#moonwrites

[wincore]

indelicate | liu yangyang

pairing: yangyang x fem!reader

synopsis: missing the last train out of new shanghai was not on the to-do list. however, your project partner liu yangyang promises fun, dazzling lights, and the warmth of a human connection for this festive weekend. perhaps even in the era of diamond and steel, the human touch means something after all.

genre: oriental cyberpunk, f2l, fluff

warning(s): swearing & several innuendos. also out-of-date jokes sorry guys i wrote this in 2021

words: 11.9k

a/n: this is just a rework of an old fic i posted here with another character! if you find any inconsistencies, it's probably because of that LOL also this is not a wincore revival but i did miss everyone on here !!

i. city plaza

Some idiot, somewhere along in history, decided to renovate a city into something so dazzling that the population shoots up to a hundred and fifty percent of what was before, and the rest of the damage comes along with the people. Promises are made and broken to build this city of extravagance. You have the belief that the more people there are in one place, the more difficult it gets to live there. This dazzling hellscape means colliding into too many people on the streets, too many bright lights outside your dorm room when you’re trying to sleep and the god awful sound of deafening firecrackers at every new year celebration.

Another idiot somehow roped you into his ‘midnight adventure: traditional version’ once he heard you missed the last train ticket out of the city. Liu Yangyang has a terrible way with words—but he has a way.

You were, by some unfortunate gamble of the gods, partners for a project that accounted for sixty percent of the grade. While that affair is over, you still haven't rid yourself of the predicament that is Yangyang. Gorgeous, yes, but too overwhelming. You smack your head against the car window only for him to jump in his seat beside you, hand gently driving over your forehead to check for damage. The neon city lays around you, and festive light projections float across the sky in intricate shapes of the ox and written messages. This is going nowhere. You came to this city sacrificing everything and yet suddenly, everything’s hanging on a string again.

The city lights of New Shanghai are cruel. Everything in this place is cruel.

Which is exactly why you’re in Yangyang’s car, parked by the middle level city plaza on New Year’s Eve. It is, in fact, illegal to hover by the city plaza on New Year’s Eve but Yangyang seems to either not care or simply doesn’t know. You forget the law doesn’t exist for rich kids. Out of all man-made wonders, rules are the most interesting. 

“Shall we go?” he asks, voice bubbly as ever. Every morning, he chirps like the alarm birds outside your window. Yes, it has made you want to sleep forever at times.

“It’s just one night. And I’ll be with you, so you don’t have to be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” you snap. 

“Not afraid of the dark either?”

You pull your jacket closer to you. Here, the cold streets of the techno-jungle make you shiver more often than not. If you dare go out without friends, a city so grand will inevitably drain the life out of you. Your body alone cannot withstand the dazzle. And—you can’t be afraid of the dark after you’ve complained about the lights.

You look at Yangyang and back to the cityscape outside—large conglomerative blocks of buildings, some hosting advertisements with the faces of inhumanly beautiful models and some with the ‘Happy New Year!’ text animation floating about in increasingly complex patterns. You see the revolving top of one of the grandest skyscrapers, a Dior hotel, not the tallest but certainly the most pleasing to look at. It gleams from red to orange like the pulsating heart of a giant metropolitan beast. There are more funky buildings to look at, some not even the shape of austere corporate skyscrapers.

“Do you wanna go there?” Yangyang asks all of a sudden. “I heard the lounge is closed off from eleven. I can call some friends and we can book a room though—”

“No. No way. I’m not going to spend new year’s eve in a Dior suite.”

He grins. “Thank god. It’s so boring there. Only models and businessmen and whatever freak shit they do.”

You sigh. Liu Yangyang is a whole story in itself. He’s rich and popular—a dream of many—but so few are as welcoming as he is. When you’re in that position, you’re bound to have a little metal seep into your heart. Some hidden part of you, however, tells you to loosen up when you’re with him; just let it go and have a good time. There’s no reason why you shouldn't. The economy is on a steep incline, the people are happy and no other city compares to this place. You could learn a thing or two from Yangyang.

He looks at you questioningly, eyes waiting and the curve of his lips still. You notice his platinum blond hair is more styled than usual, you can almost smell the gel on it, and for a moment, you wish you looked as good as he does. A dark leather jacket accentuates his shoulders, the plain T-shirt underneath not of the flashy type. He looks like he’s ready for club-hopping and you, anything but. If you knew earlier that you’d be by the Strip around midnight on New Year’s, you'd have dressed better. 

“If you stay any longer in my car, people are going to assume we’re…y’know,” he states, quirking his eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure it’s illegal, though. Like, who thought fu—”

You were wrong. There is absolutely nothing to learn from Liu Yangyang. 

“I would get out of this car immediately and fall to my death before I let that happen,” you retort, crossing your arms.

“No, hey. What an inauspicious sentence. Besides, and I’m not bragging but you should know I’m really good at using my assets—”

“Don’t say a word.”

The heat of embarrassment flows into your cheeks at his implication. You look out the window, weighing out the pros and cons. The scenery is so bright that sometimes it hurts to look outside. It’s not midnight yet but the main streets are already getting crowded for the processions; the sound of laughter and conversation ring in the air. It makes you somewhat sad to not be home for this. But as they say, living in a big city can only be done if you sell your soul to it.

You’re directly above the level one city plaza, the people below looking unsettling in the way they’re so small and far away—they don’t even seem human at this distance. You wonder if you look like that to the people above this, to the level three elites who sit on top of the whole city..

You look back to your companion, who’s transfixed on the bakery across the road—either that, or just really, really zoned out. Knowing Yangyang, it could be either. When you tilt your head, waiting, you find that he has pretty features—a shaped nose and round, curious eyes, all in perfect alignment with plump, pink lips. His metallic ring earrings shine when the light hits them right. No wonder you get girls asking how close the two of you are often. Even in a world pushing manufactured love, boys like him make others daydream. You wonder why you’re the one he loves to drag in with him.

Yangyang flinches when he finds you staring at him. You clear your throat, looking away and hoping you can sweep this under the rug.

“Are you- are you by any chance mad at me?” he asks, a nervous smile awkwardly tugging at his lips.

“I- what? No. I’m not mad at you.”

“You look like my mother when I don’t clean my room. Or Ten's cats when I try to kiss them.”

A tiny laugh escapes you before you get back your poised demeanor. “I’m- I’m not mad at you.”

He smiles at you wordlessly and you feel a little conscious. You glance outside when the plaza music starts to get loud and look back at him, debating whether you should just give in.

“So… you’ll let me brighten your life now?” he asks in his regular baritone, grinning wider. “The semester’s over and it’s festival time! I bring good luck, I promise.”

Liu Yangyang is not a happy serendipity. He simply cannot be. However, he does make you laugh more often than you’d admit.

“Whatever. Go ahead. I just don’t want to be hungover on a Friday.”

“You don’t- you don’t have to drink to have a good time.” He laughs. “I would know. I’m sort of a lightweight. I don’t know why I told you that. I’m supposed to be cool.”

You giggle, taking a moment to think.

“Fine then. Show me your magical access key to our beloved Mobius Strip, the mightiest, grandest structure in all of New Shanghai.”

“Well, if you put it that way… I am pretty cool, huh?”

His smile is too harmless for you to roll your eyes. He’s too gentle, you realize all of sudden, to be as awful as all the uni frat boys you’ve had the misfortune of talking to. You watch him as he drives; his arm moves with ease and he tries to make conversation but you can only hum and respond in singular words. The closer you are to the Strip the more nervous you get. It’s like visiting all those dark places that your mother explicitly warned you not to visit as a teenager—but you’re an adult now. No one owns you. No one should be able to own you. The determination builds up slowly over neon lights and hazy street shops.

Nights here are the fun part. Everyone says that. Other than the fact that you can barely make out the colour of the sky under the vivid city lights, there’s something very enticing about the streets, the upper streets that wind around the city.

Yangyang drives the car to a level three street, the behemoth structure of the Strip now so close that all you can see beyond your window are its placid, white walls stretching out to infinity. You can see little gardens and shops, peeking out from between each strip and one of the shopkeepers wave at you the moment you pass. Yangyang says something along the lines of “thanks for the free noodles” to the woman, before gliding higher. 

“Grandma makes the best glass noodles here,” he says, excitedly. “I’ll take you sometime. If you like.”

You hum, noting the joy he expresses at the idea of something so simple. 

Level three streets are already thousand and a half feet above the ground. You try not to look down; heights aren’t something you’re very fond of even if you love the sky. You note construction work for street levels four and five, shivering at the idea. The winds of change are fucking cold.

Yangyang swerves the car off-road at one point and you clutch his arm by reflex.

“What the fuck? Don’t do that without warning me,” you say, breathing quicker. You do not do well with: sudden movement, jumpscares and boys with pretty smiles.

“Sorry,” he says, looking at you with concern. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You let go of his arm, more embarrassed at yourself than mad at him. Driving the car closer to the Strip, he brakes carefully by the parking lot. The walls are covered in red wallpaper, a few lanterns attached to drones, floating along the path inside. It looks like a rooftop parking lot, though the mysterious dim lighting makes you walk closer to Yangyang.

“I heard this is gonna be a really cool event—they’ve got the latest AI tech hosting and crap but let me tell you the best part.”

He pauses for dramatic effect. 

“The food!” He says, spreading his arms and grinning. “The food at private events is the best thing you’ll ever taste.”

You open your mouth but close it again in part horror, part confusion. “You’re… taking me to a private event?”

“Ah, don’t look like that. It’s really fun, promise.”

“I’m not even dressed for it,” you blurt, embarrassed.

Yangyang shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. It’s for rich kids, you know? If I’m being honest, none of them know how to dress.”

His confident statement gets a giggle out of you and you relax a little. You walk with him, further into the square platform and away from the cars. The sky disappears behind the dark roof and for a moment, you feel like you’ve entered a different dimension. It’s like the architecture models that your professors had on display for the Shanghai History class in your freshman year. Old stuff, that is. Before this place even had the first skyscraper.

You turn to your side and narrow your eyes at Yangyang, suddenly wondering how he finagled his way into bringing you here. Your iron-clad will is not so much iron after all. It’s not even steel, you think, once you catch yourself staring at Yangyang a bit too long.

You step forward to find the entrance to the club; it’s a little lonely to look at in the beginning. Then it clicks that it’s probably the back door. The red pillars encase a black door between them, the overhang of the gateway just a little above Yangyang’s head. You can see the hip-and-gable style roof of the larger building behind, looking like a skyscraper instead of the usual historical buildings you’ve seen on the internet. In glowing red letters, it displays a blinking ‘Club 2’ near the top of the door.

The moment you step on the stairs, a bunch of advertisements pop up on the door, bright bubblegum colours hurting your eyes. Yangyang taps at the little x at the corner of the display till it disappears and finally the door is a regular door. The colour is jet black like any other screening platform. 

“I thought the rich were exempted from ads,” you say.

“They’re… more likely to buy things though.”

You make an ‘ah’ sound in contemplation when a whirring makes you jump into him. A little spherical drone flies its way out of an opening in the wall and stops right in front of the two of you. 

“Sicheng-ge!” Yangyang says, waving frantically at the camera.

The little drone circles around Yangyang’s head before stopping right in front of his face. It runs a scan before turning sharply and beeping at you. 

“My plus one!” Yangyang declares, pulling you by the waist. “Or whatever it’s called.”

Your ears feel warm but you don’t push him off. The camera focuses on your face, likely scanning to identify your age and occupation. When it’s done, a beep resounds and the door slides open to reveal a dimly lit pathway. The main entrance is much brighter, Yangyang promises, but for now it’s just the warm glow of the lanterns, Yangyang’s neon red striped jacket and the mechanical whirring of some sort of device in the darkness.

“What’s that sound?” you whisper and Yangyang stops. 

He pauses to think. “Oh, they’re Sicheng-ge’s drones. He’s got like a million of them. I'll introduce you—he’s hosting this club event, by the way.”

He smiles at you reassuringly. If Yangyang’s not bothered by it, you’ll follow his lead. Though, you do take more nimble steps and stay close to him like he’s your lighthouse. (In a way, he is, with all that neon shining on his jacket.)

You’re surprised to find a garden, but then it gets stranger when you see brighter lanterns in the middle area. You see figures and before you can react, Yangyang takes your hand and into the central platform.

ii. orchid club square

Yangyang was right. None of them know how to dress.

The two of you stand in the middle of a crowd, who are in fact dressed either for: a) an impromptu pool party or b) a Sunday morning lecture. You blend in somewhat well given the variety though Yangyang’s painted looks have attracted the attention of quite a few giggling, murmuring onlookers.

You clench your jaw in mild annoyance. 

“This is a tour,” Yangyang whispers to you. “I thought… you’d like to know what everything’s about.”

You feel grateful to him for once. Having some sort of knowledge about what you’re getting into makes you feel better about any situation. A set of mechanical clicking fills the air.

A woman—no, an AI bot is the first to greet you. She has pale white metallic skin and her dark strands of hair are in a traditional updo. Her lips are imperial red, shaped in a way that makes her seem as though she’s smiling but also not at the very same time. She holds an extravagant fan by her face at the perfect right angle, the patterns on it painted to imitate an ancient cherry blossom tree. 

“Good evening, everyone,” she says, her voice pitched up and enthusiastic. It’s a little funny to imagine metal so lively.

You smell oranges and lavender as soon as she flicks her fan once and precise. 

“Welcome to the New Shanghai nightlife!” The bot continues jovially. “The oldest surviving city on planet earth, the birthplace of the human race.”

“You are in virtual space,” she informs. “It might look like a courtyard stretching to infinity but it is only an illusion. However, the club is five hundred and sixty one metres wide and six hundred and twelve metres long. It is large enough to hold twenty-one blue whales in a line. That is, if they still existed of course.”

She giggles algorithmically.

“Where you stand right now,” she says, turning her head in a swift mechanical motion to you and you flinch. “This place is called the orchid club square. As you know, only VIP access lets you in.”

You glance at Yangyang worriedly and he shrugs. There’s no way she could know, right? That was oddly specific. But then she moves her head left to right to address the whole crowd in perfect grace. When her movement starts to get a little too eerie to watch any longer, you fix your eyes on the garden instead. You have no way of telling part real flowers from virtual ones and even so—all of them are beautiful. Maybe reality doesn’t make things any prettier.

However, when you look at Yangyang, the thought gets tossed out. You shake your head, in an attempt to get rid of the image of his face. It’s a little too late to be feeling this way. Either that, or the night is taking its toll on you already. The day was exhausting, considering it was the end of the semester.

The AI guide’s chatter fades into something quieter when you move the club square. It’s a rather empty space, fitting for a rave or just housing large crowds. The decorations are for the new year celebrations, banners of the ox in auspicious colours and a few drones projecting the rest. There’s a garden of evermore orchids lining the area in a perfect square and it’s so precise that it’s pleasing to look at. There’s a door at one edge, similar to the one you encountered before entering the club square.

The music that wafts through the air is so gentle, you almost forget there’s a celebration. The beat makes it livelier and even so, the rhythm of your heartbeat matches it in a soothing sort of way. Turning around, you spot the musical ensemble. It’s another AI, peering over a guqin with trained habit.

She looks the same, except she wears an electronic mask over the lower half of her face. It displays a blue musical note made up of noticeable pixels. She has no fan—instead, her fingers strum the guqin rhythmically, programmed with precision and grace. The sound is accompanied by the woodwind notes of a flute, though you’re not sure where that sound emanates from. There’s also a soft drumbeat which seems to come from the guqin bot herself.

You gasp when a few painted goldfish float through the air, almost real to look at if it weren’t for the glitch effect of holograms. One of them swims closer to you, opening and closing its mouth in rhythm and you giggle at its face.

Yangyang laughs, long finger pointing at the critter in amusement. “That’s adorable.”

He looks like a little kid and you giggle at his expression, with wide, delighted eyes and mouth open in focused mirth. He pokes at the goldfish and it makes a bubbling sound, gears shifting in ticking time before suddenly biting at his index finger. Yangyang lets out a low yelp, retracting his hand before clearing his throat in embarrassment.

“You’re like a cartoon,” you tell him, in between laughs. “No way are you real.”

He grins, in that same way he always looks at you and you look away, feeling hot in the face. It’s too enamored a way to look at someone. But of course, that couldn’t be true—he’s Liu Yangyang and you’re you. Parallel lines do not meet, even if they’re headed in the same direction.

“I think you’re unreal,” he mumbles.

iii. club 2

The doors open to a rather spacious arrangement, with several tables one one side and a sort of dance arena on the other where people are trying to out-dance each other. The intensity makes you move further away from it. It seems a little too festive and you can feel the energy slinking away from you. The music is more upbeat but you suppose the DJ tried to make it sound more eastern; the result is pleasing. He wears a smooth black helmet with a neon red beat visualizer on it, with written SFX appearing from time to time. Two pulsing golden horns glow at the sides of his head. You stare at it for longer than you’d like before composing yourself. You’re very impressionable when it comes to parties. 

There are two floors to the club, above the bottom floor itself. The other two floors mostly seem to consist of private booths, however, covered with gossamer silk that glow iridescent. A few floating lanterns sway by the upper floors. The ceiling is open to a midnight blue sky and the stars look much larger than you’ve ever seen them—you suspect it’s an AR mesh over the ceiling. A few light shows project little dancing dragons and coins over the sky and you find them too cute to not stare at.

“Wow,” Yangyang says, right after walking in. “Why is Dejun on the table?”

You look where his eyes are focused on, though it’s difficult through the crowd of people, and find Dejun and Kunhang in some sort of old anime transformation pose atop one of the tables. It’s surprising that they’re not the weirdest pair here. 

“Now, bear with me, it’s going to be boring as hell till the countdown and the fireworks,” he explains, waving his hands around. “But it’s a good place to have fun and make friends. You know?”

“Friends?” you ask, a little nervous. You’re not very proficient at making friends and it makes you anxious.

“Yeah! Don’t worry. ” He makes a strange gesture, bordering between posing for a beer ad campaign and looking like a motivational speaker for the army, before furrowing his eyebrows. “You just have to be confident! I’m learning too!”

He lets out a sweet laugh and it makes you laugh in turn, hand covering your mouth so you don’t embarrass yourself too much. You don’t believe the words much, but the glow over his cheeks makes you reconsider.

“You look really nice when you laugh,” he comments, a bright glint in his eyes.

“Whatever,” you reply, punching his shoulder lightly.

Just then, you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder to find Lana from your ethical AI class, smiling at you warmly. She looks a little tired, of people more than the time. Like you, she is also a scholarship student—and not a day has gone when she hasn’t soothed your anxiety about your classes. In stark contrast with Yangyang, you would trust her over him for most tasks. Even if you weren’t partners, you’re okay with the outcome. You glance at Yangyang.

“(name)! Oh my god, I didn’t know you were coming here,” she says. “Did Yangyang kidnap you?” 

“I mean, sort of.”

“Hey.” Yangyang looks at you with betrayal.

“And how did you even manage to do that cool ass project with him as your partner?” she continues, squinting at him.

“Honestly, I don’t know either. He can be surprisingly helpful though.”

Yangyang looks from Lana to you in exasperation. “I’m literally right here,” he grumbles. 

Lana laughs at his expression, patting his shoulder sympathetically. 

“I just can’t believe you let him kidnap you and not me,” she says in mock indignance. “I’m a much better chauffeur, you know?”

“Do you even have a driving license?” Yangyang asks, laughing.

“I got mine before you, rat. Anyway, (name), I’m playing the guzheng. Do you wanna come see?”

“No,” Yangyang interrupts, suddenly grabbing your hand. “I… I mean you guys can go, of course. It's just the countdown’s close, so we have to go to the viewpoint.”

“That’s exactly where—ah. I see.”

"We'll join you another time, Lana," he says quietly, a cute grin on his face like a little boy would make to an older sister for more shares of chocolate. 

"No, no. I actually remembered I left my friends in the corner. See you!"

She leaves her epiphany unsaid, offering you a smile and taking her leave abruptly.

“I thought you told me to socialize,” you complain to Yangyang. 

“Yes, I’m so proud of you for that.”

“Yangyang, I swear if you treat me like a kid—”

“I’m not, I’m not. Sorry,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “I just need to borrow you for tonight. After all, I promised you, didn’t I?”

You sigh. “Fine then, what’s this viewpoint you’re talking about?”

“Oh, we’ll get there.”

Someone’s watching you. You turn around a full three-sixty but find only the same crowd of college-age kids. No one sticks out much, apart from Dejun, Kunhang and Ten, who are at this point performing some sort of strange ritual unbeknownst to any new year tradition, with a hell load of yelling.

“Oh my god, you’re dancing too?” Yangyang says, grinning ear to ear. “I didn’t know I’d have that much of a positive influence. Wow.”

“I’m- I’m not- never mind.”

Yangyang furrows his eyebrows. “What did I tell you? More confidence! See—”

He takes your hands in his, pulling you further onto the dance floor. You feel a rising panic but swallow it. There’s a beat of silence in which the two of you look at each other. Yangyang proceeds to perform the stupidest sequence of movements you have ever seen, certainly too awkward for his body to accept as natural but it doesn’t seem like he cares. He’s having fun.

You find yourself laughing. Taking timid steps, you try to loosen up although the inevitable embarrassment arrives in flushes of heat across your face. There are stars in Yangyang’s eyes when you join him—not the artificial jewels in observatories but the real kind that you used to see in your hometown.

You take a wobbly step back. It’s starting to get disorienting. If it were the real sky above you, you might even have felt better. Perhaps the purpose is to get dizzy.

“I’m a little thirsty,” Yangyang says, motioning to the table with food and drinks at a corner. “I’ll head over and be back.”

Unsure what to do, you follow him like a lost lamb and though it would be embarrassing at any other time, any other place, now and here are not part of that.

The red and golden lights of the neon patterning the walls don’t seem as harsh anymore and you let your eyes rest on the boyish figure of Yangyang. You haven’t figured him out yet. Something tells you he’s more than a shallow image of the party-loving rich kids of Shanghai. In fact, in quiet, personal moments, he looks more out of place than you do—despite all that bright neon. You open your mouth to ask something when you’re interrupted by a dizzy Yangyang spinning into you. 

“Sorry, (name),” he says, rubbing the base of his palm against his forehead. “I genuinely thought I was going to win that game.”

You shake your head, letting him get back to whatever spinning game they were at. He smells like wine and something tells you he’s poor at holding his liquor. The stakes must be high for that game, you figure, because you see Yangyang set aside his beloved shoe on the floor. To be the only scholarship student here suddenly feels scary and awkward.

Yangyang once again tugs at your arm, the touch reassuring as though he understands how you feel. But it isn’t true. There’s no way someone like him can understand someone like you.

“Yangyang,” you call. “Do you come here every year?”

“No, no. I do come for drinks though. I’m only here right now because a friend is hosting this.”

You shrug.

“And you,” he adds and you feel a hot flush rise to your face. “New years are the only time this place is PG-13.”

“I’m not a child,” you snap.

“My mom says childish people say that.”

“Then it's very rich coming from you, Liu Yangyang.”

He laughs heartily, leaning away. A creeping thought grows in your head that you missed out on a lot. But then again, you’ll always miss out on things if you’re not rich enough for them.

Yangyang flinches suddenly, almost knocking a plate off the table. He moves quickly, turning so that his side leans against the wall and the other arm cages you between him and the wall. His frame covers your view from whatever, or whoever arrived at the entrance that made him react so obnoxiously.

However, his lips hovering just a little over yours makes your breath hitch in your throat. This is the worst possible position you could've gotten into. The smell of mint interrupts your thoughts and you look at him with as annoyed an expression as you can muster over the heat of your face.

"Yangyang, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

“I am… admiring the wall. Ooh, it’s got velvet over it, did you notice?”

 “You’re going to have your head in it too if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

"Just… sorry. Let’s stay like this for a few moments."

He flashes you an apologetic smile, his face close enough to make yours grow even hotter. A nervous chuckle erupts from his lips. 

"Oh my god, get off. People are going to think we’re making out."

"We could do it for real." 

"I'm going to scratch your eyes out."

"Sorry, sorry."

“Who are you even hiding from?”

“I’m not hiding… okay, forget that. Bodyguard-watcher-dude. It’s kind of hard to explain.”

“You have a bodyguard?”

“More like a babysitter.”

You try not to laugh, considering the proximity between your faces. “How come you have a babysitter? Actually, wait, I think I know.”

He huffs over your face and you restrain yourself from landing a swift uppercut to his jaw. Now you know the minty smell comes from mouth freshener.

“He’s a prosecutor. It’s weird that he stalks me in his free time. Even- even if… my parents are paying him.”

“They think you’re doing something illegal?”

“No. I don’t think I am.”

You rest your head back against the wall, rolling your eyes. “Really? That’s your answer? God, your brain cells rotted somewhere along the way, didn’t they? It’s all those parties.”

“I’m starting to feel like my mom hired you too.”

He looks back, and noting the absence of his so-called babysitter, he pulls back from you. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath and you let it out in a shallow effort.

“Your babysitter’s gone?”

“Not a babysit—I regret saying that. Look, I really don’t think they appointed him because they think I’m doing something illegal. I have never done anything illegal. Except that one street race but that’s because Lucas told me it was perfectly legal.”

“The what?”

“Anyway, the point is, let’s look forward to good fortune for this year, hm? Leave all the burdens to last year.”

“Fortune doesn’t favour fools.”

“I’m not stupid,” he complains, spreading his arms to express it further. “Mostly.”

 You laugh, turning your attention to  the food table.

“Ooh, pineapple tarts,” he exclaims, hand reaching out to grab one when you smack it.

“You’ve had, like, fifteen already.”

“Mhm,” he says, with a few more stuffed in his mouth.

There’s a pause.

“It’s me, isn't it?” you ask quietly. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

He gulps, lips parting and closing. “I brought you here. So you don’t worry about it.”

Rich people suck. You believe that strongly. But sometimes, just sometimes, when you have everything you can ever want, you start to want the same for everyone around you. Some people are special. You find Yangyang genuinely fascinating for being someone who makes friends when he’s supposed to be making more connections. You find him fascinating. 

It makes sense for someone like him to be the way he is.

iv. fireworks viewpoint

“That’s the old Shanghai Tower,” Yangyang points to a building in the distance. “It used to be the tallest building once but… well, it looks like the little guy now.”

Lunar New Year’s celebrations are a big, big deal in New Shanghai. It means a break from university, work and every other affair to have as many priorities sorted in anticipation of the new year. And the impact is evident from this height, when you can see the city in its golden glory. It looks warm out there for once—although you’re not very sure if it’s because of the warmth that comes from right beside you. The little wooden boats float by on the river a little far off, various images blooming as holograms above them. You giggle at the large animated fishes swimming above the river with blank expressions and painted button eyes. 

The golden clock shines bright in the sky, its holographic hands ticking down to midnight. It looks like something out of a fantasy movie, scattering golden pixels everywhere with each minute passing. The size of it alone reminds you of the scale of this city.

This is an empire. It's owned by the kings and queens who built it over the bones left from sacrifices. It's going to be owned by heirs and heiresses. You feel a looming sense of dread come over you. It's so beautiful and it can never belong to itself. It must always belong to someone. It’s the terms and conditions of human creation.

"Hey." Yangyang taps you on the shoulder and you try not to flinch. "What are you thinking?"

You hum. "Stuff."

"This place is pretty cool, huh?"

That, you can agree with. "It is. It's so amazing that I can't believe I'm here sometimes."

Yangyang laughs slowly. "I hope more people can live here. Not in level one. You know. No one should live in desperation."

You hold back a scoff, though you end up frowning. What does a rich kid know of desperation? He might as well be prince, and princes do not know how to beg. It must be something of a saviour complex. You shrink away from him. The new year music is starting to ring a little too loud in your ears.

"That would be difficult," you mutter.

"Not if you lower the cost of living conditions—ah. Sorry." He pauses and you feel a flicker of surprise in you. “It’s not appropriate to discuss. Or so my parents tell me…”

The expression comes from empathy. You’re sure of it. There’s some sort of passion and not the kind of coloured fire that flames up in parties, but a different one. The kind that says, if you can’t bear the heat then you can’t learn how to forge. You scoff. Which prince has possibly known heat?

“I- I get angry too,” you say quietly. “I think it’s something to be angry about.”

He smiles at you, leaning against the balcony railing. 

You’re interrupted by a man in the attire of a waiter and it causes the two of you to jump away from each other. It’s not like you were very close in the first place but the proximity of shared words can play tricks on people. The man offers the two of you a screen and Yangyang’s face lights up almost immediately.

“We can order food with this,” he says. “Or book a table. The top strips are all reserved for members of the club. That’s the big daddy restaurants.”

“That’s… pretty cool,” you say, leaning in to glance over the browsing menu. “But don’t say that phrase to me again.”

“I can. And I will.”

“Ugh. Move on.”

“Okay, so we should drop by the convenience store for some ramen. I heard they taste better in the middle of the night,” Yangyang suggests all of a sudden, leaning in further.

It gets difficult sometimes to not be bothered by him, especially when there is a lack of distance. You look at him, pause and then sigh. “Sure. I guess. Are those free too?”

He opens his mouth in sudden realization and grins sheepishly at you. You roll your eyes.

“Do you have money then?”

“Uh.”

“How do you not have money? It’s the New Year!”

“I… uh—”

“Okay, you don’t have to answer that. But I’m not paying for you,” you complain. “You could always ask your parents for some money. What’s the point of being a party kid?”

‘Party kids’—it makes you laugh in amusement—is the colloquial term given to the children of businesspeople who had a direct hand in the economic progress of New Shanghai. You would sell your kidneys to be one and it still wouldn’t be enough.

His smile wavers at your statement but he shakes his head. “If I call my mom, she’ll start scolding me again about how my apartment room needs to be cleaner. Blah, blah, blah. You know.”

“She’s right- wait, you don’t clean your room?”

“Don’t take her side, (name).” 

You bite down a smile and he offers you his biggest one. 

“Oh, that place looks new,” Yangyang exclaims, a long index finger pointing to the preview of a sushi restaurant. You glare at him, his face nearer to yours than you would prefer but his eyes are fixed like a child ogling halloween candy.

“Let’s go,” he urges, looking directly at you. 

You furrow your eyebrows, shaking your head vehemently. “We don’t have money. Or bit-credits.”

He sighs, deflating as though you just snatched the candy right from his hands. “But… I haven’t been there before.”

“So?” You exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You don’t have to try every food place in the city.”

“I need to eat,” he says as though it’s a very reasonable response. “I’m still growing!”

“Not mentally.”

He drops his smile, looking at you blankly. “You don’t have to get so smart with me, let me tell you.”

You snicker at the ‘offended’ expression on his face.

In the next moment, your attention shifts to the sudden crowd of people rushing to the balcony. Yangyang pulls you closer to avoid getting pushed by them, and you look around confused. It all makes sense when they start chanting the numbers, counting down from ten. You can only stare in awe at the clock and the otherworldly glee in the rhythmic chants. It’s like they don’t feel anything but joy at this moment. You let yourself smile.

The clock strikes twelve. The sound of the bell resounds throughout the city and the firecrackers burst into a thousand shades of red and gold across the sky. There’s moving images of animals, floating text and other animations which make the night sky seem like a screen. The sparks of the fireworks look like golden snow, or even happy little pixels.

You point your finger to the sky excitedly but when you turn, Yangyang’s eyes aren’t on the sky but on your hand outstretched towards it. He faces you, rather hesitantly as though caught red-handed.

“You’re- you’re… so pretty,” he says, softly and shrugging as if answering a question.

You wish he wouldn’t look at you like that. It’s the lonely speaking, right? The euphoria of human connection in this time and age—it can make you believe anything. There’s a myriad of colours blooming in the sky behind you, a city dazzling with diamond and ruby lights, people with much more stories to tell than you do. This city, this city, this city. This city will break your heart. 

“It’s kind of crappy,” you mutter, to which Yangyang quirks an ear.

“Wh-what is?”

“This city. It’s got bright lights and fun and all those promises of success. But all I see are people desperately trying to survive. All I see are the same faces at the top and—I’m sorry. I’m getting carried away.”

“No, no.” He makes a vague gesture. “I’m listening.”

“We’re at their mercy,” you whisper. “My life is not my own. That’s crappy.”

Yangyang hums in response. “You're right. What’s the point of living a life that’s not your own?”

Looking at him again, you see the entire figure of his being against the fireworks and all the beautiful creations of the human race. His almost silver hair falls perfectly by his forehead, the contact lenses looking like glazed frost over his eyes. Just as vibrant and excessive as the city itself, Yangyang belongs here. This is his kingdom. 

No, that’s not quite right perhaps. Yangyang belongs anywhere because he brings warmth. You're suddenly grateful he's with you because no one you know would possibly go out of their way to make you feel comfortable like this. You know Yangyang loves people and crowds. No one would do that for you at the expense of their own enjoyment. You smile at the prospect of solving the blinding mystery that he is.

"We… should leave," Yangyang says, all of a sudden. He eyes a man at the corner of the balcony, dressed in a business suit and looking blank. He sticks out like a sore thumb. You're not sure why he's in that getup.

"Okay," you say, not sure why you're so agreeable tonight.

Maybe it's the night. Sometimes all you can do is drag your feet over the asphalt and hope it'll be sunnier tomorrow.

v. two-four-seven convenience store

College boys are the most god-awful creatures on earth.

“Hey, do you always reach class on time?” Yangyang asks, eyes curious. He keeps asking a question every five minutes or so, trying to keep up conversation. You've already told him he doesn't have to. However, it makes you strangely comfortable to hear the sound of his voice periodically. You won't tell him that.

You nod, returning your gaze to the window, though the advertisements block your view. You can always try skipping the ad every five goddamn seconds. 

It's your first time riding the train that travels through the Mobius Strip, and certainly the first time in a luxury cabin. Since it’s free for members of the new year club, you can heave a sigh of relief. You will never in your life, even if it’s genetically elongated, ever be able to afford a luxury cabin.

"Oh, that looks so good," Yangyang says, large hand smacking against the window to get rid of the colourful advertisements. 

"It's a convenience store, Yangyang," you say. "It's got everyday ramen."

"No, look. It's a different brand. And they're giving a burger for free with two ramen cups!"

You furrow your eyebrows at him. "Well, I guess it's cheaper too."

"Oh, we can go to one of the upper restaurants too. They're free, remember?"

"I like convenience stores," you mumble. There's something about the lack of even lighting and crowds that made them a comfort spot for you.

“Quick,” he says, pulling you off the seat when the train stops.

“Yangyang!” you warn. He's so easily excitable that you find it hard to believe he's real sometimes.

However, when he turns around with his big puppy-dog eyes, you curse at yourself before you curse at him. Sighing, you follow him down the steps, his hand tenderly holding yours. Sometimes, you wonder if the human touch means anything at all in this diamond and steel era. Yangyang’s palm is warm against yours.

The ramen tastes awfully delicious on stolen time, and you would complain more if it weren’t for Yangyang looking at you with so serene a look. It annoys you and you try to grab his attention by waving your chopsticks in front of him. When it doesn’t work, you resort to swearing. You’ve never seen anyone respond with a smiling hum after being told to “eat shit”.

“Oh, this tastes so good,” he states, cheeks puffed with food. “I think I’m going to cry.”

“I- I think you’re crying because it’s spicy.”

“Oh.”

As usual, Yangyang pokes and prods at you with questions about your daily life, like you’re the most interesting thing in a city full of blinding lights, world-class robots and cyber-enhanced technology. You don’t understand how he doesn’t just grow tired of asking every single detail about you.

Apart from the fact that Liu Yangyang is most certainly an environmental hazard, some part of you cannot believe that he's truly terrible. There's something innocent about him, but all at once, something quiet and mysterious. 

“Why are you always so curious, Yangyang?” you ask finally. “Why are you always running off to different places?”

“Because experiences never come twice,” he answers after some thinking. It seems to be a little difficult for him to articulate, deep contemplation over his features when he continues. “This city… all the lights and clubs and arenas, all of it will be gone someday. Like we don’t have telephones or those big computers anymore.”

You rest your chin on your palm, leaning in.

“This moment, right here with you… I’ll never experience it again,” he tells you. “We can have more midnight convenience store ramen sometime later but… each time will be different. I’d rather live now.”

You smile softly. “That’s a funny thought to live by.”

“Yours isn’t any better,” he says, patting your head. “Also, I’m like hot and young and popular and not a cyborg—how can I miss parties?”

You shake your head, laughing. He’s ridiculous. He’s completely ridiculous. In that moment, when you look at him, Yangyang seems to be smiling in a daze, eyes on your face.

“You look nice when you smile,” he says quietly.

"Thanks," you respond. "I should keep it a secret then, huh?"

"Not from me," he says, smiling. 

Somehow, the extra minutes you have at the convenience store turn to a few multiplayer games and then, ditching technology, to an arm wrestling match.

"I feel like this game is kind of unfair," you say after losing almost immediately. He's clearly got stronger muscles. Does he work out? Probably against his will, you bet.

“My right arm’s a lot stronger than my left arm,” he says, before looking a little horrified. “That wasn’t a masturbation joke, by the way. I am so sorry.”

You roll your eyes. "Give me your left hand then- wait. You're right-handed?"

"That's not the- uh." He thinks for a moment, trying to gather words. “That’s not the reason.”

“I, uh, I heavily damaged this arm when I was a kid—don’t look like that, there’s a fun part to this. It’s made of titanium! And some other things. The names are too complicated.”

You drive your fingers over the arm, so warm and real and flushed red, anything but metal and code. You find curiosity blooming in you more than ever before.

“You know why I’m not with family,” you say, straightening. “But why aren’t you celebrating with your family?” 

He gets quiet, thinking to himself for a few more moments. You almost regret asking when he answers, a hesitant sound leaving him first.

“None of us, uh… none of our parents can spare more than three hours. They’ll come in the afternoon tomorr—today.”

You can’t exactly respond to that very well.

“So all of us go hang out at the New Year’s Club.”

You frown. "But it's not a celebration without family!"

"We have new year lunches. And… it's the future. Traditions die. Very few grieve them for fear of being stuck in the past."

You feel partly horrified and partly dismal. "I… You could come with me next year, if you like."

You're not sure where the offer comes from but Yangyang lights up at the idea.

"I can? Oh, we'll have so much fun!"

"Slow down. There's a year to go."

Yangyang laughs. It's surprising the way he turned out. He must have gotten tired of waiting by the door. And now you know all the things about him that his parents don’t.

You smile at him, warming up to the idea of you and him as friends before scoffing at it again.

Right in the next moment, Yangyang dips suddenly to the ground, crouching below the table. You look around in surprise and fall to your knees with a yelp at the tug on our wrist from Yangyang.

“What the hell?” you hiss. “You’re starting to act really weird.”

“I- Sorry. It’s an emergency,” he says, but there’s no sign of distress in his voice. He simply smiles at you. Perhaps he’s never heard of the emotion as of yet.

“Your babysitter?”

“I say that once and on accident—yes, it’s my babysitter.”

You chuckle. He’s simply too cute at times. 

“We have to be discreet now, okay? It’s like—what’s the movie called? Oh, Mission Impossible.”

“I’ve never seen that.”

“What? How can you not? It’s a classic! It’s got so many cool—ah, I’ll show you another time.”

You hum, staring at Yangyang’s facial features tense up and relax again as he scans the vicinity outside the window of the convenience store. It’s full of people, even at this hour so you can’t possibly know who’s looking at you from there.

Yangyang turns back to you. “Have you ever been to blue moon station?”

“The one with the pretty walls? No. No, I’ve never even gone beyond Strip Two.”

Yangyang smiles at you and right then, you feel like you’re about to resent whatever’s going to happen next. It’s in the ebb and flow of tonight’s itinerary, however, and you relax your shoulders just as he does a roll across the floor, looking back at you with a grin for executing it flawlessly. 

“You’re so silly,” you mutter. 

“I heard that,” he whisper-shouts back.

You’re not as afraid as before, you realize. The lights are absolutely mesmerizing.

vi. blue moon station

It drops a few degrees in temperature once you step foot onto the platform. You can see a bunch of scattered tourists, cameras hanging around their neck and a look of awe over their faces. 

Yangyang takes off his jacket, shivering immediately but offering it to you nonetheless. When you refuse, he places it gingerly over your shoulders.

"Is that a…?"

"A tourist bot, yes."

"Oh my god, it's so cute," you say, crouching by the little red robot, a teal-colored smiley face popping up on its monitor.

"A lot of tourists in this station," you note.

"Yeah. It's very… visually pleasing."

That's true. The walls are screens with three dimensional graphics, immersive enough to catch one's eye. A single tree grows through the middle of the station, evergreen and alive with holographic flora and fauna. The sun shines eternally over the tree. It's so beautiful that you had trouble taking your eyes off it at first.

The walls next to you are currently displaying a walk through a fantasy forest, crafted by a visionary artist, no doubt. A blue butterfly flies past you and you stare at it before zoning out.

Sometimes, the lights are too disorienting. You start to feel dizzy, massaging your forehead when Yangyang brushes the tips of his fingers against your shoulder.

“You good?”

Yangyang crouches beside you with watchful eyes.

You nod, turning your attention to the tourist bot. It displays a plethora of information about the architecture of this place which you're sure no tourist will bother to read beyond the first two lines. 

“You can make it do cool tricks too,” Yangyang says. “Watch.”

Yangyang pokes at it with his index finger, drawing a pattern over the screen. The bot proceeds to do an old internet dance, waving about its arms and hips. You laugh at it and Yangyang looks at you with the pride of a third grader with first place on their science project.

The colours on the walls change and you see the animation of a man and a fox, furrowing your eyebrows as you try to recall that image. They seem to be broadcasting fables through the holograms. You can’t deny that they’re pretty—glowing with auspicious colours and as animated as the real world itself. As if by compulsion, you hold Yangyang’s hand. It’s nice to feel the human touch real once in a while, especially in the overwhelming loneliness of city nights.

Yangyang looks at you brightly and right then, you feel less inclined to leave him.

“You know, I could teach you better ways to flirt than just grab my hand,” he says, grinning like an idiot.

“What?” 

You move your hand. “I’m not flirting.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he responds quickly. “Can I please have your hand back?”

You shake your head, laughing. He worries you. Some part of you says you shouldn’t be worried. It’s not like you’re close friends. (Friends, maybe. Close, not yet.)

The night has a different opinion.

—

“Found you,” a voice declares, and the two of you jump into each other with a scream.

The man in the suit looks at you with a fatigued look in his eyes, hair somehow still neat though he breathes like his lungs are on fire. 

“Care to tell me why you’ve been skipping my calls?” he asks after catching his breath. “It’s not like I wanted to follow you—you just needed to tell me.”

“I… I was busy?” Yangyang flashes a smile. “Kun-ge, I honestly had no idea you called. I don’t even have my phone.”

The man shakes his head. “Fine. Just head over to Jasmine for the night. And you can bring your date too.”

He gestures at you and you want to deny it as quick as you can. You do not, however. It’s almost like you’ve warmed up to the idea of it rather well.

“Okay,” Yangyang answers quietly. 

vii. jasmine private lounge

You enter a lounge with the capacity of around a hundred people. Despite that, there are hardly five present. The walls are black with neon jasmines pulsating from blue to red. A grand piano lies still in all its elegance in the middle of the lounge, played by a plain white AI. It feels like an expensive place to be, and more so, it feels like someplace you’re not supposed to step foot into. There's a bar table at one side, opposite to the entrance which glows a hypnotizing purple. A flat lettering on the wall declares the time to be 3 A.M.

You and Yangyang sit a little too close on the artificially warmed couch, waiting for Kun to return. Yangyang reassures you that you haven't done anything wrong but the illicit outing of yours certainly says otherwise. You contemplate tasting the cocktail Yangyang ordered before finally giving in and find it pleasantly warm to taste. You take another sip.

“It’s a little strong,” Yangyang warns. “Don’t have all of—you had all of it.”

You shrug. Your throat certainly feels better now. This lounge is fucking cold.

"You know, Yangyang," you say with the warmth of confidence on your face. "You're a really nice guy."

He smiles incredulously. "Thanks. You're really nice too."

"And you're pretty decent-looking—"

"I know that."

"—and also popular. So why are you always hanging around me?"

"Uh, that's your question?"

You nod. Placing your cheek against your palm, you try not to sink into the couch.

"Because you're really cool!" He answers before clearing his throat. "I mean. I think you're fun to be around. You make me see things clearer."

"And what exactly are you wanting to see clearer?'

"You."

You blink aside your astoundment, straightening. "What?"

Your question is left unanswered because a man enters and sits across the two of you, a loud huff of annoyance leaving his mouth. It's not just his disposition but the architecture of his face that grabs your attention. He looks like an AI robot so perfectly crafted with coloured lips and flawless skin that you end up staring till Yangyang elbows you.

“He’s not an AI,” Yangyang whispers.

You furrow your brows and notice it is, in fact, true that he's not an AI. There are no ridges over the joints or hollowness in the eyes. He wears the same frost-patterned smart lenses as Yangyang does. However, it doesn't change the fact that the man is beautiful to look at.

“I’m never hosting a new year party again,” he mutters, sinking into the couch.

“It actually sounds kind of fun,” Yangyang interjects. “I can’t wait for my turn.”

“I’m sorry. Good luck standing at Longhua temple for three hours till midnight just to make sure nothing goes wrong. Without dinner.”

Yangyang makes a face at that.

"That's Sicheng-ge," he says, turning to you. 

"Ah," you say in response, remembering the name vaguely. 

"He let us into Club 2," Yangyang says, noticing your lost expression.

"I think Kun's looking for you," Sicheng says, eyes trained at the back. 

His hands fidget with the dim blue buttons at the edge of the table, till a small compartment reveals itself under the glass. An old world-style cigarette is slowly pushed up and Sicheng picks it up. He offers the next one to Yangyang, who accepts it hesitantly. No one smokes tobacco anymore when nicotine is so readily available. Alas, human nature is to want things deadly and out of reach.

“So how’s Cat?” Yangyang asks, fumbling with the plasma lighter he picked from a compartment on the side.

Sicheng smiles a little, the smoke from his cigarette snaking around him as he raises a hand to dissipate it.

“She’s doing fine. Running everything as usual.”

“Of course. Boss lady.” Yangyang does an awkward salute.

“Oh, a new hair color too. As pretty as flower fields in the spring of ‘22.”

Sicheng’s lovesick rambling is interrupted by Yangyang hacking his lungs out. You turn to him and he avoids your gaze, reaching for a crystal blue  glass of water one of the helper bots offer. So, he’s not even a smoker? Why did he think you would care? 

“Anyway, Kun is glaring daggers at me now. You better get out of here.” Sicheng grimaces.

You turn around to see Kun by the bar table, gesturing towards Yangyang to come. You're not sure why but either of those men make you nervous. 

"I'll be right back," Yangyang says, scrambling up and leaving you in a long awkward silence with Sicheng.

“So, uh, I’m assuming you’re oblivious to that lovestruck puppy following you around?” Sicheng asks, raising an eyebrow. “Or is this some game you guys are into? I’m not judging you for that.”

Your face heats up and you fidget with your collar. “The- A what? Game? Uh? I- huh?”

Sicheng tries to press down his smile but it’s evident enough for you to see. Did you say something funny? Did Yangyang say something funny about you? Oh, you’re going to kill him.

“For all that he talks, he’s kind of terrible at pulling together his own love life.” 

“I- I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

It still unnerves you to look at him. He certainly looks more android than human when he’s not making any particular expression.

“Don’t mind me,” he says, offering you a reassuring smile. “You should find Yangyang before he lands the two of you in trouble.”

You turn to look at Yangyang through the glass and turn back nodding. Sicheng offers you a parting smile and you hesitantly make your way to the bar table.

"This isn't in my job description," Kun tells Yangyang just before you arrive. "I didn't know being a lawyer included babysitting."

The tips of Yangyang's ears heat up when he notices you.

"It's not babysitting," he murmurs. “Also, you’re not my mom.”

"You, Ten, Kunhang, all of you give me such a hard time," he continues but pauses right when he notices you. 

"Oh, hello. (Name), isn't it?" He says, smiling politely. He's quite young and handsome for a lawyer. "Yangyang talks about you a lot."

"Oh," you respond. "Really?"

Yangyang glares at the older man. "You don't have to say everything, Kun-ge."

"You interested in law?" Kun asks, offering you a seat between him and Yangyang.

You make a face. The law is a tool for the rich and powerful. But then again, what isn’t? The world is in your hands when you have billions to spare. However, you still can’t imagine being a rich man's guard dog your whole life.

Kun chuckles. "You kids are interested in tech more, aren't you?"

Yangyang interrupts, "You talk like you're fifty years old."

Kun grimaces, resting his face against his hand. Shooting a glare at Yangyang, he finishes the rest of his wine.

You're not exactly interested in tech or engineering or the big kid jobs either. You just want a way to survive this man-made food chain. Rich eats the world till there’s nothing left on the plate. Then again, you'd rather be a pet than get eaten.

"Anyway," Kun turns to Yangyang. "If you see Ten, give me a call."

Yangyang signals with a thumbs up gesture, watching as Kun’s figure slowly makes its way out of the gate. It’s the two of you again and suddenly, you feel a strange sort of feeling overcome you. Leaning your throbbing forehead against Yangyang’s shoulder, you take some soft breaths and skip the part where you question your actions. It’s pleasant, at the very least. He shifts his chair closer, extending his arm around you so that your head rests against his shoulder more comfortably.

“You must be tired,” he mutters.

“You didn’t answer me,” you say. “Answer in a way I understood, at least.”

“Hm?”

“Why do you hang around me?”

“Do you not… want me to?”

“No. I like your company, actually. I can’t believe I said that out loud.”

Yangyang laughs. “You’re… you’re really perfect. As a person. At least to me, you seem that way.”

You scoff. “You’re a long way off there.”

“No. No, you felt like clockwork,” he continues. “When I first met you. I couldn’t believe you were real.”

You do work like a delirious robot on clockwork steroids. But you’re not very proud of it. You don’t think overworking is a good personality trait to have—even if it’s for survival. However, the faraway look in Yangyang’s eyes suggests that’s not what he means.

“I felt like I understood you,” he continues after a short pause.

You find it unbelievable. That’s the one sentence you could never imagine coming from him to you, much less agree with. But right then, as his warmth seeps into you, you want to agree desperately.

Yangyang feels an unexpected trickle of doubt down his throat. No matter how many times he’s practised in front of the mirror, the words don’t come out right when you’re with him. With everything you do, he feels more drawn in. There’s something familiar and something honest. And if he’s honest himself, he just likes you. What sort of a hypocrite should he be categorized as, to tell his friends to ‘just confess’ to their crushes when he’s a complete idiot when it comes to you? It can’t be that little voice from his childhood that tells him to stay in order.

Yangyang understands that there are rules to this world but he doesn’t get what those have got to do with him. He sighs, the sound somewhat grim when it comes from him.

"I've seen it before," he says, "People come from all over the country with hopes and dreams, and they get their hearts broken by capitalism."

You frown.

"I don't want you to go anywhere," he mumbles. "I hope you'll stay… even if- even if you feel like that, you know? If you're feeling lonely, I could—"

"Yangyang." You smile. "I’m quite comfortable here."

When you bury your nose into the crook of his neck, Yangyang thinks this is it. This is how he ends the sorry excuse of flirting he’s been trying with you and says something he regrets. It was never this difficult with the other crushes he’s had. He’s always left opening his mouth and then promptly closing it like a goldfish out of water every single time he wants to bring up dating with you. He’s always honest. So, what’s the big deal this time? This is so horrendously not cool of him.

You straighten. “We should get back home.”

“Can you- Can you not move so far from me, please?” Yangyang murmurs, hands gripping yours.

You smile, to yourself more to him but that’s one he likes the most.

“You’re a really interesting person, Yangyang.”

“I am?” He clears his throat and repeats the question. 

“How are you so nice to people?”

“I think people are nice.”

“Why do you like parties?”

“They’re fun.”

“When the party’s over, who do you go to?” you ask, words mushing into each other.

“Home,” he answers, gulping down what seems like more words. “Like always.”

A hush falls between the two of you. You’re asking quite the questions.

“I’m sweaty,” you mutter. “I hate being sweaty.”

“You look wonderful though,” Yangyang mumbles, more to himself than to you. “Not that being sweaty makes you wonderful. You’re just nice.”

There’s another hush, the notes of the piano playing a faraway, romantic tune. He turns away and looks back at you again, but right in that moment, you lean forward to press your lips against his. It’s so sudden that he almost falls over backwards, his feet planted firmly on the ground the only thing preventing that from happening. The next thing he thinks is that your lips are on fire and it’s the most comfortable feeling he’s ever experienced. 

The two of you fit into each other like clockwork, Yangyang thinks. It’s the one thing in his life that feels whole. Not that he isn’t whole by himself—he just loves your warmth. For a moment he feels like he’s on cloud nine and the next, his heart plummets when he feels you go limp in his arms. 

It breaks his heart a little but he doesn’t—can’t bring himself to say much. He’s not this bad when he’s drunk, is he? Pulling you up by the waist, he texts Kunhang to bring his car down to the lounge.

This is going to be a long night.

viii. home 

You wake up to the sun in your eyes and immediately know you're someplace you shouldn't be. This isn't your bed. The sun doesn't reach your bed in the morning. This isn’t the dormitory. You see a cubical alarm clock, a pixelated smiley face on it as it displays 10 A.M.

You get up and immediately shriek. You’re not wearing any clothes. Pulling the blanket up to your chin, you look around the room. It’s huge; the walls are multicolored with a little section opposite the bed reserved for photographs. There’s a lot of junk all over the floor that you don’t pay mind to when you notice Yangyang.

“Yangyang?!”

He rouses blinking slowly, hair going every which way and his eyes still unfocused. He looks like he’s had a difficult night.

“Why are you on the floor?” you ask, shrinking further into the ridiculously soft bed when he gets up. Massaging the back of his neck, he looks like he's looking at a mirage instead of a real live person. Unfortunately, he’s not wearing a shirt and you look away after a prolonged minute of staring. This is getting ridiculous. What are you doing here?

“Yangyang!”

“Huh? Oh!”

He seems to be finally awake. You should pop the question before it eats you alive.

"Did- Did we…?"

Yangyang blinks at you in confusion before a loud "oh" erupts from his mouth.

"No!" He says in between laughter. "No, we didn't. Oh my god, you’re so funny. You took off your clothes saying it's too hot and smacked me with them. I didn’t look, by the way.”

Your jaw drops. You can’t even form words through the pulsing headache.

“Your clothes are on the chair. And I didn’t touch your underwear. Out of respect."

You avoid eye contact in embarrassment. 

“And… well, you did kiss me once. Twice.”

You look up alarmed and he raises his arms in defense. 

“You- you were drunk so I had to push you off. You cried a little after that. Sorry.”

“Oh god.” You cover your face with your hands, sitting down on the bed. That has to be the most embarrassing thing you could have done.

“You- Don’t worry about that. You’re a good kisser. I was kind of surprised,” he offers in an attempt to make you feel better but you only grow hotter in the face.

“And- And I liked it,” he adds in a panic. “Wait, I don’t mean it in a creepy way.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t anyone else.”

“What?”

“You. It’s okay if it’s you.”

You give him a weak smile, still not over the embarrassment.

Yangyang laughs. “I… I think I should’ve said this before but… can I take you out on a date?”

“What were we doing last night then?”

“Well, that was- ah. You’re teasing me. Motherfucker.”

You giggle into your palm. When he takes a seat on the bed, you make a distressed sound and he jumps up immediately.

“My clothes,” you hiss. “Get out of the room so I can wear them.”

“Right,” he says, pointing an index finger at you.

He turns around right then. "By the way…"

You shriek, pulling the cover up all the way to your nose.

"Sorry," he says, averting his eyes immediately. "If- if that was a date, did you like it? Do you wanna go on another one?"

You can see him practically sweat bullets and you laugh at the innocuous questions. He’s too cute. You can’t believe you made yourself shake off the thought every time it crossed you. However indelicate his touch is, you welcome it nonetheless.

"Yes. Yes, I'll go on a date with you. You annoying, stupid, bratty idiot." 

“Okay, that was mean.”

Watching his figure leave through the door, you relax your shoulders. In the end, people will always be people. No matter what shiny new toy you give them to play with, people will always search for happiness, and they will laugh and cry and fall in love with people and places and things over and over again. It's lovely to be human in an era of diamond and steel.

#yangyang x reader #nct x reader #wayv x reader #yangyang scenarios #nct scenarios #wayv scenarios #yangyang fluff #nct fluff #wayv fluff #yangyang fanfic #nct fanfic #yangyang fic #moonwrites #dawg idk what im doing imma be honest here

[theonlymoongirl]

Impermanence

The Boys Febuwhump 2024 Day Three: "Bite down on this."

“I’m not gonna lie to you, it’s gonna be bad; but I sure as hell ain’t gonna let you die. And this ain’t gonna last forever. This pain? It’ll end. I promise.” M.M. gave no warning. He didn’t tell Hughie to brace himself or that they’d be starting now. He only pressed his hand down into his chest and held the blue flame to his skin. Sage Grove had been nothing.

read on ao3

hurt/comfort, angst, burns, blowtorches, torture (sort of)

#febuwhump2024 #febuwhump day 3 #febuwhump day three #the boys fic #hughie campbell fic #the boys #burns cw #cw burns #moonwrites

[moonshroooms]

Keep Away

Summary: Kisshu wants to get a closer look at Ichigo's Mew pendant and Ichigo quickly finds that was a really annoying decision.

Pairing: Kisshu/Ichigo

Rating: T for Mild Language

Warnings: A few curse words, that’s about it!

[AO3 Link]

-

“Give it back you jerk!”

Ichigo let a growl slip through her teeth as the arm she reached out to grasp disappeared just as her fingers closed around the now-empty space. She startled as a chuckle sounded just behind her, a warm breath tickling her cat ears.

“You’re gonna have to be faster than that, kitten.”

“Grr-!” Another swipe at once again empty air. This is what you get for letting him look at it, stupid.

It had been an innocent enough request. Team Mew was back at the café, most of the girls having already gone home after stopping another chimera attack. Just as Ichigo was about to power down Kisshu asked to get a look at her pendant. The request was casual, Kisshu laying down the air, arms behind his head as he looked at her sideways, like his request wasn’t all that important. After studying the alien for a second, looking for any hint of mischief in those golden eyes, Ichigo gave her go-ahead.

Kisshu floated in close, fingers reaching out to feel the trinket still attached to her uniform’s choker. Her pink eyes crossed a little as she looked down at Kisshu’s face, suddenly feeling nervous about her decision. Isn’t he a little too close? she thought nervously, as she subtly fingered the frills of her dress. She did her best to keep her breathing even as cool knuckles rested against the hollow of her throat as Kisshu ran his thumb across the pendant.

Ichigo wondered what he was thinking as she pointedly looked away from that intense gaze of his. She knew he and Ryou had started working on Mew tech down in the lab. Maybe Ryou had shared how the pendants worked? Heck, even she wasn’t entirely sure how it worked. Not the technical of it, at least. Most of her charge was fighting, with Ryou and Akasaka doing most of the behind-the-scenes work. She and the other girls knew how to activate the Mew Aqua in her pendant through their emotions and will. No science or tech needed, just intuition. From what she could understand from Ryou’s initial explanation (not long after she’d first transformed) the pendant helped her channel the Mew Aqua’s energy through her body more steadily, not that she knew how he managed to do that. Though, she supposed, she didn’t really need to know the ins and outs to do her end of the job. 

 Still, it had been exasperating at times (especially in the beginning) when Ryou wouldn’t explain things in less techy terms, opting instead to wave her off and tell her she just needed to focus on kicking chimera butt. Kisshu on the other hand was much more forthcoming with that information - as well rewording things when she didn’t understand. With him and his willingness to share what he and Ryou were working on now, she’d slowly started understanding more of the Aqua’s in-depth workings. She’d never really told him much that she appreciated that. I should do that soon, she thought.

 The Mew was torn away from her thoughts like the pop of a bubble, suddenly aware of Kisshu’s knuckles lightly grazing the side of her neck as he thumbed the fluff on the side of her choker, nowhere near her pendant.

 “It’s a cute design, isn’t it, kitten?” He hummed.

 Ichigo swallowed thickly as his light touch went from her neckband to tracing the tops of her shoulders. She was keenly aware of her tensing muscles and nervous heartbeat and absolutely certain it was loud enough for him to hear. Kisshu kept his eyes locked on her pendant (despite his fingers wandering far away from it), expression appearing relaxed and nonchalant, though there was a certain mischievous glint in his eye that Ichigo could spot from a mile away.

 Dumb jerk. He knew exactly what he was doing to her. And absolutely on purpose!

 Then there was a subtle little click and a slight tug at her neck. Ichigo blinked a few times in confusion as her ears swiveled at the sound. Kisshu was suddenly out of her space and floating away from her and Ichigo noticed a small golden-something resting in his palm. Her hands flew to her neck and she found it unusually bare.

 “I- you? Did you just steal my pendant?”

 Kisshu let out a gasp, hand going to his chest in mock offense. “Steal? I would never! I’m simply borrowing it. I want a better look – you’ll get it back tomorrow.” And he went back to toying with her fluffy neckband as though nothing was off.

 “I didn’t SAY you could borrow it! I didn’t even know that could come off!” The pink Mew quickly lunged for the alien only for him to fly up and out of her reach.

 “Since when has that ever stopped me?” he snickered, stretching out in a relaxed position. The cat-girl made a leap for the alien, fingers only just grazing his ankle as she missed her mark. He gave a few tsks and teleported to the other side of the room, feet landing softly on the floor. “Oh c’mon, I know you can do better than thaAA-”

-

Kisshu gave an oof! as Ichigo suddenly crashed into him, stumbling back as he tried to keep them from toppling over. One arm quickly looped around the back of his neck while the other reached out for the pendant he held out at arm’s length, face squished tightly against her. He pushed against her with his free arm, struggling to escape her grasp to no avail.

 Damn, she’s stronger than she looks, he thought through gritted teeth. He knew he wouldn’t be able to teleport away with her clinging to him and he did not fancy trying to race her for the pendant, even if he could make a good throw. She was faster than she looked too and was getting startlingly good at predicting his teleports.

 “Can’t breathe, kitten!” he tried as he strained against her arm, now dangling the pendant by just two fingers as Ichigo steadily closed the distance.

 “Good. If you pass out I get my pendant,” she grunted back.

 Damn. Well that trick didn’t work. Alright, plan B.

 There was an odd charge to the air suddenly - a buzzing kind of electric feel – and in just one breath and a strange tilting feeling the two were suspended up in the air, just beneath the café’s ceiling. Ichigo yelped, the sudden change startling her, and quickly wrapped both arms around Kisshu’s neck. Kisshu grinned wickedly as he reached behind him, fingers tangling tightly in hers and her fuchsia eyes quickly snapped up to his gold. Her pupils shrunk as she parsed Kisshu’s expression, ears quickly flattening and growling out a “don’t. You. Dare-” just a Kisshu pried off her hands and planted a boot firmly against her stomach, kicking the cat-girl away and sending her tumbling to the floor.

 “Whoops!”

 Kisshu bit his lip as Ichigo fell, a shriek tumbling from her throat. He knew she’d be fine, but he couldn’t help the way his heart instinctively lurched as he watched her plummet. He’d seen her fall from bigger heights and land perfectly fine, so he forced his body to stay put. He was winning whatever game they were playing right now and there was no way he was gonna let his own damn love-sickness give her an edge.

 The feel of his heart in his stomach didn’t go away until she twisted herself midair, landing safely on all fours with a heavy grunt. He let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

 “I can’t believe you just kicked me off from like, ten feet in the air!” she snapped, hair falling haphazardly around her face.

 Kisshu waved her off, reassuming his reclined position from before their tussle. “Oh you’re fine, don’t be a sore loser,” he quipped.

 “Why won’t you just give me back my pendant?” she growled, tail lashing side to side as she stomped a foot.

 “Whhhy won’t you just let me borrow it?” He countered, spinning the choker around on one finger. “I’m not gonna mess with it. Maybe I just wanna carve our initials in it.” He sent Ichigo a wink, blowing her a kiss for emphasis, and laughed as she just gave him a deadpan look. “C’mon, I won’t break it. Stars know I don’t need blondie bitching at me.”

 “No!”

 Kisshu scoffed, flipped around to “lay” on his belly, still high up in the air, chin propped in his hands. “Y’know, sharing is caring, kitten. It’s just one night, it’s not like you need-” he broke himself off and in the silence you could almost hear his brain give a little click! as an idea popped in his head.

 Ichigo regarded him warily with a side-eye as he floated closer, chin turned away as a grin slowly formed on his face. He flipped around again, sitting upside down and cross-legged at Ichigo’s eye-level, hands holding his ankles.

 “You can’t transform back without this, can you, kitten?” It was a bit of a shot in the dark, sure. But logically since he’s seen she can’t initially transform without it then logic would dictate she probably couldn’t power down without it either.

 Ichigo’s eyes narrowed, dark spotted ears folding flat against her head and giving Kisshu all the confirmation he needed.

 “Ha! Oh, that’s beautiful!” He quickly zoomed out of reach as a gloved hand took a swipe at him, flipping back upright as he did. “What I’d give to see you trying to slink home in that-” he gestured to her ostentatious everything, “-without anyone seeing you. I can see the photos of the famous Mew Ichigo just sitting on the bus now, the only neon pink thing for miles. Why are your outfits so loud anyways? Doesn’t make for good camouflage, you know. Might wanna bring that up to blondie.”

 Ichigo threw up her arms. “Alright, fine, yes! I can’t power down without the pendant. Or power up for that matter! And this-” she spastically waved her hands in his general direction. Kisshu had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. “-is exactly why I didn’t tell you! Cuz you go out of your way to be a pain in my ass! There, now you know! So give me back my stuff!”

 Kisshu gasped out “language, kitten!” snickering at her subsequent eyeroll. He closed his eyes for a moment, tapping his chin as if in thought. “Hm. I’m thinking no.”

 Kisshu tried his best to not look amused as Ichigo’s tail puffed up twice its size, even the hair on her head seemed to be getting fluffier. “No?” She ground out slowly, as though she wasn’t sure she heard him right.

 “Correct.” Kisshu made a show of putting her pendant around his own neck and clipping it closed. “See, you’ve made the unfortunate mistake of keeping this thing away from you too much fun, I couldn’t possibly hand it back now.” He touched back down to the ground. His thumb hooked underneath the collar, giving it a tug and flashing a toothy grin. “So then, you want it? Come get it.”

-

Ichigo’s tail lashed as she stared at Kisshu.

Don’t do it, Ichigo. He’s baiting you. You KNOW he’s baiting you.

But what ELSE was she supposed to do? WALK? Go back home and pray her parents weren’t sitting in the living room asking why the hell a superhero just walked into their house? (And y’know, doesn’t she look just like our darling baby girl- WAIT A SECOND--)

 Yeah. Right.

 And she had school tomorrow! Even if she did manage to sneak into her room completely unseen she still couldn’t go to school like this. No way would she be able to get her lazy butt out of bed before daylight (with her nocturnal genes it was hard enough just being awake at 7am much less any time before then). She doubted Kisshu would be so kind as to return her pendant before morning. Knowing him he’d make me go on a scavenger hunt first, she scoffed internally.

 She could call his bluff perhaps? Make like she’d back down and just go back home. What fun was there in a game with only one player, right? Wait, no, no, Ichigo mentally shook her head. He wanted to keep the pendant overnight in the first place. If she ignored him that didn’t mean she got it back, it just meant he got a consolation prize.

Darn it, think, Ichigo!

“If you don’t give it back I’m gonna… tell Ryou!” she threatened.

 “Hah! If you think I’m scared of blondie then you haven’t been paying attention these last few months. Next.”

 Ichigo pointed a warning finger. “He’ll start bitching at you!”

 Kisshu just simpered. “Totally worth it to see you trying to sneak home in that.” He gestured to her outfit, looking smug as he did a little hop so he could sit cross-legged in the air. “Plus, if he actually tries helping you steal your little trinket back then I just get an extra challenge. You know I’m always up for that.”

 Ichigo narrowed her eyes, thinking fast. “I bet Akasaka-san would be disappointed you didn’t respect my boundaries and took something without permission.”

 That gave him pause and he pursed his lips. Ichigo’s internal cheering was short-lived though as Kisshu clutched his chest with an exaggeratedly pained expression. “Oh, a low-blow bringing Kei into this. Even using the therapy words, you wound me. I think I’m impressed!” Ichigo just gave Kisshu’s theatrics a deadpan stare. “Kei’s disappointment would hurt, but seeing as we’re not stabbing each other I think I can earn his forgiveness. That’s major progress, you know! What else you got?”

 Ichigo pressed her mouth in a hard line.

 That-

 -was all the ammo she had. Not even the threat of Akasaka’s disappointment was going to sway him. (And she’d seen firsthand how much that could get under Kisshu’s skin, as much as he’d tried to hide it). Threats weren’t gonna cut it this time.

 A bribe?

 It’d technically be rewarding him for being a brat, but she just wanted to go HOME, darn it! You can only pick so many battles, right?

 But what would she have that he could possibly want? Money wasn’t a worry to him – he just lived at the café now and something told her Ryou wasn’t exactly charging rent. She hadn’t heard him express anything he wanted that she could buy – she doubted he’d even walked into a store before. Food wasn’t much of a bribe either. Akasaka was a master chef and pâtissier and Ichigo burned her grilled cheese last week. So, what else could she bribe him with?

A kiss, her brain supplied.

She felt her ears burn.

No, no, no! Bad idea! Bad brain! As if her feelings towards the alien weren’t complicated enough, the last thing she needed was to add fuel to that particular dumpster fire.

She gave a resigned sigh.

Okay. It seemed like her only real option (or at least the option with the lowest amount of anxiety-induced headaches) was to play by his game and take her pendant back by force. She’s kicked his butt before – she can do it again.

Tail lashing, Ichigo crouched low, feeling the wildcat’s aura stir to life within her. Mew Aqua and feline finesse thrummed through her veins, fueling her tired muscles.

Kisshu grinned as he watched her posture change, catching sight of that fire in her eyes. “That’s what I like to see, kitten!” he said as he touched down again. A flicker of excitement passed through his expression as he readied himself. “Come on then, let’s see what you’ve got.”

Ichigo lunged.

The ends of her fingers just barely swiped verdant hair as Kisshu sidestepped her. Thinking fast she twirled around in the opposite direction, kicking her leg out to catch him by the ankles. Her foot connected and she felt the follow through as he was swept off his feet, but upon facing him again she was greeted with the alien catching himself in a clumsy midair float. Ichigo snapped forward without pause, fingerless gloves reaching out to latch onto his wrist in a death-grip. Before she could make a move however Kisshu’s free hand snatched her forearm and he whirled around, using both their momentums to spin and throw her to the ground.

Ichigo sucked in a breath as she braced for impact, her shoulder connecting to the floor as she was thrown to the side. She let out her breath and let herself roll, landing back upright on hands and feet. The sound of sharp nails scraping against hardwood sounded as she scrambled after Kisshu. Already the alien was floating away, trying to put some distance between them.

“Ohoh, going straight for the heart right away, huh? Want to end things quickly? How cutthroat, kittycat.” Kisshu snickered at the blatant look of exasperation he was met with. Ichigo was never much one for trash talk – until Kisshu came along anyhow. Even before they were allied she swore his battle taunts were never-ending. It only seemed to ramp up the more he trained with the Mews, quipping and jeering to get a rise out of them at every second. It certainly worked to distract them at times. Zakuro seemed to be the only one immune to his jibes.

“Oh my GOD you are so annoying right now.”

“It’s a gift~”

Ichigo struck out but felt her arm connect with nothing as Kisshu disappeared. She whirled around and spotted it almost instantly – that slight wave, that barely-visible distortion of air.

It was so slight – most people wouldn’t even register it if they weren’t looking for it. And even if they did notice they’d likely brush it off as their eyes playing tricks on them. But repeated exposure to it meant Ichigo learned. Her cat’s eyes were evolved to catch movement – something fast and small shooting across their vision could trigger that instinctual urge to chase. It was that hardwired advantage that allowed Ichigo to latch onto the shiver in the air that signaled the alien’s teleport location. If it weren’t for regular sparing matches against (and with) Kisshu she might never have noticed that little tell. But now she only got better and better at spotting and reacting to it. It only lasted seconds – that’s all Ichigo needed.

Delight shot through her as she swept up behind the distortion. She guessed his orientation correctly and watched – a little smugly – as Kisshu’s head whipped side to side as he failed to spot her in her last location. With a wicked grin she grabbed a wrist and yanked it behind him, pinning it behind his shoulder blade as he hissed with the pain.

“Hm! You’re gonna have to get some new tricks, I’m getting too good at predicting yours.” Ichigo simpered, quickly grabbing his other wrist before he could retaliate.

“I ain’t outta tricks yet, kitten- ack!”

Ichigo pressed her boot to the back of Kisshu’s knees and he quickly fell to them. He struggled for a moment but with him being at a disadvantage she easily managed to get him kneeling and hunched over.

“There, I win! Now give me back my pendant.”

Kisshu scoffed despite his compromised position. “You win when I can’t do this-”

Ichigo yelped as Kisshu pitched forward suddenly and she was thrown onto his back. On instinct she wrapped her arms around his shoulders to both keep from falling off and losing her captive and quickly found herself on an unexpected rodeo ride. With his hands free Kisshu made it to his feet again despite his extra baggage. Within moments of him standing Ichigo was bucked off, Kisshu’s fingers prying her arms from around his neck as she tumbled to the floor. She clumsily stumbled forward, trying to grab him before he could escape, but her eyes registered that shiver of air and she knew he was gone again.

Slitted pupils frantically flitted around before pinpointing Kisshu’s landing sight, way up near the café’s ceiling and far out of the Mew’s reach. He materialized and locked eyes with Ichigo for just a moment before disappearing. She spotted his next landing site (still too high for her to reach) and stared at him before he vanished again. He did this twice more, disappearing and reappearing randomly across the room, always too high for her to attack. Each time Ichigo's unwavering sight locked onto where he inevitably appeared.

Kisshu finally stopped, breathing heavily from his high post. Ichigo knew his teleporting took a lot of energy. Even just moving in those short bursts probably felt something like a sprint, especially back-to-back like that.

Kisshu chuckled. “Can’t escape from your eyes, huh? You’re getting too good at that.”

When Kisshu first started training with the Mews one on one it wasn’t uncommon for him to win. Where the girls were used to fighting with their teammates, Kisshu was used to fighting alone or with a significantly smaller group. Ichigo especially had the worst win ratio against him; she depended a lot on her teammates getting in faster, more versatile hits to set up for her Strawberry Bell. It had taken a while, but Ichigo definitely started making progress. She stopped leaving herself open quite as much and worked better with her body. Where Mint and Zakuro tended to be flighty or graceful, Ichigo’s strengths lied more in stocky force. She leaned into both her natural strength and the newfound muscle her cat genes supplied and could really pack a punch now, even without her Strawberry Bell. Now her matchups against Kisshu were much fairer – almost a game for both of them. A constant push and pull of learning and adapting to each other’s vastly different styles, a newfound challenge that was always evolving.

Ichigo grinned up, feeling a twinge of accomplishment at the praise. Where Kisshu’s jeering was common in battle, his compliments were decidedly less so. It felt good being recognized by her opponent.

“Come back to my level and fight fair then,” she called as she stood back up.

Kisshu’s lip quirked at the playful lilt in her voice. If Ichigo stopped to think for a second she might’ve realized her annoyance was fading and she was starting to have fun now. “Oh, very tempting, but no,” he replied. “I think I’m gonna have to level the playing field, actually. New rule: you want your prize? You’re gonna have to come find me.”

And with that, much slower than before – he’s tiring out, Ichigo thought – he disappeared. Pink locks bounced around as Ichigo tried spotting his new landing site, but nowhere in the room did she spy that telltale shiver of air. A few more seconds ticking by proved he hadn’t reappeared in the room.

“Kish?” Ichigo called – to no response. She swiveled her ears, straining to listen. Nothing. The tip of her tail twitched nervously. She didn’t want to just start screaming and disturb Ryou and Akasaka, wherever they were in the building. “Kisshu! That’s not fair, you can’t just run away!”

She heard it then: a quiet chuckle from the hallway.

She stepped lightly and quickly, making her way over. The hallway was dimly lit, illuminated only by the light spilling over from the main part of the café.

“Kisshu!” Ichigo hissed again. The deeper they went into the building the higher chance they had of running into Ryou. She wasn’t particularly interested in a reminder of how crabby the blond could be after a long day.

“Ichigooo,” came the quiet reply, singing from deep down the stairway to the lab.

Shoot, Ichigo cursed. She quickly made her way down, hand feeling against the railing. The descent down was dim and only got darker further in. Her fingers brushed against the cold wall as she reached the bottom, hoping to find a light switch. She groped blindly while she waited for her eyes to adjust, but to no avail. It wasn’t often she came down here – and when she did the lights were always already on. She wasn’t even sure if there was a light switch.

Thankfully her eyes adjusted quickly, pupils expanding to drink in what little light snuck in from upstairs. (Thank you cat genes). A cursory glance around revealed nothing to her. It looked like she was alone.

Ichigo stepped further in, head on a swivel and ears twitching at every creak and step. She knew she was playing right into Kisshu’s hands, but she had little choice but to venture further, seeing as he was still holding her prize captive. Once she reached the hall’s halfway point she stopped. Surely Kisshu wouldn’t go into the lab, right? Things could get a little  rowdy when they were too focused on beating each other. The last thing they needed was to break something expensive.

Too wrapped in her own thoughts, Ichigo recognized a second too late the electric buzz of Kisshu’s teleporting. Before she could react she felt lean arms wrap around her like a vice, pinning her arms to her side.

“Gotcha.”

A tingle shot up Ichigo’s spine as she felt warm lips press against the back of her neck. Her muscles instantly tensed and she could feel Kisshu’s grin against her skin. His grip tightened almost imperceptibly as he pulled her closer against him and her pulse skyrocketed. She forced herself to breathe. Don’t get flustered, that’s what he wants.

An idea popped in her head and Ichigo bit her lip to keep from smiling.

She reached her hands up, grabbing tight where his arms crossed over her midsection, and spun. Kisshu yelped in surprise as he was suddenly taken for a joyride, his grip on her slipping as he was whirled around and slammed into the wall. Ichigo heard a low wheeze as the air was knocked from him and he stumbled sideways. As soon as he was disconnected from her she saw a quiver of air and he teleported away. It took her much longer to spot him again in the dark. She might have better night vision than a normal human, but the shadows still masked things just enough to make predicting his teleport impossible to spot before he reappeared.

“Actually? I think I got you,” Ichigo quipped. Despite the interruption from her attack, her chest still felt tight from moments before. Warm lips pressed against her neck, her back being pulled flush against him. She shook her head to clear the image.

“You are freakishly strong, you know that?” Kisshu coughed as he caught his breath.

Once again Ichigo felt a swell of pride at catching him off guard. In the back of her mind she wondered if throwing the alien around was easier because she was so used to fending off chimeras twice her size.

“Giving up?” she goaded.

Ichigo could just barely see Kisshu’s eyes flash in the darkness. “Not a chance.”

With that confirmation she advanced, though a spark of surprise hit her as he held his ground.

Ichigo’s strength lied in fighting things head-on (what with her having the strongest, but slowest, powers on her team). Kisshu tended to avoid and evade – opting instead to confuse and keep his opponent guessing on where he’d strike. It usually led to Ichigo throwing a lot of weak strikes or blocking him, waiting for Kisshu to give her an opening she could use to really capitalize.

Ichigo threw a half-closed strike, the kind always used in sparring matches, as Kisshu threw up an arm to block it. He struck out with his foot to catch her ankles but Ichigo reacted too quickly, raising her own to counter and hooking it behind his leg. With a twist of her hips she pulled him forward away from the wall. Her gambit worked and he tripped, falling back right on his butt. Ichigo swooped in, gripping his shoulders and shoving him to the ground in a pin. Kisshu gritted his teeth as he struggled, but it wasn’t much of a fight as Ichigo quickly wrangled him down. Still probably exhausted from teleporting, she thought as she kept him trapped beneath her.

“And here I always thought,” he took a large breath as he stopped struggling, pointedly glancing down to his hips where they were trapped between Ichigo’s thighs, “you’d be too shy to be on top.”

Ichigo blinked in confusion before pink quickly dusted her cheeks. “Oh- would you- shut up!” She smacked his arm in retaliation, ears folding against her head as she took in their position. It wasn’t her fault fights got a little… close sometimes! Still, she couldn’t help the stutter in her chest as the realization was brought to her attention. “Just give up. You lost this match and you know it.”

Kisshu’s eyes narrowed competitively, but she could see the fatigue in them. “Never. I still- still got one more trick.”

That familiar wave of distortion weaved around her.

He’s gonna try and teleport now? He’s exhausted! If she hadn’t won before, she knew it’d be a given now. Teleporting took twice as much energy if you had a passenger and he was clearly running low. She tightened her hold on his shoulders, just in case he did manage to move them.

When the world stopped distorting and that lurch in her stomach disappeared Ichigo glanced around. They were in the exact same spot, not having budged an inch. She heard a light thunk as Kisshu’s head dropped to the floor. Her raised his hands in surrender, saying “alright, alright, you win,” in between heavy breaths.

Ichigo hesitated before loosening her grip and lifting her weight off him through narrowed eyes, not quite trusting as Kisshu shuffled backwards to lean against the wall.

At seeing her distrustful glare he gave a tired, lopsided grin. “You win, I swear. No double-crosses.”

Ichigo pursed her lips, not quite sure if she believed him as she sat back on her ankles. Both were quiet as they caught their breath. The two stared at each other, both looking all sorts of unkempt. One of Kisshu’s hair ribbons had completely undone itself and was surely lying lost somewhere in the café. Ichigo pushed one of her armbands back in place from where it fell down to her wrist. Both of their hair was messy and sticking out all over the place from their whirlwind tumbling. Ichigo couldn’t help but think Kisshu looked like an edgy teen going through an emo phase as half his hair fell over one eye. She pressed her mouth closed harshly, trying to keep it together, but as soon as she heard a snrrk from Kisshu it was all over and they both doubled over laughing.

“You- are SUCH. A pain,” Ichigo wheezed out between giggles.

“I- I know.” Kisshu held his stomach, trying and failing to breathe between laughter. “Like- like I said: it’s a gift.”

The two took a few more long moments trying and failing to reign in their giggle fit. It never failed that they both ended up getting sucked into their own game (as often as Ichigo tried to resist it), and would end up going all out against each other – no matter how stupid it started out.

Kisshu pulled himself further up against the wall, wincing as he settled in. “Ugh, I think you pulled something on my side. Did you have to slam me into the floor and the wall?”

Ichigo shrugged. “You’re the one that asked me to kick your butt.”

He huffed. “Whatever eases your conscience. I hope the thought of me sobbing in pain keeps you from sleeping.”

“I will think of that but it will give me joy and sweet dreams.”

“Sadist.”

“You’re one to talk!”

Kisshu barked out a laugh. Ichigo rolled her eyes and gave a good-natured huff before holding her palm out expectantly. She pointedly eyed the choker still clasped firmly around Kisshu’s neck. He grumbled a bit as she gestured “give it” at him but relented, reaching back to unclasp it.

She busied herself with smoothing down her hair as waited for the feel of a weight dropping into her palm but instead let out a squeak as fingers closed around her wrist and yanked her forward. Her free arm shot out to catch against the wall and Ichigo found her face suddenly very close to Kisshu’s. She was posed awkwardly, one wrist still held hostage and half-leaning, half-falling over him, forearm propped along the wall next to his head. At her expression the corner of Kisshu’s mouth quirked and Ichigo felt her pulse spike.

Too close, too close, mayday, mayday.

On instinct she shuffled forwards to fix her awkward position and lean back only to find it just nestled her more squarely between Kisshu’s legs. Ichigo threw her best glare at him (as good as she could with her face surely on fire) and Kisshu just widened his smirk, crossing his legs behind her, trapping her in. He raised a brow and jingled the pendant in front of her, almost as if saying “don’t leave yet, you didn’t get this back.”

Ichigo didn’t move. Bright pink eyes stared unblinkingly, trying to reign in her nerves as she watched to see what he would do next. She liked to think she chose to stay put, but if she were being honest, she was completely frozen. The hand trapping her wrist tentatively released her and began a slow climb up her forearm. Ichigo suppressed a shiver at the tingling sensation and subsequent heat his trailing fingers left in their wake. Her eyes tracked as his knuckles slooowly dragged up her arm past her shoulder and traced along her clavicle. She looked back up to his face when she couldn’t track his hand anymore. He wasn’t looking back, instead gazing almost lazily as his hand trailed up her throat.

Calloused fingertips looped around to the back of her neck and gently tugged her forward. Ichigo bit the inside of her cheek, trying her best to get her breathing under control as it quickened, lest Kisshu feel it right against his cheeks. She was keenly aware of her waist and the slight pressure of his thighs against it. She resisted clenching her eyes shut as she felt his legs draw her in closer. They were already so close. (Yet somewhere the back of her mind insisted it wasn’t nearly enough).

The hand still holding her pendant reached up, gliding across her jaw before tilting her head up. Electricity crackled across her skin at the touch and the deep quietness of the hallway reminded her that they were very alone. No one around to hear. No one around to see. Throat exposed to someone who, in the past, had put daggers against it. Once upon a time, though perhaps not as long ago as it felt to her, this situation would’ve been reason to panic. And Ichigo was panicking, though not in the same way she might’ve when they were still enemies.

Her nerves felt numbed and on fire all at once. Her eyes drowned in the golden gaze in front of her. She felt both like it would take a mountain to move her and that she could bolt and run at any second. The moment was nerve-wracking and electrified. Terrifying. Addicting. She should move. She should stay put. Say something. Say nothing. Her mind frenzied in half-predictions of what would happen and what was happening in a flurry of thoughts that resulted in her absolute stillness.

Kisshu’s fingers continued their feather-light touches as he deftly looped her band back around her neck and clicked it closed. The pendant finally sat against her throat hollow with a comfortable weight and she felt her body sag in relief. That odd sense of nakedness with its absence finally lifted from her. She’d never noticed the small quiet pulse it gave off against her chest before. She wondered through muddled thoughts if that rhythm was the Mew Aqua within, resonating with her.

Kisshu quirked his lips as he stared at the pendant. From the outside he seemed entirely unperturbed by their current state. He leaned against the wall almost casually, head slightly tilted, shoulders relaxed. But from this close Ichigo could see the slight dilation of his slitted pupils (and some part of her was certain it wasn’t just from the darkness). She could feel the minor quake to his fingers against her neck. How his breathing fanned across her lips, shallow and fast. He swiped a thumb across the heart engraved on her pendant, pale skin a stark contrast to the saturated gold. He finally flicked his gaze to look up at Ichigo. As their eyes locked Ichigo felt the electricity in the air crackle and she held her breath. Anticipating.

He looped a finger into her neckband and pulled her into a kiss.

All at once the tension between them exploded. Cool lips pressed against warm ones. Chaste at first, unsure. Ichigo could feel the nervous tremble of his lips, even as his hand tugged at her neck to pull her closer. She felt herself caught between two wants. One was to pull away. Get distance. Get time. You haven’t thought this through. How could this possibly work out? What about Masaya, you still have feelings for him, don’t you? The second want was to stay, sink in. Feel what’s going on now. Who cared about all those worries when the person in front of her made her head swim and set her skin on fire? Her hand hovered over him as she short-circuited, indecision between clutching to him or pushing away leaving her frozen.

With enough hesitation, and the delicious feel of Kisshu squeezing her arm to pull her against him, she gave in to her second want.

Ichigo melted in the kiss, sighing as the hand holding her up against the wall slid down against Kisshu’s shoulder. Her other hand finally spurred to action and rested against his hip and supported her weight there. His hand ran up to tangle itself in her hair while the other rested against her back. She arched slightly as she sank into him, guided by the gentle press of his palm. Sharp teeth lightly nipped her bottom lip and was immediately soothed with the wet feel of his tongue gliding across it, almost an apology. Ichigo hesitantly opened her mouth. Her already blushing cheeks grew darker in color and she let out an undignified squeak as Kisshu wasted no time diving in. His tongue ran along the roof of her mouth before quickly finding hers to tangle with and Ichigo had to remind herself to breathe.

Kisshu only grew bolder as the seconds ticked by and Ichigo found herself coming further undone in his arms. Her worries? Her uncertainties? Her buts and what-ifs? Gone with the wind, swept away in a river separate from the one she was happily drowning in. As far as Ichigo was concerned they never existed.

With her chest pressed close against his she could feel the resounding beat of his heart right against her own. They thrummed one after the other, an echo and answer, a drummer keeping steady rhythm. Her hands at his shoulder and hip gripped tighter as his legs squeezed around her. He tightened his grip in her hair, nails running lightly against her scalp. Ichigo unconsciously let out a little noise of enjoyment and she vaguely registered Kisshu chuckling in response.

He pulled back for a moment, leaving her dazed and catching her breath. His hand untangled from her hair to cup her face, pushing her bangs back. As her glazed eyes refocused she found herself trapped in his sights again. She almost swore she could feel his heart rate pick up beside her own. Somehow, of everything done, she found looking into his eyes to be what caused her chest to ache the most.

He looked at her like someone who’d never seen the stars – full of awe and admiration and yearning to reach out and capture one for himself. An excitement and anticipation as finally the night sky was within reach. Ichigo felt almost burned by his gaze. A forest beset by a fire so bright and wild that it could do nothing but be consumed. Ichigo felt something curl low in her stomach, equal parts exciting and terrifying as she thought, I want him to.

And that thought is so sudden, so intense, that she feels all her previous worries come flooding back in. A rush of cold water dumped on her head.

What was she doing?? As if her feelings weren’t already complicated enough!

She felt herself being tugged forward for another kiss, Kisshu’s eyes dropping to her lips. His mouth pressed against hers, warm and inviting.

“I-”

Kisshu paused, lips just brushing hers, breaths mingling together. He didn’t push further, but didn’t pull away either. Just glanced up at her.

“I…” Ichigo started again, swallowing. Their mouths continued just barely touching as she spoke. “It’s… it’s late. My parents are going to get worried.”

Kisshu looked indecisive, like he wanted nothing more than to ignore her words and pull her into another kiss. Sear his mouth against her. Devour her. And he probably does, she thought.

A few moments of silence more. Kisshu’s eyes flicked between Ichigo’s stare and her lips. But finally, with closed eyes and a fortifying breath, he leaned away from her.

“Guess you better get back home then.”

Ichigo stayed silent for a moment as some part of her heart felt disappointed. Then she nodded, a little dumbstruck, and mechanically pulled away. The air felt cold against her cheek as Kisshu’s hand slipped away and she nervously twiddled her fingers as she stood. Ichigo took a few steps back and hesitated. Kisshu hadn’t taken his eyes off her, yet she couldn’t read his expression at all. She was overwhelmed by the need to say something, explain herself somehow? But she wasn’t even sure what to explain. She was having trouble understanding herself, let alone telling someone else. Instead she turned away, powering down as she headed for the stairway, staring unseeing at the metal flooring clanking beneath her shoes.

As she reached the end of the hall she mumbled, “see you tomorrow,” sure Kisshu heard her despite the quietness of her voice, and made her way up the stairs.

When she exited the café she was greeted by cool spring air that sent a shock to her system. Stark contrast to all the heated things that happened within the café’s cheery walls. A shiver passed through her as she bundled her arms together and made her way home.

When she uneventfully arrived home she collapsed in her bed. Her mind swam with so many things. About Kisshu. About Masaya. About her lingering feelings for her “old” flame and the sparking embers of her “new” one. About how good everything felt. And how guilty she felt about that. About facing Kisshu tomorrow. About what she would say – about what he would say. About, about, about.

She shoved her pillow over her head. All she wanted was to sleep and not think about today. She found herself restless and unable to do anything but.

#tmm #tokyo mew mew #kishigo #fanfic #kisshu #ichigo momomiya #tmm fanfic #quiche #debated Incredibly Hard on tagging this as quiche since its also just gonna show up in the Savory Custard fandom #but I also figure I'm probably not the first person who's done it #and they're probably used to some green twink just showing up in their aesthetic food posts #Nervous As Heckie To Be Posting This I'll Tell You What #moonstuff #moonwrites #everytime i was about to click post I saw another flipflappin thing to editt #i suppose its better than doing it AFTER hitting post but i stg it was like 12 times #anyways if you see any typos no you didn't <3 #any and all corrections will be made in the ao3 version i aint touchin the tumblr post cuz tumblrs weird when it comes to reblogs

[moonleash]

my sweet baby girl, are you feeling shy? angel, its alright, mommy justs want to touch your pretty body just how you like it. i'll just keep my hands on your hips for right now, okay, sweet? maybe i can give you some kisses on your cute lips, and you'll be so good for me, won't you? oh angel, i'd just love to show you how much i love your body... are you feeling brave enough to let me touch you again? or do you need some more kisses to warm you up? i can run my hands through your hair while i kiss your neck, sweetie. see? doesn't that help? mommy's not so scary, you don't need to shy away from her, right? good girl, so brave... so beautiful... now just tell me what you want, baby, and ill give it to you in abundance.

#text #moonwrite #nsft #lesbian nsft #mommy #sapphic nsft #little #mommy nsft #little nsft #wlw nsft #t4t nsft #trans nsft #i just wanna comfort a shy little rn #give her all the attention in the world #you have to be gentle with little girls you know (unless they dont want you to be gentle)!

[poison-pomegranates]

BAE PLEASE TELL ME ABOUT FROM DEATH TO DUST im soooo interested (also music taste???? its spectacular??)

OMG THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU (and also thank you for complimenting my music taste, that’s quite literally the most efficient path to my heart)

from death to dust is very much a work in progress that’s still in the early stages of planning because i keep having to restart.

on top of this, i suck at summaries of any kinds, but what i can do is infodump about my characters:

Desdemona Reaper is to some extent my main character, largely because she is, in a sense, the metaphorical string connecting all of the other characters as well as most of the story lines.

she used to live with her parents in Grim’s castle, in the centre of the Twin Kingdoms, but about a year before the main story starts she was exiled and now she lives on the Isle of The Lost with the rest of the misfits and criminals who were banished from the Twin Kingdoms.

the Isle of The Lost is where she met Eden, an immortal, deity-like being who was cursed by the monarchs to spend her days bound to a ‘magical’ tree, that shelters and protects the isle of the lost.

when Desdemona was banished, she made it her mission to protect Eden, but when Eden goes missing and Desdemona realises that without Eden’s magic she, and possibly the rest of the inhabitants of the isle of the lost, will die, she realises she has to return to her father's kingdom to find out what happened to her.

what should be a quick and simple mission to retrieve her best friend is complicated when a flirtatious witch, an aspiring scientist, an ambitious princess, an indebted elf, and a mysterious lycanthrope all interrupt her plans by asking for her help with various, less quick and simple missions.

acknowledging both her need for their help and her aversion to socialising, Desdemona is forced to decide which is more important to her, retrieving Eden, or keeping her peace of mind.

#desdemona #desdemona’s lore one might say #from death to dust #fdtd #idk how interesting people will find that so i might wait a while before doing my other characters #but i’ll probably still do them bc i love my children and i love to talk about them #moonwriter-7 if you read this ilysm #thank you for giving me an excuse to talk about my characters <333 #RETURN THE FAVOUR SOMEDAY I LOVE YOUR CHARACTERS AND JUST LIKE YOUR ENTIRE BOOK SO MUCH I NEED TO KNOW MOREEE

[iheartmoons]

hi hi so i've made a blog on a new account bc i wanted to have a primary writing blog, but that means i probably won't be on here as much any more. i'm sort of drawing away from the tumblr marauders fandom and this account will probs become more shitposting / lifeposting / talking to my mutuals + the occasional fandom post <3 anyways if u like my writing, u should totally follow me here 😘

#if you see moonwriter-7 following you and ur my mutuals it's just me <333

[architectsindependent]

The Tactile Dubrae… • A Dubrae with two haptic surfaces with initials in two tactile languages, Braille and Moon… • In a sea of similar sneakers these Dubrae allow one to find one’s own, even in the dark… • Sneakers provided by @osm4n • #dubrae #dubraes #sneakers #sneakeraccessories #sneakerhead #sneakernews #braille #moon #moonwriting #tactile #dohadesign #qatarcreates #thomasmodeen #architectsindependent #finland #finnishdesign #jewelry #jewellery #fashionjewelry #fashionjewellery #doha #qatar #haptic #tactiledesign #designedinqatar #qatardesign #designart #designqatar #sneakerjewelry (at 9eme arrondissement, Paris) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cfgq07DM-Cd/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#dubrae #dubraes #sneakers #sneakeraccessories #sneakerhead #sneakernews #braille #moon #moonwriting #tactile #dohadesign #qatarcreates #thomasmodeen #architectsindependent #finland #finnishdesign #jewelry #jewellery #fashionjewelry #fashionjewellery #doha #qatar #haptic #tactiledesign #designedinqatar #qatardesign #designart #designqatar #sneakerjewelry

[jiminzfilter]

not me coming back to life after months only to realize moonwrite has left tumblr :((

#moonwrite #moonwrite we miss u :(((

[rotisserierosier]

i need everyone to know that when @moonwriter-7 ‘s book comes out i WILL be RUNNING and reading it like it will save my LIFE doing so.

#reading #fantasy

[theonlymoongirl]

The Second Wave

The Boys Febuwhump 2024 Day One: Helpless

“Hughie?” Butcher approached with an almost cautious air. “What ‘appened, son? Where’s your dad?” The question hung in the air. Hughie stared at Butcher’s boots and remembered the sight of his dad’s blood diluting in the shower’s water, pooling at his feet. His dad was in the drain. His dad was splattered across the living room. His dad was- His dad. His dad. His dad.

read on ao3

hurt/comfort, angst, character death, PTSD, canon typical violence, team as family, found family dynamics

#febuwhump2024 #febuwhump #febuwhump day one #febuwhump day 1 #the boys #the boys fic #hughie campbell fic #violence tw #murder tw #moonwrites

[liaqwl]

Єремія🎇

*хвилинка самореклами*

я маю свій невеличкий тґ канал:

#украрт #український тамблер #арткозацтво #блуд #міфологія #укртумбочка #український блог #україна

[moonleash]

girls who press you up against walls. girls who hold your face just so, keeping you from looking away from her. girls who press a thigh between yours. girls who call you such a good girl for grinding up against her. girls who giggle when your breath stutters onto her neck. girls who grab you by your ass to pull you in for a kiss, dragging your cunt against her in the process.

#text #moonwrite #nsft #lesbian nsft #sapphic nsft

[m00nswriter]

Well, guys, I want to write a story.. like a powerful female mc, enemies to lovers blah blah with maybe fantasy and all but I have no idea what the Plot should be 😭😭

from

moonwriter

~🌙🌙~

#authors of tumblr #writing inspiration #author quotes #books #writers on tumblr #reading #wattpad #quotes #writeblr #writing a book #poems on tumblr #I need help #writers block #writers and poets #writerscommunity #writers problems