#but it's definitely a core argument | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

edenesth · 2 months ago

Text

5 Steps to Losing to You

Pairing: student council president!Yunho x vice president!fem!reader

AU: high school au (enemies to lovers)

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: The student council president of KQ High had five simple steps to surviving his vice president: outshine you, outsmart you, outlast you, annoy you, and — definitely — never fall for you. Too bad every step brought him closer to late-night arguments, unexpected truths, and one unforgettable confession under the fireworks. Somewhere between enemies and uneasy allies, Yunho took five steps too far — and ended up losing (his heart) to you.

Genre: romance (duh), comedy

A/N: Thank you, @itstheghostofmypast, for giving me the urge to write another high school AU. This one's heavily inspired by one of my favourite animes of all time, Kaguya-sama: Love Is War.

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

Do you ever meet someone for the very first time, and somehow, without a single word exchanged, you just know — from the very core of your being — that you can't stand them? No logical reason. No past history. Just pure, gut-level irritation.

That was exactly how Jung Yunho felt the second you stepped into the student council room, your posture straight, your expression unreadable, exuding the kind of effortless confidence that set his teeth on edge.

You were the new transfer student — the one the teachers haven't been able to stop raving about, the one who somehow landed the coveted vice president title before even learning the school layout. And now, here you were, standing beside him, the council's golden boy, as if you belonged there.

"Dude, that's her? Oh, they weren't lying when they said she'd be eye candy," Wooyoung, the council treasurer, whispered with a smirk, elbowing Yunho's side. Yunho didn't even glance at you. He just scoffed, nudging Wooyoung back hard enough to make him stumble. "Yeah? Well, too bad a pretty face isn't enough to survive my council. I give her two weeks before she runs back to wherever she came from."

He said it loud enough for you to hear — on purpose — just to see if you'd flinch. But you didn't. You only lifted your chin slightly, eyes flicking toward him for a single, scathing second. And in that moment, you hated him just as much as he hated you.

Because from the moment you locked eyes, you knew exactly who he was — the adored, untouchable president who had everyone wrapped around his finger. The boy who carried himself like the school was his kingdom, and every student his subject. And now you were supposed to serve under him?

Absolutely not.

You hadn't transferred here to play second to anyone — least of all some arrogant, overhyped, self-proclaimed king. Back at your old school, you were always at the top: top grades, top leadership positions, top of every ranking that mattered. You weren't just a vice president — you were a future president in the making.

If Yunho thought you were here to play a supporting role in his perfect little reign, he was dead wrong.

You weren't here to make friends.

You were here to take his crown.

────

Yunho leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he watched you skim through the thick binder of council documents that Seulgi, the council secretary, had just handed over. His eyes narrowed slightly, studying you like you were some kind of unwelcome intruder trespassing on his territory.

"Hope you're not too overwhelmed," Yunho said, voice dripping with fake concern. "Student council here isn't exactly… beginner-friendly."

You didn't bother looking up, flipping another page instead. "Don't worry, President," you replied, tone sweet but sharp. "I've dealt with more organised councils before. This is nothing I can't fix."

The room went still for half a second — just enough for Seulgi to glance between you both like she was watching a fuse being lit.

Yunho's smile sharpened. "Fix? That's a bold word for someone who hasn't even seen our term plan yet."

You finally met his gaze, leaning forward just slightly over the table. "Oh, I've seen it. Last year's records were so charming, especially the part where half the events went over budget and the spring festival had a typo on the banner. Spring Festivel, was it?"

The muscle in his jaw twitched, but his grin didn't falter. "Funny. You talk big for someone who just transferred here. But I get it — new girl syndrome. All ambition, no clue how things actually work."

You rested your chin in your hand, elbow propped on the table. "And you talk big for someone who's clearly too comfortable sitting on his throne. Guess we'll see who adjusts faster — me to this school, or you to having actual competition."

The president's smile froze in place. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was being challenged — especially not by someone who hadn't even been here a full week.

Seulgi cleared her throat awkwardly. "So! Uh, why don't we go over this semester's goals together? You know… as a team?"

You and Yunho didn't break eye contact. Neither of you smiled.

"Can't wait," you said.

"Neither can I," he replied.

And like that, the war had officially begun.

────

To the outside world — to teachers, students, and anyone not trapped in this cursed room — Yunho and you were the dream team, the picture-perfect president and vice president duo. Smiling side by side during assemblies, coordinating in perfect sync during meetings, and even exchanging polite nods in the hallway.

But inside these four walls, away from the prying eyes of your adoring audience, it was an entirely different story.

It started small. The first time Yunho reached for the meeting agenda, it was mysteriously missing from his file. "Alright, let's get started with today's agenda—" he paused, flipping through his folder, only to find the neatly printed schedule gone. His eyes snapped up, narrowing instantly at you.

You sat across from him, filing your nails with deliberate slowness, not even trying to hide your smug smile when he had to wing the entire meeting from memory. "Looking for something, President?" you asked sweetly.

Wooyoung watched the exchange from the corner, whispering to Seulgi, "That's the second time this week. If this keeps up, he's gonna staple the agenda to his forehead."

The secretary sighed, already immune to the madness. "At least they're creative."

Then there was the presentation. Monthly council update in front of all the teachers, a perfect opportunity for the president to shine — until Yunho confidently clicked to the next slide… and instead of student council statistics, the screen flashed an embarrassingly tragic childhood photo of him mid-sneeze, teeth crooked, hair tragic.

Gasps filled the room. His eye twitched. From beside him, you covered your mouth, the picture of shocked concern, while under the table, your finger rested innocently on the laptop's trackpad.

"Oops," you whispered sweetly.

"You're dead," Yunho mouthed back.

The teachers would later praise your teamwork for handling the "technical difficulty" so gracefully.

The coffee war escalated next. Yunho, ever the gentleman, brought you coffee before morning meetings — extra bitter because he knew you hated it with a passion. You retaliated the next day, handing him a cup that smelled amazing but was actually salted beyond salvation.

Wooyoung took a cautious sip from his own drink, eyeing both of you. "This is why I only drink from the vending machine now."

"Smart," Seulgi muttered.

When it came time to make festival posters, the battle turned artistic. The school festival posters were a joint project — one half handled by you, the other by the president. What should have been a cohesive design turned into visual warfare.

Yunho's side was classic and professional, clean fonts and crisp colours. Your side? Bold, flashy, practically neon — and just slightly crooked, making his side look off-balance.

"It's like watching a couple divorce through graphic design," Wooyoung whispered.

"Except they were never married," Seulgi muttered. "Thank god."

The final straw — at least for that week — came during the morning announcements, when the president confidently read out the list of upcoming events — only to realise someone had swapped his script. Instead of the council's official calendar, he was now announcing a fake bake sale where Yunho himself would supposedly be dressing as a bunny mascot to promote sales.

His death glare found you through the broadcast window. You waved back cheerfully.

The students roared with excitement. "Bunnyho!" they chanted.

Seulgi buried her face in her hands. Wooyoung filmed everything.

And yet, the moment those council doors swung open, you both snapped back into your roles like pros. Smiling in sync at the cameras, cutting ribbons together with practised grace, even finishing each other's sentences when teachers asked about the upcoming festival. It was a performance so convincing that even Wooyoung — who knew the truth — found himself applauding.

"It's terrifying," the treasurer started, watching the two of you gracefully cut the ribbon at a new club opening ceremony. "They look like they actually… get along," he whispered, equal parts horrified and impressed.

"Tell me about it. They're scarily good at this," Seulgi agreed, clapping along with the crowd. "It's like they're starring in a romcom where only they missed the memo."

If only they knew.

If only the rest of the school knew.

If only anyone knew that beneath all the staged smiles and synchronised speeches, it would only take five steps for the mighty president and his infuriating vice president to lose — not to each other, but to something neither of them ever saw coming.

────

Step One: seeing each other.

It started like any other day in the student council room — a battleground polished to perfection.

You arrived first, flipping open your notebook, already plotting your next move. Yunho followed shortly after, shooting you a glare so subtle no one else would notice, but you caught it. You always did. The latest round in your ongoing war had been yours — you'd managed to replace his entire project folder with a stack of fake documents detailing a made-up proposal for a "Student Council Talent Show," featuring him as both host and performer. He'd spent an hour in front of the principal before realising the whole thing was a setup. You were winning.

So when Yunho swept into the room, you were already bracing for his retaliation. And sure enough, it came — a stack of freshly printed minutes from the last meeting placed squarely in front of you. Except every instance of your name had been replaced with "Her Royal Highness, The Vice President of Perfection".

You stared at it. He smiled, all teeth and zero remorse.

"Thanks for the edit," you said coolly.

"Anything for my vice president," he shot back.

But that wasn't the real blow. The real sabotage came during the club funding review later that afternoon. It was your turn to present the approved budgets for each club, a dry, boring task — until Yunho, in a voice far too innocent, asked, "By the way, Your Highness — didn't your old school have a fencing club? You were captain, right?"

You froze for half a second. It was microscopic — no one noticed. Except for Yunho. Of course, he noticed.

"Yeah," you said, flicking through the papers like the question meant nothing. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing. Just wondering why you transferred out so suddenly. From what I hear, you were practically royalty back there, too."

You knew what he was doing. Fishing. Trying to unearth whatever dirt might be hiding under your perfect exterior. You forced a smile. "It was boring," you lied. "Needed a challenge."

He hummed, unconvinced.

Later that evening, you found your chance to return the favour. You'd overheard a conversation between Wooyoung and Seulgi, something about Yunho always leaving in a rush after school, barely staying long enough to clean up. So you set a trap — a simple one. You "accidentally" scheduled a last-minute meeting that ran late, forcing him to stay behind.

You expected him to blow up at you afterwards. You were ready for it. What you didn't expect was to follow the tall and lanky boy out — purely out of curiosity — only to watch him walk straight to the convenience store down the street, throw on a part-time apron, and start restocking shelves.

You stood outside, stunned, watching the golden boy student council president clock into a job like any regular kid. Except he wasn't just any regular kid, was he?

For the first time, you saw him without the shine — no polished uniform, no cocky smirk, no sharp words ready to fire at you. Just a boy with his sleeves pushed up, quietly stacking instant noodles, stopping every so often to check his phone like he was waiting for a message.

And when his phone finally buzzed, you saw him smile — small, tired, real.

You didn't mean to see the text, but you did.

Mum: Yunho-yah, don't forget to bring home eggs if they're on sale.

You stepped back before he could notice you watching, heart thudding with something you couldn't quite name.

That was the first crack.

The next day, Yunho found a neatly folded discount coupon for eggs tucked into his student council folder. No signature. No note. Just a coupon.

He stared at it for a long time.

For once, neither of you said anything.

But it didn't end there.

Later that week, Yunho caught sight of you outside the school gates, long after the council room had emptied. He hadn't meant to linger — in fact, he had every intention of ignoring you like usual — but something about the way you stood there caught his attention.

You weren't scrolling through your phone or chatting with anyone. You just stood there, posture straight, hands clutching your bag like it was the only thing keeping you upright. A sleek black car pulled up, polished until the surface gleamed, and a middle-aged man in a pressed suit stepped out to open the door for you.

He scoffed quietly to himself. Of course.

Princess treatment. Figures.

But as you slid into the back seat, something about the way you moved made him pause. Stiff. Formal. Like you were stepping into a stranger's car, not your own. He caught a glimpse of your face through the tinted window before it rolled up — your gaze fixed straight ahead, unfocused, mouth pressed into a thin line. You looked... distant. Detached.

Not proud. Not smug.

Not like someone who had it all.

Just... tired.

Yunho frowned, stuffing his hands into his pockets, muttering under his breath, "Must be nice to have everything handed to you... so why do you look like you've got nothing?"

He didn't have an answer. And that unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

That night, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the memory of your empty eyes lingering longer than they should.

Neither of you knew it yet — but the game was already changing.

────

Step Two: the unexpected rescue.

The rain came down hard — the kind of storm that soaked you to the bone in seconds, drumming against the pavement with no mercy. You stood just outside the school gates, shoulders hunched slightly under the awning, arms crossed tight as your phone buzzed non-stop in your hand.

Driver (5 missed calls)

Driver: Stuck in traffic. 15 minutes.

Driver: 20 minutes.

Driver: Sorry, Miss. It's a mess out here.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, locking your screen before shoving the phone into your pocket. This was typical — your family's staff was always prompt when it came to your father, but for you? Delays. Excuses. You were used to it. Didn't make it any less irritating.

The rain intensified, and you took a careful step back, just barely avoiding a splash from a passing car. That's when you saw him — Yunho, already halfway down the sidewalk, hood pulled up, backpack slung over one shoulder.

He could have kept walking. You expected him to. Hell, you would've preferred it.

But he stopped.

He stood there for a second, back still facing you, before you saw his shoulders rise and fall in what looked suspiciously like deep, begrudging contemplation. Then, without a word, he turned back, marched toward you, and thrust his umbrella out with one hand.

"Don't make it weird," he muttered, hood shadowing half his face. "I'm not leaving my vice president to drown. People would talk."

You stared at him, dumbfounded, before slowly stepping under the umbrella's cover. Your shoulder brushed his — just barely — but it was enough to make the air between you heavier than the rain itself.

"You're still an arrogant ass," you said, mostly out of habit.

"And you're still annoying," he shot back.

But neither of you moved away.

The walk to the nearby bus stop was silent, save for the rain pattering against the umbrella's canopy and your synchronised footsteps on the wet pavement. The silence should have been awkward — it always was between the two of you — but this time, it felt... almost easy.

At the stop, he held the umbrella steady over both your heads until the bus pulled up, wiping rainwater off his forehead with his sleeve.

"Don't think this means I like you," he said, voice quieter than usual.

You snorted, climbing up the bus steps. "Please. I'd be more worried if you did."

But when you found your seat by the window, you caught a glimpse of him outside — standing there in the rain, umbrella still in hand, watching the bus pull away. Neither of you knew why this moment stuck so firmly in your minds. You just knew something had shifted.

The next morning, you were absent.

Yunho should've been pleased. A day without your sharp tongue, your constant presence, your infuriating need to challenge his every decision — it should've felt like a vacation. But instead, an uncomfortable unease gnawed at him from the moment he entered the council room and saw your usual seat empty.

He shouldn't care. He knew that. But for some reason, his mind kept circling back to the night before — the rain, the bus, the fleeting glimpse of your tired face in the window.

Did you even get home safely?

He scowled at the thought. Not my problem. I already did more than enough. But no matter how much he tried to shake it off, that knot of regret just sat there in his chest, stubborn and unrelenting.

By mid-morning, his irritation boiled over. Slamming his pen down, he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Where's Vice President Pain-in-the-Ass today?" he asked, tone far too casual to be casual.

Wooyoung's eyebrows shot up — before a slow smirk stretched across his face. "Why? Miss her already? You two were so cute sharing that umbrella last night."

Yunho's chair scraped violently against the floor as he sat up straighter. "What?! Who said— That's not— I'm only asking because I was expecting her to submit the student committee reports today!"

"Suuure," Wooyoung drawled, dragging out the word until Yunho was ready to fling a stapler at his head.

Seulgi, ever the peacekeeper, stepped in with a sigh. "She called in sick. Probably caught a cold from getting drenched yesterday."

The president's stomach did an uncomfortable flip, though he masked it with a disinterested shrug. "Serves her right for not bringing her own umbrella," he muttered.

But later that night, during his shift at the convenience store, he nearly rang up a customer's items twice — his mind completely elsewhere. Each time the door chimed, he half-expected to see you storm in with some ridiculous complaint about student council policies. He hated the way that thought made his chest tighten.

He hated it even more when, the next morning, he found himself at his kitchen counter — brewing herbal tea.

When you returned to school the next day, you dropped your bag onto your desk, only to pause, brow furrowing. Sitting there, completely unassuming, was a flask of warm herbal tea. No note. No explanation.

You glanced around the empty room — only one other person was there this early, and of course, it was him. Yunho, head down, pretending to be engrossed in a report he had already read twice.

You nudged the flask aside and pulled out your notebook instead, determined not to play into whatever weird game this was.

Across the room, his pen froze mid-sentence. After a few beats of silence, he huffed, loud enough for you to hear.

"For heaven's sake, it's not poisoned," he said, still not looking up. "Drink it if you want to actually recover."

You narrowed your eyes at him, suspicious — but curiosity (and the faint scratch in your throat) won out. You unscrewed the lid, steam rising in a gentle curl. It smelled... comforting. Soothing. Like something homemade.

Reluctantly, you took a sip.

"...It's good," you admitted quietly.

He didn't respond, but when you looked up, you caught him — just for a second — sneaking a glance at you over the top of his file.

Again, neither of you said another word.

────

Step Three: forced vulnerability.

For a while, it seemed like the umbrella incident and the flask of tea never happened. Whatever fleeting kindness had passed between you both was quickly swallowed by your usual dynamic — sharp words, constant one-upping, and a relentless need to prove the other wrong.

That fragile truce didn't stand a chance.

It all came to a head after yet another brutal fight — the kind that had papers flying across the table, voices raised loud enough to make the underclassmen passing by the council room door wince. Seulgi had to physically step between you, arms stretched out like a human barricade.

"You always have to hog the spotlight, don't you?" you seethed, finger jabbing toward Yunho. "President this, President that — it's like you can't function unless the whole school is watching you."

"And you're any better?" His voice came sharp and fast, eyes blazing. "You waltz in here acting like you're saving us all, like this council should be grateful to breathe the same air as you. Spoiled little princess who can't handle not being number one."

The silence that followed was deafening. Even Wooyoung, who usually lived for drama like this, suddenly found his folder of expense reports incredibly fascinating.

You stormed out before anyone could see the flicker of hurt flash across your face. No way were you going to let Jung Yunho of all people make you feel small.

You walked blindly down the hall, fury pulsing in your veins, until you froze at the sound of his voice — quieter, softer, so unlike the boy who had just ripped into you moments ago.

"…No, Mum, I can't cover that shift. I already stayed late for council." A pause. "It's fine, really. I'll figure it out."

The reminder hit you hard. Yunho, the golden boy, the president everyone envied — was working part-time jobs after school. The same boy who seemed to have it all was just another kid juggling too much, carrying more weight than he let on. You didn't mean to eavesdrop, but you couldn't move either. Something about the edge of exhaustion in his voice made you stay.

Suddenly, the arrogant bastard didn't seem so untouchable after all.

A few days later, the roles reversed.

Yunho had gone to the library to grab an old council binder when he spotted you tucked away at a corner table. You weren't working — just sitting there, blankly staring at an open textbook like the words weren't even registering.

Next to you, a small pile of letters lay scattered — some still sealed, others torn open, the papers inside slightly crumpled like you'd held them too tightly. He didn't need to read them to know what they were. Letters from parents who cared more about achievements than feelings, words dressed up as 'encouragement' but laced with disappointment underneath.

He hadn't meant to stop, but something about the way your shoulders curled inward — that tiny, defeated slump — made him pull out a chair across from you without a word. He opened his own notebook, flipping through pages like he had a reason to be there.

The silence stretched, but for once, it didn't feel awkward.

Eventually, Yunho broke it.

"Not everyone's parents show up for them either, huh?" he said quietly, still pretending to read.

Your head snapped up, startled by the unexpected understanding in his voice. But he didn't look at you. He just kept twirling his pen between his fingers, as if the words had been said casually — like it wasn't the first time either of you had ever acknowledged this shared emptiness.

You didn't answer, but you didn't push the letters away either.

And just like that, things further shifted.

For the first time, you both saw each other — not as rivals or enemies, but just two kids quietly drowning under the weight of expectations neither of you had asked for.

────

Step Four: defending each other.

It happened so fast, you didn't even have time to think.

You were passing by the courtyard on your way back to the council room when you heard them — two students sitting on the low wall, voices pitched just loud enough to be overheard.

"I heard she only got vice president because her family donated a new wing to the school."

"Yeah, everyone knows Yunho's the real deal. She's just there to smile and look pretty. Riding his coattails the whole way."

Your hands curled into fists, steps already veering toward them — but someone else got there first.

The sharp thud of a bag hitting the ground made the gossipers jolt upright. Yunho stood there, shoulders squared, eyes dark with something dangerously close to fury.

"Say that again," he said quietly — and somehow, the softness of his voice was far more terrifying than if he'd shouted.

The students stammered, scrambling for excuses, and he didn't even spare you a glance as he slung his bag back over his shoulder and walked off, leaving you standing there — stunned silent.

Because for all the times you had accused him of being full of himself, Jung Yunho had defended you like it was second nature. Like the idea of anyone else insulting you was unthinkable.

You didn't know what to do with that.

The universe, however, was nothing if not fair. Because just a few days later, the rumours shifted — this time, about Yunho.

"Did you hear? Student council president's working at some convenience store. Imagine seeing him behind the counter after school, bagging snacks for pocket change."

"Golden boy's not so golden after all."

The words grated against your ears so sharply, you were standing in front of them before you even realised you'd moved.

Arms crossed, chin lifted, you gave them a smile so sweet it made your words all the sharper. "Funny. I didn't realise students who can't even pass basic math had opinions anyone cared about."

The stunned silence that followed was delicious. You didn't wait for their response — just turned on your heel and walked off like they weren't even worth your time.

That should've been the end of it — except Yunho was waiting for you by the lockers later that afternoon, arms folded, gaze unreadable.

"I didn't ask you to defend me," he said, tone somewhere between exasperation and confusion.

"Yeah, well." You shrugged, avoiding his eyes. "Couldn't let my rival's reputation get dragged through the mud before I beat you fair and square."

He stared at you for a long moment — long enough that you felt heat creep up your neck. And then, to your utter disbelief, he smiled. Just a little.

"You're insane."

"You're welcome."

Neither of you admitted what was really happening here.

Neither of you wanted to.

Because rivals didn't protect each other like this — right?

…Right?

It was supposed to be a one-time thing.

That's what you both told yourselves. Yunho stepping in when people ran their mouths about you? Just defending the council's reputation. You shutting down rumours about his part-time job? Basic professional courtesy. Nothing more.

Except it kept happening.

You noticed when he looked more tired than usual, dark circles smudged under his eyes like he hadn't slept a wink — and then you caught yourself caring. Which was ridiculous. You didn't care. You were just making sure the president didn't screw up his responsibilities because he couldn't handle his personal life. Right?

And Yunho? He wasn't watching out for you. No way. He just… happened to notice when you didn't eat lunch (because of course a spoiled princess would be picky), and maybe that's why he tossed a protein bar onto your desk without looking at you. Totally normal. Not thoughtful. Just practical.

The mental gymnastics you both performed to justify each and every concern were Olympic-level.

When you caught the president absently saving you the better seat during meetings, you told yourself he was just being tactical — easier for you to see the projector, of course. And when Yunho overheard you grumbling about forgetting your calculator before a math quiz, and then somehow one appeared on your desk five minutes later, you were definitely not touched. It was probably a spare he didn't need. Nothing more.

Wooyoung and Seulgi, meanwhile, were losing their minds — because the two of you were so deep in denial it was physically painful to watch.

"She just snapped at him for using the wrong pen colour for the event banners, then turned around and gave him the last slice of cake at the meeting," Seulgi whispered, wide-eyed.

"And he's been pretending to hate her handwriting, but I caught him saving one of her post-it notes in his folder," Wooyoung whispered back.

"Should we help?"

"Nah. Let them suffer."

Because to everyone else, it was painfully obvious: the two of you cared, far too much, and it was eating you both alive.

Neither of you could sleep without replaying your arguments, wondering if you'd crossed a line. Neither of you could look at the other without searching for signs — were they okay? Were they pushing too hard? Were they... thinking about you too?

Of course not.

You hated each other.

That's what you told yourselves.

That's what you needed to believe.

────

Step Five: the breaking point.

The final planning meeting for the year-end festival — the crown jewel of student council events — was supposed to be smooth sailing.

Supposed to be.

Instead, it turned into a sudden crisis and full-blown disaster. Miscommunications piled up like wreckage, schedules clashed, vendors were double-booked, and somehow, two essential permits vanished into thin air — all thanks to the endless assumptions of he'll handle it or she'll settle it.

In truth, the entire student council had been stretched too thin. With final year exams looming and everyone juggling revision sessions alongside festival planning, it was inevitable that details would slip through the cracks. Messages were missed, notes went unshared, and somewhere along the way, every member — even you and Yunho — had trusted that someone else would catch the mistakes.

No one did.

And now, with barely a week left until the biggest event of the year, it was all on the verge of collapse.

The council room was a war zone by the end of the day, with papers scattered across every surface, and half-eaten snacks abandoned next to rapidly-drained cups of instant coffee. The rest of the council had long since been sent home after nearly combusting from secondhand stress.

That left just the two of you — sworn enemies, or at least that's what you both kept telling yourselves — sitting across from each other in the wreckage, sleeves rolled up, hair undone, exhaustion written into every breath.

Somewhere between fixing the vendor placements and rewriting the schedule for the third time, you both cracked.

Laughter. Actual, delirious laughter. It started small — you snorted at something he mumbled under his breath, and he stared at you like you'd grown a second head before dissolving into laughter himself. The kind that made your stomach ache and your shoulders shake, the kind fueled by stress and sleep deprivation until it was impossible to stop.

"This is actual hell," you groaned, collapsing onto the table, cheek smushed against a poorly drawn map of the festival grounds.

"Yeah," he leaned back, arms hanging off the back of his chair, head tilted to stare at the ceiling. "But at least it's not boring."

You turned your head to look at him — hair sticking up in every direction, tie loosened, shirt wrinkled, sleeves unevenly rolled, and yet somehow still the same Yunho who drove you insane. Except, right now, he wasn't the 'golden boy president.' He was just… a boy. One who was just as tired, just as human.

"Yunho," you said softly, surprising even yourself. "Why do you hate me?"

His laughter faded. He didn't look at you right away — just exhaled long and slow, fingers tapping against the table.

"Because you make me feel like I'm not enough," he admitted, voice low, like a confession dragged straight from his chest. "And I hate feeling that way."

The honesty knocked the air from your lungs. Because it was exactly how you felt too — and you'd never meant for him to see you like that, just like you never thought you'd see him like this.

"I never wanted to hate you," you whispered, voice small. "I just wanted to beat you."

He finally turned his head, gaze meeting yours — and for the first time, there was no sharpness, no competition, no battle lines drawn between you. Just understanding.

And maybe, just maybe, something softer underneath. Something neither of you were ready to name.

"It's late. We should go," he murmured.

The air was cool, the sky stretched inky black above you, and the silence between you wasn't exactly uncomfortable — just unfamiliar. After months of snapping and snarling at each other, the absence of sharp words felt almost too quiet. Too fragile.

The two of you walked side by side down the empty street, your steps slower than usual, like neither of you wanted to be the first to break the strange peace that had settled over you.

But eventually, you couldn't hold back.

"…Are you okay not making your shift tonight?" you asked softly, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

He took a moment before answering, the faint scrape of his shoes against the pavement filling the gap. "I'll just work a double another time," he said with a shrug, like it was no big deal.

It made something pinch in your chest — this casual acceptance of overworking himself like it was second nature. You hesitated, then asked the question you realised you'd never actually known the answer to.

"Why do you work so hard?"

He didn't answer right away. His hands slid into his pockets, shoulders hunching slightly under the weight of the question. But eventually, his voice emerged, quieter than you expected.

"For as long as I can remember, it's just been me and my mum," he said. "She works really hard, but money's always been tight. When I was old enough, I took as many jobs as I could — bagging groceries, tutoring, working at that convenience store. And I kept my grades up because… I just wanted to make her proud. Wanted to give her a life where she didn't have to worry anymore."

You slowed your steps, turning your head to look at him properly. And once again, you saw him — not as your rival, not as the frustrating golden boy — but as a son. Someone's son, trying his best.

"You're a good son, Yunho," you said softly, with a smile that felt more genuine than any you'd given him before.

He smiled back — just a little — until you added, just as softly, "Can't say the same for myself though."

Yunho's footsteps halted. You stopped too, eyes falling to the sidewalk beneath you.

"You wanted to know why I transferred here, right?" you asked, voice quieter now.

Without waiting for an answer, you bent down and pulled up the edge of your right sock, revealing a thin line of surgical scars tracing across your ankle. The streetlight caught on the pale skin, glinting faintly.

"One bad match," you said, almost to yourself. "One opponent who played dirty during championships. That's all it took."

His brow furrowed, but he didn't interrupt.

"Like you said, I used to be fencing captain. Top-ranked in my old school." You let out a soft, bitter laugh. "And after the injury, I couldn't compete. I fell from first place — took months off to recover, missed exams, missed everything. To my parents, that was all it took for me to become… a disappointment."

You let your sock fall back into place, hands brushing down your skirt, voice tight with forced cheer. "So, they sent me here to start over. To rebuild whatever glory I lost. To make me their perfect trophy again."

The president didn't say anything right away. And for once, you didn't try to fill the silence either. You just stood there together, in the middle of a quiet street, under a flickering streetlamp — two students who had spent so long trying to outshine each other, only to realise they were both just chasing shadows.

When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you'd ever heard it.

"They were wrong."

You glanced up at him, blinking.

"They were wrong to make you think you're only worth something if you're perfect."

Your throat tightened, and you had to look away — because if you didn't, you might actually cry, and you weren't ready for that. Not in front of him.

"Come on," he said gently, nudging your arm. "We still have to survive this festival. One tragedy at a time."

You laughed — watery, but real. And without thinking, you bumped your shoulder into his.

For once, he didn't bump back harder.

────

Five steps later, you were finally here.

The festival had somehow, miraculously, come together — the chaos you and Yunho had wrestled into order was now a blur of glowing lanterns, flashing booth lights, and bursts of laughter floating up into the night air. From the rooftop, you could see it all — your shared battlefield turned into something beautiful.

You should have felt victorious. But instead, your chest ached with something you couldn't name.

Footsteps behind you.

You didn't need to turn to know who it was.

"Shouldn't you be down there soaking up the praise, President?" you asked, arms folded across your chest, voice deliberately casual.

He stepped up beside you, hands stuffed into his pockets, gaze flicking down over the festival before settling on you. "Shouldn't you be down there taking credit, Vice President?"

You side-eyed him, lips twitching up despite yourself. "I thought you hated sharing your spotlight."

"I do," he said — quieter this time, almost too honest. "But… maybe I don't mind sharing with you."

You froze.

This wasn't the usual banter. There was no smirk, no teasing edge to his voice. Just Yunho, standing there under the open sky, the glow of the festival washing a soft colour over his face.

"I spent this whole year trying to beat you," you admitted softly, your fingers curling around the cool metal railing. "Trying to prove I was better."

"Same," he said — too quickly, like he'd been holding it in. Then he shook his head, a breathless laugh slipping out. "But every time I thought I was close to finally taking you down, I just… ended up liking you more."

Your heart stuttered. "Liking me?"

"Yeah." He exhaled hard, like saying it out loud physically knocked the air from his lungs. "I hated you so much I couldn't think straight, and then somewhere along the way, I just wanted to know you. All of you."

The first fireworks burst overhead, painting the sky in red and gold. The light caught in his hair, in his eyes — and you realised you'd been staring at him this whole time.

"You're such an idiot," you whispered, even though your throat was suddenly tight.

"Why?" He turned toward you fully now, his shoulder brushing yours. "Because I confessed first?"

"No." You took a step closer — close enough that the heat of him bled into your skin. "Because I've liked you too. For longer than I wanted to admit."

Another firework cracked, sending sparks raining down like stars.

Neither of you looked at it.

Yunho's hand found yours on the railing — the touch hesitant at first, until your fingers curled back around his. His thumb traced along your knuckles like he couldn't believe this was real.

"I still want to beat you," you said, voice barely above a whisper.

"Good." He leaned down, forehead almost brushing yours. "I wouldn't like you if you didn't."

And then — under a sky exploding with light — he kissed you.

It wasn't sweet or shy. It was a clash of everything you'd ever felt for each other — every argument that left you breathless, every late-night meeting where silence spoke louder than words, every sharp-tongued insult meant to cut but only carved deeper into longing.

His lips were warm and urgent, tasting faintly of festival cotton candy and the mint gum he always chewed when stressed. His hand slid up, fingers threading into your hair before settling at your jaw, his thumb tracing a line along your cheekbone so softly it left your skin tingling.

He pulled you in like you were something fragile and precious and dangerous all at once — something he couldn't risk breaking, but couldn't stand losing.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, hands fisting in the fabric of his blazer, tugging him closer until there was nothing between you but heat and heartbeats. You could feel the tremble in his breath, the subtle shudder that ran through him when your fingers brushed the back of his neck. His heart hammered so loudly against your chest that you could swear it was echoing your own.

The fireworks painted streaks of gold and crimson across your closed eyelids, but none of it compared to the colour blooming beneath your skin — the dizzying warmth curling low in your stomach, the ache of every unsaid word bleeding into every touch.

When you finally broke apart, panting slightly, foreheads pressed together, you both laughed — breathless and dazed — like you couldn't believe it took you this long to get here.

The fireworks were beautiful.

But they were nothing compared to this.

────

The following Monday after the festival, the entire school knew.

Some claimed they'd caught glimpses of you and Yunho sneaking off together just before the fireworks, while others swore they saw his arm casually draped around your shoulders during the late-night cleanup. And, of course, the boldest rumours came from those who witnessed you both at the council table, sipping from the same straw like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But none of that was the real giveaway.

The real giveaway was how you two fought — exactly the same as before, except now he called you baby in the middle of arguments, and you shot back with a saccharine sweetheart, both said with enough venom to curdle milk. The council meetings were still battlegrounds, but now they were laced with something sharper — affection disguised as irritation, fondness hidden under barbed words.

"We should focus on next month's fundraiser," Yunho declared, tapping his pen against the table.

"We should focus on midterm review sessions first," you countered, not even looking up from your notes.

"You just want to show off how perfect your study guides are," he accused, eyes narrowing.

"And you just want to procrastinate so you can rewrite your precious 'president's welcome speech,'" you fired back.

"It's called leadership."

"It's called an ego trip."

The room went silent — council members exchanging wide-eyed glances, already bracing for the explosion.

But instead of storming off like you used to, Yunho just leaned back in his chair, tilting his head with that infuriating smirk. "I'm still your boss, Vice President."

Your smile was too sweet, too dangerous. "And I'm still the one who covers your ass when you forget deadlines, President."

Somewhere in the back of the room, Wooyoung silently started a betting pool: kiss or kill — which would happen first?

Together, the two of you became the undeniable, unstoppable force of the student council — a perfect storm of brains, charisma, and sheer chaos. When Yunho's charm and golden-boy smile couldn't win over the principal, your cold logic and flawless presentations sealed the deal. When your sharp tongue and brutal honesty made freshmen tremble, his easy grin softened the blow. Together, you raised more funds, pulled off bigger events, and terrified more slackers than any council duo in school history.

And yes — you still argued like your lives depended on it.

But now, the fights ended with lazy kisses behind closed doors, fingers brushing under the table during meetings, and softly muttered threats of "I'm still going to beat you at this" whispered like a love language.

Some days, he walked you to your chauffeured car, fingers laced with yours despite the stunned looks from every passing student. Other days, you waited at the convenience store until his shift ended, pretending to browse the snack aisle while secretly watching him work — admiring the boy who once drove you insane, and now, somehow, made your heart ache in the best way possible.

And every night you walked home together, sharing an umbrella or splitting a can of soda, your shoulders bumping softly in the dark.

"We're still enemies, right?" you asked once, voice quiet under the stars.

He grinned, tugging you closer by the waist. "Always."

Then he kissed you again — and just like that, the fight for power had never tasted so sweet. Because somewhere between rivalry and romance, between every clash and compromise, you both realised: there was no winning without each other.

If you've watched Kaguya-sama: Love Is War and are also a fan of it, just know that I love you. The way Wooyoung was initially going to take Miyuki's role, but on second thought, Yunho seemed more well-suited for it. Wouldn't you agree?

Also, I hope y'all liked the rooftop kiss🙈

And if you haven't watched the anime, I love you too! For taking the time to read this, I genuinely hope it was enjoyable hehe I know I had a lot of fun writing this.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

General ATEEZ Tag list:

@blueberrychan @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01

@evidive @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @ho3-for-yunho

@the-kpop-simp @itstheghostofmypast @vantediary @green-agent @skzline

@sharksandminhos @writingwieny @heyitsmetonid @tinyteezer @hollxe1

@pandabur666 @vampzity @tournesol155 @lilactangerine @oddracha

@haven-cove @idfkeddieishot @vic0921 @vnessalau @apriecotte

@bangtannie7 @vtyb23 @khjoongie98 @scuzmunkie @anxiousskylar

@bunny4yungi @zl-world @quailbagutte @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @cixrosie

@cristy-101

#edenesth #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #jung yunho #jeong yunho #high school au #enemies to lovers #yunho x reader #yunho x you #ateez fluff #ateez oneshot #yunho fluff #yunho imagines #yunho oneshot #ateez fic

669 notes · View notes

stellarsecrets86 · 4 months ago

Text

Vedic Astrology Observations(Future Spouse Edition)

(For entertainment purposes only. Have fun💚)

[These are my learnings I have learned through charts and from different astrologers. I applied these techniques over over in different charts and it works beautifully.

Though astrology throws up some pretty interesting perspectives, I think it's basically a tool of self-reflection and guidance rather than stating what will definitely happen. I hope you find these insights interesting and relatable!]

Other posts you might like:

Masterlist

🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹

🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒

★★ Most stable and long lasting marriage indicitaor I have seen in compatibility is if your atmakaraka (the planet with the highest degree) & your spouse's darakarka (the planet with the lowest degree) or vice versa are the same planet.

Ex: Your atmakaraka is Moon and your spouse's darakaraka is Moon or vice versa.

The most famous ones would be Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson (Venus). They have been together for 37 years.

★★ If your dk planet is in Mrigashira nakshatra, your spouse could be sensitive to smells.

★★ Look at you Jupiter's nakshatra lord in navamsa(D9 chart), the sign it is in birth chart ( D1 chart) can be in your husband's big 3.

★★ I have seen a lot of actress 's husband has their Venus in Hasta or Chitra nakshatra.

★★ Again if If your 7th lord or jupitet is in mrigashira nakshatra, your spouse can have scars on their face.

★★ If your dk planet is in your 1st house, your spouse can be a lot like you.

★★ To see if you have past life connection with your spouse, look if your 7th lord or dk planet is in Rahu ruled nakshatras or conjunct Rahu.

★★ If your 7th lord is in 2nd or 8th, your spouse can be very rich.

★★ If you want to know the core nature of your spouse check out the nakshatra of your 7th lord and dk planet in your d9 chart.

★★ Sounds cliche but Ketu in the 7th house of navamsa, you choose him/her as your spouse in every lifetime.

★★ If you are married or in a relationship, check if your Venus is in conjunction or trine with your person's Mars/Rahu or vice versa. It shows you guys were together in past life.

★★ If you have Venus Mars conjunction in your d1 chart, your have past life connection with your spouse.

★★ Venus in Mrigashira nakshtra, your spouse can look like a Deer.

★★ 7th lord in Punarvasu, your spouse is a Phoenix. No one can defeate them, they can push him/her in their edges, they will come back stronger.

★★ Venus in Chitra nakshatra attracts artistic spouse.

★★ Venus or 7th lord in Ashlesa, spouse can have piercing eyes.

★★ If your 7th lord is in 3rd house of d1 or d9 Chart, your spouse can be a good singer, negative planet denotes they can be argumentative.

★★ If the nakshatra lord of your dk planet is in the 8th house of d9 chart, you spouse can be very sexy or get sexualize a lot.

#astrology #astro community #astro observations #astro notes #birth chart #horoscope #vedic astro observations #vedic astro notes #vedic chart #vedic astrology #nakshatra #navamsa #darakaraka #atmakaraka #future spouse #husband in astrology #wife in astrology

734 notes · View notes

communistkenobi · 6 months ago

Text

“transphobia hurts us all” is an analytical statement. It is making a claim about how a specific bigotry operates in the world, and its supposed analytical value is in revealing something about transphobia that appears on the surface to be counter-intuitive - “while you might think transphobia only hurts transgender people, that isn’t the case; it hurts cisgender people too.” The follow-up to this statement, sometimes implied and sometimes explicit, is a moral imperative - transphobia is a social ill that hurts us all, so we should seek to get rid of it.

This analytical-moral chain of logic isn’t unique to this statement; a lot of analyses of the social world come from a broader desire to “figure out what to do.” When we investigate a social phenomenon to uncover its inner workings, and in this investigation we identify the scope and impact of the harm it causes, we are in a better place to understand how to reduce harm in the world. Of particular interest in this investigation of transphobia is highlighting its illegitimacy - if transphobia also harms cisgender people, this is evidence of its illegitimacy as a social force in the world. We have uncovered some fundamental contradiction in the workings of bigotry, and this contradiction provides a rational ground for us to oppose it. Of course transphobia is irrational and must be opposed; it harms other groups of people who are not transgender.

This is also why people object to this statement on analytic grounds - disagreeing with the argument that transphobia hurts everyone is a critique of analysis. Importantly, it is not a dismissal of empirical evidence; we can see many direct real-world examples of cisgender people being targeted for transphobic abuse, such as cis people being attacked in bathrooms for “looking transgender.” A critique of the claim that transphobia hurts us all is a methodological critique, it is a critique of analytical framing; we are operating from the same set of social facts, but reaching different conclusions. The reason for this is because we are using different investigative and theoretical tools in our analysis. And these differences are not trivial; how we define the social phenomena under investigation directly informs how we understand the facts in front of us.

So first, we must settle the problem of definitions - what is transphobia? Simply defining it as a hatred of transgender people is insufficient for all parties. If it does indeed also hurt cis people, then this definition doesn’t do us much analytical good. Where do we go from here? Perhaps a better place to start is to investigate its origins - what assumptions does transphobia operate from? Where do those assumptions come from? This is where we start getting somewhere. Transphobia draws its core assumptions from cissexualism - the belief that there are two mutually-exclusive and irreconcilable sexes, sexes which are immutable and biologically hard-wired, meaning that it is a difference in human beings that exists independent of the social worlds that human beings build. This idea is bound up in many forms of power, one of which being patriarchy; yes indeed there are two sexes, and one of them is better than the other. And because sex is hard-wired, then patriarchy is likewise a simple fact of nature. These assumptions are also bound up in reproduction; one sex impregnates (this is the powerful sex) and one sex gets impregnated (this is the weak sex). These ideas and assumptions structure much of our social world, being embedded in many social, political, and economic institutions, from family to labour to dating to census records to political office, and so on.

Transphobia is thus an output of these logics - if sex is biological, and sex determines your place in society, then attempting to change your sex means you are thwarting the natural hierarchy of human beings. You are either trying to rise above your station, or abandoning your post. Either option is grounds for punishment. Why would you go against nature? How dare you?

So, transphobia is a bigotry that comes from cissexualism. We could investigate further where cissexualism comes from (and indeed those investigations are taking place), but for our purposes we now have a much more analytically rich definition. Transphobia is a social technology of discipline; it performs a regulatory function for the continuation of cissexualism, much the same way that misogyny is a regulatory apparatus of patriarchy, and homophobia is a regulatory apparatus of heterosexuality. These bigotries perform a very ‘rational’ social function; they reproduce existing forms of power by policing their borders and brutalising anyone who does not behave in accordance with their logics.

We now return to the original question: does transphobia harm everyone? This question now feels methodologically inappropriate, because we are ignoring the role cissexualism plays in producing transphobia. This is as absurd as describing homophobia without mentioning heterosexuality. The question should instead be: does cissexualism harm everyone? The answer of course is yes - we can see how cissexualism produces the social conditions for people to assault someone in a public bathroom for “looking transgender,” for an adult to force a child to report what their genitals ‘really look like’ so they can continue playing soccer, and for a billionaire to spend the latter half of her life dumping money and resources into political legislation that makes it more difficult to, among other things, correct administrative mistakes on your birth certificate.

But because we are now talking about cissexualism, it is much easier for us to see how its violence is differentially applied across groups. Cisgender people can point to their cisgenderism as grounds for being exempt from transphobia - “don’t target me, I haven’t done anything wrong! I’m following the rules!” Their societal position as cisgender allows them to argue that they are illegitimate targets, that they are being unfairly treated. This animated much of the surrounding discourse around Imane Khelif - I can’t believe JKR is targeting a real woman! Can’t you tell she’s biologically female? Here’s her birth certificate to prove it, and anyway, don’t you know it’s illegal to be transgender where she lives?

This is a defence that transgender people cannot mount for ourselves - we are by definition fraudsters in the cissexual regime of gender, we are abandoning our stations, we are perverting nature. And in this difference we come to see that it is not transphobia that harms us all, but cissexualism; we are all subject to scrutiny under cissexual surveillance, but cis people can generally pass the test. Transgender people cannot.

This distinction also has implications for the second sequence in this investigative chain: what do we do about transphobia? Again we see that this call to action is methodologically inappropriate - you cannot “deal with” transphobia in society while leaving the cissexualist structure that produces it intact, in the same way that getting rid of misogyny without first getting rid of patriarchy is impossible. You cannot get rid of an output without destroying the machine that produces those outputs. This is also where many cis people, even those who count themselves as trans allies, become uncomfortable; abandoning the idea of a metaphysical property of being, hard-encoded into their DNA, means abandoning a whole host of other ideas about identity, about social organisation, about institutional operations. Even minor reformist calls by transgender people, such as removing sex markers on birth certificates (which determine your ability to access all kinds of administrative and civil services), is met with intense hostility by cissexuals - how will we run our hospitals, how will we raise our children, how will we track population data, how will we do anything without sex markers? You people are insane! Look how you deny reality! What is wrong with you freaks? Why can’t you just be happy with the way you were born? And on and on, ironically refusing to concede the fact that states, hospitals, child care, and census data are not natural facts of the world and can be changed. Because if those things can be changed, perhaps sex is not this monumental biological destiny after all!

“Transphobia hurts us all” is an analytical statement that advances a set of cissexual assumptions about the world, and as a consequence, it is severely limited in its value for advancing a moral imperative about how to resolve the problem of transphobia. It is not a neutral statement, nor is one that is helplessly subservient to “the hard facts.” We know those facts - describing them is the role of the social scientist. Whether you are in a laboratory or on the street, you are doing social science by analysing social phenomena. And when you say transphobia hurts everyone, you are doing a poor job of it

#even old new york was once new amsterdam #the notes on that other post r driving me bonkersssssss

940 notes · View notes

stxrrkissed · 3 months ago

Text

── ۶ৎ POSSESSIVE .ᐟ

꣑ꦌ rodrick heffley x fem!reader ৴ LENGTH 615

DESCRIPTION you get mad after seeing all the girls flirting with rodrick after a show.

CONTENT jealousy ꣑ mention of arguing ꣑ p in v ꣑ some dirty talk ꣑ spanking ꣑ creampie ꣑ aftercare mentioned.

THOUGHTS another addition posted from my kinktober event that i didn't get to finish. i definitely need to write more for roddy (esp fluff), probably my fave to write at the moment.

𝒾. mlist 𝒾𝒾. previous fic 𝒾𝒾𝒾. prompts 𝒾𝓋. based on this ask

SOFT MOANS LEAVES YOUR TREMBLING LIPS AS Rodrick’s hips meets the swell of your ass, with his hand holding your right arm as he fucks you into the mattress beneath. It’s a perfect view, you have the perfect arch while your ass is on display as he drills in and out of your sopping cunt. Ever so often landing a hard smack on your ass, loving how much your pussy tightens around his cock in reaction.

A flood of pressure flows through your body as his thrusts become stronger. Making you forget about the argument you had with him earlier. Whenever you and him have an argument, it always ends with the two of you going at it like bunny rabbits.

Maybe it's the adrenaline of the argument that gets you turned on to the point, you want to undress him, maybe it’s whenever he raises his voice, asserting his dominance that gets you to clench your thighs together, causing friction to your aching core.

You didn’t know what it was, but who were you to stop it?

You had just come from one of Rodrick’s gigs, you always sat in the front row so you could have a good view of your handsome man on the stage.

The show was good, you had fun until you walked backstage, catching a glimpse of some girls flirting with Rodrick, one even daring to have your hand on his arm, while he signed one of the other girls' breasts. You were used to girls flirting with Rodrick even when you were standing right next to him.

It’s not like Rodrick would entertain any of these girls' actions and actually cheat on you but it’s the principle of not wanting to see the one you love with other girls especially if one has her hand touching him.

Rodrick could tell something was wrong with you as you were silent the whole car ride home, not entertaining any of the conversations he brought up. You knew how much he was excited about the show as you were excited for him too, big gigs like that could get him places but the mere images of those girls just keep coming to the front of your mind. Those girls weren't the only one you were mad at, you were mad at him.

You get that his fans mean a lot to him but he shouldn’t have been allowing them to get that close to him. The more you think about it, the more anger builds up inside of you. Once walking into the door of your shared apartment, Rodrick on your tail asking you what’s wrong and just like that, you broke and let out all the anger you’re holding in.

That’s how you got in this position, regretting some of the words you said but enjoying the pleasure he was continuously giving to you. “Ahhh, Roddy… I’m going to cum…”

“Yeah that’s right, come all over my cock,” he demands, sending another strike to your ass. “You should know that you’re the only one I want. You know this cock belongs to you and no one can take it from you.” His reassurance is the key for the coil in your stomach to snap as your body spasms around him, your cum painting on his lower torso as some drips down your legs.

“There you go,” he coos as he continues to rut in and out of you until he flushes against your ass, emptying his load deep inside of you, his groans filling your ears as your body fully gives out slumping to the bed and he lets out a low chuckle.

“Rest baby while I clean you up.”

COMMENTS (if you want to be tagged in doawk fics, click here) @cherriespopsicle, @rain-likes-purple, @lover-of-books-and-tea, @coconut-pearl.

#ა 𝙧𝙤𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙠𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙚 . . .ᐟ #rodrick heffley fanfiction #rodrick imagines #rodrick fanfic #rodrick x y/n #rodrick x reader #rodrick smut #rodrick heffley imagine #rodrick heffley smut #rodrick heffley fanfic #rodrick heffley x y/n #rodrick heffley x reader #doawk rodrick #rodrick heffley #diary of a wimpy kid rodrick #rodrick rules

405 notes · View notes

doujindungeon · 27 days ago

Text

summary: while you were upset at lewis after a recent argument, perhaps it wasn't the wisest idea to try and test your lover's endurance in bed. rating: nc-17 pairing: f!reader/lewis content warnings: established relationship, smut, marathon sex, missionary/doggy style/cowgirl, a bit of spanking and hair pulling, the loving wrath of 7-time world drivers champion lewis hamilton word count: 0.7k previous one-shot - toto w. | next one-shot - charles l.

“You know, I could die like this.”

A sigh of absolute satisfaction.

It was a serene sound compared to the abrasive noise of a water bottle being crunched and tossed aside after it was emptied of its contents from a quick chug just a moment before.

For Lewis, some hydration was needed after such a vigorous exhibition of his stamina.

Calm and relaxed as ever, his gorgeous muscled physique glistening with sweat, nude skin bathed by the low warm lighting from the ceiling, he carried himself as the textbook definition of ethereal.

Your current state told a completely different tale.

By contrast, you were sprawled on the bed, hair disheveled and make-up smeared as you gulped down the bottle of coconut water that your boyfriend fetched from the kitchen while you caught your breath earlier.

At this point in your relationship, you were well aware that Lewis was fierce in his discipline when it came to his craft of driving. Training, focus, determination–there was not a sliver of slack in any aspect.

And for as long as you’ve been together, you were well familiar with how passionate and doting he could be during intimacy. A couple hours being delightfully tangled together in bed at a luxurious tropical bungalow oceans away, a quick and needy fix on the couch in his driver’s room whenever you were able to make it out to a race.

This was what you were used to.

But to bear the merciless brunt of his stamina in bed–to put it simply, you were unprepared.

After all, upon Lewis bringing you back home after an argument that burst forth towards the end of your recent vacation together–a spat that bubbled and brewed from you feeling as though your place in his life was relegated to last place in the grand scope of his legacy–, when he casually declared that he would prove and demonstrate his resolve to devote his heart, soul and body to you within this night alone, he meant it.

From the moment the door closed behind as he herded you straight into the bedroom, time turned into a complete and utter blur, with the firm surface of his king sized bed serving as the only anchor that kept you grounded to reality as your lover kept you absolutely overwhelmed with dizzying euphoria.

At one point, he was pounding you straight into the mattress, his tattooed hands locked onto your thighs to keep them spread wide apart so he could drill his thick cock into your core over and over.

The next, he had you on all fours upon the bed, the lewd rhythm of his hips–and his palm here and there–striking against your ass making for an obscene symphony, your moans and squeals mingling in seamlessly with his grunts and curses while his fingers maintained a commanding grip on your hair.

When he then had you seated on his lap, his fingers squeezed your waist as he guided and coaxed you through the tempo under which you bounced upon his dick by, the two of you locked in a kiss as his tongue probed into your mouth right as he pumped another load of cum into your cunt.

True to his word, he had certainly made his case.

Still, while you were thoroughly delighted to receive his fierce display of his affection for you, seeing the beaming pride on his handsome features had you pouting in-between sips of your coconut water.

“Well take it easy, Sir Hamilton,” you huffed out at last in response, eyeing him warily. “You’re at the age where you shouldn’t be pushing yourself too much.”

His eyes sparked.

Fitting, since you may as well have set the entire house ablaze by your remark.

“Aha–I know fighting words when I hear them, lovely.”

While he let out a chuckle, the way he stalked back towards the bed, back towards you, was far from humorous.

Just by the way he looked at and approached you, deep in your bones you knew he wasn’t going to let up until you were absolutely devastated, especially as his voice dipped down to a deep purr as he continued, “I can keep this up, but can you?”

In response, you simply downed the rest of your drink, setting the empty bottle aside on the bedside table.

Defiance in your eyes, rebellion on your smile–you responded simply with,

“See for yourself.”

He was back on you in an instant.

But he wouldn’t be content with only seeing. Rather, he would be kissing, teasing, toying, licking, groping, possessing, and punishing you until the break of dawn and beyond.

-----------------------

🤸‍♀️ SIR LEWDIS HAMILTON EVERYBODY 🤸‍♀️

i'm cryin tho i originally had the reader rehydrate with gatorade but after i started thinking more about it, i found out that gatorade isn't vegan??????? LEWIS THE THINGS I RESEARCH AND ADJUST IN MY WRITING TO ACCOMODATE YOUR VEGAN LIFESTYLE 😭😭

but with this!!! we finally approach the end of this run of one-shots with charles tomorrow!!! thank you again for your support and i hope to see you all tomorrow for the finale!!! 🙇‍♀️❤️

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton smut #lh44 x reader #lh44 x you #lh44 smut #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 smut #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one smut #reader insert #Poll Positions

293 notes · View notes

cosmiiwrites · 5 months ago

Text

you told me your new man don’t make you nut? (that’s a damn shame)

ex bf!adam x fem!reader

summary: you find solace in your ex after a harsh argument with your boyfriend. and that ends up with you in his bed.

cw: NSFW, p in v, fingering, oral (f!receiving), cheating, lotsa jealousy, L bombs, desperate adam lowkey

a/n: ok so. this fic is kind of all over the place and rushed but hooray i AM alive!! not proofread…btw😔

———

god, did you hate your boyfriend. more than you hated your ex, really. why else would you end up at his doorstep, shivering and pissed off? you hastily knocked on his door, looking around the empty hallway.

adam’s unmistakeable voice, coming out in a faint, gruff complaint, grew louder along with the footsteps thumping towards the door. his neighbors must love him.

you brace yourself, hearing the shuffle of the doorknob.

unsurprisingly, you’re met with a scoff, a look of pure pity. humility burned through you, but your need for comfort overpowered the thought of driving back to your place.

your boyfriend had totally trashed it, anyway.

“the fuck, bitch? you look pathetic.” the insult was followed by a laugh, adding fuel to the fire that had settled in your stomach. “what, trouble in paradise? little boyfriend of yours upset you?”

adam knew about your relationship. of course he did! it’s not like he didn’t stalk your instagram account, raging jealousy bubbling up in his core when instead of some cute photo of you, a photo of some five-foot-something loser cursed his eyes. the caption had read, ‘happy four months!’, and he vividly remembered gripping his phone so hard, he’d accidentally liked the photo.

thank fucking god he was on another account, you’d blocked his main one anyway.

plus, you had a tendency to come to adam when it came down to comfort. well, not really comfort so to say, more like shit-talking your ex boyfriends to make you feel better. you hadn’t come to him in a little over a year, when you swore that distance would help you actually get over your ex.

“okay, fuck you.” you looked up, meeting his judging gaze. your ex was dressed in the deadbeat starter pack: boxers and some crappy band shirt. his stupid messy hair completed the whole unintentionally sexy look he had going on.

…

holy shit. you missed him. you actually missed the asshole. lust turned into longing, which then turned to guilt because you have a boyfriend—well, maybe not the best one—waiting for you to respond to his barrage of messages! oh, you’re horrible.

“well?”

adam raised an eyebrow, as if amused by your state. you swallowed, looking back down as you blinked away the pang of embarrassment mixed with guilt that prickled at your eyes.

since your eyes were planted on the floor, you didn’t notice his gaze soften.

he always had a way of making you experience these… emotions. like you wanted his approval.

…

actually, fuck that. you were a strong, independent woman. who needs men, anywa-

“are you gonna just stand there?”

“what?”

you whipped your head back up, to see adam holding the door open, giving you a good view of his less-than-ideal apartment.

“oh. yes- yeah, i’m coming in…” you mumbled. one step, and then another, and you were in the middle of his apartment. looking around, you spotted a hot pink bra—front hook, and definitely not your cup size—slung over the arm of his couch.

you shouldn’t feel this jealous, yet here you are.

you’re not his. not anymore.

you summon the will to tear your gaze away from the meaningless piece of fabric, taking a deep breath to soothe the white-hot jealousy that had earlier consumed you.

you almost forget that adam’s there, a sudden hand on your cheek reminding you of his presence.

“why did you come here?” his voice is soft, not at all teasing like it usually is. he’s close—dangerously close—and you hate the way your heart jumps at the sudden intimacy.

because i missed you.

“i didn’t know who else to go to,” you decide.

adam frowns slightly, like he expected a better answer. the change of demeanor lasts for about five seconds, before the corner of his lips curl up into a shit-eating grin.

“oh, you didn't?” a thumb tracing your bottom lip catches you off guard, a low chuckle fleeing past his own.

“let’s be honest here, girlie,” the pet name sends you back to when you two were dating, and you stare up dumbly at him, trying to figure out his intentions.

adam had been deprived of you for over a year now. all the meaningless sex he’s been having was nothing compared to the real deal. he saw an opportunity, and he’s going to take it. didn’t matter if you had a boyfriend.

“you're only here cause that fuckin’ connor guy doesn’t do shit for you.” your boyfriend’s name came out in a hiss, a shiver running down your spine at the sheer aggressiveness in his tone.

adam’s tongue darted out to wet his lips before continuing, “that’s the real reason, yeah?” it sounded more like him trying to convince himself that you wanted him back.

little did he know, he didn’t need to convince himself. shamefully, it was true.

“adam,” you start breathlessly, the heat in your lower stomach traveling down even lower until it reached your throbbing warmth.

adam groans, the sound of your sweet voice calling out his name enough to make his cock jump.

he looks down to see your pupils dilated and cheeks flushed. you wanted this too.

adam let a lecherous grin spread across his face, the hand that wasn’t on your cheek dipping between your legs, thumb rubbing featherlight circles where your clit would be through the fabric of your pants.

“tell me something, baby,” he murmurs, thumb working to bring you to the edge, not quite letting you over it. “does he treat this pretty pussy the way she deserves?” jealousy laced his words, the speed at which his fingers were moving increasing noticeabley.

“does he make you scream,” you let out a sharp gasp when he pinches your clit, making you lurch forward and bury your face in his chest. adam smiled in satisfaction. “like i did?” connor had never even come close to making you finish, yet you feel like you could combust this very second just by hearing adam's voice. ah, you really did downgrade...

you can’t help but shake your head frantically, tiny hands gripping his shirt as his hand made it past your sweatpants.

adam’s palm cupped your sopping cunt, watching, pleased at the warmth, as you pathetically rocked your hips against it.

“awh, look at you,” adam tutted, words dripping with condescension. “so cute. just say the word, girlie, and i’ll worship that tight little cunt of yours ‘til you’re screaming.” it’s more of a promise than an offer. his own words make his half-erection rock solid, the heel of his palm pressing against your clit deliciously as he went on about what he would do to you if you just let him.

“g-god, adam, please,” you whine, humping his hand at a frenzied pace. “fuck me.”

“now that’s what i like to hear.” adam’s smirk is audible through his words, hands transferring to the back of your thighs and lifting you up until they’re wrapped around his waist. you whine when his hand leaves your sweatpants.

luckily, you’re level with his face, and you waste no time to crush your lips against his.

adam grunts, surprised for a few seconds before immediately welcoming your kiss. he slips in his hot, waiting tongue into the heat of your mouth as he carries you into his bedroom.

he slams the door closed with his foot before promptly and unceremoniously dropping you on his bed.

adam settles between your legs, greedy hands lifting up your top and tossing it to god-knows-where, but you’re too horny to care. he sighs a sigh of relief when you’re not wearing a bra, his hands pressing your tits together and burying his face in between them.

reverently, he litters them in kisses, his mouth trailing down to below your belly button before he spoke, tone impatient, “lift your hips, babe,”

immediately, you did as he said, assisting him as he pulled down your sweatpants and panties, groaning in satisfaction when he’s greeted with your sloppy cunt.

“oh, fuuuck yeah,” adam mutters, running a finger down your slit, teasing you.

you were about to complain when suddenly he buried his face between your thighs. his movements were sloppy, uncoordinated. it seemed as if he’d gone wild without your warmth.

the tip of his nose bumps into your puffy bud deliciously as he feasts on you, tongue wiggling it’s way into his favorite hole.

“baby,” adam pants, voice heavy with lust. “you taste so. fucking. good.” he’s pussydrunk already, lips wrapping around your puffy clit and sucking with a force that leaves you breathless.

“adam- adam, oh god,” you squeal, hands buried in his hair. “you’re gonna make me- ah- just like that!” the praise definitely gets to his head, because suddenly he's two fingers knuckle deep into you, crooking them so that they hit that sweet spot. "come on, give it to me," you barely make out his mumbled words, mind shut off completely when he gives your clit a nice, hard suck and suddenly your vision goes white for a split second. adam groans in appreciation when your thighs squeeze his head, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as his tongue brought you over the edge.

after what seems like forever, and after you tug adam’s hair in overstimulation, he pulls away, lips and chin glistening. you look down to see his signature shit eating grin.

“ready for the real deal, baby? betcha missed him.” he went back to praising himself, as his rough hands impatiently freed his waiting arousal.

it’d been so long since you’d slept with him—you’d forgotten how terrifyingly big he was. adam made your boyfriend’s cock look micro. less than, really. you bit the inside of your cheek, watching in impatience as the man in front of you stroked himself.

“god, i missed this so much.” adam sighed appreciatively while he rubbed his fat cockhead around your clit, making you twitch before finally slipping in.

he makes a sound you’ve didn’t even think he was capable of making. you let out a quiet gasp when he suddenly falls onto his forearms, which were on either side of you.

“fuck, babe. fuck…” adam curses through clenched teeth, hips gently rolling into you. he’d gone through a generous amount of pussies—none of which had topped yours.

he buried his face in your neck when he buried himself to the hilt, balls pressed against the curve of your ass, his panting heavy in your ear.

once adam had re-familiarized himself with his surroundings, he took a hold of your waist and began thrusting.

the wet, plap! plap! plap! echoed through the room, each snap of his hips creating another wave of pleasure. warmth filled you in a way that it had never during intimacy with your boyfriend.

boyfriend. it was best not to think about him when another man was pounding into you.

a soft cry fled past your swollen lips when adam reached down to rub mean, tight circles against your clit.

“baby, babe, sweetie,” he panted, hips moving at a frenzied pace. “come back to me,” adam whined, wrapping your legs around his waist with his free hand.

“adam-“ you barely got his name out, when he pressed harder against your clit, causing you to shriek out in renewed pleasure.

adam rested his face in the crook of your neck, ramming into you frantically, desperately. your pussy was just that good. but something was telling you it was more than just the sex…

“god damn—baby, do you know how many times i’ve imagined it was you when i was fucking other cunts?” he pants out. “only thing that made me nut was thinking about you. no other bitch’s pussy is as good as yours, babe, fuckk.” adam babbled on.

suddenly the attention on your abused clit and his choice of words gets you to squirt, his name coming out in a strangled cry as you squeeze around him like your life depended on it. adam let out a harsh curse, closing his eyes.

“i fucking love you, baby- oh shit-“ adam groaned out in pleasure and in the heat of the moment, hips pushing into you deeply, one last time. in a few seconds time warm buckets of cum spurt into you, adam biting your neck to stifle his moans of appreciation.

when you both came down from your highs, no one said a word for a good three minutes.

“…did you mean it?” was all you could whisper into the newfound silence of the room.

adam lifted his head. he looked at you like you were stupid.

“ ‘course i meant it…” he squinted at you. “…bitch.”

———

a/n: this was supposed to come out waaay earlier😭

TAGLIST: @6esiree @angelicpoison12 @ithopi0s @honestlyshamelesskid @ambrosiagoldfish @nexarooni @takemetoneverland420 @murdocniccalz @1-queenofpotatoes-1 @simpingoncarmensandiego @lousypotatoes @synamartia @thenasoneshots @lxves1ckfire @activesplooger @sleeplessdreamer14

#hazbin hotel adam x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #adam x reader #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader smut #hazbin hotel adam smut #x reader #x reader smut #hazbin hotel #adam hazbin hotel #adam hazbin

384 notes · View notes

thanksbutno98 · 6 months ago

Text

Power Tools

John Price x wife!reader OC

Summary: John Price has become expertly good at ignoring his wife, until she finds something he can’t ignore.

Warnings: Domestic argument, swearing, mentions of pregnancy, not edited.

——————

“Joooohn” your voice carried throughout the house as you whined for your husband.

There was silence in return until you heard the television volume turned up loud enough you could now hear it from where you stood upstairs. You swore your eye twitched and the vein by your forehead pulsed visibly in annoyance.

You wanted to kill him.

John had turned into a procrastinator this past week for some unknown reason. Well, you knew why but he wouldn’t admit to it. The man hated decorating to his very core and would find any excuse to avoid it. Thats why you were the one who tended to paint rooms and set out new vases and art throughout the house. John would grumble that he liked it better before you made changes but you always ignored him.

If it were left up to John your home would turn into a museum, never to be altered or updated; a snapshot of life frozen in time. You were not the same. Change felt good, natural, fresh.

With a baby boy about to join your home you felt that there was a need for some freshness, especially in his nursery. All the natural wood furniture was set up and placed exactly where you wanted it. The walls were painted a soothing muted yellow and the juniper green rug was laid out in the center of the room. What was left were the Winnie the Pooh art pieces you picked out and gold rods for the silky white drapes. You also needed to mount the bookcase to the wall because it was at risk to fall over if tugged on hard enough.

“Fuck it. I don’t need a man. I can do this myself.” You mumbled to yourself and stormed downstairs as much as you were capable of at 8 months pregnant.

Once at the bottom of the stairs you caught sight of your infuriating husband. John was laid back on the couch, his back and shoulders propped up by pillows. He had his right arm thrown behind his head and his left hand deep in a bag of crisps that laid on his stomach. He wore black athletic shorts, mid calf white socks, and a long sleeve navy blue shirt, looking like the definition of comfort.

The television was loudly blasting some action movie he decided was much more important than helping you. You let out an annoyed, obnoxious breath as you waddled by which seemed to catch John’s attention.

“Darling, join me.” John called to you but all he got was you walking away down the hall. It was obvious you were mad at him but he honestly didn’t want to deal with it at the moment.

“I’ll rub your feet.” His tone was seductive as if this was enough to persuade you from your prior task.

John watched you falter halfway down the hallway. You clearly were giving it a thought and then were quickly making your way towards the basement. With an eye roll John went back to watching his movie in peace. Your normal sweetness was hard to find on days like today when you had opposing plans to him. So John thought it was best to avoid you to save himself the scolding.

You grabbed the power drill and tool box from the basement and headed back upstairs. You didn’t bother hiding it from view of John but he was too absorbed in his movie to notice. If you could read John’s mind you would find he was thinking about how to ask about dinner without sending you into a fit.

Once upstairs you set everything you would need out and grabbed the step stool from the hallway closet. You took the time to measure and draw a perfect line on the wall in pencil so the large painting would be level and centered. Smiling triumphantly you grabbed the power drill since this piece of art was on the heavy side and needed to be anchored.

Whirling the power drill a few times you were satisfied that it worked and then you climbed on to the step stool. Before you knew it you heard heavy footsteps bounding up the stairs and John call out your name. Not giving it any attention you continued with your task until you had the drill yanked from your hand.

“Hey!” You snapped at John who was now standing next to you with the bright yellow power drill in hand.

“Get down before you break your neck.” John ordered looking utterly annoyed at you.

The sound of the power drill had John rocketing up from his seat on the couch. It half startled him and had him coming to the realization you weren’t going to wait for him. If you weren’t so clumsy John doubted he would react so viscerally but having seen you wield a hammer he had no trust in you with a power drill.

“No! Give it back.” You swatted the hand John had outstretched for you away and grabbed the power drill. Yanking roughly, John wouldn’t let go.

“Enough. Get down and let me do it.” Again another gruff order from your husband that only infuriated you more.

You didn’t need him for this, you were more than capable; at least you thought you were. John had also shown no interest and now shows up trying to help? Not on your watch. You didn’t need him to pity help you now, you wanted his help when you asked for it.

“Give it.” With much more force you yanked again only for John to pull it back. Your grip didn’t let up and the two of you struggled over the power drill until you realized there was no way you were getting it back. That John had it in a death grip and he had you outmatched in strength.

“Fine!” You shouted and let go abruptly.

John had been mid tug and the loss of your force pulling it away from him had the drill springing back in John’s grip and clocking him in his right eyebrow. He stumbled back a single step, his free hand coming up and clutching his forehead.

“Fuckin’ hell.” John half shouted mainly from the pain. The drill hit him right on the bone so it made an audible crack when it connected.

As soon as John was struck your hands flew to cover your mouth in shock. Him getting hurt was not your intention and you instantly felt bad for fighting with him. Normally you would never stoop to that level of childishness to actually fight over an object; like two little kids wrestling over a toy.

“See what you’ve done!” John’s eyes were fiery as he doubled down and snapped at you.

His reaction toward you had all the sympathy draining from you and you were ready to fight again. No one yelled at you, especially not John. And you were ready to make him pay for being so rude to you.

“Serves you right for snatching it from me!” You shouted back. John’s nostrils flared and you could see he wanted to tear into you but was practicing some self restraint.

“For the love of god, get down, and let me do this.” Grabbing your hand John didn’t give you much of an option as he lead you off the step stool, the hand with the drill pushing on your back lightly to force you down the stool.

“Fine. But I’m still mad at you.” The snarkiness in your voice was met with a dry laugh. John had his back to you and was squaring up to start drilling in the anchors for the painting.

“Poor thing.” John answered back sarcastically.

The pair of you were both fuming, anger radiating off of you making the room feel suffocating. You two didn’t tend to fight, let alone like this. It was one of the most juvenile ways you had ever bickered but for some reason you couldn’t stop.

“If anything’s crooked I’m gonna lose it!” You half shouted your warning as you stormed out of the room.

“Don’t worry, it’ll all be up to your incredibly high standards, your majesty!” John shouted right back only to hear your bedroom door slam.

��—————

A light knock sounded on your bedroom door and a moment later it slowly opened. John’s head poked in to see you sat up in the center of your king sized bed. You had your arms crossed over your chest and an annoyed look plastered across your face as you watched the history channel.

“Darling-“

“Thought it was ‘your majesty.’” You shot back.

John cringed at your words, hating that you quoted him from your previous argument. It wasn’t the nicest insult to hurl your way but it also wasn’t that bad in John’s opinion. You could be incredibly particular at times, so if anything he thought it was quite a clever thing to call you.

With a sigh John decided not to answer right away. He made his way into your shared room taking note how you were eyeing him from the corner of your eye, not willing to fully look at him. Slowly John got on to your bed and began to crowd your space by crawling over to you. Turning your head away, you refused to give him attention. So John got on top of you, straddling your knees and leaning forward so your faces were close together. Only you were turned away trying to keep yourself from cracking into a smile and hold on to the bratty attitude.

“I love you.” John spoke matter of factly.

“Yeah?” The fake bratty tone had John chuckling. He found you to be so cute.

The fight from earlier was a childish one and John had asked himself if arguing with his pregnant wife like that was seriously worth it. He decided it wasn’t and that you two needed to burry the hatchet. In retrospect it was comical that either of you reacted in the ways you did. It was completely out of character.

“I hung everything up just how you wanted. Mounted the bookcase to the wall. Even ordered your favorite takeaway for dinner.” John purred and watched you soften like puddy in his hand.

“I’m not hungry.” You mumbled only to be betrayed by your grumbling stomach.

John’s breath ghosting your face and neck was making you weaken and ready to crumble. You were past being mad at him and honestly wanted to move on so you could cuddle and watch a movie.

“That’s a lie.” John countered. Leaning in he pressed his forehead against yours and smiled widely when you finally turned to him and broke into a playful snicker.

“I love you.” John cooed, a chuckle rumbling from his burly chest.

“I love you too.” With a smile you showed off how your sour mood had left you.

“Can we kiss and make up?” John nodded as he spoke which had you mimicking the action.

“As long as you agree we were both out of line.” Putting your finger in John’s face he smirked and leaned back to sit on his heels.

“Fair enough. I’m sorry.” It was an easy sorry that rolled off the tongue.

“I’m sorry too, John.” You apologized just as easily and then the two of you shared a sweet kiss.

“Now, enough with the pouting. Let me show you how wonderful the nursery looks. You picked out some amazing things.” Rolling off of you John was swiftly on his feet and offering you a hand to help you out of bed.

“You really think so?” The compliment had you blushing since John usually hated any change in interior decoration.

“Yes, it’s perfect.”

——————

“Joooohn!” You called form your bedroom knowing for a fact he could hear you. This was the third time you had called his name only to be ignored.

You knew he was ignoring you because he didn’t feel like helping you order his sister’s birthday present. He had flippantly told you since you were a woman you knew best on what to get his little sister. Then he retreated to the living room where he seemingly went deaf.

A lightbulb buzzed to life above your head. Tiptoeing to the nursery you saw the power drill and brought it back to your bedroom. Sitting back on your bed and smiling like the devil you whirled the drill a few times and waited. Just like before you heard the thunder of footsteps bounding up the stairs to come see what you were doing.

John burst into your bedroom ready to steal whatever task you were doing and do it himself. Only he saw you sitting in the center of your bed with the power drill in one hand and your laptop open in front of you.

“So this is how I get you to stop ignoring me.” Shaking the drill at John you tossed it behind you on the bed.

John’s face dropped from worry to deadpan. He did not like being made a fool of and here he was falling into his wife’s playful little trap. He could admit it was quite clever of you.

“You’re joking.” John huffed out in annoyance.

“Since you’re here, help me pick out a gift for Sarah.” You motioned to your laptop with a cheeky smile. John simply rolled his eyes and flopped down on the bed next to you ready to see what you had pulled up.

You and that power drill would do this trick for years to come. Until one day you realized John had hidden it from you so you were forced to go out and buy your own; which too went missing. So now you use whatever power tool you can get your hands on or even start hammering to get your husband’s instant undivided attention.

~~~~~tag list~~~~~

@exhaustedpotat0 @glitterypirateduck @ivymarquis @crazymela @what-0-life @boredfairy4 @hihhasotherfixations @stephanswhxre @shanjisan @k4es @luvleywrites @kita03-0 @midwesternwitchery @aleynaleia @suckerforbassist @misshoneypaper @theaonlax @blackstar9005 @tooterbutt @havoc973 @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @freshlemontea @cosmoscoffeee @sae1kie @ohworm-writes @ghostslittlegf @fanficwriterlover @arminarlertssword @faceache111 @azu21 @thirstyb-ches @nini-11-08 @sgtgarricks @kiki-is-hyperfixating @mayflysdie

522 notes · View notes