purity was something megamo lost at a very young age, ripped away with prying hands. to his father, he was too hesitant—too scared to give it up and devote worship. he lies on his hands and knees but they shake—they move and stutter in failed devotion. he came through with his task with blood on his hands, yet is still shamed for not being enough. for hesitation.
“blood runs thicker than water,” he says simply, showing no emotion as the poor boy holds his heart in his shaking hands. thump. thump. thump. it beats, soon to be crushed by the one holding it—young megamo himself. saikous don’t love—they fixate.
now, with his head in the same hands, trying to focus on the school, he thinks of worship. he thinks of prayer. but not to god, oh no, to one of his angels. the light that shines in the halls with a skirt a little too short and lips a little too pink with gloss. a temptress in disguise, trying to seduce him with a stupid pouty and innocent look on your face.
he swears he knows what you’re doing, acting oblivious about when he dress codes you. “oh, i’m sorry mr. president! i didn’t know. i can go change right now if you want me to!” you stutter and awkwardly talk to him, while he just gives you that look. typical. he doesn’t know why you upset him so much—your face, your pigtails, your cute appearance—your body.
“it’s fine, just go and change,” the words are simple, seeming to be meaningless as you smile and leave. it’s outright deceiving as he watches you, too affected by your overall being as he grinds his teeth in his mouth. his thoughts are different than usual, more perverse and distracting—like he can’t focus on his main goal. he sits and sits in his chair, trying to get stuff done but his mind is heavy. his thoughts? overbearing. all he can think about is his little angel in such a short skirt today, acting dumb to get his attention. its frustrating! he knows you’re just trying to distract him, and it’s working! all he can think about is tearing the fabric off your body, piece by piece and revealing his desires. his wants. his needs.
to loathe is not to love—and maybe, just maybe—this wasn’t love. love took the form of something else. love wasn’t selfish, nor obsession. it wasn’t for one person to give and never receive—nor was it something to fixate on. To focus on. to depend on. to live and breathe it every second of the day. megamo understood that you couldn’t receive too much of it, but you also couldn’t give too much of it away. maybe that’s why he was better without it at all.
saikous don’t love—they fixate. it didn’t take long for megamo to be reminded of that once he started to memorize your schedule. whether its gym class, science, lunch--he's there, acting like he's just supervising his precious school—but hes not. in reality, he’s paying attention to you—watching, listening, focusing. oh, how he hates stalkers but does the exact same thing they’re known for—being a total creep. did you know what he did late at night?..when it was dark n’ cold?..when the heat of want or need was too much?..when he felt like he was burning up n’ needed to get some stress off in bed..? the answer was no, you didn’t. of course you didn’t. nobody did—all they noticed was his even colder mood, bags under his eyes, and the fast scribbling he did before it went, splat! all over his paper from the pressure.
the student council members go quiet—words don’t come out but they speak with their silence. it’s different. it’s too quiet. They don’t know what’s going on, and neither does megamo himself to be honest.
he watched as you ran outside for gym class—your form almost perfect, yet flawed at the same time. like there was something missing to make you run more efficiently. megamo wondered why he was so infatuated with you as the lighter haired boy saw you mess up while baking in the cooking club, a childish mistake if you will. and as you blurted out the wrong answer in math class so confidently, he looked away from you, very conflicted with his emotions.
how could you be so stupid and ignorant, and childish—which was why he liked you so much. he liked the way you giggled awkwardly after getting the answer wrong. he liked the way you failed at getting a simple recipe right. he liked the way you ran and complained about it as you got your form wrong. someone so dumb wasn’t worth megamo’s time, but they were worth being used.
fingers intertwined as his desk shook, loud gasps and slight mumbles being made in the student council room, one of the few days where the meeting was cancelled due to reasons unknown. the lighter haired boy found relaxation as his fat cock hit every right spot in your soaking wet pussy. megamo wasn’t used to feeling so good as he pushed his dick in and out of you—letting out stutters and praises, stuff he never would have done.
"oohhhh, fuucckkkk..m..mmmn.." the whine made your lip quiver, the noise going straight to your pussy. you never expected the student council president to say stuff like this, but no one did either. his fingers went slowly down to your clit, pressing down on it enough, rubbing in circles to stimulate you.. "..ahhhn..-"
"f..felt good, yeahhh..?" he didnt need to ask. he already knew from how you sounded as he was hitting it from the back, using your hole while he played with your pretty pink bundle of nerves.
despite not showing a lot of emotion, megamo found himself slightly smiling behind you.
