⋆˙⟡remy's corner⋆.𐙚 ̊

girl who doesn't play about park seonghwa:

[katiny07]

‎ꫂ᭪݁ introduction here ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

────୨ৎ──── expected content ────୨ৎ────

ᯓ [n]sfw ᯓ ateez | piwon ᯓ group drabbles/scenarios and >10k word fics ᯓ requests are closed (will disclose when they are open) ᯓ minors interacting with nsfw content will be blocked!

────୨ৎ──── masterlists ────୨ৎ────

ᯓ fanfic masterlist ᯓ drabbles/scenarios masterlist

────୨ৎ──── updates [5/11/26] ────୨ৎ────

ᯓ apology video w/ tears bc of spontaneous hiatus coming soon.....

[writingdose]

Reblog if you do NOT want the new Tumblr update

Apparently, from what I hear people say, in the new Tumblr update, if someone reblogs your post and adds a comment of their own, that reblog is counted as a new post and it belongs to the reblogger. Not you. You, as the OP, do not get the notifications if someone else later reblogs from the person who reblogged your post with their own comment. You can’t see what comments people leave on the reblogs of the post you originally made unless they reblogged directly from you.

If this is actually true, it will just open doors for harassment. And also it takes the credits away from the OPs. Tumblr’s etiquette has always been “reblog don’t repost”. So this new update, if true, contradicts the whole core values of Tumblr as a community.

Respectfully, we don’t want this @staff @support @tumblr @changes please listen to your users.

I’d also like to clarify that this is what I hear from what a lot of people are saying, and it bothers me. But if I got anything wrong, I do apologize.

[katiny07]

3/23...mark your calendars hehe.....

(I PROMISE ITLL BE DONE BY THEN.)

[katiny07]

How do yall write sm in one day 😭😭😭 i write like 500-1000 words and then im done for the day bc I just get so tired sorry yall I swear i havent given up ive just been burnt out LOL ima lock in for March tho

[transstuffandmore]

Please Reblog is Your Blog is Safe for Non-Binary People.

[bees-and-voids-deactivated20210]

If my mutuals can’t rb this then we can’t be mutuals

[lilacs4ung]

just dropping this here...

[jiuchip]

I must submit to my calling. See you all Saturday (or Sunday) night.

[katiny07]

Once I finish this soul fic ill deliver....

[katiny07]

Hello everyone! Coming in with an update

Recently, I went to the Ateez VR concert (exciting!) but because I traveled to do so, I am in no position to write/post as I cannot go back home due to nasty weather. I apologize for the wait, I promise Ive been writing, but I will have to push back everything to come out by mid March.

Again, so sorry, I'll try my best to work with what I have so I dont keep pushing deadlines back lol

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

I need tiktokers to understand that ao3 has been home for the freaks (affectionate) ever since the day it was created. the entire site was created because “dark and fucked up fics” were banned and removed from other platforms, so us freaks came together and created a site for other freaks — a site where nothing is censored, a site with no algorithm, no capitalism, no ads, and again, absolutely no censorship.

this has been our house for decades. you newbies don’t come into our house and tell us how to arrange our furniture. either be nice and respect our house, or leave and build your own house elsewhere.

[lcvejjoong]

unscripted 

pairing : actor! yunho x actress! fem! reader 

synopsis : Two co-stars share chemistry so real it stops feeling like acting. When the cameras stop, they’re left wondering if the love was scripted — or something more.

genre : slice of life, fluff, romance, strangers to maybe lovers, slow-burn, angst, emotional drama

warnings : none

author’s note : happy valentines day everyone 🤍 unlike me i hope yall have a great day wif your loved ones 😋

word count : 2.6k

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

You’ve done this enough times to know the rhythm.

Script reading day always feels the same.

The polite bows.

The cameras flashing outside the door.

The director giving a passionate speech about “chemistry” and “trust.”

You sit with your legs crossed, script tabbed and highlighted in soft pastel colors. 

You’re known for preparation. You like control. You like knowing where emotional beats land.

And then he sits down across from you.

Tall. Nervous. Hands folded over the script like he’s afraid to wrinkle it.

He bows.

“Hello, I’m Yunho. I’ll be playing Kang Jae-hyun.”

His voice is deeper than you expected.

When it’s your turn, you introduce yourself with practiced ease. You’ve been acting for years. You’ve cried in hospital hallways on-screen, collapsed into lovers’ arms in the snow, delivered monologues that made crew members tear up.

You are not easy to shake.

Then the reading starts.

The first time he says your character’s name—

It lands differently.

Not loud. Not dramatic.

Soft. Careful.

Like he’s afraid it might break.

You look up from your script.

He’s already looking at you.

Not at the page.

At you.

And for one suspended second, something flickers in his expression that isn’t in the script.

You look down first.

He’s just immersive, you tell yourself.

Some actors get like that during first reads. They commit early.

It means nothing.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

The drama is built on longing.

Childhood friends. Unspoken love.

Separation. Reunion.

Which means silence matters. Eye contact matters.

Breathing matters.

And unfortunately for your stability, Yunho is devastating at all of it.

The café scene is the first real problem.

The script direction reads:

“He watches her like someone who already lost her once.”

You sit at the table. Stirring coffee. Pretending not to notice him across the room.

The director calls action.

You feel it immediately.

His gaze.

It isn’t sharp or overwhelming. It’s steady. Warm.

It doesn’t scan you.

It settles.

Like he’s arrived somewhere familiar.

You glance up mid-line — timing intentional — and your heart does something deeply inconvenient.

Because he looks relieved. Relieved to see you.

The director calls cut.

The crew murmurs in approval.

“That’s it. That’s the tone,” the director says.

You swallow.

You’ve worked with award-winning actors before.

You’ve never felt this destabilized by eye contact.

If he stayed intense off-camera, maybe it would be easier.

But he doesn’t.

Off-camera, he is a disaster.

He trips over a light cable on day three.

Nearly knocks over a reflector.

Apologizes to everyone within a ten-meter radius.

He brings pastries for staff on Fridays.

Forgets his lines once and accidentally blurts out, “I love—” before freezing and checking the script in horror.

The line wasn’t “I love you.”

It was “I left you.”

You laugh so hard you have to crouch behind a prop wall.

He hides his face in embarrassment.

“I swear that was a slip!”

“Freudian?” you tease.

He groans.

You don’t realize how dangerous comfort is until it sneaks up on you.

Because between scenes, he leans closer to show you script notes.

Your shoulders brush.

He smells like fabric softener and something faintly sweet.

And he doesn’t seem aware of how easily he occupies your space.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

Episode 6.

Hallway confrontation.

He’s supposed to block your path. That’s it.

No touching. Just tension.

The camera rolls.

You try to walk past.

He steps in front of you.

And instead of just blocking—

His hand closes gently around your wrist.

Not tight. Not forceful.

Just enough to stop you.

Improvised.

Your pulse spikes.

It wasn’t discussed in rehearsal.

You look up at him — questioning, but staying in character.

His jaw is clenched.

His eyes flicker to your hand in his.

And something shifts.

He swallows.

Delivers his line:

“If you walk away again… I don’t know if I can survive it.”

The grip on your wrist trembles.

You feel it.

Not scripted.

The director calls cut.

Silence.

Then:

“That was perfect! Keep the wrist grab!”

You step away first.

He lets go slowly.

Too slowly.

You avoid his eyes for the rest of the reset.

Midway through filming, you do a joint press interview.

You sit side by side on a pastel couch. Knees almost touching.

The host beams.

“Viewers are obsessed with your chemistry. What’s the secret?”

You answer smoothly. “We communicate a lot about emotional beats.”

Yunho nods.

The host tilts her head. “Do you ever stay in character off-camera?”

You laugh lightly. “I don’t.”

The mic turns to him.

He hesitates.

“Sometimes,” he says.

You glance at him.

“Especially when the emotions are… hard to turn off.”

The host gasps dramatically.

You smile.

But something in your stomach tightens.

Hard to turn off.

Is that just press talk?

Or—

You push the thought away.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

The rain scene is where everything fractures.

Night shoot. Cold air.

Artificial rain pounding down.

You’re shivering between takes.

He notices.

Wordlessly drapes his jacket over your shoulders.

You look up.

“Stay in character,” he whispers with a small grin.

But he doesn’t take the jacket back until right before filming.

Action.

You turn away.

He grabs your wrist again — softer this time.

You spin back.

Rain running down your lashes.

He steps closer.

Too close.

The line is simple:

“I tried to forget you.”

But the way he says it—

It sounds like he actually tried.

His voice thins.

Cracks just slightly.

His hand slides from your wrist to your cheek.

That was not in rehearsal.

You freeze internally.

Externally, you lean into it.

Professional.

Always professional.

He brushes rain from your skin.

His thumb lingers.

And then he whispers:

“But every time I closed my eyes… it was you.”

Your throat tightens for real.

Not acting.

You forget your next line.

For half a second.

The cameras are still rolling.

He notices.

And instead of breaking—

He fills the silence.

His forehead almost touches yours.

You can feel his breath.

The director screams cut.

The crew erupts in applause.

But neither of you move immediately.

You step back first.

Because if you don’t—

You might kiss him.

And that wouldn’t be acting.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

A guest actor joins for two episodes.

He plays your blind-date setup.

Harmless scenes. Light banter.

During rehearsal, you laugh at something the guest actor says.

Yunho watches from across set.

His smile is gone.

You notice.

Later, in a scene where his character is supposed to be mildly annoyed—

He isn’t mild.

His jaw tightens harder than necessary.

His line comes out sharper.

The director loves it.

“Wow, that jealousy felt real!”

You look at Yunho.

He looks away.

After cut, he avoids you for the first time since filming began.

And that—

That hurts more than it should.

You find him alone on set at 1 a.m.

Reading.

You approach quietly.

“Can’t sleep?” you ask.

He looks up, startled, then relaxes.

“Just going over tomorrow’s scene.”

You sit across from him.

Silence.

Comfortable, but heavy.

You finally ask it.

“When you act… do you blur the lines?”

He studies you carefully.

“What do you mean?”

“Like… when it feels too real.”

His gaze softens.

“Does it feel too real?”

Your heart skips.

You laugh lightly. Deflecting. “You’re the method actor, not me.”

He leans back.

“Some scenes,” he says slowly, “don’t require acting.”

The air shifts.

You look down at your script.

You don’t trust yourself to respond.

Because if he means what you think he means—

You’re not sure you’re ready for that answer.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

The last day of filming always feels strange.

Sets that once felt permanent are already half-dismantled. Props sit in boxes. Staff members exchange numbers they’ll probably never use. There’s laughter — loud, celebratory — but underneath it, something fragile hums.

You’ve wrapped dramas before.

You know this feeling.

Temporary families. Temporary love stories. Temporary closeness.

It ends. It always ends.

The final scene you shoot is simple. Quiet. Your characters standing side by side at a bus stop, older, softer, together.

No dramatic confession.

Just peace.

The director calls cut.

And then:

“That’s a wrap!”

Everyone claps. Staff members cheer. Someone pops a confetti cannon too early and gets scolded.

Yunho laughs — bright, full — and instinctively turns to you.

There’s something in his eyes.

Pride. Relief.

And something else.

Something scared.

He pulls you into a hug.

It’s expected. Co-stars hug at wrap.

But this one lingers.

His arms wrap fully around you. Warm. Solid.

You feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

And for a split second, it syncs with yours.

He squeezes once before pulling back.

“Good job,” he says softly.

You nod. “You too.”

You almost say more.

You don’t.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

The first week after filming ends is disorienting.

No 5 a.m. call times. No shared van rides.

No inside jokes about burned omelets or rain machines malfunctioning.

Your phone feels too quiet.

You scroll through photos from set.

There’s one you took secretly — him laughing mid-bite, crumbs on his lip.

You never sent it to him.

You debate it now.

You don’t.

Three days pass before he texts.

Yunho: “I keep waking up thinking I have filming today.”

You stare at the message longer than necessary.

You: “Me too.”

Typing bubble.

Stops. Starts again.

Yunho: “Do you ever feel like some scenes weren’t acting?”

Your breath catches.

You sit up in bed.

You could dodge it.

Laugh it off.

Keep things safe.

Instead:

You: “Sometimes.”

The typing bubble appears immediately this time.

Disappears.

Appears again.

Then:

Yunho: “Me too.”

You stare at the ceiling for a long time after that.

Because now there’s no script.

No director.

No character names to hide behind.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

Two weeks later, it happens.

You wake up to twelve missed calls from your manager.

Your stomach drops.

An article has gone viral.

“On-Screen Romance Too Real? Drama Co-Stars Spark Dating Rumors.”

It includes still cuts from the rain scene. The wrist grab. The near-kiss.

There’s a slowed-down gif of him looking at you during the interview.

You feel heat crawl up your neck.

You know how this works.

Agencies deny. Fans speculate.

Everything becomes dissected.

Your manager calls again.

“Don’t post anything. Don’t react. We’re handling it.”

You agree.

But your hands shake anyway.

Because this isn’t just PR.

This is your heart being screenshot.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

He calls you that night.

Not texts. Calls.

You answer on the second ring.

“Hey.”

His voice sounds tired.

“Are you okay?” he asks immediately.

You lean against your kitchen counter.

“I should be asking you that.”

He exhales softly. “My manager told me not to contact you.”

You blink.

“Mine too.”

Silence stretches.

Then he laughs — small, breathless.

“We’re really bad at following instructions.”

You smile despite yourself.

Then it fades.

“Yunho… if they ask you to deny it—”

“I will.”

The quickness of his answer stings.

You nod, even though he can’t see you.

“Of course.”

There’s another pause.

Then, quieter:

“But that doesn’t mean everything was fake.”

Your chest tightens.

“Yunho—”

“I don’t want to cause trouble for you,” he continues. “But I don’t regret how I felt.”

Felt.

It shouldn’t matter.

But it does.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

The next day, his agency releases a statement.

“Close colleagues. Good friends. Professional chemistry.”

Standard. Safe.

Expected.

You tell yourself that’s all it is.

PR language.

But your brain is unkind.

It replays every scene.

Every improvised touch. Every lingering stare.

Were you the only one who blurred lines? Did you imagine the trembling?

The softness?

Maybe he’s just that good.

Maybe you fell for his acting.

The humiliation of that thought burns.

You don’t text him for three days.

He doesn’t text you either.

And suddenly the silence feels heavier than any rumor article.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

You’re invited to a variety show to promote the drama finale.

He’s there too.

First time seeing each other since the article.

Bright lights. Laugh tracks. Loud MCs.

You bow politely.

Professional.

He bows back.

Professional.

But when your eyes meet—

There’s something unresolved sitting between you.

During a game segment, you’re asked to recreate your “most iconic romantic scene.”

The MC grins mischievously.

“The rain confession!”

The audience screams.

You freeze.

Yunho steps forward smoothly.

“Of course,” he says, smiling.

They spray fake mist instead of full rain.

You stand facing each other again.

Just like that night.

The MC whispers, “Go!”

He looks at you.

And for a second, the studio disappears.

His eyes soften exactly the same way.

Your pulse spikes exactly the same way.

He says the line.

Perfect delivery.

The audience squeals.

But when he reaches for your cheek—

He stops himself.

Just barely.

His hand hovers.

Then drops.

The crowd doesn’t notice.

You do.

After the show wraps, you find him backstage.

“Why did you stop?” you ask quietly.

He looks confused.

“The touch.”

He swallows.

“I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

Your chest aches.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He stares at you like you’ve asked something dangerous.

“Because you haven’t replied to my last message.”

Your throat tightens.

“I thought you were just being professional.”

He lets out a shaky laugh.

“Do you think I’m that good at acting?”

The question mirrors one from weeks ago.

But now it’s heavier.

More fragile.

You step closer.

“No,” you whisper. “I don’t.”

The silence is thick.

He runs a hand through his hair — a nervous habit.

“I didn’t deny it because it was fake,” he says quietly. “I denied it because I didn’t want you dragged into something before we even figured out what it was.”

Your heartbeat roars in your ears.

“And what is it?”

He steps closer.

Close enough that the space between you feels intentional.

“I don’t know when it stopped being acting,” he admits. “Maybe the café scene. Maybe the rain. Maybe when you laughed at my stupid omelet disaster.”

You laugh softly despite the tension.

He continues, voice steadier now.

“But I know that when filming ended… I missed you. Not the character. You.”

The words land differently without a script.

Without cameras.

You swallow.

“I was scared,” you confess. “That I fell for something that wasn’t real.”

His expression softens completely.

“It was real,” he says.

No crack in his voice.

No performance.

Just the truth.

The hallway is quiet.

Staff clearing out down the corridor.

You’re both standing there — no cameras, no lighting rigs, no scripted beats.

He reaches up slowly.

Gives you time to pull away.

You don’t.

His hand cups your cheek.

Just like that night in the rain.

Except warmer. Gentler.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

Not a line. Not dramatic.

You nod.

And this time, there’s no hovering hesitation.

No director to interrupt.

Just him.

And you.

And the quiet understanding that some things were never just between the lines.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

Months later, you attend another script reading.

Different drama.

Different cast.

But when someone asks about “chemistry secrets,” you smile faintly.

Because now you know.

Sometimes it’s acting. Sometimes it’s skill.

And sometimes—

It’s a boy who stared too long.

Improvised too much.

And blurred the line so gently you didn’t realize you’d crossed it together.

Your phone buzzes.

A message from Yunho.

“Did they stare at you like I did?”

You smile to yourself.

“No.”

Three dots.

“Good.”

You shake your head, laughing softly.

Maybe he was terrifyingly good at acting.

Or maybe—

He was just falling in love.

And so were you

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

© lcvejjoong, 2026

taglist: @darjeelinglemontea ❤︎ @fluffypuddingatz ❤︎@luumiinaa @snow0-0fairy @snow0-0fairy-writes @life-is-a-game-of-thrones

[katiny07]

This was so cute omgggg

[katiny07]

atinys!!! whats yalls favorite song from the new album? mine is NASA!!!

ghost

adrenaline

nasa

on the road

choose

Voting ended onFeb 17

[chnseongz]

needy hcs • n.s.m

desc: bf!seongmo x gender neutral reader, smut (MDNI), sub and kind of bratty seongmo, hairpulling, semi public, oral (reader receiving), not really proofread

a/n: thought about pouty long haired seongmo and had to do something about it. also my first attempt at writing smut hcs so.. enjoy!

boyfriend seongmo with his heavy eye liner and longish, fluffy hair

the type of boyfriend to follow you around like a puppy while you shop

has an obvious pout on his face when you don’t give him enough attention, too focused on looking through a rack of clothes

this leads to him teasing and pushing your buttons while you browse until you’re all worked up and frustrated at him

when you’re officially fed up, seongmo’s excited, happy to be dragged into the first empty fitting room

gives you the neediest look, palming at his hard on while you kiss him

you can tell he’s been needy the whole day because you don’t even have to ask him to get on his knees afterwards

seongmo’s eagerly dropping to the floor, ready to work his mouth on you against the fitting room wall

his favorite position being between your legs and looking up at you while you run a hand through his hair, grabbing at it to guide his head

despite the tears in his eyes, he loves when you grip his hair harder in pleasure

swears he could go on forever even if his knees ache. he loves to hear the little sounds that leave your lips when he does something you like

secretly wants somebody to walk by while he works on getting the prettiest noises out of you

would beg you to watch him from in the mirror

likes to keep his hands at your waist or on your hips and smiles whenever you arch your back

doesnt wipe his mouth after you leave a mess all over it, prefering to lick his lips before pulling you into a kiss

happily gets dragged out of the store by you with the most cocky and satisfied look on his face

[katiny07]

I have an idea brewing......but I cant say yet

[katiny07]

I hope yall like obsessive soul fics because yall are about to get fed in about a week or two

[nayiana0]

"Three Minutes"

pairings : seonghwa x reader

wc : 3.7k

tags : explicit content, semi-public sex (sex in a public facility — changing room), cum on face, mirror sex, strangers to lovers, vacation au, fast burn, lifeguard!seonghwa, mutual pining, inspired by an insta post, summertime chaos, he looked too good, oops it got horny, soft but not soft, eye contact, sweat and tension, summer fling maybe?

genre : smut

a/n : yeah. blame seonghwa. this was supposed to be soft. it’s not. vacation au, fast burn, strangers to something

You’ve seen him every day since you arrived.

Always up in that impossibly tall lifeguard chair, perched like a statue carved out of heat and sun. 

His skin is golden — that kind of deep, effortless tan that only happens when you live in the sun. 

His hair’s a little too long, curling behind his ears, damp at the ends from pool water or sweat. 

And his abs?

Yeah. You’ve definitely looked.

Hard, defined, glistening under the sun — his red swim shorts hanging low on his hips, drawstring untied just enough to make you wonder if he even cares. 

He’s lean but strong, the kind of strength that comes from swimming laps and hauling wet bodies out of pools.

A whistle dangles from his neck, brushing his chest when he moves. 

His sunglasses hide most of his expression, but you know he’s watching you. 

You feel it. Every time. 

You noticed him before you even made it to your lounge chair the first day. You didn’t mean to. But then again, he didn’t give you much choice.

And you never even got his name — not really. Just “Hwa,” stitched in bold black thread across the hip of his uniform shorts.

He watches you. Every day. 

When you walk by. 

When you stretch out in your chair. 

When you slide into the pool like you don’t know what you’re doing — like you don’t know he’s got a perfect view of the way your hips move beneath the water.

You haven’t spoken. Not once.

But that was part of the game.

Until today.

You stretch out on your towel under the hot sun, your skin warm and glistening with sunscreen. Seonghwa’s chair is in your peripheral vision, like always, and you know he’s there — because you can feel him.

Watching.

Waiting.

You shift a little. Cross your legs. Sip slowly through the straw. And when you lean forward to grab your sunglasses, they accidentally slip from your fingers.

Right near the base of his stand.

You pretend not to notice at first. Just long enough to get his attention. Long enough to know he’s looking.

You wait a second. Then two.

Then you rise. Slow. Deliberate.

Barefoot, hips swaying, you walk over in your tiniest bikini — the black one, the one that makes everything look like an invitation. 

You crouch to pick them up, taking your time, pretending like you’re alone.

You crouch down to grab them.

“Those yours?” a voice rasps from above, smooth like smoke and summer heat.

You look up — and there he is. “Hwa”. 

Close enough now that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes behind those dark lenses.

He’s leaned down, one arm draped across his knee, the other lazily holding his whistle.

“Didn’t mean to distract you,” you say, voice low, sweet.

He hums like he doesn’t believe you for a second. “Sure you didn’t.”

You rise slowly. His eyes follow every inch of you.

“Is this an invitation, or do you just like bending over in front of me?”

You straighten, turning just enough to glance at him over your shoulder. His sunglasses are still on, but you can feel his gaze—steady, low, not even pretending to be polite.

“You saying you didn’t like the view?” you ask, voice teasingly sweet.

He shifts in his lifeguard chair, forearms flexing as he rests them on his knees. “I didn’t say that.”

He hops down from the stand.

It’s instinct, maybe, or something deeper, but your breath catches the moment he’s level with you. 

He’s taller up close, broader — all sun-bronzed skin and a slight sheen of sweat from the heat.

His whistle drops against his chest when he steps into your space.

“You want me? Just say it,” he murmurs.

Your heart stutters. “What if I don’t want you?.”

His jaw ticks. Like he’s trying not to do something reckless.

Then, with a low, teasing smile, he says,

“Oh, come on. You’ve been watching me all week. You think I didn’t notice?”

You lean in just a little closer, voice low and sultry. “Mmm… maybe I’m just waiting to see if you’re worth it.”

Then he jerks his head toward the pool’s changing room.

“In there. Three minutes,” he says, voice tight.

He turns and walks away — back to his stand.

You’re left standing there, sunglasses dangling from your fingers, mouth dry and pulse roaring in your ears.

Three minutes.

———

You wait, and then glance at your phone — the three minutes are up. 

With a slow, deliberate pace, you head toward the changing rooms, heels clicking softly on the pavement. 

The sun’s warmth feels different now — heavy, loaded with anticipation.

Inside the cool, tiled room, you lean against the counter, arms crossed, your heart ticking faster.

You start to wonder… is he really going to come in? Or was this just a game to him?

Your breath catches when the door creaks open. You turn sharply—there he is, stepping in with that confident, unreadable look.

A slow smirk spreads across his face. “Waiting for me?”

You arch an eyebrow, teasing, “You do this with every girl who catches your eye?”

He steps closer, eyes dark and intense. “Mmm, only the ones I want to keep.”

Your pulse hammers as he closes the distance, the heat between you suddenly palpable. “Lucky me.”

He brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear, voice low and teasing. “You have no idea what I’ve been planning.”

You bite your lip, eyes sparkling with challenge.

“Then maybe you should show me.”

He closes the gap, his breath warm against your skin

His hand trails slowly down your arm, fingers brushing lightly, sending shivers through you. 

His eyes lock onto yours—dark, hungry, and unapologetically intense.

“You’ve been tempting me,” he murmurs, voice husky.

“All day, you’ve been right here, but now…” He leans in, lips just grazing your earlobe, “Now you’re mine to play with.”

You shiver, a delicious mix of nerves and excitement flooding your body. Your fingers twitch, desperate to reach him, but he pulls back just enough to keep you wanting.

Instinctively, your hand finds its way to his crotch, sliding up until your palm presses firmly against the hard planes of his abs. 

The heat of his skin seeps into your fingertips, grounding you in the moment.

His breath hitches, eyes flickering down to your hands and back up, dark and hungry.

“You feeling me?” he teases, voice low and playful.

You nod, lips curving into a slow, teasing smile. “Yeah. I’m feeling you.”

His hands tighten on your hips, pulling you even closer. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’m just getting started.”

His lips find yours, soft and slow at first, teasing, exploring. 

Your hands press against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms. 

The world narrows to just the two of you — heat, breath, the taste of him on your lips.

Between kisses, you pull back just enough to whisper,

“You gonna ghost me after this?”

He smirks against your mouth, voice low and mischievous. “Maybe…”

The words catch you off guard for a second, but you shake it off with a smile. You’re here now, and that’s what matters.

Leaning back in, you thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. “Well, I’m not going anywhere.”

His hands slide under your shirt, warm and sure.

“Good. Because I’m about to make sure you remember me.”

His kiss deepens, more urgent now, hands exploring, pulling you tighter.

Every brush of his lips, every stroke of his fingers sends sparks trailing down your spine.

You melt into him, losing yourself in the moment — and loving every second.

His lips roam from your mouth down to your neck, planting soft, possessive kisses that make your breath hitch. 

You arch into him, feeling the heat build, every nerve alive with anticipation.

“You look even better up close,” he murmurs against your jaw, voice thick with desire.

You respond by slipping your hands around his neck, pulling him closer, needing more—more warmth, more contact, more of him.

He presses you back against the cool marble counter, a low groan vibrating from his chest as his body melds against yours. 

His hands roam lower, cupping your hips firmly as he slides his mouth back to yours, fierce and demanding.

He pulls away just enough to look into your eyes, voice a whisper that sends shivers down your spine. “Tell me what you want.”

You don’t hesitate. “You.”

He smiles against your skin, and then says, “Good. Because I’m not stopping until you’re begging.”

You gasp when his fingers slip beneath your waistband, teasing the bare skin of your hip. “Hwa…” you breathe, voice trembling.

“Shh,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours. “I wanna hear you say please.”

Your arms clutch his neck, pulling him closer. “Please.”

His grin is wicked. “That’s my girl.”

And then he dives back in — hands, lips, every touch sending waves of heat that ripple through your body.

Seonghwa’s eyes never leave yours as he carefully hooks his fingers into the side of your bikini bottom.

He pulls it aside, revealing your wet, swollen pussy. 

His eyes are dark with desire, his breath hot and uneven against your face. 

“So pretty,” he whispers, his gaze lingering on your exposed folds. 

He slides a single finger through your slickness, coating it before pushing it inside you, slow and deliberate.

You bite down on your lower lip, trying to keep from crying out.

But the sensation is too intense. A moan slips past your teeth, and he reacts immediately, one hand shooting up to cover your mouth.

His grip is firm, but not painful, silently urging you to keep the noise down as his other hand starts to move faster, his thumb circling your clit in a way that sends sparks dancing across your vision.

You can feel his arousal pressing against your stomach, straining against the fabric of his swim trunks.

Your own desire for him is overwhelming, your body arching into his touch, begging for more. 

"Hwa," you whimper into his palm, the sound muffled but no less desperate. His eyes flash with triumph, and he leans closer, his breath warm against your cheek. 

"That's it," he whispers, his voice a low growl that sends a thrill through your body. "Beg for it, baby. I want to hear how much you need me."

You nod frantically, the pressure building deep inside you like a coiled spring. "Please," you breathe out, the word a needy plea. "I'm begging."

“That's what I want to hear," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. He starts to pump both of his fingers in and out of you, his thumb relentlessly teasing your clit. 

The sensation is so intense, you feel like you're going to shatter.

"Please," you repeat, breathless. "Oh, fuck–, please."

"Keep begging," he whispers, his voice a seductive rumble. "You're so close, baby. Let me feel you come around my fingers."

You nod, unable to form coherent words, as your body tightens around his fingers. 

The sound of your muffled moans and the slick wetness of his hand moving in and out of you fills the tense silence of the changing room.

"Come for me," he urges, his voice a dark whisper that sends a shiver down your spine. 

His finger moves faster, his thumb pressing harder, and your eyes flutter closed as you let go.

The orgasm hits you like a wave, crashing over you in an explosion of sensation. 

You bite down hard on his hand, muffling a scream as your body convulses with pleasure.

When the intensity subsides, you find yourself leaning heavily against the counter, panting and trembling. 

Seonghwa's eyes are still on yours, more eager than ever. 

He slowly withdraws his hand, and you can feel the wetness he's left behind.

"Now, turn around," he says, his voice still a soft command.

You obey, the cool marble against your back as you face the mirror, watching his reflection as he stands behind you. 

The sight of his strong, tanned body, the water droplets still clinging to his chest, makes your legs wobble.

Seonghwa's eyes are dark with need as he unties the strings of his swim trunks, letting them fall to the floor. 

His cock springs free, thick and erect, and your heart skips a beat. "Look at me," he says, his voice low and urgent.

You turn around, eyes locked on his reflection in the mirror, watching as he takes a step closer. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, and you know you're about to be consumed by it.

He places his hands on your hips, gently turning you to face the mirror.

"You're gonna watch me fuck you," he murmurs, the words sending a fresh surge of arousal through your body.

He positions his cock at your entrance, the head nudging against your swollen clit.

"You ready?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your chest. 

You nod, unable to find the words to answer. He chuckles, a sound that's both sweet and sinister, and then, with one smooth, powerful thrust, he's inside you.

You gasp as he fills you completely, the sensation of his thickness stretching you out almost too much to handle. 

He pulls back almost all the way before sliding back in and staying there, each inch a delicious torture that makes you arch your back and bite your lip to keep from screaming out. 

The sound of your wetness filling the small room is the only sound louder than the pounding of your heart.

"Look at yourself," he murmurs, his voice a dark caress. "Look at how much you want this."

You bite your lip, unable to hold back a moan as he stretches you open. "Oh, fuck," you murmur, your voice a hoarse whisper.

Your eyes are glued to our reflection, watching his cock disappear inside you.

"Do it," you whisper, the words a shaky command.

Seonghwa starts to move, his hips rolling in a slow, steady rhythm that builds the pressure back up inside you. 

His grip on your hips is firm, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror as he fucks you with a deliberate intensity that has you gasping for breath. 

"That's it," he says, his voice a low rumble. "Take it all."

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the changing room, the slick noise of his cock moving in and out of your pussy a delicious noise of need.

"You're so fucking perfect," he groans, his strokes becoming more erratic.

Your eyes never leave the mirror, watching as your body responds to his every movement. 

You can see the tightness in your abdomen, the way your tits bounce with each thrust, the flush spreading across your cheeks

His hand moves down to your clit, and the sight of his fingers working you sends another jolt of pleasure through you.

"S-shit," you whine, the words escaping your mouth like a prayer. "Hwa, I'm gonna come again."

"That's right, baby," he groans, his breath hot against your neck. His fingers dance over your clit in a pattern that you've never felt before, his rhythm matching the pace of his hips as he drives into you.

"I want you to feel it."

You can't help but let out a high-pitched whine, your body moving in sync with his.

Your legs are shaking, your core tightening around him as you climb towards that sweet release. "Fuck– I’m gonna–.."

"Come for me," he murmurs, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "Let me feel it."

His strokes become more deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. "I wanna see you fall apart."

You nod, your voice a desperate whimper. "I'm... I'm almost there." The words barely leave your mouth before you're there, your body seizing around him as a second orgasm rips through you. 

He groans, his grip tightening as he fucks you through the waves of pleasure, pushing you past the brink of what you thought possible.

Your eyes lock with his in the mirror, and you can see the challenge in his gaze.

"I'm... I'm there," you gasp, your voice shaking. "Hwa, I-I'm there."

But he doesn't stop. If anything, he fucks you harder, faster, his fingers on your clit a blur of motion. "Again," he murmurs, his voice a command. 

"I want more." His hips smack against yours, the sound echoing in the tiled room, and you feel yourself rising towards that peak once more.

You try to protest, to tell him it's too much, but the words are lost in a moan that turns into a scream as your orgasm hits you like a wrecking ball. 

Your knees buckle, but he holds you up, never breaking his rhythm. "Don't stop," he growls, his voice thick with his own desire. "I'm not done with you yet."

As the tremors of your climax subside, he pulls out, leaving you feeling empty and desperate for more. "On your knees," he says, his voice hoarse and urgent. 

You do as you're told, your legs unsteady as you sink to the cold tile floor. He steps back, giving you a clear view of his cock, still rock-hard and slick with your arousal.

"Open your mouth," he commands, and you obey without hesitation. He strokes himself, watching you. "I wanna see those pretty eyes of yours when I come." 

"Please," you beg, the word a desperate chant.

Seonghwa's eyes darken as he continues to stroke himself, with increasing speed, watching you with a fiery intensity. "Look at me," he murmurs, his voice low and seductive. "Keep looking at me."

"I need it, Hwa" you whine, the ache in your voice clear. 

"Beg for it," he says, a smirk playing on his lips. "Beg for my cum."

You whimper, the filthy words making your heart race. "Please," you whisper, your voice shaking. "Please, I want it."

He's so close, so incredibly close, and the thought of feeling him come on your face, in your mouth, sends a shiver of excitement through you.

"I'm gonna cum all over your pretty face," he says, his voice tight with restraint.

You nod, your eyes never leaving his. The anticipation is unbearable, your body thrumming with excitement. 

You open your mouth, tongue flicking out to taste the salty cum beading at the tip of his cock.

With a final, powerful stroke, he comes, spurts of hot cum hitting your cheeks, your chin, your open mouth. 

You catch as much as you can with your tongue, eagerly lapping up the salty liquid as it pools there. 

His eyes are locked on yours, watching your every move.

"Swallow it," he whispers, his voice a dark command. You do, eagerly, savoring the taste of him, the feel of his warmth in your mouth.

He reaches down, gently wiping a stray droplet from the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

"Good girl," he murmurs, the praise sending a thrill through you.

You stand on shaky legs, breath still coming in shallow pulls as the heat between you simmers into something quieter — warmer.

Seonghwa's hands settle on your hips, grounding you. His eyes search yours, still dark with desire, but softened now. 

He brushes a knuckle along your cheek, smearing a bit of moisture away. “You okay?” he asks, voice low and gentle.

You nod slowly, your lips curving into a dazed smile. 

"That was..." you start to say, but the words fall apart, you couldn't find the words to describe the intensity of what you just shared.

He leans in, pressing a slow kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"Incredible," Seonghwa finishes for you, his voice a gruff whisper. "But we're not done yet."

"What do you mean?" you ask, breathless.

Seonghwa's smile is wicked as he pulls out a small marker from his pocket. "In case you forget," he says, his tone teasing. 

He uncaps the marker and, with a gentle touch, scribbles his full name and number along the inside of your wrist.

The coldness of the ink contrasts with the heat of his skin, sending a thrill up your arm.

"Park Seonghwa," you whisper, the name feeling strange but somehow right on your lips. 

He looks at you, his eyes dark and intense, the connection between you palpable. "Call me," he says, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine.

He leans in, capturing your mouth in one final, lingering kiss. 

His tongue traces the seam of your lips, dipping inside to tangle with yours.

When he pulls back, your eyes are hazy with desire, and your body feels like it's on fire.

With one last look, he tucks the marker back into his pocket and grabs his towel, wrapping it around his neck.

"See you around," he says, his voice a seductive promise. 

He opens the changing room door and steps out, leaving you standing there, trembling with the aftershocks of what just happened.

You watch him go, his muscular body disappearing into the bright sunlight. 

The sound of laughter and splashing from the pool outside feels like it's a million miles away as you touch your wrist, feeling the warmth of his ink on your skin.

Finally, you take a deep breath, willing yourself to move. You pull on some fresh clothes, the fabric sticking to your damp skin. 

The scent of chlorine is still in the air, a reminder of the explosive passion that just unfolded in this tiny, private space.

But as you watch him walk back to his tower, his eyes finding yours for a brief moment, you know that you can't resist the pull. 

You're in too deep now, and you don't want to be anywhere else.

With shaky hands, you grab your phone and save his number, the digits forever etched in your mind. 

As you head back to your chair, you can't help but feel a sense of anticipation building in your chest. 

And as you lay there, the sun warming your skin and the sound of the waves crashing in the background, you can't help but wonder what happens next. 

Will you call him? Will he call you? Or will you just stay here, tangled up in the heat of it all, letting the memory of his touch and his taste linger on your skin like the chlorine from the pool?

The possibilities are endless, and you can't wait to find out.

[katiny07]

Ooo I had a feeling the vampire one was gonna win but this was close....

Ill get to writing soon, but tell me some ideas/stuff yall would wanna see so I can get the gears moving hehe (anonymously or in comments, doesnt matter where!)

[hencheri]

perv!wooyoung and his shy gf,,

18+ mdni.

pairing. perv bf!wooyoung x fem!reader warnings. wooyoung's a shameless pervert, dubcon (he goes against your boundaries multiple times but you let him), dom/sub dynamics, wooyoung has a piss kink but it's lowkey a fetish atp (most of the fic is about that i'm sorry), cum play, spit kink, corruption, conditioning, forced drinking (alcohol & water)(no piss dw lol), public sex, aftercare, he likes to humiliate you a lot >< anyway he's really really gross and filthy!! it's very graphic, please don't read if you don't like it. wc. 2k

a.n.: i said i wouldn't write for ateez on my own but i've underestimated how down bad i am for wooyoung. i hate him and his gorgeous gorgeous face. this is genuinely weird but that's what makes it hot idc what anyone thinks. i can't believe i've written this much, i'm actually insane... hope you guys like it <3

thinking about how wooyoung is so gross and pervy with you, can’t get his hands off you even for a minute. he has no shame, barely any self-control, loving how you’re the complete opposite. you’re shy and become embarrassed over everything your boyfriend does. he can never get enough of you and it’s so clear he gets off on humiliating you and making you feel uncomfortable. it’s what he loves the most. 

wooyoung likes it messy, really messy. the more dirtied and fucked out you are, the better. he’ll kiss you and push his tongue inside your mouth to have you drool all over yourself, he’ll bite your lips so they’re puffy and swollen, slap your cheek so your spit splatter over your face and shove his fingers so deep in your mouth to make you choke around them. he could stop there, but wooyoung wants you completely wrenched, and a little bit of spit isn’t enough for that. 

next is his cock between your lips, your throat convulsing around him and your nose buried in his pubic hair. his hand in your hair is there to hold you down because he knows if he doesn’t, you’ll get off of him in an instant and that’s the last thing he wants you to do. he needs you drooling, so much that it drips down your chin and onto his pelvis. he won’t let go until he sees your eyes tearful and glossy and hears you choke and splutter around his hard cock—and it must sound like it’s painful, or else he won’t be convinced. 

another thing wooyoung likes to do is to cum directly onto your pussy—doesn’t matter if you’ve cummed as well or not—and put you back on into your panties. he’ll pat your clothed cunt with a prideful smile on his face, the sign that you’re finally ready to go out. wooyoung will watch you all night long walking uncomfortably, enjoying the little scowl on your face whenever you sit down or get up, knowing you’re not so fond of the cold, gooey feeling of his cum sticking to your pussy lips. 

he doesn’t always make you go out with soiled panties, sometimes he just prefers to stay home and do even more disgusting things with you instead. his favourite thing above all, the one he’s obsessed with and humiliates you so damn much; making you pee on him. it’s even better if you’re wearing the same pair of underwear he cummed inside of. 

wooyoung can’t explain how feral it makes him feel, but you just bring out this side of him by being so cute with your pleading and tearful eyes. so cute when you’re straddling him, his hands on your hips anchoring you down, your little cunt shaking with need and dripping in your arousal, full bladder hurting your stomach, mouth blabbering some ‘no’s and some ‘wooyoung’s he doesn’t pay attention to. 

“i need to go, let me go!” you say, trying to get off of wooyoung, but he holds you down firmly, making you hump his erection trapped in his pants. your hands are balled into fists, crying out of frustration and pain, feeling like your stomach is about to burst. you could just use a little bit more force and you’d peel off of wooyoung, but you stay there, crying and sniffling, nails grazing his chest. 

wooyoung only grunts, his palms running up and down your body, groping your breasts, pinching your nipples, bucking his hips up and making you moan. “stop holding it, baby. i told you to just do it, relax for me…” he presses his hand down on your stomach, his fingers spread out. you shudder, thighs clenching on either side of his hips. “come on, i’ll help you,” he says softly, like he wants to help, make the pain go away—and he actually does want to because if you just listen to him, you’ll feel much better. he rubs your stomach, trying to ease you up, looking at your face that’s all scrunched up. 

it becomes hard to hold it, wooyoung’s voice whispering praises and his hands rubbing your skin bringing you to the edge. when you let it go, pee soaking through your panties and your boyfriend’s pants, your break down, crying—you’re relieved, a weight lifting off of your shoulders, but also terribly humiliated. 

wooyoung curses, letting out a ‘fuck’, eyes stuck between your legs, his cock so stiff and hard he barely can contain himself. “good girl, such a good girl,” he praises, bringing his hand down and circling your clit with his thumb through your wet panties. your crying comes down to quiet sniffles and a last tear rolling down your cheek, the pain you felt in your lower stomach finally going away. “see how good you feel now, huh? you’re so pretty, my good girl,” he repeats, his words rushed under the thrill of his excitement, biting down into his bottom lip. 

you feel disgusting, dirty and ashamed—but wooyoung couldn’t be more delighted. the warm feeling going down your thighs then seeping through his pants and onto the couch, finally letting go of what was bothering you for hours. at that point, he either kisses you and reassures you, cleaning you and bringing you to bed, giving you some rest… or he turns you around, getting on top of you and pulling your wet panties to the side, unzipping his pants, pushing his hard cock into your warm and glistening cunt. he fucks you into the couch, not stopping until he’s satisfied, until you’re filled to the brim with his cum and you’re begging him for more—or to stop. 

you’d think wooyoung’s obsession would stop there, at making you piss yourself on top of him, but the extent of his fantasy is way, way larger than that. 

wherever you go, your boyfriend isn’t far behind—even when you go to the bathroom. it only started as him going to brush his teeth or wash his face when you were already on the toilet as if it was no big deal to invade your privacy like that without any warning. you didn’t say anything, it’s something couples do in general, you rationalized. now, wooyoung follows you to the bathroom even if he has nothing to do inside it. saying how he wants to be with you, doesn’t want you to leave him not even for a second, loves you too much. doesn’t he have the right to be with his girlfriend? you beg him to leave, tell him that it’s weird, but he always insists to stay—and he does. he sits over the edge of the bath or leans his back against the wall and watches you pee. he only does that, nothing more, just stays with you when you’re peeing. he enjoys it, he says. it’s exciting. 

it doesn’t matter if you’re home, at a friend's house or a party, he’ll follow you to any bathroom. if he hears you telling someone you have to go pee, you can be sure he’s going with you. at this point, you’re used to it, it’s become the usual—you can beg him for some privacy, tell him to wait for you just outside, you know you’ll eventually give in because he never listens to you anyway. though he never does anything, it’s clear he loves it by the way he bites his lip while watching you, his eyes fixated on you, probably getting off to the embarrassed look on your face. so cute, he tells himself.

when you’re out, spending the night in a club, wooyoung will force you to drink more than you can take. he balances the alcohol with water, but nonetheless, you always end up with a full bladder and a stomach that hurts badly. he’ll let go only when he believes you’ve drank enough water, bringing the glass to your lips himself and not caring if some liquid drips down from your mouth and wet the top of your breasts. 

he comes with you to the bathroom, entering with you in the stall where the doors barely hang up on themselves, the floor sticky and dirty. the place’s disgusting, but it doesn’t stop wooyoung from getting horny as he watches you empty your bladder. you know you’re there for a while with the amount of drinks you’ve had and wooyoung starts palming himself over his pants, eyes on you, loving the painful expression on your face, your brows knitting together and your lips forming a pout. 

the moment you pull your panties up and flush the toilet, wooyoung takes a hold of you and turns you around, pushing you flush against the bathroom stall. “you turn me on so bad, baby,” he rasps out, his mouth just beside your ear and making you shiver. “got my cock so hard just from being so goddamn cute.” he makes sure to press his crotch to your ass, feeling his bulge through the fabric of his trousers. 

he loves public sex, especially when he can be as filthy as he wants. the music is loud enough to cover your cries and the wet sounds your cunt makes as his cock drives into you, but anyone entering would be aware of what you two are doing in that stall. luckily for you, people are too drunk and don’t care enough to notice you, though your pulse always picks up whenever someone walks in. or it’s just wooyoung’s endless sex-drive that makes you pant like a dog. 

he slows down when you hear the door opening, covering your mouth with hand, whispering dirty things to you. “you’re dripping wet, baby,” he teases, “don’t make them catch us, mmh? keep quiet.” you can feel him smirk against your neck, going deeper and harsher. his hand muffles your whines and moans, but you also have to consider how the stall is shaking from wooyoung’s back and forth movements, which he has obviously noticed but doesn’t care one bit about it. “such a dirty girl, but so good for me,” he says in a low voice, kissing your neck, proud of you.

recently, wooyoung has also started coming in to use the bathroom while you’re already there doing your hair or makeup. you don’t say anything, it’s not taboo for you anymore, even though sometimes you’d prefer he doesn’t act so shameless all the time. 

he stands before the toilet and unzips his jeans, lowering his boxers to take his soft cock out. the first time he asks you if you want to hold it for him, you look at him as if there’s something wrong with him. he only smirks, not missing the way you clench your thighs, heat pooling at the bottom of your stomach. “come here, it misses your touch,” he smiles, looking at you with his malicious eyes that you recognize oh so well. 

it takes you a second before you accept, putting down your mascara and kneeling down close beside him, your face eye-level with his crotch. there’s something so hot, he thinks, about you down on your knees, a face with fresh makeup on, small, lotioned hand reaching for his flaccid cock. he gives it to you and he almost moans when your hand circles his cock, angling the tip just above the toilet bowl. you hold him the entire time he pisses, watching with curious eyes, oddly… turned on. 

“good girl,” he says, patting your hair before wiping himself. “thank you, baby.” he’s about to tuck himself back inside his pants until you stop him, gripping his cock again and scooting yourself in front of him on your knees. “someone’s hungry?” he hums, a faint smirk drawing on his lips. you nod your head and with a ‘go ahead’ from wooyoung, you take him inside your mouth, greedily sucking his length, getting him hard. 

—-

hi came down from a cold so idk just wrote all that about wooyoung + piss kink... something possessed me i think but thank god bcs i am obsessed i already need more. thank you @/yrfairy for brainstorming with me though sjsjsksn lowkey this wouldn't exist without you lol!!

pls interact! reblogs are soso appreciated and they really help me to know if you really liked my fic or not! comments and asks are as much appreciated ofc <3 ily bye

[chars4u]

I MISS FLUFFY FICS EVERYTHINGS SMUT NOW💔

[merakidoll]

all you hoes do is complain. it’s so many fluff and angst fics that yall ignore then make attention seeking ass post like this

[katiny07]

+ if u dont like what's out there then maybe you should just write it!