocent charade, the way he smiles knowing he has you right where he wants you. he knows exactly what to expect when he starts these kinds of things with you, having done so too many times before; this time is no different. “call me cobie, like you always do.”

this is it. this truly is the end for you. everything feels so loud—your restrained moans, the rumble of the air conditioning, the slip of his finger against you that only gets more obscene as he mouths at you. cobie is for when he’s normal, when he’s kind and gentle and the textbook definition of the perfect boyfriend, not when he’s like this, when he’s trying to unmake you until he’s left with only your want. it’s why you try your luck again, consequences be damned. (maybe out of spite, maybe to gain back some sense of control in the midst of his molding.) “jacob, i really don’t think that’s what we should be—”

“cobie,” he corrects, insistent. “say it with me. co—“ he draws out the syllables, sweet and melodic, hand slipping completely underneath your panties and pinching your clit “—bie.”

the surprised yelp that escapes you is unrestrained, unfiltered, the embarrassment rushing through your veins somehow just making the burning in your core grow hotter. “come on, say it,” jacob probes, and you’re fumbling to hold onto anything that can ground you: the chair edge, the table, the toned arm between your legs, flexing as he slowly drags you to a high.

“can you feel that?” he asks softly, palm pressed firm against you, slick and wet and desperate. he drags his fingers (the second is a new addition; he doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches) and lets them catch at your opening. your head spins, his fingers teasing around and never in. “looks like your body is honest even when you don’t want to be.” 

jacob lingers, pauses his ministrations for a moment too long, and you let out a questioning whine in response. it’s pleading, it’s instinctive, it’s downright humiliating, but it pales in comparison to the way you feel yourself clench around nothing, the way your hips twitch and jerk, rutting against anything he’s willing to give you.

“p—please—”

jacob grinds his hand down, sucking at a spot beneath your jaw that has you clenching again, words incomprehensible and slurred and almost piteous with how much you beg. he runs a hand along your jaw and guides your face to him once again, his eyes patient and giving, the meaning you know of far too well. he’ll give you what you need, if you give him what he wants. and he stills. “‘please,’ what?”

fuck it all. fuck propriety and what’s left of your dignity and fuck that goddamn assignment. you've had your grave dug—you have for a long time. all you needed to do now is lie in it. blood pounds in your ears, white noise buzzing through your body; the defeat forms heavy on your tongue, your mind hazy and scrabbling for something. anything. (desire is a potent thing, and jacob has always known just where to press to make you crumble.) “please…cobie.”

jacob’s hand traces your cheek gently, lovingly, as if you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on (you are. you always have been), and smiles. “that’s my girl. that wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

he pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist as his fingers beneath you draw nearer once more, ready to plunge in and claim what’s his for the taking—

a notification pops up in the corner of your laptop, the little jingle signifying a new email sounding through the empty library. lolling your head against his shoulder, you move to catch a glimpse of what could possibly be sent to you at eight in the evening, only to see an announcement that makes you forget everything that was happening prior: good evening class. due to unforeseen circumstances, the essay final draft due date will be changed to monday midnight. hope you’re all doing well. happy weekend!

you both blink at the screen, frozen. jacob pulls his hand away from you, scooching his chair back to its regular place, but you’re still reading the email over and over again to make sure you aren’t hallucinating in a fit of hysteria.

“i’m not imagining it, right?” you ask jacob dumbly, pointing at the screen. “he really posted an extension?”

“yup!” jacob grins back. “isn’t this great? now we can finally go home.”

you shut your laptop, a sigh of relief heaving from your chest as you move to slip it back into your backpack. “thank god, cause even without what you were trying to pull, i really was not going to make it in time for—what are you doing?”

hand on the edge of your chair, jacob’s pushed you out slightly from underneath the table, kneeling to slip into the gap before pulling you back in. he places one hand on each of your knees, a distinct glint in his eyes. “well, we have to finish what we started, don’t we?”

fear. dread. a strange, twisted sense of arousal. “i thought you wanted to go get dinner?”

his thigh tenses when your voice cracks and he answers with a different kind of need of his own, eyes trained solely on the wet patch spreading on the thin material of his grey sweats, but you can’t find it within you to care. your fingers dig into his arms, surely bruising, but he barely flinches.

“let me help.” he swallows thickly, eyes briefly flicking upwards to take in your state of debauchery and bravely settles his hands on your hips. not guiding, but merely resting. “wanna make you feel good. please.”

you can’t get the image out of your head. it had spurred you on more than you thought it would, and had you any more raw willpower than gifted to you in your hands alone, you’re sure you would have crushed your poor phone into bits. tight material straining across skin, posture lazy but knowingly deliberate. you paid no mind to the thousands of comments, knowing the look behind that phone was for you alone. knowing he was yours, alone.

another strained sound fills the air and you’re so close. your lower lip pulls between your teeth—and you know he’d give you the world if you’d ask him to—but something petty in you ignores his desperate pleas and continues to rock on his thigh. if he can play games, then you could too, right? if he could toy with you in front of the world, cheeky in the way he knows would prickle at your skin, who’s to tell you what couldn’t happen behind closed doors?

your sunwoo who pleads desperately with every second gone by ignored, used solely for what he could give—who, with enough pushing and prodding, would give you anything you asked for. when his pride strips down enough to not care, for this moment suspended in time, and it sparks something deep within you.

your nails dig into his shoulder, a wet gasp following suit. “that stupid picture,” is hissed out with a pointed roll of your hips, ignoring the whimper that follows immediately. “you just let anyone—out for everyone to see—”

broken apologies scatter left and right or something. focus isn’t your priority, not when your stomach twists and coils as you chase your imminent release. it dangles before you almost teasingly, eyes snapped shut to savor the feeling, legs wrapped around—

“—only for you, i swear.” your gaze snaps to his to meet blown out irises and need. one of his hands wiggle in between to feel, his moan muffled. “did it for you, wanted to see—a reaction. promise.”

his fingers curl inside before you can even form a response. the coil shatters, legs squeezing around his hand with a warbled cry, and you’re positive he cums not long after, untouched. your skin alights with frayed nerves.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbles, though the look in his eye suggests otherwise.

his thigh tenses when your voice cracks and he answers with a different kind of need of his own, eyes trained solely on the wet patch spreading on the thin material of his grey sweats, but you can’t find it within you to care. your fingers dig into his arms, surely bruising, but he barely flinches.

“let me help.” he swallows thickly, eyes briefly flicking upwards to take in your state of debauchery and bravely settles his hands on your hips. not guiding, but merely resting. “wanna make you feel good. please.”

you can’t get the image out of your head. it had spurred you on more than you thought it would, and had you any more raw willpower than gifted to you in your hands alone, you’re sure you would have crushed your poor phone into bits. tight material straining across skin, posture lazy but knowingly deliberate. you paid no mind to the thousands of comments, knowing the look behind that phone was for you alone. knowing he was yours, alone.

another strained sound fills the air and you’re so close. your lower lip pulls between your teeth—and you know he’d give you the world if you’d ask him to—but something petty in you ignores his desperate pleas and continues to rock on his thigh. if he can play games, then you could too, right? if he could toy with you in front of the world, cheeky in the way he knows would prickle at your skin, who’s to tell you what couldn’t happen behind closed doors?

your sunwoo who pleads desperately with every second gone by ignored, used solely for what he could give—who, with enough pushing and prodding, would give you anything you asked for. when his pride strips down enough to not care, for this moment suspended in time, and it sparks something deep within you.

your nails dig into his shoulder, a wet gasp following suit. “that stupid picture,” is hissed out with a pointed roll of your hips, ignoring the whimper that follows immediately. “you just let anyone—out for everyone to see—”

broken apologies scatter left and right or something. focus isn’t your priority, not when your stomach twists and coils as you chase your imminent release. it dangles before you almost teasingly, eyes snapped shut to savor the feeling, legs wrapped around—

“—only for you, i swear.” your gaze snaps to his to meet blown out irises and need. one of his hands wiggle in between to feel, his moan muffled. “did it for you, wanted to see—a reaction. promise.”

his fingers curl inside before you can even form a response. the coil shatters, legs squeezing around his hand with a warbled cry, and you’re positive he cums not long after, untouched. your skin alights with frayed nerves.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbles, though the look in his eye suggests otherwise.