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melanchoire · 2 months ago

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LES ──── kim minji.

── ( ☕ ) convinced a private, locked-door confrontation is the only way to finally end the never-ending war with your infuriatingly brilliant nemesis, minji, you corner her in the bathroom, only to find that your strategy backfires spectacularly as the close quarters and heightened emotions lead to an unforeseen and intensely awkward exploration of desires you never knew you harbored.

pairing. mean dom!student council president!kim minji x sub!student council vice president!fem reader

warning(s.) cunnilingus, degradation, fingering, making out.

word count. 4,9k

author’s note. rushed fic 💔 sorry if it’s bad

okay, buckle up. this is going to be a long ride, and your seat on the student council is about to get a whole lot hotter.

the air in the student council room hung thick with the scent of stale pizza and barely-contained tension. sunlight, already starting to fade, streamed through the dusty windows, illuminating the faces of your colleagues. they were a motley crew: danielle, the perpetually stressed treasurer; haerin, the quiet, dependable secretary; and a scattering of other students, eager (or perhaps just obligated) to shape the future of seoul high.

you glanced at the agenda in front of you: “student council debate: proposals for school improvement.” your stomach clenched. you’d spent weeks crafting these proposals, pouring over student surveys, and even enduring mrs. davies’ notoriously dull lectures on budget allocation. you believed in these ideas – cleaner bathrooms, a broader range of extracurricular clubs, maybe even a decent coffee machine in the teacher's lounge (okay, that one was for mrs. davies’ sake, but still!).

but your gaze kept drifting to minji, the student council president, perched at the head of the worn–out table. her expression was, as always when you presented your ideas, a carefully constructed mask of polite skepticism. her dark hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail, accentuating the sharp angles of her face — you took a deep breath, trying to ignore the way minji was meticulously arranging her pens, each click a tiny hammer blow against your nerves. her posture was perfect, back ramrod straight, head tilted at a slight, perpetually critical angle. you knew that look. it was the “i’m about to dissect everything you say and make you question your entire existence” look. she looked every inch the composed, confident leader that everyone else saw. you, however, knew the carefully constructed façade for what it was.

“alright.” minji announced, her voice smooth and polished, like a freshly lacquered table. "Let's begin. (y/n), you may present your first proposal."

you stood, your heart doing a frantic tango in your chest. “good morning, everyone. my first proposal focuses on improving the condition of the student restrooms. surveys indicate a significant level of dissatisfaction, with students citing issues like lack of soap, broken dispensers, and overall cleanliness. i propose allocating a portion of the student activity fund to address these issues, including…”

you launched into your carefully prepared presentation, citing statistics, outlining potential solutions, and emphasizing the positive impact on student morale and hygiene. you even threw in a joke about the legendary bathroom graffiti, hoping for a bit of levity.

it didn’t land.

minji cleared her throat. “while i appreciate (y/n)’s... enthusiasm, i have several concerns. Firstly, the survey data, while perhaps indicative of some dissatisfaction, doesn’t quantify the severity of the problem. are the bathrooms truly unusable, or are students simply being… overly sensitive?”

a murmur rippled through the room. you clenched your fists, trying to keep your expression neutral. “the survey included open–ended responses, which clearly illustrate the extent of the problem. students have reported…”

minji cut you off, her voice dripping with condescension. “anecdotal evidence is hardly conclusive, (y/n). furthermore, allocating funds to bathroom renovations, however noble, is ultimately a short–sighted solution. wouldn’t that money be better spent on, say, academic resources or advanced technology programs? we need to prioritize initiatives that directly impact academic performance, not… superficial comforts.”

you felt your face flush. “hygiene isn’t a 'superficial comfort,' minji. it’s a basic necessity! and a cleaner environment can actually improve focus and concentration, which in turn can positively impact academic performance.”

the debate spiraled. you argued about the practicality of long–term solutions versus immediate needs. minji countered with arguments about fiscal responsibility and the importance of maintaining the school’s academic reputation. it was a dance you’d performed countless times before, a predictable and infuriating ballet of opposing ideologies.

the truth was, this wasn’t just about bathrooms or budget allocations. it was about power. it was about minji’s need to be right, to be seen as the smartest, the most capable, the most… everything.

your history with minji stretched back to freshman year. you’d both joined the debate club, brimming with naive enthusiasm and a shared love of intellectual sparring. but somewhere along the line, competition had curdled into something… else. minji seemed to resent your presence, your ideas, even your popularity. she saw you as a threat, a rival for the spotlight.

you remembered one particularly stinging incident during the regional debate competition. you’d delivered a closing argument that had earned a standing ovation. minji, who had debated before you, was noticeably frosty afterward. later that evening, you overheard her telling another debater that your argument was “emotionally manipulative” and “lacking in substantive evidence.”

the conversation still stung, festering like an unhealed wound.

the bathroom debate eventually petered out in a stalemate. you knew you hadn’t convinced minji, and she hadn’t convinced you. the vote was postponed until the next meeting, a tactic she often used to delay or bury ideas she didn’t like.

next up was your proposal to expand the school's extracurricular offerings. you suggested starting a photography club, a creative writing workshop, and even a dungeons & dragons club, based on student interest surveys. you emphasized the importance of providing students with opportunities to explore their passions and connect with like–minded individuals.

“while i appreciate (y/n)s… creativity.” minji began, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “i question the practicality of these proposals. are we truly lacking in extracurricular activities? we already have a debate club, a math club, a science club… do we really need a dungeons & dragons club?”

a few students snickered. you bristled. “those existing clubs cater to specific interests. my proposal aims to provide options for students who don’t necessarily fit into those categories. not everyone wants to debate or solve equations. some people want to create art, write stories, or… yes, explore fantastical worlds.”

minji raised an eyebrow. “and how do you propose funding these… frivolous pursuits? we already struggle to maintain funding for essential programs. are we going to divert resources from academic clubs to support activities that have little to no educational value?”

“that’s not true!” you retorted, your voice rising. “extracurricular activities can foster creativity, critical thinking, and teamwork skills. they can also provide students with a sense of belonging and purpose, which can improve their overall well–being and academic performance.”

“perhaps.” minji conceded, her tone dismissive. “but i remain unconvinced that these specific proposals are the best use of our limited resources. a dungeons & dragons club? really, (y/n)?”

the snickering intensified. you felt your cheeks burning with humiliation. it wasn’t just the rejection of your ideas. it was the deliberate way minji was trying to undermine you, to make you look foolish.

you knew you couldn’t let her win. you took a deep breath, forcing yourself to remain calm. “minji, i understand your concerns about funding and prioritization. but i believe that these proposals deserve a fair hearing. i’m willing to work with you to explore alternative funding sources, such as fundraising events or partnerships with local businesses. and i’m confident that we can find a way to make these clubs sustainable and beneficial for our students.”

you looked directly at her, your eyes locking. “i’m not trying to undermine the existing programs, minji. i’m trying to create opportunities for more students to get involved and feel connected to our school community. isn’t that what the student council is supposed to be about?”

a flicker of something – perhaps surprise, perhaps annoyance – crossed minji’s face. for a moment, she seemed genuinely unsettled. then, she quickly regained her composure.

“of course.” she said, her voice cool and controlled. “i simply believe that we need to approach these proposals with a more… critical eye. we need to ensure that we're making responsible decisions that align with the school’s overall mission.”

she smiled, a practiced, polished smile that didn't reach her eyes. “but i appreciate your… passion, (y/n). we can certainly discuss this further at our next meeting.”

grabbing your backpack from the floor, you get up from your seat and leave the room. the slam of the door echoes behind you, a final, defiant punctuation mark on your simmering frustration. you practically feel the heat radiating off your face as you stalk down the sterile hallway, the linoleum a blur under your feet.

minji. just the name is enough to send a fresh wave of frustration crashing over you. President. she lords it over everyone, that title seemingly cemented to her forehead with superglue and arrogance. you knew she was sharp, intimidating even, but the position had amplified it, turning her into a veritable ice queen, ruling with an iron fist disguised as detached logic.

your ideas, again, dismissed. yasually brushed aside with a dismissive wave of her hand and a condescending, “that’s not feasible, you should realize that.” you’re tired of it. tired of the criticisms, the lack of constructive contribution, the sheer, infuriating smugness that clings to her like expensive perfume. it felt like she was deliberately targeting you, singling you out for her brand of cold, intellectual dissection.

it’s never constructive criticism, never an offer of a better solution, just pure, unadulterated dismissal. and the worst part? no one else seems to notice. they all just nod along, cowed by her supposed “seriousness and intelligence.” you suspect it’s more fear than respect, but you’re the only one who seems willing to acknowledge the elephant in the room – or rather, the ice queen sitting at the head of the table.

the student body had elected her out of respect, maybe even a little bit of fear. they saw her intelligence, her unwavering focus. they didn’t see the thinly veiled contempt that flashed in her eyes when anyone dared to disagree with her, the subtle power plays disguised as “efficient leadership.”

you shove open the door to the bathroom, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead a soundtrack to your building tension. your backpack hits the tiled floor with a dull thud, the sound momentarily satisfying in its abruptness. you stalk to the sink, your reflection staring back at you – flushed, angry, and frankly, defeated.

cold water rushes over your hands, and you splash it onto your face, hoping to shock some sense back into your throbbing head. you scrub roughly, trying to erase the image of minji’s icy face, her perpetually unimpressed expression. you need to calm down. you can’t let her get to you.

you take a deep breath, holding it for a moment, then slowly release it. better, but not enough. you repeat the process, trying to focus on the cool sensation of the water, the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest.

“running away again? i thought you had so many brilliant ideas to share.”

her voice, smooth and laced with a mocking amusement, slices through the fragile calm you were trying to cultivate. you freeze, your hands still gripping the edge of the sink. you don’t even need to turn around to know she’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a slight smirk playing on her lips.

you groan inwardly. of course. of course, she followed you. turning around slowly, you lean against the sink, arms crossed, trying to project a facade of calm you definitely don't feel.

“i wasn't running.” you retort, your voice sharper than you intended. you turn, meeting her gaze head-on. “i just needed a break from your… unique leadership style. the air in there was getting a little…stale.”

her lips curve into that infuriatingly subtle smirk. “stale? or perhaps you realized the brilliance of my…assessment of your proposals?”

you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “assessment? you mean your flat–out rejection of everything i suggest? is that what passes for leadership these days, minji? just tearing down other people’s ideas without offering anything constructive in return?”

her smirk widens slightly. “o sensitive. i merely offered constructive criticism.”

“constructive criticism?” you scoff. “all you do is tear down ideas. you never offer any solutions of your own.”

she takes a step closer, her gaze unwavering. you have to give her credit; she really knows how to intimidate people. “perhaps if your ideas were…viable, they wouldn't require such… assessment.”

“viable?” you scoff. “last week i suggested a school–wide volunteer day at the local animal shelter. viable enough? or what about a fundraising bake sale for new library books? too radical for you, minji?”

“those are… pedestrian.” she says the word like it’s a dirty thing. “we’re the student council, (y/n), not a bake sale committee. we should be focusing on initiatives that have a real impact, something that elevates the student body. not… fluffy nonsense.”

“fluffy nonsense?” you repeat, your voice rising. “helping animals and raising money for books is fluffy nonsense? what, pray tell, constitutes a ‘real impact’ in your world, minji? another policy proposal that no one reads? another pointless survey that gets ignored?”

“trategic planning.” she says coolly, ignoring your rising anger. “long-term vision. things that require actual intellect and foresight.”

“oh, i’m sorry.” you say, dripping with sarcasm. “i didn’t realize volunteering and helping the community were beneath your superior intellect. maybe you could enlighten me, minji. what brilliant, game-changing idea have you brought to the table lately? besides, of course, pointing out everything that’s wrong with everyone else’s suggestions.”

the smirk finally fades, replaced by a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. but she recovers quickly. “i’m focused on ensuring the council operates efficiently and effectively. that requires… critical thinking.”

“critical thinking isn’t the same as negativity, minji.” you retort. “it’s about identifying weaknesses and finding solutions, not just shooting everything down with a condescending smirk. you’re so busy playing judge and jury, you’re not actually contributing anything.”

“i contribute by ensuring the council doesn’t waste its time on frivolous pursuits.” she says, her voice hardening. “someone has to be the voice of reason.”

“reason?” you laugh, a short, sharp sound. “you think you’re the voice of reason? you’re the voice of 'no.' you’re the reason why nothing ever changes around here. you’re so afraid of anything that isn't perfect, you’re paralyzed. and you drag everyone else down with you.”

you can see the anger finally breaking through her carefully constructed facade. her jaw tightens, and her eyes narrow. “you’re being disrespectful, (y/n).”

“am i?” you challenge, taking a step closer to her. “or am i just finally saying what everyone else is too afraid to? you got elected president because people were intimidated by you, not because they actually liked you or thought you were a good leader. they just didn’t want to cross you.”

“that’s not true.” she says, but the words lack conviction."

“isn’n it? look around, minji. no one challenges you. no one questions you. they just nod and agree, terrified of becoming your next target.

and you eat it up, don’t you? you thrive on it. you love the power.”

“you don’t understand.” she says, her voice lower now, almost a hiss. “you don’t understand the responsibility…”

“oh, i understand the responsibility,” you interrupt. “it’s about serving the student body, not ruling over them. it’s about fostering ideas, not crushing them. it’s about building something together, not tearing everything down to prove how smart you are.”

you pause, taking a deep breath to try and control your still-rising anger. it’s exhausting, this constant battle with her. “you know what, minji? i’m done. i’m done with the student council. I'm done with your negativity. i’m done wasting my time trying to make a difference in a place where the only thing that matters is your ego.”

you reach for your backpack, slinging it over your shoulder. “you can have it, minji. you can have the presidency, the power, the endless meetings where nothing ever gets done. i’m going to go find something more worthwhile to do with my time. you know, you wouldn’t be half as insufferable if you actually used your supposed intellect for something other than belittling everyone else.”

the amusement vanishes from her face, replaced by a flicker of something you can’t quite decipher. anger? annoyance? or something else entirely?

“careful.” she warns, pushing herself away from the doorframe and taking a step towards you. “don’t confuse confidence for arrogance.”

“oh, i’m not confused.” you snap. “i know exactly what i’m seeing.”

you turn to leave, but stop at the door, looking back at her one last time. “maybe, just maybe, if you spent less time criticizing and more time actually contributing, you might actually accomplish something. but i wouldn’t hold my breath.”

“you think you know me so well, don’t you?” she says, her voice barely a whisper.

you look up at her, your heart pounding in your chest. her eyes are darker than usual, intense and unreadable. you swallow hard. “i think i know you well enough to know that you enjoy making everyone around you miserable.”

she lets out a soft, humorless laugh. “miserable? or perhaps… challenged?”

before you can retort, she reaches out, her fingers brushing against your cheek. the touch is surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the harshness of her words. a jolt of electricity shoots through you, a strange mixture of surprise and… something else.

“you have no idea.” she murmurs, her gaze fixed on your lips.

and then, before you can process what’s happening, she leans in and kisses you.

your mind blanks. the world shrinks to the feel of her lips on yours, the warmth of her breath against your skin. it’s not a tentative, exploratory kiss, but a fierce, demanding claim. her mouth moves against yours with a hunger that takes you completely by surprise.

your initial reaction is shock, pure and unadulterated. this is minji, the ice queen, the epitome of composure and control. this can’t be happening. but then, something shifts. a warmth begins to spread through you, melting the anger and frustration, replacing it with a confusing rush of… desire?

her arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer, erasing the space between you. the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more insistent. her tongue slides against yours, and you gasp, a wave of heat washing over you.

you find yourself responding, your own arms instinctively rising to wrap around her neck. you close your eyes, abandoning yourself to the sensation. the cool tile beneath your feet, the buzzing of the fluorescent lights, the lingering scent of soap – everything fades into the background, leaving only the feel of her mouth on yours, the frantic rhythm of your heartbeats.

there’s a desperation in her kiss, a raw vulnerability that you never would have expected from her. it’s as if she’s trying to communicate something beyond words, something hidden deep beneath her carefully constructed facade. and you, caught in the intensity of the moment, find yourself wanting to understand, wanting to unravel the layers of her complex personality.

the kiss goes on, a seemingly endless exploration. her hands move from your waist to your hair, tangling in the strands as she deepens the kiss, tilting your head back till you fear your neck will snap. you moan softly, the sound lost in the intimacy of the moment, and she seems to take it as encouragement, pressing closer, her body flush against yours.

you can taste the lingering traces of her earlier coffee, mixed in with something altogether more raw and intoxicating. her lips feel soft, yielding, despite the possessiveness of her hold. every nerve ending seems to be firing at once, your body humming with a strange, electric energy.

air becomes a precious commodity, your lungs screaming for relief, but you can't bring yourself to break away. the kiss is too consuming, too addictive. You want to lose yourself in it, to forget the arguments, the frustrations, the complexities of your relationship.

finally, gasping for breath, she pulls back slightly, her forehead resting against yours. her eyes are still dark, dilated with desire, and her chest rises and falls rapidly.

"i..." she starts, her voice raspy, then stops, as though she's unsure what to say.

you stare at her, your own heart pounding in your chest, your thoughts a jumbled mess. the kiss has shattered your carefully constructed defenses, leaving you vulnerable and exposed.

she searches your eyes, her expression unreadable for a long moment before breaking into a nervous smile. “you really do get under my skin, y'know?”

she pushed open the heavy bathroom door and dragged you inside, immediately pulling you into the last stall and locking the door behind you. the small space was dimly lit and smelled faintly of cleaning products and a lingering scent of cigarette smoke.

minji pinned you against the wall, her hands gripping your hips as she pressed her body against yours. she leaned in close, her lips brushing against your ear.

“god, you’re so fucking hot.” she breathed, nipping at your earlobe. “i’ve wanted to get my hands on you for so long.”

one hand slid up your side, brushing over your breast before gripping the back of your neck possessively. the other hand gripped your ass, squeezing the soft flesh. “tell me what you want, (y/n).” she growled softly, her dark eyes glinting with lust. “tell me how you want me to fuck you.”

“we shouldn't do that here, minji. i don’t want to get in trouble and–”

“shut up.”

minji’s hand slid under your shirt, her fingers trailing up your spine and leaving goosebumps in their wake. she leaned in closer, her lips brushing against your neck as she inhaled deeply.

“you’re so beautiful.” she murmured, her hot breath tickling your skin. her hand reached the nape of your neck, gripping your hair and tugging your head back gently to expose more of your throat to her eager mouth.

minji’s lips attacked your neck, kissing and sucking on your sensitive skin. she bit down gently on your pulse point before soothing the sting with her tongue. her other hand slid down to the hem of your skirt, slipping underneath to caress your inner thigh.

“i want to taste every inch of you.” she breathed against your skin, her voice low and husky with desire. “i want to make you scream my name until the whole school knows who you belong to.”

she gripped your thigh tighter, her fingers digging into your soft skin as she pressed her body even closer to yours. you could feel the heat radiating off her, the hard lines of her toned body pushing against your curves.

minji’s hand slid higher up your thigh, her fingers brushing against the damp fabric of your panties. she rubbed you through the thin material, feeling the warmth emanating from your core.

“fuck, you’re already so wet.” she groaned, her voice dripping with lust. “you want this just as badly as i do, don’t you (y/n)? you want me to fuck you hard and raw right here where anyone could catch us.”

minji smirked wickedly as she felt you tremble beneath her touch, your body responding eagerly to her skilled ministrations. she was aware of the effect her unfiltered dirty words had on you, it was to be expected that you would be surprised and speechless when a person who is always serious and professional suddenly acts this way with you, and minji definitely wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to humiliate you in other ways.

she hooks a finger under the waistband of your panties, playfully pulling on the elastic and teasing you a little, enough that your hips involuntarily buck against minji’s hand in protest of her stopping her teasing. “god, look at this pretty pussy… i bet it tastes as good as it looks.” she purred, her finger teasing your slick folds, feeling your wetness coats her skin.

minji dropped to her knees in front of you, pushing your skirt up around your waist. she looked up at you with a devilish grin before leaning in and dragging the flat of her tongue along your slit in one long, slow lick. “mmh, fuck yes.” she groaned, the vibrations of her voice sending shockwaves through your core. “you taste even better than i imagined. and believe me, you’ve been on my mind for a long time.”

minji licked and sucked at your sensitive flesh like a woman starved, her tongue delving deep between your folds to taste every drop of your arousal. she focused on your clit, flicking the hardened nub with the tip of her tongue before sucking it between her lips, applying just the right amount of pressure.

her hands gripped your ass, pulling you harder against her face as she ate you out with wild abandon. she could feel your thighs trembling and your breathing growing ragged, knowing she had you right on the edge.

she pulled back briefly, looking up at you with a wicked smirk. “come on, (y/n). don’t hold back. i want to feel your pussy clench around my tongue as you cum on my face. i want you to soak me with your juices until i’m dripping wet.”

with that, she dove back in, attacking your clit with fervor as two fingers plunged deep inside your tight channel. she pumped them in and out, curling them to hit that special spot inside you with every thrust.

minji could feel your walls fluttering around her invading fingers, knowing you were close. she doubled her efforts, sucking hard on your clit as she fingered you faster and deeper, determined to make you come undone.

“that’s it, baby.” she encouraged, her voice muffled against your pussy. “cum for me. i want to feel this tight little cunt spasm around my fingers as you scream my name.”

“fuck minji– i can’t–”

minji looked up at you, her eyes dark and wild with lust. she smirked wickedly at your concern. “let them hear.” she growled, the words vibrating against your sensitive flesh. “i want the whole fucking school to know what a dirty slut you are, getting eaten out in the bathroom like a cheap whore.”

she punctuated her words by plunging three fingers deep inside you, pumping them harder and faster, her palm slapping lewdly against your clit with each thrust. her other hand gripped your ass, pulling you harder against her face, not letting you escape the intense pleasure.

“don’t hold back, (y/n). i want to hear you scream. i want you to be loud enough for them to hear you all the way down the hall. let them know who this pussy belongs to now.” she demanded, her voice rough with desire.

minji attacked your clit with renewed fervor, sucking and biting the sensitive bundle of nerves, pushing you ruthlessly towards your peak. her fingers curled inside you, stroking your g–spot, determined to make you cum harder than you ever had before.

minji could feel your walls starting to flutter around her invading fingers, your body tensing as your orgasm approached. she doubled her efforts, sucking hard on your clit and pumping her fingers as fast and deep as she could, wanting to push you over the edge.

“that’s it, babe. cum on my fingers like the desperate little slut you are.” she growled, her voice dripping with lust and dominance. “i want to feel your cunt spasm and clench around me as you fucking soak my hand. give it to me, baby. give me that.”

she nipped at your clit, sending a shock of pained pleasure through you that finally tipped you over into ecstasy. your walls clamped down hard on her fingers as your orgasm crashed over you, your juices gushing out and coating her hand and wrist.

“yes, fuck yes! that’s it, scream for me (y/n)” minji cried out in triumph as she felt your pussy spasm and quake around her fingers, your body shaking with the force of your climax.

she worked you through it, her fingers slowing their movements but not stopping, drawing out your pleasure for as long as possible. finally, as your body went limp, she pulled her fingers out of you and stood up.

minji brought her glistening, soaked fingers up to her mouth and sucked them clean, her eyes never leaving yours. “mmmh, you taste fucking incredible.” she purred, licking her lips. “i could get addicted to this pussy.”

minji grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the stall, straightening your skirt and hair as she led you to the sink. she turned on the faucet, running her fingers under the cool water and rinsing the evidence of your encounter down the drain.

as you both washed your hands, minji smirked at your reflection in the mirror, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction and a hint of something more sinister.

“not bad for a quickie in the bathroom, huh?” she said with a wicked grin, turning to face you. “but don’t think we’re done, love. that was just a little taste of what i can do. i’m not nearly finished with this sexy body yet.”

she stepped closer to you, backing you up against the counter. one hand slid around your waist, pulling your body flush against hers, while the other hand cupped your face, tilting it towards hers.

“come to my dorm after the debate. i have to make it up to you for my shitty attitude.”

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astonmartingf · 1 year ago

Text

FALLING FOR YOU ; MV1

max verstappen x reader

. . . in his own little way, max finds the solutions to his problems not without a little help from his friends and ends up giving you the confession of a lifetime

amgf yeah... there's this, just fluff. i won't be as active this week because of exams and research but this is prime time of my impulsive ideas so either i can milk this opportunity to write every single day, or avoid this app for the remainder of the week. enjoy 👍

Max strives for stability.

He enjoys the same routine that consists of jogging at eight am, early morning workout by nine am, brunch, a few rounds of sim racing, stopping by for a few phone calls and online meetings. If he isn’t expected to fly anywhere else he’d have his usual afternoon snack, play with his cats, more sim racing from six to eight pm, dinner with his team, reviewing data and notes, an hour for his own leisure— mostly sim racing, before heading to bed at one am.

Whatever happens in between is usually one of Lando’s plans in an attempt to spice things up in his life. Whether it’s going to the movies, buying ice cream at the convenience store down the street, or playing padel. Max is very much thankful for his friends.

Max also strives for the best.

He takes pride in his skills in racing and acknowledges his talent, and flaws. Honing them like a sharp knife through whetstones, he polishes himself and cuts through the defenses of the grid. He is a World Champion for a reason, and with a great car and team behind him, he knows they’ll get far. Max is very much thankful for the trust his team set upon him.

Max hates uncertainty.

Well- hate is too strong of a word and dislike would be too weak for his opinions.

Max despises uncertainty.

Especially when there’s you- the current root of all his “problems”. Despite his tendency to be blunt and straightforward statements, uncertainty always left a distasteful feeling in his mouth.

Realizing that his wavering feelings for you have now shattered the routine he built to perfection. Long gone are sleeping on time and hello to staying up with you crowding his thoughts. Head full of the lingering scent of your perfume and the same voice playing in his head.

Max hated it. He despised how you orbit around his mind, bouncing through the walls of the gray matter inside his skull. He often catches himself smiling at the thought of you- before a bitter scowl fills his face and an incredulous and slightly constipated look pasted on his face.

But that was the least of his worries, such feelings could be fixed (a term he used to convince himself these are temporary). It’s not that Max doesn’t believe in relationships or think it’s nothing but a distraction, deep inside he’s aware that he craves affection. It’s the vague emotions clouding his heart making him think twice.

Then again, Max is thankful for his friends.

“What did you say?” Lando squinted his eyes in the hopes to hear his words clearly. With a blank look- almost as if he put on a mask void of emotions Max spoke once more.

“Do I like YN?”

The rest tilted their head to the side, in confusion. “D-did you perhaps ask us. . . if- if you like someone?” George, asked once more to make sure of his words, sighing in disbelief.

“It’s not just someone, it’s YN.” Max pushed the question once more and glanced at everyone on the table.

The silence was deafening. Max’ statement was too loud and too quiet at the same time, no one spoke and they left each other contemplating on the next words he will say.

“I need help. How do I know I like YN?” Collective gasps were heard throughout and one by one they slowly left the group of friends on the table leaving Max with Lando and George.

“How about we sleep over your question and. . .think— think about it you know?” Lando, the first to talk regarding the revelation that their stoic friend has now developed feelings for someone.

“Sleep? I hardly get any sleep these nights. I want to confirm my feelings now so I can finally sleep peacefully.”

That’s when the pair noticed the bags under his eyes, mostly due to the lack of sleep like he said. Lando took a glance at George and started to talk telepathically at each other.

George sighs before pushing Max from his seat, “You see Max these feelings can’t be confirmed in a night, these requ-”

“It’s been weeks, George, I can’t lose sleep over such a trivial matter.” Max retorted with a firm stance using his lack of sleep as a front to confirm his feelings.

“Okay, first of all feelings are not a trivial matter. They are valid, and whatever is going on in your head about YN shouldn’t be taken lightly. Not because we’re curious but because we care about your emotional well being.” Lando spoke in a serious voice which only added on to Max’ confusion.

Feelings are not a big deal, at least not for him.

“And we're curious as to why you like YN.” George chimed as he followed the pair outside the room.

“Yes we’re curious but now how about I give you some romance books that you can study and read. Only you can confirm your feelings Max, let’s stop by my room and I’ll give you books you can read and next week- next week we’ll talk about this matter again.”

Lando now sounds like a mom scolding his child for misbehaving, dragging the latter to his room and sending him off with a tower of romance books.

Max is smart, he can understand such concepts by himself.

Feeling accomplished, Lando glanced at George smirking at him before walking away with Max to his apartment.

Max on the other hand went inside his room and began to bury himself in the books he brought along. “If I’m not sleeping at least I get my feelings in line.”

One chapter. And another turns to five and in the blink of an eye a week has passed. Max returned to his routine but instead of sleeping at one he pushed it to an even later hour to make time for reading which helped him sleep.

The first nights were hard, after finishing a chapter of the book he finds himself falling asleep and now you appear to become more vivid in his mind. Invading his dreams as romantic scenarios play on repeat while Max mindlessly sleeps which results in him waking up flustered and warm.

Passing by you on the paddock became frequent; it's as if the universe has its way to bring you together. Now everywhere Max looked there was you, in the corner of his sight you occupied a chunk of his thoughts and as much as he hated to admit he found himself anticipating your presence.

By the end of the week you managed to invade his thoughts and heart which only strengthened his theory and confirmed his feelings for you. With no time to waste, Max went to look for you. The second practice was over, he’s telling you what you’re doing to him.

With new found information from the team about your whereabouts, Max made his way to the hospitality locating where you’re assigned he opens the door abruptly to see you preparing food. You stand straight feeling the intimidating aura around him, you watch him exhale a sigh of relief before talking a large step in your direction. On instinct you back away giving him space, every step Max takes is a step backward from you.

Unknowingly your feet hit the corner of the marble countertop and like a cliché scene Max remembers from the books he’s been reading you stumble backwards.

Max is a racer for a reason, and with swift reflexes he managed to catch your fall and brought you up to your feet. “You should watch where you’re going. I don’t want you falling just like how I fell for you.”

Silence. Complete, utter silence from the both of you paired with the low buzz of the booming air conditioner right near you. You blink your eyes incredulously, “What?”

“I mean. . . I do want you to fall for me, it would be sad to find out that my feelings are one-sided. But I mean my words YN.”

You adjust your posture and back away. “What are the words Max? About me falling to the ground or you. . . you f- falling for me?” Your voice thins out at the end unsure of what you just heard.

“Both. I don’t want you to fall, it’s dangerous just like how you did to me. You enamored me with those charms, I just want to know how you did it.” Max spoke with the most bored and plain looking face he could muster up. His palms were sweating inside his pockets in extreme nervousness.

“Is this- is this your confession perhaps?” You try to piece things together, like the subtle clues Lando and George have been leaving out of nowhere.

“Yes. This is my confession.” Max blurts out as sweat drips from the side of his forehead. And just as he was losing hope from this failed confession your bubbly laugh bursts the silence in the air.

“You know, you need to work on your confession more. That was unlike any other, but I understand what you mean. Do you want me to fall for you, Maxie?”

Max stares at you and you don't miss the soft gaze he set upon you. You note the light blush spread around the apples of his cheeks as his eyes light up the moment you called his name. The once awkward silent air was now filled with a warm feeling that spread all over your body, leaving goosebumps all over your skin.

“I do. I fell for you, I like you, and I want to mean something to you.”

His way with words caught you off guard, Max Verstappen, who would’ve thought. You smile at him, this time it’s you walking towards his direction.

Max stiffened at the proximity between the two of you, his feet stuck to the floor preventing him from backing away. Your face gets closer to his and all the thoughts clouding his mind have been wiped away.

You face him and whisper something in his ear before walking away towards the kitchen at the back, legs shaking and breaths heavy.

Taking a moment to himself Max meditates in an attempt to calm his bouncing heart, legs shaking as if they ran a hundred miles, and his mind whirring into different ideas and possibilities.

Max never falls- literally and figuratively.

Yet you managed to be the root of all his problems. The person who made him fall, there was no doubt that Max fell and will still be falling for you.

#f1 fluff #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine

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ice-man-goes-bwoah · 6 months ago

Note

I don’t even know if it’s a request but I’ve been thinking about Pato crushing on or dating an autistic driver reader who he doesn’t realize is autistic but he still happily does things to help and make her feel comfortable

-💙🩵

It’s easy when it’s you||Pato O’ward x fem!Autistic!reader

Word count—654

The paddock was alive with noise—engines roaring in the background, team radios buzzing, and the general hum of race day chaos. You liked to stay on the fringes, close enough to soak in the energy but far enough to avoid being overwhelmed.

Today was no different. You had your favorite pair of noise-canceling headphones on, a small buffer between you and the world, as you studied the data on your tablet.

“Hey, you planning on giving away all the secrets before the race?”

You startled slightly at the familiar voice, turning to see Pato standing nearby, his signature grin in full force.

“I don’t think my data is that valuable,” you replied, the corners of your mouth quivering despite yourself.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” he teased, leaning casually against the barrier. “Besides, you’re the only one around here who makes sense half the time.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks but quickly brushed it off. Pato had a way of making everyone feel at ease, but his attention always felt a little… different when it was on you.

It started with small things. Pato would always make sure to ask if you wanted to join the group after races, but he never pushed when you declined. If you sat alone during a particularly loud debrief, he’d pass by and drop off a bottle of water without a word, his presence calming without being intrusive.

One day, you found him crouched next to your chair, holding out a bag of your favorite snacks.

“I noticed you don’t always eat much during the post-race chaos,” he explained, rubbing the back of his neck. “Figured this might help.”

You blinked at him, momentarily stunned. “You… noticed that?”

He shrugged, his easygoing demeanor masking what felt like genuine care. “Yeah, I notice a lot of things.”

The moment everything shifted came after a particularly grueling weekend. You’d been caught off guard by a sudden schedule change, and the resulting chaos had left you overstimulated and barely holding it together.

You’d retreated to a quiet corner, your breathing uneven as you tried to ground yourself. The hum of fluorescent lights felt too loud, the texture of your fireproof suit too scratchy.

“Hey.”

You looked up to see Pato crouching in front of you, his brow furrowed with concern.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, though your voice betrayed the opposite.

He didn’t argue. Instead, he set down a small item in front of you—a soft, squishy stress ball in the shape of a car.

“Thought you might like this,” he said gently.

You stared at it, then at him. “How did you—”

“You seemed off earlier,” he said with a small shrug. “I figured maybe this could help. If not, we can just sit here for a while.”

Your throat tightened. It wasn’t just that he’d noticed—it was that he’d cared enough to do something about it without making a big deal of it.

“I’m autistic,” you blurted out, the words slipping past your lips before you could second-guess yourself.

Pato blinked, then nodded slowly. “Okay. What does that mean for you?”

You hesitated, unsure how much to share. “It means I get overwhelmed sometimes. By noise, changes, people… everything.”

“Got it,” he said, his tone casual but warm. “So, how can I help? Besides this little guy,” he added, gesturing to the stress ball with a grin.

Your chest loosened, the weight of the moment lifting. “This is a good start.”

From then on, Pato made it his mission to quietly support you in ways that felt almost effortless. He learned to spot the signs of your discomfort before you even said a word, offering subtle solutions that never felt patronizing. And when you finally worked up the courage to tell him how much it all meant to you, he simply smiled and said, “It’s easy when it’s you.”

#pato o'ward #pato o’ward x reader #indycar #f1 x autistic!reader #f1 x reader #f1 #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one imagine #formula one x y/n #faiths inbox #💙🩵.anon

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miguelhugger2099 · 1 year ago

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OMG imagine the one bed trope w miguel. like idk why itd happen, maybe like they’re scoping out an anomaly in another universe and somehow the portal back gets blocked and they gotta stay the night at a hotel, but miguel and reader are stuck in the same bed (she SWEARS she booked two beds but oops! all the rooms are filled up!) and like oh no they need this hotel!! so at first they’re really rigid and like miguel’s all tense, he’s like “i’ll sleep on the floor” but reader is like “no it’s okay we can share! i don’t move a lot in my sleep anyway” (that’s a lie btw.) so then like miguel’s wide awake in the middle of the night, and reader keeps shifting in her sleep, and they end up in a pretty compromising position if ykwim… and then maybe she wakes up and finds miguel like so flustered and starts teasing him a bit and then things heat up ofc… idk just a thought! it’s been so long since i’ve seen the one bed trope tbh. (fem reader btw plssss)

Forced Proximity

i tried with my best with this 🫠 i wanted to try something new instead of regular p in v i hope that's okay 😭 thank u for requesting! if anything, i'd be happy to redo this when my requests open again

Miguel x Reader, Suggestive/Smut, Word Count: 2,271

Just as you and Miguel were about to shoot your webs at the new anomaly, a black bubbly portal opened up and sucked them up into another dimension. “Dammit!” You cursed, groaning at the convenience of an anomaly escaping. Miguel is already beside you, mask eyes squinted in focus as he clicks buttons on his watch. “Where’d he run off to?” You ask him. “No clue. Trying to track him now but the touchpad isn’t responding.” He grunts and furiously taps his screen but it seems to be glitching. He tries to open a portal back to HQ but it only warbles a little bit before shutting close again. “Let me try.” You lift up your watch to try and press the same coordinates when it responds the same way: a little warping but it shuts close. “Lyla,” Miguel calls out and she pops up between you two. “Run an analysis on our watches.” Her small heart glasses fog up with various numbers and letters, codes that only she knows. “Looks like the watches are bugged, Mig. Probably an effect the anomaly had.” “So we’re stranded?” You rip off your mask and place a hand on your hip. “Yup!” She nods. “For how long?” Miguel pinches his nose bridge with his finger and thumb.

“Well, most part-time spiders are off doing other missions in other dimensions and the other half of them have the day off. No one will be available until morning.” “So, we’re staying the night.” You lift your arms up and slap them down. “I’m finding a hotel.” You turn and look around for any around you two. Miguel sighs and faces Lyla. “Is there another way home? Are we safe from the glitching?” Lyla nods, pulling up frames and data for him to look at. “Safe from glitching. Probably just a program issue. Maybe an update issue. Unfortunately, not even Margo is at HQ so your next bet is waiting for a spider to portal you two back.” She explains and glitches out of the air. He tries to find a new solution but comes up short, deciding to just accept it before he grows angry. Miguel hears you calling his name as you run back to where Lyla and him were standing. “Okay, I found a hotel! I talked to this lady up front–luckily the currency is the same as yours–and we got extra lucky,” You huffed with a wide smile on your face. “They’re pretty busy but she managed to get us a room with two beds and two bathrooms. Left her a tip, hope you don’t mind.” You placed your hands on your hips and continued to grin at the frown on his lips.

Miguel rolled his eyes and called for Lyla, her little form glitching back and perching on his shoulder. “Lyla, get back to base. Let the others know we’ve been stranded and call for backup whenever someone’s available.” Her vibrant yellow glare shifts as she moves, her hand coming up in a salute and a police hat glitching on her head. “You got it, boss! Have fun you two!” She giggles and phases out. Miguel passes by you coldly, heading for the hotel where you booked for the night. You yawn behind him, just wanting to rest after a wasted day of failing to catch an anomaly. You walked through the hallways of the hotel, checking down at your key for the number of your room. Once you found it, you slipped the keycard on the lock and opened the door. “Home sweet–” You cut yourself off after peeking into the room and what greeted you was a singular bed. “Wha–?!” You glanced back at the roomkey number and the plate outside, finding the two matching that this was indeed your room for the night. “I swear I asked for two–” “I’ll take the floor.” Miguel grumbles behind you, his entire frame stiff and rigid. You take a look up at him and his face is unamused and staring straight ahead to avoid your eye. “No, it’s–it’s fine,” You chuckle nervously and walk over to the bed. You pat the edge of it and try to convince yourself and Miguel that everything was fine. “There’s so much space. It’s like–what– a king size? We have plenty of room to share!” Miguel doesn’t seem convinced in the slightest, already making a move to grab a pillow. “I don’t even move that much in my sleep! Promise! Pinky promise.” You hold up your pinky to Miguel and he stops to stare at your hand with a deadpan expression. “Fine.” He grunts, placing the pillow back down and not wanting to deal with you any further since he was exhausted.

You, in fact, actually do move a lot in your sleep–Miguel figured out. He really was exhausted and expected himself to pass out as soon as his head hit the pillow but with you next to him, it was like the energy hadn’t left his body. He laid there straight as a pole with the blanket at his chest and staring at the ceiling. You were in dreamland, snoozing and sprawled on the mattress– blissfully unaware of Miguel’s misery by the situation at hand. You shifted around in your sleep, your hand hitting his shoulder or your leg bumping against his ankle. Miguel could handle it. He’s spent many uncomfortable all-nighters so he thought to himself that one more wouldn’t be too damaging for him. It wasn’t until you moved further to his side of the bed that had Miguel’s heart racing. You turned to his side, throwing your leg over his and your arm draped around his neck to bring him closer to you. His arm instinctively went under your body and held your waist while you pressed yourself against him, so as to not make the position uncomfortable for either of you. Miguel’s cheeks burned while you nuzzled to his chest, acting like he was some sort of teddy bear. He hoped his heartbeat wouldn’t wake you from your slumber. Your thighs were close together and any closer you’d start accidentally grinding on him. Miguel looked back up at the ceiling and prayed that you’d move soon.

His prayers were not answered. You woke up after feeling a bit too much heat and it became unbearable to sleep through. You blinked away the sleep groggily, wondering why the pillow you had been on had gotten a little more firm. You lifted your head to see you weren’t on your pillow but basically cuddling up against your boss. You looked down to see your legs intertwined together and turned your head to apologize when you stopped seeing Miguel’s cheeks flush red. His eyes did not meet yours but you felt the pounding of his heart. A smile curled up on your lips, apology wiped off your mind and instead leaning into wanting to taunt him for how shy he’s acting. “Miguel,” You tease with a bit of laughter. “Aw, c’mon. A little accidental cuddle gets you nervous?” Miguel glares at you from the corner of his eye. As you laugh, you continue moving against him. You don’t notice how he takes a sharp inhale when your knee brushes against his crotch as you lift yourself up. Your hands rest on either side of his head. “Did you even sleep? Or did you just stay up all night like some perv?” You snort, having the time of your life seeing your usually sulking boss look so cute with red scattered across his cheeks. Miguel squeezes your waist then uses both his hands to grab you and force you down on his thigh. You gasp in shock, all playfulness leaving your body as your core hits his firm muscle. The action ignites a spark in your chest that sends it straight between your legs, making you whimper, all in a split second.

You snap your head towards him, cheeks already burning and mouth dropped open in shock. Miguel meets it with a cheshire like grin, his own blush on his cheeks but less now that you’re more flustered than him. “Careful,” He says. “Wouldn’t want to be some sort of perv, huh?” You could’ve sworn his voice dropped down an octave. You stutter, unable to respond back as he rendered you speechless. His thigh flexed and it sent a jolt up your spine with your cunt throbbing which he felt. Maybe it was him being tired, drained from the day that he was acting out of character. Too tired to care about the consequences while his mind clouded and numbed his usual feelings. For now, he enjoyed the way your hands gripped onto his shoulders, cute eyes wide open and feeling the delicious beat of your pussy on his thigh. He rubs your hips on his thigh, his muscle flexing to put some stimulation to your pussy. You squeak and lean forward as the pleasure runs through your body and makes you grow hot. “Miguel…!” You gasp and moan. You automatically grind yourself on him and his grin widens, leaning back to see the show. Miguel feels your wetness seep through the thin fabric of your suit and panties onto his own suit. He phases just a small part of his thigh out his suit to feel just how wet you’ve gotten with a little teasing. “Already?” He murmurs and your cheeks burn brightly. “You like this, huh?” “Fuck…” You huff out, hanging your head to not meet his gaze. Your nails dig into his shoulder as he moves your hips. “C’mon. Show me how much you like this.” You know he was only doing this to get back at you for teasing him, for booking a one bed instead of two and with how his patience had run out from being stranded here, you decided not to test that anger anymore.

So you slowly moved up and down his thigh with a soft whimper, shutting your eyes close while you did so. Your breathing grew heavy, and you shook with every slight movement on his end. Slowly, you picked up speed, the lust flooding your mind and the pace you were going at hadn’t been enough. You humped his thigh faster, still opting out of looking down at him. “Shit…Not enough…” You murmured under your breath, not thinking he’d heard you over the accumulating wet sounds on his skin and shuffling of bed sheets. “Let me help.” You hear him say and feel his hand by the zipper of your suit at the nape of your neck. Weak from your pleasure, you let him tug your suit off your torso. Miguel tapped your thighs as a signal to lift yourself up while he slipped the rest of it off you. You were now bare in front of him, his hands placed back at your hips. You still felt embarrassed, trying to cover up your chest with your arms and hands. Miguel wasn’t having it, growing annoyed at you covering yourself. He cupped the back of your neck and pulled you flushed down on his chest. “Keep going.” He growled. The rumble of his voice went straight to your cunt once more, succumbing to him as you began grinding yourself on him, skin to skin. Your folds smeared your juices on his thighs coating him in your wetness. The swollen nub of your clit rolled deliciously between you and his thigh and you panted softly as you tried chasing you high.

“There you go. That’s it.” Miguel murmured, bucking his thigh to your pussy to the same pace of your humping. He held your hip with one hand to help you and his other hand raked up and down your back, his talons scratching your flesh. “You’re doing so good. Good girl riding my thigh, yeah?” He purred which made you groan and buck your hips faster. “Miguel…” You breathed out. “More, more.” You pleaded. His talons pricked your skin. “Cum on my thigh first and maybe I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

Peter B. met you two once the portal fully opened up in your stranded dimension. He greeted you with a smile, Mayday babbling in her carrier. “Hey! Glad you guys survived the night. Took a minute to get you guys. Sorry about that.” He playfully punched Miguel’s and your shoulder. You beamed at him and held Mayday’s little hand, wiggling it around softly enough to make her giggle. “Hope it wasn’t agonizing.” Peter chuckles to you. You chuckle back and step away from Mayday, giving the two a smile. “Not at all. He’s surprisingly good company.” Miguel doesn’t react behind you. “Oh, yeah? Must be going soft. Big guy isn’t just pleasant for anybody.” Peter says. “Funny how things work out.” You grin and turn around to peck Miguel’s cheek and walk towards the portal. “I’ll see you guys later?” You give a wink and slip into the portal, your body phasing out and leaving the two men behind. Peter gapes at the warping space where you had just left and slowly turns to Miguel to see his friend, very much stiff but his face has a slight tint to it. “Did something happen–” Miguel shoves his face aside and phases his mask over his head to hide his cheeks. “Cállate.” He mutters and enters into the portal towards his dimension.

Peter gets snapped out of his stupor by Mayday babbling and waving her arms around as if cheering Miguel and you on. Peter looks down at her and grabs her little hand in his. “He’s growin’ up, huh?” Mayday squeals.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #atsv x reader #nonie requests ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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no-name-omo · 23 days ago

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Grace, Belle, Burnice, and Yanagi's S/O is sad that they can't hold hands because they have two prosthetic arms and they comfort the S/O

[PART ONE] [PART TWO]

[A/N] I wrote this just as one character until I realized this is a multi character request so I made it long and then I realized I should probably keep the same energy so I wrote the two first characters is already pretty long so I'm doing this as a two-part and the next part are the other two characters 👍

[T/W] Blood / Broken bones / Losing limbs / emotional breakdown / grief (for your arms) / car accident / if there any other triggers I miss please say so

[Word Count] 4,100+ (Grace 1,900+ / Belle 2,200+)

[Summary] your girlfriend supports and comforts you as you cope with losing your arms and adjusting to prosthetics.

[Genre] Angst / Comfort / Relationship

[Pairing / Characters] Grace x gn reader / Belle x gn reader (Wise)

Grace Howard

Grace was there when it happened. The sound of the crane cable snapping was sharp, a mechanical failure she’d later analyze, but in that moment all she saw was the steel beam falling on you. You moved, just not fast enough. Not for your arms.

The impact was brutal, blood, bone, the horrifying silence that followed before your scream tore through it. Grace was on you in an instant, her gloves slick with red as she stabilized you, hands steady but her voice shaking in ways she wouldn't let herself acknowledge.

"You’re going to be okay," she repeated, not out of hope, but command. An order to the world. To herself. "Just stay with me. I can fix this. I will fix this." Her voice crack at the end of that sentence as you slipped into unconsciousness, Grace was already commanding for help, calculating what you’d need. While quietly falling apart behind the mask of precision as emergency services carry you away.

---

Grace sat wordlessly by your side in the hospital room, her posture unnaturally stiff, like she was holding herself together with the same tension that kept machines from falling apart. The sterile air buzzed with the low hum of life support systems, machines she trusted more than words.

She's already trying to figure a way to fix this. Mental blueprints. Replacement limb schematics. Full motor control, pressure sensitivity down to the minute detail. She had filled her mind with the work, with the project, because it was the only thing she knew how to do.

"I can build you arms," she said finally, voice soft but steady. "Better ones. Stronger. With tactile response. I'll make sure they feel like yours. Or as close as I can."

She paused. You didn't answer, not because you couldn't, but because your face said everything. The weight in your eyes. The way you wouldn't look at where your arms used to be, making an effort to only look at the ceiling as you lay on the hospital bed.

Grace looked, too. She didn't flinch. She never did. But something in her chest twisted all the same.

“I know... this isn’t what you need to hear right now... I'm sorry,” she said, quieter this time. “And maybe it’s selfish of me to jump to solutions. But I... I don’t know how else to help. You’re in pain, and all I can think to do is build something to fill the space.” She leaned forward, resting her forehead gently near your shoulder, not touching, but close. “I don’t understand,” she admitted. “But I understand you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Your voice cracked as you finally whispered, “I don’t want better arms, Grace. I just want my arms back…” She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just listened.

“I know you’re trying. And I’m... I’m lucky you’re here. I just…” You swallowed hard. “Everything feels wrong.”

Grace lifted her head slightly, eyes locked on yours, her expression caught between heartbreak and resolve.

“Then I’ll help you figure it out,” she said softly. “One piece at a time.”

---

You reached out, the new arm responding with mechanical precision as your fingers curled around Grace’s hand. You felt it but not really. Pressure, Data, signals. A signal, not a sensation. Grace had explained it before: 'The sensory feedback system routes input to your brain. It’s not the same as your original arms, but the brain adapts. It accepts what it’s given.'

You stared at your hand in hers. You knew what was supposed to be there, heat, the soft give of skin, the subtle tremor of life but all you got was calibrated resistance. Just press. Just data. Just a signal.

She noticed your silence. She always did. “…It doesn’t feel real, does it?” she said quietly, her voice stripped of its usual aloofness. You shook your head slightly.

Grace didn’t look away. “I-I thought maybe if I gave you the best… it would help.” She hesitated, then added, “I know it’s not the same. And I hate that it’s not enough. I could give you pressure readings down to the single itch, but I can’t give you warmth. Not the kind you want.”

You looked at her again. She was still holding your hand, not moving, not flinching. Just there.

“I’ll keep working on it,” she said after a moment. Her voice was quieter now, almost vulnerable. “Not just the arms. On being someone who can help you feel again. However long that takes.”

---

It didn’t take much to break you that day. Not some dramatic trigger, not a deep cut to reopen the wound. Just a moment, just trying to button a shirt. The fabric kept slipping between the joints, the fingers too stiff, the sensitivity not quite right. You’d done it before. You’d been doing fine.

But not today, the button slipped again and something inside you snapped with it, you froze. The tremble started in your chest, rippling out through limbs you couldn’t feel. The arms weren’t even yours, not really. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t want any of it.

You tried again, the sleeve caught, again. Your hand jerked, too much pressure. The button popped off and clattered across the floor. You let out a sound, half sob, half frustration and backed away, stumbling until your back hit the wall.

You slid down it, the arms hit the ground harder than they should have, you didn’t even care, you just sat there, breathing ragged, trying to keep it together and failing. Hot tears burned your eyes, and it was all too much, too heavy, Too loud.

You barely heard the door open. Barely saw Grace as she rushed in, eyes scanning until they landed on you.

“Hey-hey, no-” she dropped beside you instantly, skidding across the floor without hesitation.

She didn’t ask what happened. Didn’t ask why you were crying. She just reached out carefully, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed.

But her voice cracked when she said, “I’m here, I’m here, okay? I’ve got you.”

You turned your face away, ashamed. But she didn’t pull back.

Her hands, calloused, warm, gently cupped the sides of your face, coaxing your gaze back to hers.

"You don't have to do this alone," she whispered, her voice raw. “I know it’s not fair. I know it hurts in ways I can’t fix, not with code, or wires, or pressure plates. But I’ll still be here.”

You clenched your jaw, a shaky breath rattling in your chest. “I can’t even feel anything, Grace…”

“I know,” she said softly, tears welling up in her own eyes. “But I can. And I feel it for both of us, alright? I will. Until you can again.”

She pulled you forward, wrapping her arms around you tightly. Not delicately. Not like you’d break. Like she was holding your pieces together herself. And in that warmth, in that trembling breath she let out against your shoulder, you finally let yourself fall apart.

Because she was there And she wasn't going anywhere.

---

Today, Grace seemed different, brighter. It was like her old usual energy, something close to excitement, and you realized how much you’d missed seeing her like this. Without warning, she grabbed your mechanical hand, fingers tightening just enough to trigger the pressure sensors.

“Come on,” she said, already pulling you along, words spilling out in a flurry of tactical jargon and tech specs you barely understood.

She’d clearly been working on something, something big but every time you asked, she brushed it off.

“Not yet,” she’d say, a little too quickly. That alone was strange; Grace never kept her projects secret from you.

And truthfully, some days she was barely around at all. locked away in her lab for hours, hyper-focused and unreachable, chasing whatever idea had taken hold of her.

You were used to it. That was just how she worked. But today wasn’t one of those days. You let her drag you along, half-listening to the blur of technical chatter, holding onto the rare moment where her hand in yours felt almost real.

She pulled you into her workshop, practically glowing with excitement, with that goofy, beaming smile lighting up her face. In the center of the room stood something tall, draped under a large blanket. It looked like a mannequin, but with Grace, guesses were always a gamble.

“What is it?” you asked, eyebrows raised. She didn’t answer, just gave you a look and yanked the blanket off.

Beneath it stood a mannequin fitted with a new pair of prosthetic arms, sleek, streamlined, and... beautiful. Your eyes widened. The surface was smooth, expertly crafted, and most surprising of all, the synthetic skin matched your tone perfectly. They looked like you. Not a weapon. Not a tool. Yours.

You stepped closer, reaching out to touch them. The design was cleaner than your current ones, lighter, more natural in shape. You could already tell she’d poured hours, maybe days, into every joint and fiber.

“You made these… for me?”

Grace didn’t say yes. She just tilted her head slightly, the corners of her mouth still curved in that rare smile. And knowing her, that was all the answer you needed.

Grace helped you remove your old mechanical arms, her touch careful and precise. As she guided the new ones into place, she spoke in the aloof manner not really noticing that you can't really understand what she's saying as you barely caught half of it and only understand a quarter of it.

Once they connected, it was like breathing again. The movement was smooth, fluent. Like the arms belonged. You opened your mouth to thank her, but before you could speak, she took your hand in hers.

And then... you felt it, Warmth, the subtle twitch in her pointer finger she never quite noticed. The soft pressure of her thumb against your knuckles.

Her.

She brought your hand to her cheek, eyes watching yours closely. And for the first time since the accident… it didn’t feel artificial. It didn’t feel like code or clean data or cold function.

It felt real, It felt like Grace, you didn’t say anything and neither did she.

Your hand stayed against her cheek, her skin warm beneath your new fingers actually warm. You could feel the faint twitch of her muscles, the subtle shift as she blinked, breathed, just existed against your touch.She leaned into it slightly, not a dramatic gesture, just enough to let you know it mattered, that you mattered.

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t heavy, It was fullof everything you didn’t need to say, of everything she already knew and for now, that was enough.

Belle

Belle got the call from the hospital. She was listed as your emergency contact. Her heart sank as the nurse explained: a drunk driver had run a red light and slammed into your car as you were passing through the intersection. You were in surgery now, critical condition, the odds weren’t good.

Belle rushed downstairs, tears already streaking down her face as she looked for Wise. The moment she saw him, she grabbed his arm, her voice shaking.

“Wise-It’s them. The hospital-car accident-I-” She couldn’t even finish. That was all he needed. “Got it,” he said, sharp and steady. “Go wait in the car.” He turned to the nearest agent without missing a beat. “You’re watching the store.”

By the time Wise slid into the driver’s seat, Belle was already in the passenger side, fists clenched tight in her lap, trying to hold herself together as they sped off.

---

The waiting room felt colder than it should’ve been. Belle sat on the edge of her chair, eyes locked on the floor, hands fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. The silence was unbearable, only the occasional murmur from the nurses' desk and the distant beep of monitors behind closed doors.

Wise sat next to her, quiet. He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t tell her to calm down. He just stayed there, solid, present like a wall she could lean on if she needed to fall apart.

“They didn’t say anything else,” Belle whispered, almost to herself. “Just that... they were in surgery. That the damage was bad.” Wise nodded once. “They’ll come talk to us soon.”

But the minutes dragged like hours. Belle hadn’t even realized her leg was shaking until Wise gently placed a hand over her knee not to stop it, just to remind her she wasn’t alone.

The sound of footsteps snapped Belle’s head up. A doctor stepped into the room, still in scrubs, his face unreadable but his eyes held weight.

“Are you here for…” he glanced at the clipboard, “the emergency case from the crash? Car struck at Lumina Square?” Belle was already on her feet. “Yes-yes, that’s them.” The doctor gave a short nod. “They made it through surgery. It was close, but they’re stable now.”

Belle’s breath caught. Relief hit so hard it nearly knocked her over, and she had to grab the back of the chair to steady herself.

“unfortunately we couldn't save their arms, they were too damaged” the doctor added gently. “But they’re alive. Unconscious, for now but vitals are holding steady. You’ll be able to see them soon.”

Belle didn’t move at first. She just stood there, silent, swallowing hard as tears welled again; this time not from fear, but something just a little softer.

Wise stood beside her and said quietly, “That’s the part that matters, right?” Belle nodded, voice barely audible. “Yeah… yeah, it is.”

---

You wake slowly. The first thing you notice is the numbness. Not just in your body but something deeper. Heavier. Like a silence inside you. You try to move your arms, instinct, habit but nothing happens. There’s no resistance. No sensation. Just a terrible, terrifying absence.

Your chest tightens and then you see her, Belle, sitting beside the bed, eyes red and swollen, shoulders hunched like she’s been holding herself together for too long. She notices the shift in your breathing, and her head snaps up like she’d been afraid she imagined you waking up.

Her breath catches. “Hey,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “You’re… you’re here.”

You want to answer. You want to reach for her, to do something, say something but you can’t. You just lie there, helpless, and that helplessness feels like it’s going to swallow you whole. Belle sees it hit you. She doesn't try to stop your reaction. She doesn’t shush you or tell you to be strong, Instead, she leans in, close but not touching, her expression soft and straining at the edges.

Your throat tightens, and when you finally manage to speak, it’s barely more than a whisper. “I don’t… I don’t feel anything.”

Your eyes sting, your chest rising with each shaky breath. “I can't- I-I.”

The words fall flat into the space between you, heavy and irreversible.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak, not at first. But she stays. And though you can’t feel her not really, not anymore, she’s there. And for now, that’s just enough to keep you from disappearing into the emptiness and then, a barely audible:

“I’m here.”

---

You sit still, barely breathing, as they attach the new arms. There’s no pain, just a dull pressure, a weight settling into your shoulders as metal meets what’s left of you. Cold. Clinical. Functional. That’s all these arms are. No nerves, No feedback, No feeling, nothing

They move, sure. Fingers curl when you will them to. Elbows bend. Joints rotate smooth and silent. But they’re tools, nothing more. You don’t feel them, You don’t feel anything.

Belle stands nearby, quiet, watching. She doesn’t rush in. Doesn’t smile or try to fill the silence. Just stays close, steady like she’s afraid one wrong word might crack you open. You lift one of your new hands, just to see if you can. It responds immediately, perfectly engineered. You reach toward Belle, not even sure why.

She meets you halfway, placing her hand gently into yours. You can see it, her skin against yours, the softness of her palm, the warmth you remember. But there’s nothing. No sensation. Just pressure your brain doesn’t register.

You stare down at the place where her hand meets yours, and all you can say is “…I can’t feel you.” Belle’s breath stutters. “I know,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she laces her fingers through your metal ones, knowing you can’t feel it but hoping, maybe, it means something anyway.

“You’re still you,” she adds. “Even if the world feels colder now.”

You don’t answer. You just watch her thumb move over the back of your hand, even though you can’t feel a thing. And somehow, that hurts more than anything else.

---

You didn’t want to bother her. Belle was deep in her Proxy work as you could hear her speaking to the Cunning Hairs as she fired off callouts and directed movement with sharp focus, her brows furrowed in concentration. You watched her for a moment. The glow of the screen painted soft shadows across her face, her expression focused and determined.

You turned away back to your room, your room, Belle’s room, both of yours now. You closed the door behind you, not slamming it, not even fully shutting it. Just enough. Just so the sound wouldn’t carry. Just so no one would check. The light inside was soft, warm, but it didn’t comfort you. It just made your reflection in the mirror that much clearer. You stood in front of it, staring. The metal blended into your shoulders like something pretending to be a part of you. Something foreign, cold, too smooth.

Slowly, you reached for your shirt. Pulled it over your head. It clung for a second to the medal of your arms before falling away. You touched the release mechanism. First one click. Then another. The arms detached with a hiss, first your left, then your right and you let them rest on the table behind you with a dull, final third and then… silence.

You stood bare and still, staring at the hollow places where your arms used to be. Nothing left but scars and metal ports, skin stretched thin around what didn’t grow back. You hated looking, hated how small your shoulders felt without the arms. How your chest rose too sharply with each breath. How your reflection didn’t feel like you.

The ache wasn’t just phantom, it was memory. Of warmth, of touch, of being. And now, even the dull hum of the prosthetics was gone, and all that remained was the weight of your own grief, finally unhidden.

You sat down on the edge of the bed slowly, staring down at your knees. You leaned forward, head in what was left of your arms.

You didn’t cry, you didn’t need to you just… sat there. A long time. Until the quiet hurt more than it helped and then you heard it.

Soft footsteps.

You didn’t look up at first. Didn’t need to. You knew her walk, the rhythm of it, the way it changed when she was worried. There was no hesitation when she stepped into the room, no knock. Just quiet movement.

You flinched when you felt her touch, warm hands against your bare sides. You hadn’t even realized you were cold. She didn’t speak at first. Just lowered herself behind you and wrapped her arms gently around your waist, her cheek resting against your spine.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, not needing you to explain anything. “I should’ve come sooner.”

You didn’t have words yet. You didn’t turn to face her. But you leaned back, just enough that she could feel it. Just enough to tell her you didn’t want her to go so she held you tighter.

“We’ll get through this. I promise,” she whispered. You closed your eyes, and for the first time in what felt like hours, you exhaled.

You didn’t answer her right away. You just sat there, her arms around you, her voice still echoing in your chest. 'We’ll get through this. I promise.'

You nodded once, barely more than a breath of motion but she felt it. And that was enough.

Belle pressed a kiss to your shoulder, gentle and grounding. “Whenever you're ready,” she murmured. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

You might not be healed or whole but you are not alone as only two words left your mouth "...thank you"

---

It was raining not the dramatic kind of rain, no thunder, no lightning. Just a soft, lazy drizzle tapping against the windows, turning the world outside into a hazy watercolor. You sat near the window, wrapped in a blanket, your arms sitting detached on the nearby table. You hadn’t put them on today. Didn’t really feel like it. And Belle... she hadn’t made a big deal of it.

She just padded into the room wearing fuzzy socks and carrying two mugs, the smell of hot chocolate sweet and rich in the air.

“Okay, okay don’t get mad, but I might have gone overboard with the marshmallows,” she said, grinning as she set one mug on the table next to you. “Yours has a marshmallow heart. I spent like… five minutes trying to get it perfect. For aesthetic.”

You blinked. Looked at the cup. Then at her. “…I can’t drink it right now, Belle.”

She blinked, then let out a tiny, guilty laugh. “Oh, right. Right. Arms. Yep. My bad. I was too focused on marshmallow engineering.”

She flopped down beside you, leaned over, and tugged at the blanket wrapped around your shoulders and then without hesitation, shimmied under it with you.

“There. Blanket fort protocol initiated. Now it’s officially cozy.”

Her head rested lightly against your shoulder, warm and close.

“But hey, even if you can't hold it, the chocolate's here. I’m here. And it smells good, so that’s at least three senses we’ve got going.”

You snorted despite yourself, soft and tired. Belle glanced sideways at you, her voice a little gentler now.

“I know you’re not really in the mood for jokes. I just… didn’t want to leave you sitting here alone. That okay?”

You nodded, just a little. She scooted in closer under the blanket. “I know this sucks. You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t.”

Your chest tightened. You looked down at your lap; at where your arms should’ve been. “I don’t know how to feel normal like this.”

Belle bumped her forehead gently against yours. “Then we’ll make our own normal. Weird, marshmallow-filled, kinda-chaotic normal. Just... one day at a time.”

You breathed in slowly. The rain kept falling, soft and steady. Belle didn’t try to fill the silence anymore. She just stayed right there beside you, bright, warm, and real. And in that moment, the ache didn’t go away. But it didn’t feel quite so heavy either.

Taglines:

#zenless zone zero #zenless zone zero x reader #zenless zone zero x you #zzz x reader #zzz x y/n #zzz x you #belle x reader #zzz belle #grace x reader #grace howard #zzz grace #gn reader

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neilsblog · 1 year ago

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dn-hc · 2 months ago

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Case of the Birthday Blues

L Lawliet

The birthday cake sat barely touched.

A single flickering candle melted into the frosting, its soft glow casting long shadows across the dimly lit room. L Lawliet sat cross-legged in a chair, his hands tucked near his mouth as he stared at the woman he loved. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t angry. She just looked… tired.

"What's wrong? You've hardly touched any of your cake." He mumbled, mouth full of cake.

“I got the birthday blues." She responded. She paused for a moment before continuing, "Like I'm not sad to be getting older nor do I feel I've done nothing with my life. It's more like a ‘why am I still here?' sadness. I feel I've ran my course and death is overdue. Like I'm not meant to still be here.”

L’s already large eyes somehow widened more. Internally, it was like an alarm went off—sirens, blinking red lights, warning signals. But outwardly, he remained eerily calm, his thumb gently brushing his bottom lip.

He was quiet for too long.

Not because he didn’t care—no, that was the problem. He cared too much, and emotional honesty didn’t come naturally to him. His mind tried to file her statement under logic, but it resisted—this wasn’t logic. This was pain.

“I see.”

His voice was quiet, almost flat, but his fingers twitched—nervous energy he didn’t know how to expend.

“You know,” he began, eyes shifting to the candlelight as if it helped him form the words, “I don’t believe in fate. But I do believe in data. Probabilities. Statistics. I’ve often calculated how long I’d live based on my habits. And I’ve thought, many times, that I wouldn’t last this long either.” He turned back to her. “But here I am. Here you are.”

He stood slowly, walking to her with soft, deliberate steps, then crouched in front of her, balancing on the balls of his feet like he always did. He looked up at her as though she were the only variable that mattered now.

“You feeling this way isn’t wrong. It’s not irrational. But it is… heartbreaking.” He tilted his head, brows knitting. “Not just because I don’t want to lose you. But because you’re one of the few people who has made my life feel more real. Like I’m not just some ghost solving crimes in a dark room.”

A pause.

He reached up, awkwardly, and took her hand. His thumb brushed her knuckles.

“Maybe you don’t feel like you’re meant to still be here. But I am glad you are.”

He wasn’t good at this. He knew it. His affection was usually masked in odd habits, sugar offerings, long silences filled with quiet company. But this—this was something he couldn’t ignore.

“Stay,” he said softly. “Even if it doesn’t make sense. Even if it feels surreal. You haven’t run your course. Not to me.”

The candle finally burned out behind them.

But in his eyes, there was light enough for both of them.

Light Yagami

The words hit Light like a cold splash of water.

Not because he didn’t expect them—he’d noticed her demeanor all day: the distant gaze, the barely touched slice of cake, the smile that never quite reached her eyes. But hearing her say it aloud, with such brutal honesty, forced a crack in the perfect image of the world he tried so hard to control.

"I just feel like, why am I still here. I didn't think I'd make it this far. It doesn't feel real. I feel death is overdue. Like I'm not supposed to still be here."

He stared at her in silence, his fingers laced neatly in his lap. Behind his calm expression, his mind was racing—not with judgment, not even with solutions, but with something deeper. Something heavier.

He cared.

And that complicated everything.

Light rose from his seat and walked slowly to her side, every movement precise, like he was walking through a delicate equation. He sat beside her—not too close, not too far. Just enough.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” he said softly. Not coldly. Not dismissively. Just…honestly. “But I’m glad you told me.”

He studied her profile—the way her eyes didn’t meet his, the weight in her posture. For someone who usually had a perfect answer for everything, he found himself grasping for the right words. This wasn’t a debate. It wasn’t a test. It was someone he loved confronting something beyond logic.

“Death is not overdue. You’re not a mistake in the timeline,” he said, voice gaining a quiet firmness. “You’re here because you're meant to be. Even if you can’t see it right now.”

She looked down, a flicker of emotion tightening her expression, and Light—Light Yagami, who could bluff entire governments—felt his own façade threaten to slip.

“You’ve impacted more lives than you realize,” he added. “You’ve impacted mine. Do you know how rare that is?” A soft breath. “You're the one constant I can’t control, and I don’t want to. I want you here. Not as a piece in my plans. As…you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was sacred.

Then, in a move uncharacteristic for someone as carefully composed as him, Light reached out and gently pulled her into his arms. Not possessively. Not with motive. Just…genuine warmth. Something human. Something real.

“You haven’t ran your course,” he whispered into her hair. “You’ve just started writing the part that actually matters. And I’ll be here for all of it—if you let me.”

He held her until the air felt a little lighter. Until the weight of the words she spoke didn’t feel quite so heavy. And for once, Light Yagami wasn’t thinking ten steps ahead. He was just there.

With her.

Mihael Keehl

The birthday candle was still burning.

One single flame. Flickering. Fragile.

Mello leaned back in his chair, leather jacket creaking as he slouched, one boot resting on the table. He was smirking about something, probably teasing her about getting "old," when she said it.

"I think I got the birthday blues." She paused, looking down at her fidgeting hands. "Like not because I'm 'getting old'. But because why am I still here. I didn't think I'd make it this far. It doesn't feel real. Like I've ran my course. Like death is overdue. Like I'm not meant to be here still."

And just like that, the smirk died on his lips.

He sat up slowly, eyes narrowing—not in anger, not exactly, but in that fierce, calculating way Mello had when something mattered. He studied her face like it was a puzzle he didn’t know how to fix.

“The hell kind of thing is that to say?” he said, not harshly—but like it physically hurt him to hear it.

She looked down, ashamed.

He stood up, chair scraping against the floor. Then, without thinking, he crossed the space and dropped to one knee in front of her, grabbing her hands, rough fingers closing around her trembling ones.

“No. Don’t do that. Don’t you dare say that like your time’s already up.” His voice was low, raw, like smoke catching in his throat. “I’ve watched people burn out way too fast. People who had so much left. And yeah, maybe life doesn’t always make sense. Maybe we weren’t supposed to last this long.”

His eyes locked on hers, fierce and blazing.

“But you’re here. You’re here. And you sure as hell didn’t survive all the shit you’ve been through just to fade out like that. Your time's not overdue. You’re unfinished.”

He brought one of her hands to his lips and kissed her hand, fierce and desperate, like he could keep her grounded with touch alone.

“You think you’ve ran your course? Then I guess you don’t know how much you’ve done for me. I’m still here because of you. Because I had someone who made this twisted world a little less cold.”

He leaned his forehead against hers, breathing hard, trying to slow the storm building in his chest.

“You don’t get to check out early. Not while I’m still here. Not while I need you.”

They stayed like that for a long time—his hands tight around hers, her eyes wet with quiet tears.

Finally, Mello broke the silence with a crooked, exhausted smile.

“You wanna feel alive again? Fine. We’ll go somewhere. Do something reckless. Eat something illegal in three countries. I don’t care. Just… don’t leave me in the dark, okay?”

And for once, she smiled—just a little.

And for Mello, that was enough.

Mail Jeevas

The glow from the TV screen painted the room in shifting blue light.

Video game sounds echoed softly, and the smell of smoke lingered in the air, curling like thoughts Matt didn’t want to speak out loud.

She was curled beside him on the couch, knees tucked up, a blanket draped over her legs. It was supposed to be a chill birthday. Games, junk food, peace.

Then she sat up, looking down at the ground, and she said it.

"Matt." Pause. "I think I got a case of the birthday blues." Another pause. "Like I'm not sad that I'm getting older or haven't done anything with my life or anything like that. I just feel like I wouldn't make it this far. Like why am I still here? I feel I've ran my course. Like death is overdue. Like I shouldn't be here still."

Matt didn’t even pause the game.

He just… set the controller down. Let the character idle on screen. He sat there for a second, leaning back, processing it.

“…Shit.”

He muttered it like a confession. Not annoyed. Not shocked. Just... hurting. Quietly.

He looked at her, really looked, goggles pushed up into his messy red hair, eyes bare for once. Tired. Honest.

“I don’t know what to say that wouldn’t sound like some corny Hallmark card,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “But that—that hit me. More than I want to admit.”

A beat passed.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands dangling.

“You know, I’ve thought that too.” His voice was soft, barely above the hum of the game. “Not in a dramatic way. Just… wondering if I’ve already peaked. If this world was never built for someone like me to last.” He glanced over at her. “But then you showed up.”

He turned toward her fully now, sliding down to the floor to sit cross-legged in front of the couch, facing her.

“You don’t have to feel okay right now. Or fake it. But don’t you dare think you’ve already run your course, alright? That’s not how this works.”

He took her hand and held it between both of his, thumbs brushing her knuckles absentmindedly.

“You’re still here. That means something. That means everything to me.”

The silence after that was warm, heavy with meaning.

Then, in classic Matt fashion, he added:

“Also, if death was overdue, trust me, I’d have hacked the schedule and rerouted it.” A crooked grin tugged at his lips. “You’re not going anywhere, babe. Not unless we go together in a blaze of glory with, like, lasers and fire and shit.”

She laughed—softly, but it was real. And that was all he wanted.

He tugged her down gently, resting his head in her lap, cigarette still behind his ear, and looked up at her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You don’t have to be sure about why you’re still here. I’ll be sure enough for both of us.”

Nate River

The room was quiet, save for the soft click-click of plastic blocks being stacked on the white floor. Near sat cross-legged, his usual expression of focused detachment on his pale face. But as soon as she spoke, his hands stilled mid-motion.

"I got the birthday blues." She mused more to herself than to him. However, upon noticing she had caught his attention, she elaborated "I'm not sad that I'm getting older. I'm sad because why am I still here. I feel I've ran my course and death is overdue. Like I'm not meant to be here."

His fingers slowly lowered the block.

Silence. Not the cold kind. The thoughtful kind.

Near didn’t immediately meet her eyes. He never was good with direct contact. But his entire body shifted ever so slightly toward her—an almost imperceptible signal that she now had all his attention.

“I see,” he said softly. His voice was calm as always, but the edge of his tone was gentler than usual. “I’ve thought about that too. Not in the same way, perhaps, but… about the strangeness of still being here when others are not. About the feeling that survival can be arbitrary.”

A pause.

He picked up a small white knight from his nearby chessboard and turned it over in his hand.

“You feel like your presence is a mistake in a system that’s already moved on. But I would argue—very logically, I might add—that your continued existence disrupts that system in a necessary way.” He looked toward her, just briefly. “You matter, not because you're meant to survive. But because you did, and you kept shaping the world around you—mine included.”

His fingers brushed a lock of hair behind his ear.

“People often associate emotion with chaos. But feelings like this—hopelessness, detachment—they’re not signs of irrationality. They’re signs of being aware. Aware of time. Of loss. Of meaning.” He tilted his head. “And those who are aware… tend to have more to give than they realize.”

Near set the chess piece down and rose quietly, padding across the room to sit beside her. He didn't touch her—he rarely initiated physical contact—but his closeness was deliberate. Reassuring.

She turned toward him, and for a moment he held her gaze.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said simply. No theatrics. No grand gestures. Just the truth, offered plainly.

They sat in silence again, but this time it was different. Shared.

Near picked up a blank puzzle piece and held it out. “If you like, we can build something. Something that exists only because you're here.”

And quietly, without saying anything more, he waited for her hand to reach out and take it.

Misa Amane

The apartment was dressed in glitter and balloons.

Streamers clung to the walls like hope trying too hard, and a pink-frosted cake sat untouched on the table, its candles melted halfway down. Misa Amane, in her frilly black dress, had tried so hard to make it special. Cute. Perfect.

And then she heard it.

"I'm sorry, Misa. I know you put a lot of work into making today special, but I got the birthday blues." She paused. "Like why am I still here? It doesn't feel real. I feel like my time is overdue. Like I'm not meant to be here anymore."

Misa froze.

She stared at her girlfriend like she’d just confessed something unthinkable—like the world had tilted, and for once, Misa didn’t know how to smile it away.

“W-What?” she breathed, her voice cracking on the edges of the word. “You feel like you’re not meant to be here?”

There were tears in her eyes before she even realized she was crying. She dropped the sparkler she was holding, its tiny fire fizzling out on the floor with a sad hiss.

She crossed the room in two fast steps, cupping her girlfriend’s face in trembling hands.

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. I’ve already lost too many people I love. I can’t—” Her voice broke. She sniffed, trying to gather herself. “I can’t lose you too."

Her mascara smudged, but she didn’t care. She pulled her girlfriend close and held her like she was trying to shield her from death itself.

“I know what it feels like to think the world should’ve ended for you already,” she whispered. “I’ve felt that too. After my parents. After Light…” She trailed off, her arms tightening. “But you’re here. You’re here, and you’re breathing, and you’re real, and you’re mine. That’s not a mistake. That’s a miracle.”

She pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, her own lined with red but full of fire.

“You make my life better. Just by being in it. You don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to be anyone special. Just you is enough. Always.”

And then, in classic Misa fashion, she forced a wobbly smile.

“Besides, I worked really hard on this cake, and you have to stay alive at least long enough to eat one bite, okay?”

Her girlfriend gave a soft, teary laugh. Misa’s smile widened, more genuine now, though her eyes still glistened.

She leaned her forehead against hers.

“You don’t owe the world a reason to stay. But I hope you’ll stay anyway. Because I’m here. And I love you. And I need you more than I ever thought I could need someone.”

They held each other, cake forgotten, candles long gone.

But the light between them was still burning.

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verysium · 2 years ago

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ACT 1, SCENE 3: blue lock headcanons

sae is into skincare: lotions, serums, the whole set. he and rin used to have self-care nights as children during which they would sit in bed with matching face masks and watch cartoons on the family tablet. if they were in a good mood, they would let you join.

barou listens to classical while working out. no joke. this man is so insanely focused he will shoot goals and play paganini at the same time. his work ethic is low-key why you were attracted to him the first place.

nagi is lazy to the point he will deliberately buy five pairs of the same exact pants just to save himself the trouble of having to choose an outfit in the morning. thank god for reo otherwise nagi would still be dressing like he just crawled out of bed. he still can't do much about his bedhead though.

rin desperately wanted to join sae in the deeper end of the community pool; however, he was deathly afraid of drowning. his only logical solution was to cover himself in pool floaties while he dipped a single toe into the water. even to this day, he still has traumatic memories of that experience. you need to hold his hand every time.

kaiser acts like his football prowess comes entirely from natural talent. in reality, he trains to an obsessive degree behind the scenes. you could come home at midnight, and he would still be there replaying every single highlight of his recent game. he is the type to keep detailed notes about all the players he went up against.

isagi likes to walk around his hometown of saitama and just observe the snapshots of life around him. whether it's a street vendor, children playing on a grass patch, or a couple in the sunset, he secretly enjoys these little vignettes of human experience. he would become sentimental when it comes to you. sometimes you have to pull his head out of the clouds.

nagi has parents who work overseas, so the most he sees of them is through video calls or holiday presents. occasionally, he also gets a birthday card shipped through international mail. when you threw him his first surprise party, he secretly felt touched because his family was never big on physical celebrations.

sae is ridiculously good at anything that involves data and calculations. he participated in a math competition one time in junior high, and he would have made it to the national level had he not been entirely focused on football. refused to tutor rin in algebra though because apparently his little brother has to figure out everything for himself. if it were you though, he would begrudgingly agree.

bachira holds the world record in procrastination. his notebook, pencil, and eraser are still as untouched and pristine as they were on the first day of the academic school year. he does not know what a book is, nor has he read one. he only studied because you refused to cuddle with him otherwise.

ego eats so many cups of instant ramen noodles that his glasses begin to fog up from time to time. anri has to clean the frames and lenses weekly just to make sure his myopic self can even see. at this point, she's the real MVP of the entire series.

barou likes to open the windows right after it rains because he enjoys the sweet smell of petrichor. his ideal day would be spent lounging on a couch with some tea and a novel. it would be even more perfect if you snuggled under the blankets with him.

niko sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night, immensely insecure about his forehead. he thinks it looks giant though it really isn't. you have to brush his fringe back and pepper kisses down his face and remind him that a big forehead means a big, sexy brain, so it really isn't that bad. he believes you and goes back to sleep.

shidou would make fun of boomers. in fact, he'd ridicule every single person he considers past their prime. he does not believe in any form of authority, nor does he like being told what to do. if he had his way, he would have turned the entire world into anarchy a long time ago. the only reason why he doesn't wake up and make himself everyone's problem is because he doesn't want to upset you.

kaiser knows he is very well-endowed physically, so he purposefully walks around your apartment shirtless. if he catches you eyeing him, he will make a big deal out of it. tries to not-so-subtly flex his biceps every time he reaches for the milk carton.

reo loves cocktail dresses, especially in the wine red shade. something about the accentuated figure and natural curves gives him goosebumps. his favorite part of you is when your tummy slightly protrudes after you've eaten too much. you might think it's embarrassing, but he thinks it's adorable.

rin only uses shower gel, mostly because he learned his lesson after using the locker room shower stalls. never use bar soap, always use bottled. he's also the type to always have shower shoes. sae taught him that.

bachira is the type of student to completely misread the question and still not feel bad after the teacher points it out. oh no, he was actually supposed to solve for x, not just circle it? he'll shrug it off like nothing ever happened. at least he tried. the teacher should be grateful for his effort.

sae says he does not understand the sentiments behind cute couple traditions but then proceeds to get upset when you show up to his game without wearing his jersey. would definitely get you matching bracelets for your anniversary.

aiku has a high spice tolerance. he would definitely drown his food either in sriracha or buldak sauce. if you can't handle spicy though, he would set aside a separate plate just for you and manually spoon out the food just to make sure you have something to eat too.

aryu never has dry cuticles. he is always trimming and filing to perfection. sometimes he has beef with your nail tech because he thinks he could have done so much better on your acrylics. refuses to let you go to a salon because he already has all the tools and expertise necessary.

sae does not know how to cook. his manager has always ordered take-out for him. the one time he tried to use a microwave, he completely misread the package instructions and nearly burned the entire building down. called you up with the straightest face afterwards to tell you that the smoke alarms were not shutting off.

barou unconsciously caves into peer pressure. every single new trend makes him rethink his personal style. however, he views it all with an old man mentality. like what are these youngsters doing these days? dying their hair every possible color of the rainbow? he has to do that too. proceeds to call aryu to add red streaks into his own hair. sometimes you have to remind him that external opinion should always taken with a grain of salt.

chigiri has a major sweet tooth. if you so much as bake him one single treat, he will have made plans to put a ring on your finger before he even finishes the damn pastry. his ideal partner is someone mature and understanding who can take care of him well. definitely likes the homemaker type.

gagamaru is the seeing friend in your relationship. no matter how many trips he makes to the optometrist, he will always come back with perfect 20/20 vision. definitely a nature enthusiast, and he loves hiking. even if you're blind as a bat, he will always be there to hold your hand in the dark.

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reyaint · 1 month ago

Text

futuristic dr | virelia + neovista

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date: may 14 2025. i'm figuring out how to format this from my script so it's probably gonna look like a mess i'm sorry haha. i may edit this to add more info if i feel like it.

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✧˖*°࿐the state

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ virelia ☆ 𓂃 › official title. The Sovereign Technocratic Republic of Virelia ☆ 𓂃 › motto. “precision. progress. perfection.”

virelia represents a paradigm shift in governance — not built on ideological revolution but on technological supremacy. it emerged in the late 21st century after a coalition of corporate leaders, scientists, and futurists proposed a self-regulating state built around data-driven governance and environmental sustainability.

virelia is a beacon of technological advancement, a sprawling self-sustaining state located on the western coast of North America. founded in the late 21st century, it has quickly risen to prominence as a futuristic utopia where human ambition and technology intertwine seamlessly.

this city-state operates with cutting-edge infrastructure, clean energy solutions, and unprecedented levels of automation, making it a model of the future. however, its advancement comes with hidden costs, such as surveillance, control, and the loss of personal freedoms for some citizens.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ location. built on reclaimed land along the coast, the state is positioned near mountains, leveraging its natural terrain for sustainability. this combination of oceanfront and mountainous landscape allows for the development of a beautiful yet highly structured environment. ☆ 𓂃 › climate. Virelia enjoys mild weather and pristine air quality thanks to its advanced environmental control systems. artificial rainfall helps balance the region's climate, ensuring that both agriculture and ecosystems thrive in a sustainable way.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ security. Virelia's government promises safety and order, with AI-driven law enforcement and near-complete surveillance throughout the city. While this has reduced crime, it has also led to a society where privacy is almost nonexistent. there are whispers of corruption and a power struggle between mega-corporations and the state apparatus, but these are rarely seen by the public eye.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ infrastructure. the state boasts hyperloop systems for rapid transportation, vertical farming to maintain food supplies, solar-powered highways, and drone-based delivery networks that make logistics seamless and efficient. the city is powered by renewable energy sources, making it one of the most environmentally friendly cities on Earth.

*ೃ༄government

Virelia operates as a technocratic-republic hybrid, where leadership is shared between elected officials and influential corporate leaders, scientists, and engineers. while democracy is maintained on paper, the wealth and power held by corporations, especially megacorporations like Orbis, have a significant influence over the decision-making process.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ☆ the core assembly. a ruling body made of 50% elected officials and 50% appointed technocrats from approved corporate, scientific, and engineering councils.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ☆ citizen score index (CSI). citizens are ranked via a complex index measuring productivity, compliance, social behavior, and cybernetic compatibility.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ☆ the data purity initiative. Virelia heavily regulates access to public data and surveillance feeds. those who attempt to mask or alter their data trail risk demotion in social status or even imprisonment.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ a controlled utopia. on the surface, Virelia is a utopia, offering its citizens a high standard of living, access to the latest technology, and the promise of a pollution-free environment. however, this idealized world comes at a cost—strict regulations on cybernetics, data privacy, and social freedoms. citizens are encouraged to embrace technology, but those who resist are often marginalized or silenced.

✧˖*°࿐the city

neovista is a megacity — a glittering neon spire among the clouds and an undercity of grit and rebellion. It’s a contradiction: a technological utopia resting on a foundation of exploitation and resistance.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ common mods. ocular overlays, subdermal HUDs, neural ports, smart limbs.

*ೃ༄black market and underground tech

located beneath the official grid of Neovista, in the Vein or the Undervault.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ traders deal in: ☆ 𓂃 › memory-modding tech ☆ 𓂃 › neural firewalls ☆ 𓂃 › blackbox implants ☆ 𓂃 › emotion regulators ☆ 𓂃 › discontinued weapon augmentations

hackclans (like SpiralZero or Echo Drift) operate in these markets, building custom tools to counter HALO’s surveillance net.

while Orbis Corporation and other megacorporations offer cutting-edge cybernetics, there is a thriving black market for illegal modifications and illicit technology. from hacked neural implants to stolen AI software, the underground tech scene is a dangerous place but provides an outlet for those who cannot afford or do not want to abide by the official channels.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ☆ pirates and hackers: groups like The Shattermen exploit these underground markets, seeking to disrupt corporate control by stealing and redistributing technology. they often employ cybernetic pirates who operate outside the law, dealing in anything from illegal AI software to underground body augmentations.

*ೃ༄energy & environmental tech

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ☆ skyharbor towers: pull moisture and solar energy, creating perpetual artificial rainfall and maintaining air quality.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ☆ cryoroot systems: bioengineered roots that store solar power and regulate temperature in city zones.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ☆ ecozones: each district has its own energy quota; exceeding it triggers rolling blackouts in poorer sectors.

virelia is powered by renewable energy sources like solar and wind, and artificial rainfall systems maintain a stable climate. advanced energy storage technology allows the city to operate efficiently even in low-light conditions.

the city uses vertical farming and aquaponics to maintain food production in a way that integrates seamlessly into urban spaces, providing sustenance for its citizens without relying on traditional agricultural methods.

*ೃ༄transportation & infrastructure

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ☆ hyperloop arteries: Connect districts with high-speed magnetized transit tubes.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ☆ skyrails: glass-bottomed tramways suspended between megastructures.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ☆ drone skynet: hundreds of drones transport packages, law enforcement supplies, and emergency aid across the city.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ☆ vertical cities: skyscrapers built as self-contained ecosystems—residential, commercial, medical, and agricultural facilities stacked together.

neovista's transportation system is revolutionary, with hyperloop networks connecting different districts, allowing for ultra-fast travel. drone-based delivery systems handle everything from groceries to medical supplies, and personal autonomous vehicles are common on the roads.

the city has designed solar-powered highways and green rooftops that house both parks and renewable energy infrastructure.

*ೃ༄law enforcement & governance

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ☆ enforcement is done by VEC and HALO drones. there are no beat cops — instead, predictive policing algorithms determine where violence might happen and deploy units in advance.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ☆ citizen compliance officers (CCOs) are citizens elevated by the CSI system, acting as civilian enforcers with surveillance privileges.

most investigations are conducted digitally—by scanning memory logs, personal feeds, and neural output rather than physical clues.

*ೃ༄cybernetics & body augmentations

cybernetic normalization is pervasive in Neovista. while minor enhancements like augmented vision, neural interfaces, and biomechanical limbs are common, full-body conversions are rare and often subject to strict regulations.

body augmentations are not just a physical enhancement but have become part of the culture. the wealthy often choose to augment themselves for beauty or efficiency, while those in the slums might use augmentations to survive or gain an edge in the fight for resources.

*ೃ༄technology in neovista & virelia

neovista represents the pinnacle of technology, where AI and humans coexist, yet there is a deep tension between innovation and freedom. virelia’s citizens enjoy unparalleled access to technology but must constantly navigate the surveillance state and corporate control.

virelia’s technology fosters a sense of constant progress, but this has made the city and its citizens vulnerable to the very forces they sought to escape—power, control, and the erosion of personal freedoms.

*ೃ༄visuals.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⠀⠀⢸⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡶⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⡿⠀⢰⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠇⠀⣾⣿⢹⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠈⣿⢀⣼⣿⠃⠀⢻⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣀⣠⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣴⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢙⣻⣿⣿⣷⣶⣦⡤ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⣿⡟⠿⣿⣷⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣶⣿⡿⠟⠋⠉⠉⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣧⠀⠀⠙⣿⣷⡄⠀⣰⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠘⣿⣷⢰⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⡀⠘⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡧⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠉⢹⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⢸⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

✦ ˚ — THE MAIN DISTRCITS

☆. MIRROR DISTRICT —

☆. U DISTRICT —

☆. DREAM DISTRICT —

☆. 127 DISTRICT —

#reyaint #reality shifting #shiftblr #reality shifter #shifting #shifting community #shifting motivation #anti shifters dni #dr scrapbook #dr world #futuristic dr

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