#it's not the energy he and i bring to the table

[shortnspidey]

TOO HOT TO HANDLE

Johnny Storm X Female!reader || WC: 3K

SUMMARY: After a city-wide blackout plunges New York into a sweltering summer heatwave, everyone’s struggling to survive the heat. With no air conditioning and no relief in sight, you're stuck trying to survive the sticky, sleepless nights. Unfortunately, your boyfriend Johnny, insists on snuggling close, despite being a literal walking furnace. Normally, you don’t mind being wrapped around each other, but with temperatures soaring, cuddling feels more like punishment than comfort.

WARNINGS: Slight spoilers for Fantastic Four: First Steps! Established relationship, cursing, suggestive jokes, SO much fluff, lovesick!Johnny, flirty banter, smidge of angst (literally Johnny just being dramatic and pouty)

A/N: Thank you SO much for all the love on my first Johnny one-shot! Y'all are too sweet! 🥹 Hope y'all enjoy this self-indulgent fic! SoCal weather has not been it lately, I miss hot summers! Divider by @saradika-graphics <3

➩ main masterlist

➩ johnny storm masterlist

July in New York was hell. Not metaphorical, not poetic, actual, fiery, oppressively humid hell. The kind of heat that made you question your life choices and whether humans were even meant to inhabit this region of the planet. The only salvation during the day had been the arctic blast of air-conditioned buildings, the kind that hit your skin and made you briefly believe in a higher power.

So, naturally when the temperature broke 106 degrees, the universe decided to snatch it all away. The blackout hit like a bad punchline, citywide, no warning, and utterly relentless. Within minutes, New York quickly became a sweaty, sweltering purgatory. The skyline disappeared into darkness, the streets filled with the sound of confused, irritated voices, and the only light left came from the flicker of angry candle flames.

At first, you thought maybe it was just a rolling outage, the kind that hit different neighborhoods in the summer, or a blown fuse somewhere down the line. But when the entire skyline went black, a void where the city's vibrant lights used to be, and the usually bustling Hudson fell eerily silent, the absence of boat horns and distant sirens was deafening, reality set in like a punch to the gut. New York City, the city that never sleeps, had officially been thrown back into the Stone Age.

Reed had dove into the problem like it was personal project. He hadn’t left his lab since the lights went out, speaking in rapid-fire scientific jargon to H.E.R.B.I.E., who beeped and hovered around him like a glorified intern. You passed by once to bring him a sandwich and were met with wild-eyed theories about backup energy grids, temporal fluctuations, and something that might have involved a mini black hole. You didn’t ask questions. You just left the sandwich and backed out slowly.

Susan had stepped into full crisis-management mode, turning her calm, motherly energy into political diplomacy. One moment, she was soothing a cranky Franklin, and the next, she was on a livestream addressing half the tri-state area with a collected, “We’re doing everything we can” smile that barely masked the migraine behind her eyes. When she wasn’t on live TV or attending last minute press conferences, she was at home juggling Franklin and whatever chaos Ben, Johnny, or Reed had unintentionally created.

Ben, bless his rock-solid heart, took it upon himself to keep dinner on the table, heat be damned. He cooked like a man on a mission, using only canned goods and willpower. The oven may have been off-limits, but the stovetop was fair game. Which left you and Johnny in charge of Franklin most days as well as ensuring everyone stayed sane. You tried to keep things calm and structured. While Johnny did the complete opposite. The man was allergic to any kind of boredom.

The blackout was a perfect breeding ground for his antics. Whether it was sneaking into Ben’s kitchen to swipe a spoonful of stew for 'quality assurance', or poking around Reed’s lab until something beeped, sparked, or outright exploded, Johnny couldn’t resist the chaos. You’d lecture him, scold him, swat at him like a fly, and he’d just grin, blue eyes wide with faux innocence. “Who, me?” He’d say, mid-chaos, then kiss you just as you were about to yell.

You hated how well that worked. It was unfair, honestly, your brain short-circuited the second his lips hit yours, heat or no heat. It was like parenting two kids, Franklin and the overgrown, man-child that was your boyfriend. Which is how you found yourself, on the fourth day of this godforsaken blackout, sprawled dramatically across your bed. You were dressed in the lightest tank top you could find, and a pair of cotton underwear that felt like the only barrier between you and total heatstroke.

Your skin stuck to the sheets with every shift, and no matter how still you lay, the coolness of the fabric faded quickly into sticky, humid warmth. The air was thick. Stale. Not even the hint of a breeze. You were too hot to sleep, too tired to move, and just one hundred percent done. And then, you heard it. “Now this is a view I could get used to.” Johnny’s voice cut through the silence, thick with mischief. You didn’t need to look.

You could feel the smirk on his face, the playful hunger in his gaze as he took in the scene, your bare legs, your limp posture, your total surrender to the heat. You could also practically hear the raised eyebrow and the mental fanfare that played in his head every time he thought he was being smooth. Behind you, the floor creaked, pitter-patter of footsteps, light and deliberately slow. Before he could pounce, you raised a hand in warning, voice sharp and dry.

“Don’t even think about it.” There was a beat of silence. Then a long, exaggerated sigh. “I was just gonna stand here and admire the view,” He replied innocently. “You know. Like art. Like a museum. Very classy.” You cracked one eye open and turned your head just enough to glare at him. “People at museums don’t try to climb on the exhibits.” You stated matter-of-factly. “Well, maybe they should.” He shrugged, already inching closer.

“Johnny.” You warned, making him freeze mid-step, clearly fighting back a cheeky grin. “Okay, okay. No touching. But just so you know…” He leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes doing zero effort to hide how thoroughly he was ogling you. “You being all hot and bothered in your underwear is really testing my self restraint.” You let out a snort and flopped onto your back with a loud groan.

“If you touch me right now, I will spontaneously combust.” You exasperated, shielding your face with your arm. “That's so fucking hot.” He grinned suggestively, biting down on his bottom lip. “Not in the fun way, because you are literally a human furnace.” You snapped, peeking at him from under your arm. “And you used to love that about me.” He countered, creeping closer in slow motion like you wouldn’t notice the six-foot human heatwave inching closer across the room.

You sighed dramatically, eyes fixed on the ceiling fan that hadn’t moved in days, praying for divine intervention. Or a thunderstorm. Or even the mild breeze of a passing pigeon flapping its wings by your window. Literally anything. “I’ll go cuddle with Ben before I cuddle with you and get heatstroke.” That stopped him cold. Johnny gasped like you’d slapped him. His hand flew to his heart, his face contorting with wounded betrayal.

“That’s just cruel, sweetheart. You truly wound me.” You launched a pillow at his head, only for him to catch it one-handed with infuriating ease. The action alone should not have been as attractive as it was, and judging by the look on his face, that smug bastard knew it. He winked, a flash of white teeth against his tanned skin. “I’m telling Sue you’re being mean to me.” He announced with exaggerated dignity.

You laughed, breathless, amused, and just a little fond despite yourself. “As if she’ll take your side. We both know I’m her favorite.” His jaw dropped in mock outrage. He stood still for a moment, hands on his hips, his expression a mix of scandalized and scheming. Then without warning, he bolted. You shrieked as he sprinted, closing the distance between the two of you, launching himself onto the bed, landing with a graceless thud right on top of you.

The weight of him pressed you deep into the already-too-warm mattress, limbs tangling as he wrapped you up like an overenthusiastic weighted blanket with biceps. “Johnny!” You gasped, somewhere between a squeal and a laugh, arms trapped beneath his stupidly solid chest. “God you are such a child, Franklin is only eight months and he’s already more mature than you are.” You squirmed, trying to shove at his shoulder, but it was like pushing a brick wall with abs. “Get off, I swear to—”

“Take it back.” He cut in smoothly, nose brushing against yours, his grin all teeth and trouble. The heat of him wasn’t just temperature, it was electric, like he got genuinely high off being this close to you. You narrowed your eyes and lifted your chin with defiance. “Never.” That earned you a sharp, playful squint. He tilted his head, lips twitching into a crooked smile as he studied your stubborn expression like a man preparing for battle. “Alright, sweetheart. Just remember, you asked for this.”

Before you could process the threat, he let himself go completely limp. All six feet of overheated, smug, muscular boyfriend collapsed directly on top of you like a ton of very affectionate bricks. “Johnny!” You gasped, the air leaving your lungs in a whoosh as your body sank further into the mattress. You thrashed, but he didn’t budge. If anything, he nuzzled deeper into your neck like a particularly needy space heater.

Then, to make matters worse, he released steam. Actual, tangible steam. His skin went from just annoyingly warm to actively boiling. “You’re insufferable.” You groaned, voice muffled against his shoulder. Sweat beaded on your forehead as your tank top began sticking in all the wrong places. “Mm,” He hummed, sounding way too pleased with himself. “Feels nice, huh?” Asshole. An idea sparked in your heat-hazy brain. Johnny weaponized affection against you a hundred times before.

Soft kisses, innocent touches, playful grins that always ended with you a flushed mess, forgetting why you were even mad in the first place. You knew his tricks. Hell, you’d studied them. Perfected them. Time to return the favor. Two could play that game. Subtly, carefully, you lifted your head just enough to shift the angle of your body. You shifted just slightly, letting your breath catch on purpose so he'd think nothing of it. Then, with a feigned innocence that would’ve made him proud, you leaned up and caught his mouth with yours.

His reaction was instantaneous. Johnny melted, absolutely dissolved, beneath the kiss, body slackening above yours like someone had cut the tension from every muscle in his frame. His lips parted eagerly, exhaling a soft, shaky breath into your mouth, almost like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. He let out a noise, low and desperate, caught between a gasp and a moan.

His hand, previously pinning yours in his theatrical “surrender,” lifted to cradle the side of your face. Fingers warm and gentle, tilted your jaw just slightly, deepening the kiss with the kind of slow-burning intensity that made your pulse stutter. His lips moved with practiced confidence, but beneath the heat and teasing was raw affection, the kind that made your chest tighten and your spine arch instinctively towards him.

Johnny kissed like he worshipped you. Not just with hunger, but with need. Like every second without your mouth on his was some unbearable punishment. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, feather-light. His other hand slid down, fingertips skating across your waist with something close to reverence, like he couldn’t believe he got to touch you. Your lips parted slightly, and he took the invitation greedily.

His tongue brushed against yours with a slow, sensual flick that had you gripping his chest for balance. The taste of him was addicting. His hips shifted instinctively above yours, just a small movement, but it was one that sent heat curling low in your stomach. Your bodies were flushed chest to chest now, every inhale brushing his bare skin against your ribs. You could feel the hard lines of muscle beneath you, coiled and twitching. And then, he made a sound. A soft, almost breathless mewl against your lips.

A sound you’d never heard him make before, when he was utterly gone for you. It snapped you back to your senses like a bucket of cold water. Before he could blink, you twisted your hips with just enough momentum to roll, flipping the two of you in a blur of limbs and startled sounds until you were the one straddling him. Johnny hit the mattress with a groan, eyes wide, pupils blown with surprise and something darker. You perched above him, flushed and breathless, your palms flat on his bare chest as you stared down at him with smug satisfaction.

He looked absolutely wrecked. Hair tousled, lips pink and kiss-bitten, skin glowing with heat and something else entirely. His chest rose and fell beneath you, sharp with every breath, like he was still catching up. You leaned down, brushing your mouth across his in a teasing apology. “I’m sorry, okay?" You murmured, lips grazing his as you spoke. "That comment was way out of line.” You pressed another kiss, quick, teasing to his mouth before he could recover enough to grab you and pull you back under him.

You brushed his sweat-damp hair back from his forehead, fingertips sweeping over golden strands sticking adorably to his skin. His fingers twitched at your waist, longing etched into every line of his face. If the room weren’t a furnace, you'd make sure he’d be on top of you again in a second, and the kiss would’ve gone somewhere far less innocent. “Now, for the love of God,” You exhaled, close enough for your breath to ghost across his lips. "Stay on your side of the bed. I want to at least get some sleep tonight.”

The pout that bloomed on his face was immediate. Tragic. Heart-wrenching. Award-worthy. “You know I love you. And your cuddles. But not when I’m sweating through my soul and when the city feels like hell incarnate." You rolled off him with a sigh, flopping dramatically onto your back. “Okay.” One word. Just that. No over-dramatic groan, no exaggerated puppy-dog eyes, no hands dragging down your arm like he was being banished to the coldest corner of the Earth. Just 'okay'.

You blinked, startled. That wasn’t the Johnny you knew. Especially when cuddles or any kind of affection was at stake. You half-expected him to throw a blanket over your head and latch onto you like a koala. Instead, he nodded without meeting your eyes, leaned in slowly, delicately, and pressed a featherlight kiss to your forehead. His lips lingered there for the briefest second before he reached past you to flick off the bedside lamp, casting the room into a blur of darkness.

Then, silence.

He turned onto his side, spine straight and unmoving, broad shoulders facing away from you. The curve of his back was sharp in the moonlight, muscles drawn tight. His arm disappeared beneath the pillow, and you could just barely make out the twitch in his fingers, like even in stillness, he was trying not to reach for you. The fanless room buzzed with heat, sweat already pooling along your neck and chest, but without the light on, your body finally started to settle.

And then you heard it. A tiny, barely-there exhale. Not even a sigh, more like the sound someone makes when they’re trying not to sigh. Like disappointment slipping out against his will. Your chest tensed. God, this man was going to be the death of you. You rolled your eyes toward the ceiling, biting down on the smile that threatened to bloom. The bastard had the nerve to make you feel guilty for your own personal comfort. It was a skill, one he wielded with terrifying, unconscious ease.

“Johnny,” You muttered, already caving. "Just get over here.” There was a beat of stillness. Then movement, as he rolled toward you so fast. You caught the flash of pure joy in his face, eyes practically glowing in the low light. If he had a tail, it would’ve broken the sound barrier with how hard it’d be thumping right now. “Are… you sure?” He breathed, voice soft and awestruck, like you’d just offered him a place in heaven. You opened your arms in silent invitation, and that was all it took.

He surged forward, melting into you like you were his favorite pillow and he hadn’t been cuddled in years. His head found its home on your chest, cheek pressed over your heartbeat like it calmed something inside him. One arm slid beneath your pillow, possessive and protective, while the other curled tight around your waist, legs automatically tangling with yours. You huffed, lips quirking. “Big baby." All you got in response was a contented hum against your sternum.

Your fingers slipped into his hair, threading through golden strands that were damp with humidity but still impossibly soft. You could feel the way his body relaxed under your touch, how his grip around your waist loosened, not out of reluctance, but because he didn’t have to hold on tight. “You love it.” He murmured, voice low, sleep-soft, lips brushing your collarbone like a punctuation. You didn’t answer, not directly.

But your hand slowed in his hair, your breathing synced to his, and your chin came to rest on top of his head. Because no matter how ridiculous, how impulsive, how obnoxiously hot he was, both literally , figuratively, and emotionally, you loved him. You loved that under all the swagger and fire, there was a heart that ached to be held. To be wanted. And lucky you, you were the one he’d chosen to orbit like a sun all his own.

So yeah, his body heat was hell. You’d probably wake up drenched in sweat and regretting everything when you opened your eyes tomorrow morning. But even so, with his heartbeat slowing against your chest, his fingers curling tighter as he dozed off to sleep like he was scared you’d vanish, you wouldn’t trade it for anything. Even if cuddling him felt like snuggling against a very affectionate golden-haired space heater.

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[coriihanniee]

VIVE LA CRUSH ───★ ˙ ̟ !!

۶ৎ ALTERNATIVE : Jaehyun's Historical Play to Modern Heartbreak !!

۶ৎ PAIRING : history nerd!jaehyun x history classmate!reader ۶ৎ GENRE(S) : competitive pining, fluff, mild angst, comfort ۶ৎ WARNING(S) : second-hand embarrassment (from Jaehyun's attempted flirting), Jaehyun has self-deprecating thoughts, Jaehyun is a bit of a loser ( a cute one ofc!! ) ۶ৎ WORD COUNT : 6.1k words

۶ৎ A/N : I present to you, my spin-off to "Ridiculously Yours" !! 😉 Remember when Woonhak mentioned that Jaehyun keeps talking about the French Revolution instead when he tries talking to his crush? Well, this is the story!!~

New here? Start with the main fic! : 🤍

Act I : 

The cafeteria smells faintly of whatever crime against humanity they're calling “Wednesday Special.” but Jaehyun can't focus on anything except the knot in his stomach that tightens every time he thinks about you. Two tables away, you're laughing at something your friend said, and the sound makes his chest do this weird fluttery thing that definitely isn't mentioned in any history textbook.

"—and then she just looked at me with those dead eyes and said 'shut up,' but like, in a cute way? Does that make sense?" Woonhak is saying, waving his chopsticks around like he's conducting an orchestra of romantic confusion.

"No," Jaehyun mutters, stabbing his rice with unnecessary violence. "None of what you just said makes sense."

"I think it's romantic," Taesan chimes in, clearly enjoying this mess. "Very enemies-to-lovers."

"We're not enemies! We're... academically challenged seatmates."

Jaehyun snorts, but there's no real humour in it. The truth is, he'd kill to be your academically challenged anything. He'd settle for being the guy you borrow pens from

"That's not a thing," he says flatly.

"Speaking of academically challenged, how's your French Revolution girl?" Woonhak grins, turning his focus on Jaehyun.

Jaehyun's stomach drops. "She's not my—"

But she kind of is, isn't she? You've been sitting two seats away from him in History for three months now, and he's been pathetically, hopelessly in love with you for about two months and three weeks of that time.

 "She's fine," 

"Fine?" Taesan raises an eyebrow. "That's all you've got after pining for her since—what, the dawn of time?"

"I haven't been pining."

"You have her schedule memorized," Woonhak points out.

"You've researched her favourite historical periods so you can 'accidentally' bring them up in conversation." Taesan adds. 

Jaehyun opens his mouth to deny them, then closes it because those are unfortunately true. Last week he spent four hours researching the Tudor dynasty just because you mentioned liking period dramas.

"Okay, fine. But I'm being strategic."

"How's that working out for you?"

"Like a revolution that ends in public execution," Jaehyun thinks miserably. 

"Have you actually talked to her? Like, beyond asking to borrow a pen?"

"Of course I've talked to her. We have conversations."

"About what?"

"History." 

"Specifically?"

"The French Revolution." 

Woonhak and Taesan exchange a concerned look that makes Jaehyun want to crawl under the table.

"Every time?" Woonhak asks.

"What did you talk about yesterday when she asked about the homework?"

"...Robespierre's execution."

"And when she complimented your notes?"

"The economic factors leading to the storming of the Bastille." 

"When she said hi to you this morning?"

"Marie Antoinette's trial transcripts," he whispers.

Taesan is grinning now. "You know what this sounds like to me?"

"Please don't," 

"A challenge."

"No."

"A bet, even."

"Absolutely not." 

"Hear me out, you think you're so smooth with your historical facts and your 'strategic' approach. Woonhak here thinks his dead-eyed Chemistry girl is going to fall for his chaotic energy. Why don't we see who can actually get the girl first?"

Woonhak perks up immediately.' "I'm in."

"I'm not," Jaehyun says quickly.

"Scared?" Taesan asks with fake innocence.

Yes, Jaehyun is scared. Terrified, actually. Terrified that you'll never see him more than the weird history guy, scared that he'll spend the rest of high school watching you from across classrooms.

"No, I'm being sensible. Betting on relationships is stupid."

"So you admit it's a relationship you're after?"

"I... that's not what I said."

"It's what you meant. Come on, Jaehyun. You've been talking about this girl for months. Put your money where your mouth is."

"What are the terms?" Woonhak asks, because of course he's already invested in this terrible, wonderful idea.

"Simple. Whoever gets with their girl first wins. The loser pays me fifty thousand won."

"Why do you get money out of this?" Jaehyun demands.

"Because I'm the one smart enough not to fall for anyone. I'm just here for the entertainment.”

Jaehyun looks between his two friends, both wearing matching expressions of anticipation, and realizes he's going to do this even though it's probably the worst idea in the history of terrible ideas. 

"Fine," he says. "But I'm going to win."

"We'll see about that," Woonhak says, extending his hand for a shake.

Jaehyun takes it, his palm embarrassingly sweaty, already regretting this decision and desperately hoping it works.

"May the best man win," Taesan says cheerfully. "This is going to be fun."

Fun, Jaehyun thinks as anxiety churns in his stomach. Right. Fun.

Act II : 

It's Thursday morning, and Jaehyun's been staring at the back of your head for ten minutes trying to work up the courage to say something that doesn't involve dead French people.

Professor Lee is droning on about the causes of World War I, but Jaehyun isn't listening. He's too busy crafting the perfect opening line.

Just say hi. Normal people say hi. Hi is good. Hi doesn't involve anyone getting their head chopped off.

You drop your pen.

This is it. This is his moment. The universe has handed him the perfect opportunity on a silver platter, and all he has to do is not mess it up.

He scrambles to pick up the pen before you can turn around, his hands shaking slightly as he holds it out to you.

"You dropped this," he says, and he's proud that his voice comes out steady.

"Oh, thanks." You take the pen, and your fingers brush his for just a second. "You're Jaehyun, right? From History?"

His brain completely short-circuits. You know his name. You know his name and you're looking at him with those eyes that are so much prettier up close—

"Did you know," he hears himself saying, "that the immediate cause of World War I was the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, but the underlying tensions had been building since the French Revolution fundamentally altered the balance of power in Europe?"

Your eyebrows raise slightly. "That's... a very long historical timeline," you say.

"Right, well, the thing about historical causation is that it's rarely linear, and if you trace back the origins of modern European nationalism, you really have to start with the revolutionary period and how it inspired—"

"Mr. Myung," Professor Lee's voice cuts through his rambling. "Since you seem so eager to share your knowledge, perhaps you'd like to tell the class about the alliance system that contributed to the war's escalation?"

Jaehyun's face burns as he realises thirty pairs of eyes, including yours, all focused on his spectacular public humiliation. 

"The, uh, the Triple Alliance and the Triple Entente were..." He stumbles through the answer, hyperaware of you watching him with what he really, desperately hopes is amusement and not second-hand embarrassment.

When class ends, Jaehyun is ready to pack up his things and disappear into the nearest historical archive for the rest of his life. However, when you pause next to his desk, he can feel his heart doing backflips. 

"That was impressive," you say.

Jaehyun blinks, sure he misheard what you just said. "You... you think so?"

"I do. Most people just memorize dates and events, but you actually see the connections between different periods. It's cool."

Cool. You think he's cool. Jaehyun's brain is having trouble processing this information because it doesn't fit with his usual narrative of romantic hopelessness.

"Would you..." he starts, then chickens out completely. "I mean, if you ever want to study together, I have pretty comprehensive notes on the revolutionary period."

"I might take you up on that," you say, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "See you tomorrow, Jaehyun."

You leave, and Jaehyun sits there for a full minute processing what just happened. You complimented his historical thinking. You said his name twice. You might want to study together.

He pulls out his phone with shaking fingers.

Jaehyun : She said my historical connections were cool.

Woonhak : Did you ask her out?

Jaehyun : We're going to study together.

Taesan : That's not asking her out.

Jaehyun : It's progress.

Woonhak : I left a note on my girl's desk today. It said “Don't die today 💗”

Taesan : That’s either very sweet or very threatening.

Woonhak : She smiled when she read it.

Jaehyun : That doesn't count as progress.

Woonhak : It counts more than talking about dead French people.

Jaehyun stares at his phone, then looks around the now-empty classroom. Woonhak has a point, but Jaehyun has something Woonhak doesn’t : a shared intellectual interest. Historical analysis is basicalling flirting, right?

Right?

Act III : 

Woonhak : Update: she keeps the sticky note I left on her water bottle.

Jaehyun : That doesn't mean anything.

Woonhak : Update 2 : I found out her favourite chips and left them in her locker.

Taesan : How did you get into her locker?

Woonhak : I have my ways.

Jaehyun : That's called breaking and entering.

Woonhak : That's called romantic gestures.

Jaehyun's chest tightens as he watches the group chat blow up with Woonhak's increasingly bold moves. Meanwhile, his own "progress" consists of you borrowing his notes twice and saying thank you both times. 

"Earth to Jaehyun," you say, sliding into the seat across from him in the library. “You look like you're planning someone's execution.”

"What? No, just… reading about the Directory."

"The Directory? We covered that last week."

"I like to review. Historical context is important for understanding the broader implications of political instability—"

"Jaehyun."

"Yeah?"

"You're rambling about the French Revolution again."

The words hit him like a slap because of course he is. His face burns with embarrassment. 

"I do that a lot, don't I?"

"Every conversation we've had has ended up there. Yesterday you connected the cafeteria's pizza shortage to bread distribution in 1789."

"That was a valid comparison." 

"It was revolutionarily insane."

Jaehyun blinks, looking up at you in confusion. "Revolutionarily?"

"It's a word now. I'm making it a thing."

Despite his mortification, he feels a small smile tugging at his lips. "That's not how language works."

"It's how my language works." You grin at him. "Besides, if anyone's going to create words about revolutions, it should be you."

"Why me?" 

"Because you're revolutionarily obsessed with the French Revolution."

"I'm not obsessed, I'm passionate."

"Same thing."

His phone buzzes against the table, and he glances down automatically to see another text : Made her a playlist called "For When You Wanna Punch a Textbook." She said it was good.

The moment of lightness evaporates, replaced by the familiar ache of inadequacy. 

"Everything okay?" you ask, noticing his expression.

"Yeah, just... friend drama." The words taste bitter because it's not really drama, it's just him being pathetically jealous of his friend's romantic confidence.

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really. It's just..." He sighs. "Do you think some people are naturally better at... connecting with people?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like, some people just know how to talk to others, how to make them feel special, how to... I don't know, be interesting without boring them with facts about dead French people."

You study his face carefully, "Is this about a girl?"

Jaehyun's cheeks burn. "No. Maybe. It's complicated."

"Most things involving feelings are," you say softly.

"I'm not good at feelings. I'm good at facts and dates and historical analysis. But feelings..." He shrugs helplessly, the gesture encompassing all his romantic failures and social awkwardness.

"You know what I think?"

"What?" 

"I think you're better at feelings than you realize. You just express them differently."

"By talking about the French Revolution?"

"By caring enough to research Tudor England because someone mentioned liking period dramas." 

Jaehyun stares at you. “What...?"

"You researched Tudor England after I mentioned 'The Crown,' didn't you?"

His mouth goes dry. "I... how did you know?"

"Because the next day you 'casually' brought up Henry VIII's impact on English reformation during our study session. It was very sweet."

Sweet. You think his desperate attempts to impress you are sweet…

"Sweet?"

"Revolutionarily sweet."

"You're never going to stop using that word, are you?"

"Revolutionarily never."

His phone buzzes again : She texted me back at midnight. She wished me good night. 

This time, you definitely notice his expression change. 

"Jaehyun?" 

"I should go," he says abruptly, gathering his books with shaking hands. "I just remembered I have... a thing."

"A thing?"

"A historical thing. Very important. Revolutionary, even." 

You watch him scramble to pack up, clearly flustered.

"Okay, but—"

"See you tomorrow!"

He practically runs out of the library, leaving you sitting there with a confused expression and the distinct feeling that he's just made everything worse. 

Act IV :

Woonhak : She missed school for three days. I'm going to her house.

Taesan : That's either very romantic or very stalkerish.

Woonhak : I prefer romantically concerned.

Jaehyun : You can't just show up at someone's house uninvited.

Woonhak : Watch me.

The confidence in those two words makes Jaehyun's chest ache with longing. When was the last time he felt that sure about anything involving you? When had he ever been brave enough to take a real risk instead of hiding behind historical facts and carefully researched conversation topics?

"You look like you've seen a ghost," you say, appearing beside his locker.

"More like witnessed a revolution," he mutters, shoving his phone into his pocket before you can see Woonhak's latest romantic triumph.

"Everything's a revolution with you." You lean against the lockers. "What's wrong? You seem stressed."

"I'm not stressed."

"You explained the economic theories of mercantilism when I asked how your morning was going."

"That was... relevant context."

"For 'good morning, how are you?' Jaehyun, mercantilism has nothing to do with your current emotional state."

He closes his locker with more force than necessary. How is he supposed to explain that his emotional state is entirely dependent on whether you'll ever see him as more than the weird history guy? That every interaction feels like a test he's failing?

"Fine. I've been thinking too much."

"About what?"

"Just... things. Historical things. Revolutionary things." 

You study his face with that focused attention you usually reserve for difficult exam questions. "You know, you do this thing when you're upset."

"What thing?" 

"You retreat into facts. Start explaining historical concepts instead of talking about what's actually bothering you."

"I don't do that."

"Yesterday you launched into a twenty minute explanation about the Directory when I asked if you wanted to eat lunch together. That's not exactly light conversation."

"The Directory was a fascinating period of political instability—"

"See? You're doing it right now."

His phone buzzes against his leg, his fingers wrap around his phone, tugging it out of his pocket like muscle memory, to discover another message from Woonhak : She let me in. Brought snacks and emotional support. This is going well.

His eyes linger on the screen, heart stuttering as reality sinks in. While Woonhak is being brave, direct and romantically successful, Jaehyun is explaining the economic factors behind the collapse of feudalism when asked about his weekend plans.

"I should get to class," he says abruptly, his voice coming out sharper than intended.

"Jaehyun, wait—"

But he's already walking away, his mind racing with all the ways he's failing at this. 

The hallway feels endless as he walks away from you, each step echoing with the realization that being himself isn't enough. That maybe it's never been enough, and all his careful research and passionate explanations are just elaborate ways of avoiding the truth : he doesn't know how to be the kind of person you could fall for.

His phone buzzes again, but this time he doesn't look. He can't handle another update about Woonhak's romantic success when his own feelings are eating him alive from the inside out, when every conversation with you feels like another opportunity to prove how hopeless he really is.

Act V :

The screen lights up Jaehyun's face in the dim cafeteria, the message from weeks ago glowing like a beacon of his romantic failure.

Woonhak : Update : we're dating. She said yes.

The words blur together as Jaehyun reads them over and over, each repetition driving the reality deeper into his chest like a stake through the heart. 

The worst part isn't losing the bet. It's the crushing understanding that he's been doing everything wrong. Every carefully researched conversation topic, every passionate explanation, every moment he thought he was connecting with you, it was all just him being too scared to actually try.

That afternoon, turning the corner with Taesan, he nearly walks straight into Woonhak and a girl with tired eyes but a radiant smile, wrapped up in each other in the middle of the hallway.

They look ridiculously, devastatingly happy.

"FINALLY!" Taesan shouts, causing both Woonhak and his girlfriend to turn around with matching startled expressions.

"Seriously?" Jaehyun calls out, forcing enthusiasm into his voice even though it feels like swallowing glass. "We've been waiting for this for months."

And it's true, even through his own heartbreak. Watching Woonhak light up when he talks about her, seeing him stress over whether she likes him back , Jaehyun has been rooting for his friend even as his own romantic prospects crumbled into historical dust.

"Pay up," Taesan says, his hand extended.

"I thought it would take at least another week," he says, his voice barely audible over the sound of his heart breaking.

Jaehyun hands over the money, watching as Woonhak puts his arms around his girlfriend with the kind of casual intimacy that Jaehyun has only dreamed about. 

"You bet on us?" Woonhak's girlfriend asks, looking incredulous.

"Of course we bet on you," Taesan says cheerfully. "It was painful watching you two dance around each other."

"We weren't dancing around each other," Woonhak protests.

"You made her a playlist," Jaehyun points out, remembering the texts that had made his stomach churn with envy.

"So?"

"You learned her favorite snacks."

"That's just being observant."

"You skipped class to check on her."

"That's just being a good friend."

"You bought her a stuffed animal."

Woonhak opens his mouth to argue, then closes it. "Okay, that one might have been a little obvious."

"A little?" his girlfriend asks, raising an eyebrow with the kind of fond exasperation that makes Jaehyun's chest ache with longing.

"Fine. Very obvious. Ridiculously obvious."

"There you go again with the ridiculously."

"It's my thing now."

"It's ridiculous."

"Ridiculously ridiculous."

Jaehyun watches this exchange, and despite the crushing weight of his own romantic failure, he finds himself genuinely happy for his friend. Woonhak deserves this. They both do.

"You two are disgusting," Taesan says, but he sounds fond.

"Ridiculously disgusting," Woonhak agrees cheerfully, pulling his girlfriend closer, making Jaehyun's heart ache because it hurts too much to witness the kind of easy affection he's been dreaming about for months.

Woonhak's girlfriend looks around at all of them, then back at Woonhak, who's still got his arms around her.

"You know what?" she says, and the soft tone in her voice makes Jaehyun's throat tight.

"What?"

"I think I'm okay with ridiculous."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. As long as it's your ridiculous."

Woonhak's grin is blindingly bright, and when he kisses her, Jaehyun has to look away because the happiness radiating from them is almost too much to bear. It's everything he wants and everything he's convinced he'll never have.

"I should have bet on the kiss too," he mutters under his breath, but inside he's thinking about how confident Woonhak is, how easily he expresses his feelings, how he doesn't hide behind facts and information when it matters. How he's everything Jaehyun isn't, brave, direct, emotionally available.

How he's everything Jaehyun wishes he could be for you.

Act VI : 

You find Jaehyun in the library the next day, sitting alone at a table covered in books about the French Revolution. He's not reading them, just staring at the pages with an expression that suggests he's seeing nothing.

"Rough day?" you ask, sliding into the seat across from him.

"You could say that." 

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"How about we sit here quietly while you brood dramatically over Voltaire then?"

Despite the weight of his romantic failure pressing down on his shoulders, Jaehyun's mouth twitches.

"It's actually Rousseau."

"My mistake. Very different kind of brooding."

"Completely different philosophical approach to brooding." 

"Revolutionarily different?"

"You're never going to let that go, are you?"

"Never." You lean back in your chair, studying his face. "So what's really going on? And don't say it's nothing, because you've been weird for days and now you look like someone cancelled the French Revolution."

The question hits closer to home than you realize because in a way, someone has canceled his revolution. The quiet uprising of feelings he'd been nurturing, the hope that maybe he could win both the bet and your heart.

"Would that be such a bad thing?" he asks.

"For you? Devastating. You'd have to find a new historical period to obsess over."

"I don't obsess."

"Jaehyun, you once spent an entire lunch period explaining the difference between the Girondins and the Jacobins because I mentioned the word 'politics.'"

"Those are important distinctions."

"They are. But that doesn't mean you're not obsessed."

He's quiet for the next few seconds, the weight of his failures pressing down on him. He closes the book in front of him with more force than necessary.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Do you think there's something wrong with someone who can only connect with people through historical facts?"

"Is this about you?"

"Hypothetically." 

"Hypothetically, I think that person probably connects with people just fine. They just do it differently."

The gentleness in your voice almost breaks him because it's exactly what he needs to hear and exactly what he can't bring himself to believe.

"But what if they want to connect in other ways and don't know how?"

"Then they could try learning. Connection is a skill like any other."

"What if they're afraid they'll mess it up?"

"Jaehyun, what's this really about?"

He looks at you for a long moment, then down at his hands. "I watched my friend get together with someone yesterday."

"That's good, right?"

"It is. He's happy, she's happy, it's all very... successful." The word tastes bitter in his mouth because success feels like such a foreign concept when it comes to his own romantic life.

"But?"

"But watching them, seeing how easy it was for him to just... be himself and connect with someone..." His voice breaks slightly, and he has to swallow hard before continuing. "It made me realize how terrible I am at this."

"At what?"

"At people. At relationships. At being someone worth caring about."

The words hang in the air between you, and Jaehyun immediately regrets saying them because now you know exactly how pathetic he really is.

"Jaehyun—"

"I mean, look at me. I can tell you everything about the Committee of Public Safety, but I can't figure out how to have a normal conversation without bringing up dead French people. I research historical periods to impress people, then panic and info-dump about revolutions instead of just... talking."

You reach across the table and close the book he's been fidgeting with.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Sure." 

"The reason I like studying with you isn't because you're some master of social connection."

"Okay?" 

"It’s because when you talk about history, your face lights up like you’re seeing a hidden beauty only you understand, and you want everyone else to understand it too."

Jaehyun looks up at you, surprised by the warmth in your voice, the genuine affection that he's somehow never noticed before.

"You think you're bad at connecting with people, but you've spent months trying to share something you love with me. That's not bad at connection. That's just... your way of connecting."

The words hit him like a revelation, reframing every awkward conversation and historical tangent in a new light.

"Even when I ramble about the French Revolution?"

"Especially when you ramble about the French Revolution. Because you light up. You get excited, passionate and you forget to be self-conscious. That version of you, the one who cares so much about things that happened centuries ago that you want everyone else to understand why they matter, that's the person worth caring about."

Jaehyun stares at you, his brain struggling to process this new information. You don't just tolerate his historical obsessions, you actually like them. 

"Really?"

"Revolutionarily really."

"I can't believe you're still using that word."

"I told you, I'm making it a thing."

"It's not a thing."

"It's my thing."

"Your thing is grammatically incorrect."

"My thing doesn't have to be grammatically correct."

"That's not how language works—"

"Jaehyun."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up and let me compliment you."

He blinks, then nods, his throat too tight for words.

"You are not terrible at people. You're just different. And different isn't bad."

"It feels bad when everyone else seems to know what they're doing." 

"Everyone else is just better at pretending. Trust me."

You sit in comfortable silence for a moment, until Jaehyun speaks up again.

"Can I ask you something else?"

"Always."

"Would you..." He takes a deep breath, gathering every scrap of courage he possesses. "I mean, if someone hypothetically wanted to ask you to study together, but not just study, like actually spend time together because they enjoyed your company..."

"Hypothetically?"

"Hypothetically."

You smile. "Hypothetically, I'd say that person should probably just ask instead of hiding behind hypotheticals."

"What if they were nervous?"

"Then I'd say being nervous is normal when you care about the answer."

"And what if they had a tendency to ramble about French revolutionaries when they were nervous?"

"Then I'd say that sounds revolutionarily endearing."

Jaehyun takes a deep breath, looking directly at you.

"Would you like to—" he starts, then stops as his phone buzzes against the table.

He glances at it instinctively, a text from his mother about dinner plans, completely irrelevant but enough to break the moment.

When he looks back up, you're watching him with an amused expression.

"You know what," you say, standing up and gathering your books. "When you figure out how to finish that sentence without checking your phone, let me know."

"Wait, I—" 

"I'll be revolutionarily patient," you call over your shoulder with a grin that makes his heart race with possibility, and for the first time in days, Jaehyun allows himself to hope.

Act VII :

Jaehyun finds you in the same spot in the library the next afternoon, but this time he comes prepared. No phones, no distractions, and a heart full of determination.

"Hi," he says, sliding into the seat across from you.

"Hi yourself." You look up from your textbook with a smile. "Figure out how to finish that sentence?"

"Working on it." The words come out steadier than expected.

"Take your time. I'm revolutionarily patient, remember?"

"About that," Jaehyun says, leaning forward slightly. "I've been thinking about what you said yesterday."

"Which part?"

"The part about being different not being bad." 

"It's not."

"I know. Or, I'm starting to believe it." He takes a breath. "I also realized something else."

"What's that?"

"I've been so worried about not being good at talking to people, at connecting, at being normal… that I forgot to just be myself."

"And what's yourself like?"

"Apparently someone who researches Tudor England to impress people and connects everything back to 18th-century France."

"Sounds revolutionarily charming."

"There you go again."

"I warned you it was my thing now."

"Your revolutionarily grammatically incorrect thing."

"Exactly." You close your textbook and give him your full attention. "So what did you want to ask me yesterday?"

Jaehyun looks at you, taking in the way the afternoon light catches in your hair, the patient kindness in your eyes, the small smile playing at the corners of your mouth, and realizes that all his carefully rehearsed words have completely disappeared.

But for once, that doesn't send him into a panic spiral about the Directory or the Committee of Public Safety. He just lets himself feel everything he's been carrying around for months, the admiration, the longing, the desperate hope that maybe you could see him the way he sees you.

"I wanted to ask if you'd like to spend time with me," he says simply. "Not studying, not because we have a project or an exam coming up, but just... because."

"Because why?"

"Because I like talking to you. You listen when I get excited about historical connections and you don't make me feel weird for caring about things that happened centuries ago. You made 'revolutionarily' into a word just to tease me, and somehow that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever done."

"And because," he continues, gaining confidence from the warmth in your expression, "I've been half in love with you since you corrected Professor Lee about the Battle of Waterloo, and I'm tired of pretending I'm not."

"Half in love?"

"Okay, completely in love. Revolutionarily in love, if we're using your vocabulary."

"We are definitely using my vocabulary."

"Then yes. I am revolutionarily in love with you, and I would like to take you on a date where we can talk about anything you want, as long as I get to spend time with you."

Jaehyun feels his heart hammering against his ribs like it's trying to write its own historical document about this moment, this conversation that feels like it's changing the entire course of his life.

"That," you say, "was revolutionarily romantic."

"Really?" The word comes out breathless with hope and disbelief.

"Really. Although I have one question."

"What?" 

"When you say anything I want to talk about… what if I want to talk about the French Revolution?"

Jaehyun blinks, then starts laughing. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious. I've been listening to you talk about it for months, and I'm genuinely curious about the economic factors that led to the collapse of the Old Regime."

"You want me to explain the French Revolution to you? On our date?"

"I want you to share something you're passionate about with someone who wants to understand why you love it so much."

Jaehyun stares at you, wondering how he got so incredibly, impossibly lucky. How he managed to fall for someone who thinks his historical ramblings are endearing rather than exhausting, who made up a word just to tease him, who's willing to spend their first date listening to him explain the socioeconomic factors that led to the execution of Louis XVI.

"In that case, would you like to go get coffee tomorrow after class so I can tell you about how the financial crisis of the 1780s created the perfect conditions for revolutionary change?"

"I would revolutionarily love that."

"You know, I'm starting to like your made-up word."

"It's growing on you?"

"Revolutionarily growing on me.”

Act VIII : 

"So let me get this straight," Taesan says at lunch Monday, looking between Jaehyun and you. "You finally asked her out by explaining the socioeconomic factors of 18th-century France?”

"It was more romantic than it sounds," Jaehyun says defensively. 

"He was revolutionarily romantic," you add.

"You're both using that made up word now?" Taesan looks physically pained.

"It's not made up if we both use it," you point out.

"That's not how language works."

"It's how our language works," Jaehyun says, then pauses in amazement at his own words. "Did I just defend a grammatically incorrect word?"

"You revolutionarily did."

"I can't believe I'm dating someone who thinks 'revolutionarily' is a word." 

"You can't believe you're dating someone." Taesan says with brutal honesty. "I was starting to think you'd propose a thesis on the Committee of Public Safety instead of asking her out."

"That's not—" Jaehyun starts, then stops himself. "Okay, that's fair."

Woonhak appears at their table, sliding into the seat next to Taesan with his girlfriend beside him.

"I heard congratulations are in order," Woonhak says.

"From who?" you ask, looking curious.

"Everyone. You two aren't exactly subtle."

"We're revolutionarily subtle," Jaehyun protests.

"You've been holding hands since you walked into the cafeteria," Woonhak points out with amusement.

"That's not unsubtle." 

"You also keep looking at each other like you've discovered the secret to historical analysis," Woonhak's girlfriend adds with a knowing smile.

"We have," you say with complete seriousness. "It's called intellectual compatibility."

"That's not a thing," Taesan says.

"Everything's a thing if you believe in it enough," Jaehyun says, then pauses in wonder at his own philosophical statement. "Did I just quote philosophy?"

"Revolutionarily quoted philosophy," you correct.

"I'm going to be sick," Taesan mutters. "You two are disgustingly perfect for each other."

"Revolutionarily disgusting," Woonhak agrees cheerfully, then looks at his own girlfriend. "Right, babe?"

"Ridiculously disgusting," she corrects, and they share one of those looks that makes Taesan pretend to gag.

"Great, now we have two couples with their own made-up vocabulary," Taesan announces. "But I'm happy for you both. Even if Jaehyun did lose the bet spectacularly."

"What bet?" you ask, looking between them with sudden interest, and Jaehyun realizes with horror that he never actually told you about this particular aspect of his romantic journey.

"The bet about who would get a girlfriend first," Woonhak says cheerfully, apparently having forgotten that this was supposed to be a secret. "Jaehyun owed Taesan fifty thousand won."

"You bet on our relationship?" you ask, but instead of sounding angry, you sound rather amused.

"Not exactly," Jaehyun says quickly, his face burning with embarrassment. "We bet on... the timing of our respective romantic endeavours."

"You bet on who would get a girlfriend first," you say flatly, cutting through his attempt at diplomatic language.

"...Yes." 

When you don't respond, Jaehyun starts to panic, thinking you're upset, that you'll see this as some kind of objectification or reduction of your relationship to a competition. However, you laugh instead.

"That's revolutionarily ridiculous," you say between giggles.

"You're not mad?" Jaehyun asks, hardly daring to believe it.

"Why would I be mad? It's hilarious. You were so worried about winning a bet that you spent months researching historical periods to impress me instead of just asking me out."

"I wasn't trying to impress you with the research—" 

"Jaehyun, you spent four hours learning about Tudor England because I mentioned liking 'The Crown.'"

Woonhak is cackling now, the sound echoing through the cafeteria. "That's even worse than when I thought explaining molecular bonds was flirting."

"At least molecular bonds are relevant to your shared class," Taesan points out with gleeful cruelty. "Jaehyun was out here giving historical lectures because she mentioned pizza."

"One time!" Jaehyun protests. "And it was a valid comparison between food distribution systems!"

"You connected cafeteria pizza to the economic policies of pre-revolutionary France," you say, grinning at him. "It was revolutionarily insane."

"But you liked it," Jaehyun says, suddenly uncertain again.

"I loved it. You cared enough to make those connections. You wanted to share something you were passionate about with me, even if your method was completely unhinged."

"Revolutionarily unhinged," Woonhak's girlfriend corrects, and everyone turns to stare at her in amazement.

"Did you just—" Taesan starts.

"It's spreading," she says with a shrug and a grin. "Like a linguistic revolution."

"That's not how language evolution works," Jaehyun says automatically, his inner history nerd unable to resist the correctio.

"It's how our language evolution works," you say firmly.

"I give up," Taesan announces, throwing his hands up in defeat. "You're all insane, I'm going to be surrounded by historically themed couple vocabulary for the rest of the year."

"Revolutionarily surrounded," you and Jaehyun say in perfect unison.

"Ridiculously surrounded," Woonhak and his girlfriend add together, not to be outdone.

"I need new friends," Taesan mutters, but he's smiling as he says it.

"So," you say, leaning against Jaehyun’s shoulder. "Want to study together after school? I'm still curious about those economic factors you mentioned."

"The ones that led to the collapse of the Old Regime?" Jaehyun asks, perking up immediately.

"Those are the ones."

"Did you know that the financial crisis was actually decades in the making, stemming from France's involvement in multiple costly wars, particularly the Seven Years' War and their support of the American Revolution, which created a massive national debt that constituted roughly 80% of the government's annual revenue by the 1780s..."

As he launches into explanation mode once again, he catches sight of your face, how you're listening with genuine interest, asking thoughtful questions, it's exactly what he's wanted all along, and the realization hits him like a perfectly preserved historical document. This moment, this person, this life where he gets to share his passions with someone who thinks they're worth hearing about.

History has never felt more relevant than it does right now, sitting in a high school cafeteria with the girl he loves, surrounded by friends who tease him but support him, talking about economic policy like it's the most romantic subject in the world.

Vive la révolution, indeed.

@coriihanniee 💌

˖➴ reblogs are appreciated! ty for reading! <3

taglist: @lvlyhiyyih @supi-wupi @tinyelfperson @8makes1atom @s0shroe @imhereonlytoreadxoxo @mydeepestsecrects @brownetry @pumpkg @heeheesang @jungwonbropls @prodkwh @reibelhearts @beomev @woonhakntaesansgf @perlleta

[infernalfears]

pairing: lois lane x reader

summary: lois lane x bsf reader, where lois brings her best friend—who she has feelings for—home for the holidays. her parents mistake them for a couple and tease her relentlessly

notes: i know nothing about her family so i got all of the names off some wiki and made some up

the lane family farmhouse smells like cinnamon and pine, a holiday assault on the senses, and you’re standing in the kitchen, trying not to laugh as ella, lois’ mom, thrusts a mug of hot cocoa into your hands. “you’re too skinny, sweetheart,” she says, her eyes twinkling with a warmth that feels like a trap. “lois doesn’t feed you enough in that city, does she?” you grin, catching lois’ mortified expression across the room. “oh, she tries,” you say, winking at lois. “but her cooking’s a health hazard.” ella laughs, loud and delighted, while lois groans, burying her face in her hands. sam, lois’ dad, polishing his glasses at the table, just smirks. “sounds like you’re keeping her in line,” he says, and you feel the weight of their assumption: they definitely think you’re dating.

you’re not oblivious. you’ve noticed lois’ parents acting like you’re already part of the family—the way ella keeps touching your arm and sam asks your opinion on the best tractor models like you’re signing up for farm life. it’s sweet, if a little overwhelming, and you can see it’s driving lois up the wall.

she’s been your best friend for years—sharp, fearless, the kind of person who’d storm a warzone for a story but blushes when you compliment her coffee order. you’ve caught the way she looks at you sometimes, like she’s holding back a secret, but you’ve never pushed. the friendship’s too precious to gamble. 

the front door bursts open, and lois’ sister and her family spill in—lucy, her husband, and their five-year-old, emma, who’s all pigtails and boundless energy. emma zeros in on you immediately, tugging at your sleeve.

“do you know superman?” she asks, eyes wide, clutching a krypto plushie in her arms. you laugh, crouching to her level. “met him once. nice guy, really cool cape.” emma giggles, dragging you to the living room to show you her toy collection. you’re halfway through a dramatic reenactment of krypto saving the day when you glance up and catch ella whispering to lois, her eyes misty.

“they’re so good with kids,” she says, loud enough for you to hear it. “you two would make such cute babies.” lois chokes on her cocoa, her face flaming. “mom,” she hisses, “we’re not—we’re not dating!”

the room goes quiet, other than emma’s oblivious chatter about superman’s laser eyes. you feel the tension, lois’ defensiveness crackling like static. sam raises an eyebrow, and ella looks crestfallen, like she’s just been told christmas is canceled.

“oh, honey, we just thought—” ella starts, but lois cuts her off, her voice sharp. “we’re friends. best friends. that’s it. can you please stop acting like we’re engaged?”

her words are fiercer than they need to be, and you see the flicker of hurt in ella’s eyes. lucy, trying to lighten the mood, says, “well, you could do worse, lois,” but it only makes lois slump into a chair, rubbing her temples.

---

the twin bed creaks as lois flops onto it, her childhood bedroom closing in around her like a time capsule of bad decisions. the walls are covered in posters of punk rock bands that currently mock her, their faded edges a reminder of her teenage bravado—so unlike the knot of nerves in her chest now.

you’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, sorting through your bag of clothes, unpacking for the rest of the weekend—your presence is both a comfort and a torment to her at the moment. her parents’ voices still echo from dinner—ella’s “you two are so sweet together” and sam’s knowing grunt, like he’s already sizing you up for a ring.

lois wants to scream. they’re suffocating her with their assumptions, and worse, they’re making her hope—hope that you might see her in the way she sees you, which is dangerous.

you glance up, catching the way she’s staring at the ceiling like it’s betrayed her. “lois,” you call out, your voice soft, cutting through her spiral. “you okay? you’ve been.. i don’t know, wound up since your mom started with the 'future grandkids' talk.”

you stand up, moving closer to her, your knee brushing the edge of the bed before sitting next to her. her heart stutters at the contact, and she hates how much she craves it.

"i'm fine," she lies, sitting up and running a hand through her hair. “it’s just—they’re relentless. acting like we’re some hallmark movie couple. it’s embarrassing.”

her voice is sharp, but it’s not you she’s mad at—it’s the way her parents’ words keep digging up feelings she’s buried deep—feelings she's trying so hard to hide.

you tilt your head, studying her with that quiet intensity that always makes her feel seen. “it’s not a big deal,” you say, offering a small smile. “they mean well. but.. what if we mess with them? you know, fake date for the weekend. hold hands, do the whole ‘babe’ thing. like in those rom-coms you secretly love. shut them up for good.” you suggest, half-joking but you're willing to take it seriously if lois needed you to.

her breath catches. the idea hits like a punch—she can picture it too clearly: your hand in hers, your laugh close to her ear, the warmth of you playing a role she’s desperate for to be real.

but that’s the problem. it wouldn’t be real. she’d be acting, pretending, when every touch would mean too much, cut too deep.

she can’t do that—can’t play a game with her heart already on the line.

“no,” she says, forcing a laugh that sounds hollow even to her. “that’s.. too much work. let’s just survive the weekend.”

she waves it off, but her chest aches—your suggestion fanning the flames of her longing. you’re so sweet, offering to play a part she’s dreamed of, and she’s too scared to take it.

you shrug, unfazed, your smile easy. “fair enough. but i’d make a killer fake partner. just saying.” you nudge her shoulder with yours, and she grins despite herself, the warmth of your teasing sinking into her bones. as you go back to unpacking your bag, humming softly, she watches you, her heart a traitor.

she wants to tell you—i don’t want to fake it. i want you for real.

but the words stay locked away, and all she can do is lie back, stare at that stupid ceiling of hers, and yearn for the courage she’s never lacked in a newsroom but can’t find here, with you.

[svt-soojin]

𓏵  . HOW IS THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN SOOJIN AND THE VOCAL TEAM? ｡

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀✶‎ 　 　◌　WITH JEONGHAN ( SOOHAN )

Soojin and Jeonghan are soulmates, plain and simple. They're inseparable and are always seen together everywhere they go, they hang out together almost every day and carats love to ship them, calling them the ‘parents’ of Seventeen.

They share clothes, accessories, food, etc. They often have movie nights at Soojin’s apartment, do random activities together. . .and at award shows? You can always find them seated next to each other, never apart. The members are used to it at this point, if they want to find Jeonghan, they know he'll probably be with Soojin and if they want to find Soojin, Jeonghan is the key.

Maybe there was or is something between them, maybe not. But if there was, neither CARAT nor the members ever found out and if they did, they didn't comment on it.

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀✶‎ 　 　◌　WITH JOSHUA ( SOOSHUA )

Soojin is Joshua’s google translator. Every time he gets stuck on a Korean word or doesn't quite know how to express something in Korean, Soojin’s right there to help him. She's always the one explaining the traditional Korean games so he can finally have a chance at winning instead of losing every time the rest of the members play and Joshua's grateful for that.

Joshua loves making friendship bracelets with her and playing guitar together. These two are creative souls who just get each other, there’s a gentle harmony in their friendship, something unspoken and effortless that doesn't need cameras for it to be real.

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀✶‎ 　 　◌　WITH WOOZI ( WOOJIN )

Woozi and Soojin together form the masterminds behind Seventeen’s artistry. When they team up in the studio, it's guaranteed that something legendary will come out of it. Creating music together comes like second nature to them, they operate on a wavelength only the best in the music industry can reach.

They speak a language no one understands. If one of them says “i have an idea,” the other already knows what it is. So if Soojin has the lyrics, Jihoon has the melody and vice versa.

It's like Picasso meets DaVinci or for better representation, Taylor Swift creating music with Aaron Dessner. Woojin are timeless, brilliant and perfectly in sync.

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀✶‎ 　 　◌　WITH DK ( JINSEOK )

This duo is pure chaos (the good king of chaos), DK’s the only one that can bring out Soojin's chaotic and completely insane side enough to match the rest of the group’s chaotic energy. Think of them as Anthony Mackie and Sebastian Stan, that's the kind of vibe Seokmin and Soojin bring to the table.

Whenever Soojin feels down or unmotivated, Seokmin becomes her daily dose of sunshine and serotonin. He's the energy she didn't know she needed.

Soojin and Seokmin are a walking comedy duo, random, hilarious and bringing joy wherever they go.

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀✶‎ 　 　◌　WITH SEUNGKWAN ( SOOKWAN )

These two are the industry’s best friends, they know every piece of gossip, know everyone and always speak in secret codes when they're sharing the latest company drama. If Soojin knows one side of the story, Seungkwan definitely has the other half to complete it.

Their humor and chaotic energy is overwhelming for everyone else but for them, it's just the right amount.

Together they shine like they're starring their own variety show and honestly? They should be.

© SVT-SOOJIN

[woso-fan91]

Just a quick one:

Chapter 10 – At Your Place

Claudia let herself fall onto the hotel bed with a sigh. Her muscles ached, her mind was foggy, and the game had drained every last bit of energy she had left.

It hadn’t been a great match—not tactically, not emotionally. Some days the pitch felt like home. Today, it had felt like quicksand.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Y/n.

A tired smile tugged at Claudia’s lips as she answered.

“Hey…”

“Hi,” came Y/n’s warm voice. “Rough day?”

Claudia closed her eyes. “That obvious?”

“I heard the commentary. Want to talk about it? Or… just not be alone?”

Claudia hesitated. “Honestly? Both.”

“Then come over,” Y/n said, no hesitation in her voice. “Max and I are here. I’ll cook something simple, you can collapse on the couch, Max will provide entertainment—and I’ll bring the wine.”

Claudia let out a soft chuckle. “That’s easily the best offer I’ve had all week.”

“Then don’t make me repeat it. We’re waiting.”

⸻

After the call, Y/n turned to Max, who was busy wrestling a slightly-chewed stuffed sheep.

“Alright, soldier,” she said in mock seriousness. Max perked up his ears.

“Tonight, you’ve got a mission. Claudia’s coming over. She’s had a tough day. Your job: Make her smile.”

Max tilted his head.

“No begging, no stealing snacks, no drooling on her shoes. I need charm, class—and if you really want to impress her? Maybe give her the fancy rock you found on our walk yesterday.”

Max let out a low, amused-sounding bark and trotted off like he understood every word.

⸻

Claudia arrived around 9 p.m. Y/n opened the door in sweatpants and a hoodie, Max sitting obediently by her side—far too well-behaved.

“You two look suspiciously professional,” Claudia teased.

“We’re a well-oiled unit,” Y/n replied, stepping aside. “Come in.”

The scent of garlic, herbs, and freshly cooked pasta filled the apartment. A blanket was already draped on the couch, and a glass of red wine waited on the table.

“Make yourself at home,” Y/n said. “I’ll pour you another.”

Claudia collapsed onto the couch with a deep exhale.

“You have no idea how much I needed this.”

“I do,” Y/n said softly. “That’s why it’s here.”

They ate together, quietly. Y/n didn’t ask many questions about the game. She just let Claudia talk at her own pace. And that made all the difference.

Later, while Claudia nursed her second glass of wine and began to truly unwind, Max suddenly began rummaging beneath the coffee table.

After a moment, he proudly marched over to Claudia—and dropped a slightly muddy, misshapen stone into her lap.

Claudia blinked down at it. “Is this… for me?”

Max wagged his tail like it was the crown jewels.

Y/n grinned. “His prized possession. I think that’s his way of saying he officially approves.”

Claudia chuckled, genuinely touched.

“Thank you, Max. I’ll treasure it.”

She scratched behind his ears, and he flopped over with a satisfied grunt.

Y/n leaned back on the couch, her fingers brushing gently over Claudia’s.

“Tonight, you don’t have to be anything. Just be.”

Claudia laced their fingers together.

For now, that was more than enough.

[dreamygirl19]

Can you do a Seongje fic. Obviously, he would be toxic and manipulative with his partner. Can you do one where she ends up losing herself. She's gone from this bright, bubbly girl to a dull, expressionless person due to him being manipulative and also guilt from all the innocent guys Seongje has beaten up when they tried talking to her. And Seongje, who loves her and can't see himself without her, can maybe start to see how damaged she's become because of him since she no longer answers. She just sits there. He'll try to argue with her to try get a reaction but she all she says is okay and that's it.

Something like that. I've been reading your Seongje stories and I absolutely love them

Here you go !! I absolutely looove your request I love angsty fic idk why :D I hope you'll like it and that it'll fulfill what you expected!!

How To Steal a Soul

✮ Summary : Request above ↑

✮ Contains : Angst, manipulation, toxicity

✮ Pairing : toxic!Geum Seong-je x sunshine!reader

✮ Word Count : 2163 words

He first saw her in a flash of sunlight that cut through the dark alley. It wasn’t the sunlight itself, but her laugh—a sound so bright and full of life that it echoed even over the cacophony of the bustling street. She was with her friends, a group of girls with wide smiles and matching bubbly energy, but she shone the brightest.

Her hair, a shade of warm chestnut brown, bounced with every movement, catching the light like a halo. Her eyes, an intense and sparkling brown, held a mischievous glint as she playfully pushed one of her friends. She was a storm of vibrant energy, a whirlwind of joy that Seongje, standing in the shadows, found himself utterly captivated by.

He had never seen a girl like her. The girls he knew were quiet, cautious, and intimidated by his presence. They would look at him with a mixture of fear and awe, whispering his name as he walked past.

But she—she didn't even seem to notice him. She was too busy living, too wrapped up in her own little world of happiness. And that, more than anything, drew him in. He wanted to be the one to make her laugh like that, to be the source of that blinding light. He wanted to possess that feeling, to bottle it up and have it all for himself.

He started small, a casual bump in the hallway, a shared class. He’d watch her from across the room, memorizing the way her brow would furrow in concentration, the way she’d chew on her lip when she was deep in thought.

He’d make sure they were always in the same place at the same time, orchestrating their meetings with the precision of a general. He’d ask her for a pencil, a piece of paper, anything to get her to talk to him.

And when she finally did, her voice was just as bright as her laugh. It was like music, a melody that he couldn’t get out of his head. He learned her name was Y/N, and the sound of it on his lips was a new kind of sweetness he hadn’t known existed.

The beginning was a fairytale, a dream come true for her. He was attentive, sweet, and possessive in a way that she initially found endearing. He would walk her home every day, his hand firmly holding hers, a silent claim on her. He would wait for her outside her classes, a small, possessive smile on his face as he saw her emerge. He'd bring her small gifts, her favorite snacks, or a single flower he'd picked on the way.

He made her feel safe, cherished, and loved. But the possessiveness, which once felt like a comforting blanket, began to tighten around her, a suffocating grip that she didn't even notice until it was too late.

The first time it happened was at a cafe. A guy, a friend from her art class named Junho, came up to their table to say hello. He was talking about a project they were working on, a large mural for the school. Y/N was laughing, her face lit up as she animatedly described the concept. Junho was smiling, his eyes sparkling with a similar artistic passion.

When he left, she turned back to Seongje, her smile still in place, but it faltered when she saw his face. His jaw was clenched, his eyes dark and stormy. "What was that?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"He's just a friend," she said, her voice small.

"Just a friend?" he scoffed, his eyes narrowing. "He was looking at you like you were his."

She didn't argue. She didn't know how. She just sat there, her bright smile gone, a cold dread settling in her stomach. He paid for their food in silence, his hand gripping her wrist so tightly as they left that it left a faint white mark. It was the first sign that the possessiveness wasn't just a part of his love, but a core part of his control.

After that, it became a pattern. A guy would say hello, a boy would try to flirt with her, and Seongje would be there, a dark shadow looming over them. She started to feel a prickle of anxiety every time a male friend approached her. The first time he got into a real fight, she was terrified. He had seen a guy from her class talking to her after school, a shy boy named Minwoo asking for help with a math problem.

Seongje didn't see a classmate asking for help; he saw a threat, a challenge to his ownership. He pulled her away, his grip on her arm so tight it felt like a brand. He cornered Minwoo, his voice a low growl, "Stay away from her. She's mine." Minwoo, startled and frightened, backed away. But Seongje wasn't done.

He followed him, and she heard the sickening sounds of a fight, the thud of a fist hitting flesh, the pained gasp of a boy. She ran, her heart pounding in her chest, tears streaming down her face. She felt sick, a nauseating mix of fear and guilt.

When she confronted him, his response was so calmly manipulative that she didn't know how to fight back. "I did it for you," he said, his voice soft, his eyes filled with a manufactured sincerity. "I can't stand it when other guys look at you. It makes me crazy. Don't you see? I love you." He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, and she felt the comforting warmth of his embrace, the familiar scent of his cologne. "I just want to protect you," he whispered, his lips against her hair.

And she, a girl who had always craved love and security, believed him. She believed that his violence was a manifestation of his love, that his possessiveness was a sign of his devotion. She convinced herself that the guilt she felt was her own fault, that if she had just been more careful, if she had just made it clearer that she was taken, then none of this would have happened.

She started to make excuses for him, for herself. He loves me so much he can't help it. The lie was a fragile shield, but it was all she had.

So she started to change. She stopped talking to her male friends. She'd pretend to be busy when they tried to approach her. She stopped laughing so loudly, her once bright and bubbly personality dimming under the constant pressure.

Her clothes, once a vibrant collection of colors and patterns, became a muted palette of grays and blacks. She started wearing oversized hoodies, hiding her form, making herself smaller, less noticeable.

She stopped meeting her friends after school, spending all her time with Seongje, a willing prisoner in his self-made cage. She became a reflection of him, a pale imitation of the girl she once was.

Her friends tried to talk to her, to reach her, to pull her back from the edge. "You're not yourself anymore, Y/N," one of them had said, her voice filled with concern. "He's changing you." But she would just shake her head, a blank expression on her face. "I'm happy," she’d say, a lie she told so often she almost believed it herself.

The final straw came a few weeks later. They were at a party, and she was sitting alone, watching the other people dance and laugh. She felt a phantom ache in her chest, a longing for a joy she no longer knew how to feel.

A guy, a kind-faced stranger, came up to her. "You look lonely," he said, his voice gentle. "Do you want to dance?" She shook her head, a small, polite smile on her face. "No, thank you." But Seongje saw it. He saw the interaction, the kind stranger, the brief flicker of a polite smile on her face. He didn't even bother with words this time. He just walked up to the guy, a dark storm in his eyes, and hit him.

A single, brutal punch that sent the guy sprawling to the floor, his nose gushing blood. The music stopped. A stunned silence fell over the room. Everyone was looking at them, at the blood, at the fear in her eyes, at the savage look on Seongje's face.

She didn't say a word. She just got up, her legs feeling like lead, and walked out of the party. He followed her, his voice a torrent of excuses and reassurances. "He deserved it," he said, his voice laced with venom. "He shouldn't have been talking to you." She didn't respond. She just kept walking, the sounds of the party fading behind her, a new, heavy silence settling in.

When they got back to his apartment, she didn't scream, she didn't cry, she didn't fight. She just sat on his couch, her hands in her lap, her eyes fixed on nothing.

Days turned into weeks, and the silence became a constant companion. She barely spoke, her voice a forgotten instrument. She would sit on the couch for hours, her expression blank, her eyes hollow. She had become a ghost in her own life, a shadow of the girl she once was.

The bright, bubbly girl who laughed like sunlight was gone, replaced by a dull, expressionless person who just existed. The world outside his apartment walls felt like a distant memory, a place she could no longer access. The vibrant colors of her old life had been washed out, leaving only a gray, muted existence.

He would try to talk to her, to get a reaction. "Hey," he'd say, his voice a little too loud in the quiet apartment. "Did you eat?" She wouldn't look at him. "Okay," she’d say, her voice flat, devoid of any emotion. That was her new favorite word. "Okay." It was a word of acceptance, of surrender. A word that held no life, no passion, no hope. It was the sound of a spirit breaking.

One evening, he came home to find her sitting in the same spot, a half-empty glass of water on the coffee table. The sun was setting, casting long, mournful shadows across the room.

He sat down next to her, his heart a heavy, cold lump in his chest. "I saw one of your friends today," he said, his voice soft, almost pleading. "She asked about you. I told her you were fine." She didn't react. She just sat there, her hands in her lap, her eyes fixed on the darkening window.

"Are you even listening to me?" he asked, his voice rising, a flicker of his old anger returning.

"Okay," she said, her voice a monotone.

He felt a surge of frustration, a desperate need to break through the wall she had built around herself. He grabbed her shoulders, his grip tight. "Look at me!" he yelled, his voice echoing in the silent room. She finally turned her head, her eyes meeting his. But there was nothing there. No anger, no fear, no sadness. Just a vast, empty space.

He felt a chill run down his spine, a cold dread that was far more terrifying than any of the rage he had ever felt. He released her shoulders, his hands trembling. He had wanted her to be his, to be his and only his, but in his pursuit, he had not only taken her away from everyone else, he had taken her away from herself. He had broken her. He had stolen her light, her laughter, her joy. He had wanted her to be a doll, a possession he could keep and control, but he hadn't realized that dolls don't have souls.

He stood up and walked to the kitchen, his hands shaking as he poured himself a glass of water. He looked back at her, a silent, unmoving statue on the couch. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, his voice a broken whisper. "Why won't you just talk to me?" She didn't answer. She didn't move. She just sat there, a silent testament to the wreckage he had created.

He had won. He had gotten rid of every single person who could have taken her from him. But in the end, he had lost her completely. He had her, all of her, but it was just a shell. The beautiful, vibrant girl he had fallen in love with was gone, replaced by a ghost who just said "okay." And the worst part? He knew, with a terrifying certainty, that he was the one who had killed her.

He had loved her so much that he had destroyed her. And now, he was alone with the pieces. The apartment, once filled with the imagined echoes of her laughter, was now a tomb, and he was the sole mourner at a funeral he had orchestrated himself.

꩜ Masterlist

꩜ One shots requests opened

[sigyn-foxyposts]

I HAVE COME WITH A CHARLIE ASK!!! Because you’ve been so kind with the triplets asks ❤️

How olds the lil guy?

Favorite color

Favorite hobby

And Charles do you have A lil secret that’s been kept in the dark?

And do you have a favorite sibling/parent?

(Awhh, fan, of course I love the Stine triplets!! You’re such a sweetheart, and thank you for sending this ask 💕)

So, how old’s the little guy?

“Charlie, baby, someone asked how old you are. Wanna tell them?”

“I FWEETH!! I big boy now. I eat gummies wifout choking!”

“…Progress! He’s three, in case that wasn’t clear through the overwhelming confidence. He's currently deep in his “I do it MYSELF” era and will body-slam anyone who dares cut his food for him.”

@fairchilds-glasses

Favorite color?

“GWEEN an’ WED!!”

“He says it like he personally invented both colors. For the folks in the back, that’s green and red. You’re welcome.”

Hobbies?

“Please take a deep breath. This child runs on pure chaos and fruit snacks.”

Drawing: Mostly on paper and occasionally on skin. Once on the wall behind the TV. Tiffany was not amused.

Plushie care: Every night, he tucks in his bunny under a napkin, screams “NIGHT NIGHT!!!” at it, and walks away like a war general.

Climbing: Couches. Counters. People. He tried to scale the fridge last week like it was Mount Everest.

Wabbling: (his term for dancing) Commercial jingle? Wabbling. Someone’s ringtone from two rooms away? Wabbling. Wind rustles a leaf? Wabbling.

Watching videos: He will watch anyone who has a phone, when he can and somehow locate the same cursed 3-minute dance video of a cat..? No matter whose phone he steals. We all live in fear.

Favorite parent/sibling?

“Charlie is an unapologetic daddy’s boy. He will dropkick a plushie across the room just to be the first in Chucky’s lap when he walks through the door. I get cuddles only if I bring snacks or turn on the TV. But our “dear” old dad? That man gets tackled at the door like he just returned from war.”

“DADDY IS BIG STRONG.”

“Yes, thank you Charlie, you say that almost every single day.”

“Sibling-wise, he’s obsessed with me (obviously) and Glen, because Glen always makes sure he’s fed, entertained, and in bed on time. As for Glenda and Caroline… it’s complicated. He doesn’t dislike them, but he definitely gives them that look. You know the one toddlers give people who once held them like a football as babies? That one.”

“He clocked the “What do I do with this potato?” energy at day one after he popped into existence, and has never let it go.”

“Car’ine don’t hold me right...”

“Now he is trying to climb the coffee table because i brought it up– I think that’s a wrap, onto the old man!”

Charles, do you have a little secret that’s been kept in the dark?

(I know this one might not make sense, but it turned into a running joke between me and @hack-n-slasher that Chucky doesn't acknowledge Rachel just to mess with Tiff, while she insists and will only make up his mind in certain situations, like when they make up!)

“Heh, lemme tell ya somethin’, kid, after I died, ya know, when I ended up stuck in the doll body? Took me a minute to figure things out after so many years and dyin’. When I first got back in Rachel’s life, mind ya, I was only there a year before I kicked the bucket. I didn’t even recognize her at first.”

“Then Tiff piped up sayin’, “Hey, that’s our kid.” And ya know what? I actually didn't believe her because of my bad memory. That really pissed off, mommy so things got real heated, real fast. The thing is, I got so busy bein’ a killer doll, runnin’ my own bloody little empire, I kinda… forgot about Rachel. Mostly because i had other plans.. but, y’know, after doin’ what me and Tiff do best, I got forgiven! By the way no hard feelings, kid.”

“None taken, self proclaimed good guy.."

"She's pretty much the secret"

[ttheggrimrreaper]

Cats Out of the Bag

Chapter one

if you would like to be tagged in future posts for this fic, let me know!

Divider made by:huraxy

Art credit: feenwege on twt or X

word count:2,031

Tag list:

masterlist next chapter

The door to your clinic slammed open. You flinched, no one else was around, and it was 10 minutes till closing. Your eyes wide as a man dressed in all black held a orange cat against his chest. “Hey, hey help me out. Shes really hurt and I dont know what to do but she needs help.” He panicked, taking big and quick steps towards you. “Alright, Ive got her calm down” You tried to deescalate situations, as animals thrive on their owners reactions. When their owner is worried, they worry. So by calming that cats owner, she should calm down. You guided them to the first available room and had the man set the cat on the exam table as you pulled on your gloves. “You did good bringing her in so fast.” You praised him as you looked started to take her vitals. Her breathing was fine just a little quick, temperature was normal, no broken bones. What you were worried about was how this was going to affect her pregnancy. “Is she gonna be okay?” He asked quietly, like he was scared to know the answer. “Yeah, Shes gonna be alright. Looks like she got cut up by another animal and burnt out of energy.” You sighed, poor thing. Her fur was all matted and bloody, but no stitches needed.  You moved efficiently, cleaning her wounds and fur, making sure the growing kits were doing fine. The cat was falling asleep, eyes slowly blinking closed and tail coming to a stop. “Shes dehydrated, but well keep her overnight and pump some fluids into her.”

Ino fidgeted, just nodded. You settled her down in a blanket. She should be knocked out for the whole night, and with the iv line attached to her, she should be bouncing back in the morning with nothing but soreness. You turned off the light and walked out of the exam room, still seeing the man pressing his fingers together. “Hey, cats are pretty resilient. Shes gonna be fine. Oh, whats her name?” You figured you would try to start a conversation to lighten the situation for the poor man.

“I dunno, I just found her and I.. I couldnt just walk away.” He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. Your eyes widened, okay then…

“Oh.. well.. Well that sure causes a problem.” You winced, would it? No. No its fine. “Well.. maybe not. I will just submit her to the TNR program.” You sighed, talking yourself through it.

“TNR?”

“Trap-Neuter-Return. They take the cat, neuter it and then return it.. Although in her case they will just skip the neuter part.” You nodded, you havent ever been asked to neuter a already pregnant cat, so that part you were unsure of.

“She cant go back out there! Cant you keep her here!?” It was a stupid question but Ino was genuinely only wanting whats best for the cat. “I can take her!”

“You dont have to do that, shes not helpless.” You crossed your arms.

“Yes, but I want too. I-Ive been meaning to get a cat anyway” he lied through his teeth, not his best lie, but he hoped it was enough that you would take pity and let him keep her.

“Fine. But I need to see her every 2 weeks alright? Shes feral, she is going to fuck you up if you so much as look at her wrong.” You said, and you meant it. As much as you loved orange cats, they seemed to have a temper like no other, and combining that with a feral cat, well.. Wasnt the best house pet. He just nodded along, like he had any clue how to handle it. 

“Well I guess I am gonna just have to figure it out.”

You groaned, you feared that both the man himself, and the cat, were screwed. “Here, take my personal number. Text me if you need anything or if she starts acting weird.” You waited for him to pull out his phone before you typed in your number. “My names Y/n L/n” “Ino Takuma, thanks for the help.” “Well it is my job.” You nodded, and he did too, chuckling softly. He seemed to relax, and truly take in the situation. Everything was going to be fine, perfectly fine. “So umm… shes kinda fat huh?” He spoke, clearly trying to be humorous, you paused. So he didnt know? Great. Now he gonna take back his offer. You groaned. “No, shes 5 weeks pregnant, and in 4 weeks, shes going into labor, or around that.” You watched as Inos eyes widened. Just blinking and processing the information. “.....well… what a surprise.” He seemed to be just trying to talk to keep the conversation going, less so because he actually knew how to react. “Welp, I should probably get a couple of beds huh?” “Your not taking back your offer?” “Nope! Plus you can sell the kittens cant you?” he tilted his head, brightening up with each passing second. “Yeah, alright fair enough Ino.” You nodded, hand to give it to him, he did seem prepared to take on this challenge. “I will text you the care instructions. Its late and I gotta get home, so do you I would assume? Pick her up in the morning alright?” Ino nodded. “Yeah, morning I got it. Any suggestions for stuff I should buy?” “Well basic cat stuff yeah? Bed, food, bowls, litter box, litter, toys, I would suggest getting some of the catnip, ya know,.. To drug her up and make her more manageable." You gave your advice, while catnip did sometimes make cats go crazy, they usually crashed soon and are super easy to handle. “Never thought I would be told to actively drug something up” “First time for everything bud. Take care of yourself.” You patted his back as you walked out of the practice, locking up after he walked out. “Good night.” “Night y/n!” He smiled, before turning to go the opposite direction you were. What a fun dude, a little silly yeah, but fun never the less.

Ino was at the door before you were, carrier in hand and waiting. You paused as you got out of the car.. Damn, he really was serious. You were borderline convinced he would not be coming back for the poor thing. “ You brought a carrier? Nice move”

“Yeah, the lady at the store said I was gonna need one. I did alot of reading last night, and I didn't know what kind of toy shed like so I panicked and bought alot.” He lifted a large bag.. He wasnt kidding. That was alot of damned cat toys.

You snorted. “Thats a good start.” You unlocked the door to your practice, holding it open for Ino and his army of cat toys. “Lets go get her yeah?” he nodded and followed you to the cats resting space.. And it was a war to get her inside the damned carrier, hissing and clawing. Lots of yelling from both of you. But eventually it happened, and he walked out with a shaking carrier box, the she-cat yowling to be let out.

Youd been texting Ino non stop. Hes been asking why she does this, why that, what to do to fix it, and thankfully you knew. And it was cute to see how worried he was about this poor thing. Hed sent you photos and videos of her messing around with the cat toys, she seemed to enjoy them, purring softly. Some of the videos were of her lazing around in the sun, just enjoying life and what it had to offer. Lots of hissing whenever ino got a little to close though. She was quick to let him know that while they live together, she owns the space.

He was just so sweet, on and offline. In person he was so attentive on what you said, and then he would hang out with you on your breaks if they were after his appointment. Hes a little bit of a mess, and flirt no doubt. But hes driven, and really fucking cute.

You love how he tilts his head so dramatically when confused, eyes wide and filled with wonder and waiting for you to just explain the damned thing to him.

Hes such a sweet talker too. Whenever you got mad at him for saying some dumb as fuck stupid shit, he always made a comment to make it go away. “Yes, keep getting mad, you look so pretty when you do” “Aww dont pout, you know I cant handle your cute little face when you do that” He was getting touchy too, hugging you, he even kissed your cheek at some point. Not that you minded. But your favorite part was how you would talk for hours on the phone at night… There was a video where at one point you thought you were about to be flashed by a naked ino, as all you heard for a moment was a gasp and then the shower curtain, it was just the cat trying to fight it. Clawing at the curtain. “Hey! Hey stop that!” He shouted, then chuckled as she ran off a few steps, then looked over her shoulder and glared at him. “Glare all you want mama, you got cat toys to fuck up instead of my curtain.” He pet her back, and then she launched herself at him. “HEY MY BAD! OH MY GOD-HELP!” The video continued with the sound of clattering and the cat hissing, Ino telling her to stop and that hes sorry. The video finally ended when he dropped the phone. You saved the video. It was way too cute not too! Poor Ino though, you had some confidence that the cat won the battle. You just needed the evidence about his cat dad adventures. God. how was going to handle a few more of her!? Even if he plans to sell them, hes gotta keep them for a few week minimum. You lie in bed, smiling as you thought. And to no ones surprise,atleast not your own, your thoughts were all about him. Dare say you might be getting a small crush on the crazy guy. Hes so funny, stupid but silly. Oblivious yet somehow insightful at times. But most of all, hes just so damned carrying. He asked about your day, what you had for breakfast, if you had any animals, He asked every question you would think of.  Your phone went off next to you, you hesitated to check it, not wanting to leave your thoughts. But you did a couple moments later, to be polite. You wanted it to be Ino, and thankfully, it was. His stupid little profile picture of him trying to tear open a package of candy. It was one of the harder ones, that you need scissors for. His mouth was tearing the corner, hands clawing at the other. He says he looks horrible, you think hes never looked cuter.

Tabby cat: (yes thats your contact for him, he just seems like he would be an orange tabby to you) SHE WONT FUCKING STOP EATING MY CURTIAN! Dr. Cat Whisperer 😼: (No hes not sorry at all about it) Spray it down with citrus perfume, she wont like the smell and leave it alone Tabby cat: She better if she wants to keep getting catnip every meal Dr. Cat Whisperer 😼: EVERY MEAL!? Ino I said drug her up, not turn her into a stoner! Tabby cat: My bad! Maybe that should be her name; Stoner Dr. Cat Whisperer 😼: Dont you fucking dare. But.. you really should give her name It only just occurred to you, that after 2 week of talking and having this cat.. She still didnt have a name. Tabby cat: fine, how about….

[aturinfortheworse]

imagine that you live at home with your father, who you do not like, when one day without warning or context, two people--your father's best friends' friend's partner's children--who you have met twice, one of those times by accident, simultaneously message you with competing offers to live with them. they are prepared to haggle over rent in order to secure you as a housemate.

this is the experience my brother and i have planned for someone. me to replace him when he moves out, him as an additional housemate to the place he's moving into.

[fisheito]

(3) remaining

[eyeofthebrainstorm]

I'm so glad Sam is back. That conversation between Fearne and Braius was exactly the kind of thing I was missing from CR.

[imissthembutitwasntadisaster]

My five year plan involves wandering around my massive castle in the middle of nowhere in an ugly sweatshirt trying to solve alien mysteries and also meddling in teenagers' love-lives for shits and giggles.

[space-age-babe]

[officialvampirebusiness]

i need some expert opinions would lady noires pokemon partner be perrserker or torracat. NOT marinettes!!! lady noires.

[anaalnathrakhs]

CARDINAL TEDESCO HITTING THE VAPE IN 4K OH HOW I'VE MISSED YOU

[batsplat]

I don’t know if this is a crossover that makes sense but I saw that you like doctor who and MotoGP which are two things I enjoy a lot so if you had to a-sign Valentino, Marc, Casey, Jorge, and Dani as a doctor which doctor would each of them be (the one most like them) and would there be crossovers for who’s who.

ontologically fascinating ask in that the premise supposes all the aliens are essentially variations upon the same guy. and given I do indeed am a known doctor who enjoyer, I will absolutely have a crack at this. obviously some of the aliens will inevitably have more of a doctor-ish vibe than others, which made some of these trickier than others. but this kind of exercise is fun in that it forces you to think of like... the key, non-negotiable character traits you associate with each guy. so here goes

dani: struggled most with this one. I initially thought maybe third doctor - some kind of homage to the samurai styling and three's martial arts thing. idk I could picture dani dropkicking an alien. (literal, not motogp alien... although maybe?) though mainly this pick is about the UNIT team environment. you've got this loner vibe, right, paired with this sense of superiority over some of those you're working with: maybe you've been exiled to earth and have to spend time with a bunch of humans or maybe you have to share a garage with a teammate when you'd really rather not. it's about capturing the energy of early premier class dani who flirts with the line between being kinda shy and awkward versus being a bit of an arrogant prick. the contemptuous vibe the doctor brings to the table... he knows how good he is! boy wonder dani surrounded by people convinced he's going to be the next big thing. a lot of the time three just wants to be left alone to do his work... three's the most grounded doctor (no pun intended) and between the pragmatism and the haughtiness, there is an appeal to this pick

but a different alien is more suited to the third doctor in terms of actual personality, so... for dani, we'll keep the trappings of three, but maybe in terms of actual personality veer a tad closer to nine. very much a big-hearted incarnation of the doctor despite having been thoroughly beaten down by the universe. regret, frustration, a reckoning of sorts with his own ineffectuality... nine's arc of coming to terms with his failure to save others, versus dani's arc of coming to terms with not achieving what people expected him to. nine is a transitional doctor, one who's all about finding himself in the aftermath of loss + tragedy - it's a journey that's very much about finding some measure of peace. reckoning with how painful and unfair the world can be, finding meaning within it anyway. nine's also committed to his worldview, his sense of morality... he's rigid at times, inflexible - though he's sometimes successfully challenged to reassess his beliefs. embraces a little more nuance by the end of his tenure while still never wavering from certain core values... the world might reward cruelty, might be unfair, but nine can choose to fight anyway. commitment to the struggle, even if it's ultimately futile! I'm still not wholly convinced by how good a fit this is because nine's outwardly manic persona is key to his characterisation, but. well. maybe you'd go three's life circumstances with nine's soul (?) with one's gruff exterior. having to make a choice, I'd go nine

jorge: this one's a straight contest between two doctors for me. my first thought was six - you know, the one with the whacky clothes. on a meta level, there is something to how the doctor who showrunners really ramped up the quirkiness to the max with this version of the doctor without figuring out why that had worked with past incarnations. one of my fave things about jorge is that whole process he had to try to figure out his 'character', attempting to construct a persona in this deliberate, self-serious way with constant reference to valentino, reflecting upon everything he did to the point of omphaloskepsis. and six at the start of his tenure was also a bit of an... unfinished product, rough around the edges - just too abrasive a personality to work in this particular show. also one of the most outwardly arrogant incarnations! six is always A Lot, with this flamboyance and passion that just suits theatre-kid-at-heart jorge. and six does calm down, stops trying to be so edgy... idk, to me just a little reminiscent of jorge's evolution. stopped trying to come up with a 'character' that rivals valentino's - which does work rather nicely as a meta-textual parallel with that particular era of doctor who. six might have been stubborn, poorly socialised, sometimes a handful to deal with... but also someone who softened some of the rough edges. it's taken some time, but he's won a lot of fans over. eventually

all that being said, I'm leaning towards the other option here - and bring back three, a better fit for jorge than he is for dani. a lot of the stuff about the working environment applies here too, of course... like, you've got an alien who's being made to work a nine to five job surrounded by actual human beings; the interpersonal interactions tend to be a bit hit-and-miss. three's self-seriousness, his pompousness really work here... his tendency to pontificate, I see the vision for jorge. and - let's not forget - three's run was very much defined by his relationship with the master, who got to actually be a very regular antagonist in that era. that particular dynamic has taken some radically different forms over the years... but the third doctor, for all of his antagonism with the master, brought a certain 'only bitch in this house I respect' vibe to the table. jorge would get obsessed with his old academic rival who keeps showing up to bother him/commit mass murder. after the master's first appearance/mass murder spree, the doctor can barely contain his enthusiasm at the thought of fighting the master again soon. that's jorge, if he were a time travelling alien. going three

casey: right, casey's getting the old soul treatment. the first doctor fits that brief and is also the most irascible incarnation, back in the earliest days of the character when they just wrote him as kinda a dick for a while. do I think casey would abduct two school teachers just because they poked around where they wren't supposed to and pissed him off? well, yes. that sounds like a casey thing to do. the first doctor is stubborn, moody, frequently dismissive of those who aren't as brilliant as him. doesn't trust easily. blunt, pragmatic, sceptical of authority. a bit of a loner. and given he's the first incarnation, he's also the version going through the most culture shock!! not always easy, is it, when you're constantly surrounded by all these [humans/europeans] who baffle you. the first doctor did get to mature a bit, got to have some fun and lean into his natural inclination towards mischief... a piece of work whose heart is mostly in the right place, even if he doesn't always show it particularly well

another option for casey is twelve, another a pick that does kinda work on a meta level. twelve follows on from some massively popular incarnations, keeps dropping all-timer performances that don't always get the appreciation they deserve from the casual fan. the real ones know how goated he is. twelve starts out REALLY surly, not exactly the most outwardly empathetic doctor - let's just say his bedside manner could use a little bit of tweaking. at the same time, twelve's very preoccupied with questions of morality... he has a tendency to be incredibly harsh to those he doesn't feel live up to his standards - ones which at times feel a touch arbitrary, even hypocritical. also very harsh towards himself!! twelve goes in heavy on the self-loathing, pairing an ironclad confidence in his own abilities with plenty of doubts and insecurities. casey's all about confidence - both in the positive sense that he's got a lot of it and knows he can always rely on his obscene levels of talent, but also in the negative sense that he's constantly terrified of letting everyone else down and can have his self-belief shaken under the right circumstances. possibly setting off a streak of crashes. twelve's another quite rigid sort at the start of his tenure, very capable of lashing out at anything in range, though he does chill out a bit. and he's a very kind version of the doctor, principled, got a dry sense of humour... one of the more misunderstood incarnations and still somewhat underappreciated. this is already a good fit to me! but I'd also throw in a wild card tenth doctor in there, for that tendency to think he's always in the right and a reluctance to admit to certain shortcomings - he's just a little less reflective and honest with himself than twelve. a Proper Grudge Holder who went to the resent and remember class of conflict non-resolution. his rather remarkable capacity for self-delusion doesn't hurt with the parallels either. ten's admittedly a bit too happy-go-lucky for casey's whole deal... primarily I'd still say twelve

marc: went the other way from casey with this one and considered the doctors with younger appearances. five would be an interesting pick - an incarnation that really embraced having a young face, who felt like some of his previous incarnations had been trying way too hard to appear old and mature. there's a vibrancy and charm to five that suits marc I feel, cheerful and a tad naive (to the point of being somewhat childish) and wanting to really engage with the universe... he wants to live life to the fullest, wants to have fun out there, rejects cynicism. and for his troubles, five absolutely gets put through the wringer. this is a man acquainted with TRAUMA. full time companions really don't die very often in this show, but one of the defining fifth doctor stories features just that. as he continues getting blows dealt by the universe, he becomes more guarded, wearier, cautious of trusting others. but also... idk, five is a bit too spineless I reckon, lets himself pushed around too much, is too easy to manipulate and too docile in the face of authority - that's not marc

my actual pick is eleven (for meta-narrative points, he follows the incarnation who is seen by many as the archetypal doctor). marc's got this interesting career arc where - because of the age profiles of his competitors and the gap left by the injury years - he's gone from always being the baby to being the old man... with seemingly little time spent in between. eleven's very much all about being an old soul in a young body and is one of the incarnations that best manages to capture that energy - for all the outward exuberance, the mania, this is someone who has seen a lot and hurt a lot and carries that burden with him. eleven has a steeliness to him that works for marc, a cheerful facade that covers a real ruthlessness. a lot of emphasis during eleven's tenure is placed on how much the doctor lies, just constantly deceiving and playing his games and... well! marc! with eleven you do lean into the secrecy and mystique of it all - he's just quite a slippery guy where he does obviously care, where there's a select group of people he loves with all his heart, but he's also plenty capricious and arrogant and is willing to withhold vital information if he thinks he knows best. all about the contrast between the cheery exterior and darker, cunning interior. very marc. eleven

valentino: tough. tough! you can legitimately go at least 4-5 different directions here. a lot of the marc + eleven stuff applies here, though marc fits eleven's coldness a little better I reckon. you can copy and paste everything I said about ten in the casey section here too - they're all traits valentino and casey are aligned on, maybe go even more all in on ten's hubris for valentino. ten's outward demeanour does suit valentino better than casey, with the charm and the cheeriness and the manic energy and all that. and meta-narratively it doesn't hurt how crazy popular ten is, to the point where plenty of the more contrarian fans think he's overrated. he also just keeps coming back... refuses to fade into irrelevance! fans aren't allowed to forget about this bloke, however they feel about him. still, ten's not got quite enough of an edge, doesn't have the self-awareness he needs to lean into some of his nastier traits. another good shout is the second doctor, who kinda revolutionises the game by introducing the concept of regeneration into lore - and is also softer, gentler than his previous incarnation, a bit more capable of communicating with others and performing empathy and all that stuff. and is playful!! might pretend to be the fool to catch others off guard, but is constantly plotting and scheming and has a tendency to be more control of the situation than anyone thinks. it's that element of trickery and mischief that makes me like two as a pick... though, idk, I reckon he's a bit too nice to quite work

on the other end of the spectrum is seven, who was my initial impulse actually. seven is the manipulator, the doctor most willing to coldly maneuver enemies and allies alike to suit his purposes, very secretive... this is the real arsehole doctor. which, y'know, does suit valentino. plus, he's got this paternalistic energy, especially towards his companion ace - this is an era where the doctor/companion relationship is most oriented around the doctor being a teacher. where the seven pick falls apart for me is that there's a real contrast between his early playful personality and then his later manipulative, darker turn. these two sides of him feel in opposition to each other in a way that feels distinctly un-valentino, like with him it's all part of the same package y'know. seven is also a bit too cold and detached... valentino is more emotional, more passionate than that. and seven is a bit too obviously manipulative, that's the number one thing he's known for - you need someone more charismatic and popular than that I reckon. which brings us to four, the most popular incarnation of the character from the classic era who also got some of the highest quality writing, continues to be iconic however much time passes. four is this bohemian weirdo, eccentric but also charming... like the second doctor, he tries to catch others off guard, and he's big on joking around to do just that. he's also moody, at times mercurial, capricious... harsher than he initially seems, with quite a temper. he's also a bit too dispassionate to 100% fit valentino, but still the closest option - so four

in conclusion: loved answering this ask, really made me think lol. I did try to come up with a unique pick for each rather than honing in on the crossovers - though there's still a few doctors I've mentioned for multiple aliens. and also a few more I could probably make a case for, like seven and jorge or twelve and valentino or nine and casey... but you have to cut yourself off somewhere. this did made me realise the key similarity between the doctor as a character and the aliens as a group is the massive ego - partially justified by actual brilliance but still insufferable. I mean, there's also some crucial differences, like how the doctor is a selfless hero who goes around saving planets while the aliens are egocentric tax evasion-inclined athletes who mainly just care about winning motorcycle races. but apart from that, there's a decent amount of common ground yeah