#mario circuit 1

[lore-of-the-mushroom-kingdom]

Several Super Mario Kart Tracks Are In Dinosaur Land

So in Super Mario Kart Several tracks take place on the islands of Dinosaur Land, so here's which ones they are.

Mario Circuit due to the imagery associated with it seems to take place on Yoshi's Island.

Donut Plains takes place on well, Donut Plains.

Vanilla Lake probably takes place on top of the Vanilla Dome either really high up or during the winter.

Finally, Choco Island takes place on well Chocolate Island.

[kaasiand]

I wish we had every single game on DS

Not 3DS, just DS. Guys please stop tagging this as 3DS

[mariokartranking]

[p2pc2e]

Alejo at the 81st Members' Meeting (Goodwood)

Alejo at the 81st Members' Meeting (Goodwood)

[mingiatz]

Y/N thinks Kang Yeosang is cold and arrogant. He’s actually just shy—and secretly been crushing on her for years. A group project, late-night study sessions, and a little chaos from his friends slowly pull them closer.

Pairing: Kang Yeosang (ATEEZ) × Female Reader (Y/N)

Trope(s): Slow Burn, Academic Rivals-to-Lovers, Found Family

Genre: College AU, Romance, Fluff, Light Angst, Comedy

Featuring: All ATEEZ members as Yeosang’s friends + Y/N’s best friend

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

"Okay,” Y/N said, hands on her hips. “Tonight is the night.”

Yeosang stared at her like she had just declared war.

“You’re going to practice the presentation,” she continued, “in front of a real audience.”

Yeosang blinked. “I thought you meant… you.”

“I am the audience. But also—” she opened the door to the living room dramatically “—so are they.”

On the couch: Wooyoung, San, Yunho, Mingi, Jongho, Seonghwa, Hongjoong, and Y/N’s best friend.

All of them holding snacks. All of them looking way too excited.

“Oh no,” Yeosang whispered.

“Oh yes,” Wooyoung grinned. “Present for us, Yeosang. Show us the magic.”

“This is not a safe environment,” Yeosang muttered.

“Don’t be shy,” Mingi said. “Well, you can be a little shy. That’s kind of your thing.”

Y/N nudged Yeosang toward the front of the room. “Come on. You’ve got this. Think of it like exposure therapy—except with snacks.”

“I hate this.”

“You’ll be fine.”

He inhaled deeply, opened the laptop, and clicked to the first slide.

Then stood there.

Silent.

Blank stare. Slightly trembling hands.

And a visible blush creeping up his neck.

Y/N could practically feel him short-circuiting.

She stepped up beside him and lightly touched his forearm. “Hey,” she whispered, “you’re okay.”

He turned to look at her—

—and immediately turned red.

Like, full-blown, tomato in a hoodie red.

Wooyoung made a noise like he was choking on popcorn.

“I’m going to combust,” Yeosang said under his breath.

“You’ve got this,” Y/N said gently, smiling at him. “Start with the thesis. Just like we practiced.”

He nodded once—tiny, panicked—and started reading the first slide. His voice was quiet, a little shaky, but it came out.

“Today, we’ll be presenting a comparative analysis of how…”

From the couch, Yunho gave him two big thumbs up.

Jongho leaned over to Hongjoong. “He’s talking. This is progress.”

Y/N’s best friend leaned over to Wooyoung and stage-whispered, “He’s sweating.”

“He’s in love,” Wooyoung whispered back.

Yeosang made it to the second slide before his hands started shaking again.

Y/N stepped in and read the bullet points aloud with him, her shoulder brushing his.

When she glanced over, he was trying very hard to look anywhere but directly at her.

“Almost done,” she murmured.

“I think I’m dying.”

“Nope. Still breathing.”

“I’m not meant to do this in front of people.”

“You’re doing great,” she said softly.

He looked at her. Really looked.

And for a moment, the entire room seemed to fade.

Until—

“Woooo!” Mingi cheered. “That was not terrible!”

“Yeosang didn’t pass out!” San added.

“I give it an 8.5 for content and a 12 for blushing,” Wooyoung said.

Yeosang slowly closed the laptop.

Then sat down.

Then buried his face in his hands.

Y/N laughed and sat next to him, gently patting his back. “You survived.”

“I need to go into hiding.”

“I’m proud of you.”

He peeked at her through his fingers. “Really?”

She smiled. “Really.”

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Later that night, after the snacks had been eaten and the chaos had moved on to a heated Mario Kart tournament (and Wooyoung had been dramatically defeated by Y/N’s best friend, much to everyone’s delight), Yeosang offered to walk Y/N home.

It wasn’t a long walk. The moon was out, and the air was crisp.

They didn’t talk much at first.

Then: “Thanks,” he said quietly.

She glanced at him. “For what?”

“For making me do that. Even though it sucked.”

She smiled. “You didn’t suck. You did great.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Sure you could’ve.”

He shook his head. “You… make it easier. Talking. Being around people. I don’t feel like I have to perform.”

Y/N’s heart did a weird little flutter.

She stuffed her hands in her coat pockets. “Well… good. I’m glad.”

They stopped at her dorm entrance.

Yeosang looked at her like he wanted to say something else—but didn’t.

So she said it for him.

“I’m really glad we got partnered for this project.”

He blinked. “You hated me at first.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I was wrong.”

He smiled.

It was small.

But real.

And suddenly, she didn’t feel confused anymore.

She just felt… warm.

Y/N had never felt this prepared for a presentation before.

She was calm, focused, confident.

But mostly?

She was watching Yeosang.

Because even though his grip on the cue cards was a little tight and he kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he wasn’t panicking. He wasn’t retreating. He was right beside her, standing tall, mouth set in quiet determination.

And when it was his turn to speak?

He did.

His voice was soft—but clear. Steady. Every line they’d practiced came out just right, and when his eyes flicked to hers, she gave the smallest nod.

And he kept going.

It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t loud.

But it was Yeosang. Thoughtful. Direct. Present.

By the time they reached the conclusion slide, the professor looked genuinely impressed.

When it was over, Y/N smiled and closed the laptop. “Thank you,” she said to the class. “We’ll take any questions now.“

No one raised their hand.

A few students even clapped softly.

Which was basically a standing ovation in their department.

They left the classroom in a stunned kind of silence.

Then Y/N turned to him, wide-eyed. “We nailed that.”

Yeosang let out a breath like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding it. “We did.”

“You didn’t even stutter!”

He gave a tiny, sheepish smile. “I blacked out a little.”

She laughed—and then, without thinking, threw her arms around him.

“You did so good,” she said against his shoulder. “I’m so proud of you.”

For a split second, she panicked. Maybe that was too much. Maybe she’d just overwhelmed him—

And then his arms came around her.

Gentle. Steady. Careful like he thought she might disappear.

She froze for half a second.

Then melted.

Yeosang was warm.

And soft.

And smelled like clean laundry and something faintly sweet.

And—most dangerously of all—he held her like he meant it.

They stayed like that for longer than was strictly necessary.

Until finally, slowly, she leaned back.

But his arms didn’t drop immediately.

And her hands didn’t either.

And when they looked at each other—really looked—everything else went quiet.

Y/N’s heart was beating too fast.

Her stomach flipped like it had been waiting for this.

And suddenly, she wasn’t confused anymore.

She knew.

She liked him.

And it wasn’t a maybe. It wasn’t a crush.

It was… real.

Something in his eyes shifted, too. Like he was on the verge of saying something.

And that’s exactly when it happened.

“Yeosang!”

Two girls from their department walked up—giggling, hair flipped, eyes bright.

“You were amazing in there,” one of them said, stepping way too close.

“Seriously,” the other added. “You should present more often. It was, like, really impressive.”

Yeosang took a step back instinctively, one hand awkwardly dropping to his side.

Y/N blinked, the warm bubble between them immediately popped.

“Oh,” one of the girls said, just noticing her. “You’re his partner, right?”

“Right,” Y/N said flatly.

“Cool. Anyway—Yeosang, do you want to come to the study café later? We’re planning a group session. Could be fun.”

Y/N felt her jaw tighten.

Yeosang glanced at Y/N, hesitating. “I—uh—”

Y/N didn’t wait to hear the answer.

She stepped back, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Well,” she said, keeping her tone even. “Congrats again. I’ll see you later.”

She didn’t look back as she walked off.

But she didn’t miss the look on Yeosang’s face—caught between regret and something he didn’t have time to say.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

A week passed.

Seven days.

And Y/N still hadn’t stopped thinking about the way Yeosang held her.

It wasn’t just the hug. It was how he melted into it. How his arms didn’t fall right away. How warm he felt. How safe.

And how the moment broke when those girls walked over, all flirty smiles and sparkly lip gloss.

She’d told herself it didn’t bother her.

She was fine.

Except… she wasn’t.

Because for the past week, she’d been catching herself smiling at nothing.

She’d been replaying his laugh in her head, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

She found herself staring at his name in their shared Google Doc like it might blink back at her.

And worst of all?

She missed him.

Even though their project was done. Even though they hadn’t officially made plans to see each other again. Even though she was pretty sure she’d said “I’ll see you later” like she wasn’t dying inside.

Her best friend noticed, obviously.

“So are you gonna tell him you’re in love, or should I just post it on the student bulletin board?”

“I’m not in love,” Y/N muttered, flopping face-first onto her dorm bed.

Her friend raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been weird all week.”

“I’m not weird. I’m emotionally compromised.”

“So… in love.”

“I hate you.”

“You’ve said that every time I’ve been right,” her friend said smugly.

Y/N groaned into her pillow.

That afternoon, she escaped to the library.

Not to see him. Not really.

She just needed to focus.

Except she couldn’t even focus on focusing, because two familiar voices drifted from the next table over.

“I’m still so bummed he said no,” one of the girls said with a pout. “He’s so dreamy when he talks. That presentation? Instant crush.”

“Same. I thought we had a chance,” the other one sighed. “But he turned us down so politely. Said he was busy and already had plans.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly.

She pretended to read the same paragraph three times.

Plans?

She smiled to herself without realizing.

And suddenly, she didn’t care what the plans were.

All she cared about was the quiet, warm satisfaction blooming in her chest.

She stayed in the library longer than planned.

Hours passed. Her coffee got cold. The sky outside turned dusky blue, then deep indigo.

By the time she packed her bag, the main lights were dimmed and most of the tables were empty.

Y/N blinked at her phone.

11:14 p.m.

Crap.

She hadn’t meant to stay that late.

Still… she didn’t want to bother anyone. It wasn’t that far. Just a ten-minute walk.

She pulled on her coat, tugged her bag higher on her shoulder, and stepped out into the night.

It was chilly, the kind of cold that slipped beneath your sleeves.

The streets were quiet—only the hum of faraway traffic and the occasional flicker of streetlights keeping her company.

She told herself she was fine.

It was fine.

Until the fourth time she thought she heard footsteps behind her.

And that tiny, anxious feeling began to creep in.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The walk home was quiet at first.

Just cold air, her boots on damp pavement, and the echo of her own thoughts.

She shouldn’t have stayed so late. Should’ve asked her roommate to meet her. Should’ve taken the longer path through the dorms instead of the shortcut past the empty campus quad.

But she didn’t.

And now someone was walking behind her.

At first, she told herself it was a coincidence. Same direction. No big deal.

Until he sped up.

Until she could hear his breathing.

Until she stopped walking, and so did he.

Y/N’s heart kicked up in her chest.

She tightened her grip on her bag and kept moving, a little faster this time, ducking her head as fat raindrops started to fall.

Great. Perfect.

“Hey,” the guy called, footsteps quickening. “Wait up.”

She didn’t.

“Hey! You dropped something.”

She glanced back instinctively—and he was closer now. Too close. Early 20s. Hoodie up. Smile too wide.

“I didn’t drop anything,” she said quickly, turning away again.

“You sure?” he asked, catching up with her now, matching her pace. “I thought I saw something fall.”

“I’m fine. Thanks,” she said, voice clipped.

He reached for her arm.

She flinched.

“I just wanted to talk,” he said. “You’re pretty. What’s your name?”

“I don’t want to talk,” she said firmly, pulling her wrist away.

“Don’t be like that,” he said, stepping in front of her. “I’m just being nice. Give me your number, yeah?”

“No.”

“Come on—”

“I said no.”

She tried to move past him, but his hand caught her wrist again—tighter this time.

“I’m being polite. Don’t make this weird.”

Her breath hitched. The rain came down harder now, soaking her hair, her coat, everything. Her heart pounded like a warning siren.

“Let go of me,” she said, sharper now.

But he didn’t.

Not until—

“Let her go.”

The voice was quiet. But firm.

Deadly, even.

She looked up—and there he was.

Yeosang.

Soaked from head to toe, hood down, rain plastering his hair to his forehead. A plastic convenience store bag swinging from his wrist, forgotten.

His eyes were locked on the guy.

Cold. Sharp. Unmoving.

The guy let go of her like he’d been burned.

“I didn’t mean anything,” he muttered. “Just wanted to talk.”

“She said no.”

The guy scoffed, but took a step back. “Whatever, man. You don’t need to act like her bodyguard.“

Yeosang didn’t respond.

Just stood there. Still. Staring.

And somehow, that was enough.

The guy muttered something under his breath and finally walked away, disappearing into the rain.

Y/N stood there, frozen.

Drenched.

Shivering.

Yeosang stepped toward her.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

Her voice barely worked. “I—I think so.”

He didn’t touch her. Just stood close enough to block some of the rain with his body.

“You’re soaked,” he said, brows furrowing. “Come on.”

“Where—?”

“My dorm,” he said. “You need to get out of the rain.”

She wanted to say she was fine. That she could make it home.

But the adrenaline was still buzzing under her skin. Her wrist ached faintly. Her heart was still racing.

And Yeosang—quiet, gentle, solid—was looking at her like she was someone worth protecting.

So she nodded.

And followed him into the dark.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Yeosang didn’t say much on the walk to the dorm.

Y/N was too cold, too wet, too stunned to speak either.

The rain hit hard and fast, plastering their clothes to their skin. Her shoes squelched with every step. Her fingers were frozen.

But Yeosang stayed close. Every time a car passed too close or a puddle splashed near her, he shifted—subtle, instinctive—like a barrier she didn’t know she needed.

By the time they reached the dorm, her legs felt numb.

He unlocked the door quietly and stepped inside, motioning for her to follow.

She barely got a foot through the door before—

“Yo, did you buy the spicy ramen or the normal one?” Wooyoung called from the kitchen.

“Please say spicy,” San added. “I need to feel alive.”

“I swear to god if you brought that off-brand crap again—” Jongho started.

Yeosang sighed quietly, kicking his shoes off.

“Oh my god, just admit you have a little crush and—”

“Shut up,” Yeosang said under his breath.

The guys went quiet for a beat.

Then Yunho peeked out from the kitchen and froze. “Uh… guys?”

Mingi followed. “What—oh, shit.”

In seconds, all seven of them were crowding the hallway.

Y/N stood there, dripping water on the floor, eyes wide and shell-shocked.

“What happened?” Seonghwa asked first, voice low and serious.

“Why is she soaking wet?” Hongjoong added.

“Did you fall in a fountain? Are you okay?” San asked, already moving to grab a towel.

“I’ll get blankets,” Yunho said instantly, rushing off.

“Wait, wait—what happened?” Wooyoung said, looking from her to Yeosang. “Why do you both look like you got chased by ghosts?”

And that’s when the adrenaline wore off.

Y/N opened her mouth—and it hit her.

Her wrist still ached. Her coat was heavy with rain. Her hair was stuck to her face.

But worse than all of that… her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“I—” she choked, voice cracking.

And then she was crying.

Like, full-on tears. Ugly, embarrassing, unstoppable tears.

They came without warning—fast, loud, real.

Yeosang’s eyes widened in panic.

“I—I was walking home and this guy—he followed me,” Y/N gasped, holding her wrist. “He grabbed me. I told him to stop, and he wouldn’t—he grabbed me and I couldn’t—”

“Hey, hey,” Seonghwa said immediately, stepping forward. “You’re safe now. You’re okay.”

Wooyoung was already tossing her a fresh towel. “What the hell? What guy?!”

“Where is he?” Jongho said sharply.

Yeosang didn’t say a word. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked painful.

“I didn’t know what to do,” Y/N sobbed, wiping her face. “He wouldn’t stop. I thought—if Yeosang hadn’t been there—”

Yeosang finally spoke. “You’re safe now.”

His voice was calm. But cold.

Colder than any of them had ever heard it.

They got her into the bathroom with Seonghwa’s help. Hot water. Clean towels. A fresh hoodie and sweatpants from Yeosang’s room.

The house was uncharacteristically quiet by the time she came out—hair damp but clean, face puffy from crying, bundled in clothes two sizes too big.

She found them all in the living room.

Blankets. Hot tea. A pillow on the couch with her name on it.

Yeosang looked up when she entered.

Everyone else gave her space.

He didn’t.

He walked right up to her, gaze flicking to her wrist.

The second he saw the bruise forming beneath her sleeve, something shifted.

His expression didn’t change much.

But she saw it.

The tension in his jaw.

The way his hand closed into a fist for half a second.

He didn’t say anything.

Just walked away silently, returning a moment later with an ice pack wrapped in a towel.

He held it out without a word.

When she hesitated, he gently—so, so gently—took her hand, sat beside her, and settled the pack on her wrist himself.

Y/N blinked down at their hands.

He was so careful.

Like she was glass.

And when she looked up?

He was already looking at her.

And she blushed.

Hard.

Because he wasn’t saying anything dramatic. Wasn’t declaring vengeance or swearing to protect her forever.

He was just… there.

Present. Steady.

And suddenly, her heart didn’t feel so broken anymore.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The spare room was warm, the hoodie Yeosang gave her soft and clean and comforting. The sheets smelled like fabric softener and something vaguely like cedarwood.

But she couldn’t sleep.

Every time she closed her eyes, her mind flashed back to the street.

To the stranger’s hand around her wrist.

To the words she said—I said no—and how little they had mattered.

She curled into herself tighter, tucking her knees up, gripping the blanket like it might anchor her back into the present.

She wasn’t cold anymore, not physically.

But she was still shaking.

And no matter how many times she told herself she was safe—inside, dry, surrounded by people she trusted—her heart refused to calm down.

After what felt like hours of tossing and turning, she sat up and looked at the door.

Her body moved before her brain fully caught up.

Barefoot and silent, she padded across the hallway and stopped in front of Yeosang’s door.

Her hand hovered for a second.

Then she knocked—softly. Barely a tap.

The kind of knock that said "I need you.”

•───────•°•❀•°•──��────•

Yeosang couldn’t sleep either.

He laid on his side, staring at the ceiling, fists curled in his sheets, chest still tight with rage.

That guy.

That stranger.

The moment Yeosang saw him with his hand around her wrist, something in him snapped.

He wasn’t loud. He never had been.

But he didn’t need to be.

Because one look at her face—wide-eyed, rain-soaked, terrified—and all he could think was, get her away from him. Now.

And later, in the living room, when he saw the bruise—

God, he hadn’t even realized how tightly his jaw was clenched until his teeth ached.

She’d cried in front of all of them.

She never cried. Not like that.

She looked fragile. Not weak—never weak—but breakable.

And he hated that someone had made her feel like that.

Even now, all he wanted was to make it stop. To rewind time. To put himself between her and the world before it hurt her.

Because he didn’t just like her anymore.

He… felt something else. Bigger. Softer. More terrifying.

And then—knock knock.

He sat up immediately, heart jumping.

That knock wasn’t one of the guys.

He crossed the room and opened the door carefully.

And there she was.

Barefoot. Hair damp. Sleeves pulled over her hands. Looking smaller than usual. Sleep nowhere in her eyes.

“Hey,” she whispered.

“Hey,” he echoed, blinking. “Are you… okay?”

“I just—” she looked down. “I can’t sleep.”

He stepped aside instantly. “Come in.”

She hesitated for only a second. Then slipped past him and into the room.

He watched her, still stunned that she was here. That she’d come to him.

She didn’t look at him right away—just stood there awkwardly, hands clenching and unclenching the hem of the hoodie.

“Do you… want to stay in here?” he asked softly.

She nodded, eyes flicking to the bed.

“I can sleep on the floor,” he added quickly. “You can have the bed. It’s clean.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

He was already moving, grabbing an extra pillow and a folded blanket from his shelf.

Y/N stood there for a moment longer, and then—just as he sat down on the floor beside his bed—she whispered, “Thank you.”

He looked up.

She was looking right at him now.

And she wasn’t shaking anymore.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The room was dark, lit only by the soft glow of Yeosang’s desk lamp and the occasional flicker of headlights from the street outside.

Y/N sat on the edge of his bed, legs crossed, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

Yeosang was on the floor beside her, back against the wall, long legs stretched out, hair still damp from the rain earlier. He hadn’t changed out of his hoodie yet, and it looked too big on his already lanky frame.

Neither of them spoke at first.

It wasn’t awkward—just… quiet.

Like they were both waiting to see who would break the silence first.

Y/N did.

“Does it always feel like this?” she asked softly.

Yeosang looked up. “Like what?”

“After something scary happens. Like your body’s here, but your brain hasn’t caught up yet.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. It’s like… delayed fear.”

“Exactly,” she murmured. “I didn’t cry at first. I didn’t even feel scared. But now… I can’t stop thinking about it.”

His voice was quiet when he replied. “That’s normal.”

She looked down at her hands, wringing the fabric of the blanket. “I hate that he touched me. I hate that I froze. I didn’t know what to do.”

“You did everything right.”

“But I couldn’t stop him—”

“You didn’t need to,” he said firmly. “It wasn’t your job to fight him off. It was his job to listen. And he didn’t.”

Y/N’s throat tightened. She glanced at him, eyes stinging.

Yeosang didn’t look away.

“You were brave,” he said. “You still are.”

A beat of silence.

Then—“You were brave too.”

He looked almost embarrassed at that. “I didn’t do much.”

“You showed up,” she whispered. “That was everything.”

His gaze dropped to the floor. His ears turned red.

They lapsed into silence again, but this time it felt fuller—like something had been shared, something important and unspoken.

Y/N laid back slowly, her head sinking into the pillow, body finally beginning to relax. She pulled the blanket up to her chin and stared at the ceiling for a long moment.

Then, without turning, she said:

“You know… the bed’s big enough for two.”

Yeosang blinked.

His breath hitched ever so slightly. “You want me to…?”

“If you want to,” she said quietly. “It’s just… less weird than talking to the ceiling.”

Another pause.

Then, slowly—cautiously—he stood and climbed onto the bed.

He didn’t face her.

He laid down with his back to hers, keeping a careful distance, arms tucked to his chest like he didn’t quite know what to do with them.

Neither of them moved.

The only sound was the soft ticking of Yeosang’s old wall clock and the gentle exhale of their breathing.

After a minute, Y/N shifted just a little, and their backs brushed.

He froze.

She did too.

But neither of them moved away.

And like that—barely touching, breath shared, hearts loud in the quiet—they fell asleep.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Warm.

That was the first thing Y/N noticed.

The second was weight—gentle, steady, wrapped around her like gravity had finally decided to be kind.

She blinked slowly, eyes adjusting to the early gray light filtering through Yeosang’s window.

She wasn’t alone.

She was tangled in something—someone.

Her cheek was pressed against something solid. Warm. Bare.

Something that rose and fell steadily beneath her.

Her eyes drifted downward, confusion blooming.

Her hand.

Under his shirt.

Resting flat against skin.

Firm, warm skin.

She felt—

Abs.

She felt Yeosang’s abs.

Y/N’s entire brain froze.

She tensed instinctively, but Yeosang shifted just then—pulling her slightly closer in his sleep.

His chin rested gently on top of her head. One of his arms was draped around her waist, the other loosely curled under the pillow they shared.

She hadn’t even realized they’d moved during the night.

She definitely hadn’t realized they were now spooning.

Full-body contact. Legs tangled. Skin-to-skin.

And he was warm. Really warm.

And—

Softly, she felt him stir.

He inhaled against her hair, his breath warm at her temple, and then—

Still half-asleep, his voice low and rough:

“Good morning.”

Y/N stiffened.

Yeosang stilled.

And in the silence that followed, you could feel the exact moment his brain caught up.

His entire body tensed.

She didn’t move.

Neither did he.

He was very aware of where her hand was.

She was very aware of… everything else.

And yet—

He didn’t pull away.

Didn’t shift or untangle or recoil like she expected.

He just exhaled a quiet, shaky breath and whispered again, “Good morning, Y/N.”

Her heart thundered.

She dared to look up at him.

His face was bright red. Eyes wide. But calm.

Soft.

He looked at her like she was something fragile and holy.

And still—he didn’t move.

Didn’t let go.

Just kept her in his arms like this was the most natural place for her to be.

And somehow, despite the flustered panic coursing through her veins—

She didn’t want to move either.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

“I think I accidentally felt his abs.”

Her best friend froze mid-spoonful of ramen.

“…You what?”

Y/N covered her face with both hands, groaning into the sleeve of her hoodie. “I woke up, and my hand was under his shirt. He didn’t even say anything—just said good morning and let me stay there.”

There was a long pause.

“Girl.”

“I know.”

“You. Felt. His. Abs.”

“I KNOW.”

Her best friend put down her spoon slowly, then folded her hands like this was a formal intervention. “Y/N. Please explain to me how this doesn’t mean he likes you back.”

Y/N threw herself backward onto the couch dramatically. “Because! He’s Yeosang. He’s quiet and polite and soft-spoken and smart and way out of my league.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And he didn’t pull away, but he also didn’t like… do anything either. Maybe he was just being nice.”

Her best friend stared.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Y/N muttered.

“No,” she said. “Because you’re being ridiculous.”

Y/N sat up again, cradling her tea. “I like him.”

“Well, yeah.”

“I really like him,” she repeated, softer this time. “Like, it’s not just a crush anymore. It’s worse. I like his voice. I like how he listens. I like that he reads the feedback on every paper we write. I like that he gets overwhelmed in big groups but never leaves anyone behind. I like how he brings snacks to the library even when he says he’s not hungry. I like him.”

Her best friend blinked. “…And the abs.”

Y/N groaned. “Yes, and the abs.”

She sighed, leaning her head on the back of the couch.

“I think I’m going to tell him.”

That made her friend pause.

“Seriously?”

Y/N nodded slowly. “Not because I think he likes me back. Just so I can… let it out. Get it off my chest. Move on.”

Her best friend gave her the most exasperated face she could muster. “You’re literally confessing like it’s a funeral.”

“I’m just being realistic!”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I can’t keep feeling like this and pretending I’m okay when he sits next to me and smells like vanilla and safety.”

Her best friend snorted. “Vanilla and safety?”

“You know what I mean.”

There was a pause.

Then—

“Well,” her friend said, finishing the last of her ramen. “When you confess, just make sure you’re not standing near any sharp corners. Because if Yeosang turns red the way I know he will, and then tells you he likes you back, I want you conscious enough to enjoy it.”

Y/N stared at her.

“I’m just saying,” her friend continued. “He looked at you like you hung the damn moon. You’re the only one who doesn’t see it.”

Y/N’s heart pounded. “Do you really think so?”

“I know so.”

Y/N bit her lip.

“I’m gonna do it,” she whispered.

“Then I’ll be here with tissues and cake if you need them,” her best friend said with a grin. “But you won’t.”

“Because he’ll reject me gently?”

“Because he won’t reject you at all.”

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

“I woke up,” Yeosang said, staring blankly into his mug, “and her hand was under my shirt.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

“Bro.” Wooyoung gasped, slapping a hand over his mouth like he was personally offended. “YOU WOKE UP AND SHE WAS TOUCHING YOUR ABS?”

San choked on his cereal. “Did you say anything?”

“I said ‘good morning.’”

“You WHAT?!” Jongho yelped from the kitchen.

Yeosang sank lower into the couch.

“It was the first thing that came out,” he mumbled.

“Was she—like—touching-touching?” Mingi asked with wide eyes.

Yeosang’s ears turned violently red. “Her hand was… resting there.”

Seonghwa blinked slowly. “So she was basically cuddling you and copping a feel.”

“I don’t think it was on purpose—”

“Was she awake?” Yunho asked.

“I think so. Eventually.”

Wooyoung tossed a cushion dramatically into the air. “And you just stayed like that?! You didn’t combust?!”

Yeosang stared into his mug again. “I was… comfortable.”

The room exploded.

“I knew it!” Mingi shouted. “He’s in love.”

“He’s BEEN in love,” Hongjoong muttered, flipping through his notebook like this wasn’t groundbreaking.

“I’m not—”

“You let her sleep on your chest like a damn K-Drama lead,” Jongho said, pointing. “You’re in love.”

Yeosang didn’t argue.

He didn’t have to.

Because the truth was—he was.

He hadn’t meant for it to happen. But somewhere between awkward library sessions, midnight ramen runs, watching her fuss over color-coded slides, and that terrifying moment in the rain—

It hit him.

She wasn’t just a crush anymore.

She was a feeling.

A presence.

Someone he wanted to protect. Someone he wanted to see smile. Someone whose voice made his heart speed up in the weirdest, softest way.

And now?

Now he was ruined.

“I think she’s going to forget me,” he said suddenly.

Everyone paused.

“What?” Seonghwa said gently.

Yeosang blinked slowly. “The project’s over. We don’t have an excuse to hang out anymore.”

“That’s why you make one,” San said, clapping him on the back. “Ask her out.”

“I can’t just—ask her out.”

“Why not?” Yunho asked.

“She probably doesn’t feel the same.”

“She fell asleep on your chest, hand on your abs, and didn’t scream.” Wooyoung pointed out. “That’s a pretty solid indicator.”

Yeosang sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just… don’t want to scare her off.”

“She came to you when she was scared,” Jongho said softly. “That means something.”

There was a quiet pause.

Then Yeosang said it—barely a whisper.

“I really like her.”

Silence.

Then chaos.

Mingi whooped. Yunho flung his arms in the air. Wooyoung collapsed onto the floor like it was the most romantic thing he’d ever heard.

“Finally,” Hongjoong muttered with a smirk. “Now do something about it before she thinks you don’t like her.”

Yeosang blinked.

Wait.

Was that possible?

Was it possible that she didn’t know?

That she couldn’t see it every time he smiled at her?

Every time he panicked over saying the right thing?

Every time he stood quietly next to her because the only alternative was staring at her too long?

Maybe she didn’t know.

But maybe she would.

Soon.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

It started as a normal day.

Well—normal by “I’m hopelessly in love with my former project partner” standards.

Y/N had asked Yeosang to meet up at the student café. Just a casual “we haven’t talked in a while” message that took her three hours to write and rewrite.

He said yes within two minutes.

She got there early.

Too early.

By the time Yeosang arrived, she was already on her second tea and nervously picking apart a muffin.

And of course—of course—he looked ridiculously good. Oversized hoodie, hair soft and slightly messy, a shy smile that nearly knocked her out.

“Hey,” he said, sliding into the seat across from her.

“Hey,” she echoed, trying not to combust.

They talked. About classes, campus rumors, a professor who’d mispronounced someone’s name as “Chandelier.” It was easy.

Until it wasn’t.

Two girls from the literature department passed by their table.

They paused.

Smiled.

“Hey, Yeosang,” one of them said sweetly, twirling a strand of hair. “Are you coming to the group poetry night tomorrow? We’re reading tragic love poems. You’d fit perfectly.”

The other one giggled. “We saved you a seat.”

Y/N glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

He smiled politely. “Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll make it.”

“Aw,” they pouted. “Too bad.”

They left with one last lingering look.

Y/N stabbed a piece of muffin with unnecessary force.

“Are you okay?” Yeosang asked, turning to her gently.

She looked up, caught.

“What? Yeah. Fine.”

“You seem… quiet.”

“I’m always like this.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Not really.”

And that’s when she cracked.

“I just—” she burst, voice lower than usual but sharp with frustration. “It’s like… you’re so nice. To everyone. And people flirt with you constantly and you’re so polite about it that they never stop. And maybe it’s not a big deal to you, but I—I care.”

Yeosang blinked, stunned. “Y/N—”

“I like you, okay?” she said suddenly, words spilling out. “I like you. And I’ve liked you for a while now. And I wasn’t going to say anything because I thought maybe it would go away, or maybe I’d stop thinking about your dumb shy smiles or how you smell like clean laundry all the time, or how you always stand a little closer when I’m tired like you can tell—”

She paused, heart pounding.

Yeosang hadn’t moved.

Hadn’t said a word.

He was just… staring.

And her heart sank.

“Oh,” she said, voice small. “Okay. It’s fine. You don’t—”

“No—” he blurted suddenly, eyes wide. “Wait, no. I’m just—processing.”

Y/N stood up. “You don’t have to say anything. I just—needed to say it.”

“Y/N—”

“I’ll go. It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

And then she turned and walked away before she could cry in public.

Yeosang sat frozen in his chair.

Staring at the empty space where she had been.

She liked him.

She liked him.

And he’d let her walk away.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

“Y/N!”

Her name rang out louder than she’d ever heard it.

Y/N didn’t stop.

She couldn’t.

Her face was burning, her heart felt like it might shatter right through her ribcage, and she just—couldn’t stand there and watch him pity her.

So she kept walking. Fast. Past the other café tables, past a few students turning their heads, past her own spiraling heartbeat—

“Y/N, wait!”

Footsteps.

Fast ones.

Then—

A hand caught her shoulder.

Not rough.

But firm.

And then the other hand, on her opposite shoulder.

She turned instinctively, startled, ready to snap or run or crumble—

But stopped cold.

Yeosang stood right in front of her, breathing hard.

And for the first time since she met him—

He wasn’t calm.

His hair was a little windblown. His eyes wide and urgent. His voice, when he spoke, cracked just slightly.

“Just—listen. Please.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

People were watching.

A few tables over, someone had stopped mid-bite.

But Yeosang didn’t care.

His hands stayed right there on her shoulders, gentle but grounding.

“I didn’t say anything because I couldn’t believe it,” he said, eyes locked on hers. “Because I thought—there’s no way she’d like me back.”

Y/N blinked, frozen.

Yeosang swallowed hard.

“I’ve had a crush on you since freshman year.”

The world tilted.

“I sat behind you in that intro literature seminar,” he continued, voice softer now but still breathless. “You wore that oversized hoodie and had notes in different colors, and I thought—I’ve never seen anyone concentrate so hard in my life. And then you made that joke about Shakespeare being overrated, and I laughed for like ten minutes. Quietly. Internally.”

Y/N’s lips parted, stunned.

“I never talked to you,” he said, voice dropping. “Because I didn’t know how. Because every time I tried, I got so nervous I couldn’t form a sentence. You made me nervous.”

She blinked rapidly. “Yeosang—”

“I’m sorry I didn’t stop you sooner,” he said. “I’m sorry I stood there like a statue instead of saying everything I’ve wanted to say for years. But I’m saying it now. I like you. I’ve liked you since before we ever spoke. I like your weird movie rants and your angry typing and your laugh when you don’t care who’s listening. I like you.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “You… really mean that?”

He nodded. “I do.”

Silence stretched between them.

Around them, the chatter had quieted. A few people had definitely heard. Someone near the espresso machine was visibly eavesdropping.

But Y/N didn’t care anymore.

Because Yeosang was in front of her.

Heart open.

Hands warm on her shoulders.

And nothing else mattered.

She stepped closer, barely a breath between them now.

“Say it again?” she asked, a whisper.

“I like you.”

She smiled, tears slipping down her cheeks.

“I like you too,” she whispered back. “Even when you’re a statue.”

He let out a breathy laugh, full of disbelief—and then, slowly, carefully, pulled her into his arms.

And this time?

Neither of them pulled away.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Yeosang didn’t let go.

Not when her arms slipped around his waist.

Not when her forehead pressed against his shoulder.

Not even when they both noticed the awkward silence around them.

Someone coughed loudly from a nearby table.

A girl whispered, “Did you see that? Oh my God.”

Another person muttered something about calling dibs on writing a campus confessions post about it.

Yeosang slowly pulled back, eyes flicking up—then immediately down, cheeks flushing pink.

Y/N peeked around his shoulder.

At least four people were staring.

“I—um,” she stammered, eyes wide. “Maybe we should… go.”

Yeosang nodded, already reaching for her hand. “Yeah. Come on.”

They walked quickly, barely speaking, too overwhelmed to say anything coherent.

Y/N’s hand stayed tucked in his the whole way.

His palm was warm.

Steady.

When they got to the dorm, the house was empty—blessedly, finally quiet.

The guys were all out: some in class, some gaming elsewhere, one probably asleep in the library.

Yeosang opened the door and let her in first.

No chaos. No teasing.

Just… peace.

He kicked off his shoes and led her up the stairs to his room without a word, their hands still tangled.

When the door shut behind them, she turned slowly, still catching her breath.

Yeosang stood near his desk, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

His hair was slightly messy, and his cheeks still held a soft flush.

It was quiet.

Safe.

“Hey,” Y/N said softly.

He looked up.

“I’m still kind of reeling,” she admitted with a shy smile. “You—you really meant all of it?”

He nodded. “Every word.”

She sat on the edge of his bed. “I didn’t know you were into dramatic public declarations.”

“I wasn’t,” he said honestly. “But… you were walking away. And I panicked.”

Her chest squeezed. “I almost didn’t tell you at all.”

“Why did you?”

She swallowed. “Because I liked you too much not to. And I thought maybe… if I said it, I could finally move on.”

He stepped closer, something soft and searching in his gaze. “Do you still want to?”

“Move on?” she asked.

He nodded.

She shook her head.

Slowly.

“No,” she whispered. “I just want to move closer.”

She stood up.

They were barely a foot apart now.

She reached for his hand—slowly, deliberately—and watched as he laced their fingers together.

“Can I…” she whispered. “Can I kiss you?”

Yeosang didn’t answer right away.

He just stared at her like she was something sacred.

Then, finally—quietly—he nodded.

She leaned in.

Their noses brushed. Her hand slid up to his shoulder, his to her waist. And for a second, they just breathed the same air, hearts pounding between them.

And then—finally—

She kissed him.

Softly.

Gently.

With every slow, aching beat of the past few weeks blooming between their lips.

Yeosang kissed her back like he’d been waiting years.

And maybe he had.

At first, the kiss was soft.

Like they were afraid to break it.

But then Yeosang’s hand slid up her back.

And everything shifted.

His fingers found the nape of her neck, gentle but grounding, as his mouth pressed firmer against hers — less hesitant now, more sure, like something inside him had finally snapped free.

Y/N’s breath caught.

She wasn’t prepared for this. For him like this.

Because Yeosang — who was always quiet, always composed, always lingering just outside the center of attention — was kissing her like he meant it.

Like he’d imagined it.

Like he’d waited years to feel this.

His other hand slid to her waist, pulling her closer, their bodies now chest to chest. She let out a soft noise against his mouth, and he kissed her again — deeper this time, more urgent, like the room had gone silent and she was the only thing left in the world.

She gripped the front of his hoodie, heart hammering, knees slightly weak. Her other hand found his jaw — sharp, warm, real — and the feel of him under her fingertips made her dizzy.

They moved in sync, one kiss blurring into the next.

Everything else faded — the dorm, the walls, the time, her nerves — all of it.

Gone.

Just Yeosang.

Just the warmth of his lips and the way he tilted his head and exhaled so softly when she tugged him closer.

And then—

“BROOOO—”

The door slammed open.

“—GUYS. You will not BELIEVE the—OH MY GOD WHAT THE—”

Y/N yelped and broke the kiss instantly, stumbling a step back.

Yeosang’s hands shot to her arms, steadying her, eyes wide, lips very kissed.

In the doorway stood Wooyoung.

Behind him? Mingi. Then San. Then Yunho, already starting to wheeze-laugh.

They all froze.

No one said a word.

Then—

“ARE YOU SERIOUS?” Wooyoung shouted gleefully. “I LEAVE FOR TWO HOURS AND THIS HAPPENS?”

Yeosang, completely red-faced, cleared his throat and muttered, “Can you… get out?”

“You made out!” San said, dramatically clutching his chest. “Our boy made OUT.”

“I told you!” Mingi pointed at Yunho. “I TOLD YOU he’d be freaky in private!”

Y/N covered her face with both hands, mortified.

Yeosang looked like he wanted to melt into the floor.

“I swear to god,” he muttered, “if one of you breathes wrong, I’m locking this door for eternity.”

Wooyoung saluted. “Carry on, Romeo.”

Then the door slammed shut again.

Silence.

Then Y/N, still blushing, peeked at Yeosang.

“…They’re never going to let us live that down, are they?”

He sighed.

Then smiled.

“No. But I don’t care.”

She blinked.

He stepped forward again, voice softer now.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you like that for so long.”

Her heart jumped. “Really?”

He nodded, gaze never leaving hers. “And… I’d kind of like to keep going. If you want.”

She laughed — breathless, flushed, floating.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I really want.”

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The next morning, Y/N walked into the café with a spring in her step and dread in her soul.

Because her best friend was already waiting at their usual table — grinning.

And she knew.

“Morning,” Y/N said innocently, setting her bag down.

Her best friend took one look at her, sipped her coffee like it was tea in a courtroom drama, and said:

“So. You and Abs Boy?”

Y/N choked on air. “Wh—what?!”

“Don’t you what me,” she said, pointing a perfectly painted nail. “Wooyoung already posted about it in the group chat. Something about walking in on a ‘PG-13 Yeosang experience.’”

“I—He—We—It wasn’t like—!”

Her best friend arched a brow.

Y/N gave up and dropped her face into her hands. “We kissed, okay?”

“I know.” She smirked. “So. Was it good?”

Y/N groaned.

“Oh my god it was good.”

“AHA!”

“I hate you.”

“No, you love me,” her best friend said sweetly. “Now. Spill.”

Y/N peeked up from her fingers. “He kissed me like he forgot what air was.”

Her best friend clutched her chest. “I knew shy boys had it in them!”

Y/N was still blushing so hard her ears hurt. “And then the others walked in.”

“WHAT.”

“It was chaos.”

“I miss everything,” she hissed dramatically. “I need a full reenactment.”

Before Y/N could bury herself in embarrassment any further, her phone buzzed.

Yeosang

“Heading to campus. Want to meet after class?”

Her heart jumped.

She tried to type something normal. She failed. She typed “yes” with three exclamation marks, deleted it, retyped it with one, then deleted that and sent a simple:

“Yeah, I’d love to.”

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Yeosang was not prepared for what walking into the dorm kitchen would be like the next morning.

The second he stepped into the room:

A chorus of wolf whistles.

“Ohhh, look who’s alive!” San called. “Barely survived the night, huh?”

“Was it romantic?” Mingi asked with fake curiosity. “Did you quote poetry?”

“Did you even breathe between kisses?” Wooyoung added, waving his cereal spoon.

Yeosang grabbed a banana and ignored them.

“Bro,” Yunho said, grinning. “You’re glowing.”

“Glowing?” Seonghwa repeated, arms crossed. “He floated down the stairs.”

Yeosang just sighed and peeled his banana.

“Are you gonna tell us how it happened?” Jongho asked, sipping his tea.

“No.”

“So she made the first move?” Wooyoung guessed.

“She asked if she could kiss me,” Yeosang mumbled.

Cue absolute uproar.

“She WHAT?!”

“That’s hot.”

“I’m jealous.”

“I told you she liked you!”

Yeosang rubbed the back of his neck and, despite himself, smiled.

“She kissed me,” he said again. “And it felt… right.”

The room quieted for a moment.

Then San clutched a hand to his heart. “Our Yeosang is in love.”

Yeosang didn’t deny it.

Because honestly?

He was.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The group hangout was Yunho’s idea.

Which meant chaos was guaranteed.

He claimed it would be “a chill little gathering” at the dorm with “just snacks and a few games.” Naturally, this translated to three boxes of pizza, mismatched playlists, and half of ATEEZ already arguing over Mario Kart when Y/N and her best friend arrived.

“Welcome to the zoo,” Y/N whispered as they stepped inside.

Her best friend’s eyes immediately locked on Wooyoung, who grinned and pointed. “You. Still ignoring my charm?”

She smirked. “What charm?”

The room howled.

Mingi clutched his chest. “Bro, she’s gonna ruin you.”

“Ruin me gently, please,” Wooyoung said dramatically, earning a pillow to the face.

Meanwhile, Yeosang had come down from his room at the first sound of Y/N’s voice.

He wasn’t glowing exactly, but he might as well have been.

He made his way to her slowly, quietly, like always — but when she turned and smiled at him, the room blurred.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey,” she echoed, stepping into his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And this time?

No nerves.

No second-guessing.

Just warmth.

Her best friend gave her a subtle thumbs-up across the room. Y/N tried not to grin too hard.

The rest of the evening was a blur of snacks, teasing, and way too many stories being told at Yeosang’s expense.

“He used to turn bright red if you asked him his favorite movie,” Seonghwa said, mid-game.

“He once wrote Y/N’s name on his notebook and then panicked and tore the page out,” Jongho added proudly.

Yeosang buried his face in Y/N’s shoulder. “Why did I agree to this.”

“Because,” she whispered, smiling, “you like me.”

He peeked up at her. “I really do.”

Later, when the games wound down and people started sprawling out across the dorm in various stages of post-pizza coma, Y/N and Yeosang found themselves back in his room.

Just the two of them again.

She sat cross-legged on his bed, fingers playing with the edge of his hoodie.

“I never thought this would happen,” she admitted quietly.

“What? Us?”

She nodded. “I thought you didn’t even notice me.”

He leaned forward, hand finding hers. “I noticed everything.”

She looked up, breath catching.

He smiled. “The way you drink tea like it’s serious business. How you hum when you’re reading. That tiny crease in your eyebrow when you’re confused.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered.

Yeosang squeezed her hand. “You used to feel so far away. Like something I wasn’t brave enough to reach for.”

“And now?”

“And now,” he said, leaning closer, “you’re here.”

She kissed him — soft, slow, content.

No rush. No panic.

Just them.

Weeks later, a new semester started.

People still whispered when they walked across campus together — the quiet top student and the girl who used to complain about him nonstop.

But now?

She held his hand.

He kissed her forehead before class.

And when they passed the café where everything changed, she smiled and said, “Still think I was imagining it?”

He shook his head. “Not even for a second.”

Because the thing about Yeosang and Y/N?

They took a while.

But the best things always do.

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

[rahuratna]

Synopsis: Part 2, in which Soshiro invites you for a memorable drink on the rooftop, brings you dinner ... and tests the limit of your control when you're made to read poetic verse, while he explores the rest of you.

Contents: Romance, humour, explicit sexual content, oral sex (fem receiving) and penetrative sex.

WC: 4669 (Part 2) Part 1

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

Part 2

Was this a form of flirting?

If it was, you were in trouble.

The exchange of numbers with Hoshina had meant a few texts, short and perfunctory, regarding the time and place of the training session.

It was afterwards that the pictures started coming in.

He'd send you a photo every day, at variable times, of something he'd come across, whether a cute cat, or a new drink in the vending machine, a bandaged foot (not his own), a document that he'd underlined neatly in sparkly purple gel pen to annoy another vice-captain, or a cloud in the shape of a honju (debateable).

Of course, you sent him photos back.

You had a potted plant that looked like an angry moustached man at just the right angle.

He loved that one.

He now asked for updates on "Cadet Mario."

In all honesty, you'd never thought that your connection with Hoshina would progress beyond this. He'd spoken to you, that time on the roof, about the warnings he'd given his own squad on forming such bonds.

You supposed that your job meant that you were less at risk, not being in the direct line of fire, but Hoshina was the kind to think about the impact on others if something were to happen to him.

So you did wonder about the fact that he had let this continue to the extent that it had, that he'd opened up these lines of communication, that he'd let you feel something from his end that couldn't be dismissed as mere friendship.

It was as if he'd left a trail of breadcrumbs for you to follow through winding woods, as was his custom, allowing you to be the one to find a circuitous, but complete, route to the answer.

Speaking of breadcrumbs ...

Your phone buzzed with a new message from him.

Towelling off your hair, you opened it to find a photo of a scene that looked highly familiar. It was the section of roof where you'd taken tea with him before.

Beneath the photo, a single question mark.

He was asking you to join him.

On some level, you hated that you instinctually understood each of these markers he laid down for you, a gleaming series of neon arrows that nobody else seemed privy to.

Of course, you followed.

On the roof, it was always chilly. You found him in the same spot as before, looking quite comfortable in his nook.

He had a blanket draped over his shoulders, the teapot and cups laid out before him, along with a flask of what you presumed to be boiling water.

The flask was sealed. He'd waited for you.

As you approached, he sat up, grinning.

"So, you showed up."

As if he hadn't known that you would.

You seated yourself opposite, gesturing with your chin at the teapot.

"What have you got there?"

"Nothing special this time. But it's good."

He let the tea steep before he poured you a cup. You warmed your fingers against it, taking a sip.

"It's - "

"I know," he interrupted. "Can tell from the way your eyes light up. That's when you really like something."

A tightness seemed to be growing in your throat.

"You notice things like that?"

"I notice everything. Not a single thing escapes me."

"Do you think that's a good thing?"

He didn't answer, but took a drink himself.

He set the cup down.

"What do you do, 'bout a thing you notice that can't be changed?"

You smiled.

"You of all people don't know the answer?"

He was looking at you now, a rare moment of completely serious regard.

"Gotta confess, I'm kinda stumped."

"You adapt."

He laughed, and though he'd done it dozens of times in your presence, you decided that you'd never get tired of hearing it.

"Adapt, huh? Shoulda known. I'm a stubborn bastard. That sort of thing doesn't come easily to me. If it did, I'd have chosen a different weapon ages ago."

The wind gusted between you, catching the ends of his hair.

He held out a hand to you, and for all of his teasing, for all of his charm, for all of the sharp edges that slid beneath the skin, there was something almost vulnerable about the motion, as if he was not quite sure if you'd accept.

This uncertainty was precisely why you didn't hesitate.

You made your way over, crouching to sit beside him. He draped the blanket over your shoulders, one arm tucking securely around your waist as he drew you close.

He didn't speak for a moment, as if processing the sensation of you against him.

Then his breath stirred the hairs curling around your ear, warmer than even the woollen covering around you.

"This is nice."

"It is."

"Better than sparring?"

"If I answer that honestly, will you - "

You cut off at the sensation of his lips against your cheek, softer than your wildest imaginings.

He spoke against your skin.

"Continue."

" ... um, will you be less - "

Another kiss, lower.

"Mhmm."

"... less hard on me than last ti -"

This one was right at the corner of your mouth, hot and wet. 

"Can't make no promises."

There was no denying the huskiness that had crept into his voice, the way his fingers tightened on your waist. His breath washed over your lips as you turned your head to face him.

When his mouth slotted over yours, you suddenly realised why he'd chosen this particular tea.

It was the same one you'd gifted him the first time he'd come over to the control room, brewed in the small kitchenette.

You could taste it as he pried you open, in the tracing of his tongue against your own and the prick of his teeth against your lower lip, silk and steel, hungry and gentle.

Hoshina kissed like a gentleman on the verge of surrendering to rougher urges. Considerate, sweet, courteous even, but you didn't miss the way his breathing quickened, the way his fingers flexed against your hip, the way he delved deeper as if he needed more, more, more of you.

When you parted, your eyes fluttered open, taking in the sight of him watching you.

"Is that good?"

"Very."

This time, you took the initiative, tilting your head, reveling in the hush that seemed to fall when you lost yourself in him.

A series of kisses, the soft touch of your mouth to his, delicate as the opening of one flower to another, before he deepened it again.

This was how you reached for the parts of him that he didn't readily show, a message spelled in the cocoon of intimacy built around the both of you on this rooftop.

You spoke wordless promises to him, as you cradled the side of his face, fingers running up into his hair. It was just as soft as you'd imagined, and you felt a surge of tenderness rise in you at the thought that he was so strong in every other sense, but never infallible. 

He paused to breathe against the side of your neck, brow tense and furrowed with the focus he held on what you made him feel.

His hand settled on the small of your back, asking a question.

"Stay with me a bit longer?"

"Of course."

When your head sank into the space between his shoulder and cheek, you realised that nothing had ever felt this natural.

Neither of you set much store by labels.

Your days continued much the same as always, apart from the dreaded blare of sirens that accompanied a kaiju sighting.

There was, however, a small, delicious warmth you held inside yourself all day, like the heat imparted from a teacup into chilled palms.

Even if you didn't get to see him, he never failed to check in, with either a message or a call, if time allowed for it.

You supposed that most would barely call this a relationship of any kind, but you knew that your bond with him went a little beyond that.

Oh, there were copious amounts of teasing and verbal sparring, all Hoshina's specialties, but there was also a studied consideration, a mindfulness of everything that you were, the prelude to the kind of devotion that you couldn't afford to dwell on too deeply.

You were already in danger, and you knew it.

On this particular evening, considering the fact that there'd been no emergencies, Hoshina was going to drop by your apartment later.

As you were part of the shift work monitoring and research crew, it wasn't necessary for your lodgings to be on site.

Not that you'd gone far. Your apartment was a stone's throw from the base itself, within walking distance.

The weather was growing cooler, and you opened the door to Soshiro in a warm jacket and jeans, a purple scarf wrapped snugly up to his ears.

His cheeks were slightly flushed from the brisk walk he must have taken here, and his snaggle tooth peeked out from within his growing smile.

You waited, with what little patience you possessed, for him to step inside, helping him with the bags he carried, before turning and wrapping your arms around him tightly.

A soft huff of amusement blew through your hair.

"Couldn't wait to see me?"

You shook your head.

If you told him the truth, that he looked positively adorable, and wholly unlike the trained kaiju-killer you knew him to be, you'd probably be subjected to another brutal 'sparring session' as a 'gentle reminder.'

Releasing him reluctantly, you sniffed at the air.

"You brought ... spicy cod stew, braised ribs and grilled mushrooms and ... is that red bean mochi?"

He whistled, fingers forming an 'L' beneath his chin.

"Right, right, right and ... right again. What are you scientists made of?"

"Greed. Pure greed."

"I shoulda known. You're so greedy for my kisses too."

That was your cue.

You ignored it and headed for the bags of food, starting to unpack.

It took a whole thirty seconds.

"I said that you're so greedy for my kisses too."

"You did?"

Two wiry, powerful arms swept you away from the food that had dared to steal your attention.

Laughing breathlessly, you were subjected to a merciless series of pinches and pokes to the lower back before he relented.

"Let this be a lesson, Cadet Smartass."

"Consider it taught, Vice Captain Handsome."

"That ain't gonna fly. Make it up to me. Now."

God, you loved it when he got bossy like this.

You started with light pecks to his nose, still cold from the brisk air outside. Placing your hands on his cheeks, you felt the slow release of tension with each exhale, the set of those lean shoulders gradually growing less rigid beneath the soothing movement of your palms.

Although he didn't look like it, Soshiro carried the weight of his reponsibilities in ways that only those closest to him would know.

He uttered a low murmur of satisfaction, the echoes of which vibrated through his chest.

Nose brushing against yours, he held your gaze, one of those moments when the passage of time seemed to cease around the carefully constructed, fragile haven you both existed in.

Only then did he tilt his head, maintaining eye contact to the very last second.

By now, no other part of him touched you, even though you were this close. It was as if he wanted to centre all of the sensation on this first of many kisses for the evening, right here, where you were connected.

The faint line of separation between your bodies didn't last long.

He was slow, thorough, tasting you as if savouring some hard-won delicacy.

By the time you both came up for air, your chest was rising and falling in uneven rhythm against his, hands tangled in his hair, just the way he liked.

He offered that pleased half-smile, the one that twisted a tight knot in your chest.

"Now that's more like it."

"To your satisfaction, sir?"

"Hmm."

"No?"

He tapped his cheek with a finger.

"Maybe one more. For now."

Smiling, you complied.

You eat at the kotatsu, knees pressed together as he insists on serving up, as he always does.

"Spent the whole afternoon answering emails."

"Let me guess, you hit up the training room right after because you were restless?"

He shifted around on his cushion.

"Maybe."

"I'm waiting for the day when someone's ballsy enough to complain about the amount of time you spend in there."

He raised a cheerful finger of admonishment.

"Nobody's that stupid."

"And how would you handle such a complaint, Vice Captain?"

"I'd - "

"Professionally, I mean. Without violence."

"You're such a moodkiller. Hmm. I'd invite them to use the room with me. Maybe spar a little, to help them along!"

"This is your non-violent solution?"

"Sparring is like friendship."

You choked on your noodles.

"Come again?"

"Many ups and downs, and sometimes, you just need to beat the problems out of the way with your fists."

"I think you're the only person who can say this with a straight face."

You paused, expression growing sly.

"What about our sparring sessions? Is that a form of friendship too?"

You yelped as you received a pinch beneath the table.

"Nah, that's different."

"Different how?"

"You sure you wanna have this conversation while we're eating?"

"Go on."

"Well." He cleared his throat. "I've never been bombarded with dad jokes while sparring before, so that's a first."

"My sparkling sense of humour, is it?"

Soshiro sipped his water before shooting you a look that told you just how close you were skirting to danger.

"I also like it when you're all flushed and sweaty."

"Wait - "

"And begging me to stop with tears in your eyes."

"Soshiro - "

"I like when your voice gets all breathy-like, and your hair falls into your face."

"Ah, okay. You talk big game for such a sweet, considerate - "

He was crawling towards you now, and you backed away, helpless with laughter.

"I'm sweet and considerate? Oh, darlin', let me show you how - "

"The food - "

"Can wait."

When Soshiro wants you, he makes it known in a dozen different ways.

His very presence in your space adds a charge to the air, like the distant rumble before a thunderstorm comes sweeping in.

You can sense it in the lowered pitch of his voice, in the way his touch lingers, soft and inviting, drawing subtle patterns across your skin.

In spite of all of his teasing, intimacy was not something that came easily to him. With all the time he'd spent guarding his heart against further disappointment, against hope, against the pain of losing others, he'd constructed a formidable wall around the sentimental parts of himself.

The forging of your bond with him leaned heavily on how you respected those boundaries, never pushing too hard, allowing him space and the ability to come to you when he needed.

He showed his appreciation for this clearly, in ways that tugged at some deep-seated instinct to treasure him, spoil him, give him all of yourself when you were together.

On one such evening, he'd been lounging on his back not far from where you sat, cushions piled beneath him, one ankle propped high.

Both of you were occupied with your own reading, Soshiro balancing a slim volume on his raised knee.

There was a faint smile playing at his lips as he read, one that invoked a sense of curiosity.

Catching your look, he raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah?"

"What are you reading?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Oh, come on - "

His glance flicked from the book to you, and back.

"Why don't you come over here and see?"

Your eyes narrowed.

"What are you up to?"

He lowered the page he was on, tantalizingly out of reach, offering you a brief glimpse.

"My sweetheart doesn't trust me? That kinda hurts."

"Now you're just playing dirty."

Amusement rising, you shuffled across to him, attempting to ignore the self-satisfied expression he now wore.

"All right, now show me."

"A translation of Piedra de Sol" he drawled in your ear, as you settled beside him, "I picked it up in a second hand book store last week."

He shifted against you, nose brushing yours as he turned his head, the book passing over into your own hands.

"Here. Read for me."

A little confused as to the sudden switch to compliance, you leaned back, starting to read where his pointing finger guided you.

"I travel my way through galleries of sound, I flow among echoing presences ... "

You trailed off as his head fell against your shoulder.

"I've only just started and you're swooning already?"

He remained silent, and you continued, a small smile playing on your lips. Soshiro liked listening to your voice echoing in the cosy silence of the apartment at times.

" ... oh forest of pillars that are enchanted, through arches of light I travel into the corridors of a diaphonous fall ... " 

He let out a sigh, fingers trailing over your midriff.

"... I travel your body, like the world, your belly is a plaza full of sun ... "

Oh. What a honeyed trap.

Was this why he'd been smiling?

" ... your breasts two churches where blood performs its own parallel rites ... "

Your voice faltered slightly and he raised his head, nuzzling the side of your neck.

"Ain't it too early for you to be gettin' all flustered?"

"You chose this one on purpose, didn't you?"

The roughened tips of his fingers tilt your head toward him, and the touch of his lips is brief on yours, no more than a taste.

"Maybe. What's wrong with lettin' you know all ... the places ... I want ... to explore?"

Each of these phrases is puntuated by another small peck. Soshiro's voice has deepened to a low rumble, the kind that serves as a prelude to when he's truly taken by you.

Your head moves forward, chasing another kiss, but he stops you with a finger to the lips.

If you could enshrine this moment in the shimmering haze of memory, it would be no less vivid.

In the dim light, there is a crushing intimacy to the way he looks at you. His natural mischief is amplified to something many-layered, fraught with endless possibility.

You want to place kisses at the corners of his eyes, worship the tracery of veins on those strong, sinewy arms, brush his hair back until his forehead is bared to your adoration.

You know, however, that this time you're surrendering control to him.

Biting your lip, you ask a wordless question with the slight lowering of your eyelids.

Soshiro's smile widens.

"Keep reading."

Now, he descends, and you feel the splay of his hands over your sides, running up beneath the thin material of your sleep shirt.

You utter a short gasp as his head slips beneath, face burying itself between your breasts.

He stills for a minute, and you know what's expected of you.

Raising the book, you resume, voice tight and breathless with anticipation.

" ... my glances cover you like ivy, you are a city the sea assaults ..."

He rucks the shirt upward, the hypnotic depth of his gaze making it hellishly difficult to focus as his mouth comes down around your nipple, surrounding it in intoxicating wet heat.

You inhale sharply, clutching at the cover, unable to help the hitch in your voice as he works sinfully over sensitive flesh.

Releasing you, he exhales hot against your dampened skin.

"Wanna hear more, sweet thing. Come on."

"... a stretch of ramparts ... split by light in two ... halves ... the colour of peaches ... ah!"

A short, sharp cry, uncontrollable, as his canines press into and tug on your other breast, tongue laving with heady abandon over the swell of it.

"... a ... d - domain of ... salt, rocks and birds ... mmm ... under ... the ... rule ...."

Punctuated by soft gasps, your hand flies down from its convulsive hold on the volume, threading through his hair as he growls low with approval.

Your hips are bucking upward of their own accord, as if connected by some puppeteer's invisible string to each lick, each sink of his teeth followed by soft suckling.

"... dressed ... ah ... in the colour ... o - of my desires ... "

The book almost falls from your grasp as he suddenly shifts lower, those large hands cupping your breasts and giving a squeeze as he plants heated kisses down, down, down to your navel.

"Soshi - "

"C'mon, lemme hear you."

"Please, I - "

Your legs fall open as his shoulders push your thighs apart. He pauses, stopping agonizingly short of the softness of your inner thigh.

Breath fans out, hot and shockingly intimate, between your legs, the thin material of your underwear the only barrier between you and him.

When he speaks, you feel the heavy, purposeful intent of each word, almost as if his fingers are already breaching you.

"Wanna stop there, sweetheart? I can smell how much she wants a taste."

You body jerks in response, held down by the immovable circle of his arms around your upper thighs. The corded strain of his biceps press into you.

Arching your back, you plunge headlong into your final refrain.

"I travel your eyes, like the sea ... tigers drink their dreams in those ... "

You cut off, breathing heavily as he tugs down your underwear, leaving you bare under his scrutiny.

He looks positively ravenous now, a slow unspooling of the threads of control, easing the reigns from his hands.

This is your Soshiro, stubborn, proud, lit from within with some unholy hunger for life, for you.

Your voice brings his eyes up to yours, each now hypnotized by the other in equal parts.

"The hummingbird burns in those flames ... "

His gaze never wavers from yours, dark and delightful as he lowers his head, one languid swipe of his tongue parting your folds like petals.

The book really does slip from your grasp now, landing on your stomach with a sharp slap.

Soshiro, spreads you with two fingers, placing his mouth over your clitoris. He exerts a soft suction, agonisingly gentle, not nearly enough.

Ragged, soft moans escaping you, the book is retrieved with shaking fingers.

"I - I travel ... "

The moment you start up again, he pushes his nose forward, inhaling deeply as he laps at you with firm, eager strokes.

Your lower body is held completely open, at his mercy by the strength he now exerts over you.

" ... travel ... your forehead ... like ... ah! ... like the .... moon ... "

Your resilience, even in the face of his relentless onslaught on your most sensitive parts, spurs him on even more.

He groans against you, tongue pushing further, slow, deep thrusts that spear you.

Soshiro is too lost in the feel of you to keep up the torturous, pleasurable game, one hand flicking up to jerk the book from your grasp.

He wants to see you right now, as you come apart under him, no shield of hushed words to obscure his vision.

One of your hands finds its way into his hair, and you bite down on the length of your finger, watching as the muscles of his shoulders ripple, as sweat beads his brow, as the glistening of your own arousal smears over the sides of his mouth.

Here, all the faint remains of his proper self, the public-facing, professional soldier that he is, can be stripped away, the raw heat of him bared to you.

He loves sweet desserts, snowy evenings in, the rustle of pages beneath the turn of his thumb and the muted hum of his blades in his hands.

He also loves to pleasure you, and receive pleasure in return, to lose himself in ways that only a battle can otherwise allow him to, to shrug off the weight of expectation that has dogged his steps for an eternity and simply be whoever he desires to be.

The immensity of this realisation is what drives you to greater lengths to be here when he needs you, to give so freely of yourself, to give everything he deserves, because he always repays it tenfold in the way he burns, just for you.

His head dips lower, and now you finally break the electric eye contact that lances through you like a golden arrow, mouth falling open as he presses the flat of his tongue against your clitoris and pushes, probing, circling.

Your orgasm wrenches out of you, as if you're some primeval crack in the earth, molten and white hot, body quivering in helpless ecstasy as he holds you tightly in place, even now.

It's complete surrender, loud cries of wordless wonder in the rainforest of humid splendour that he brings you to each time, sacrificed and taken apart in the loving, ferocious jaws of a greater, sinuous beast.

You're distantly aware of the rise and fall of your chest, ragged breathing that you recognise as your own, the slick press of his lips against your thighs, soothing you, grounding you.

Lean and lithe, he crawls over you, one thumb sliding down across your cheek. He kisses you, exultant in the return of your essence; a benediction.

If you could find the ability to speak, you'd praise him.

For now, you're content with the way his mouth curves against yours, delicate and knowing.

You're off the hook for now, swimming the deep, thrumming currents of the hazy aftershock, but he's not done with you yet.

Soshiro fucks like he fights, warm, fierce, probing each weak point until you claw at him, taking you apart from the inside.

The futon edges along the floor as he takes you with abandon, with none of the finesse he started with.

You are his opponent, his lover, the dance between your bodies playing out in this shadowed room as raw and primal as any battle he's fought.

You're not even aware of the noises that are escaping your throat, flying up to the empty expanse of the ceiling as he changes his pace, alternating slow, deep thrusts with the rapid, shallow beat of his body against yours.

There is nothing calculated here. Soshiro operates on pure, animalistic instinct, blended with the art of his own supreme physicality.

He knows your body so well, the way to bring you to the brink and then tug you back into a deep well of formless pleasure.

He never takes his eyes from you, as he must record, on some inner spool of memory, the way you look beneath him, tears tracking down into your hair, mouth open, breathless pleas and sharp, agonised cries, the swaying lift of your breasts with each eager push of his hips.

His feet press down into the floor, anchoring you both as he hoists your legs higher around his waist.

You can feel him so deep now, your eyes snapping open, a soft, panicked noise fluttering out of you as he grinds in a slow circle, dragging against your over-sensitized clitoris.

Your second orgasm of the night floods through you in an endless series of waves, each driving the breath from your lungs as your fingers dig into his shoulders, as if the solid heat of him would keep you staked here, at the edge of sanity.

The way he looks now, tensing, tendons standing out in his neck as he comes with a near-bestial snap of his hips, hissing and groaning as, for just a moment, you feel the full, unbridled force of his strength, is nothing short of divine.

You love seeing him like this, your best kept secret.

In the golden light that filters from the neighbouring room, you run your hands over the carved planes of his body, damp with sweat made between the both of you.

He rolls to the side, drawing you close in the crook of his arm, your breath mingling as you both recover.

Soshiro loves like he fights, giving every last inch of himself, even now as he whispers to you, fingers threading through your hair, so many secrets that the world will never hear.

A/N: I just know this man eats pussy like it's his last supper. Hope you enjoyed it! I plan to possibly write more parts because I have so many ideas for Hoshina, lol.

A link to the poem, Piedra de Sol, by Octavio Paz (translated), can be found here. One of my favourites, and one I think Hoshina would appreciate.

Tagging any who may be interested in Part 2: @kentocalls @pomonarose @sannpei @ginibeanie @sadnessiscoldtea @purcupinata7777 @averyjadedemerald @hikaru097 @nakidorihana @sinceresinnery @mrs--healy @rinji-k @hqopcentric @garden-variety-reader

[suppermariobroth]

In Mario Kart: Super Circuit, if a racer slips on a banana peel and hits a wall at the finish line, a glitch occurs whereby the game will count the racer as having completed a lap every 2 frames, or around 0.03 seconds.

As SNES Donut Plains 1 has the closest item boxes to the starting line, allowing a banana to be obtained the fastest of all tracks, it can be completed the fastest using this glitch. In the footage, Toad takes 2 seconds to get a banana and then a few more fractions of a second to complete all five laps, finishing in 2.21 seconds. Note the times on the summary at the end.

Main Blog | Twitter | Patreon | Small Findings | Source: 1: spaceland07, 2

[lucy-literates]

Whaddup 😛 you're fav requester (hopefully) is pulling you for a chat.. I'm asking for another singer!reader fic, where Malachi is your biggest fan, memorizes all the words to your songs, and drags MK and Freya to your concerts

A/N: Wassssssupppp! Thank you for your requests, I love them! They're so fun! Please enjoy! Send in more requests if you have them :)

Front Row Feelings

Malachi Barton had never been quiet about his obsessions. Spicy chips. Retro sneakers. Winning Mario Kart tournaments against MK. But ever since he stumbled upon your debut single on TikTok, there was a new item at the top of the list:

You.

Not just your face—though he’d be lying if he said your album cover hadn’t been his lockscreen for weeks—but your voice. Your lyrics. Your laugh during interviews. Your presence on stage. You weren’t just a singer to him. You were a whole experience.

And he felt every damn lyric you wrote.

So naturally, when your tour hit LA, he was front row. Dragging MK and Freya with him like they were kids getting pulled into Target on a Sunday.

“I swear to God, if I hear one more ‘she’s my soulmate’ from you—” MK groaned, adjusting his hoodie as they walked into the venue.

“She is my soulmate,” Malachi said with full chest. “You just don’t get it.”

Freya laughed, nudging him. “You literally watched her music video twelve times yesterday.”

“Because she’s art.”

MK rolled his eyes, but Freya was already grinning. “Honestly, I’m just here for the drama. If Malachi faints mid-chorus, I want it on camera.”

Malachi ignored them, already buzzing with energy. He had the setlist memorized, had even bought VIP just to get as close as possible. The lights dimmed. Screams erupted. And then—you stepped on stage.

Wearing black leather pants, boots that sparkled under the lights, and a loose oversized jersey that said your name on the back. A total Midwest girl, wrapped in edgy pop-star energy. You looked ridiculous hot.

He didn’t even try to play it cool. He was screaming every word, arms raised, heart thumping against his ribs like it wanted to leap out and confess itself.

You caught his eye halfway through your second song.

You didn’t miss the way he pointed at you when you sang the line “You’re the only thing I’d drive cross-country for.” Or the way he pulled Freya in for a fake dramatic sob during your heartbreak ballad. You tried not to laugh—but God, he was adorable.

After the show, he thought that was it.

But then someone from your team waved him over. “Hey. You’re Malachi, right?”

He blinked. “Uh. Yeah?”

“She wants to see you backstage.”

MK nearly choked on his gum. “No way.”

Freya shoved him forward. “Go, lover boy.”

When Malachi stepped into your dressing room, it was like time slowed down.

You were sitting on the counter, still glowing from the show, a towel wrapped around your neck, sipping a smoothie like it wasn’t a huge deal that you’d just set the entire city on fire.

“Took you long enough,” you said, smiling.

His brain short-circuited. “You—wait. You knew I was coming?”

You hopped down and crossed the room, arms wrapping around his neck. “Of course I did. You’ve only tagged me in, like, every story this week.”

He laughed, holding you tight. “That obvious, huh?”

“You’re my favorite fan,” you whispered, kissing his cheek. “And my favorite boy.”

He melted.

Later, when you took a selfie together for your private story and captioned it “my #1 hype man 💿💋”, he reposted it within seconds—with the tag blurred out so the rest of the world still thought he was just a dedicated fanboy.

MK commented: “someone get this man a Grammy for emotional resilience.”

Freya replied: “he cried. I have proof.”

Malachi didn’t care. Because he had the real thing. And he’d sing your lyrics louder than anyone in the crowd, every single time.

Tag List:

@laylayschipzz

@purplerose291

@imnotnotgabrielle

@imnotjadaddy

@23swife

@mysticmarble222

@saphiraelise

@coffeeonvenus 

@casey1-2007

@h3artfili4

@mischivana

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-BLpv0xQYd1bTlaP7l1gAg8AgCyLE_yvrtljpCzlJhY/edit?usp=sharing

[nan-not-found]

"It Started With a Whisper"

Pairing: Denki Kaminari x fem!Reader Inspired By: Everybody Talks by Neon Trees

Word Count: 822

It started with a whisper.

Literally.

You were halfway through lunch, picking apart your onigiri when Mina leaned across the cafeteria table and whispered, “Denki’s been staring at you like you’re a science experiment he’s dying to touch.”

You almost choked.

“What?” you hissed, glancing sideways—only to find Kaminari very obviously looking away with a suspicious redness on his ears. Smooth.

“Oh yeah,” Kirishima added with a grin. “He only gets that look when he’s about to ask someone to co-op in Mario Kart.”

“I think he wants to co-op something else,” Mina smirked, waggling her brows.

“Gross,” you muttered, heat crawling up your neck. “We’re friends.”

“Sure,” Sero chimed in, popping a grape in his mouth. “So why do you get flustered every time he calls you ‘sparky’?”

“I do not.”

“You totally do.”

You grabbed your tray, glaring. “I’m leaving before this turns into a full-blown interrogation.”

As you stood up, Kaminari’s voice called behind you—too loud, as always.

“Wait up! I’ll walk with you!”

Your friends started cackling like hyenas. Kaminari’s smile was sheepish as he jogged to catch up, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re relentless, huh?”

You sighed. “Like vultures circling drama.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll protect your honor,” he said gallantly, puffing out his chest.

You snorted. “From who, exactly? Mina’s weaponized gossip?”

“Exactly. Deadlier than any villain we’ve faced.”

__

It wasn’t always like this.

Denki had always been your friend—loud, goofy, surprisingly kind. It started with small stuff: sharing earbuds during class breaks, syncing up for group projects, him letting you borrow his charger when your phone died during a training exercise. It was easy.

Until it wasn’t.

Until the way he looked at you started making your stomach do weird backflips. Until you noticed he smelled like citrus shampoo and sometimes bit his lower lip when he concentrated. Until your name in his voice started sounding like a lyric, not a nickname.

Worse—people noticed.

Rumors started spreading. Whispers in the hall, classmates teasing him, teasing you. "Kaminari’s totally into them." "Did you hear what he said in the common room last night?" "They’d make such a cute couple—if he doesn’t short-circuit the moment they kiss."

You hated how it made you overthink everything. Every look. Every laugh. Every spark.

It hit a boiling point at the end of week training evaluation.

You were changing out of your gear when you heard two other girls from the General Studies class whispering near the lockers.

“Denki’s kinda hot when he’s serious, huh?”

“Right? He totally zapped that target mid-air like a boss.”

“You think he’s dating that girl from Class 1-A?”

“Nah. She’s cute, but she seems...too uptight for him.”

You stepped out with your boots in your hand, giving them a flat look. “She’s also got good hearing, you know.”

They squeaked and scrambled away, leaving behind nothing but giggles and the faint smell of envy.

--

Later that night, Kaminari found you on the balcony outside the dorms.

You didn’t turn around, just leaned on the railing and said, “People talk too much.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, stepping beside you. “Like, chill. I’m just vibing with my favorite person. Not a crime.”

Your heart skipped.

“You call everyone your favorite person,” you said.

“Yeah, but I only mean it with you.”

You blinked. “Denki—”

He cut you off with a small spark flickering between his fingers. “Look. I know people talk. Like, a lot. And maybe I didn’t help when I—y’know—bragged that we played Smash Bros till 2 AM together last week.”

You snorted. “Did you brag?”

“Okay, maybe. A little. I might’ve said we make a good team.”

You finally looked at him. His expression was open, honest. Boyish. And—hopeful.

“Why?”

“Why’d I say that?” he asked.

“No. Why do you care if people are talking?”

He hesitated. Then took a slow step closer.

“Because maybe I want them to talk. About us. Because maybe I’ve been trying to figure out if you’d let me cross that line between ‘best friend’ and...something else.”

You stared at him, stunned.

Then, very softly: “You’ve already crossed it.”

His grin was slow, but blinding. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“Cool,” he breathed, clearly trying not to short out from excitement. “So... I can kiss you now, right? Like, not hypothetically?”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re such a dork.”

But you leaned in anyway.

The kiss was light—just enough to spark against your lips. Like static in a warm hoodie. Like electricity dancing on skin.

When you pulled back, Denki was grinning like he just beat a boss level.

“Started with a whisper,” he whispered.

You smacked his chest. “Don’t quote Neon Trees at me right now.”

He just laughed, sparks dancing between his fingers and yours.

From somewhere behind the dorm curtains, you heard someone gasp dramatically.

“Oh my god, they’re actually kissing.”

You groaned. “They’re never gonna shut up now.”

Denki winked. “Let ’em talk.”

--

End.

Masterlist

[nintendometro]

Mario Circuit 1 'Super Mario Kart' Super Nintendo Support us on Patreon

[smallmariofindings]

Mario Kart: Super Circuit toy from a 2002 Nintendo/Wendy's cross-promotion event. Note the bizarre inclusion of a 1-Up Mushroom in the corner, which not only does not appear in that game, but has never appeared as a usable item in the entirety of the Mario Kart series.

Main Blog | Twitter | Patreon | Small Findings | Source

[dokidokidraft]

MHA boys HC pt. 2

Includes: Denki Kaminari, Eijiro Kirishima, Hitoshi Shinso

(More next time)

Warning: tinyyyyy but of pervy behaviour from denki! If that makes you uncomfortable please skip his part 🫶

~Denki Kaminari~

-He’s always trying to make you smile and laugh! Lots of inside jokes

-Mario kart tournaments with this guy. He’s the king at any video game, so sorry for your loss. He’s beating you no matter what you try, but if he wants you to smile or feels bad he’ll let you win

-has scars from his quirk. They look like lightning strikes and line up his arms and some on his torso (this isn’t canon I just think it’s good for the character)

-a bit of a perv. Ex: caught staring at you multiple times. LOTS of suggestive comments. “Jokingly” has tried to look up your skirt. Buys you revealing clothes. Encourages you to wear said revealing clothes. Still your number 1 cheerleader tho and we love him •_•

-only he is allowed to be a perv around you. As soon as mineta makes a comment/acts he’ll glare at him. “She’s mine. Go bug Momo”

-When he overuses his quirk/short circuits, he relies completely on instinct. Somehow his instincts always lead him to you. It’s kinda cute

-gets bullied for his quirk. You will literally beat up anyone who does that tho

-such a bubbly personality. He’s such a sweetheart though

-*finger guns*

-has a pikachu plushie and/or onesie

-will charge your phone for you. It hurts him if he does it too much, but on the occasions when he’s fully charged himself, he’s doing it for you

-keep an portable charger with you! This guy forgets his all the time

-super friendly to everyone. Definition of extrovert. He’s always trying to take you out to do things. Once you went to the aquarium with him and he tried to stick his hand in the octopus tank

-sends you memes at 4 am titled “this is literally us”

~Eijiro Kirishima~

-MANLY

-you aren’t allowed to carry anything remotely heavy around him. “Don’t worry sweetheart, I got that for you”

-pays for everything. You simply cannot offer to pay without him faking offence

-toxic masculinity? Who’s that?

-husky morning voice 🙏

-lets you watch him workout. If you what to join he’ll gladly help you use the equipment if you’re new to the gym, or simply be your spotter. If you don’t want to join him, he’s definitely showing off with the weights.

-classic romantic dates. Restaurants, and picnics are his specialty (definitely some gym dates mixed in there)

-always shirtless. He just wants to show off. It’s not like you’re complaining though….

-he’s really insecure about his quirk, and doesn’t think he’s good enough. Just remind him that you love him. Give him loads of attention and affection when he has his panic episodes.

-lets you dye/style his hair. His favourite positions is you sitting in the counter redoing his roots, while he’s in a chair in front of you. He doesn’t even need entertainment, he’s just enjoying the feeling of your gloved hands in his hair.

-loves when you wear his shirts. Especially his Red Riot merch ($-$)

-manly hands 🫡

-He personally doesn’t care much about PDA, he’ll do anything as long as you’re comfortable

-cannot cook for the life of him. Last time he was in the kitchen he caught his toast on fire

~Hitoshi Shinso~

-He is SO sleep deprived. You can tell by the bags under his eyes. Definitely has insomnia or something

-cat cafe dates with him. (I’m seriously thinking of writing a whole damn fanfic of this, just need motivation) he just loves cats sm, and he loves you, so this is the perfect plan according to him.

-needs his coffee in the morning. Can’t function without it. Also has his coffe without any cream or milk (like a psycho)

-Texts you really late at night for no reason. Even if he knows you’re asleep he’ll still do it cuz he’s bored

-messy hair 24/7

-late night walks with him. You guys don’t even have to talk, he’ll just walk with you beside him (he’ll hold your hand if he’s in the mood) and you’ll walk under the moonlight. Also loves to point out constellations to you

-once he grabbed something that you couldn’t reach for you, and you called him “your hero”. He’s never stopped thinking about it since

-usually does his training outside, late at night

-not a headcanon, but I’d just like to say, him in his mask 🛐

-has tired/dead eyes all the time. And looks hot in them too

-wears Jean jackets, hoodies, sweats, those weird fancy cotton shorts. And lets you steal all of them <3

-the type of boyfriend that gets jealous easily. Someone could look at you the wrong way and all of the sudden you guys “forgot to vacuum” and you’re getting swept off your feet and carried to his dorm for some cuddles

-asks for help studying. He does fine academically, he jus wants to spend time with you

Hope you guys enjoyed!!!

@kimyoudraft thought of you while writing for kiri 🫶

[coimbrabertone]

The Long Beach Grand Prix: the F1 Years.

I had initially intended to post about the history of the Long Beach GP daily on twitter/bluesky, however, brevity is a foreign concept to me and character limits are oppressive, therefore, I've decided to do it here instead. Leading into the Long Beach Grand Prix this year, I'm going to do a blog on the initial F1 years, then the CART/Champ Car years, and finally look at the Long Beach GP since the unification of American Open Wheel Racing.

Today is the F1 years.

So naturally, we start with Formula 5000.

Formula 5000 was born in America as a junior Formula series that originated in 1968. The idea was essentially to take a Formula Two sized car and pair it with a 5000cc production V8, something that made a lot of sense in America.

It did not make as much sense when the series was exported to places like Europe, Australia, New Zealand, and South Africa, however, with the likes of Lotus, McLaren, and Brabham no longer producing mass amounts of customer F1 engines, F5000 became the fastest cars these series could get their hands on. Thus, F5000 spread regardless.

By 1975, F5000 was big enough and professional enough that F1 used it as a pilot event to test out the Long Beach street circuit in September 1975, ahead of a full on F1 Grand Prix the following spring.

This 1975 F5000 Grand Prix of Long Beach drew in big names too, with the grid including:

Reigning SCCA F5000 champion Brian Redman of the UK, driving for Carl Haas' racing team.

USAC stars Mario Andretti and Al Unser for Vel's Parnelli Jones Racing.

Australia's Vern Schuppan for Eagle.

South African Jody Scheckter and Englishman David Hobbs for Hogan Racing.

New Zealand's Chris Amon in a Talon.

Gordon Johncock for Patrick Racing.

And many more from the worlds of F1, Indycar, sports cars, junior racing, etc, etc - even some names you might recognize from completely different things, like Graham McRae who I talked about in my last blogpost, or Bill Simpson, who now makes safety equipment throughout the racing world.

Chip Ganassi also once set him on fire.

That's a story for another time though.

Mario and Al would take a Vel's 1-2 in qualifying, while Theodore's Tony Bryce would win the first heat race. Al Unser won the other. This set the stage for the main event.

28 cars would start the race but only eleven would finish, and only three of those were on the lead lap. These lead lap cars were:

Brian Redman in a Lola-Chevrolet on his way to another SCCA F5000 title in 1975.

Vern Schuppan who finishes about thirty seconds behind in his Eagle-Chevrolet.

Canadian Eddie Wietzes in another Lola-Chevrolet.

This was the first win for both Carl Haas and the Lola-Chevrolet combination at Long Beach, but it wouldn't be the last. Carl's team, later rechristened Newman/Haas Racing thanks to investment from Paul Newman, would become a regular winner at Long Beach, while the Lola-Chevrolet was the dominant chassis/engine combination in late 80s and early 90s CART.

Interestingly enough though, that particular pairing of Newman/Haas and a Lola-Chevrolet would only win once more, with Mario Andretti behind the wheel in 1987.

Most of Newman/Haas' success at Long Beach would come with Cosworth power.

That's another story for another day though, the important thing is that the pilot event was successful.

Thus, on March 26th, 1976, F1 came to the streets of Long Beach for the United States Grand Prix West.

1976 is a famous season for the battle between James Hunt and Niki Lauda, with Niki in the Ferrari initially building up a massive gap before a brutal crash at the Nurburgring opened the door for Hunt in the McLaren to claw enough ground back that he was in contention at the final race in Fuji.

Another wet race, Lauda's first since the accident.

Lauda would famously retire from this race, declaring conditions were unsafe, while Hunt would drive through adversity as a puncture and a botched pitstop nearly threw the championship away for McLaren, but in the end, Hunt did just enough. His third place gave him the title by one point.

Nobody saw that scenario coming at Long Beach, however.

Lauda had swept the first two races at Brazil and South Africa, and while Hunt took both poles and gave Lauda a fight at Kyalami, ultimately, Lauda won and he finished second.

Lauda was on 18 points from two wins, Hunt had 6 from his single second place.

It wasn't even enough for second place in the championship, as Patrick Depailler in the Tyrrell - not yet the six-wheeler, that would be introduced in Spain - had taken second in Brazil and a seventh in South Africa, so he was ahead of Hunt with the same number of points thanks to quality of results.

All this set the stage for round three, Long Beach.

The first of two US races in the season, with Watkins Glen hosting the traditional USGP while Long Beach had the USGP West, this was the second time the same country hosted two races. The first was Italy in 1957, which hosted both the Italian Grand Prix at Monza, and a Pescara Grand Prix on a circuit so fearsome, even Enzo Ferrari didn't send his drivers.

The guy who they called Saturn, devourer of sons, thought Pescara was too dangerous to race at.

Thus, Pescara was a one-off, but Long Beach was hoping to be a more permanent edition.

There were some problems though, because between rough American city streets and the close proximity of concrete walls, the field would have to be limited to twenty cars.

Jacky Ickx, driving for the merged Wolf-Williams team, would be one of the seven cars going home.

Ferrari's Clay Regazzoni, meanwhile, would take pole. Patrick Depailler would take second, James Hunt was just behind in third, while Niki Lauda qualified fourth. Tom Pryce in a Shadow was fifth, while everyone else was half a second back from Pryce or more. These guys were going to be the contenders.

Regazzoni would rocket off the grid and lead, while Depailler and Hunt would battle for second - something that was no doubt made an even fiercer battle by the fact that they were both ahead of Lauda, so whoever finished second amongst them would not only move into second in the championship, but they'd gain on the championship leader in a real way.

Unfortunately, they got a little bit too focused on this scenario and wound up screwing themselves.

Depailler forced Hunt to go around him in the hairpin, which ended in disaster as Hunt crashed into the wall on lap four. Hunt was out of the race, and he'd make his feelings known, shaking his fist at Depailler every time the Frenchman passed him.

Patrick didn't necessarily get away scot free either, because Lauda would pass Depailler for second on the very next lap.

Things then went from bad to worse for Patrick as he spun around and dropped to seventh. He'd get back two positions within six laps as he passed Jean-Pierre Jarier in the Shadow for sixth followed by Ronnie Peterson in the March for fifth.

Next up on the list for Patrick was the other Shadow of Tom Pryce, who retired on lap 32. This gave Depailler fourth place.

Then Patrick's own teammate Jody Scheckter retired two laps later with a suspension failure, moving one Tyrrell onto the podium at the cost of the other.

Depailler was on a charge and he'd close the gap to Lauda to just 7.5 seconds at the end, which is remarkable given the utter odyssey of a race that he had, but it wasn't enough to stop the Ferrari 1-2.

It was a career day for Clay Regazzoni who took pole, led every lap, took fastest lap, and won to take a grand slam victory. Niki Lauda in second extended his championship lead, while Patrick Depailler's third place kept him second in the championship.

Ligier's Jacques Laffite, McLaren's Jochen Mass, and Copersucar's Emerson Fittipaldi completed the points.

The race played into the themes of 1976 perfectly, with Ferrari dominant in the early stages, Hunt being devastatingly quick but not having the consistency, and the Tyrrells being just fast enough to play the role of spoiler.

Indeed, Scheckter and Depailler would finish third and fourth in the standings, ahead of both of Lauda and Hunt's teammates.

Thus, the first F1 race at Long Beach was a success.

1977 would bring the first American win at Long Beach as Mario Andretti in the Lotus 78 took the victory.

1978 was back in Ferrari's control as Carlos Reutemann won and became the first driver to sweep the American races in the season as he'd also win Watkins Glen at the end of the season.

1979 would go to Ferrari again as Gilles Villeneuve took his third career win. Gilles would repeat Reutemann's feat and win both Long Beach and Watkins Glen.

1980 and 1981 would prove interesting, as Nelson Piquet in a Brabham won 1980 before Alan Jones in a Williams won 1981, inverse of their championships (Jones won 1980, Piquet won 1981).

This actually brings up an interesting bit of trivia about Long Beach: the winner of the USGP West never won the F1 championship in that season.

Jones in 1981 would, however, become the third driver to sweep the US rounds, as he won the opening race in Long Beach and then won the season finale, the Caesar's Palace Grand Prix, which had just replaced Watkins Glen as the season finale.

1982 would bring Niki Lauda winning the USGP West for McLaren, his first win post-retirement.

1983 would be the last Formula One race at Long Beach and it would once again go to McLaren, this time with John Watson leading a 1-2 finish over teammate Lauda.

By this point, not only was Renault running their turbo, but Brabham had adopted BMW engines, Ferrari and Alfa Romeo introduced their own turbos, and even McLaren themselves would switch to TAG turbos at the end of the season, along with Lotus who adopted Renault power and WIlliams who'd test out Honda engines in the final race of 1983.

The golden age of the Cosworth DFV was truly over, and the turbo era was beginning.

Thus, by 1981, 1982, and 1983, it became notable that turbocharged engines had never won the USGP West. The Ford-Cosworth DFV kept chugging along, and in rather absurd fashion too, as Watson and Lauda started that 1983 race from 22nd and 23rd respectively.

A Cosworth shouldn't've won in 1983, and yet they did anyway.

The minnows could still fight the turbo teams here.

That would change in 1984, as promoter Chris Pook announced that due to the high costs of sanctioning fees and shipping equipment in from Europe if there was no preceding race, or places as far flung as South America or South Africa if there was, Long Beach would leave F1 and switch to a CART race.

And in CART, the dominant engine at the time was the Cosworth DFX, a turbocharged variant of F1's old faithful. I guess if you can't beat them, join them!

More on that next week.

[f1soul]

NORTHAMPTON, ENGLAND - JULY 06: Race winner Lando Norris of Great Britain and McLaren on the podium with his trophy during the F1 Grand Prix of Great Britain at Silverstone Circuit on July 06, 2025 in Northampton, England.

📸: Photo by Mario Renzi - Formula 1/Formula 1 via Getty Images.

[tigirl-and-co]

Specks of Dust in Hallowed Halls

pt. 1

This first part is just an introductory piece, to try to help me get the flavour down. To get me used to writing Metroplex. Also bc nobody writes anything for him but I love him so much. My beautiful sonsband who is three times the size of the Chicago metropolitan area <333

~~~

There was only one holoform who was a regular at the human's game nights. Sure, a lot of Cybertronians were curious about their organic allies, and quite a few of them counted the humans among their friends and would show up on occasion. But they were busy, they had other diversions, and quite frankly they just didn't 'get' it.

But every Tuesday night, as far as Tuesday nights can exist on a planet with a completely different solar calendar, Metroplex found himself in the company of mammals.

Metropex had been alive for so, so long, and he had lacked any intimacy for most of his lifespan. Being so large, close connections weren't really in the cards. He had tried, over the eons, to mix among the Cybertronians with a mech holoform, but they treated him too reverently. He could not be 'one of them.' He was an Other. A respected and revered Other, but an Other just the same.

But the humans... once they had become accustomed to him being truly sapient, a person in his own right, they even treated his city mode as casually as one of their own. When asking for assistance getting around they called him nicknames like 'Metty' and 'Plexiglass', and they had allowed him access to their private texting groups. There were occasional 'Let's go Mets!' memes, with images of his buildings over top the sports team logo, sent to him in displays of camaraderie.

He truly enjoyed every ephemeral klik of it.

So he would join them once a week to play their games. The silent scribbling during Boggle, the drama of Betrayal at the House on the Hill, and the playful trash-talk during a heated round of Mario Kart... all of it filled his spark. He especially enjoyed video game game nights, where a large portion of the humans would be packed in on the couches and chairs and he would often find someone's legs draped over his own. After so long spent being unable to touch anybody, the simple heat of shoulders pressing him in and backs leaned against his legs from those seated on the floor was holy. Every now and again one of the humans would fall asleep and lean harder against him, and he felt love pulsate through his circuits.

This was what he was protecting. What he was fighting for. All kind creatures in the universe were his fellow beings and his charges, and he would protect them. It was what he had been built to do, but more importantly, it was what he chose to do.

To reward love and compassion in kind.

[f1qualiday]

SPA, BELGIUM - JULY 26: Third placed qualifier Charles Leclerc of Monaco and Scuderia Ferrari in parc ferme during qualifying ahead of the F1 Grand Prix of Belgium at Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps on July 26, 2025 in Spa, Belgium.

📸 Photo by Mario Renzi - Formula 1/Formula 1 via Getty Images.