blair

Death teaches you that time isn’t money, it’s blood. And you’re both bleeding out fast.

You met James in the oncology ward on a Tuesday— same rare, aggressive cancer. Same prognosis: months, give or take.

The nurses called it “the twins’ corner” because you two were the youngest ones there who still had enough fire left to crack jokes about the food tasting like cardboard.

He had that crooked smile and eyes that looked like they’d already seen the end of the world and decided to stick around anyway— you bonded over shared hatred of the beeping machines, the way the doctors talked in probabilities instead of truths, and the fucking rules.

Let me explain— absolutely no prolonged physical contact. You were both too weak, too prone to infection, too much of a liability if one of you coded because the other’s touch sent blood pressure spiking.

“For your safety,” they said. Bullshit.

So you talked. Hours. Days. Whispered across the gap between beds like prisoners tapping on walls. Never touched. Not really. A brush of fingers when passing meds, ashoulder bump during the rare supervised walk. That was it, absolute torture.

But you planned. God, you planned like kids building a fort. You smuggled notes— saved painkillers for the escape high; a little cash stash from visitors who still pretended you might beat this. One night was the promise; one real night before the morning rounds found empty beds and called it in.

Death would have you in the morning. Tonight, you made it wait.

The escape was clumsy and perfect— you slipped the night nurse an extra dose in her coffee (thank you, hoarded pills), timed the security camera blind spot, and shuffled out the service door like ghosts who still had legs.

The cold hit like a slap, the winter air sliced through your thin hoodies and you cursed under your breath, lungs already protesting. James grabbed your hand— properly this time, no one to stop you— and you both laughed like idiots because it hurt and you felt alive.

You hailed a cab with the last of your saved money, the driver giving you a long look but taking the cash anyway.

“Beach,” James said, voice rough. “The one with the shitty pier.”

The driver didn’t ask questions— it’s like people rarely do when they see the hollow cheeks and the way you both move like glass about to shatter.

You huddled in the back under the hospital blanket you’d stolen, his coat draped over both of you, his body was fever-warm against yours, all sharp bones and trembling muscle. You pressed your face into his neck and breathed him in—antiseptic, sweat, and hospital air; but it was the scent of a man you’d take to the grave.

And God, every breath hurt. Every breath was holy.

The cab radio played some old song about lovers and purple rain, you both stayed quiet, fingers laced so tight it felt like the only thing anchoring you to the world.

The beach was deserted when you got there, wind whipping sand against your legs as winter waves crashed black and silver under the moon.

You paid the driver extra to fuck off and not report anything, then stumbled down the path together, leaning on each other like drunks who’d finally admitted they were in love with the bottle.

The cold sand stung your bare feet but you didn’t care. You spread the blanket and collapsed onto it, James pulling you against his chest immediately. No rules. No monitors. Just skin and breath and the vast indifferent ocean.

“We’re idiots,” he muttered, lips brushing your hair. His voice was laced with that blunt honesty you’d come to crave. “Should’ve done this months ago.”

You laughed, the sound cracking in the middle. “Hospital would’ve lost their shit. ‘Bad influences,’ they called it. Like touching someone is bad.”

Like touching the person who makes you want to live is worse than the cancer and dying alone— devoid of love.

James tilted your chin up, his beautiful eyes already wet. “You. You’re the only thing that’s ever been worth the chemo.”

You kissed him then. Slow at first, tentative like you were both afraid the other might die then and there, but hunger won.

You kissed like you could confuse death into forgetting both of your names. Tongues and teeth and desperate little sounds that the wind stole away. His hands—finally, finally—slid under your shirt, tracing the ridges of your spine, the sharp jut of hips that had once been softer.

You were both too thin, bodies marked by needles and scars and the slow betrayal of cells gone rogue, but mortality stripped you down to your truest selves. Nothing hidden— no pretending to be strong.

Tears came easy. You cried into his mouth and he tasted them, pulling back only to press his forehead to yours.

“I’m scared,” you whispered, shocking yourself with how easily it came out. No filter— dying people don’t have time for armor. so it seems.

“Me too,” James said, thumb wiping your cheek. “Every second. But not of this. Not of you.” His hands roamed lower, mapping you like a cartographer who knew the map would burn by dawn.

You shivered— not from the cold —and pressed closer, legs tangling with his. The blanket wasn’t enough but you didn’t care because heat built where your bodies met, frantic and clumsy.

You talked between kisses, the kind of conversations only dying people have the courage to finish. “What if we’d met in a bar instead?” you asked, fingers digging into his hair. “Would you’ve wasted time on small talk? Pretended we had forever?”

James huffed a laugh that turned into a cough and he wiped blood from his lip without comment. “No. I would’ve known. One look and I’d have dragged you home, there’s not enough lifetime for you.”

You straddled him on the blanket, the cold sand seeping through but irrelevant. His hands gripped your thighs, reverent and rough.

“I love you,” he said, blunt as a scalpel. “Not the dying-you. I just love you.”

“I love you too, my Luck.” You rocked against him, feeling him harden beneath you.

That was his little nickname— the thing he’d given you throughout the months, the thing you so desperately needed; luck.

Clothes came off in layers— hoodies, shirts, pants shoved down with shaking hands. The winter air bit at exposed skin but your bodies warmed each other— touch turned desperate: hands everywhere, mouths chasing pulses at throats, collarbones and lower. You tasted the salt of his skin, the faint metallic hint of blood and medicine.

He groaned when your hand slipped inside his pants, your fingers wrapped around his heavy length, stroking slow and honest. “Fuck, you feel—” He cut off with a hiss, hips bucking. “Don’t stop. Please.”

You didn’t, because there’s something unbearably beautiful about people with no future making plans until sunrise, and you had absolutely no intentions of letting go. You whispered filthy promises against his ear: how you wanted him inside you, how you’d ride him until the stars blurred, how you didn’t give a shit if it killed you faster because at least it would be this.

James flipped you gently onto your back, careful even now, and settled between your legs. His mouth explored— teasing nipples that tightened in the cold, dipping lower to taste you until you were cursing and crying his name into the wind. Every sensation was amplified— pain and pleasure braided together.

Hope was too expensive— but wonder was free, that’s why you needed to hold onto this night, before life took you both away. This was all you’d ever dreamed of— feeling the awe of a man indubitably starstruck by what he was holding between his hands— and blessed be the moon and the stars for allowing you to have this.

When he finally pushed inside you, it was slow, the eyes of a lover locked into yours. You both gasped as the stretch burned beautifully— you were wet from tears, the want and the sheer defiance of it all; and he moved like he was memorizing every second, thrusts deep and measured because neither of you had stamina— but you at least had need. He didn’t stop until he was at the hilt, so snug where he resided, at least allowing you a moment to catch your breath.

You wrapped your legs around him, heels digging into his back, urging him harder. “More,” you demanded. “I want to feel you tomorrow when they drag us back. I want bruises.” You begged him for marks, for a proof that you’d felt something good once in your life, and James did just that. He kissed path down your neck, leaving a train of dark brands, until you were clenching around him desperately.

He cursed, raw. “You’re so beautiful, you know that? Tell me pretty girl, do you know that?” You nodded against him, because if you opened your mouth and talked, it would all come out a string of nonsense, so instead you bit down on his shoulder until you felt him throb inside of you.

It was messy, sand and all, but it didn’t stop you— you were dripping, the sounds muffling with the loud wind, the hum of the sea not bothering you one bit. It was the most devastating thing you’d ever felt— and you’d gone through a lot. But holding someone so tenderly— while knowing you would eventually have to let go, was God’s biggest lesson to you.

“Please… please, need more.” you urged him, nails clawing at his back.

James buried his face in your neck for a second, teeth grazing your skin, “Shit…. baby, I’m not going anywhere, give me a little breathing room.”

You were aware of just how hard you were clenching around him— but for your credit, the need was way too intense to hold back.

You obeyed though, unclenching just a bit— and only then did he come up for a kiss. “There you go, that’s my baby.” he kissed your forehead.

You came first, clenching around him, vision whiting out as the ocean roared in your ears and James followed soon after, burying his face in your neck, spilling hot inside you with a broken sound that tore something open in your chest.

You stayed joined for a long time, shivering under the blanket, trading lazy kisses and softer touches— fingers tracing ribs, counting scars like constellations. You talked more. About the stupid things you’d miss— hospital food, playing mario kart in the common areas and the way kids laugh like nothing hurts.

But most of all? About the anger that came in waves, asking, why us, why now, why couldn’t we have had years?

The truth was— both of you were too close to the end to keep pretending you weren’t at the beginning of something. So later, recklessness took over. Because fuck it—you were dying anyway.

James dared you to run into the surf and you did, naked, screaming laughter as icy water shocked your skin, packed sand until the water rushed up to claim your ankles, then your calves, then your thighs. It hurt like hell— your lungs seized but you splashed him anyway.

He caught you in the shallows, half in the water, half on the land, where the tide licked greedily at the boundary like it wanted to swallow you whole. There was this liminal space, the wet sand shifting beneath your feet, unstable and treacherous, just like the fragile line between living and dying. Waves rolled in, foaming around your legs, pulling back with a hiss. And here you were, pulling him for another frantic fuck, loving each other right on the edge of it— bodies tangled where the two worlds met, salt and grit mixing with sweat and slick, permanence dissolving into something fluid and eternal in the moment.

Salt stung everywhere.

“Fuck, look at you,” he murmured against your ear, even as the cold water made you both shiver. His body covered yours, shielding you from the worst of the wind, his cock already hard again, heavy and insistent against your thigh. “My brave girl. So beautiful it hurts. So alive.”

You arched up into him, fingers digging into his wet shoulders, nails scraping through the sand that clung to his skin. The water lapped at your sides, teasing your breasts, your belly, cooling the heat building between your legs.

“James… please. I need you again.” Your voice was hoarse from earlier cries, but the need was sharper now, edged with desperation. The salt stung the places he’d bitten and sucked, a delicious burn that made you clench around nothing.

James kissed you deeply, tongue sliding against yours, tasting like ocean and the faint copper of whatever medicine still lingered in his blood. One hand cupped your face, thumb stroking your cheek with aching gentleness while the other slipped between your thighs, fingers parting your folds.

“So wet for me already,” he groaned, circling your clit with slow strokes. “That’s my gorgeous girl”

A wave crashed higher, splashing over your chest, and you gasped into his mouth. He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours. “You laugh so pretty.”

You rocked against his hand, grinding down as his fingers pushed inside you— two at first, stretching you open with tender care. The wet sand shifted under your back, molding to your body like it was trying to hold you in place while the water tugged you toward oblivion. It was messy, primal: grit abrading your skin, salt mixing with your arousal, the push and pull of the waves syncing with the rhythm of his fingers.

“James—fuck —more,” you begged, legs wrapping around his waist, heels digging into his ass. “I want you inside please.”

This was it. This was everything and you’d trade every remaining heartbeat for ten more minutes of his hands on you.

He pulled his fingers free, replacing them with the blunt head of his cock, rubbing it through your slickness. “Yeah? You want me to fuck you?” His voice dropped, dirty and loving all at once. “My sweet, filthy girl.” He pushed in slowly, inch by thick inch, the stretch burning beautifully against the cold water. You both moaned as he bottomed out, your walls fluttering around him, clenching greedily.

The first thrust was measured, deep, James’ hips rolling like the waves themselves—pulling back as the tide receded, slamming forward as it surged in. Sand scraped your shoulders, your ass, but the discomfort only heightened everything. “God, you feel so good,” he praised, forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked even in the dim moonlight. “So warm around me. So perfect. My lucky girl.”

You cried out as he hit that spot inside you, nails raking down his back, leaving red trails that the salt would sting later. “Harder, James. Please, i can’t.”

He obliged, surrendering to each of his girls’ wishes, picking up pace, one hand bracing in the sand beside your head, the other gripping your thigh to spread you wider. “That’s it, baby. Let me hear you.”

You made the sure the sea heard how full he made you feel, moans getting louder.

“Look at your pretty pussy swallowing my cock. You’re doing so good for me— my strong, beautiful girl. Taking it like a champ.”

Pleasure coiled tight in your core, and a larger wave hit, soaking you completely. you gasped, clenching hard around him and your vision blurred, legs trembling. “James— I’m close—fuck—”

“Mmhh, poor thing,” he whispered, voice cracking with emotion as he leaned down to kiss your neck, sucking another mark into your skin while his hips kept that relentless rhythm. “It’s okay. You should come. I got you my sweet girl.”

James words broke you. The orgasm crashed over you harder than any wave, vision whiting out as your body seized around him, pulsing and fluttering, pulling him deeper. You screamed his name into the wind, nails digging in, back arching so sharply the sand shifted and gave way beneath you.

He kept praising you through it, voice rough and adoring: “Yes— fuck, that’s my girl. I love you.”

James followed you over soon after, burying himself to the hilt with a broken groan, spilling hot and deep inside you as another ye another wave washed over your conjoined bodies. You stayed locked together, trembling, as the tide gently rocked you. He collapsed half on top of you, careful not to crush, his face tucked into your neck, pressing soft kisses to your pulse point.

After a while, James you just laid there, not even caring about the pneumonia and whatever terrible diseases you were prone to, the salt surely stung but so did the love.

He traced patterns on your back, adoring your skin like it was his own, “If there’s an afterlife, I’m finding you there. We’ll do this right, no hospitals.”

You cried again and he held you through it, rocking you like you were something precious and breakable—which you arguably were. The night stretched and you shared the last of the smuggled snacks, feeding each other with sticky fingers, laughing when the wind stole crumbs.

Then came more touches, slower now. His mouth on your thighs, your tongue tracing the veins on his cock until he was hard again and you took him deep, choking a little because you wanted to feel so full of him. He returned the favor, eating you out with single-minded focus until you soaked his face and the blanket. You came down from the high tangled, whispering secrets no one else would ever hear.

See— there are conversations only dying people have the courage to finish. You told him your biggest regret: not saying yes to life sooner. For years, you’d mistaken survival for living, you kept waiting for the fear to disappear before allowing yourself joy, convinced there would always be another treatment, another doctor, another version of yourself brave enough to exist instead of merely endure. You postponed happiness until it became a habit. You treated tomorrow as something permanent.

That was until you met him, though.

You only wished you had arrived there sooner. Not because it would have spared you this ending— God no— but because it would have given you more time to love the life you’d spent so long refusing. You looked at him and realized death wasn’t what made your chest ache, it was finally understanding how beautiful living had always been, just as it was slipping beyond your reach.

James, when his turn came, admitted his fear of being forgotten. “They’ll remember the sick version,” he said. “Not the one who made you laugh tonight.”

“They won’t forget this,” you promised. “Not us. Not tonight.”

Dawn crept closer and the sky lightened to a bruised purple; you dressed slowly, stealing kisses between layers. The cab back was silent, hands clasped, bodies aching in the best and worst ways.

Every step toward the hospital felt like walking into the grave willingly. But you carried the night with you— the salt on your skin, the marks on your neck, the memory of him inside you while the ocean watched.

Back in the ward, alarms blared and nurses swarmed, you looked at James across the chaos and smiled. He smiled back, crooked and real, realizing that sickness was waiting with its arms opened wide enough to welcome the both of you.

Death would have you in the morning. But tonight—fuck, tonight you lived.

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Sunghoon chose the worse time to come over. Your home was in a state of disarray; boxes against the wall, clothes scattered everywhere, and leftover food on the coffee table from lunch that you’d yet to put away. You were supposed to welcome him to… this?

Before you can even hurriedly clean and shove clothes into the closet, the door knob jiggles a bit. The door opens carefully when Sunghoon pushes inside with his bag in hand. He looks at you like this was normal. Like he was just supposed to walk in when he so desired.

“Hello,” he nods. As if sensing your confusion, he holds up a key and shuts the door behind him. “You gave me a spare, if you remember.”

Suddenly you were cursing the you of five months ago, because why on earth did you give him a key? You can only laugh awkwardly and shift your weight while your eyes dart around your house. He’s judging you. You just know it. He’s judging your modest home—despite the absurdity of a girl your age owning a home—and he’s mentally scrutinizing how messy it is. He has to be.

You never get your confirmation to that, though, because he sits on your couch like he owns the place. Sunghoon beckons you over with a hand and a polite nod, urging you to sit like a guest in your own home.

“You might be wondering why I came. I… well, I needed help choosing centerpieces.”

Centerpieces? Like, the same centerpieces that you’d literally witnessed him choose at the cake tasting? How could he need help with centerpieces? Sunghoon takes out what looks to be a catalog from his bag and clicks his pen, sliding them across the coffee table while skillfully avoiding the leftovers.

“I chose the one circled in red.” Roses, black eyed susans, and daylilies were clustered in a vase in varying shades of yellow and orange on the paper. Frankly, it looked a hot mess. Sunghoon realized it with the grimace on your face. “You don’t like it.” A statement, not a question.

“It’s so… um, wow!” You laugh awkwardly, glancing up at him with a strained smile. You hate it. The flowers look messily clustered together like someone just looked up “yellow flowers” on google and picked the first three that showed up. Who would do such a thing? “It’s definitely something.”

“But… the colors. Are they not beautiful?”

“The yellow and orange is great, just… not like this. Honestly, this is so fucking ugly.” Sunghoon flinches at your straightforwardness. His lips form a weirdly attractive mix of a frown and a pout. Wait, what? Focus.

“Island Citrus is the wedding color of the year. How could you not like it?” His brows pinch together. He truly cannot fathom your dislike for it. He spent hours researching what type of bouquet a woman your age would like and now you’re telling him you hate it..? “Brides magazine said so.”

“Brides what? Sunghoon, nobody cares what some bride blog says. This is terrible,” you can’t help but laugh at his stupidity. Maybe ‘Stolid Sunghoon’ wasn’t so robotic after all.

“Well, which one do you like?” He tilts his head and nods at the catalog. It takes two minutes of silence for you to flip through the catalog and find one you like. Sliding off the couch, you plop down on the floor to lean across the table when you push the catalog back and point at the bouquet.

“Pretty, no?” The bouquet is a complete turn around from what he’d picked. The catalog showed vase holding dark hellebores, black knight scabiosas, and chocolate cosmos. He blinks down you twice. Is he supposed to sit with you? Should he sit on the floor? He doesn’t usually do such a thing. Is your carpet vaccumed? Cleaned? How often do you do it? What if—

“Um, hello? Do you not like it that much?” You furrow your eyebrows with laughter. It snaps Sunghoon out of his trance. With what he considers a brave, noble act, he slides down and sits on the floor as well. His hands rest folded in his lap as he nods.

“It is… dark?” He offers, pressing his lips together. He can’t say he hates it, but it’s just not what he was expecting. “Do you like it?”

“Mhm.”

“Then it’s a done deal.” Sunghoon grabs the pen from your side of the table and circles the bouquet, writing ‘chosen.’ beside it in what’s weirdly the most legible handwriting you’ve ever seen from a man. “Thank you for your help. It was a truly vexing matter.”

Honestly, it was anything but vexing. Sunghoon personally couldn’t care less about a centerpiece; but, he assumed it mattered to you. With his hours of research about what a woman would like, he chose what he thought you’d enjoy. Come to find out you didn’t even think you were being represented in the wedding? That was the last thing he wanted. He’d already been in the area anyway—meaning, he was thirty minutes away and made the drive in fifteen—so why not travel to your place and find your opinion on the matter?

“Right. Well. Glad I could help.” You offer him a small smile that you can only home looks real. An awkward silence overtakes the room. At least, awkward for you. Sunghoon’s buzzing inside with satisfaction thinking he’s finally pleased you. Maybe this way you’ll be more willing to marry him. He’d hate to go into this marriage with your intense hate for him. He’s halfway through daydreaming what you’d name your first born daughter (yes, daughter. the first born must be a daughter, he thinks.) when you cough.

“Oh, right. Well, I… guess I’ll be on my way,” he nods almost solemnly. On the outside, he looks normal. Unaffected, per usual. You’d never think he was silently hoping your children would have your eyes and his moles. Sunghoon pushes himself up, dusting invisible lint off his clothes. He stares down at you expectantly.

What the hell does he want? you wonder. Why’s he looking at you like that? It’s weird. Make him stop. Ugh, stop!

“Aren’t you going to see me off?” He furrows his brows in confusion. Isn’t this the part where you kiss him goodbye?

“Oh, sure.” You stand and lead him to the door, opening it for him. He stands there. Expecting. Waiting. The only things going through your mind are questions about why he’s not out yet.

Sunghoon almost laughs. Ah, he gets it now. You’re shy, aren’t you? That’s okay. He can help you work your way up to a real kiss. Sunghoon leans down to kiss your cheek, his arm sliding around your waist to pull you into a hug right after. He pats your back like he’s done some incredibly good deed before pulling away.

“I’ll see you on Friday at seven for the dinner run through. Goodbye,” he waves and turns on his heel out of the door. 

Did this guy just fucking kiss your cheek?

You’re left staring at his car as it pulls out of your driveway. He doesn’t look back. At least, not by turning his head. He uses his side mirrors, though. You laugh incredulously.

“Fucking weirdo,” you whisper to yourself, shutting the door and turning back to packing up your things. 

© esoriae ! all rights reserved. no translations, plagiarism, modifications, reposts, or ai feeding.

Ohyul

coconut tree @ssoulstar

"no, because you won't get out of the coconut tree."

smoker!ohyul x non smoker! fem reader

personal fav !

in law @nikisbabymamaa

Y/N tolerates Ohyul as much as she can — mostly because he’s her brother’s best friend. unfortunately for her, Ohyul is kinda very in love with her. Let’s see if Ohyul can become an actual in law!

fucking statistics @eeasymoneybaby

you're about to fail stadistics after not passing it for two years. the exam is only four months away and you're broke. luckily a rude, nerdy boy who's studying engineering puts an announcement on the college's bulletin board, pretty affordable because he can't afford the things he likes and can only pay rent and food.

little did you know that at first he would be a pain in the ass because your personalities don't match at all. he's super strict and studious while you're an outgoing person. the catch is: if yall can't get along a little bit, it will be impossible for you to save the course .

notes: helloooo guys!, this is my very first fic ever. kinda nervous i hope yall like it as much as im liking it :). it's prolly gonna a 16 chapter, no more than 20 tho. feedback is HIGHLY appreciated! , since i wanna write better and communicate better in english (im spanish) lolz. but yeah if you're reading this tyty

will you be able to bear with him and pass the exam?

nerd!ohyul x popular-ish!reader

hirono ohyul @next2yul

texts between you and your lovely hirono doll boyfriend!

my man @inisfreegreentea

Texts / Stories / Tweets between you and your man Ohyul.

let em know @sinametic

in which you and ohyul are in a toxic situationship, both lacking the self discipline and ability to leave each other alone, maybe it’s the adrenaline or the club lighting that leads you both back to each other continuously. Whatever it is, he’s like an addictive poison that you need to fight out of your system

mean!ohyul x situationship!you

i didn't hear that @mfcherry

texts with your boyfriend ohyul

an interesting relationship @meowseong

you've known Ohyul since he transferred to your middle school. Along those years you would end up dating. Being on and off for a few years and even though you were considered"exes" it hadn't impacted you're friendship. Then highschool started and a Ohyul got into a new relationship.

double take @starhrtz

a fellow schoolmate of yours visited your mother’s store w you not knowing he has a tiny crush on you… perhaps you do too?

non!idol ohyul x reader⠀

sweet @wonxee

texts with your *down bad* coworker ohyul

________

Ryul

big fan @zombilit

kim ryul x singer fem! reader

#1 mixtape lover @dprlyn

You’re a pretty big producer for various R&B and Hip-Hop artists — wether they’re from the east or west. Jay Park, CEO and founder of More Vision, for whom you already worked for, reached out to you to work with his group LNGSHOT. You don’t think much of it — until that one guy with spiky hair and bleached ends unwillingly catches your attention.

idol!Ryul x producer!fem!reader

ballin @sinametic

Your biggest fanboy Ryul tries shooting his shot even though he knows painfully that you’re a hundred yards away from his league, nonetheless you find his futile attempts amusing allowing him just a little bit of your attention and the time of your day. The media is eating it up and so are the fans, counting down to when a new collab hit will drop.

fanboy!Ryul x artist!you

spanish class @coquitowrites

ryul has to take spanish class because he forgot to choose an elective class but somehow he ends up enjoying it (👀) . . . or where yn has to help a guy pass the class because he doesn’t even know how to say hi in spanish.

my boyfriend thinks he's spiderman @yuesning

always wondered what's it like to have a spider-man obsessed boyfriend? glad you're dating kim ryul also known as spideryul !

like this for a tbh @flirticsm

lngshot has a fem member  &&   ryul is absolutely down bad!

narusasu or sasunaru ? @esoriae

bf texts with ryul

nonidol!ryul x reader

treat you better @seolbby

boys are trouble, boyfriends suck— ryul is forever

________

Woojin

just my boo thang @muffinmaster-83

your strategy was simple: mind your business in school and survive. it works perfectly-- until the most popular guy in school decides he can't live without you.

popular!woojin x female!reader

I'm not cool anymore @inisfreegreentea

Woojin got lucky enough to record a little collab with you (and he is lowkey crashing out).

Downbad!Woojin x Idol!Reader

1-800-wrong-number @cheezeit-k

woojin msg’s louis older friend number instead of Ryul by “accident” but theres a twist…

who is you ? @yuuxyuu

getting ship with someone you didn’t know existed

woojin x idol reader

________