#solo leveling characters I write for

[straykidsnerd255]

As promised, here is who I write for in Solo Leveling

Characters I am willing to write for:

Sung Jin Woo (Shadow Monarch- Current)

Thomas Andre (National Rank)

Liu Zhigang (National Rank)

Christopher Reed (National Rank)

Sung II-Hwan (National Rank Hunter or S rank)

Sung Suho (S Rank)

Goto Ryuji (S Rank Japanese hunter)

Kei (S rank Japanese Hunter)

Baek Yoonho (S rank)

Choi Jong-In (S rank)

Min Byung-Gyu (S rank healer)

Woo Jin Chul (A rank hunter)

Son Kihoon (A Rank)

Antares (Monarch)

Ashborn (Monarch)

Rakan (Monarch)

Tarnak (Monarch)

Kandiaru (Magic Beast)

Just a reminder, I only wrote female reader when writing for solo leveling! If you are nice and polite in the requests, I will do gender neutral.

[racke7]

My biggest gripe with Solo Leveling (without getting into the... character-situation) is that it's a fantastic setting, originally. And then it... collapses on itself.

Basically, SL says:

The world as we know it is the same as always.

One day, people woke up with superpowers.

Some got more superpowers than others, and a handful across the world have enough that they're basically a law onto themselves (because nobody can stop them).

"Gates" started opening all over the world.

If people don't go inside and kill the "boss" behind the gate, the gate would "break open" and the monsters inside would invade our world.

In order to defeat these bosses, people with superpowers need to band together.

To help make sure that the gates are destroyed, and that everyone is behaving, there exists a police-force that employs people with superpowers.

What happens inside of the gates cannot be monitored, and some people take advantage of that to do terrible things.

This? This is an incredible world.

It's urban-fantasy without the "secrecy problem", with inhuman enemies (the gates), human antagonists (people with superpowers behaving badly), and even potential for governmental corruption (the agency that's supposed to "manage" all of these people).

It has the "gang ceasefire" balancing-act of Worm, in a setting where those gangs ("hunter guilds") are all respected members of society because nobody else can kill the monsters.

Then the series starts us off with proof that "re-awakenings" can happen (because they're testing the MC for it). As in, sometimes hunters who are exposed to dangerous situations will just... miraculously become more powerful.

With this, you have everything you need to write a really interesting story.

And it's pretty easy to just handwave the gates appearing as a natural phenomena. Like...

Much like a planet can move through a meteor-shower, a reality can move through a reality-cluster.

When this happens, "fractures" in reality will appear (gates), and this will cause some kind of festering-injury (monsters) to happen that needs to be destroyed (boss killed), or they'll spill out into the wider reality (dungeon-break).

Awakenings and "magic" is really just a kind of reality-resonance from the reality-cluster (or our reality's immune-response).

This is either a temporary thing (a few decades, maybe a century-or-so) or a very permanent thing (our reality was forever-altered by this), and there's nothing we can do about that beyond adjusting to our new status-quo.

There. No need to expand further and dig deeper into "who's responsible" and "what's their plan for our world" and "what can we do to stop something capable of altering reality".

It's a natural phenomena, the world is as it is. Let's get on with the story.

Unfortunately? Solo Leveling doesn't do this. Instead it decides that gods are real, and other gods are also real, and the gods are fighting, and hunters are their "foot-soldiers" with slivers of god-powers, and the world is really fragile, and time-rewinding is a thing, and-...

And it's just incredibly annoying.

[yellowocaballero]

Reading 'Solo Leveling' (a webtoon/webnovel about a guy who uses a game-like interface to level up and fight monsters and become ridiculously OP and the coolest and hottest guy in the whole wide world) really proves something to me that I've thought about.

The goal of a story is to achieve what it wants to achieve. Different genres have different certain marks the story should achieve. If it doesn't hit those marks, it's not a good example of the genre. In a lot of was it's not even a good story - it doesn't entertain the audience in the way that they want to be entertained. A romance novel isn't a bad story because it doesn't feature great action scenes, but neither is it a bad story because it doesn't delve deep into the sociopolitical implications of neocolonialism. Does it make the reader feel happy? Is it cathartic? Is there a happy ending? Then it's a good romance story - even if you think stories shouldn't need happy endings.

The 'satisfaction' of stories like Solo Leveling is the fact that is very entertaining to watch a guy be super powerful and mow down bad guys and have everybody around him go "WHOAH that's a cool guy". Maybe it's cool because you're projecting, or maybe you like great action scenes, or because you like 'underdog gets powerful' stories. It's a power fantasy. That is the goal of Solo Leveling, and so long as I'm going "WHOAH COOL", then it's a good story. And Solo Leveling is the example of the power fantasy video game dungeon OP protag. It does those elements, it executes them competently, it's a good story.

This is the third of these types of stories I've read more than 5 chapters of. The first was Omniscent Reader's Viewpoint. And baby. This is no ORV.

ORV a big reaction to Solo Levelling in a lot of ways, since Solo Levelling was very genre defining and influential, and it's hard to write these OP stories without having a relationship to Solo Leveling. It's like the most popular webtoon out there. The OP hero, the gaming interface and rules, the gods fucking you up, power fantasy - they're all checked off by ORV. It doesn't subvert them much. You watch kdj pull one over on a shmuck and you're like HEY YA BABY and you watch him utterly decimate some schmuck and you're like WHOAH COOL. You like ORV, basically, for the same reasons you like Solo Leveling. They're the same genre and in a lot of ways the same story.

But ORV has driven me nuts and after a while Solo Leveling has gotten boring. Because ORV has a fantastic supporting cast that puts the MC's OPness in relative perspective. Because there's cool action scenes with different teams, of different dynamics, giving freshness to each chapter. Because you get to see kdj slowly implement some nuts gambit of the course of the entire arc and when we finally hit the end point where it all comes together it's FUCK YEAH. I'm leaving out the actual depth here. But ORV and Solo Leveling do the same thing, except ORV has a great deal of other story elements that build into the main 'point' and escalate the satisfaction, joy, and intensity of those points. You don't read these OP hero novels for the supporting cast. You read it to watch a dude be cool. But ORV's supporting cast - and, like, the fact that they're actual characters, even the women - gives us a lot of other smaller 'hey yeah!' moments, gives it buildup, makes the OP moments meaningful, and gives a grand climax and huge satisfaction when kdj does what the SL guy did by himself. And the supporting cast is only one example of this. A story is a good story if it accomplishes its point, but a story like SL will never really deliver its promises nearly as well as ORV could. Not because ORV is deep and has """themes""" or fucked up shit like that. The 'WHOAH COOL's are just better. Because ORV knows why stories are good and what makes a good story.

Anyway I'm fucking begging you I have tears in my eyes this is why your fic needs more than the hot ship of the day I promise it won't detract from the ship it will make the ship BETTER but you have to get WHY you like these homosexuals so much and it's NOT just because they're CUTE sometimes there's OTHER REASONS THAT ARE IMPORTANT LIKE THE WOMAN YOU'VE BOOTED AND -

[lizhly-writes]

here you are: a tiny solo leveling/svsss snippet you've never asked for.

Your name is Sung Jinwoo, and you are trying your hardest to kill a man.

It sounds nicer if you rephrase it.  You’re trapped in an instant dungeon and your only way out is to kill a BOSS.  These are clear conditions that you’ve gotten used to by now.  Usually, the boss is some kind of terrifying monster that is out to kill you, which is not particularly different from your normal life as a Hunter.  Everything is out to kill you.  It’s kill or be killed, and you have been supremely lucky to be the former and not the latter (mostly).

Today’s boss is a man dressed like the book covers of some Chinese novels your sister reads.  Human, you’d think, except your System pings a name in your sight:

[Tianlang-jun, King under the Mountain]

Names in white are weak.  Orange means they’re on par with you.  Red means they’re beyond your abilities.

[ Tianlang-jun ] is printed in a red so dark it almost bleeds black.

You are very much in over your head.

“I just want to talk,” says the man – Tianlang-jun, smiling easily.  “Before my nephew comes back, you understand.  Such a dutiful boy!  Unfortunately, he doesn’t like my choice in literature.  He’ll get it for me, but he always gets so flustered.”

He claps his hands together.  “Now!  I understand you are in possession of a … ‘phone’, I believe it’s called.  A vast repository of art!  I’ve obtained one of them myself, there was someone who came before you, he had a very interesting eye…”

Tianlang-jun plucks a slightly scuffed phone out of the wide opening of his sleeve.  Triumphantly, he shows the screen to you.

It’s unmistakably porn.

“I think it’s very artistic,” Tianlang-jun says cheerfully.

[pandas-pandemonium]

Did something new happen with Solo Leveling recently? My SL fic from a few years back is gaining traction again and I'm kinda surprised. I thought the manhwa ended a while ago.

[bbqsauceonmytiddiez]

honestly glad jjk is ending cause most of the fandom has become insufferable

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

🧪 Character Arcs 101: what they are, what they aren’t, and how to make them hurt

by rin t. (resident chaos scribe of thewriteadviceforwriters)

Okay so here’s the thing. You can give me all the pretty pinterest moodboards and soft trauma playlists in the world, but if your character doesn’t change, I will send them back to the factory.

Let’s talk about character arcs. Not vibes. Not tragic backstory flavoring. Actual. Arcs. (It hurts but we’ll get through it together.)

─────── ✦ ───────

💡 what a character arc IS:

a transformational journey (keyword: transformation)

the internal response to external pressure (aka plot consequences)

a shift in worldview, behavior, belief, self-concept

the emotional architecture of your story

the reason we care

💥 what a character arc is NOT:

a sad monologue halfway through act 2

a single cool scene where they yell or cry

a moral they magically learn by the end

a “development” label slapped on a flatline

─────── ✦ ───────

✨ THE 3 BASIC FLAVORS OF ARC (and how to emotionally damage your characters accordingly):

Positive Arc They start with a flaw, false belief, or fear that limits them. Through the events of the story (and many Ls), they confront that internal lie, grow, and emerge changed. Hurt factor: Drag them through the mud. Make them fight to believe in themselves. Break their trust, make them doubt. Let them earn their ending.

Negative Arc They begin whole(ish) and devolve. They fail to overcome their flaw or false belief. This arc ends in ruin, corruption, or defeat. Hurt factor: Let them almost have a chance. Build hope. Then show how they sabotage it, or how the world takes it anyway. Twist the knife.

Flat/Static Arc They don’t change, but the world around them does. They hold onto a core truth, and it’s their constancy that drives change in others. Think: mentor, revolutionary, or truth-teller type. Hurt factor: Make the world push back. Make their values cost them something. The tension comes from holding steady in chaos.

─────── ✦ ───────

🎯 how to build an arc that actually HITS (no ✨soft lessons✨, just internal structure):

Lie they believe: What false thing do they think about themselves or the world? (“I’m unlovable.” “Power = safety.” “I’m only valuable if I’m useful.”)

Want vs. need: What do they think they want? What do they actually need to grow?

Wound/backstory scar: What made them like this? You don’t need a tragic past™ but you do need cause and effect.

Turning point: What moment forces them to question their worldview? What event cracks the surface?

Moment of choice: Do they change? Or not? What decision seals their arc?

🧪 Pro tip: this is not a worksheet. This is scaffolding. The arc lives in the story, not just your doc notes. The lie isn’t revealed in a monologue, it’s felt through consequences, relationships, mistakes.

─────── ✦ ───────

🛠️ things to actually do with this:

Write scenes where the character’s flaw messes things up. Like, they lose something. A person. A plan. Their cool. Make the flaw hurt.

Track their beliefs like a timeline. How do they start? What chips away at it? When does the shift stick?

Use relationships as arc mirrors. Who challenges them? Enables them? Forces reflection? Internal change is almost never solo.

Revisit the lie. Circle back to it at least three times in escalating intensity. Reminder > confrontation > transformation.

─────── ✦ ───────

🌊 bonus pain level: REVERSE THE ARC

Wanna make it really hurt? Set them up for one arc, and give them the opposite. They think they’re growing into a better person. But actually, they’re losing themselves. They think they’re spiraling. But they’re really healing. Let them be surprised. Let the reader be surprised.

─────── ✦ ───────

TL;DR: If your plot is a skeleton, your character arc is the nervous system.

The change is the thing. Don’t just dress it up in trauma. Don’t let your character learn nothing. Make them face themselves. And yeah. Make it hurt a little. (Or a lot. I won’t stop you.)

—rin t. // thewriteadviceforwriters // plotting pain professionally since forever

P.S. I made a free mini eBook about the 5 biggest mistakes writers make in the first 10 pages 👀 you can grab it here for FREE:

[thealchemistbae]

✨🌙 JUPITER IN CANCER TRANSIT FOR THE RISING SIGNS 🌙✨

Disclaimer: This post is for entertainment purposes only.

thealchemistbae © do not copy, redistribute, or edit my content.

If you enjoyed this post, you can leave me a tip via PayPal at goddessguapa@gmail.com or via Venmo @goddessguapa. Thank you.

May 2025 – June 2026

Astro babes, it’s time to ride this emotional expansion wave 🌊🦀 Jupiter, the planet of growth, blessings & abundance, is swimming into the nurturing waters of Cancer ; the sign it’s exalted in 👑 Translation? This is BIG emotionally aligned, heart-centered main character energy.

Here’s what this transit means for each rising sign :

🌙: Aries Rising –> Home is where your glow-up is. You’re moving, redecorating, or emotionally reconnecting with fam. Big blessings around real estate, ancestral healing, and your inner foundation. You might move into a dream home or finally feel safe to rest. Think soft life in a cozy sanctuary 🕯️

🌙: Taurus Rising –> Main character energy: local edition. Jupiter’s lighting up your neighborhood, content creation, and connections. You might start a podcast, blow up on social media, or finally get that car. Sibling healing too. You’re speaking from the heart, and people listen. 📱💬

🌙: Gemini Rising –> Money + security = romantic era unlocked. Your self-worth is rising with your income. Expect better clients, money miracles, or a new stream of abundance. Could be a sentimental splurge (like buying your dream couch or starting a family biz). 💸🛋️

🌙: Cancer Rising –> Your year to EXPAND. You’re the chosen one, baby. Jupiter in your 1st = glowing skin, main character energy, and the world seeing you as the one. Take risks. Launch things. Fall in love. Reinvent your look. You’re embodying the you you’ve always dreamed of. 💅💖

🌙: Leo Rising –> Behind the scenes blessings. This is your soft, spiritual rebrand. Private miracles, solo trips, deep healing, and spiritual downloads. Pay attention to dreams, signs, and your intuition. Big karma release. You’re prepping for a glow-up no one saw coming. 🧘‍♀️🔮

🌙: Virgo Rising –> Friendship miracles & networking magic. New BFFs, aligned communities, or viral moments. You’re finding your soul group, leading circles, or launching a group project. Think “I met this person and everything changed” vibes. 💞🌐

🌙: Libra Rising –> Career blessings from the heart. It’s giving promotions, dream clients, viral success, or being seen as a nurturing authority. Build your empire with empathy. Your career is growing when you lead from love, not logic. It’s your CEO era 💼👑

🌙: Scorpio Rising –> Travel, expansion, & public recognition. Book the trip. Sign up for the course. Write the book. Jupiter is blessing you with exposure, new cultures, and deeper wisdom. Some of y’all will go viral for something deeply personal. You’re inspiring the world with your story 📚✈️

🌙: Sagittarius Rising –> Emotional wealth + financial blessings. Your healing is making room for real wealth. Someone could invest in you, a partner may share resources, or you might enter your inheritance era. Therapy, shadow work, or exploring taboo topics will unlock your next level 💰🦂

🌙: Capricorn Rising –> Relationships with soulmate potential. Power couple vibes. Jupiter brings in soul-aligned lovers, business partners, or clients. You’re expanding through intimacy. Soft love, slow love, and love that feels like home 🕊️💍

🌙: Aquarius Rising –> Wellness glow-up + dream job incoming. You’re getting your routine, body, and work-life in sync. Expect job offers, better co-workers, and a desire to nurture your body. Some of y’all are starting wellness brands or healing others through your own lifestyle shift 🧃💪

🌙: Pisces Rising –> Romantic, fertile, and creatively lit. You’re entering your main character, artist muse, or soft mommy era. Babies (actual or creative) are being born. You’re the star of the show, attracting love, joy, and inspiration like never before. 🎨💗👶

🦀💧 This transit is all about emotional wealth, softness, and soul expansion. Let Jupiter in Cancer wash away what’s hard and guide you into the version of life that actually feels good.

Comment your rising sign & claim your blessings 💫✨

thealchemistbae © do not copy, redistribute, or edit my content.

If you enjoyed this post, you can leave me a tip via PayPal at goddessguapa@gmail.com or via Venmo @goddessguapa. Thank you.

[clioerato]

Guys, pause. This is just character exploration, okay? I’m still trying to figure out whether I feel cozy in this concept or if it weirds me out in all the wrong or right ways.

So—Robin is Steve’s platonic soulmate. They’re basically conjoined twins, himbo and bimbo, two chaotic halves of one disaster queer brain cell. They finish each other’s sentences and even kinda look like they were separated at birth.

And then Eddie shows up. And suddenly everything gets complicated for Steve, because now he’s wondering… does he need to start creating some space between himself and Robin? Not that he would—he’d sooner chew off his own arm. But like, is Eddie cool with Steve talking to Robin about sex? Taking bubble baths with her? Kissing her forehead and napping in her lap?

But Eddie—somehow—makes their platonic trio work. He’s just as comfortable with Robin as he is with Steve. He does her laundry and writes a song that includes a trumpet solo just for her. There’s always a spare toothbrush and pajama set in his trailer them. He bought pads for her and they both, Steve and Eddie, have a calendar of her cycles. And they’ve all grown disturbingly comfortable with the idea of sharing a bed (platonic).

Lines? Blurred beyond recognition. Especially once they move to Chicago and rent an apartment together.

At some point, each of them has a mini existential crisis like, “Is this… normal?” But they talk about it (because emotional maturity, surprisingly), and eventually land on: if it works for them, then it works. Full stop.

They’ve got a trio situation going on, which could technically be disrupted if Robin meets someone she wants to move in with. Or maybe that girlfriend fits in so well they become a quartet. Who knows.

Yes, Robin does date in Chicago. She sees girls, she has a good time. But she doesn’t feel the need to get too serious. Moreover, there is something about their experience with the Upside Down that makes it a little difficult to build relationships outside of the group. It may not be a healthy story, but Robin is okay with it. I mean, she’s already emotionally entangled with two disaster men, even if it’s platonic.

Things reach new levels of “Wait, what?” when Robin, nearing 30, agrees to be the surrogate for Steve and Eddie’s baby. (Biologically this is Eddie's child, because Steve and Robin are literally one being, they decided this together) She goes through IVF, and they’re both with her the entire way. And in the end (because let’s be real, everyone saw it coming), they raise that kid together. As three.

Untraditional? Absolutely. Dysfunctional? Maybe. But it works.

[blackcat-star]

Eyes on me.

Self-aware!Jinwoo x reader

Was he just looking at you?

"You must read it, it's really a masterpiece! Sung Jinwoo is so handsome. He…."

"O-Okay.."

Feeling dizzy, you tried to escape from your best friend's hands that were on your shoulders and shaking you vigorously.

Your best friend is a true manhwa addict. She can spend hours just talking about how wonderful manhwa is, about how much she likes them. Being close to her, you naturally became a victim of her manhwa addiction. At first, you didn't care about those comics, but she was the one who dragged you in.

From there, you had another thing to kill time. Honestly, if you say you love it, it's not really, but reading manhwa is also an effective way to make your day go by quickly, because you find life boring.

As usual, the two of them met and she immediately started rambling about her manhwa addiction. But this time, it seemed a bit too much.

She had just read a series called Solo leveling, and she was going crazy over it. It seemed to be really good. The proof was that she had been talking about it for over an hour now with no signs of stopping.

You:…….

You didn't know if it was really good or not, but you were starting to get scared and didn't want to read it.

Someone stop her.

After about 30 more minutes of torture, the heavens finally heard your screaming heart.

'Ding'

Your best friend's phone rang. Her mother sent a message.

"Huff, my mom told me to go home, what a pity, I haven't finished talking yet…"

Thank you, auntie, you are the hero of my life…

She was frustrated, preparing to go home. Before leaving, she leaned close to your face, her eyes threatening "You must read it. I will make you write 2000 words about your feelings about it. If you don't read it, you will die with me."

You were sweating profusely, nodding your head repeatedly.

"Good" She smiled happily "Okay, love you."

After she left, you breathed a sigh of relief.

You're free..

At night, when you lie in bed and don't know what to do, you suddenly remember what your best friend said this morning.

"Solo leveling…? Should I read it?"

You wonder. Remembering your best friend's threatening gaze, you suddenly shiver "I should read it, or she'll tear me to pieces."

Fumbling for your phone, you quickly searched for it.

You lay under the covers, your phone screen flickering in the darkness.

"Solo Leveling, right…?" you mumbled.

The cover page appeared. A black-haired man with cold eyes and an extremely strong aura was standing in the darkness, surrounded by strange cracks of light. It must be the main character… Sung Jinwoo.

He looked handsome.

The story followed the adventures of Sung Jinwoo, a young and notoriously useless hunter in Korea, on his journey to become the strongest hunter among them.

The story was okay. You found it quite interesting, but to say you liked it was a bit of a stretch. You weren't really interested in manhwa, you just saw it as a tool to kill time, nothing more, nothing less.

It's just that the more you read, the more strange it felt.

When you read the first few chapters, everything is normal, until you read the part after he goes to re-evaluate his rank.

From then on, the main character seems to be looking straight at you.

You stop at a panel - Jinwoo turns his head, his cold eyes staring straight ahead as if… as if he knows you're looking.

You blink.

Once.

Then again.

Why… do you feel like he's looking straight at you?

You pause. Take a closer look at the panel - he's just standing there, his eyes looking straight ahead. A normal expression to anyone else.

But to you - that gaze pierces the screen, piercing straight into your soul.

"No way…"

You tilt your phone to the left. He's still looking at you. You tilt it to the right. Still… not looking away.

"I must be hallucinating." You mumbled, trying to continue scrolling.

It's just a manhwa.

But then, another panel – he appeared again. Same eyes, same cold gaze.

And this time, it seemed… his lips were slightly curved, as if… he was smiling faintly?

You felt a chill run down your spine.

The air in the room suddenly became strangely quiet. The ticking of the clock became slower. Everything fell silent.

You turned off the story. The screen went black.

And then, in the dim reflection of the phone screen… you thought you saw a pair of eyes.

It was him.

You threw the phone aside reflexively. Gasping for breath.

"No… I must be tired, it's just an illusion…" you reassured yourself.

Quietly picking up the phone, you locked the screen, placing it face down on the table.

"I don't read anymore. I'll read tomorrow. Or… never."

You pulled the covers over your head, your heart still pounding in your chest.

It was just an illusion. There was no way a manhwa character could be staring at you. There was no way… he could… know you were looking at him.

You closed your eyes, trying to push away the strange feeling, but the image of Sung Jinwoo's cold gaze kept appearing in your mind like it was engraved in your mind. The way he stood in the dark, his eyes unblinking, as if… he was waiting for something from you.

You turned over.

A small click sounded in the room, startling you. You jumped up, glancing around.

No one was there.

The phone was still lying face down on the table. Outside the window, the night breeze blew through, causing the curtains to flutter slightly.

"It's okay, it's just the wind…" you muttered, then reached for the phone.

The screen was on.

Even though you clearly remembered turning it off and placing it face down. The screen is displaying a panel. A panel that you are sure was not in the previous chapter.

Sung Jinwoo is standing there. Not in the familiar setting of the story – but in a dark, hazy space.

And this time… he is not just standing there.

He is reaching out a hand – a hand covered in darkness, reaching towards you, across the boundary between the story page and reality.

Below the frame is a line of words, small, as if written by hand:

"I know you are looking."

You immediately throw the phone again, this time it hits the wall and falls to the ground.

"NO, NO, NO!" you scream, backing up against the corner of the bed.

No way. It can't be real.

You run to turn on the light.

Light fills the room, sweeping away the darkness. Your heartbeat gradually stabilizes. You walk over, pick up the phone – the screen is black, nothing. No Jinwoo, no story.

"I must be tired…" you mumble.

Then…

Beep.

A message pops up from a number not saved in your contacts.

"We'll meet again. Don't stop reading."

Attached is a screenshot of the next chapter, where Sung Jinwoo is still standing there - his hand still outstretched, his smile even more pronounced.

You freeze.

And what really scares you…

Is the text below the photo.

"See you soon."

______________________________

Jinwoo:

________________________

Part 2 »

[fyuyushia]

"Someday, I know you'll come to your senses and leave me alone with all of my questions 'cause I don't have the answers I can't give you more. I know that you'll never be mine but I'll always be yours." — Senses

Ugh how does one write down their ideas in a way that makes sense and doesn't look like a mumbo jumbo mess😓😓

Sung Jinwoo getting in a relationship with reincarnated!reader who he slowly sees becoming very self destructive.

He can never figure out what goes on in that head of yours. Though you continue to stay with him, you always donned a paranoid, anxiety stricken expression that's barely concealed by the mockery of a smile you wore. Even if it was convincing to others, for him who's studied your features for ages, he could easily tell when it was genuine and when it wasn't.

It's not that you don't like him anymore—at least he thinks it's not. You acted skitterish whenever he initiated affection, yes, but you always reciprocated after a few seconds, craving it despite thinking it's wrong.

He doesn't understand why you accept his affection with such a guilty look. You bite your lip, eyes averting away from his own as you lean closer to his touch, tightening your hold on him just to make sure he wouldn't let go. You were a walking contradiction, and Jinwoo hopes you weren't this complicated.

He doesn't miss the way you constantly try to self sabotage, intentionally or unintentionally. You acted as if you were waiting on the day he'd wrung all his feelings for you dry, living every day with bated breath. It pained him to think of your actions, acting so distant despite longing for his affection more than anything else. What scared you so? What was it that terrified you so much you could never seem to find the time to simply bask in the moment and love for the sake of it?

What changed for you to act so differently? So scared of something, but counting on it to happen nonetheless. With what faith do you believe that something catastrophic would happen?

You who somehow ended up in the world of solo leveling. You don't know how you ended up here, was it reincarnation or transmigration? Isekai? You had memories of both the life you lived here and another life. It was confusing, seeing as both lives seemed similar to one another, the only difference being the presence of gates in this and the lack thereof in the other.

Fortunately or unfortunately—you vaguely remember reading a manhwa with a world building that fits the bill for the current one you lived in.

Solo leveling: a manhwa you've only recently finished back then. The main character? The man laying in bed next to you. Sung Jinwoo—your pathetic(loving) childhood friend Sung Jinwoo.

Since this revelation, you began to fear for your just recently blossomed relationship. The more Jinwoo played out what you've read in the manhwa, the more you worried about yourself. As far as you can remember, a character like you was never introduced, maybe they did, but only in a passing. Your lack of presence in the manhwa had caused fear to sink in and petrify you to the core.

What if Jinwoo plays out that certain part? Basing off on his current progress, Jinwoo was bound to meet Hae-in and get to know her more intimately from this point on. If that happens, what about you? What will happen to you who presumptuously stuck to his side even after knowing all this? Will you be cast aside? Forced to let go of this love just to follow through the story?

The fact that Jinwoo acted in ways that remained primarily loyal to the manhwa's story made you feel queasy. Will you be forced out of the picture when the time comes?

Thoughts like this gave way to self doubt, and self doubt then gave way to your self destructive habits. You couldn't love Jinwoo so sincerely anymore, couldn't look him in the eye without doubt creasing your features. The knowledge that he was fated to be with Cha Hae-in ate you up alive.

And if you think about it, who could be a more perfect pair for him? Unlike you, Hae-in was a capable hunter. Not only that, she was pretty, athletic, and not without a lovable personality as well. She was better than you, far, far better than you.

You felt yourself die on the inside as you came to terms with this fact. Resigning to your fate, whilst also wishing to be selfish, you reluctantly took whatever scraps of affection Jinwoo gave you. Before he'd move onto another, before he realizes how much you blinded him into thinking he loved you.

Sung Jinwoo notices the way you rarely cling onto him now. Instead, only stealing longing glances in his direction, hands twitching as if longing to touch but pulling away whenever you get too close. Every time, he gets the urge to just grab you by the wrist and forcefully wrap your arms around his neck, but he doesn't, afraid that doing so would only push you who slowly drifted apart from him further away.

He doesn't miss the way your body turns rigid when he mentions Hae-in in a passing. Your shoulders stiffen, and you bite your lip, barely holding back tears from the mention of her alone. That night, he spent hours comforting you, assuring you he would never leave.

Cha Hae-in was a sore topic for you, as noticed by Jinwoo. He thought it was petty jealousy at first, but now he had an inkling it was much deeper than that. You don't hold any sort of animosity towards her, matter of fact, you admired her to the point Jinwoo felt somewhat jealous by your zealous fangirling.

You seemed so sure he'd leave you for her, even encouraging him to spend time with her despite you clearly being uncomfortable with the idea. He's left confused by your antics, you don't want him to leave but you encourage him to get closer with Hae-in when you knew a simple no from you could easily convince him to cut off all relations with her and her associates.

Really, you seemed to have a penchant for contradicting yourself in the worst ways possible.

Sung Jinwoo feels his patience draw thin. Every attempt at a question was answered by a surety he found baffling. Did he seem that disloyal? He shouldn't be angry, he knows that. But seeing you slowly spiral into this complicated mess of a lover brings him closer to the brink of insanity as well.

What exactly would it take for you to see the way his heart burns for you only?

[grubus]

Hi! do you have any svsss fic recs? I really like syonr and I'm curious about what you like to read!

*rubs hands together*

Alright alright. Now some of these are probably already well known, but still!!

I make no secret of this, but as Prim is my favorite author and very cool friend, I will HAPPILY recommend these first;

Masochism is probably THE qijiu fic of all time, absolutely adore it. It's set in their disciple era, with YQY just grabbing at whatever scraps he can even as SQQ tries to push the boundaries and see what will make him BREAK. So, so good. Happy ending!

Tarnished Gold is my favorite original Binghe fic, and I hope more people give it a chance. I think the summary scare some but it's GREAT! I love it! Binghe's thought process, the way someone perceives SY as GYX from an outside perspective, and omg LPM is such a great character in it...

of course I recommend basically everything Prim writes.

(Shen Yuan Voice) It's not gay if- by Nachtofthedead is porn. Just straight up modern time BingYuan porn. It is filthy and great and *thumbs up* love it. Bingge decides to play along with SY's delulu thoughts on gayness and everyone are happy.

The Many Trials and Tribulations of Ming Fan by The Feels Whale (miscellea) is great and I think often overlooked. A oneshot from MF's point of view on how to handle SQQ's wife beam, deeply funny to me. They also wrote-

Dust and Broken Grains , which is basically "Binghe discovers early that Crying Works" and it becomes a fix-it fic. but there's more to it than that!!! Love it a lot.

Celestial Afterglow by elanor_pam is just. So good. SO GOOD. It's hilarious, it uses the System in a way few fics ever does and it has me cackling every time I read it.

What Is Seen by CaveteDracones is a fix-it with a side of whump fic, where SQQ's trial at HHP goes VERY differently. Truth serum! Torture! System Reveal! Yay!

Dual Cultivate or Date by acernor is THE BingLiuShen fic out there. Adore it. I'm sure many have already appreciated it, but it doesn't hurt to remind others that it exists!

A Child Once by Tossawary is a very, very good BingQiu and MoShang fic, and I honestly love not only BingQiu being forced to play parents, but also the MobeiBing friendship? Great, amazing. All the relationships in this is great, and I know most have heard of Tossawary but if you haven't given this specific fic a chance you SHOULD.

easy fix by airplanelanding (TheCourtSorcerer) is a smutty cumplane oneshot, where they are friends with benefits (approved by their husbands) for whenever said husbands are unavailable for Dual Cultivation Cure. This fic just really captures the snark and is also *chefs kiss*

with the tail of the snake by tciddaemina is a very, very good monsterfucker!SQQ fic where Binghe became a dragon in the abyss. I LOVE IT. It's a WIP, but *clenches fist* it's just so good. Soft and gooey and so HHHH yes good. I would probably put all their svsss fics in here but I am running out of time!!

.... but I have enough time to recommend my other favorite fic from them, which isn't even svsss! And is how I found them to begin with!

come all ye mighty is a Solo Leveling fic! It's Igris/Jinwoo, from Igris' pov, and I love the world building in it. As they say in the author's notes, it's a little bit of an au since it doesn't follow the original plot of the comic, but I reread this so, so often. 10/10, if you like solo leveling at all please give it a go I BEG OF YOU.

[usomads]

Pin Me // Roman Reigns x Reader

Author's Note -> Hiii I’m back! Had a dream about this recently and figured I’d write it out for y’all. 🤭 Also, tysm for the feedback on the first one shot I did! I wasn’t expecting that big of a response lmao, but I figured I’d write another one to feed y’all. Happy reading! 🖤 Link to Part 2

Plot -> You’re an up and coming wrestler on the main roster, working mid card matches to make your way through the ranks and into the main event scene until you find yourself teaming up with the main event.

Pairings -> Roman Reigns x Fem!Reader (Y/N)

Warnings -> Cursing, Daddy Kink, Spit Play, Oral Sex (M!Receiving, F!Receiving), Hickies, Spanking, Unprotected P in V, Creampie, Not Proofread, MDNI

Word Count -> 3.6k

“Miss Y/N, I know you took some bad bumps out there but please try to sit still so we can examine you,” the trainer pleaded. You just had a dark match against Piper Niven before the show opened and you were hurting badly, taking some brutal spots in the process. In the end you had pulled out the win, but you didn’t feel like a winner at that moment. You felt like your ribs had shattered into a million pieces, and it didn’t feel good. “So there’s no breaks or anything like that, you’re just understandably banged up. Keep icing it like you’re doing now and take a Tylenol every now and again, and you should be good to go. Just, don’t go jumping off of things for the next couple days and you’ll be good,” the trainer chuckled. You weakly smiled at him and attempted to get up from the table, but the TV broadcasting Smackdown caught your attention. Roman Reigns caught your attention.

The Bloodline story always captivated you, and it’s part of the reason you started seriously working on your in-ring character. They were the top of the food chain, the blockbuster event, the money ticket, and you hoped one day to grow to their level of popularity and success. Roman and Solo were both cutting a promo, and at first it seemed like the typical stuff. Both claiming to be the Head of the Table, both wanting the crowd to acknowledge them, but it was something Solo said that immediately piqued your interest. “Nobody in the locker room likes you, Roman. The men hate you, the women fear you… you know what-,” he paused for dramatic effect, “I challenge you to find any woman back there that’s dumb enough to team up with you and go against me and my partner next Saturday at Main Event. You win, and I’ll let you have a shot at my ula fala” Roman scoffed, clearly unamused that Solo was doing everything but facing him one-on-one, but agreed to his challenge.

“Wiseman,” he turned to Paul, his longtime advisor as he spoke, “You know what to do.”

Paul wasted no time, making sure to acknowledge his Tribal Chief before he hurried backstage to find the general manager. Now that the segment was over you had no excuse to sit in the trainer’s room, so you walked out and made your way back to the women’s locker room. Still clutching the ice pack to your ribs, you walked gingerly but not before being stopped. “Excuse me, miss Y/N, could I borrow a minute of your time?” There before you was the Wiseman himself, looking more stressed than usual. You were stunned, why would Paul want to talk to me of all people? “Of course, Mr. Heyman. I was just heading back to the locker room. Is everything okay?” “Oh please, call me Paul,” he paused, carefully choosing his next words, “I saw your match with Piper tonight, you looked like a star out there. The splash from the top rope to the announce table was incredible. I-” he stopped his ramblings as his eyes drifted to your ice pack on your ribs, a look of (fear? worry?) evident across his face.

“Oh don’t worry, Mr. Hey- I mean Paul, nothing’s broken. Just a little banged up is all, I’ll be good to go in a couple days,” you smiled as relief washed over his face. “Good, good! I mean- not good that you’re banged up, good that you-” “I know what you mean, Paul,” you chuckled at him, trying to calm him as best you could. “But you wanted to talk to me about something?”

“Yes, right! Well-” he clears his throat, “As the Wiseman to our esteemed Tribal Chief, Roman Reigns, I have been tasked with finding a suitable partner to join him in taking down Solo Sikoa and… whoever his partner is… so I was wondering-”

“Hold on a second, Paul, you want me to be Roman’s tag team partner? I mean forgive me for saying this but isn’t there someone… I don’t know… more worthy of a main event spot than me? Does he even know you’re asking me?”

“Well, not exactly,” he hesitated, “the Tribal Chief has… how do I say this… never been one to make friends. So I’ve so far been unsuccessful in finding him a suitable partner, but you’re here and the match you just put on was phenomenal! Even the Tribal Chief himself said you had a lot of promise, which is more than he says about anyone else…” he continued, “but no, I have not told him I was going to speak with you.” “Then let’s go talk to him, I want him to be okay with me being his partner before I agree to anything.”

“You can’t be serious, Paul.” Roman sighed in clear frustration with the whole thing, “I mean she’s basically a rookie. And you think it’s a good idea for her to partner with me?” “Well yes, my Tribal Chief. I would never lead you astray.” You squirmed where you stood across the room, uncomfortable with the tension in the air surrounding your presence. Paul continued, “I asked everyone else in the locker room, and all of them declined. If you want to reclaim your ula fala, she’s your only option.” It was then that Roman finally glanced in your direction, eyeing you up and down as he pondered on his decision. His stare alone was enough to make you feel weak in the knees, but you hid that as best as you could. Or tried to, anyway. The silence in the air was thick, and before you could stop yourself you were already speaking. “Ro- I mean, my Tribal Chief-” “Please, Joe is fine.”

“O-okay, Joe-,” you stammered. No man has ever made you act like this; you were always so confident, but here you were fumbling your words and stuttering through your sentences like you were a little girl all over again. It was almost pathetic how much of an effect he had on you, but you continued, “I- think Paul is right. I know I-I’m not a b-big name in this business yet but- you need to win back your ula fala, and you need someone willing to team with you to do it. I’m willing. I’ll help you.” Joe studied your body language as you spoke, watching the way you stood nervously across the room from him and how you were slightly shaking due to the pressure you were under. He watched your breathing, noticing you were breathing heavier with each word that came out of your mouth. He also noticed your lack of eye contact with him, your eyes glued to the floor afraid to look at his reaction to your sudden outburst. Joe had been wronged so many times before by people he loved dearly. Being forced to trust a complete stranger in his quest to regain what was rightfully his seemed unfair, but Paul and Y/N were right- it was the only way he was going to be able to do it. “Come here, Y/N.” Your eyes shot up from the floor at his response, looking at Paul for assurance. Paul gave you a small smile in return, letting you know it was okay to approach him. You made your way to him slowly, still looking anywhere but at him as you did so. When you finally reached him your eyes were still down, not daring to make contact, but a jolt of energy made you do so. With a singular calloused finger he lifted your chin until you were staring back at him. He towered over you and his dark brown eyes stared into your own with a burning intensity you couldn’t quite place. 

“You both are sure this is going to work?” He asked you and Paul, still maintaining his gaze with you. “Yes, my Tribal Chief,” Paul replied, a little more confident in his decision than he was about 10 minutes ago. “What about you, Y/N, you’re sure it’ll work?” You swallowed hard, feeling more pressure than ever before. This has to work, you thought, there’s no other option. Letting out a heavy breath you didn’t know you were holding, you breathed out just loud enough for him to hear, “Yes, my Tribal Chief.” “Wiseman, go let Aldis know I found my partner. Oh, and make sure it says between us; I don’t want Solo to see this coming.”

The day of Saturday Night’s Main Event was finally here, and neither Solo nor the WWE Universe knew you were the ‘mystery partner’. That wasn’t for a lack of trying though, Solo tried every trick in the book to figure it out. Harassing Nick Aldis, sending his lackeys to break into Joe’s dressing room for clues, none of them worked. You both had kept tight-lipped about your partnership, having secret training sessions together in the week leading to the match and keeping creative meetings to ‘need to know personnel’ only. Their plan was executing flawlessly but just had one more step to go: the true element of surprise.

Solo and his partner, Nia Jax, made their entrances into the ring and stood in wait for Roman and his ‘mystery partner’, but were shocked to find that Roman was making his entrance alone. That’s because you were lying under the ring, waiting for your cue to strike. Roman finally entered the ring prompting Solo to start antagonizing him and Nia getting in on the action. Her and Solo’s backs were turned and that’s when you made your appearance, striking Nia from behind and throwing them both off guard.

The match itself was pretty standard, Solo and Roman starting things off. Roman had the upper hand very quickly, but over time that changed. Near fall after near fall from both men ensued, with Superman Punches, Samoan Spikes, Spears, and everything in between. It was apparent that Roman was trying to use most of the time in the ring, he was trying to win this all by himself. But eventually that came back to bite him in the ass, as now he was beaten badly and needed help. His body nearly on the brink of exhaustion as he desperately tried to win in every way possible, to no avail. He knew in the back of his mind you were going to have to finish this match, and that his fate was ultimately in your hands. You knew it too, so while he laid limply in the ring after kicking out of two Samoan Spikes you were screaming for his attention. He dragged himself across the ring to you, finally relenting and giving you the chance to win this, and tagged you in right as Solo was tagging Nia. You entered the ring and suddenly every doubt you had and every insecurity of yours quadrupled as you stood across the ring from the Smackdown Women’s Champion. She came in with a fury you had never encountered before, or seen, and was countering every piece of offense you could get in. But after her initial rush of offense she slowed down, and that was when you struck. You start throwing heavy strikes, tackles, drops, you were unloading the clip of your entire move set on her, and it was working. You had her down on the mat, and were climbing the top rope to hit your finisher on her and nailed it. You immediately crawled on top of Nia to use your signature pin, by straddling her head and using your knees to keep her shoulders down. It was at this moment you locked eyes with Roman who had a different look in his eyes than you’ve ever seen before, eyes darker than ever as they trailed down your body and stared at your suggestive pin position. 1… 2… 3… 

You won. You pinned Nia, and you just secured Roman’s opportunity at the ula fala. Both of your names were being announced but you couldn’t hear it, stuck in this trance of Roman’s stare. He entered the ring and stood over you as you were still straddling Nia, looking down at you as you were practically on your knees in front of him. He guides you to your feet by lightly grabbing your chin, making sure he keeps his eyes on your facial features. 

“Be at my locker room in 10 minutes,” he says loud enough for only you to hear, “we’ve got some celebrating to do.”

You had only given one soft knock on the door before it flung open and were dragged inside, now roughly pressed against it as bites and bruises were being scattered across your neck.

“You did so good for me out there, baby, winning for me all by yourself,” Joe growled against you, “So daddy’s gonna reward you, all you gotta do it be a good girl f’me and you’ll get want you want. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, f-fuck, yes sir.” Joe groaned in response and ripped off your ring gear, as you now stood completely bare before him. He drank in your naked body, how it was curved in all the right places with your beautiful breasts and ass perfectly on display for him. It was then that he noticed the artwork decorating your hip and thigh, a true masterpiece that would make Botticelli’s portrait of Venus look like a kid’s drawing. One that he would have no shame in hanging above his fireplace and admiring it for as long as he lives. 

He attached his lips to yours in an instant and you felt as though you were putty in his hands. This kiss was needy, desperate, and your hands felt the same as your hands wandered up and down his torso and his gripping your ass and breasts like his life depended on it. Joe removed the shirt he was wearing to reveal his god-like body to you, and you felt your wetness begin to drip just from the sight of him alone. His hands continued to wander, reaching your aching core as he let a singular calloused finger drag itself through your wetness. You bucked your hips in response, wanting more of him, but instead felt another large hand grab your waist. “Uh-uh princess, none of that. You’re gonna take what I give you, when I give it to you. Understand?”

“Yes daddy, I just-,” your sentence was halted in its tracks by a rough smack to your ass, making you cry out in pleasure with a hint of pain.

“Don’t talk back to me baby, Daddy doesn’t wanna have to punish you before you get your reward,” he leans into your ear, lips brushing your earlobe as he whispers, “and you don’t want that, do you baby?”

“N-no, no sir. I’ll be good.”

“Good girl, now show Daddy how good your mouth looks full of his cock.” You drop to your knees, hands fumbling with the belt around his hips. Finally you unbuckle it, removing it and releasing him from the confines of his pants and boxers. His cock is as god-like as the rest of him, perfect length, thickness, and the right amount of veins that you know will have your head spinning the moment it enters you.

“Look at me baby,” he tilts your head towards him with his finger, “open your mouth for me.” Reluctantly, you obeyed as he leaned down and spit in your mouth, giving you more to coat his dick with. Still looking up at him, you wrap your hand around the base and spit on the tip, bringing your hand up to pump his cock and fully coat it. You stroke him a few more times before dragging your tongue along one of the veins, making him shudder and let out a low groan, bringing his fingers to your hair and tugging lightly.

“Mmm baby don’t tease Daddy, go ahead pretty girl.”

You wrap your lips around the tip, giving kitten licks and sucking the sensitive head. He hisses and tugs harder on your hair, encouraging you to take more of him. You relax your jaw as you slowly bob your head up and down on his cock, using your tongue and hollowing your cheeks with your movements. Looking up at Joe you see he is a mess above you, eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back, and moaning your name. To you he always looked like a god among men, but seeing him in this state and being the one to get him there made you want him more than anything in your life. “F-fuck Y/N, you take me so well sweetheart, but I wanna cum in that pretty pussy of yours.” He helps you to your feet and guides you to the couch. He lays down, and as you move to straddle his waist, he stops you. “No, baby. I want you to pin me.” You look at him confused for a moment, unsure of what he’s saying. “Your pin tonight,” he adds, “pin me like you did Nia.” You hesitate before climbing on top of him, straddling his shoulders and resting your calves on them. “Like this, daddy?” You ask nervously.

“No baby, like this.” He lifts your hips from their seated position and brings your pussy directly to his face, where he latches his lips to your aching core. The feeling of his lips and tongue eating you with such desperation makes you jolt forward, grabbing onto his hair for support. He chuckles against you briefly before going back to work on you, licking your folds and wrapping his lips around your clit. His tongue is working wonders on you as he plays with your entrance before slipping it inside. The feeling is overwhelming, both tender and rough at once. You feel yourself getting closer, your walls fluttering around his tongue with every movement it makes. All of a sudden though, he stops, and you whine in response. “As much as I’d love to eat you for every meal and then some, I think the winner here deserves to cum around my cock. Would you like that, baby?”

“Fuck yes, Daddy please, please fuck me.”

“You’ve been such a good girl tonight, I think you deserve it baby. Come on.” You both get up as he bends you over the couch, teasing your entrance with his cock before roughly slamming into you from behind. You scream out in response, which makes him cover your mouth and bring you close.

“Now baby, as much as I’d love to hear you scream my name over and over, I gotta keep you quiet. You wouldn't want someone barging in, would you?” Your pussy tightens around him in response and you moan into his hand. “Oh, you dirty girl… I gotta keep you around, don’t I princess?” He removes his hand from your mouth and brings it to your hair, wrapping it around his wrist for leverage and tugging it as he pounds you from behind. His free hand is roughly smacking your ass as he roughly fucks you, making your pussy squeeze his cock. Your mind is completely blank, the only thing you can think about is him and how good he’s fucking you as you become a moaning mess beneath him. 

“Fuck Y/N,” he groans in your ear, “your Tribal Chief wants to fill your pretty pussy full of his cum, can I baby?” “Mmm, y-yes m-my T-tribal chief. Want y-you to f-fill me up.” He moans at your response, speeding up his thrusts. The sounds of your skin slapping and moans have completely filled the room. You knew if some poor soul walked by they’d know exactly what was happening in here, but neither of you cared. Right now, the only thing on both of your minds was how incredible you felt. It didn’t take long for him to figure out where your spot was, feeling your pussy react to him with every snap of his hips. Both of you were close now, you could feel it, but your orgasm was the first to hit. And it was intense. Your knees buckled under you as you spasmed under him and pushed back further into him, driving him deeper than before. The feeling of you cumming around him was what did him in, releasing himself into you in waves that had him coating your walls completely, marking your pussy as his. He admires his work in front of him; you completely fucked out before him, neck covered in marks he left on you, pussy swollen and red from the beating he just gave it, and best of all, leaking his cum. He takes a moment to come back down to Earth and takes in his surroundings, eyes landing on the ripped up garments on the floor that was your ring gear. Chuckling, he picks up his phone and dials a number. “Hey, Paul. I- yes, we’re fine. Listen, I need you to bring an extra set of clothes with you. There was, um,” he pauses, watching your glossy eyes close and your breathing soften, “an incident.” Paul begins to tease him through the phone, but Joe isn’t listening; he’s admiring the woman sleeping soundly before him and realizing that maybe the match wasn’t the only thing she won tonight, but she had won his heart too.

[sheriffaxolotl]

Better (Abby Anderson x f!reader)

Warnings: Smut (18+ MDNI), cheating, use of words like cunt/pussy Wordcount: 8.4K A/N: This is my first time writing a smut between two characters. So, might be good, might be bad. Please let me know! Critique would be hugely appreciated ! ❛ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━･❪ Part 2 ❫ ･━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ❜

Summary: She could be a better boyfriend than him.

The bass thumps through the house like a second heartbeat, a dull, relentless pulse that rattles the windows and your skull. You already regret coming. The lights are low and tinted too red, and the air smells like spilled beer and too much cologne. Solo cup in hand, you snake your way toward the kitchen, phone raised like a shield, pretending to text someone—anyone—just to avoid making eye contact with the half-drunk crowd grinding to music that hasn’t been cool since high school.

Your boyfriend is nowhere to be seen. Said he’d just stepped out for a second—over thirty minutes ago. Classic.

You lean back against the edge of the counter, shoulders tense, trying to melt into the cabinetry. You scroll through the same three notifications again, wondering if anyone would even notice if you slipped out the front door. Maybe you’d just Uber home. Maybe—

A hand brushes your wrist. Warm. Intentional. And somehow, electric.

You look up.

Abby Anderson.

She’s standing just a little too close. Leather jacket slung over a tight black tee that hugs her just right, jeans riding low on her hips, and that damn smirk tugging at her mouth like she already knows something you don’t. Her hair’s pulled back loose, a few strands falling forward like she couldn’t be bothered to fix them before walking into the party and still managed to make it look effortless. Movie-scene levels of hot.

You’ve known Abby for a while—same classes, mutual friends, occasional gym hangouts—but she’s never looked at you like this.

Like the whole party’s just noise and you’re the only clear thing in the room.

“I can’t believe we’re finally alone,” she murmurs, her voice low and rough, barely audible over the music.

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

She chuckles under her breath, the sound low and rich. “You always show up to these things with him. I almost didn’t bother coming tonight.”

Your eyes flick toward the living room, where bodies move in a blur of shadows and bass. Still no sign of him. Of course.

Abby’s eyes don’t follow yours. They stay fixed on you. Watching. Waiting.

“What are the chances?” she says after a beat, taking half a step closer. “Everyone’s dancing, the house is packed, and yet... he’s not with you.”

You feel it then—deep in your stomach. That fluttering, unsettling spark. You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or her voice or just the way she’s looking at you, like she’s trying to decide whether to kiss you or ruin your life. Maybe both.

You shrug, trying to deflect, suddenly too aware of the heat creeping up your neck. “You know how he is.”

Abby’s jaw tightens just slightly. “Yeah,” she says. “I know exactly how he is.”

Her gaze flicks down to your wrist again, to the spot where her fingers brushed you. She doesn’t touch you this time. Not yet. But her hand hovers, twitching, like she’s debating something.

You swallow hard, suddenly needing air that isn’t thick with perfume and tension. “You’re acting weird,” you say, half-laughing, trying to cut the tension before it chokes you.

“No,” Abby says, head tilting. Her voice drops, goes velvet-smooth. “I’m acting honest.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “Honest?”

She steps in, just close enough that her breath brushes your cheek. You can smell the faintest trace of mint on her lips.

“I’ve been watching you,” she says, quiet but firm. “Every time you show up with him. Every time he disappears on you. Every time you pretend not to care.”

You don’t move. Can’t.

Her voice softens, almost like she’s afraid you’ll bolt. “I don’t know what he’s doing, walking away from someone like you. But I do know what I’d do if you were mine.”

Your heart skips. Then stumbles. “Abby—”

She cuts you off, not with words, but by gently—finally—sliding her fingers around your wrist again. It’s not forceful. Just there. Steady. Real.

“I could be a better boyfriend than him,” she says. No teasing this time. Just quiet conviction. “I’d show up. I’d stay. I’d make you feel seen.”

You exhale, the sound half a scoff, half an attempt to push down the sudden ache in your chest. “You’re drunk,” you say, but it sounds thin. Weak.

“I’m not,” she says, stepping even closer, crowding into your space, but not unwelcome. “I’m dead sober. And I’ve been thinking about stealing you from him since the moment I saw you tonight.”

Your heart skips.

“I could be such a gentleman,” she adds, her voice like velvet now. “Plus—” she grins— “all my clothes would fit.”

You shake your head, grinning despite yourself. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Abby shrugs, not letting go of your hand, “but I’m not wrong. You know I’m not.”

You should say something clever, something to shut her down or laugh it off. But instead, you glance down at your phone again—three unread texts from your boyfriend.

Where r u 

Be right back, chill 

Don’t start drama pls

You lock your phone and slide it into your pocket.

“I don’t need to tell you twice,” Abby says, reading your silence like a damn novel. “You know all the ways he falls short.”

She tilts her head, studying you with that steady, unreadable gaze that makes your stomach twist. “If I could give you some advice…” Her voice is soft now, like it’s meant only for you, cut off from the noise and heat around you.

You meet her eyes, hesitant. “Yeah?”

Her mouth quirks into a subtle smirk, but there’s something deeper behind it—something that feels like truth. “I’d leave with me. Tonight.”

Your heart lurches. Your lips part, some weak protest fumbling to the surface, but she cuts you off before it can form.

“Ladies first, baby,” she murmurs, her voice rough velvet. “I insist.”

You freeze—not because you’re unsure, but because everything in you is sure, and that’s the terrifying part. The confidence in her words, the closeness of her body, the way she’s just there, so solid and real—every inch of her feels like something you’ve been aching for without even realizing.

You look at her. Really look.

And all you can think is: Why the hell am I still waiting on someone who never looks at me like this?

Abby watches your face shift. Watches the storm behind your eyes and says nothing. Just steps closer, slow and patient, until there’s barely a breath between you.

“I never would’ve left you alone,” she says quietly, her words deliberate and low. “Not glued to your phone. Not standing in a corner like you’re invisible.”

It hits something deep in your chest.

The sounds of the party start to melt away—like someone’s slowly turning down the volume on everything except her voice, her presence. Abby’s hand finds yours again. Warm. Steady. She squeezes once, gentle. A question.

“Let me take you home,” she says.

You don’t respond. Not yet.

Instead, you stare at her lips. And she sees it—sees you falter forward an inch before stopping yourself. The air between you turns thick, charged with something neither of you says out loud.

Her eyes flick to your mouth, then back to your eyes. “Say it,” she whispers. “Or do it. But don’t run back to someone who keeps forgetting how lucky he is.”

You hesitate, just a breath longer.

Then you step in, heart hammering so loud you’re sure she can hear it. You reach up, fingers brushing the edge of her jacket—but you don’t kiss her. Not yet. You stop there, close enough to feel her breath against your skin.

She doesn’t move either. She waits. Eyes locked to yours. Letting you choose.

And you do.

You slide your hand up, curling your fingers into her lapel like a lifeline, and when you finally pull her in, it’s slow. Careful. Like the seconds are stretched out and folded in on themselves.

Your lips meet—tentative, testing—and the first touch is barely more than a breath, a question neither of you wants to ask too loudly. But then she leans in, and so do you, and suddenly you’re kissing her for real—deep, slow, and undeniable.

It’s not frantic. It’s not rushed.

It’s full of everything you haven’t let yourself feel. All the longing, all the frustration, all the what-ifs you’ve swallowed down night after night.

Abby’s hand comes up to your cheek, thumb brushing along your jaw with a kind of reverence, like she’s afraid to wake you from a dream. You let out a shaky breath into her mouth, your whole body leaning into her without even meaning to.

And then she’s moving.

Her other arm slips around your waist, anchoring you to her like she’s afraid you might still vanish—and maybe a part of you is afraid too. But her grip is real, grounding, and suddenly there’s no room left for doubt.

Abby reacts instantly, her hand gliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as she pulls you deeper into her. The kiss changes, sharpens. From a question to an answer. From want to need.

You feel the heat of her body press flush against yours, her chest against your own, the contact dizzying in its intensity. She tastes like mint and something more—something wild and reckless, like the edge of something dangerous, something you didn’t know you needed until right now.

The kiss turns urgent. Desperate. Like you’re both trying to make up for every second wasted pretending this wasn’t inevitable.

Abby backs you up until your spine meets the edge of the counter, the cold granite biting into your skin, a jarring contrast to the fire catching between your bodies. You moan softly into her mouth, the sound swallowed by her lips, and she groans in response—a low, rough sound that vibrates through your chest and straight down your spine.

Her hands slip lower, slow and deliberate, testing the edges of your waistband before settling on your hips. She pulls you against her with intent, with heat, grinding you into the shape of her body like she’s carving you there.

And in that moment, it doesn’t matter that you’re still in someone’s kitchen at a party you didn’t want to come to. It doesn’t matter who’s in the next room or what excuses are waiting on your phone.

All that matters is her.

“You’ve been wanting this, haven’t you?” Abby breathes against your lips, voice rough, thick with something primal.

You don’t deny it. You don’t want to.

You don’t answer, can’t answer, because she’s already slipping her hand underneath your shirt, her fingertips grazing the soft skin of your stomach, sending shivers through you. You arch into her touch, your mind clouded, your body responding to her in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

Her lips trail down your neck, kissing a path toward your collarbone, and you can’t help but moan softly, threading your fingers into her hair to guide her closer. Abby’s hands are everywhere—on your hips, your waist, your back—and you feel like you might just crumble under her touch, the intensity of it stealing your breath away.

But before you can get too lost in the moment, Abby pulls back slightly, her forehead resting against yours, her breath heavy.

“Are you sure?” she asks, her voice low, almost a growl, like a predator checking if its prey is willing.

You blink, struggling to clear the haze in your mind. The answer is there, pulsing in the back of your throat, but the question feels so out of place, considering how badly you want this.

“I’m done waiting,” you whisper, voice shaky but resolute.

Abby’s lips curve into a wicked grin, and she nods, her eyes dark and focused on you. She leans in to kiss you again, but this time, it’s more deliberate, more controlled. She wants to take her time with you, savoring every second.

As her lips crash against yours once more, you know there’s no turning back now. Whatever boundaries you had left, whatever morals or hesitation, have already melted away in the heat of this moment.

And just as you feel yourself sinking deeper into the world Abby is pulling you into, her hand slides to the hem of your shirt, tugging it up slowly, her fingertips leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"Upstairs," she murmurs against your lips, voice thick with need. "Right now."

You don’t hesitate. Grabbing your jacket from the back of the counter, you take her hand.

Abby’s hand tightens around yours as she leads you through the sea of bodies, her grip steady and possessive, pulling you away from the kitchen and deeper into the maze of the house. The music pulses louder as you pass through rooms, the air thick with the mingling scents of alcohol, sweat, and cheap cologne, but none of it matters.

Not when she’s so close, her body brushing against yours with every step, every shared glance that makes your stomach flip.

You can feel her warmth, the steady rhythm of her breathing, and you’re so close now, your senses overwhelmed by her presence. As you reach a quieter hallway at the back of the house, Abby doesn’t slow down. She pulls you into a room at the end, one that’s been abandoned by the partygoers, a cozy little study filled with mismatched furniture and the dim glow of a single lamp in the corner.

The door shuts behind you with a soft thud, and the moment the latch clicks, Abby doesn’t waste any time. She spins you toward her, her lips capturing yours in a kiss so intense that it leaves you breathless. The quiet of the room is a stark contrast to the chaos outside, and every kiss, every touch between you both feels amplified in the stillness.

Abby’s hands roam freely now, sliding down your sides and over your hips as if she can’t get enough. She pulls you closer, her chest pressing against yours, and you feel the heat of her body in the way she holds you—firm, urgent, like she’s afraid you might slip away.

You respond with equal hunger, your hands finding their way to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair. She lets out a soft groan when you tug her closer, and you revel in the sound. The tension between you two is palpable, thick in the air like static before a storm, and you can’t think about anything else but her.

“You’ve got me all to yourself now,” Abby murmurs against your lips, her voice a low, husky whisper that sends a shiver down your spine.

You nod, your own words stuck in your throat. All that’s left is the pull of her, the heat that rises between you both like wildfire.

Without another word, Abby’s hands move to the hem of your shirt, tugging it upward with a slow, deliberate motion that has your heart racing. The cool air brushes against your skin, and you shiver in anticipation, watching her eyes darken with something raw and intense as she takes in every inch of you.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” she mutters, her voice thick with desire, and you can’t help the rush of heat that floods your cheeks at her words. You’ve never heard her sound like this before—this unguarded, this raw. It makes something inside you ache in a way you didn’t expect.

You step forward, closing the distance between you as you slide your hands under the edge of her jacket, lifting it off her shoulders and tossing it aside. The fabric of her shirt is soft under your fingertips, and you feel the heat of her skin as you press against her, feeling the outline of her muscles as your hands move lower, exploring.

Abby’s breath hitches when your hands graze over her waist, her lips finding yours again, hungry and frantic now. The kiss is full of promises you both don’t need to say out loud, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you like a thread pulling tighter and tighter.

The urgency in the air heightens, and every touch, every movement feels like it’s pushing you both closer to the edge. She guides you toward the couch in the corner of the room, but you don’t quite make it before your hands are on her again, pushing her against the nearest wall.

“Abby,” you gasp, voice breaking with a mix of desire and need.

She smirks, her lips curling into something wicked as she presses herself against you again, this time with more force. “I’ve got you now,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your ear, “and I’m not letting you go.”

Before you can respond, Abby’s hands slide firmly around your thighs, and with a sudden, dizzying movement, she lifts you. Your legs instinctively wrap around her waist as she carries you with ease, like your weight is nothing—like she’s meant to hold you. Her grip is strong, steady, and the muscles in her arms flex with every step as she strides toward the couch across the room.

You cling to her, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a laugh, your fingers tangling in the collar of her shirt. “Abby—”

She cuts you off with a kiss—slow at first, savoring it, like she wants to memorize the shape of your mouth, the taste of your skin, the sound you make when her lips graze yours just so. But it doesn’t stay slow for long.

By the time she lowers you to the couch, her body follows, pressing you down with a heat that makes your skin burn in the best way. Her mouth stays on yours, hungry now, claiming. Her tongue slips past your lips with a confident tilt of her head, and you moan into her before you even realize you’re doing it.

She swallows the sound like it’s a reward—grinning against your kiss as her hands trail down your sides, fingers mapping the curve of your waist with purpose. She presses her hips into yours, grinding slow and deep, and your back arches off the cushions in response, your breath catching in your throat.

Her hands roam lower, gripping your hips with firm purpose, then sliding up beneath your shirt again, this time with no hesitation. She breaks the kiss just long enough to tug it over your head and toss it somewhere over her shoulder. Her own comes off just as quick—revealing toned muscle and the kind of sculpted softness that makes your breath catch.

You stare for a beat, eyes raking over her, lips parted.

“Eyes up here,” she teases, breathless but grinning, and leans down to kiss along your jaw, down your neck, her hands anchoring your hips like she’s claiming them. “Or don’t. I kind of like the way you look at me.”

You barely manage to bite back a whimper as her teeth graze the sensitive spot beneath your ear, and your hands find the curve of her back, nails digging in when she grinds her hips down into yours.

“Abs…” you whisper, but there’s no question in your voice—just need.

Her voice is a low growl at your ear. “Tell me what you want.”

“You.”

She hums in approval, kissing down the slope of your collarbone. “Then lie back, baby,” she says, one hand already guiding you down again with firm, gentle pressure. “And let me take care of everything.”

And you do—because her weight between your thighs, her hands on your body, her mouth claiming yours over and over—it’s the first time you’ve felt wanted in so long.

And Abby doesn’t just want you.

She knows exactly what to do with you.

The push of her thigh between your legs has a moan coming from your mouth that is nothing but desperate. Clearly enough that it causes that wicked smirk to come back to her lips as she leans over you more, gently grinding the muscle against your core as you mutter a low ‘fuck’ as your brain short circuits from the small action.

Her smirk deepens as she watches the way your breath stutters, how your hips instinctively roll against her thigh. Abby leans in, her lips brushing your temple before trailing a slow, deliberate path back down to your neck. She presses a kiss just beneath your jaw, then another, softer one at the hollow of your throat. “You’re so responsive,” she murmurs, voice low and full of pride. “I barely touch you and you’re already trembling.”

You are, and there’s no point in denying it. Your body feels like it’s caught fire—heat blooming at every point where her skin touches yours.

The steady grind of her thigh is both grounding and electrifying, like a steady beat beneath the chaos. And Abby? She’s completely in control. Patient, confident, like she’s been waiting to have you like this and she’s going to take her time now that you’re here. One of her hands slips under you, sliding along the small of your back, the warmth of her palm sending a fresh ripple of sensation up your spine.

 The other brushes up your side, fingers tracing the curve of your ribcage before splaying out across your chest, over your racing heart. She looks down at you like she’s taking a mental snapshot, something she wants to burn into her memory. “You’re beautiful like this,” she says softly, the heat in her eyes belying the gentleness of her voice.

Your fingers clutch at her shoulders, dragging her down for another kiss—messier now, fueled by everything swirling between you. Abby leans into it, one hand slipping down, finding the waistband of your jeans with practiced ease. She works the button open, her touch confident but unrushed, like she wants to savor every second.

The zipper gives with a soft sound, and she eases the denim down your hips, eyes never leaving yours as she does. Her gaze lingers, hungry and reverent all at once, like unwrapping a gift she’s waited too long to hold.

Abby doesn’t pause—doesn’t need to. The way your body reacts, the way your breath catches under her touch, is all the answer she needs. Her mouth finds yours again, deeper this time, less like a kiss and more like a claim. You melt into it, fingers threading through her hair as she presses closer, one hand keeping your bodies flush while the other explores every inch of skin she can reach.

“You drive me crazy,” she growls against your lips, her voice rough and low like it’s been dragged over gravel. “Been thinking about this—about you—way too long.”

You can feel it in the way her fingers grip your side, in how her lips move along your jaw, down your throat, like she’s trying to map every inch of you by memory. Every breath is heavier now, laced with tension that’s been building for far too long. The couch creaks beneath you as she shifts, her knee nudging yours apart just slightly, just enough to steal your breath.

Her mouth trails lower, leaving a trail of heat behind, and her hands never stop moving—firm, sure, and undeniably hers. You arch into her instinctively, your head tipping back with a quiet gasp as your hands tug her closer, needing more.

“Just like that,” Abby murmurs, a crooked grin tugging at her lips as she watches you fall apart beneath her touch. “Look at you.”

Your eyes flutter open just enough to catch the way she’s looking at you—like you’re something rare and burning, something she's wanted for longer than she’d ever admit. That look alone sends another shiver down your spine.

She leans down, lips brushing your ear, breath warm and wild. “I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else.”

And just like that, she’s slipping from your grasp—her hands sliding down, thumbs catching the edge of your underwear as she eases it away. Every movement is unhurried and deliberate. Her mouth doesn’t stop for a second—leaving soft, lingering kisses along your neck, across the curve of your chest, down your stomach. Each one lights a spark under your skin, and by the time she settles between your thighs, you’re already breathless.

Her eyes meet yours—dark, intense, unwavering. “Just like that, baby,” she murmurs, her voice all velvet and fire, “keep your eyes on me.”

The way she’s looking at you… it’s too much and not enough all at once. Like she’s reading every unspoken word etched into your bones, every need you’ve barely admitted to yourself. Her grip tightens on the backs of your thighs, anchoring you, steadying you, and when her breath fans across your weeping cunt, a shiver rocks through you. The sound that escapes your lips is a tangled mess of a gasp and a curse, and her fingers only press deeper, holding you in place.

Then she leans in, and the first press of her mouth to your pussy pulls a ragged cry from your throat. “F–fuck, Abs—” But she doesn’t relent. She doesn't even pause.

Her tongue moves with intention, slow and devastating, tasting every inch of you. Every glide, every flick, every swirl against your clit builds you higher, and there’s no room left in your chest for anything but the sounds she draws from you.

The low sound that rumbles from her throat when she sinks deeper sends another tremor through you. She presses closer, one strong arm sliding beneath you to keep you right where she wants you. You’re gasping now, hips jerking, chasing the rhythm she’s setting—your body flushed with heat, your legs starting to tremble.

And then she hums—just a little—and it sends a jolt through your cunt, right to the base of your spine. Your hands find her hair, fingers twisting tight, a plea caught in your breath as your eyes squeeze shut.

It’s happening so fast—and you feel it building, barreling toward something you can’t stop. And maybe you don’t want to.

Because it’s not just her mouth.

It’s what she sees.

It’s the way she shows up.

It’s the way she touches you like you matter, like your pleasure isn’t an obligation, but something she craves—something she’s been waiting to give you from the second you started settling for less.

Your boyfriend hasn’t looked at you like this in months. Hasn’t listened. Hasn’t asked what you need. And when he does touch you, it’s half-there, distracted, like he’s checking off a box, not trying to feel you. Not like this.

Not like Abby.

Abby, who’s on her knees for you like she worships at the altar of your body. Abby, who doesn’t need to be asked twice. Abby, who touches you like she’s making up for every lonely night, every unanswered message, every time you told yourself, “This is just what relationships are sometimes.”

Her lips seal tighter, tongue circling with a purpose that makes your toes curl. You gasp, broken and breathless. And then she slides a finger into you—slow and full and just right—and your back arches off the couch like a current’s shot through your spine.

“Abby, please,” you manage, voice barely a whisper, frayed and desperate. “I’m so close.”

She doesn’t stop. If anything, she doubles down. She knows your body like she’s memorized it in dreams, and now she’s playing every part like a symphony rising to its crescendo.

Your thighs tighten around her shoulders, your hands gripping her as you fall apart with her name on your lips, everything crashing through you in waves.

“I’m gonna cum—oh fuck, Abby—”

The first crest hits you and then everything else after that is lost in the chaos. You lose track of everything—where you are, what you are, who you are—you only exist as a bundle of nerve endings, every single one firing all at once and your entire world turns white.

Somewhere in the distance you hear Abby moan, a sound so filthy it might have pushed you over the edge all over again if your body wasn't already wrung out, your chest heaving, your lungs burning.

Your legs fall open, sliding off her shoulders, limp.

Abby wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and then crawls up next to you, wrapping you in her arms, a kiss pressed to your forehead. Your head falls back against the arm of the couch, your hands slipping from her hair as you try to remember how to breathe.

"Fuck," you sigh, your eyes still closed.

Her hand settles on your knee, thumb brushing along the line of your thigh. "I think that's the most I've heard you swear," she murmurs, the sound of her voice and the warmth of her palm against your skin making it impossible not to open your eyes.

"That's because it's the best I've ever had," you reply, a smirk tugging at your lips.

Abby doesn't even bother trying to hide her grin, preening at the sentence. But she also doesn't just let the energy between you settle. "Told you, I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else." She said, before one hand was wondering up your chest and the other one was lowering down your thigh again.

You can't help but shudder, the promise in her voice alone enough to get you riled up all over again. "You're really not wasting any time," you laugh, but when her fingertips slip between your folds again, you're the one who shudders.

"Not when I've been thinking about this for far too long," she replies, her fingers sliding deep, and you have no choice but to give yourself over to her.

Abby doesn't hold anything back. And you're more than willing to meet her head-on.

By the time she eases back, the room is thick with the sounds of you falling apart, the air hot and heavy. There's a faint sheen of sweat across her shoulders, and her lips are swollen, cheeks flushed.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," the words fall from your lips without thought, and her answering grin is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

She leans in, and when her mouth covers yours, the taste of you lingering on her tongue, a shiver runs down your spine. "Not as gorgeous as you are," she whispers, before her mouth is moving down your neck, fingers tugging the cup of your bra down before latching around your left nipple.

"Oh fuck!" You hiss, her teeth sinking into the tender flesh, the sharp pain melting into pleasure.

She takes her time, alternating between rough bites and soothing licks, her hand sliding up and down your side, her thumb grazing the swell of your breast. Then her mouth is gone, her hand is also gone from you, wrapping around the back of your thigh, spreading you open.

"Look at you, so ready for me," Abby murmurs, her eyes drinking you in. "Really should have taken you out of here, bet you would look even better takin' my strap."

The mere thought of it is enough to make your thighs tremble, and her responding grin is sinful. "Oh, you like that idea, huh?"

"Yes," the word rushes out of you in a breathless rush, and her hand squeezes your thigh.

"Next time, baby," she promises, and then she's lowering herself back down, and her mouth is everywhere.

The slide of her tongue, the nip of her teeth, the warmth of her breath—it's intoxicating, and it's only a matter of moments before you're falling apart again, a hoarse cry slipping from your lips.

You don't even notice she's stopped until her hands slide down your thighs, soothing you. It takes a moment for you to regain the ability to speak, and by the time you've got your eyes open, she's leaning over you, her hair falling around her shoulders.

"Hey," her voice is gentle, a crooked smile curling her lips. "You with me?"

"Yeah," the word falls from you in a slow exhale, and her smile grows.

"Good," She mumbled, her eyes looking over your features. The sound of the party can be heard faintly through the door, but all you can do is look at her. Practically fully clothed besides that black sports bra clinging to her chest, Abby towers over you like a storm still crackling with lightning. Her jeans ride low on her hips, the muscles in her stomach flexing with each slow, controlled breath, and there’s something in her eyes that makes your pulse spike all over again—hunger, satisfaction, and just a hint of smugness.

Her braid’s messy now, strands of gold clinging to her flushed skin, and her chest glistens faintly with sweat. She’s never looked more raw, more dangerous, more real. Every inch of her is tense with heat and control, like she could devour you all over again if she wanted to—and God, you want her to.

Abby braces herself on either side of your head, arms trembling slightly from restraint. Her eyes flick over your face like she’s memorizing every expression you’ve made—every breathless whimper, every broken plea. She dips her head, brushing her lips along your jaw, the ghost of a smile curving into something darker.

“You’re a fucking dream like this,” she mutters, low and rough, voice rasping like it’s been dragged through fire. “Can’t believe I get to be the one to wreck you like that.”

You shift beneath her, hands gliding up her sides, mapping out the lean definition of her torso. Every breath she takes is steady, but you can feel the tension still thrumming in her body—like she’s barely holding herself together.

Then you move, catching her off-guard. With a quick twist and a shove, Abby lets out a low grunt as you flip her onto her back against the couch cushions, her braid falling across the armrest, her legs bent awkwardly before she relaxes into the plush seat with a laugh—surprised, breathless, and completely at your mercy.

You straddle her thighs, palms pressed to her chest, and lean in close, your lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“It’s my turn now.” You whisper, voice low and rough with want.

Abby’s smirk falters, just barely. Her eyes search yours, pupils blown wide, and she licks her lips, her chest rising faster beneath the cling of her sports bra. One of her hands grips your thigh, tight, anchoring herself as if she’s trying to brace for what’s next.

There’s still heat in her gaze—always—but now it’s tinged with anticipation, curiosity, a rare flicker of surrender.

You roll your hips forward slowly, deliberately, and her breath catches in her throat.

“I want to ruin you back,” you murmur, eyes locked on hers. “Want you to feel what I did. Every second.”

Her hand slides up your back, nails scraping lightly through the sweat-slicked skin. “Then take it,” she growls, low and eager. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She lifts her hips, pushing up to meet you, and you grind down into her with a low groan, pressing your body against hers. You bury your face against her throat, mouthing at the damp skin, and she tilts her head back, exposing her neck for you. You bite down, sucking at the soft spot beneath her ear, and she hisses through her teeth, hips rolling into yours, her breath growing ragged.

Your hands move up, tangling in her hair, and she gasps, fingers digging into your hip as you drag your mouth along the curve of her throat, biting, licking, marking her. Abby arches up into you, panting, and the feel of her chest heaving beneath yours is enough to make your toes curl, heat racing along your spine.

Your hands fall to her chest, and you drag the tip of one finger slowly across the edge of her bra. Abby bites her lip, groaning, her eyes fluttering shut.

You drag your palm over the curve of her breast, and she lets out a muffled curse, her other hand clamping down on your waist. Her nipples pebble under your touch, and she arches her back, straining against the fabric.

You smile against her throat.

Your fingers loop into the elastic of her bra, and without needing words she lifts her arms up as you pull it over her head. You toss her bra aside, barely catching the way Abby’s eyes darken as they rake over your face. Her chest rises and falls with each breath, bare now beneath your touch, her skin warm, flushed.

You lean in, kissing just above her heart, then lower still, your lips tracing the line between strength and softness. Her skin is flushed, damp, and hot beneath your mouth, every shift of your touch dragging another breathless sound from her lips.

Your hands move down, slipping past her ribs to the waistband of her jeans. The denim is stiff, rough against your fingers, but you pop the button with a slow flick, dragging the zipper down until it parts with a soft rasp. Abby lifts her hips without hesitation, wordless and eager, her eyes never leaving yours.

You ease the jeans down, the tight fabric clinging to her thighs, then her calves, and finally off her ankles. You toss them aside, and it’s then, as you settle back between her legs, that you see it.

Her underwear are soaked — a dark stain blooming at the center of the thin cotton, clear in the low light. A slick line gleams along the edge where the fabric meets her skin, proof of her arousal along the curve of her inner thigh.

Your thumb drags along the edge of the fabric, tracing the damp line, smearing the evidence of her desire. She smells like heat and sweat and something sweeter, and your mouth waters as your gaze drags up to meet hers.

“Fuck,” you murmur, rough and low.

Abby’s mouth curls into a smirk, flushed cheeks and bright eyes betraying the heat roiling just beneath. “Yeah,” she breathes, voice rough. “That’s for you.”

You kiss the edge of her hip, then move lower with intent. Her thighs tremble under your touch, fingers twisting in a couch pillow, breath catching as you lean close enough to drag your tongue over the front of her underwear, teasing and unhurried.

When your teeth graze her gently through the soaked fabric, she gasps—sharp and broken—and her hips rise into your mouth with instinctual urgency. You slide your hands up her muscular thighs, thumbs hooking into the elastic at her hips.

She lifts herself again, silent but begging, and you don’t keep her waiting. You pull her underwear down slowly, watching the wet fabric stretch before slipping free. The scent of her hits you — heady, sweet, and utterly intoxicating.

You press another kiss to her bare hip, then glance up. Abby’s eyes are half-lidded, chest heaving, lips parted with anticipation.

She swallows hard. “Come on, baby.”

Your breath fans hot against the inside of her thigh, and she shivers beneath you, the muscles there taut and twitching. You drag your mouth lower, tasting salt and skin and the slick heat she’s drenched in. Your thumbs press gently into the creases of her hips, holding her open, steady, as your tongue finally slips through the soft hair and glides over and dips into her waiting pussy.

Abby chokes on a breath—sharp and desperate—her hips jolting, one hand flying to your shoulder, the other still gripping the pillow in a white-knuckled clutch. You hum against her, slow and deep, the vibration making her gasp again, and you feel the flex of her abs under your hands as her body tries to curl toward your mouth.

“F-fuck,” she stammers, voice cracking, head tipping back into the cushion behind her. “Don’t stop.”

You don’t plan to. You flatten your tongue, licking a slow, deliberate stripe up through her slickness, then in steady, relentless circles, building her up with every flick, every press, every slow drag through the slick heat of her cunt. Abby’s legs tremble around your head, thighs twitching with every pulse of pleasure, and you hold her open, anchored by the grip of your hands at her hips, the flex of muscle under your fingers.

She’s soaked—utterly dripping—and you can feel it coating your mouth, your chin, the skin by her thighs now slick with it as she writhes beneath you. You moan into her, the sound low and full, and she lets out a cry that cuts off sharp as her back bows off the couch.

“God—” she gasps, breath hitched, eyes squeezed shut. “Your mouth—fuck, your mouth feels so good—”

You hum again, lapping at her with rougher strokes now, your pace no longer teasing but hungry. Abby’s hands are in your hair, gripping hard, hips grinding against your face, chasing every movement you make. When you suck her clit between your lips and flick it with your tongue, she lets out a strangled whimper, thighs clamping down for half a second before you press her open again.

You glance up, just to watch her fall apart. Her lips are parted, glistening with spit, her chest heaving, sweat gleaming along her collarbone and between her breasts. She looks wrecked—utterly undone—and you’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

“Please,” she pants, voice barely a whisper now. “Please don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop—”

You don’t.

You slide one hand from her hip, dragging your fingers down the trail of soft hair under her belly button, guiding over the hair between her thighs, circling lower until you find her entrance. She’s soaked, your fingers sliding in with ease, and she jerks with a sharp inhale, her whole body tightening. You curl your fingers just right, tongue and hand working in perfect rhythm, and the sound she makes is almost guttural.

“Jesus—fuck—!” Abby’s voice breaks, breathless and high, her hand slapping against the couch cushions as her other grips your arm like a lifeline. Her thighs are trembling violently now, her hips stuttering, bucking.

She’s so close.

You feel it in the way she clenches around your fingers, the way her moans lose all rhythm, the way her nails dig in as though she’s holding herself together by sheer force of will.

And when her whole body locks beneath you, when her moan turns strangled and her back arches off the couch—you want every second of it.

You press your fingers deeper, curling them just right, and suck harder, flicking your tongue in tight, ruthless circles. Abby lets out a sob of a sound, hips jerking up into your face, and you feel the pulse of her around your fingers—a deep, clenching rhythm that starts low in her belly and ripples outward like a wave crashing through her.

She’s coming. Hard.

Her thighs clamp around your head, trembling with every pulse. Her nails rake down your back, not gentle, not careful, but desperate—anchoring herself to something as her body breaks open around the pleasure. She gasps for breath, her voice caught somewhere between a moan and a curse, chest heaving like she can’t quite get enough air.

“F-fuck—oh my God—don’t stop, don’t fucking stop—”

You don’t. You keep going, pushing her through it, over and over, licking her like she’s everything you’ve ever wanted on your tongue. Her legs are shaking now, uncontrollably, her whole body trembling with aftershocks that just won’t quit, her hips twitching with every stroke of your tongue, every curl of your fingers still buried inside her.

And then—finally—she collapses.

Her body goes slack all at once, like the tension’s been wrung out of her completely. She sinks back into the cushions, chest rising and falling in shallow, stuttering breaths, one hand falling from your shoulder to rest limply on her stomach. Her skin glows, flushed and glistening with sweat, and there’s a dazed, bliss-drunk look in her eyes as she blinks down at you.

You slowly withdraw your fingers, licking them clean as she watches with parted lips, too wrecked to do anything but breathe.

You press soft kisses to her inner thighs, then climb up her body, your mouth tracing the path of her sweat-slick skin until you're hovering just above her. Her arms slide around your shoulders instinctively, pulling you close, and when your lips meet hers, she moans against your mouth.

“Jesus,” she breathes, still trembling, her voice barely a whisper, yet so full of raw honesty. You can feel the slight shudder that runs through her as she pulls you closer, her fingers threading into your hair, as though she never wants to let go.

You settle next to her, propped up on an elbow, and gently cradle her against your chest. She’s warm and pliant in your arms, skin still buzzing with the aftershocks of pleasure, her breathing gradually slowing as the moments stretch out in peaceful silence.

You press a kiss to her forehead, letting your lips linger there for a moment, then to the tip of her nose, and finally down to her lips, tasting the softness of her, savoring the sweetness of her kiss.

“Are you okay?” you murmur, brushing a strand of damp hair off her face. Your hand rests on her cheek, tender, as if afraid to disrupt the fragile quiet that’s settled between you.

She nods slowly, her eyes still half-closed, a soft smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Better than okay,” she whispers, her voice thick with satisfaction. “That was better than any dream I’ve had of you,” she says, eyes glowing with a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction.

The words settle in your chest like a gentle weight, making your heart thump just a little harder than before. You press your lips to her forehead again, feeling the warmth of her skin under yours, the pulse of her heart still racing, but slowing.

“Glad I could make it better than anything you’ve imagined,” you murmur, your voice hushed with the quiet intimacy of the moment. You tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture gentle, almost reverent, as though you don’t want to disturb the peace between you.

Abby lets out a small, contented sigh, curling into you just a little more, her fingers still stroking over your skin in a way that sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. “I didn’t know anything could be this... perfect.”

You chuckle softly, your chest vibrating with the sound. “We’ve got time to see if we can top it.” Your words are light, teasing, but there’s something in your voice that promises more — more time, more closeness, more moments like this.

Her lips curl into a soft grin, a small, playful spark returning to her eyes despite the exhaustion hanging on her. “I’ll hold you to that,” she whispers, her hand drifting back to your side, tracing the curve of your ribs, the feeling of her touch so familiar now, like a rhythm you’ve always known.

As the quiet settles between you, Abby’s fingers continue their slow exploration of your skin, the touch soothing, grounding. But then, after a beat, she pulls back just slightly, tilting her head to meet your gaze. There’s a shift in her eyes, something that’s been building in the subtle movements, in the way she watches you like you’re both caught in a secret, shared between the two of you.

She clears her throat, her voice now low but filled with a quiet, vulnerable intensity. “I’ve been thinking…” she starts, her words softer, but heavier, like she’s working her way up to something important.

You lift an eyebrow, your heart picking up a beat at the change in her tone. You sit up slightly, giving her your full attention. “Yeah?” you mumble gently, a part of you already knowing where this is going.

Abby takes a breath, her gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips, then back again. “I don’t think you should stay with him,” she says, her words deliberate but filled with raw honesty. “Not when you could be with me.”

Her words hang in the air for a moment, thick and charged with an unspoken promise. You stare at her, the weight of the moment slowly sinking in. She doesn’t say it in an angry or demanding way — there’s no rush, no pressure in her voice. She just sounds... sure. So sure, like she’s been thinking about this for a while, and she wants you to hear her, really hear her.

“Abby…” you start, but she holds up a hand, stopping you before you can say more.

“Don’t,” she whispers, her voice tender but full of longing. “I’m not asking you to drop everything overnight. But I think you deserve better than what you have right now. I think you deserve someone who’s gonna make you feel like you’re the only one in the world. And... I want that to be me.”

You feel your breath catch, her words slowly winding through your chest, tightening with every beat. You can see it in her eyes — the vulnerability, the hope, the desire — and you realize, in this moment, she’s asking for something more than just this night. She’s asking for you, all of you, not as an option, but as someone who could choose her, choose this.

“I think I could be happy with you, Abby,” you finally say, your voice steady but full of emotion. Your heart is pounding, the reality of it all settling in as you look at her, knowing she’s speaking the truth. There’s no denying the chemistry, the pull between you — it’s been there from the start, only now, it’s deeper, more real.

Abby smiles softly, her eyes lighting up with a mix of relief and hope, like she’s been holding her breath, waiting for you to finally say it. “So…” she trails off, her fingers brushing over your cheek, a playful glint in her eyes. “Will you break up with your boyfriend? And be mine, officially?”

The question lingers in the air, sweet and simple, but it feels like the start of something new. The kind of thing you can’t take back — and for the first time, you realize you don’t want to.

You smile back at her, heart full, the weight of the world suddenly feeling lighter. “I think I already am,” you whisper, your hand reaching out to cup her face, drawing her closer.

And as your lips meet again, slow and tender this time, you know without a doubt — this is just the beginning. Notes:

A/N: This is my first time writing a smut between two characters. Critique would be hugely appreciated ! Literally based off the song 'Boyfriend' by Dove Cameron

[circeyoru]

Masterlist

Hi, I'm Circe! Welcome to my list of random writings written from random bursts of thoughts and ideas!

WARNING!

Due to the rise in AI usage and there has been some people using AI to write stories, I am strongly against people using my work and feeding it to AI bots. If anyone sees my work being used in such a way and kindly let me know or if I find out, I will not hesitate to delete my entire account altogether along with my works.

Myself and I'm sure other writers (including the talented artists) put a lot into their work. For our work to be used in such a way is an insult. If you're doing it because you don't want to wait or whatever other reasons. Reflect on your actions.

I'm putting this here as an obvious warning to all and I will not torlerate such actions. To my own work and other wonderful content creators.

WARNING!

Do NOT repost my work onto other platforms for any purposes. If found, this entire blog will be deleted.

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Hazbin Hotel Writing Collection

— Alastor (mainly), Lucifer, Vox

Solo Leveling Writing Collection

— Sung Jinwoo (mainly), Liu Zhigang, Shadows

<Tip> Sometimes the Masterlists aren't updated, just go to the #[Title of Story/Series] and you'll see everything related to it. That one's always up to date~

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About Requests

Characters I'll write for:

[CLOSED] HAZBIN HOTEL: Alastor (mainly); Lucifer, Vox (under consideration and depend on idea)

[CLOSED] SOLO LEVELING: Sung Jinwoo (mainly); others (depending on request)

Reader Settings: I tend to set the reader as gender-neutral, otherwise, I am most comfortable with female-based reader inserts. Without any particular reason for the gender, it will be set as neutral

I do NOT write for SMUT and NSFW requests, as formerly stated. No ifs, or buts, or depending. If I see it in my inbox, I'll shut down the request function.

<Note>

You can check my works to see what kind of requests were sent and done to avoid repeated ideas or see the range of my genre.

For already sent requests that have yet to be written or replied to. BE PATIENT. Just because you sent a request does not mean I will 100% write it. Or that it just takes more time to write.

I have full right to decide NOT to write for that specific request at the end of the day. Like you are here to enjoy reading fanfics, I am here to enjoy writing them and receiving new ideas and comments on my work. Thank you.

[yuujispunches]

Of deadlines and desires ~ M.F. (Part 1)

Pairing: Megumi Fushiguro x fem!reader

Summary: Megumi Fushiguro infuriated you like no one else in that college, he knew how to get under your skin. You wanted to strangle him most of the time but a moment of weakness might just change everything.

CW (content warning): college AU (modern setting, no curses), academic rivals, aged-up Megumi and reader (in their 20s), smut, MDNI (+18), fingering, p in v sex, protected sex, some cursing, mentions of alcohol.

AN (author’s note): Hi guys! This is the first part of a small series I’m going to make, it’s the first time I’m really writing something like this but I think I’m really happy with how it turned out. As always a reminder that English isn’t my first language and I’m typing this in my phone so I’m sorry if there are any typos/mistakes. Hope you enjoy Andes me know what you think! :)

Requests are open so feel free to send them! (you can check the list of character I write for on my pinned post)

Masterlist || Part 2 || Part 3 >>

You hate Megumi Fushiguro.

That’s what you tell everyone. That’s what you tell yourself every time he walks into lecture, cool and aloof like he owns the goddamn room. It’s what you mutter under your breath whenever his name pops up at the top of the grade sheet, again, just a fraction of a point above yours. Every time he smirks when Professor Saito praises his thesis framework. Every time he doesn’t even look like he’s trying.

And it’s definitely what you whisper through clenched teeth when he strolls past you on the quad like you’re invisible, only to throw a lazy “Try harder next time.” Over his shoulder without even really looking at you.

Smug bastard.

But tonight? Tonight, you’re not thinking about grades or academic validation or whose literary analysis was more “emotionally resonant.” Tonight, you’re at a party.

Well, you didn’t mean to be. You told yourself you’d just stop by for a drink, show face, say hi to Nobara, make good on your practically empty social life. You’re the kind of person who highlights your planner. Who color codes your notes and sets calendar reminders for assignments you already submitted. So maybe, just maybe, you wanted to feel a little reckless for once.

It’s working. The cheap vodka’s doing something warm and unwise to your veins.

The house is buzzing with bodies and base-heavy music. Someone spilled something sticky across the kitchen floor. There’s a line for the bathroom and someone crying on the porch.

And standing in the middle of the living room like he’s some kind of dark omen is him.

Megumi Fushiguro.

Wearing a black t-shirt stretched a little too tightly across his chest. Holding a red solo cup like he’s seconds away from chucking it at a wall out of boredom.

You freeze. You could turn around. You should. You are about to. But then he sees you.

And he smirks.

“Didn’t think this was your scene.” He says, voice just loud enough to be heard over the music as he closes the space between you.

“Didn’t think you were capable of smiling.” You shoot back.

“It’s not a smile. It’s pity.” He retorts with a cocky grin etched on his face.

You scoff, already reaching for a drink you probably shouldn’t have. “What, you feel bad I’m here while you could be home reorganizing your books by existential crisis level?”

He laughs and that’s annoying too. Because it’s deep and smooth and doesn’t match the tightness in your stomach.

“You’re projecting again.”

You take a sip, even though your drink tastes like floor cleaner. “You wish.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Just lifts his cup, eyes scanning you with that irritating coolness he always wears like armor. But there’s something else there too. Something that makes your skin feel hot under your clothes.

“I thought you’d be in the library.” He says. “Grinding your teeth over our last essay.”

“I thought you’d be halfway inside your own ass about how smart you are.”

“Maybe I just wanted to see you off your game.” He scorns.

You blink, taken aback. What the fuck does that even mean? “What?”

He shrugs. “You’re always so... focused. Makes me wonder what you’d be like if you loosened up.”

Your pulse quickens and you hate it.

There’s always been tension between you. A low buzz under every debate, every paper handed back with too few red marks. You’d chalked it up to competition to the way two smart people burn when placed too close for too long. But now?

Now he’s looking at you like you’re not a rival. Like you’re prey. And maybe you’re drunk. Maybe the vodka’s making you reckless. But you don’t walk away.

Instead, you step closer.

“I’m perfectly capable of letting loose.” You say, voice low, defiant.

He tilts his head, clearly amused. “Prove it.”

So you do.

——————————————————————————

It starts with dancing.

If it can be called that. You have never been one to dance. But you press in close enough that you can feel the heat of him behind you. The music’s pulsing, people swaying and grinding around you in a haze of movement and bass. You’re not sure who closes the gap that separated you first, but one second you’re taunting him with your hips, and the next he’s got a hand on your waist.

You turn your head just enough to feel his breath against your jaw.

“You sure you want to play this game?” He asks, voice rough.

“I’m not scared of you.”

“You should be.”

But his grip tightens, grounding you. You roll your hips back and feel the way his breath hitches just slightly, but you notice.

You’re dizzy from it. From him. And when his hand slides lower, fingers brushing the hem of your skirt, you know you’ve crossed some invisible line you can’t uncross.

You spin in his arms, grabbing his collar.

“We shouldn’t- ” You start.

He cuts you off.

“I don’t care.”

And then, before you can protest any further he’s kissing you.

It’s messy. Too much teeth, too much heat. You’ve spent the last two years arguing with this man words like blades, insults flung like grenades. But now it’s all hands and mouths and a feverish kind of need.

You pull him upstairs.

——————————————————————————

The room you manage find is thankfully empty.

He slams the door behind you, but you barely register it, you’re too busy fumbling at his shirt, yanking it over his head with the kind of frustration you’ve been building for semesters.

“You’re such a- ”

“- pretentious asshole?” He finishes for you, grinning as he backs you toward the bed. “Yeah. I know.”

You shove him. He laughs.

Then you’re both falling onto the mattress, a tangle of limbs and tension.

Clothes come off in pieces, your top over your head, his jeans shoved down his thighs. You can feel how hard he is through his boxers when he grinds against you. You gasp, arching up.

“Still hate me?” He murmurs, lips trailing down your neck.

“I might hate you more now.”

“You’re wet for someone you hate.”

“Shut up.”

But you’re gasping when his fingers slip between your thighs, stroking you through your underwear. It’s infuriating how good he is at this. Like he’s studied you the way he studies for exams, precise, unrelenting, deliberate.

He hooks your panties to the side and sinks one finger into you, then another.

“Fuck.” You whisper, nails digging into his back.

He kisses you again, swallowing your moans, slower this time, but no less intense. His fingers move inside you, curling just right, dragging pleasure out of you like he’s coaxing it from your bones.

You grind against his hand, shameless.

“I knew you’d be like this.” He says, mouth brushing your ear. “So fucking stubborn until someone breaks you open.”

“I’m not broken.” He hits that spot again, you gasp.

“No. You’re perfect.”

It’s the sincerity that does you in.

You don’t want him to see you like this raw, open, vulnerable. But he’s already pulling away to shed the rest of his clothes, and you forget how to breathe when you see him.

Leaning back against the pillows, you reach for him, lips parting.

You help him roll on a condom with a hiss between his teeth, pumping him up a few times, slow deliberate strokes and for a moment he swears he is about to loose it right there and then, no better than an hormonal teenager. He regains his composure just barely before it’s too late and then settles between your thighs, kissing you like he means it. Like he’s wanted this. For a long time.

When he pushes in, it’s slow. Deliberate. Like he wants you to feel every inch.

You moan, it’s not graceful. He swallows the sound with his mouth once again.

“Still with me?” He murmurs, forehead resting against yours.

“Harder.” You whisper.

He gives you what you ask for.

Each thrust pushes the breath from your lungs. You wrap your legs around him, you lift your, meeting him stroke for stroke. He holds your hips like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. You kiss him or he kisses you. At this point you can’t tell where you end and he begins.

You’re close. God, you’re so close. His name leaves your lips like a curse, like a prayer.

And when you finally come, it crashes over you like a wave overwhelming and bright and utterly unacademic.

He follows soon after, shuddering against you, jaw clenched.

For a moment, there’s only silence. Heavy breathing. Sweat cooling on skin.

Then you break the silence.

“Well.” you say hoarsely. “That was a mistake.”

He huffs a laugh and rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “Totally.”

You lie there in the dark. His fingers find yours.

You let them.

——————————————————————————

The next morning, you wake up tangled in sheets that aren’t yours, Megumi’s chest rising and falling next to you.

You should feel regret. You should feel awkward.

Instead, you feel... oddly peaceful. Not that you would ever admit it out loud.

That is, until he cracks an eye open and says, “I still got a better grade on that Gojo paper.”

You grab a pillow and smack him with it.

He laughs real and unguarded. And despite yourself, you laugh too.

Maybe you don’t hate him after all.

Maybe you never did.

taglists are open so let me know if you want to be added for future works! :)