#had this image in my head for like an entire day

[mssishipi]

the fall of a man — sjy

SYNOPSIS: You were taught that virtue was a woman’s greatest strength, that temptation was a test of will, that desire was the serpent’s whisper leading you astray. But when temptation comes in the form of Sim Jaeyun—holy, untouchable, the very image of devotion—your faith begins to waver.

content tags: slow burn, plot with little bit of porn, mutual pining, both of them are religious and virgins, set in catholic university that is lead by nuns, they don't have sex ed!! adam and eve references, religious guilt, reader crushing and thirsting over jake in religious way that's been written for almost 5k words, some of the scenes are heavily inspired by 'guilty as sin' by ts.

warning: heavy sacrilegious content, karina kind of represent the serpent in reader's pov, blasphemy, explicit content (smut): reader masturbate in the chapel, virgins trying to fuck, virginity loss (obv), blowjob, fingering, unprotected sex (condom don't exist), jake call out god's name a lot of times. wc: 16.7k

note: my darling, @fangel really inspired me and make me overcome my fear in writing the most unholiest thing in the world, i'm inlove with you, bae and you really changed my world with your fics <3 i wrote this fic for armin arlert way back 2023 but never had the guts to publish it, but hey u give me a reason to continue this fic. and to my readers out there, i hope you enjoy reading this fic, i love writing jake's pov here :)

Ever since you were a child, you followed everything your parents told you. Raised in a devoutly religious household, your days revolved around faith—joining church activities, attending every Sunday mass without fail, even flying to Puerto Rico with your family to take part in Misa de Aguinaldo.

Religion wasn't just a part of your life; it was your life.

You loved God. You loved listening to preachers, absorbing their words like scripture carved into your soul. You loved spreading the message of Jesus Christ, the warmth of faith filling you every time you shared His name.

You prayed constantly—palms pressed together, head bowed, whispering words of gratitude for every blessing, of repentance for every misstep. You prayed for strength, for purity, for the will to resist temptation.

And yet—temptation had a name.

And his name is Sim Jaeyun.

You remember the first time you saw him walking through the gates of the Catholic university you both attended.

Jake Sim was the very embodiment of devotion, of unwavering faith. He carried himself with an air of holiness, always with a rosary wrapped around his fingers or a Bible tucked beneath his arm. He spoke with conviction, every word laced with the kind of certainty only true believers possessed. And yet, to you, he was something else entirely.

The way he moved, the way his voice echoed through the chapel—it was hypnotic. Your prayers would falter on your tongue whenever he stood at the altar, leading hymns with a voice so steady, so sure.

You had watched him, your eyes tracing the curve of his lips as he spoke, the way his lashes fluttered when he blinked. You had memorized the way candlelight danced across his skin, the way the veins in his hands shifted when he clasped them in prayer.

The boy who knelt before the cross with his eyes closed in deep, persistent faithfulness.

The boy who touched the rosary beads with such reverence, his fingers gliding over each one as if they held the weight of his salvation.

But all you could think about was how those same fingers would feel tracing the lines of your body, how they would press into your skin—not in prayer, but in something far more sinful.

How his lips would taste if they weren't murmuring scripture, if instead, they whispered your name in the dark.

How his faith would crumble if he ever looked at you the way you wanted him to.

And as you sat in the pews, hands clasped, head bowed, you prayed—not for strength, not for purity, but for him.

You shouldn't think about him that way. You shouldn't let your mind wander, not here, not in the house of God.

You knew the weight of sin, the warnings etched into you since childhood. Your family had made it clear—masturbation, desire, sex before marriage—each was a path to damnation. To act on them was to betray God.

Do not lay a hand on any boy. Do not think of flesh, of pleasure, of sin. Do not touch your body with thoughts of another.

But if you had never touched him, never let your hands stray to your own skin —if all you had were thoughts, then how could you already feel guilty as sin?

The golden light of the late afternoon filtered through the stained-glass windows of the university chapel, casting soft hues of red, blue, and gold onto the polished wooden pews. The air was still, filled only with the faint scent of old parchment and melting candle wax.

You sat near the front, fingers absentmindedly tracing the spine of your prayer book. The chapel was mostly empty, save for a few students lingering in quiet reflection. And him.

Sim Jaeyun stood near the altar, carefully arranging hymnals. Even in the simplicity of his tasks, there was a quiet devotion to him—an unshaken faith that made it impossible to look away.

You tried to focus on the words of the scripture open in front of you, but your thoughts were restless. It wasn't the first time you had stayed after midday prayers, and it wasn't the first time you had found yourself stealing glances at him.

A quiet sound of footsteps against the marble floor.

"You're here again."

You glanced up to find Jake standing at the edge. You nodded, offering a small smile. "I like the chapel in the afternoon. It's peaceful."

Jake hummed in agreement, sliding into the pew beside you, though he kept a respectful distance. "It's my favorite time, too," he admitted, clasping his hands together. "When the day is slowing down, but the world isn't quite asleep yet."

You studied him for a moment, watching as the sunlight touched his face, illuminating the softness in his features. "What do you pray for?" you asked.

Jake exhaled, his gaze fixed ahead. "For strength," he said. "To always follow the right path."

You nodded slowly, looking down at your hands.

"And you?" he asked.

You hesitated. You knew what you should say. Strength. Wisdom. Purity.

But instead, you murmured, "For understanding."

Jake turned to you, brow slightly furrowed. "Understanding?"

You swallowed. "There are... thoughts I don't always understand." You hesitated, fingers tightening around the pages of your prayer book. "And I ask for guidance. To know what is right."

For a moment, Jake was silent, then he offered a small, knowing smile. "God sees our hearts even when we struggle to see them ourselves." His voice was gentle and reassuring. "Sometimes, we don't need to have all the answers. We just need to trust Him to show us the way."

His words should have comforted you. But as you looked at him—at the boy who made your heart race in ways you couldn't explain—you weren't sure if the path you longed for was the one God had intended for you.

Sim Jaeyun barely even knew you. The two of you only shared a religion class, occasionally finding yourselves in the same prayer group. Your interactions were brief—just passing glances, a quiet exchange of smiles. Sometimes, after kneeling in prayer, he would hand you a sandwich and a bottle of water and you always accepted with a small nod of thanks, though the warmth in your chest lingered long after.

During every community outreach, you would catch glimpses of him—kneeling to pet stray dogs and cats, laughter spilling from his lips as children clung to his arms, their tiny hands gripping at his sleeves. He spoke to the elderly with a patience and gentleness that felt almost sacred, offering up his seat without hesitation, carrying their bags.

He was the kind of person people gravitated toward, the kind of person who made faith feel tangible—something living and breathing, rather than just words in a book.

You wondered if someone like him, someone pure as gold, ever sinned.

Sim Jaeyun was a name whispered often in the girls' residence hall. Every night, as curfew neared, you would hear them murmuring from their bunks.

"He'd make such a good husband." "Imagine him as a father—he'd be perfect." "Any girl would be lucky to have him."

A quiet admiration, soft and innocent. So why was yours so much heavier? So much more?

Why did yours feel like something that sat in your chest, something that pressed against your ribs with every prayer, something that burned?

"Your body is sacred."

The nun's voice rang through the classroom. She moved slowly between the rows of desks, the wooden stick in her hand tapping lightly against her palm with every step.

It was an all-girls class since she was teaching anatomy. But this wasn't just about the body. It was about purity.

She stopped near the front of the room, turning to face the class. Her gaze swept over each of you, as if she could see straight into your thoughts. "God has given you this body," she continued. "A temple. A gift. A vessel meant for holiness, not for sin."

You swallowed, shifting slightly in your seat.

"Temptation is everywhere," she said. "It creeps into your thoughts, into your hands, into the desires you do not speak of. But hear me, girls—"God is watching.""

The stick tapped against her palm again.

"Masturbation," she said, the word itself feeling heavy as it filled the silence, "is a sin against your own flesh. To lay a hand upon yourself in lust is to defile what was meant to be pure."

A hush settled over the room. Some girls looked down at their desks, others sat rigid, eyes wide, hands folded neatly in their laps as if to prove they had never done such a thing—never even thought about it.

You felt a heat crawl up the back of your neck.

"When you indulge in these acts," she continued, voice sharp with a warning, "your body burns—not with passion, not with pleasure, but with sin. A fire that does not cleanse, but corrupts."

She paused, her gaze sweeping the room again,

"And when you engage in sex outside of marriage, when you surrender yourself to the desires of the flesh, that fire does not leave you. It stays. It marks you. And on the day of judgment, when you stand before God, He will see it. He will know."

A shudder ran through you. You clenched your hands together, nails pressing into your palms.

Then, the nun's eyes landed on you.

"You understand, don't you?" she asked, though it wasn't really a question.

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came.

And just for a moment, you thought of him.

Sim Jaeyun.

Of the way his fingers brushed over rosary beads in prayer. Of the way his voice sounded when he spoke of faith, of devotion. Of how those hands, that voice, could ruin you.

And as the nun continued, warning of damnation, of the watchful eyes of God, you couldn't help but wonder.

If God was watching, did He already know what was in your heart? And worse—had He already condemned you for it?

"Yes, I understand," you said, though the words felt heavy on your tongue.

Guilt settled deep in your chest. Your palms were damp, fingers twitching slightly as you clasped them together.

You needed to repent.

You needed to pray until the thoughts left you, until the weight of sin lifted from your heart. Until the fire the nun spoke of no longer burned beneath your skin.

"Here, an apple for you."

A small hand reached toward yours, fingers curled around a tiny, imperfect apple. The child's eyes were bright with innocence, his smile wide as he offered it to you.

It was community outreach day in the mountains, where children ran barefoot over the uneven ground, laughter ringing through the crisp afternoon air. The scent of earth and firewood lingered, mingling with the distant voices of volunteers.

You knelt slightly, accepting the apple with a gentle smile. "Thank you," you said, your voice soft.

The boy beamed, pleased by your gratitude before running off to join the others.

You were about to take a bite of the apple when a sudden tap on your shoulder made you pause. Turning, you found your classmate standing behind you, her expression impatient.

"I need you to find Karina," she said, arms crossed. "She's missing again. And we need to leave by three."

You sighed, tucking the apple into your pocket. "Alright, I'll look for her."

With that, you made your way up the stone steps leading further into the hills, where the trees grew denser and the voices of the other volunteers faded into the rustling of leaves. The fresh mountain air brushed against your skin, carrying the scent of damp earth and woodsmoke.

As you climbed higher, a small tug on your sleeve made you stop.

"Lady, where are you going?"

You looked down to see a little girl standing beside you, her dark eyes round with curiosity. She was sucking her thumb, her tiny fingers clutching the fabric of your shirt.

Crouching down to her level, you offered a reassuring smile. "I need to find my friend."

The girl tilted her head, studying you with the kind of seriousness only children could manage. Then, after a moment, she leaned in slightly and whispered, "Be careful out there."

You raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

She pulled her thumb from her mouth and grinned, baring her tiny teeth. "There's a snake," she hissed, making a slithering motion with her hands. "They bite!"

You laughed, shaking your head. "I'll be careful."

With a gentle pat on the girl's head, you urged her to go play with the others before continuing your search.

"Karina!" you called, your voice echoing through the trees. The afternoon air was with the scent of damp earth and pine, the only sounds around you the rustling of leaves and the distant chatter of children below.

After what felt like ages of wandering, you sighed, pulling the apple from your pocket. Your thumb brushed against its smooth surface as you took slow steps forward, letting yourself take a small break.

Then, just as you were about to take a bite, something caught your eye.

It was small cabin, worn by time, tucked between the trees. You hadn't noticed it before, hadn't even realized anyone lived this far up the mountain.

Lifting your head, you parted your lips to call for Karina again but you heard a low, quiet, barely audible voice over the wind.

Your breath hitched slightly, and instinctively, you stayed silent.

Tilting your head, you slowly took a bite of the apple, the crunch loud in the stillness. Step by step, you moved around the cabin, careful not to make a sound.

You crept closer, your breath shallow, your fingers curled tightly around the apple. The rough wooden cabin stood against the trees, its single window slightly ajar. Through the gap, the muffled voices inside grew clearer—soft murmurs, hushed laughter.

A breathless moan.

Your body tensed, You hesitated for only a moment before tilting your head, peering through the dust-coated glass.

And that's when you saw the most sinful acts you've ever witness.

Karina was sprawled against the wooden table, her back arching beneath the weight of the farmer pressing into her. Her dress was bunched up around her waist, her bare thighs caging his hips. His hands gripped her skin, fingers digging into the softness of her legs, his mouth trailing down the curve of her neck.

Your stomach twisted, but you couldn't look away.

Karina wasn't resisting. She wasn't recoiling in shame or horror. There was no fear in her expression, no sign of guilt or repentance.

She was pulling him closer.

Her fingers wove into his hair, tugging slightly as her head fell back, exposing more of her throat to his lips. Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, her mouth parting with quiet, trembling gasps.

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

The nun's words echoed in your head, warnings of fire, of suffering, of bodies burning for their sins.

But Karina wasn't burning.

Your breath trembled as you stared, as the world you had known—the one built on prayer, on restraint, on the fear of temptation—began to splinter.

How is she not burning?

The apple slipped from your fingers, tumbling to the ground with a dull thud.

A hiss was heard. The sound was sharp, unnatural, cutting through the silence of the forest. Your body stiffened, a cold shiver crawling up your spine. Slowly, your gaze flickered to the tree beside you.

A snake. Its body coiled around the rough bark, scales glistening in the fading sunlight. It was watching you, its tongue flickering out.

Eve was tempted. Eve took the fruit.

Your stomach twisted violently as you staggered back, tearing your eyes away from both the serpent and the scene inside the cabin.

You ran. Branches scraped against your skin as you pushed through the trees, your feet barely touching the ground. The echoes of Karina's breathless moans clung to you, no matter how fast you tried to outrun them.

You needed to forget. To erase the moment of sin that had burned itself into your mind. To cleanse yourself before the weight of temptation swallowed you whole.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee..."

Your eyes clenched shut as you muttered the prayer, over and over, you repeated the words, as if their rhythm alone could cleanse your mind, could undo what you had seen.

The rosary felt heavy in your hands, the beads pressing into your palm. But no matter how tightly you held it, no matter how desperately you clung to prayer, the memory would not leave you.

"Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus."

You sucked in a sharp breath, your chest tightening.

"Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners—"

Your voice broke. This was your fall.

A single tear slipped down your cheek, then another, until you were gripping the rosary so tightly your knuckles turned white. A quiet sniffle escaped you, but the tears kept coming, blurring the dim candlelight of the chapel.

You could not stop trembling, your stomach tightening, a dull ache spreading between your legs, heat pooling where it should not.

Your thighs pressed together instinctively, but it did nothing to stop the throbbing. You clenched your fists, willing the sensation away, but the images had already taken root.

Karina. The farmer. The way her body had arched into him, how she had clung to him. It should have horrified you. It should have disgusted you.

Instead, a shudder ran through you as your mind betrayed you, as the image shifted, reshaped itself into something far more forbidden.

Not Karina.

You.

And not the farmer.

Jake.

Your breath hitched. The thought was wrong—blasphemous. But it came unbidden, vivid and consuming, slipping into the cracks of your mind like sin itself. You saw him above you, his hands gripping your waist, his lips murmuring something against your skin.

Your rosary slipped from your fingers, the beads scattering against the marble floor.

You gasped softly, snapping your eyes open as if waking from a dream—no, a nightmare.

Your hands flew to your chest, pressing against your heart as if you could smother the racing beat beneath your skin.

No. No, no, no.

Tears welled in your eyes again, this time not just from guilt but from fear—of yourself.

This was your fall.

The serpent had coiled itself around you, whispering its venom into your ears, seeping into your thoughts, your body.

Karina was expelled after the nuns discovered what she had done during the community outreach.

You helped her pack in silence, folding the last of her skirts into a worn-out suitcase.

Your nose was red, your eyes swollen—for many reasons. Of course, you hadn't told anyone what you saw. That was yet another reason you were a sinner. You had kept her secret, watched in silence as she was cast out.

But worse—you couldn't stop thinking about it.

And worst of all, you had lost another prayer partner.

Your voice was quiet when you finally asked, "Do you regret it?"

Karina's hands stilled over the fabric of her blouse. She stared at the ground for a long moment before exhaling slowly. "No."

"They're sending me away," she continued. "Some isolated place, far from men. Away from temptation. They'll make me enter seminary, force me to repent, try to fix me."

She let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. "Fix me. As if I'm broken."

You said nothing, letting her words settle between you.

Karina turned then, her gaze finding yours. "But I don't regret it. No matter what they try to tell me." A small, humorless smile tugged at her lips. "But you wouldn't understand, would you?"

Your fingers curled into the fabric of her dress as you folded it, staring at the delicate lace trim. "There are a lot of things I don't understand," you admitted. Then, meeting her eyes, you added, "But I do not judge. I am here to listen."

Karina studied you, her expression is pained. Then she let out a slow breath, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You know the story of Adam and Eve," she said.

You nodded. "Of course."

"They call it the fall," she murmured, tilting her head slightly. "But have you ever thought that maybe it wasn't a fall at all?"

You frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her fingers intertwined. "Eve took the apple. She chose knowledge, chose to know desire, hunger, craving. And for that, she was cast out." Karina exhaled through her nose, a bitter smile on her lips. "But maybe that was never a punishment. Maybe it was freedom."

She glanced at you then, "Christianity tells us that craving is sinful. That wanting—whether it's knowledge, pleasure, or love—will ruin us." Her voice lowered, "but tell me—why would God give us bodies that feel if He didn't want us to use them?"

Your throat felt dry.

"You've thought about it, haven't you?" Karina questioned. "You've felt it."

Heat crept up your neck, shame curling tight in your stomach.

Karina smiled, but it wasn't mocking. If anything, it was knowing. "It's normal to crave, you know," she said. "To want."

"In the city," Karina continued, "I heard students openly talk about sex. About how it's natural. They even discuss things like hormones, the way the body reacts to desire. When your clitoris—"

"Shhh!" Your eyes widened as you shot a panicked glance toward the door. Your hand moved on instinct, pressing against her lips to silence her.

"Do not use such vulgar words!" you hissed, even hearing such a thing felt wrong, like an invitation for sin to take root inside you.

Karina only laughed, she gently pulled your hand away, her lips curling into a teasing smile. "Why? Because the nuns don't want you to know your own body?"

Your cheeks burned, your fingers curling into your lap as you looked away. "Because it's wrong," you muttered. "You speak of things that lead to damnation."

Karina sighed, tilting her head. "Says who? The nuns? The ones who tell us that touching ourselves will set our bodies on fire?" She leaned in slightly, "Tell me, have you ever actually tried it?"

Your breath hitched as you swallowed, your pulse hammering against your skin. "I—I would never—"

Karina smiled knowingly. "Of course you wouldn't. Because you're afraid, aren't you?"

You stiffened. "Afraid of what?"

"That they were lying to you," she said simply.

You stared at her, Karina reached for your hand, her touch gentle as she placed it over your own lap. "If it's really so sinful," she murmured, "if it really makes you burn... then why don't you test it?"

Your breath caught in your throat. Her fingers pressed lightly against yours. "Go on. Just once. Just to see if their words hold any truth."

"If you want to touch yourself," she continued, undeterred by your silence, "put your fingers inside—but don't just push in and out. Curl them inside, find the spot that makes your legs shake."

Your entire body went rigid as Karina leaned closer, her lips curling, almost amused at your reaction. "And your clitoris—"

"Stop," you gasped, eyes widening as you instinctively clamped a hand over her mouth. Your other hand flew to the door, your head snapping toward it, terrified that someone might hear.

She giggled against your palm, her laughter muffled before she gently pulled your hand away. "Why are you so scared?" she teased. "It's just your body. It's natural."

Your cheeks were burning now, hot with embarrassment.

Karina sighed, tilting her head as if she pitied you. "If you ever do find someone," she continued, undeterred, "a boy—"

You swallowed hard.

"Let him play with your nipples." Her voice dipped lower, as if she were sharing a secret meant only for you. "Let him suck them, bite them just a little. It feels so good."

Your thighs clenched involuntarily.

"And a boy," she went on, eyes glinting with mischievous, "his penis—"

"Karina!"

She laughed, completely unashamed of her own words. "What? It's true! If you want to make a boy weak, touch him there. Play with it, stroke it, suck on it—especially the tip."

A choked sound escaped you.

"Giving someone pleasure," she said, watching your reaction, "is just as enjoyable as receiving it. Maybe even more."

Your hands trembled in your lap. You couldn't even look at her now. Your mind felt clouded, a war raging between every lesson the nuns had taught you and the curiosity her words planted deep inside you.

Karina exhaled, shaking her head. "You poor thing," she murmured, you bit your lip hard, trying to drown out the heat rising in your body with pain.

"You should try it, you know," she said after a beat, her voice almost gentle now. "Just once. Just so you know if they were lying to you all along."

Your chest tightened, your heart hammering so loudly you feared it might betray you.

Because the worst part wasn't her words.

It was that you wanted to know if she was right.

So you repented again.

You prayed and prayed for forgiveness, whispering desperate pleas beneath your breath, pressing your forehead against the cold chapel floor. You gripped your rosary so tightly that the beads left indentations in your palm, as if pain itself could cleanse you.

But it was getting harder. Especially now, with Holy Week approaching. Longer prayers, deeper fasting, more time spent in solemn reflection. And yet, the more you immersed yourself in worship, the more temptation gnawed at you.

Especially since Sim Jaeyun was the one leading Passion Week.

You sat among the others, hands folded in your lap, your gaze fixed on the cross, trying not to think about him. Trying not to remember Karina's words.

"If you ever find someone, let him touch you, let him play with you—"

You swallowed hard, clenching your fists against your thighs.

Women and men were not allowed to be seen too close together. A proper distance must always be kept, a respectable space left between bodies. A simple conversation was permitted—but only from afar.

"You do pray very often."

The voice came from behind you. You stiffened, your breath catching in your throat as you turned slightly—only to find him.

Jake stood just a few feet away, hands clasped in front of him. "Is something bothering you?"

You turned back toward the cross, swallowing the lump in your throat. Your fingers curled against your knees, sweat forming at your temples.

"No," you whispered, though the lie burned on your tongue.

Jake was silent for a moment. Then, softly, he said, "You can talk to me, you know. If something is troubling you."

You closed your eyes. How could you tell him?

How could you tell him that the prayers weren't working? That no matter how hard you tried, the thoughts would not leave you? That he was becoming the temptation you could no longer escape?

Your eyes started to water again, he knelt beside you, as his presence settled so dangerously close—closer than what was proper.

Your eyes burned with unshed tears, your fingers tightening around the rosary.

Jake watched you. From this close, he could see the way the candlelight illuminated your face, casting soft shadows along the delicate curve of your cheekbones. Your skin glowed, almost ethereal, as if touched by something divine.

You looked like a painting—one of the old Renaissance depictions of saints and martyrs.

Beautiful.

His gaze drifted lower, to the way your lips barely moved as you whispered prayers, the words shaky, your hands trembled over the rosary, clutched so tightly.

His eyes fell to your knees. The fabric of your skirt had shifted slightly, revealing the barest hint of bruised skin—evidence of hours spent kneeling.

He had seen piety before. He had witnessed countless prayers, watched the most devout of worshippers bow their heads in absolute faith.

But this—the way you prayed, the way you looked before the altar—felt different. He couldn't imagine what sin someone like you could have possibly committed.

His voice came quietly, "You should rest."

You flinched slightly at the sound of his voice,

"I can't," you murmured.

And then softly, without thinking—he reached out.

His hand hovered over yours for just a breath before settling atop your trembling fingers. Palm to palm, warm and steady, stopping you mid-prayer.

He didn't know what possessed him to touch you. Perhaps it was the way you looked so lost, so utterly consumed by something unseen. Or perhaps it was the fact that no nun was watching, no one to scold him for standing too close, for placing his hand over yours.

His touch was meant to be assuring. Nothing more. Nothing sinful.

But then you stiffened beneath him.

Your breath caught in your throat, your shoulders going rigid, your fingers twitching beneath his. Your heartbeat slammed against your ribs.

You turned your face toward him.

Jake sucked in a quiet breath as his eyes met yours—wide, desperate, a single tear slipping down your cheek.

He had never seen a gaze like that before. Not in church, not in prayer, not in the face of someone seeking salvation.

His fingers flexed slightly against yours, the warmth of your skin radiating beneath his palm. His thumb brushed against the back of your hand, a slow, instinctive movement, like a silent reassurance.

Before he could stop himself, his other hand lifted. Gently, hesitantly, he swiped away the tear that had slipped down your cheek, his fingertips barely grazing your skin.

You gasped softly. It was the smallest sound, but it sent something through him, something that made his fingers linger just a second too long against your face.

Your skin was warm beneath his touch. Soft. Alive.

It took everything in him to pull away.

The moment his fingers left your cheek, a strange kind of loss settled in his chest. He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing against the fabric of his handkerchief before carefully pulling it out. Silently, he placed it in your trembling hands.

"Whatever you were praying for," he murmured, "I'm sure God will understand."

As if to anchor you back into the faith you were grasping so desperately onto, he smiled.

The kind of smile meant to bring comfort. But to you, it only made it worse.

"I should go," Jake said, you nodded, unable to meet his gaze. He shift beside you, the soft rustling of fabric as he stood. His presence lingered for just a moment longer before the sound of his footsteps echoed against the chapel floor, growing fainter.

And yet, his warmth remained.

Your hands trembled as you lifted the handkerchief to your face, pressing it against your damp cheeks. His scent clung to the fabric—a faint trace of sandalwood and incense, something undeniably him.

You exhaled shakily, squeezing your eyes shut.

God will understand.

A broken sob escaped your lips as you clutched the fabric tighter, your body trembling with something you no longer had the strength to fight. Tears slipped freely down your cheeks, soaking into the handkerchief as you sniffled against it.

Your fingertips skimmed over the waistband of your skirt, then lower, brushing against the thin fabric beneath.

A sharp breath left you when you felt the wetness, sticky and warm, pooling between your thighs, evidence of the thoughts you had failed to purge.

You should stop. You should repent.

And yet, your other hand only tightened around the handkerchief, pressing it closer to your face, inhaling the faint traces of him.

Still kneeling, you stared at the cross before you. Your body trembled, shame curling in your stomach.

You sobbed, your weight tipping forward, forehead pressing against the marble floor. Your free hand clenched at your skirt, your knuckles white with restraint.

Your finger dipped inside, a choked gasp slipping past your lips at the sudden intrusion.

The feeling was new, startling and unfamiliar. You hesitated only for a moment before pressing deeper, your body clenching around the touch, breath hitching as pleasure licked up your spine.

The nuns had warned you—the body will burn.

But as your fingers curled, as something electric shot through your legs, making them tremble, you realized this was not pain nor suffering.

Your mouth parted, a quiet, breathless sound escaping as you rocked into your own touch, your other hand bracing against the marble floor to steady yourself, the overwhelming scent of him filling your senses.

Sim Jaeyun—his hands hovering over yours, the warmth of his palm against your trembling fingers, the way he had wiped away your tear.

Your fingers pressed deeper, and a soft gasp escaped your lips. You imagined it was his touch, his fingers exploring you with hesitant curiosity.

"You do pray very often," his voice echoed in your mind, "Is something bothering you?"

Yes, he was bothering you.

You pictured him above you, his fingers tracing over the same places your own were now.

"Does it burn?" he would ask, voice laced with something both sinful and sacred.

And you would shake your head—because it didn't.

It felt holy.

Your body arched into your own touch, your legs trembling as heat coiled deep inside you, tighter and tighter, threatening to consume you whole. The pressure, the ache, the need—it was overwhelming. It was blasphemous.

Yet, it was the closest you had ever felt to salvation.

A gasp tore from your lips, soft yet sinful in the silence of the chapel. Your fingers pushed deeper, your body rocking to meet them, each movement sending dizzying waves of pleasure through you.

Beads of sweat dripped from your forehead, falling onto the floor. You added another finger, stretching yourself further, testing the limits of your own body. A choked whimper escaped as your walls clenched around the intrusion, your breathing ragged. Your other hand fumbled against the floor, grasping for stability, but there was none—no safety, no sanctuary, no way to stop now.

You think about his hands on your waist, his lips trailing down your neck. Your body tensed, your fingers working faster, chasing the edge of an unknown pleasure that built higher and higher—until it was too much, too much.

With one final, shuddering breath, the world shattered around you. Your body trembled, pleasure crashing over you in violent waves, a silent cry caught in your throat as your mind went blank.

Your body slumped forward, forehead pressing against the cool marble floor, your fingers slipping out as the aftershocks of pleasure left you breathless.

There was only silence. Only your heaving breaths, the scent of candle wax and incense thick in the air, the fading echoes of his name somewhere in the depths of your mind.

Then, guilt settled in, so heavy. You had really fallen.

And yet, as you lay there, pulse still racing, you couldn't bring yourself to repent.

The days blurred into nights, and with each passing moment, you felt yourself slipping further into something you could no longer control.

You couldn't meet your own reflection anymore. The girl in the mirror was not the same—her eyes hollow with guilt, her lips parted in silent prayer that never reached the heavens. You had abandoned the comfort of your rosary, leaving it untouched on your bedside table. Even the scent of candle wax and incense, once a balm to your soul, now felt suffocating.

It was as if a devil had settled inside you, whispering in your ear, feeding your thoughts with things no holy woman should crave. And yet, no matter how fiercely you fought it, you kept returning to your sin.

Each night, beneath the shroud of darkness, your body became a traitor. Your hands moved without permission, exploring places you had been taught were forbidden. Your bedsheets tangled around your legs, damp with sweat, evidence of your transgressions.

And always, always, his name spilled from your lips.

Each time, you found yourself back in the same position—fingers trembling, thighs clenched, gasping into the silence of your room, drowning in him. And it felt too good to stop.

"Have mercy on me, O God, according to Your unfailing love..."

You whispered it every day in the chapel, hands clutching the rosary so tightly. "According to Your great compassion, blot out my transgressions. Wash away all my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin..."

Tears slipped down your cheeks, soaking into the fabric of your sleeves as you knelt before the altar. You sobbed, your body wracked with guilt, your lips forming words of repentance.

And yet—when you returned to your bed that night, your body trembling with guilt, your prayers still lingering in the air—

You touched yourself anyway.

"It's impressive how you always pray," Jake said, his voice gentle, filled with quiet admiration. A small smile graced his lips. Another interaction. Another moment that would be burned into your mind, another weight added to the burden of your sin.

"How you always find time to speak with Him," he continued. "I'm sure whatever you're praying for, you'd be heard."

You swallowed hard. Would God listen when your prayers were no longer pure? When you begged not for salvation, but for relief from the temptation standing before you?

You forced a polite nod, quickly wiping at your damp cheeks, hoping he wouldn't notice how red your eyes were. How broken you looked. Your knees ached from kneeling for so long, your fingers sore from gripping the rosary too tightly. If only he knew what your prayers had become—not words of devotion, but desperate pleas for deliverance.

You were about to stand, to create distance, to escape before your body could betray you again. But before you could move, Jake lowered himself to kneel beside you.

The proximity sent a shiver down your spine. His presence was grounding, yet it set something uneasy alight inside you.

"You know," he said, voice soft, "I quite admire you."

Jake smiled, warm and sincere, his eyes searching yours as if he was seeing something sacred in you. "You share a special relationship with God," he continued. "The way you pray, the way you devote yourself—it's beautiful."

"I've seen the way you never miss a prayer," he went on. "The way you kneel here for hours, speaking to Him when no one else is watching. I've seen the tears, the way you hold your rosary."

His gaze flickered down to your hands, still red from gripping the beads too tightly.

"And I think... that kind of devotion is rare."

You swallowed, forcing yourself to look away, because his words—his praise—felt heavier than anything the nuns had ever told you.

Because it was him saying it.

He didn't know that your devotion wasn't pure. That your prayers were not for holiness, but for control. That when you closed your eyes at night, it wasn't scripture that filled your mind, but the memory of his touch.

"God must love you very much," Jake murmured, tilting his head slightly. "To have someone as loyal as you."

You inhaled shakily, without thinking, you shifted back, settling onto the wooden pew. Jake stayed where he was, still kneeling, his gaze fixed on the cross. You swallowed. Your fingers curled around the rosary in your palm

"Can I confess, Jake?"

Your voice was barely above a whisper. Jake turned his head, he hesitated for a moment before moving to sit beside you, his posture still composed. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice is with quiet curiosity. "I am not a priest—I can't take such confessions."

You exhaled sharply, your grip tightening around the rosary.

"Forgive me, for I have sinned."

Jake stilled beside you his confusion was evident in the way his brows knitted together, in the way his head tilted slightly as if trying to piece together what you meant. "Why?" he asked slowly.

You couldn't look at him. If you did, you feared he would see it. The truth. The war inside you. The way he was the very thing you needed to confess.

Your throat tightened as you muttered the next following words. "Because," you whispered, forcing the words out before you lost the courage to speak them, "I don't think I want to repent."

Jake stiffened beside you. His breath hitched, his entire body going rigid. His fingers curled against his lap, gripping the fabric of his trousers. "H-How can you say that?" His voice was unsteady, a stark contrast to the usual calmness he carried. His soft features, always composed, always gentle, were now pulled into shock and disbelief.

You swallowed, your throat dry, your heart slamming against your ribs as you forced yourself to continue. If you stopped now, if you let fear take hold, you would never be free of this.

"I think of things I shouldn't."Your voice trembled, but your gaze didn't waver this time. "I touched myself."

Jake's body jerked slightly, his lips parted again, but no words came, as if he had been struck speechless, as if the confession had ripped the breath from his lungs. His Adam's apple bobbed with a harsh swallow, the tendons in his neck tightening. His gaze flickered away, darting briefly to the cross above the altar, as if seeking guidance, as if seeking a way out. But there was none. He could not look at you, not when the weight of your confession was still lingering in the air

"You..." he started, but the words failed him. He shook his head, exhaling sharply through his nose. His brows furrowed, "Why are you telling me this?"

Your hands clenched into fists in your lap, nails digging into your palms as you forced yourself to speak—forced yourself to ruin yourself completely. "Because it was you, Jake."

Jake inhale, his eyes widening, but only for a second. Something changed—something deep inside him, something that flickered behind his dark gaze like a dying flame suddenly reignited.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, your skin tingling under the intensity of his stare. But you didn't stop. You couldn't.

"I touch myself with the thought of you."

Jake's fingers dug into his thighs, gripping so tightly. His breathing turned shallow, uneven, his chest rising and falling at a pace that betrayed his struggle. His gaze dropped—just for a second—to your lips, before snapping back up, but the damage was already done.

He was flustered.

"D-Do not say v-vulgar things," Jake whispered, his hands trembling slightly where they rested against his lap. But it was his eyes that held you captive—wide, burning, conflicted.

Your throat tightened, and before you could stop yourself, tears welled in your eyes again. "I don't think I'm free of guilt if I confess to God."

Jake flinched at your words. His fingers twitched as if he wanted to reach for you, to stop you, to comfort you—but he didn't. Because he shouldn't.

"I keep praying for forgiveness," you continued, your voice trembling, "but I do not regret what I have done."

Jake inhaled sharply. His gaze flickered to the cross for only a moment—as if searching for guidance—before returning to you. Your lips trembled as you forced out the truth, the final confession that sealed your fall.

"I only feel guilty because thinking of you is a sinful act against my own people."

A tear slipped down your cheek, falling onto your lap, soaking into the fabric of your skirt. You weren't sure what you were asking from him—absolution, understanding, or something far more dangerous.

"God is willing to forgive again and again, right?" you choked out. Jake's breath hitched, and then you asked the only question that truly mattered. "But are you willing to forgive me?"

His throat bobbed with another hard swallow, but he couldn't speak. Because there was no answer to give. Not one that would be right. Not one that would be true. He stood abruptly. The movement was sudden, almost jerky, as if he was running—fleeing.

You watched him, lips quivering, hands still clenched together in your lap.

His palm was sweaty as he brushed it against his robe, his pulse erratic as he stepped out of the chapel, the heavy door closing behind him with a finality that made your chest ache.

You didn't call after him. You didn't move. Because what could you say? He was already gone.

Jake arrived early at the residence hall, his movements stiff, controlled, as if forcing himself into habit, but as soon as the door shut behind him, his composure cracked. His chest rose and fell with deep, unsteady breaths, his hands running through his hair in frustration. The ghost of your voice lingered in his ears, wrapping around his mind like a noose.

"I touch myself with the thought of you."

"I do not regret what I have done."

His jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. He sank onto the bed, head falling back against the pillows, eyes squeezing shut.

"But are you willing to forgive me?"

His breath came out shaky, ragged, as he muttered, "Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name..." His voice was strained and the prayer did nothing.

Nothing to rid him of the images flooding his mind, of your tear-streaked face, of the way your voice trembled, of the way you looked at him as if he held the answer to your salvation. He sucked in a sharp breath as his hands gripped the sheets beside him, as the tension in his body coiled so tight it hurt.

And then—he felt the unbearable heat pooling low in his stomach. The painful ache of his cock pressing against the fabric of his pants.

He let out a quiet, desperate whine, the sound muffled against his palm as he ran a hand over his face, as if trying to scrub away the shame, the want, the overwhelming weight of you. Still, the words of his prayer tumbled from his lips, over and over, between broken breaths.

Just like Adam, he had been steadfast. Pure. Untouched by temptation. He had walked the path of righteousness without faltering, without question, his faith as unwavering as the ground beneath his feet. He had known his purpose—to obey, to serve, to resist.

And yet, you— the Eve.

A whisper of temptation. Just as Eve had reached for the fruit, her fingers brushing against the knowledge of sin, you had reached for him—not with hands, but with words.

And now, like Adam, he was failing. He had seen the fruit before him. He had heard the serpent's voice, had felt the first stirrings of doubt deep in his chest, where conviction once lived.

He wanted to reach back.

To taste. To know. To fall.

Because wasn't that what Adam had done? He hadn't been deceived—he had chosen to fall with Eve. He had taken the fruit from her hand, knowing what it would cost.

"Take a bite."

The voice echoed in his mind, low and insistent, curling around his thoughts like a serpent coiled around a branch. Jake sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, but he did not see it.

Instead, he saw you.

He imagined you whispering to him, your lips forming the very words that now tormented him. He imagined your fingers brushing against his wrist, leading him closer to ruin. Just as Eve had turned to Adam with the fruit cradled in her palm, you had turned to him with your confession, tempting him in ways he had never been tempted before.

His cock throbbed painfully beneath the confines of his pants, damp with his own arousal.

"Take a bite," the voice urged again, slithering through the cracks of his crumbling resistance. His hands clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. He should continue praying, to fight whatever temptation the devil was filling him.

But instead, he lay there, panting, burning not with the way the nun teaches, his body betraying him as he squeezed his eyes shut. He let himself imagine.

"Heaven and earth are full," the voices soared inside the chapel, the morning light streaming through the stained-glass windows.

"Are full of your glory."

Jake's lips parted, but he did not sing. His gaze was fixed on you. You stood in the choir, your voice blending seamlessly with the others, yet somehow, to him, it was the only one that mattered.

Your long white dress fell in soft folds to your feet, the fabric catching in the gentle morning breeze drifting through the open doors. The wind moved through your hair, shifting it slightly, making it look almost weightless.

You were a vision of purity wrapped in divinity.

"Hosanna, hosanna."

Your eyes are dull and distant, told a different story. You sang the words, but you were not present. There was no joy, no reverence, only an emptiness that should not belong to someone standing before God.

"Hosanna in the highest."

But to him, you were the highest. More than the chapel's towering walls, more than the altar bathed in candlelight, more than the cross above them all. His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to touch, to reach, to worship. But not as a believer should.

"Show me."

The words slipped from Jake's. Your breath caught in your throat, your eyes widening as you stared at him.

The small room at the back of the chapel felt unbearably tight, with the scent of old books and dust, the faint aroma of candle wax lingering in the corners. A candlelight was at the center of the table.

This was a place of study, of quiet contemplation, and A man and a woman should not be alone together. Not when the door was shut.

"Show me." Jake swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Show me how you touch yourself."

"H-Huh?" You stuttered, barely able to form words, your mind struggling to comprehend what he had just said. "Jake, you're so pure... I don't want you to be tainted like me. I already disappoint God—"

"Please, just show me."

His voice was desperate, his restraint fraying at the edges. Jake stepped forward, closing the distance between you.

Your breath hitched as he leaned over the table between you, hands bracing against the worn wood, trapping you between his body and the cold stone wall.

"I have thoughts about you too."

Your eyes snapped up to his, his eyes were glassy, his lips trembling as if the weight of his own confession was too much to bear, unshed tears brimming in his lashes.

"I thought of you that night," he murmured. You sucked in a breath, pressing yourself further into the table.

"I disappointed God too."

"Jake. . . " Your breath hitched at his confession as your eyes is searching on him. "Are you not afraid? Of the fire that will burn you?" you asked.

Jake's breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling as he leaned closer, his hands tightening against the edge of the table. "Does it burn you when you touch yourself?"

"Because when I thought of you," Jake continued, "my body just ached for your embrace."

Your heart pounded so loudly; you almost want to lower your head due to the proximity.

"It's not the fire that burns me."

He swallowed hard, his jaw clenched as his gaze bore into yours, "It's the ache of longing for you."

You had feared he would resist, that he would turn away, condemn you, beg for salvation. But he wasn't begging for salvation. He was begging for you.

"Take a bite," a voice in the back of your mind hissed—low and insidious.

And without another word, without hesitation, you reached for him. Your fingers curled around the nape of his neck, you pulled him in, lips met his.

A low, desperate moan escaped Jake's throat as he crushed you against him, his hands finding your waist, gripping you so tightly. His body pressed into yours, heat radiating through the layers of fabric that still separated you.

His lips moved against yours with a hunger that startled you. The tears that had brimmed in his eyes slipped down his cheeks.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling, needing. The kiss was desperate, both of your teeth are clashing. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. The pressure of his mouth against yours softened after a moment, his lips parting slightly, then his tongue brushed against yours.

A soft gasp left your lips, and Jake seized the moment, his tongue slipping past the seam of your mouth, exploring, tasting. He groaned into you, the sound vibrating against your chest, making something hot coil in your stomach.

Your grip tightening in his hair as the kiss deepened, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes, coaxing you into submission.

"If you want to make a boy weak, touch him there. Play with it, stroke it."

Still kissing him, your free hand drifted lower, hesitant, until your fingers pressed over the hardness beneath his pants.

Jake cried out. His entire body jerked, his hips stuttering beneath your touch as he broke the kiss with a sharp gasp.

"Oh my Lord—"

His head fell forward, forehead pressing against your shoulder as his breath came out in ragged, uneven pants. His hands clenched at your waist, gripping the fabric of your dress.

You swallowed, watching in fascination as his body trembled beneath your touch.

Carefully, experimentally, you pressed your palm more firmly against him, stroking him slow through the fabric.

Jake whimpered. His hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more friction, chasing the pleasure, more relief, yet it was never enough. Your name slipped from his lips in a strangled moan, muffled against your shoulder.

"I want to see you. Please." You whisper, more like a whine as your fingers continued to stroke him through the fabric of his pants.

Jake lifted his head slowly, his breath ragged, his pupils blown wide with something that had nothing to do with faith. Tears streaked his flushed cheeks, his lips parted as they trembled.

His gaze locked onto yours, vulnerable yet so needy.

"W-Will you touch me more?"

His voice cracked at the end, his body shuddering as he fumbled with the buttons of his pants, his fingers shaking too much to work quickly. You watched as he hesitated, his chest rising and falling rapidly, before finally tugging the fabric down past his hips.

Your breath caught in your throat.

A penis. His cock was thick, long, flushed a deep shade of red. Fluid leaked from the swollen tip, dripping down the shaft in slow, glistening trails.

You remembered feeling disgusted way in anatomy class, staring at the stiff, clinical images in textbooks, thinking the male body was strange, almost grotesque.

Now, your mouth watered.

Heat pooled deep in your belly, your pussy clenching together involuntarily. You didn't even realize what you were doing until you were already on your knees.

Jake's breath hitched, his body going rigid. His wide, teary eyes stared down at you.

"W-What a-are you doing?" He exhaled sharply, his voice cracking. You glanced up at him, your hands settling on his thighs.

A whisper from your past came back to you, "Suck on it—especially the tip."

Your lips parted, and you murmured, "I'm going to pray for forgiveness." then you took him into your mouth.

"Ahhh—!"

A choked gasp tore from his lips, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. His hands flew to your head, fingers tangling in your hair, but he didn't push. He held on for dear life.

His knees buckled slightly, his breath coming in ragged, shuddering gasps as your warm mouth engulfed him.

You tasted the saltiness of his arousal, the unfamiliar flavor spreading across your tongue, but instead of pulling away, you took more.

"Jesus Christ, this is disgusting," Jake cried, his voice shaking—yet his hands remained buried in your hair, his hips jerking forward, pushing himself deeper into your mouth.

His breath came out in broken gasps as he watched you, watched the way your cheeks hollowed around his cock, the way your lips stretched to accommodate him. His fingers trembled where they tangled in your hair, torn between holding back and pushing in further.

"It feels too good—too good, too good—" he whined, his mouth falling open, eyes glassy.

Your stomach tightened at the sound, heat curling between your thighs at the way he was breaking apart. You wanted more, you needed more.

Your tongue traced along the underside of his shaft, your head bobbing steadily, each movement coaxing more whimpers from his lips. His thighs trembled beneath your hands, his entire body shaking with pleasure so foreign to him that he didn't know what to do with it.

"You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain." The words echoed in the back of your mind, a commandment you had already shattered beyond repair.

But you like hearing him, hearing the way he gasped for God, the way his voice cracked when he moaned between whispered prayers.

Your eyes flickered up, meeting his gaze. Jake whimpered, his breath stuttering as you took him further, pushing yourself until the tip of his cock brushed the back of your throat. Your gag reflex tightened, but you didn't pull away. You held him there, letting him feel everything.

"A-Ahhh—!"

A loud, uncontrollable moan ripped from his throat as his head fell back, exposing the column of his neck, veins prominent, his Adam's apple bobbing with every gasping breath.

His body tensed, his fingers gripping you too tightly, as if he was seeing God Himself in the pleasure washing over him.

His moans grew louder, needier—his entire existence reduced to you and the sin you were leading him into.

His grip in your hair tightened, his hips stuttering as he fought to keep himself from thrusting into your mouth, from losing himself entirely.

"S-Something's coming—something's coming."

His voice broke, whimpering and breathless. Still bobbing your head, you reached down with one hand, lifting your skirt, fingers sliding beneath the fabric of your underwear. The moment your fingers brushed against your slick folds; a moan vibrated against his shaft.

Jake gasped, his thighs tensing, his entire body shuddering at the sensation.

Your wetness coated your fingers, and with no hesitation, you pushed one inside, curling it the way you always had when you were alone—except now, you weren't alone.

Now, it felt too good to be true. Because Jake was in front of you.

Because Jake was falling with you.

Your own pleasure built with every movement of your fingers, every muffled moan that sent vibrations through him.

His hand slid down, trembling, until it brushed against your cheek, his thumb wiping away the tears pooling at the corner of your eyes, tears from how deep you had taken him, from how overwhelming it all was.

His touch was tender, contradicting the broken, filthy sounds spilling from his lips.

"You're—" he choked out, his voice wrecked. "You're touching yourself?"

You hummed around him, confirming, not slowing down, your fingers working deeper inside yourself as his body tensed above you.

Jake whimpered, his head falling forward, his lips barely parted as he stared. His stomach coiled tighter and tighter, his body trembling as his hips stuttered, chasing the feeling, unable to hold back.

"You look so beautiful," he sobbed, his voice raw and shaking. "So divine."

His gaze never left you, drinking in the sight of you—on your knees before him, lips wrapped around his length, taking him so deep without breaking eye contact.

A choked moan tore from his throat at the way you looked up at him, at the sheer devotion in your eyes. It was as if you had been sculpted by God Himself, crafted not from dust but from light, from holiness.

Jake had always admired you.

The way you prayed every afternoon in the chapel, hands clasped. How your lips moved so softly in whispered hymns, the way your voice blended into the choir like something celestial.

How you knelt before the altar, head bowed, untouched by the world around you, your beauty standing apart from anything he had ever known.

Now, you were kneeling for him, your mouth worshipped something else entirely.

His hips jerked forward, unrestrained, a sob catching in his throat.

"Oh—oh, my God—"

His entire body shook, the pleasure nearly blinding. A choked sob left his lips as his release spilled into your mouth, hot and thick, coating your tongue. His hips jerked involuntarily, pressing deeper until your nose met his abdomen, forcing you to take every last drop.

You moaned at the sensation, fingers working faster inside yourself, chasing the same pleasure that had just undone him. The taste of him lingered on your tongue, salty, forbidden—yet you swallowed it all, not letting a single drop go to waste.

Above you, Jake shuddered violently, his hands tangling in your hair as if clinging to you for stability.

His head tipped back; his lips parted in a silent cry as he came down from his high. His fingers trembled against your scalp, stroking gently.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he whispered, his eyes clenched shut, his chest rising. He held you there, cradling your head against his abdomen, his body still twitching from the aftershocks.

You tapped his thigh twice, a silent signal. Jake inhaled sharply, His grip loosened instantly, and with shaky hands, he let go of you, his cock slipping from your mouth.

A thin string of saliva connected you, stretching between your lips and the flushed tip of him before breaking. Your tongue remained out, your breath ragged, your lips swollen and slick with the remnants of his release.

"You... you swallowed my seed," Jake whispered, you stared up at him through lidded eyes, your breath shaky, your body still moving, fingers still working inside yourself.

His gaze flickered downward, following the slow, desperate motion of your hand beneath your lifted skirt. His cock twitched, still sensitive, yet already stirring again at the sight of you.

"It... it should be in your uterus," he muttered, his brows drawing together. "Not your mouth."

A slow smile curled at your lips, heat simmering beneath your skin as you reached for his hand, guiding it to your cheek.

"Then pump me with your seed, Jake," you whispered.

A sharp inhale left his lips, his fingers tightening at your sides before he pulled you to your feet.

His mouth was on yours again, his hands trailing down your back, finding the zipper of your dress. He tugged it down slowly, the fabric loosened, slipping over your shoulders, pooling at your feet.

Jake pulled away, his lips parting as he took you in—your bare form. His throat bobbed, fingers trembling slightly as they traced over your waist.

He bent down, lips finding the curve of your neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone.

Your gaze lifted past him, to the walls of the room—where portraits of nuns, saints, and martyrs hung in quiet judgement. Their solemn eyes bore into you, unblinking, unwavering. Your chest tightened, guilt creeping in but you didn't want to stop.

Instead, you let your eyes fall shut, choosing to surrender—to savor the moment.

"Teach me how to please you," Jake murmured against your skin, his hands encircling your waist, holding you close.

You inhaled sharply, your fingers threading through his hair before drifting down to cup his face. Your foreheads pressed together, breath mingling.

Jake's eyes fluttered shut as he sighed against your palm, his lips brushing against the center of it before pressing a tender kiss there. His own hands lifted, fingers tracing the shape of yours.

You pulled away slowly, you reached behind you, unclasping your bralette. The straps slipped from your shoulders, the fabric falling away, leaving your bare skin exposed to the afternoon light. Your underwear followed, sliding down your legs until you stepped out of them, standing before him in nothing but temptation itself.

Jake's breath caught, his entire body rigid as he took in the sight of you—completely bare, completely his to look upon, to touch.

His lips parted, his gaze roamed over you, over the soft curve of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the smooth expanse of your thighs. He had seen statues of angels, paintings of the Virgin Mary draped in flowing white, but no work of art, no scripture, no vision of heaven itself had ever looked as divine as you did now.

You turned, settling yourself onto the wooden table behind you, your legs parting slowly, revealing yourself to him without hesitation.

A shaky exhale left your lips as your fingers trailed down your own skin, tracing along your inner thigh before sliding to your labia. You arched your back slightly, sighing as you spread yourself wider, holding his gaze.

"Come here, J-Jake," you moaned, your breath hitching as you pushed a single finger inside yourself. Jake swallowed hard, his hands shaking as he reached for the buttons of his shirt. One by one, he undid them. He let the fabric slide from his shoulders, pooling onto the floor before taking slow steps toward you.

As he neared, his breath hitched, his gaze lowering to where your fingers disappeared inside your slick folds. His pupils dilated, "It's so wet," he whispered.

Before you could respond, his hand moved. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, still slick from your arousal, and gently pulled your hand away.

Jake's gaze flickered to your glistening fingers, then he brought your hand to his lips.

You gasped, your walls clenching involuntarily as his tongue flicked out, tasting you for the first time. His lashes fluttered shut, a soft groan slipping past his lips as he took more of you onto his tongue, savoring the taste.

When Jake opened his eyes again, they were darker.

"I want more." A sudden moan tore from your throat at his words, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. You reached for his wrist, guiding his hand between your legs, breath hitching the moment his fingers brushed against your slick folds.

Jake sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers trembling as they hesitated at your entrance, slowly he pushed a single finger inside you.

A gasp escaped you as he entered. His jaw clenched at the sensation, his breath uneven as he felt you—felt the way your walls clenched around him, soft and wet and so impossibly tight.

His free hand gripped your thigh for support, his own body shuddering. Then he curled his finger.

"Oh God!" A sharp cry left your lips, your back arching at the sudden jolt of pleasure. Jake choked on a moan, watching you intently, his eyes locked onto every flicker of expression on your face.

He did it again, this time slower, pressing deeper, and your fingers dug into his shoulders.  His breathing grew heavier, his forehead nearly pressing against yours as he whispered, "Can I touch your breasts?"

Your head fell back, your lips parting on a silent gasp. You nodded frantically, eyes shut, too overwhelmed to speak properly. But a pleading "please" slipped from your lips.

That was all the permission he needed. Jake's other hand rose cautiously, fingers ghosting over the curve of your breast before cupping it fully, squeezing experimentally. His breath hitched at the feeling—warm, soft, the peak pebbling under his touch.

You moaned at the contact, pressing into his palm, "You like that?" he asked.

You nodded quickly, tilting your chin up to kiss him again, swallowing his breath. Your body was burning in a way that the nuns never depicted, your core aching with want, and you didn't care how shameless you sounded when you pleaded, "Please, touch me more."

Jake swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as his fingers kneaded your breast, his other hand still buried deep inside you, working slow, torturous circles that made you gasp.

"Lean down and suck my breast," you whispered against his lips. "I heard it feels good."

Jake pulled back slightly, blinking down at you, his cheeks flushed. "Like a baby?" he asked, almost innocently, though the way his hips pressed forward, grinding his aching cock against your thigh, told another story entirely.

You let out a breathy laugh, though it was cut short when he twisted his fingers inside you, making your back arch.

"No," you whimpered. "Like a man who wants me."

Jake groaned, before lowering his head, his lips parting as he took your nipple into his mouth. The moment his tongue flicked over the sensitive bud; a cry left you.

He started gently at first, his lips soft and warm against your breast, still testing, still learning how to touch you. But as your back arched, as your fingers tangled into his hair and held him there, he grew bolder.

His lips sealing around your nipple, his tongue swirling. Then his teeth grazed the sensitive flesh, just enough to send a delicious shudder down your spine.

"Jake—" you gasped, thighs clenching around his waist, trapping him against you.

He moaned against your skin, his free hand massaged your other breast, fingers rolling the hardened peak between them, mimicking the movements of his tongue.

"Add another finger inside me—please, please," you begged, voice breaking, hands clutching at his shoulders, urging him deeper.

Jake's forehead pressing against your chest bracing himself as he obeyed. His second finger slipped inside, stretching you further, filling you in a way that made your toes curl. Your walls clenched around him, tight, warm, so wet, and Jake whimpered, his hips bucking against your thigh at the feeling of you around his fingers.

"I want you inside me," you whispered into his ear, tears slipped down your cheeks. Jake let out a shuddering breath, his body stiffening at your words. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment. "They said it will hurt," Jake whispered, his fingers, still buried deep inside you, twitched. His free hand came up to your cheek, wiping away your tears with the pad of his thumb, his touch so tender it made your chest ache.

He swallowed hard. "I don't want to hurt you."

You leaned into his touch, your lips brushing against his wrist as you whispered, "I want to feel all of you, Jake. Even if it hurts, I want you."

Jake's breath hitched, his forehead pressing against yours. With trembling hands, he withdrew his fingers from your heat, watching the way your body shuddered, the way your thighs quivered as he left you empty. He brought his fingers to his lips without thinking, tasting you again, his eyes fluttering shut as he let out a quiet, needy moan.

Jake let out a shaky exhale, gripping himself at the base. His other hand rested on your thigh, rubbing soothing circles into your skin. "Are you sure?" he asked.

You nodded, spreading your legs further, offering yourself to him completely. "Please, Jake."

With a shaky breath, Jake lined himself up with your entrance, his tip pressing against your heat. His hands trembled as he gripped your thighs, steadying himself, his forehead resting against yours as he slowly, carefully, began to push inside.

A gasp tore from your lips the moment he breached you. Your arms wrapped around him, clinging to his shoulders, molding yourself against him as your body adjusted to the slow intrusion of his thick cock.

The stretch was overwhelming. Tears welled in your eyes, slipping down your cheeks as your walls struggled to accommodate him. Looking down, you saw—he had barely entered you. Only the tip, and yet, it already felt so much.

Jake let out a strangled moan, his breath stuttering as he squeezed his eyes shut. 

"S-Slow," you whimpered, your body trembling beneath him. Jake nodded rapidly, biting his lip so hard. His entire body was tense, his self-control hanging by a thread as he forced himself to move at an excruciatingly slow pace.

"You’re so—" He choked on his words, a desperate whimper escaping him. "So tight—God—"

His hips twitched involuntarily, and you gasped, your nails raking down his back at the sudden jolt of sensation. Jake's breath hitched at the sharp sting of your nails, his cock throbbing as he pushed in another inch.

A broken sob escaped you.

"I-It’s too much—" you whimpered, your walls fluttering around him, trying to adjust, trying to take all of him.

"Shh, I know, I know—" he whispered, kissing your tear-streaked cheek, peppering soft kisses along your jaw, trying to ease the overwhelming stretch. His hands slid down to your thighs, holding you open, rubbing gentle circles into your skin as he murmured against your lips, "do you want me to pull out?"

You shake your head, Jake exhaled sharply, his breath warm against your skin, his hands steadying you before he pressed forward again, stretching you further. Until you felt his abdomen on your navel. Every movement forcing your walls to open for him, to take him in ways you hadn’t known were possible.

A hiss escaped you, your back arching off the wooden table at the overwhelming sensation of being completely full. "Y-You're inside me," you gasped, as your gaze dropped between your bodies.

Jake groaned softly, his hands gripping your waist, his cock throbbing inside you as he fought to remain still, to give you time to adjust. "Yeah," he murmured, "I'm inside you."

Your breath was ragged, your fingers shaking as they slid up to his face, tracing the curve of his jaw. "I'm not burning," you whispered, half in disbelief. "I'm not burning."

The nuns had lied. The warnings, the fear, the fire they swore would consume you if you ever gave in to desire—it was nowhere to be found. There was only warmth. Only Jake.

Jake swallowed hard, his gaze locking onto yours. He reached for your chin, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his eyes.

"You're not burning," you whispered. Jake brows furrowing, a gasp tore from your lips as he pulled out slightly before thrusting forward again, sinking into you. His mouth fell open, his head tilting back as he felt you, felt the way your walls clung to him, squeezing him.

His lips parted, but the only sounds that came were broken, incoherent prayers.

"Oh, God—" he choked out. His hands shook as they traced over your body, touching you, his fingers skimming your sides, your stomach, your breasts. You cried out as the pain shifted, morphing into pleasure.

"You're so beautiful," Jake sobbed, he thrust back inside you, deeper than before, his arms tightening around you. His chin rested atop your head, his lips brushing against your hair as he inhaled, breathing you in, letting your scent consume him as much as your body did.

"You're—you're everything," he whispered shakily, his hips rolling into you. "Made perfect, sculpted by God’s own hands," he moaned against your skin. "How could something so sinful feel so good?"

You whimpered beneath him, clinging to his shoulders. 

"I could do this every day," he moaned. Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering open, finding his face above you. He pulled back slightly, just enough to cup your face in his trembling hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks, wiping away the remnants of your tears. His forehead pressed against yours.

"I would do this every day," he corrected himself, groaned as he thrust deeper, his hips stuttering slightly at the way your walls clenched around him. "Worship you like this. Love you like this."

Your moans grew louder, your nails pressing deeper into his skin, leaving marks along his back as if claiming him in return.

Jake groaned, his lips parting, his body trembling from the way you felt. "Would you let me?" His eyes searched yours. "Would you let me taint you? Every day?"

His hands roamed your body, gripping your waist, then sliding lower to cup the back of your thighs, pulling you closer. His movements slowed, dragging out every sensation, every inch of him inside you.

Your back arched, your legs wrapping tighter around his waist, locking him in place, your breath coming in soft, desperate gasps as the pleasure built inside you. 

"Yes, yes!" you cried out. "Taint me, fill me with your seed—I don’t care anymore!"

A ragged moan tore from his throat as he thrust harder. "You're all I've ever wanted." His pace turned desperate, frantic. His hands shook as he rocked into you. His lips crashed against yours, swallowing your moans as he drove deeper, his body pressing you down into the wooden table. The room was filled with the sinful sounds of skin meeting skin, of breathless gasps and muffled cries.

"I’ll give you everything," Jake panted, his forehead pressing against yours, sweat dripping from his temple. "I’ll fill you up, I’ll make you mine—"

His thrusts grew erratic, his hips snapping forward, chasing release, chasing you.

Your walls clenched tighter, pulsing around him, and he whimpered, his body tensing, his breath stuttering as the pleasure coiled unbearably tight inside him.

"Jake, Jake," you whimpered, your hands drifted lower, fingers grazing over the stretch where your bodies met. You could feel him inside you, thick, pulsing, dragging against your walls with each deep, sliding thrust. 

Your fingers dipped lower, pressing against your clit. A sharp gasp escaped you. The moment your fingers touched the sensitive bundle of nerves, a bolt of another intense pleasure shot through you. 

Jake groaned at the movement, his grip tightening, his lips parting as he watched you touch yourself.

"It feels too good—too good," you sobbed, rolling slow, shaky circles against your clit, heightening the pleasure building inside you. Your walls spasmed around him, gripping him tighter, making his hips stutter.

"Oh my Lord," Jake moaned, his head dropping against your shoulder, his body shaking with the effort to keep himself together. "This—this feels too good. I am willing to sin every day to get a taste of you."

"I would trade heaven just to stay inside you forever—"

His teeth grazed your jaw, his fingers locking around your wrists, guiding your movements against your clit, urging you faster, desperate to bring you with him.

"Please—please, come for me," he begged, and with one last deep thrust, as your fingers circled your clit faster, as his cock hit the perfect spot inside you.

The pleasure snapped through you, your entire body seizing as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you. Your walls clenched around him, pulsing, milking him as your climax washed through every inch of your being.

Jake choked on a moan, his body jerking as he buried himself deep, hips stuttering, his breath breaking into ragged gasps. His hands trembled as they gripped your hips, holding you still as his release spilled inside you, hot and thick, filling you completely.

His lips found yours again as he emptied himself into you, his body still shaking from the intensity of it all.

You gasped into his mouth, still riding the aftershocks, feeling the warmth of him inside you. Neither of you moved for a long moment, too overwhelmed, too wrecked to do anything but exist in the sinful haze of what had just happened.

Jake’s hands slowly slid up your back, his fingers tracing over your spine made your chest tighten. Finally, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze soft but dazed, as if he still couldn’t quite believe what he had done—what you had done together.

 "Are you okay?"

Your heart ached at the tenderness in his voice, at the way he searched your face for any sign of regret. But there was none. You reached up, brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead, your fingers lingering against his cheek.

"I'm full of you," you murmured, "I can feel you inside me."

Jake groaned, his hands tightening on your hips, his entire body tensing as he let out a shaky breath. Yet, even as exhaustion threatened to pull him under, his cock twitched inside you—still buried to the hilt, still too sensitive, yet already stirring again at your words

"Don't say that," he whispered, but his hands betrayed him.

They slid upward, over your waist, tracing the curve of your ribs before finding your breasts again, cupping them, thumbs circling your pebbled peaks. His fingers kneaded softly, rolling the sensitive flesh between his palms. 

Your back arched, your head tipping back, letting your hair cascade over the edge of the table. Your lips parted in a breathless moan, the aftershocks of pleasure still tingling in your veins, yet now, a new wave of desire was coiling inside you again. 

You were undone beneath him, your body glistening with sweat, your lips swollen from his kisses, your eyes still dazed, darkened with lust. And yet, you looked untouched. 

His grip on your breasts tightened slightly, his hips pressing forward just enough to remind you that he was still inside you.

"You make me forget who I am," he murmured, his breath shaky against your throat. "What I'm supposed to be."

His lips found the pulse at your neck, trailing down again at every inch of your skin. 

Neither of you noticed the way the candlelight flickered. Because you had both awakened the Tree of Knowledge.

And neither of you would ever return to Eden.

Jake had always been a man of God.

From the moment he could speak, he was taught that he was formed from the dust of the earth, molded by divine hands, a creation of purpose. His parents instilled in him the belief that he was meant to walk the righteous path, to live a life devoted to prayer, to obedience, to purity.

He appreciated every intricate work of the Creator—the way the sun spilled golden light over the stained-glass windows of the churches, the way the choir’s voices soared in perfect harmony, the way scripture spoke of faith and the reward of salvation. He saw God in everything, and in return, he gave himself to Him, dedicating his days to scripture, to service, to resisting the sins that so easily ensnared others.

Where others strayed, he remained steadfast. Where others indulged in temptation, he turned away.

He had watched boys his age succumbs to their own desires— lusting over naked bodies, wandering hands beneath heavy blankets. He had seen the way girls blushed at their names being called by the wrong kind of voice, the way they giggled behind cupped hands, oblivious to how close they danced to damnation.

But not him.

Jake had spent his youth guarding his body, his mind, his soul. He never allowed himself to waver, never let his thoughts wander to things he had been told were unholy. And if—if—his body ever betrayed him in the quiet of night, if his skin burned with an unfamiliar ache, if his mind was tempted by images that had no place in his heart, he would fall to his knees in prayer.

He would beg for forgiveness, whispering fervent apologies, asking for the strength to resist, the grace to overcome.

And for years, he believed he was strong enough.

He believed his faith was unshakable, that no force on earth could tempt him away from his devotion. He had spent his life resisting, rejecting, turning away from desire as though it were a serpent poised to strike.

During one of his evening services at the university chapel, he saw you. At first, it was nothing. A passing glance. A new face among many, just another student filling the pews, singing hymns.

But then, he saw you again.

And again.

You stood among the choir, always placed near the back, always just slightly out of reach—like something meant to be admired from afar, never touched. Your voice wove seamlessly into the others, rising with the organ, filling the chapel, but it wasn't just your voice.

It was the way you bowed your head in prayer, hands folded so delicately. It was the way you knelt before the altar, the way your fingers curled around your rosary.

And every time he saw you, every time your lashes fluttered closed, every time your lips parted to whisper scripture. He would whisper to himself, Song of Solomon 4:7.

"You are altogether beautiful, my darling; there is no flaw in you."

Because when he looked at you, he saw something more than human.

He saw a reflection of God’s love, a testament to His creativity—flawless, untouched, pure in ways he never realized he could ache for.

He told himself it was admiration. That his heart only quickened because he saw God in you. That the warmth spreading through his chest whenever you smiled at the nuns, whenever your fingers brushed against the pages of your worn bible, was nothing but spiritual devotion.

But the more he saw you, the harder it became to believe the lie. Because you were forbidden. So untouchable it hurt.

And by the time he had a taste of your poison, by the time your lips had met his, by the time he had felt the warmth of your body pressed against him, wrapped around him. He couldn’t stop craving.

"Jake—" you whined, your voice hushed, breathless, your hands pressed against the cool tiles of the wall for balance. Your body rocked with each deep thrust, your skirt bunched up around your waist, your panties pulled aside in rushed desperation.

Here he was, buried deep inside you in the thin, suffocating space of the girls’ restroom, his hands gripping your hips, guiding you as you bounced against him. He had barely gotten them down before he was inside you. 

Jake let out a shaky breath, his forehead falling against the back of your shoulder, his hips snapping forward, a choked moan escaping his lips as your walls squeezed around him.

"D-Do you love my c-cock inside you?"  He stammered. His hands slid from your hips, traveling up, slipping beneath your uniform blouse to cup your breasts, kneading them, his thumbs rolling over your sensitive peaks as he thrust deeper.

"Answer me," he pleaded, breath hot against the shell of your ear.

A sharp gasp left your lips, your head tilting back against his shoulder as your walls clenched even tighter. "Y-Yes," you whispered, your fingers curling against the cold tile, your knees going weak.

"Say it."

"I love it, Jake," you sobbed, barely holding yourself up as he drove into you faster. "I love your cock inside me—I love it so much—"

Jake whimpered, his grip on you tightening, his entire body shuddering against yours as he lost himself again.

Nothing in this world felt holier than you. Every secret rendezvous was another prayer whispered in the dark, another moment stolen between fleeting glances and hurried footsteps, another sin sealed between trembling lips.

It was your skin against his, pressed against the cold walls of empty classrooms, hidden beneath the dim glow of flickering candlelight in the chapel, tangled in sheets that smelled of guilt and devotion.

It was your kiss—sweet and sinful, your lips brushing against his top lip before capturing him fully, pulling him under, making him forget the weight of his conscience.

It was the way your fingers found his face, tracing over his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, down to the sharp line of his jaw.

"Jake," you would whisper, your touch like a baptism, washing away the person he once was and leaving behind someone entirely yours.

Your hands never hesitated when they roamed his body, memorizing the contours of his muscles, the dip of his collarbone, the ridges of his spine. Your body molded to his, fitting perfectly, as if you had been crafted just for him.

And God, how could something that felt this right be wrong? How could he look at you and believe this was damnation?

You were not a temptation.

You were his salvation, And if this was sin—if loving you, wanting you, needing you—meant turning away from heaven, then so be it.

Because Jake had already made his choice and he would choose you every time.

"They say if you have sexual preferences, it's called a kink," Jake mused, his arms wrapped loosely around your shoulders as he stared out at the lake, watching the water ripple under the soft afternoon light.

It was a rare that the both of you escape—just the two of you, away from the suffocating walls of the university.  Here, it was quiet. Peaceful.

You hummed in amusement, leaning back against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. "Hmm, I think I have a nose kink."

Jake chuckled, tilting his head slightly. "A nose kink?"

You grinned, turning to look up at him, mischief dancing in your eyes. "I love your nose," you said simply, reaching up to tap the tip of it gently with your finger. "I love how it bumps against my clit."

A giggle slipped from your lips as Jake let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head, his ears tinged slightly pink.

"You're unbelievable," he murmured, pressing his chin lightly against your shoulder, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed his fondness.

You shifted, wrapping your arms around his, your fingers playing with the fabric of his sleeves. "What about you? Do you have a kink?"

Jake pretended to think, his lips pursing before he finally admitted, "I love your tongue."

You raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh?"

His smile widened, his fingers trailing lazily along your arms. "I love how soft it is when you kiss me," he said, voice dropping slightly. "I love the way it feels against my skin, how warm it is when you—"

He stopped himself, biting his lip, his cheeks darkening as he let out a flustered chuckle. "You know."

You turned fully in his embrace, resting your chin against his chest as you beamed up at him. "Say it."

Jake groaned, rolling his eyes, but there was nothing but adoration in them as he dipped his head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. "I love how your tongue feels when you're tasting me."

Your giggles turned into full laughter, your arms tightening around him, and he let out a breathy laugh of his own, shaking his head in defeat.

The wind rustled through the trees, the lake shimmering under the sunlight.

"Do you think God still loves us?" you asked, Jake's fingers threaded through your hair, slow and gentle, playing with your scalp as he stared out at the lake, watching the way the sunlight danced over the rippling water.

"Yes," he said, without hesitation.

You blinked, tilting your head slightly to look up at him. "How can you be so sure?"

Jake exhaled softly, his lips curling into a small, thoughtful smile. "Because love doesn’t disappear just because we fall." His gaze met yours. "God loved David even after his sins. He loved Peter even after he denied Him three times. Love isn’t something that fades because of our mistakes. It’s unconditional."

Your chest tightened at his words, at the quiet conviction in his voice.

"Then why do I still feel guilty?" you whispered, pressing your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Jake sighed, his chin resting lightly atop your head. "Because we've been taught to fear Him more than we've been taught to trust His love."

Silence stretched, only the soft rustling of trees and the distant laughter from the festival carrying through the breeze. After a moment, Jake spoke again, "but when I’m with you…" he paused, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your arm, "I feel closer to God than I ever have before."

You pulled back slightly, eyes searching his, the weight of his words settling deep in your chest. "How?"

He smiled, leaning in to press a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead again before whispering,

"Because you are the most beautiful thing He’s ever created."

Your breath hitched, your hands tightening around his shirt as warmth bloomed in your chest.

Jake tilted his head, his lips hovering just above yours. "And if loving you is a sin…" he murmured, a teasing smile playing on his lips, "then I guess I’ll just have to keep repenting."

His hands wandered lower, tracing slow, idle patterns along your upper thigh. You shivered slightly at his touch, but it wasn’t just the sensation that made your breath hitch—it was the way his finger moved deliberately, forming letters, one by one, spelling out a single word:

"Mine."

Your lips parted, your heart stuttering in your chest as your gaze flickered up to meet his.

Jake only smiled, the corners of his mouth lifting, "I will leave the university," he said suddenly. 

Jake exhaled slowly, "I’ve realized a lot of things, and one of them is…" He hesitated, searching your face, then sighed. "I don’t think I was ever meant to be the man they wanted me to be."

Your throat tightened. "Jake—"

"Everything is okay," he reassured you, his voice firm, calming. "I don’t regret any of it. Not the prayers, not the faith—but I also don’t regret you. And if the only way to keep you is to walk away from what was never truly mine, then I’ll do it."

Your eyes glistened with unshed tears, your fingers curling around his wrists. "You would do that?"

"I would do anything for you," he muttered, "I was never meant to be a saint, and I don’t think I want to be anymore." His fingers tightened around yours, grounding himself in the warmth of your touch, in the certainty of this moment. "I just want to be yours." 

A breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding.  You swallowed, your lips parting before you whispered, "Ruth 1:16-17."

Jake tilted his head slightly, his brows raising in curiosity. You smiled softly, squeezing his hand. "Where you go, I will go, and where you stay, I will stay."

His gaze softened, warm and full of love, as if in that moment, there was nothing else in the world but you and him. Jake swallowed, his fingers tightening around yours as he whispered back, "Song of Solomon 3:4."

Your breath hitched. A sharp sting burned behind your eyes as you realized what he was saying, as the words sank into your skin, into your soul. Tears welled up, spilling onto your cheeks as he brought a trembling hand to cup your face, his thumb wiping them away.

"I have found the one whom my soul loves."

A quiet sob escaped you as you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes, letting the weight of his words settle into the deepest parts of you.

That was the day you faced the judgment of others.

Whispers followed you down the chapel halls, sharp as knives, spoken behind cupped hands and lowered eyes. You were no longer the devout girl they had known, no longer the image of purity they had placed on a pedestal.

You were cast out, stripped of the life you had once known, condemned for surrendering to the desires they warned you against. For falling, like Eve, for stepping into temptation and taking the bite that could never be undone.

But none of it mattered. Because just as Adam had followed Eve into exile, Jake followed you. It had always been him and you. It would always be him and you.

You would always choose him—religiously, faithfully.

You clutched Jake’s hand, sweat beading on your forehead, your body trembling as pain surged through you. Your body trembling with exhaustion. The midwife kneeled before you, her voice firm yet reassuring, guiding you through labored breaths as she prepared to deliver your third child.

Jake pressed a kiss to your damp temple, whispering words of encouragement, of love, his grip unwavering as he held onto you, just as he always had.

He wiped away the tears spilling from your eyes, just as he had that day by the lake, when he promised you that everything would be okay.

And as you cried out, as life pushed forward, as your body bore the proof of your love.

"You’re so strong," he murmured. "Just a little more, my love. I’m right here."

Another sharp cry left your lips, your back arching as the final push sent waves of relief crashing over you.

A baby’s cry filled the room.

A sharp, piercing sound, followed by the relieved murmurs of the midwife as she carefully wrapped the tiny, wriggling form in soft cloth. Your head fell back against the pillow, your chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. Jake’s hand trembled as he reached for you, his lips pressing against your knuckles, his gratitude unspoken but infinite.

Tiny footsteps thundered against the wooden floor.

"Mama!"

The door burst open, and two small figures ran inside, their eager little hands gripping the edges of your bedsheet.

Cain and Abel—your firstborns.

Their wide eyes shimmered with excitement; their faces flushed from running. Cain, the elder, clung to Jake’s arm, while Abel climbed onto the edge of the bed, trying to peer over your shoulder.

"Did it hurt, Mama? Are you okay?" Cain asked, his brows furrowed in concern, his little hands gripping onto Jake’s sleeve.

"It’s okay, my love," you soothed, your voice weak but filled with warmth as you reached for them. "I am okay."

Jake’s breath hitched as the midwife gently placed the newborn into his waiting arms. A soft gasp left his lips as he cradled the tiny child against his chest, his eyes glistening with tears. His fingers traced the delicate curve of the baby’s cheek, his voice breaking as he whispered, "Seth."

At the sound of his father’s voice, the newborn let out a small, sleepy whimper, tiny fists curling against Jake’s chest. Cain and Abel watched in awe; their excitement momentarily silenced as they stared at their new baby brother.

"Seth," Abel repeated softly, as if testing the name on his tongue.

"He’s so small," Cain murmured, his fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to reach out and touch him.

Jake let out a choked laugh, pressing a kiss to Seth’s forehead before carefully settling beside you on the bed. His arm curled around your shoulders, pulling you close, his free hand still cradling your newest son. And as your children gathered around you, their voices filled with wonder.

As Jake’s lips found your forehead once more, you exhaled, a breathless, relieved sigh. You thought of Eden. Of Adam, formed from dust. Of Eve, crafted from his rib, made for him, meant to be his. The two of them had once lived untouched, unburdened, perfect in their innocence.

But love—true love—was never meant to exist without choice.

And so, they had fallen. Not out of defiance. Not out of sin. But out of love—a love so deep, so human, it had rewritten the course of existence itself.

Your body spent, your children nestled close, your husband’s arms wrapped around you as he held his world in his hands. Your tired eyes fluttered shut, as Jake pressed another soft kiss against your skin, your newborn stirred gently in his father’s arms.

Falling had never been a punishment. Because It is a gift.

perm taglist: @won4me @ikaw-at-ikaw, @kristynaaah, @fancypeacepersona @tunafishyfishylike @vvenusoncasual, @cutehoons02,

[loveln4]

PART 1 , PART 2

LANDO NORRIS x GIRLFRIEND!READER

You will love me until you resent me

- gracie abrams, I know it won’t work.

warnings: unhealthy relationship (lying, ignoring, etc), cursing, violence??, sexual tension question mark??

synopsis: Lando’s caught in a scandal and has to prove to his significant other that it didn’t mean anything, will she listen?

“Get the fuck up.” Y/n shook Lando’s sleeping body, “Fucking— Get up, Lando!”

“What do you want!” He groans and shields his eyes from the light coming from the uncovered windows, “I need sleep—what’s wrong?” His annoyance slowly shifted to worry. Y/n was crying, like she was obviously gasping for air crying. Lando’s worry turned into defence as he had realised that she was no longer sad, or not showing it at least.

“I told you, you should’ve stayed in.” She whispered harshly as she brought her phone up to his face, “What the fuck?” Her voice broke slightly.

The image woke him up entirely, events from last night rushing back to his mind, “Y/n, it didn’t mean anything.”

“Fuck you.” She pushed him down as he started to get up.

“No—I swear, I was drunk.” He grabbed her forearms as she batted him with blunt hits, “Enough!”

They both stilled and a single tear fell from y/n’s eye, “You’ve been so ignorant, is this why?”

He shook his head, “I don’t know who she is.”

“Your Instagram following list begs to differ.”

“Shit…”

Y/n pulls away from Lando’s tight grip, clambering off the bed and out of the bedroom into the recently cleaned kitchen. “Where are my keys?” She asks herself way too caught up in her head to be embarrassed by the conversation she’s having with no one but herself. Lando’s now standing in the middle of the empty space dividing the kitchen and dining table.

“Let’s talk about this, okay?” He goes towards her but stops as he notices her glare from across the island table. “I had too many drinks!”

She scoffs, her arms folding against her chest, “That doesn’t make you any less of a cheater.” Y/n rushes off past him and back into the bedroom, looking through her bedside table, “What the fuck, where is this bitch?” It seemed her keys had gone missing.

“Baby, please.” He went up behind her, turned her around and pinned her on the bed, “I want to talk with you.”

“Get the fuck off me.”

“No.”

“Get off!” She had shouted. This shouting turned into three minutes of constant screaming.

How did Lando bare it? Who the fuck knows.

Gasping for air she finally calms, her body was once tense but is now gently relaxing, allowing her body to be pushed down by Lando. “If you were over me, you should’ve just said so.”

“I’m not over you.” He whispered sadly.

“You are, stop lying to yourself. You’ve lied enough.” She closed her eyes and regulated her breathing, opening them once more, meeting Lando’s. “Lando, you have ghosted me three times this month, stood me up last week at dinner even though you knew how exhausted I was that day and have been ignoring my presence in the paddock.”

“I— I haven’t, stop saying this.” His voice breaks, eyes tearing up. “I didn’t mean to…I didn’t…” He could tell she was getting over his repetitive defences and let go of her, turning to his right so he could lay on his back beside her.

Her breath shudders and she sniffs, “This isn’t healthy.” She sighs, “You can’t deny what I saw in that photo, I mean…photos.”

“There’s more than one?”

“Each one gets worst.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” They lay there in silence waiting for each other to break it, to say something about their relationship. Where would they end up by the end of the day?

Y/n sat up, maybe a little too quickly as her vision started to get spotty. Lando following this action but staying seated on the bed. “I fear you loved me too much at the beginning and started to get bored…” She whispered to him, “I love you…I do, but i can’t be with someone who won’t give me the time of day.” She’s knelt down looking up at him.

Lando begins to cry in his hands, not saying a word to her.

“I’ll be back for my stuff in an hour or two, make sure not to be here when I am.”

She got up and left the apartment not caring that she had no transportation. She just needed to get out.

A/N: right sorry… i don’t know what’s overcome me wtf.

send through your requests for any driver 🩷

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

I love that you are writing for Dr. Abbott! 🩵

Can I pretty please request him with a younger reader like mid 20’s (or just the general idea of an age gap because I love me an old man) where he finds out he’s her emergency contact. He’s obviously older & he thinks she should pick someone her age instead in case something happens to him but he’s the only one she wants in every part of her life and reassures him. I hope that makes sense & isn’t too lame!

Not lame!! Loves an older man!!! They can be so sexyyyyy!!

Listed

Pairing: Dr Jack Abbott x MedStudent!Reader

Summary: Dr. Jack Abbott isn’t a man who lets his guard down easily. He’s precise. Composed. Rational. But when he finds out you — bright, mid-20s, and entirely too stubborn for your own good — listed him as your emergency contact, something in him unravels. Not because he doesn’t care. But because he cares too much.

He didn’t mean to see it.

You left your chart open on the counter when you got called away to Imaging, and Jack just needed the last lab values to sign off on your pre-op clearance.

He scrolled. Found what he needed. And then his eyes caught on something else.

Emergency Contact: Dr. Jack Abbott Relationship: Personal

His brow furrowed. Personal. Not “supervisor.” Not “colleague.” Just… personal.

He didn’t say anything right away. Didn’t bring it up that day, or the next, or even the one after that. But it stuck.

Because he knew he was older. Knew people talked. Knew that in some ways, he’d always have a foot out of the world you were still building for yourself. And part of him had convinced himself that was good. Safe.

But seeing his name there, in black and white, in a space reserved for the one person you trust when everything goes wrong—It scared the hell out of him.

He finally brought it up when you were sitting in his office after hours, half-eaten takeout between you, the city lights bleeding through the window.

You were cross-legged in his chair, scrolling through your phone and humming under your breath when he said, quietly—

“You should change your emergency contact.”

You blinked. “What?”

He kept his eyes on the food. “I saw it. On your chart. The other day.”

You tilted your head. “Okay… and?”

“I just think,” he said, voice too even, too careful, “you should pick someone closer to your age. Someone who’ll be around for a long time. Just in case.”

You stared at him. Slowly put your phone down.

“Jack.”

“I’m not saying it to be dramatic—”

“No, you’re saying it because you’re afraid,” you said, soft but sure. “That you’re not enough. Or not right. Because of the age difference. Because you think I should want someone who can run a marathon with me or go to brunch with my college friends.”

He didn’t deny it. Didn’t look at you.

You stood up, walked around the desk, and sat on the edge in front of him. Your voice was quieter now.

“You’re the one I call when I have a bad day. When I’m scared. When I don’t know if I can do this.”

He looked up at that, meeting your eyes.

You shrugged, small and honest. “Why wouldn’t I want the person I love to be the one who’s called if something happens to me?” The word love hit him like a sucker punch.

“I don’t care how old you are, Jack,” you said. “I care that you’re you.”

He swallowed. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yeah,” you said gently. “It is.”

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling like he’d been holding it in for days. Maybe he had.

You slid your hand into his, thumb brushing his knuckles. “You’re not temporary, Jack. You’re not just the for now part of my life. You’re the forever part.”

Silence.

Then—“I’m not going to live forever,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“No one does,” you replied. “But you’re here now. And that’s who I want.”

He looked at you for a long time after that. Like he was trying to find the cracks in your certainty. But there weren’t any. There never had been.

And finally, quietly—He squeezed your hand and didn’t let go.

[kxsagi]

back again with another idea, don't judge me these men haunt my mind 24/7

bllk boys with a manager gf.

imagine them having a manager in blue lock right? then she yk does what managers do. help with their training, give them water, monitor their plays and even sometimes suggest new playstyle that could improve their game and such.

then, one of their teammates gets injured and yk what that means? gf touches the other member to apply bandage or apply dressing to their wounds. bf gets jealous and accidentally reveals their relationship to everyone.

that's all, have a great day.

“𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐛𝐚𝐠”

a/n: thank you, have a great day as well!

blue lock manager! gf can be the same age as them to make things easier! (reader is too smart for this world and got a full-time job early lmao)

another a/n: i’m stuck between writing angst and writing crack headcanons idk (yes i chose a random header image this is my humor 💔)

ft. shidou ryusei, itoshi rin, kaiser michael, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, isagi yoichi

shidou ryusei

you were just doing your job like the incredible and competent manager you were, wrapping a bandage around one of the players’ thighs after a nasty slide tackle. 

and that was the moment you felt it – a murderous aura radiating from somewhere behind you. 

you turned your head slightly… and there he was, standing at the edge of the field with his hands on his hips, watching you with the most “i am one intrusive thought away from prison” expression you’ve ever seen. 

you weren’t sure if he was jealous of the player or the fact that he wasn’t the one getting manhandled by you. 

but oho, shidou made sure everyone knew exactly what was going through his mind. 

“hey. you got a license for that, princess?” he called out, his voice loud enough for the entire field to hear. 

everyone kinda just��� stared at him like “bro what???”

then he casually strolled over and plopped down beside you, practically shoving the injured player away with his knee. 

“i’m next. wrap me up, baby,” he grinned, completely ignoring the fact that he had zero injuries. 

“shidou, you’re not hurt,” you deadpanned. 

“my heart is. you’re out here playin’ nurse with other guys,” he smirked dramatically, holding his chest like he was about to faint. 

that was the moment you realized you were doomed. 

“wait… you’re dating him?” one of the players finally asked, pointing at shidou. 

“dating? nah,” shidou snickered, throwing an arm around your shoulders and grinning maniacally, “i’m her full-time problem. she’s just lucky i’m hot.”

itoshi rin

rin was trying so hard to play it cool. 

but the moment he saw you kneeling on the field, gently holding a player’s ankle to wrap it with bandages, he damn near dislocated his own neck from how fast he turned to glare at you. 

he clenched his jaw, muttering under his breath like, “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

if this scene were in anime, his eyes would be glowing red and his entire body would be surrounded by that ominous black aura. 

he didn’t say anything at first, just stared, so hard that the player getting bandaged started getting visibly uncomfortable. 

when you finally finished and stood up, rin suddenly appeared behind you like a final boss. 

“you’re done, right?” he muttered, staring daggers at the poor, confused player. 

you were like, “uh… yeah?”

but before you could even blink, rin grabbed your wrist in front of everyone and dragged you off the field like a caveman escorting his woman back to the cave. 

“rin, what the hell are you –”

“you were touching him.”

“wha – he was injured???”

rin didn’t care. he just turned around and deadass blurted, “you’re my girlfriend. stop touching other guys.”

there was a brief silence. then someone from the bench went: 

“…wait. since WHEN?!” 

rin, realizing he just accidentally revealed your entire relationship, muttered, “shit,” under his breath and immediately walked off.

he avoided eye contact with everyone for the next three hours. 

but you could still see the tips of his ears turning red every time someone smirked at him. 

kaiser michael

it started with a minor ankle sprain from one of his teammates. 

nothing serious, you just crouched down, carefully assessing the injury with your delicate and professional manager hands. 

kaiser, who was initially ignoring the entire scene, suddenly felt his eye twitch when he saw you applying pressure to the player’s calf with your bare hands. 

and that was it. his brain glitched. 

he stormed over without hesitation, yanked your clipboard out of your hand, and slapped it against the injured player’s leg. 

“here. use this.”

you blinked in confusion.

“kaiser, what –”

“don’t you have gloves or something?” he snapped, his eye twitching again. 

you gave him a blank stare. “… for bandaging an ankle?”

“yes. gloves. anything that keeps you from touching him with your bare hands,” he muttered, scowling. 

the injured player blinked up at him like “bro you good???”

and then, because kaiser had no filter, he added, “she doesn’t touch anyone but me.”

the entire field went dead silent.

one of the benched players went, “uh, excuse me?”

but kaiser, completely unbothered, just smirked, leaned down, and kissed your forehead right in front of everyone before turning back to practice. 

“she’s my personal medic. keep your hands off.”

you, sitting there with wide eyes, realized there was no turning back. 

the next day, you were trending online as “kaiser’s girl” and he was so smug about it. 

itoshi sae

sae was already grumpy after a long practice, and the last thing he wanted to see was you touching some random dude’s calf while applying ice. 

you, being the sweet and professional manager you were, were focused on being helpful. 

sae, meanwhile, was staring at you with the most judgmental boyfriend glare of all time. 

and then the player winced and accidentally grabbed your wrist. 

sae was across the field in 0.3 seconds. 

“get your hands off her.”

the entire field turned toward him like 👁️👄👁️

the player immediately let go of you and started stammering, “s-sorry, i didn’t mean to –”

sae didn’t even look at him. he was laser-focused on you. 

“you. come here.”

you blinked in confusion. “huh?”

“now.”

you stood up and walked over to him, only for sae to grab your wrist again and deadass say, “she’s mine.”

the entire team went, “WHAT???”

and then sae, realizing he just exposed your secret relationship, simply muttered,

“oh.”

he quickly turned around and walked off without saying anything else. 

the next practice, everyone was making fun of him. 

shidou: “sooo… when’s the wedding, lover boy?”

rin: “pathetic.”

sae: “i hate all of you.”

nagi seishiro

nagi was napping on the bench until he heard your voice. 

he peeked one eye open, only to see you bandaging a player’s arm with your gentle, caring hands. 

he didn’t like it. not one bit.

without saying a word, he casually strolled over and collapsed on top of you like a human-sized koala. 

“nagi! what are you –”

“mmm. comfy,” he mumbled against your shoulder, making himself at home. 

you were literally pinned underneath his entire weight, trying to shove him off, but he only clung tighter, his limbs practically draping over you like a weighted blanket. 

the injured player blinked at the scene in confusion. “uh… is he okay?”

nagi, without lifting his head, muttered sleepily, “mine.” 

you stared at him, wide-eyed. “… what?”

“you’re mine,” he repeated, voice muffled against your skin, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

the entire field went silent.

the player you were bandaging glanced between the two of you, brows furrowed. “wait. are you two… together?”

nagi didn’t even lift his head.

“mmm. yeah,” he mumbled. “she’s my girlfriend.”

you could feel your soul leave your body.

the team, now fully aware of your not-so-secret relationship, was staring at you in shock. 

meanwhile, nagi stayed exactly where he was, fully prepared to take a nap on top of you, completely unfazed by the fact that he just exposed the two of you to the entire team. 

later, when you asked him why he did that, he just shrugged lazily and went, “too much of a hassle to keep it a secret.”

isagi yoichi

isagi was in the middle of practice, minding his business, being the good, hard-working soccer boy he was, when he saw you crouched down on the field, tending to someone’s knee. 

at first, he didn’t think much of it, until he noticed just how close you were leaning toward the guy. 

and that’s when his brain started spiraling. 

“wait. why is she holding his leg like that? … wait. is she… she’s SMILING???”

isagi tried to focus on practice, but his passes were getting sloppy because he kept glancing over at you. 

then, as if to personally ruin isagi’s life, the injured player casually rested his hand on your thigh for balance while you were wrapping his knee. 

and that was it. isagi blacked out. 

before he even realized what he was doing, he was storming over like a man on a mission. 

he didn’t say a word. just gently grabbed your wrist and yanked you off the field. 

you blinked up at him, startled. “yoichi? what are you –”

“you’re my girlfriend.”

you: ???

the injured player: ???

the entire field: ???

isagi, suddenly realizing what he just blurted out in front of everyone, stared at you like a deer caught in headlights. 

“…i, uh, i mean –” he stammered, his face turning bright red. 

but it was too late. the damage was done. 

shidou (grinning like the menace he was): “ooohhh. so that’s why you’ve been smiling at your phone like a dumbass.”

kaiser: “figures. he plays like a lovesick golden retriever half the time.”

nagi (half-asleep): “mmm. knew it.”

isagi, face redder than a stop sign, sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

and now every single one of his teammates was planning to make fun of him for the next 10-15 business years. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[silenzahra]

OMG Boma, I swear that your reblog made me laugh even more than writing this story 🤭😂

I'M SO HAPPY THAT I MADE YOU LAUGH SO MUCH 😁😁😁 And as always I LOVE your GIFs, OMG, the hyena from The Lion King killed me 💀

I'm so glad that you enjoyed it!!! Hehehe of course I had to stay true to your lovely Appy, I really love her outfit and her colors (and her 💖), and I'm so happy you liked the way I described her!! AAAAAHHHH thank you SO MUCH 🥹🥹🥹 I honestly love trying to give as many details as I can so that the readers can see the image that I have in my head as clearly as possible, and I'm truly honored that you liked the way I did it!! 🥹🥹 And of course, we all know he'd be the best daddy EVER 🥹❤️

Oh my GOD, you don't say 💀 My friend, it looks like once again we had a "bestie telepestie" moment because I literally had no idea of the details and still could see them right there 🤭 You and Mario being embarrassed because of your training wheels 🫱🏻‍🫲🏾 (also here's a secret that will completely erase both of your embarrassment... I *can't* ride a bike lol 💀😅).

Oh gosh, I'm seriously SO GLAD. Writing Daisy teasing Mario like that was my MOST FAVORITE part of the entire story 😂😂 I swear I was cracking up myself as I wrote her lol, I was just imagining her in my head and needed to stop for a second 😂😂 So I couldn't be happier to know she had the same effect on you hehe, I wanted her to make you laugh and I can gladly say: mission accomplished!! 😁💖

Also, this story have me a chance to write Mario and Daisy as silly besties, and of course I wanted to show that she's also supportive of her friend like we all know she would 🥰 And awww I'm so touched 🥹🥹 The brotherly love was also one of my most favorite parts to write, it felt so good and heartwarming to write it ❤️💚

Yay!! I'm so happy and honored!! And oh my, Boma, believe me when I say that writing this was SO good for me after studying all day 🥹 I really needed this breath of fresh air and you gave it to me, my dear bestie 🫂🫂💖💖

And AKDGJKWOAQJDJFOSLAKJ THANK YOUUUUUU 🥹🥹😭😭🫂🫂 And needless to say I'm VERY MUCH looking forward to your comic 😁😁👏🏻👏🏻 Thank you so much, my beloved Boma!!! Your support and enthusiasm always give me so much LIFE 🥹🥹🫂🫂💖💖💖💖💖💖

something I’d find funny is Mario being able to do all these cool maneuvers and trick shots with his go-karts and electric motorcycles but cannot FOR THE LIFE OF HIM ride a bicycle.

[twopoppies]

hi Gina,

I'm already sick of myself typing this but I just read some of your anons from earlier and started thinking about holivia/full stop/jeff & harry/stunt or no stunt for HS4. Because holivia was never a stunt for Harry's benefit, was it? I keep thinking of it as badly executed PR for Harry but was it simply mediocre promo for DWD? It wouldn't surprise me if all of it came from a PR team that couldn't care less about Harry's image, fully focused on promoting the movie. And considering the ties between DWD and the Azoffs, if we assume Jeff got him that role and approved the marketing strategy? One that made Harry look terrible and lasted for that long? I would assume he felt used and lost a lot of trust. It just seems much more like full on movie marketing than any kind of personal PR. And if Harry was brought into it unknowing, that's a huge betrayal. I'm sure that's how things work most of the time and signed artists are probably treated more like assets, but everyone has a limit.

Or, the person who worked really hard to not obsess over what people think about him was fine with his reputation being thrown under the bus for one mediocre movie. Because it makes no sense to me that this was Harry's stunt in any way. Maybe he thought that's what it took to start his acting career? Maybe his team did? Maybe it is?

Or it was purely for DWD/Olivia's benefit.

I think we’re all guessing when it comes to this stuff because it’s probably very layered and complex.

I don’t know if you were here before it started, but most of the fandom was really excited for him to take that role. She was coming off directing Booksmart which was very well-received. She’d gotten the rights to a highly sought-after screenplay that seemed very timely. He would be working with a female director who seemed to be on the right side of a lot of political issues. And the rest of the cast were exciting names.

So, on paper, it looked great. It’s no wonder we missed all the signs.

In retrospect, it seems that Olivia was either in over her head or didn’t give a shit (or both) because no one seemed happy on that set and the film was huge fucking disaster. Additionally, she seemed to care more about her own personal promo (adding herself into the film, taking scenes from other characters to give them to herself, making her PR relationship the primary focus of every day, etc.) and in the end, the movie and the actors and crew suffered because of it.

Beyond this, the Azoffs seemed to have their fingers in every part of this pie. They have connections to the movie studio, the original authors of the script, the lead actor, and seemingly, Olivia herself. They used Harry and his fandom as a major selling point (offering chances to win tour tickets for buying movie tickets, Harry’s entire team/friends/family plus other FullStop artists—Lizzo—to promote the film, etc.), but at the same time, ignored how all of this was negatively affecting Harry’s image and career.

Obviously, Harry signed on to the film and PR relationship. And it’s possible it was an exchange for being allowed to make My Policeman. I’m not saying he had no responsibility in this mess. But if whoever was in charge of it was in Harry’s corner, Olivia’s behavior would have been nipped in the bud. Or at least the negative effects it was having on Harry would have been mitigated in some way.

So it very much felt like the primary concern of Harry’s team was the film/Warner Bros’ investment, Olivia, and the Azoff’s own financial or personal investments.

I don’t know if they thought Harry wouldn’t notice or that he was so well-liked that none of it would matter. But I have a hard time believing Jeff/Irving had the wool pulled over their eyes by Olivia and her team and there was nothing they could do to get H out of the situation he was in.

And given the seeming shift in energy between H and Jeff toward the end of that debacle, I haven’t seen anything yet that makes me think Harry was happy with the situation.

[kckt88]

Imzadi III

Summary:

Lucaera offers a solution to the King, only to be abandoned in the aftermath.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Language, Marriage, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Oral Sex, Fingering, P in V, Multiple Positions, Knotting, Revelations, Abandonment.

AEMOND x O.C NIECE

ALPHA/BETA/OMEGA DYNAMIC

Word Count: 7246

A.N - 'Imzadi - Beloved'

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole @zenka69 @aemondsbabygirl @aphroditesblunt @iamtoriasworld

The silence in the throne room was thick, suffocating.

Then:

"NO!"

The shout came from Lucaera, her voice echoing off the stone walls, ringing with defiance. The entire court turned to her in shock.

Viserys, who had been on the verge of finalizing his decree, stared at her in open-mouthed astonishment.

Rhaenyra stepped forward, her expression a mixture of disbelief and warning. “Lucaera, the king has made his decision.”

But Lucaera was not finished. She took a step forward, her hands trembling with fury as she reached for the collar of her riding leathers.

Before anyone could react, she wrenched it open, exposing the curve of her neck. The mark there was unmistakable—deep, dark, and still fresh from where Aemond had sunk his teeth into her flesh earlier that day.

The throne room erupted again.

Gasps of shock rippled through the gathered nobles. Rhaenyra’s eyes widened in horror before they narrowed with fury, her face contorting with rage.

“You bit my daughter?!” she snarled, whirling on Aemond. “You claimed her?”

Aemond remained silent, his single violet eye locked onto Lucaera. He could feel the weight of every stare in the room, but only one mattered.

Aegon, meanwhile, doubled over with laughter. “Oh, gods—so that’s who you were fucking earlier!” He wheezed, shaking his head in amusement.

Alicent let out a quiet, pained sound and buried her face in her hands. Helaena simply stared at Lucaera, unblinking, her lips parting as though she were about to speak but ultimately saying nothing.

Otto, ever the schemer, said nothing. His expression was carefully blank, but his mind was already racing.

If Aemond had claimed the only Omega in Targaryen history since Queen Rhaenys, then their bond was absolute. There was no breaking it. And that meant—

Aemond exhaled slowly and reached up, his fingers brushing against his collar. In one smooth motion, he pulled it down, exposing his own mating mark, the mirror image of Lucaera’s.

The uproar only grew louder.

Lucaera turned back to Viserys, her voice softer now but no less urgent. “Please, Grandsire—you cannot ask this of him.”

Viserys, still shaken by her outburst, could only stare at her.

“His life will be forfeit if he gives up his claim.” Lucaera’s voice trembled now, but her words were clear. “Do you truly believe that those who support my mother will let him live? That they will simply accept him as my mate and ignore the fact that his claim to the throne is stronger than hers? Then there’s Aegon. His children. Any child Aemond sires upon me. Every single one of them will be a contender for the Iron Throne.”

“L-Lucaera” muttered Viserys as he glanced at Rhaenyra.

Her breath hitched as she took another step forward. “The dragons will dance, and we will all die.”

The weight of her words settled over the court like a thick fog. No one dared to speak.

Viserys, frail and tired, exhaled heavily. “What would you have me do?”

Lucaera’s heart pounded, but she stood firm. “Summon every lord from the Seven Kingdoms. Let them cast their vote, it is the only way that’s fair”

Viserys studied her for a long moment, his old, withered eye searching her face. Then, with a slow nod, he spoke.

“My granddaughter speaks the truth.” His voice, though weak, was absolute. “A Great Council will be summoned. The lords of the realm will cast their vote for who shall rule the Seven Kingdoms after me, it will be held here in the Red Keep in a month’s time-”

The throne room exploded into chaos.

Lucaera felt her breath hitch as she descended the steps, her eyes searching desperately for her family.

But when she found them, the warmth she had always known was gone, replaced by something cold, and sharp.

Rhaenyra stood rigid, her expression a mixture of hurt and disbelief. Her lips were parted slightly, as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. The betrayal in her eyes cut deeper than any blade.

Beside her, Daemon was livid. His jaw was clenched so tight she could see the muscle twitching, his violet eyes burning with barely restrained fury. His hand hovered near the hilt of his sword.

Jace and Luke stood slightly behind them, their expressions a mirror of one another—stunned, hurt, and burning with anger.

Jace's hands curled into fists at his sides, while Luke simply looked like he had been punched in the gut.

Lucaera swallowed hard and took a hesitant step toward them.

“Please—”

But the moment she moved, Jace and Luke stepped back.

A sharp, deliberate movement. A rejection.

Then, without another word, they turned their backs on her.

Lucaera’s chest tightened painfully.

She looked to her mother again, hoping—praying—for something, anything. But Rhaenyra only shook her head, disappointment darkening her features.

Lucaera wanted to explain. She wanted to tell them that she had done this to protect them all, to stop the bloodshed before it even began. But the words wouldn’t come.

Because she knew—deep down—that they wouldn’t understand.

Then, suddenly, she felt the warmth of a familiar hand grasping hers.

The scent of leather and ash surrounded her, grounding her.

Aemond didn’t speak. He simply held her hand, his grip firm, unwavering.

Then, without a word, he led her out of the throne room, away from the chaos,

Lucaera sat on the edge of Aemond’s bed, her body heavy with exhaustion, the weight of everything pressing down on her chest like a vice.

The sadness was overwhelming, sinking into her bones, and suffocating. She barely registered Aemond kneeling before her until the warmth of his hands cupped her face, his touch steady, grounding.

His forehead rested against hers, and she closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. His scent—leather, , and ash something uniquely him—wrapped around her like a protective shield, soothing the raw ache inside her.

For a long moment, there was only silence between them. The world outside could rage and crumble, but in this moment, in this space, it was just them.

Then, finally, Lucaera whispered, “Did I do the right thing?”

Aemond exhaled slowly, his thumb stroking her cheek in a slow, reassuring motion. His voice, when he spoke, was steady, firm. “The King did what he always does, and he chose Rhaenyra. What you did was fair.”

Lucaera took a shuddering breath. Her fingers gripping  her riding leathers as she whispered, “Would you have chosen it?”

Aemond shifted, moving to sit beside her. His fingers brushed through a strand of her dark hair, tucking it gently behind her ear. His touch lingered, a silent comfort.

“I've always tried to be a good son,” he said, his voice softer now, but filled with an old bitterness. “I studied, I trained with the sword, I learned all there was to learn, but Viserys never noticed me. Not once. Even when I lost my eye, he never defended me. He was too concerned over an insult”

Lucaera swallowed hard, listening intently as he spoke words he had likely never voiced before.

Aemond let out a sharp breath, his fingers clenching briefly before relaxing. “I’ve tried so hard to be noticed, but it’s never enough. Not for him. Even when I presented as an Alpha Prime—the first since the Conqueror—it still wasn’t enough for him to bother.”

His eye met hers, filled with something raw, something vulnerable. “But with you, I feel seen. I feel- worthy.”

Lucaera’s breath caught, her heart tightening at the sheer honesty in his words.

“I know that our bond is new,” Aemond continued, reaching for her hand, threading his fingers through hers. “But I can feel it with every fibre of my being. You defended me that night on Driftmark, and you did it again today.”

He lifted her hand, pressing it against his chest, right over his heart. His voice dropped to a whisper, but there was no hesitation in his words. “As much as I desire to be King, it means nothing without you. So no, I would not have chosen it.”

Aemond lifted her hand and pressed a lingering kiss to her palm. His eye locked onto hers, fierce, unwavering.

“There is no me, without you.”

Lucaera’s lips trembled, her heart pounding as she leaned in. Their lips met in a kiss, slow and lingering, filled with silent promises.

Aemond’s hand moved to cradle the back of her head, his touch reverent, as if he was afraid she might disappear. Lucaera melted into him, her fingers curling into his jerkin, anchoring herself to him.

Then—A knock at the door.

They both startled slightly, the moment broken.

“Apologies, my Prince,” a maid’s voice called through the door. “But the Hand of the King has summoned both you and the Princess.”

Lucaera stood in the Tower of the Hand, her fingers twitching at her sides, the weight of the room pressing down on her.

Aemond stood at her side, his presence steady and unyielding. Otto lingered by the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched the flames dance, deep in thought.

Alicent sat nearby, picking at her fingernails with a tense expression, while Helaena stared out of the window, lost in her own world.

Aegon, as usual, was slouched at the table, swirling wine in his cup before taking another lazy sip.

Finally, Otto turned to face them, his expression calm, composed. “The ravens are being prepared as we speak. Every lord in the Seven Kingdoms will be summoned for this Great Council. I have every faith they will vote in your favour, Aemond.”

Lucaera was the one to answer, her voice cool, unreadable. “You sound so sure, Lord Hand.”

Otto smiled, a calculated thing. “Of course. With the only Omega to present since Queen Rhaenys by his side, there is no doubt that Aemond will be our next King.”

Lucaera lifted her chin. “Nothing is certain. Do you forget that Lady Arryn now rules the Vale? She is my mother’s kin—she will not turn against her. And then there is Stark, who pledged to support my mother as heir. With Stark, the rest of the North will follow.”

Otto gave a small nod, acknowledging her point. “Yet it was you who convinced the King to hold this Great Council.”

Lucaera’s jaw tightened. “To ensure both Aemond and my mother have a fair chance.”

Otto studied her carefully. “Do you think your mother—or even Daemon—will respect the realm’s decision if they vote in favour of Aemond?”

Lucaera wanted to say yes, but doubt clawed at her. Her mother perhaps, in time. But Daemon? She wasn’t sure. Instead, she answered carefully, “That is not for me to give voice to, Lord Hand.”

Aemond, sensing her unease through the bond, stepped forward. His voice was firm. “You summoned us for a reason.”

Alicent stood then, smoothing out her skirts. “The letters are being written, the ravens prepared. In a month, the Red Keep will be filled with the lords of the Seven Kingdoms. I would see the two of you married before that.”

Lucaera gasped, her eyes widening. “But, Your Grace, the King—”

Alicent cut her off, her voice gentle but firm. “The King has given his permission for the two of you to wed. The Hand convinced him of its importance. We cannot have a potential heir to the Iron Throne unmarried to the Omega he took to mate—nor can we have a scandal should you find yourself with child.”

Lucaera felt Aemond take her hand, his fingers warm, his touch reassuring.

Helaena turned from the window then, her violet gaze settling on Lucaera. Her voice was distant, almost dreamlike. “A King bathed in silver as another is shrouded in gold.”

Aegon snorted, draining his cup before standing. “May I say congratulations, brother? It’s about time you got it wet—maybe now you’ll stop being such an uptight twat.”

Alicent snapped, “Aegon, that is enough.”

Aegon frowned, clearly enjoying himself. “Oh, come now, Mother. It’s just a bit of fun. Tell me, brother, is it different with an Omega? I mean, not that you have a wealth of experience, but still—”

Aemond growled, stepping forward protectively. “That’s enough. You will not speak of such things in the presence of my mate.”

Aegon only laughed, taking another gulp of wine, his gaze flickering over Lucaera appraisingly.

Aemond growled again, louder this time, his body tense.

Alicent intervened swiftly. “The two of you will be wed in the sept—in a week’s time. A simple ceremony with a small number of guests.”

Lucaera swallowed, her heart hammering. “My mother?”

Alicent hesitated before taking Lucaera’s hand, her expression shifting to something softer, almost sympathetic. “Your mother has already left.”

Lucaera’s breath caught. “W-what?”

Otto nodded. “Your mother, Daemon, and your brothers left immediately after the King’s decision.”

Lucaera yanked her hand back, a hollow feeling spreading through her chest. “T-they just left?”

Alicent sighed. “I’m afraid so. With the assurance that they would return within the month for the Great Council’s decision.”

An overwhelming wave of sadness crashed over Lucaera, her throat tightening, her vision blurring with unshed tears. They had left her. They hadn’t even said goodbye.

Otto opened his mouth to say something, but Aemond cut him off sharply. “Not now-”

He could feel her sadness through the bond, and it was breaking his heart.

Alicent noticed the way Lucaera’s eyes shone with tears and, despite everything, she took her hand again, squeezing gently. “I’m sorry-”

Aemond led Lucaera back to his chambers in silence. She had not spoken a word since leaving the Tower of the Hand, her sadness so heavy it felt as though it was crushing the bond between them. He could feel it—the ache, the hollowness that had settled deep inside her.

It hurt worse than any wound he had ever suffered.

When they entered his room, she moved like a ghost, drifting toward the armchair by the fire and sinking into it without a sound. The warm glow of the flames flickered across her face, catching on the single tear that slipped down her cheek.

Aemond crossed the room and knelt before her, resting his head in her lap. He did not speak, did not press her for words she could not yet give.

For a long moment, she didn’t move. Then, finally, her hand lifted, and she began stroking his hair softly.

Aemond closed his eye, breathing in her scent, letting it soothe the turmoil inside him.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

Lucaera’s voice, when it finally came, was quiet but firm. “It’s not your fault.”

Aemond lifted his head to look at her, his fingers reaching up to brush away the tear on her cheek. “I never wanted this to happen.”

Lucaera nodded, her fingers still tangled in his hair. “I know.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he hesitated. Then, with quiet determination, he said, “To spare you this pain, I will give up my claim. I will go to the King and—”

“You will do no such thing.”

Her words cut through the room like a blade.

Lucaera’s eyes were sharp, unwavering. “The Great Council is the fairest way to choose between you and my mother. The decision is no longer ours, but in the hands of the realm.”

Aemond searched her face, but there was no doubt there—only certainty.

“What if they choose me over her?” he asked.

Lucaera did not hesitate. “Then they choose you.”

Aemond’s fingers curled around hers. “Do you think Viserys will honour the choice, or find another way to uphold Rhaenyra’s claim?”

Lucaera shook her head. “Once the decision is made, not even the King has the power to see it undone.”

For a moment, they sat in the quiet, only the crackling of the fire between them.

Then, Lucaera’s stomach growled.

Aemond blinked before letting out a small, unexpected laugh. “I shall request food be brought to us—I cannot have my Omega going hungry.”

Lucaera gave him the faintest of nods, watching as he rose from the floor and moved to summon a maid.

Left alone with her thoughts, she exhaled slowly. She understood why her mother was angry—why Daemon and her brothers had turned away from her.

But in time, she hoped they would come to accept what she had done.

It had not been to be cruel. It had not been to elevate herself. It had been to prevent a war.

A few days later, despite not being particularly fond of Alicent, Lucaera found herself dining with her soon-to-be good-mother.

She reasoned that it was wise to make an effort to be at least somewhat cordial to Aemond’s mother, even if the woman had spent years opposing her own.

They discussed the wedding, and Alicent suggested a small celebration afterward. Lucaera, who had no desire for anything extravagant, readily agreed.

Not that grandeur had ever been an option, given the limited time they had to plan.

She had written to her mother, apologizing and explaining why she had done what she did. But no response had come.

She had also written to her brothers, asking them to attend her wedding. Again—silence.

The lack of reply gave her pause.

Aemond had offered so readily to give up his claim, yet her mother remained steadfast in her desire for the throne.

Was it truly about her birthright, or was it something deeper? Did Rhaenyra not know who she was without the Iron Throne?

Lucaera realized she might never fully understand the answer to that question.

Her thoughts were pulled back to the present as Alicent prattled on about the importance of being a faithful wife—of not seeking pleasures elsewhere.

Without thinking, Lucaera confidently assured the Queen, “Aemond pleases me well enough that I have no need to seek another.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she realized what she had said—and to whom.

A deep flush spread across her cheeks. “I—I mean—my apologies, your Grace.”

Alicent furrowed her brow, lips pressing into a thin line before she eventually inclined her head in acceptance.

Later that evening, when Lucaera recounted the moment to Aemond, he feigned scandal.

“You said that to my mother?”

Lucaera groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Yes, and I wanted to sink into the floor the moment I did.”

Aemond smirked. “Perhaps I should be offended—speaking so boldly of our affairs to my own mother”

But through their bond, she could sense his amusement.

Lucaera huffed, shoving at his chest playfully. “You’re awful.”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her against him. “And yet, you still agreed to marry me.”

For a moment, they laughed together, their bond warming with shared mirth.

Then a knock at the door.

A maid entered, bowing briefly before announcing, “Princess, your belongings from Dragonstone have arrived in port.”

The laughter faded instantly and Lucaera’s heart twisted painfully.

She had known, of course, that she would likely not be returning to Dragonstone, but to have her belongings packed and shipped out with such haste—it stung.

When the trunks were delivered to Aemond’s chambers, Lucaera wasted no time going through them, searching for a letter or a note—some sign that her mother or brothers had thought of her beyond simply packing her things and sending them away.

But she found nothing.

Aemond, who had been standing beside her, felt it all—the sharp cut of her despair, and the ache of abandonment.

Silently, he reached for her, pulling her close, tucking her against his chest. His scent filling her senses.

But still, the pain lingered.

Aemond stood tall beside the High Septon, his figure composed and unwavering. He was dressed simply—black tunic, his Targaryen cloak tied loosely around his shoulders.

His long silver hair was tied back in its usual half-up, half-down style, the candlelight from the Sept casting an ethereal glow upon him.

The horns sounded, signalling the beginning of the ceremony.

Lucaera took a deep breath, preparing herself to walk alone.

But just as she stepped forward, a familiar voice murmured at her side.

“You shouldn’t walk alone.”

She turned, startled, to find Aegon standing beside her, offering his arm.

Lucaera’s lips parted in surprise, but after a beat, she smiled and took his offered arm. “Thank you.”

Aegon gave a brief nod, his usual smirk softened into something kind.

The great doors swung open, and Lucaera instinctively turned toward them, her heart hammering with hope.

Perhaps her mother had come after all. Perhaps her brothers had changed their minds.

They would come in and they would sit and watch as she married her mate- they would smile and join in the celebrations, they would-

-But the doorway remained empty.

Lucaera swallowed hard, pushing down the sharp pang of disappointment, and turned back to Aegon. He gazed at her knowingly, his expression surprisingly gentle.

“It’s their loss,” he said simply.

She nodded, composing herself. And together, they began the slow walk toward Aemond and the waiting Septon.

“Thank you for escorting the bride, my prince,” the Septon said as they reached the altar. “If you would be so kind as to wait while the Princess removes her maiden cloak.”

Lucaera’s fingers found the ties of her maiden cloak, undoing them carefully before slipping the garment from her shoulders. She handed it to Aegon, who accepted it with an unexpected reverence.

With a final nod, he turned and took his seat beside Alicent, Helaena, and Otto.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.”

Aemond stepped forward, his face unreadable, but his eye was impossibly soft as he gazed at Lucaera.

He removed his heavy Targaryen cloak, its black and red fabric rich with the sigil of their house, and carefully draped it around her shoulders.

Then, he took her hand in his.

The Septon tied their hands together with a crimson ribbon, the silk warm against Lucaera’s skin.

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Now, you may look upon one another and speak your vows.”

Lucaera inhaled shakily, her lip wobbling slightly as she whispered, “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his, and he is mine, from this day until the end of my days.”

Aemond’s voice was clear, steady, and unwavering as he declared, “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am hers, and she is mine, from this day until the end of my days.”

“The vows have been spoken.” The Septon raised his hands in blessing. “You may now kiss your bride.”

Aemond didn’t hesitate.

He leaned forward, his lips meeting Lucaera’s in a soft, lingering kiss—one filled with the weight of everything unspoken, of the moment that had led them here.

As he pulled away, his fingers brushed over her cheek, and in a voice only she could hear, he murmured,

“Ñuhon.” (Mine).

The dining hall was lit with the warm glow of candlelight, casting flickering shadows across the table where the small gathering was held in celebration of Aemond and Lucaera’s wedding.

The feast was modest compared to the extravagant affairs usually held in the Red Keep, but it was intimate—just their family, or at least, those who had deigned to attend.

Viserys sat at the head of the table, looking more ghost than king, his skin pale, his breathing laboured.

Alicent sat beside him, ever the devoted wife, though her sharp gaze often flickered toward Lucaera with something akin to sympathy and Otto, composed as always, observed in silence.

Aegon was already into his cups and Helaena picked absently at the food on her plate, her mind seemingly lost elsewhere.

And Daeron, the youngest, was polite but somewhat reserved, offering quiet congratulations and speaking only when spoken to.

Lucaera sat beside Aemond, quiet, pushing her food around her plate rather than eating it.

Aemond, feeling her sorrow as keenly as his own through their bond, silently cursed Rhaenyra, Jacaerys, and Lucerys.

Despite his hatred for his half-sister and her Strong bastards, they could have at least shown their faces. They could have tried to make amends.

Instead, their absence only served as another wound inflicted upon his wife and mate.

He slid his hand beneath the table, resting it gently on Lucaera’s thigh. His grip was firm but comforting, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles.

Lucaera glanced at him, offering a small, appreciative smile, but the sadness lingered in her eyes.

Aegon, ever the one to disrupt, leaned forward and grinned.

“Well, I guess it falls to me to ensure my new good-sister enjoys her wedding night.”

Aemond growled low in his throat, but Aegon ignored him completely and extended his hand toward Lucaera.

“Dance with me, Princess.”

Lucaera hesitated, glancing at Aemond, who looked ready to lunge across the table and rip Aegon’s throat out.

But then she saw the mischief in Aegon’s eyes. So she took his hand.

Aegon smirked and pulled her to her feet, leading her toward the open space where the soft notes of a harp and viol filled the hall. With surprising grace, he twirled her in time with the music, guiding her effortlessly through the steps.

Aemond, watching from his seat, clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening into a fist. But then he noticed something—Lucaera was smiling.

The sorrow in her scent had lightened, giving way to something softer, something lighter.

With a surprising burst of movement, Helaena rose from her chair and stepped onto the floor, reaching for Lucaera’s hands.

Aegon let go without protest, returning to the table and pouring himself another goblet of wine as his sister and Lucaera twirled together, giggling as they spun in soft circles.

Aemond watched, and for a moment, he allowed himself to relax.

As they moved, Helaena suddenly leaned in and murmured, “A King bathed in silver as another is shrouded in gold.”

Lucaera frowned. “You’ve said that before.”

Helaena smiled softly. “People think I’m strange.”

Lucaera squeezed her hands. “I don’t think you’re strange.”

Helaena’s smile brightened. “We shall be firm friends, you and I.”

They danced a little while longer, their laughter quiet but genuine—until a familiar, rasping voice interrupted.

Aemond’s breath was warm against Lucaera’s ear as he murmured, “Time for the bedding, my wife.”

Lucaera laughed. “You had me this morning before we were wed.”

Aemond leaned in even closer, his lips barely brushing her ear. “And I shall have you again.”

A shiver ran down Lucaera’s spine as she felt his desire through their bond, as potent and intoxicating as dragon fire.

Aemond smirked at the effect he had on her and took her hand, excusing them both as he practically dragged her from the hall.

Aegon, watching them leave, chuckled into his wine. “Well, at least one of us is getting laid tonight”

Once they were inside their chambers, Aemond didn’t hesitate. His lips found hers in a fierce, hungry kiss.

With a soft growl, Aemond moved her away from the wall and began pulling at the ties of her dress.

“Don’t rip it-” urged Lucaera as she took a step back and pulled open the silken material and let it fall to the floor.

Aemond smirked as he gazed her naked body before he eagerly pulled off his own clothes, leaving them both bare.

Aemond circled Lucaera slowly, his steps measured and deliberate, his eye tracing every curve of her body like a predator hungrily stalking its prey.

There was an intensity in the way he moved, his gaze devouring her from every angle as if he were committing every inch of her to memory.

With a commanding presence, he stepped back from Lucaera, his voice low and authoritative as he spoke.

"Kneel" he ordered, his words cutting through the thick air of the room.

Without hesitation, Lucaera obeyed. She sank gracefully to her knees, her eyes never leaving Aemond's as she positioned herself in front of him, her posture submissive yet confident, entirely at his mercy.

Slowly, Aemond reached down and caressed Lucaera’s cheek, his touch gentle and reverent despite the raw desire simmering beneath the surface.

His thumb brushed over her soft skin, tracing the line of her jaw before he brought it to her plump lower lip, pressing against it with a possessive tenderness.

“Open your mouth,” he murmured, his tone commanding yet intimate.

Lucaera, eager to please him, parted her lips without hesitation, her breath warm against his thumb as she obeyed his command.

Aemond smirked and then spat into her mouth.

“Swallow” he ordered.

Lucaera closed her mouth and smiled as she swallowed.

“Sȳz riña” muttered Aemond (Good girl).

“Ivestragī nyke kostilus ao ñuha zaldrīzes” whispered Lucaera (Let me please you my dragon).

“Skorkydoso?” asked Aemond curiously (How?)

Lucaera smiled and rose higher on her knees she placed her hands on Aemond, slowly moving them up his lean body, her fingers tracing the contours of his muscles.

She felt the tremble in his body as her nails scraped lightly across his skin, and he groaned low in his throat, the sound primal, raw with desire.

Her touch held him captive, and as her hands continued their slow, torturous path, she whispered to him, her voice soft but commanding.

“Take off your eyepatch, I wish to gaze upon your beauty in its entirety”

Aemond hesitated for only a moment, his lips parting in a quiet whimper, the sound so rare for him, so vulnerable.

She knew what her words, her praise, did to him—how they disarmed him in ways no one else could.

His heart raced in his chest, and the possessiveness in him faltered for just a second, replaced by something deeper, more intimate.

Without a word, Aemond reached up and pulled the eyepatch from his face, the black leather slipping from his fingers to fall carelessly to the floor.

Lucaera gazed up at him, a soft smile curving her lips as her eyes traced over his face.

The sapphire, so stark and striking, only added to the beauty that was uniquely his.

“Ñuha gevie zaldrīzes”  whispered Lucaera, her voice laced with adoration (My beautiful dragon).

Aemond’s breath hitched at her words, his body responding to the warmth of her gaze and the tenderness in her voice. She saw all of him—the scars, the vulnerabilities—and still, she called him beautiful.

It was a power she wielded over him that no one else could ever claim.

Lucaera leaned forward and pressed a series of tender kisses to his bare stomach, her lips brushing against his pale skin.

Aemond closed his eye and let out a low groan as he felt her teeth grazing against him.

His hand instinctively moved to her hair, his fingers weaving through the dark strands as he tilted his head back, his chest rising and falling with laboured breaths.

His voice, deep and rough with need, cut through the silence like a blade.

“Kostilus” he rasped, his voice a low growl, urging her on (Please).

As Lucaera continued her trail of kisses, Aemond’s grip on her hair tightened, his breath coming in shallow gasps. His eye was half-lidded, his focus entirely on the woman kneeling before him.

She grinned as she looked up at Aemond before taking one of his stones into her mouth, her tongue teasing the soft delicate flesh.

“FUCK” moaned Aemond.

“Does ñuha dārys like that?” asked Lucaera (My King).

“Oh. Gods. Yes” whimpered Aemond.

“What was that?” asked Lucaera as she moved to the other and caressed it with her tongue.

“Kostilus” begged Aemond (Please).

“Ao līs umbagon ñuha zaldrīzes” replied Lucaera (You must wait, my dragon).

Aemond stared down Lucaera, his mouth hanging open as her warm, wet mouth wrapped around the head of his cock.

Her tongue gently moving around the tip – tracing the ridges and licking off that drops of pre-cum that had started to leak out.

“Fuck, Lucaera” groaned Aemond as he threaded his fingers through her hair.

Lucaera ran the flat of her tongue along Aemond’s length, tracing every hard inch of him. Her hand moving over the hard length of him.

“You’re taking me so well-” moaned Aemond as Lucaera took his cock in her mouth, the base already thickening with the beginnings of his knot.

Lucaera slid her other hand around Aemond’s body and grasped the flesh of his arse, digging her nails into his skin.

“That’s it-FUCK-yes-don’t stop” groaned Aemond, his hips thrusting faster.

Lucaera responded to his statement by relaxing the back of her throat, and swallowing his cock, her head moving back and forth, stopping just before his knot.

“Shit-Lucaera I’m going to spill. Oh, fuck, I’m going to-” shouted Aemond his head tipped back as he exploded.

Lucaera took every last drop, swallowing his warm seed and licking him clean. When Aemond recovered, he saw her self-satisfied smile.

Aemond as he watched his softened cock slip from Lucaera’s mouth and leave a trail of seed dribbling down her chin.

“Such a messy Prince-” muttered Lucaera as she put a finger to her chin and wiped away the seed only to put the finger into her mouth.

“Fuck” muttered Aemond, his cock twitching.

“What is it you desire now?” asked Lucaera.

Aemond offered her his hand and pulled her from the floor, he shuddered when the warmth of her body pressed against his, her hand released his and trailed up his arm, her nails scraping against his skin.

“I want-” whispered Aemond as Lucaera coiled her fingers in his long hair and gently tugged at the silver strands.

“-What do you want?”

“I want you to ride my face until I’m ready again” gasped Aemond

“Are you sure” asked Lucaera.

“Sit on my fucking face” ordered Aemond as he moved away from her and laid on the bed.

Lucaera climbed onto the bed and  hovered above Aemond’s face; her knees splayed on either side of his head.

“Such a pretty cunny-" breathed Aemond as he ran the flat of his tongue along Lucaera’s soaked slit, from bottom to the top, tasting her.

“Oh, my god” moaned Lucaera her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it ñuha dōna. Let me hear you” (My sweet).

“YES. It feels so good. Don’t stop. Aemond. Please” begged Lucaera.

“FUCK” growled Aemond.

“Ooooh A-Aemond” shrieked Lucaera.

"Delicious" purred Aemond as he began lapping at Lucaera, running his tongue along every fold.

"More" panted Lucaera "Please. I need more”.

Aemond inserted two fingers, sliding them in and out of her slick wet folds.

“Oh" whimpered Lucaera; her chest heaving as she began to gently roll her hips against him.

“That’s it, ride my fucking face” groaned Aemond as he pulled Lucaera closer.

“N-No A-Aemond you’ll suffocate” exclaimed Lucaera.

“When I said sit on my fucking face, I didn’t mean hover. I want your entire cunt on my face. Now do as you are told-” ordered Aemond as he wrapped his hands around her thighs and pulled her further onto his face, his nose rubbing on her pearl.

Lucaera was now giving off a slew of whispered swear words, moans, and pleas as she moved her hips.

“Yes-yes, don’t stop” moaned Lucaera.

 Aemond then rolled her onto the bed, her back colliding with the soft mattress with a dull thud.

“Ohhh Aemond” whined Lucaera at the sudden movement.

“I can’t wait to get my cock inside you. I don’t want to wait any longer, come for me baby,” moaned Aemond, his face pressed between her shaking thighs, his fingers curling inside her.

Finally, he felt Lucaera’s inner walls start to flutter around his fingers, squeezing them. Lucaera’s back arched taut as a bow and she screamed her release.

“Hmm” muttered Aemond as he pressed a series of kisses to her inner thighs, his teeth nipping at her skin.

“P-Please A-Aemond. Need you” begged Lucaera.

Aemond rose to his knees, his chin shining with her slick, he smirked as he swiped his fingers over his chin and then placed them in his mouth savouring her delicious taste.

Aemond moved up Lucaera’s body pausing to grasp hold of her left breast as he ran his tongue over the rosy nipple, his teeth grazing the stiffened peak.

“Oh-yes“ gasped Lucaera, as he moved to the other breast and lavished it with the same attention.

“-Issa ābrazȳrys, glaeson-ñuhon” growled Aemond as he seized his wife’s lips in a ferocious kiss, his hard cock throbbing against her thigh (My wife-my life-mine).

Aemond wrapped a hand around his cock and slowly ran it over Lucaera’s wet entrance, she began squirming impatiently against him as he continued to tease her.

“P-Please, I want you” exclaimed Lucaera desperately.

“Hmm” rasped Aemond as he slid inside her with a singular thrust. His hips coming to a stop against hers.

Aemond started to thrust slowly, trying to prolong the feel of her squeezing his cock.

"Faster, Aemond" begged Lucaera.

"Patience, ñuha dōna" chided Aemond as he ran his nose up her neck (My sweet).

“Yes, Aemond, just like that-" panted Lucaera.

Her hands ran over his arms, over his shoulders. Her fingernails raking down his back.

“Mark me harder-“ growled Aemond.

Lucaera dug her nails into his skin and clawed at his back deep enough to draw blood.

The fire between them was unmistakable, an unrestrained passion that filled the room with heat and tension so thick it was almost suffocating.

 “Gods-" grunted Aemond, speeding up slightly, revelling in the pain.

"Fuck me, Aemond. Fuck me with that big, cock of yours. You feel so good inside me”.

Aemond groaned loudly, knew exactly what Lucaera was doing, but he couldn’t help himself. She wanted faster, he was going much faster now.

His pace had increased with every filthy word that dropped from her luscious lips. Now he was quickly thrusting in and out, shaking the bed, the headboard banging loudly against the stone wall.

Aemond lifted Lucaera’s legs onto his shoulders, and wrapped his arms around her thighs, squeezing them together as he thrust his cock into her soaking wet cunny.

“Aemond! I’m going to come. Oh, fuck!” screamed Lucaera.

“That’s it baby-come for me” exclaimed Aemond as he felt her clenching on his cock.

Aemond could feel the tension building in his abdomen, but he didn’t want to spill his seed. Not yet.

Not even waiting for her orgasm to fully subside, Aemond moved Lucaera’s legs off his shoulders and quickly manoeuvred her onto all fours, she whimpered as his cock slipped out, but he bent forward to press a series of kisses to her glorious arse, his large hands kneading the soft pale flesh, before he sunk his teeth into her.

“AEMOND” squealed Lucaera.

“Hmmm”

Aemond moved into position and sheathed himself inside Lucaera once again, his eye rolling into the back of his head.

“FUCK-” groaned Aemond,

“God. Yes. Aemond” moaned Lucaera.

Aemond began to thrust in and out of her in deep achingly slow thrusts.

“Harder-more-please ñuha raqiarzy” wailed Lucaera (My beloved).

“Issa vaogenka hāedar” growled Aemond, as he moved faster (My dirty girl).

“Aemond-”

“That’s it-take it-take all of me” muttered Aemond as he dug his fingers into Lucaera’s hips and increased the pace of his thrusts.

Lucaera took one of Aemonds hands that was on her hip and brought it to the back of her head.

Knowing what she wanted, Aemond placed his hand on the back of her head and pushed her face into the mattress, her back arching.

His cock reaching deep inside her as he moved with such ferocity it could rival an animal, his long silver hair unbound and sticking to his sweaty back.

Aemond then grasped both of Lucaera’s arms and held them behind her back as he pounded into her, the sound of his hips slapping against hers echoed around the room.

Lucaera’s cries of pleasure were muffled by the mattress, her face buried in the soft fabric.

Her body arched in response to Aemond’s relentless rhythm, each cry escaping her lips in a series of desperate moans that reverberated through the room.

Aemond’s grip on Lucaera was fierce, his movements relentless. He drove into her with a force that seemed almost brutal, but Lucaera took every thrust with an almost frantic eagerness.

Her body trembled under him, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she surrendered completely to the intensity of their coupling.

“Fuck-that’s it-that’s it-” moaned Aemond.

He released Lucaera’s arms and then took hold of her long hair, twisting his fingers into the tousled strands before he pulled her backwards, her sweaty back colliding with his chest.

Aemond held her tight too him as he fucked her, his cock reaching deep inside her.

One hand grasped her hip, his blunt fingers digging into her flesh. Whilst his other released her hair and moved to her throat, squeezing gently.

“Give it to me please” pleaded Lucaera her head lolling back onto Aemond’s shoulder, her arm reaching behind her to tangle in his hair as their lips connected in a messy, passionate kiss.

Aemond could feel the tension building in his abdomen again, as he thrust his cock inside Lucaera, his knot forming.

“I want you to come on my cock again, but not like this-” muttered Aemond as he once again withdrew from her wet heat and laid across the bed.

“-Aemond” exclaimed Lucaera breathlessly.

 “Ride me-” replied Aemond as he pulled her on top of him. His hand moving to his cock, rubbing it along her folds before she sunk down and completely engulfed him.

 “Yes-” gasped Lucaera as she rolled her hips against Aemonds.

“That’s it, take it. Take all of me”.

Aemond placed his hands on her hips and marvelled at Lucaera as she rode him.

Lucaera dug her nails into Aemond’s chest as she moved her hips against his, his cock hitting the sweet spot inside her perfectly.

“A-Aemond” moaned Lucaera as he suddenly sat up, moving his hand to her breast again and taking her nipple into his mouth, his teeth biting down on the rosy bud.

“Let go baby, I can feel you clenching around me” exclaimed Aemond, as he moved to the other breast and lavished it with the same attention.

“AEMOND” screamed Lucaera her vision going white as she came around his cock.

He pulled her closer and then rolled her back onto the bed his cock never leaving her warmth as he pounded into her with a series of deep penetrating thrusts, her legs wrapped around his waist, trapping his body against hers as he chased his own end.

Aemond’s grip on Lucaera tightened as he neared his own climax, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more forceful, his knot catching on her until he gave one last deep thrust, forcing his knot inside her, locking them together as he exploded.

Aemond’s body tensed against Lucaera’s, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he rode out his orgasm.

Then, as his pleasure subsided, he collapsed onto her, his chest heaving as he relaxed against her.

Lucaera’s body shifted slightly beneath him, her own breath coming in soft, satisfied sighs as she remained still, embracing the weight of him.

She looked up at Aemond with a tender, gaze, her hands caressing his back as he rested against her, his breathing gradually slowing.

TBC

[maskedcrawford]

Emotional Support

G-Dragon x Reader

Summary: Life gets heavy at times, Jiyong tries to help.

Warnings: Mentions of blood and some suicidal thoughts, angst with fluff at the end, established relationship. Sweet ending.

A/N: Wasn't requested but I hope you guys can enjoy it.

You’re sitting there, staring at the glass in your hand, shards poking out of your skin violently. Your chest is heaving up and down. You went out to your friends car lot late at night with nothing but rage and a baseball bat. You were hell bent on destroying something and your friend mentioned weeks ago that there were plenty of junk cars that he’d taken in.

You just couldn’t do it anymore, the pressure was too much. Be this for someone, act like that for someone else, do this and do that. It all became an overwhelming weight that moved you closer and closer to your breaking point.

You’d taken the bat and beat the car, slashed the tires, broken the tail lights, and the final blow was the window you finally punched through after many attempts, causing the window to splinter into your hand and purple and red markings to appear.

You stared at it for a minute, briefly wondering if you’d bleed out if you removed a shard, and part of you was willing to do it. And if it wouldn't cause you to bleed out, well you knew how to do it. To escape the pressure of life and all it had brought on you. It was too much and you felt like there was no light at the end of the tunnel. The only sweet release that could possibly there was death.

But instead, you reach for your phone in your back pocket and you call Jiyong, your boyfriend.

His phone rings and he answers it, barely awake at 2 am.

“Ji, I need help,” you choke.

“Where are you?” He’s all ready up, putting on his shoes.

“The old car lot,” you sigh.

“Is anyone with you?” He shuts the door behind him and runs down the hall.

“No, but I hurt myself.” Your sobbing is now more prevalent.

“I’ll be there soon, just stay there.” He says before clicking off the phone.

-

He walks around the junk yard, his eyes landing on you crouched on the dusty ground staring at your hand as the river of red DNA seeps into it.

“Baby what the hell did you do?” He bends down at your level and your eyes are red from tears, your body is shaking from the anxiety.

“I needed to blow off steam,” you quiver.

“Jagiya,” he breathes out heavily.

“I think I need stitches,” you whimper. Jiyong carefully takes your hand and examines it.

“Yeah, I’d say so.” His face mirrors an image of pity as he helps you up.

“It’s just getting to be too much, I don’t know what else to do. Every emotion feels so explosive. Like it takes over my entire being.” Stray tears fall from your eyes as he walks you to the car.

“Maybe we need to get you to a therapist.”

“I don’t have time for that, the company wants me on a world tour in 3 weeks.” You huff as you sit in the passenger seat, ridding to the hospital.

At the hospital, your hand is x rayed and it’s broken in a few places. Once the glass is removed your hand is littered with small cuts and large gashes. Jiyong holds your hand as you get the multiple numbing shots. Putting that into a broken hand was a new kind of pain.

“We have to do something for you,” he whispers as he kisses the side of your head.

“Like what? My options are pretty limited.” You mumble as they start to stitch your hand up. It’s not long before the stitches are done.

“What if I come out with you?” he smiles and you ponder the idea ever so briefly.

“You have your own tour,” you say and he nods.

“What if we do a teletherapy thing for you. Y/n, you have to talk to someone,” he pleads.

“It’s hard when most people don’t understand the pressure,” you admit quietly. Many times people would tell you you're over reacting, or that it's all in your head. Or to simply get over it.

“I’m not going to leave you like this,” he warns as the two of you leave the hospital.

“You don’t have much of a choice.” You say as you both get in the car.

-

The weeks go by and it’s the day before your tour starts. You and Jiyong have barely talked about the incident at the car lot or why you’ve been feeling like life is too much.

"I need to know you're ok," he says quietly entering the room that late morning.

"Jiyong it is what it is."

"That's not the approach to take to this." he sighs.

"I don't know what you want from me." He sits on the bed beside the suit case.

"I want you to be ok."

"If I just could be, I would be." you mutter.

"I'll be fine, Jiyong. I just need," you trail off thinking of the word, "Time."

-

"Hey, Jagi," Jiyong bounces into the room.

"You're happy," you say with suspicion.

“I am, because I had an idea,” he throws his arms around your waist and your back is pressed to his chest.

“Which is,” you ask.

“We get you an emotional support dog!” His voice is high pitched and you turn around to look at him.

“Jiyong, I leave tomorrow, besides doesn’t that take like, training and letters and stuff?”

“That’s a service dog. ESAs are totally different. And I know you leave tomorrow, leave that part to me.” He smirks mischievously.

-

You and Jiyong meet with your label the next morning to check out the tour bus you’ll be ridding in the next few months.

“This is really cool. Look a tv and an actual bed for you to sleep on instead of a bunk!” he shouts. That’s when you hear it.

RUFF

And Jiyong shushes the sound.

“Oppa?” You call out.

“Yes?” he comes out of the bedroom with a too wide grin on his face.

“What’d you do?”

“I don’t know what,” suddenly a larger body maneuvers its way between Jiyong's legs and looks up at you.

“Oh my goodness,” you gasp as you see the dog.

“You like?” He asked and you bend down immediately petting the sweet animal.

“He’s perfect!” you ruffle his ears which he leans into.

“His name is Soldier,” Jiyong comments.

“Cute,” you grin at the dog who’s tongue is hanging out of his mouth.

“What about the label?”

“I took care of that. Basically told them that if they didn’t let you have him, you wouldn’t be working there anymore,” Jiyong casually shrugs to himself.

“Jiyong, I swear,” you giggle.

“It’s not a permanent solution, but you do better when you around animals so. This way I won’t feel so worried when you’re out there killing it on stage every night.” You stand up and your lips meet for a precious kiss.

“Thank you,” you smile.

“It’s my pleasure, baby.”

Tags: @loveesiren @topluvr @breakmeoff

Comment if you'd like to be tagged in future fics <3

[amalthea-13]

What Made Me Defend Stolas so Staunchly?

Introduction

After several days discussing Octavia and Stella, I am beyond happy to be back to my job on Stolas Defense!

Hello all, it is I, Amalthea, The Ultimate Stolas Kinnie and Stan! Today I thought it'd be interesting to talk about why I defend Stolas so staunchly.

For many who may not know me, I used to actually be in the middle when it came to the issues within Stolitz. I used to defend both Stolas and Blitz because in my head they were both at fault for a lot (I still believe this partly).

I never really doubted any of this purely because it made sense. I mean they're both in the relationship and therefore they both are bound to make mistakes.

However, the fundamental moment that changed my mind was Mastermind.

To many this may be weird bc 99.9% of the fandom has a neutral take on this. Everyone else is usually defensive of Blitz due to his position in society and usually we all agree to somewhat be fair to Stolas purely by giving him only partial blame.

I tried so hard to not get frustrated with Blitz. I really do try to give him so much empathy and love because I love that lil guy. That's my boy right there. . . however my boy was PISSING ME OFF.

Let's get into reasoning because despite The Blitz Post , he is still my third favorite in the entire series. (Sorry Blitz, Vassago ties with Stolas for number 1 and I think Yogirt took second place.) The Timeline

Recently, I rewatched the videos I made in response to Mastermind on my Tiktok. The very first initial reaction I had was a video I released November 29th, the day which Mastermind released and its a singular image of Stolas with the text:

"The fact Blitz cannot humanize Stolas ever until he has lost absolutely everything pisses me off. Stolas isn't perfect but the one time he does treat him well and like a person is when he's at his lowest just like Blitz."

A very . . . emotionally charged response to a character I also kin and was a staunch defender of before this point. I mean I loved Blitz, but what happened in Mastermind, that sudden tonal shift in their relationship sent me over the edge.

The next slide goes into further detail of my grievances;

"Stolas gave up everything and only NOW he is being treated with some semblance of kindness. It took him giving up his actual life for Blitz to actually see him as a person and not some "ditzy blueblood" he made up in his head".

These sentiments are echoed in The Blitz Post when it was made in February and I still stand by the context of the Blitz post to this day. November 30th I worked on an edit of Stolas to a Last Unicorn audio due to him being stripped of his magic, this was an emotional thing I couldn't get over, also echoed in my Stolas Headcanons post where someone asked me about his magic.

The same day I made a speedpaint redrawing Stolas and started just going off about my frustrations that I don't want to believe Blitz is a bad person or a semblance of a "bad guy", but the fact he could only humanize Stolas in that moment had "sickened me". I also mentioned my concerns for Octavia due to the fact I had been that "scared little girl" at some point in my life. I also note that;

"Truly, it hurt to watch Stolas throw himself in harms way, knowing Blitz would never give half of that to Stolas. He'd never sacrifice for Stolas like that."

All very... emotional responses and I can say this was the moment I fundamentally latched onto Stolas much tighter than I did previously. December 1st and 12th I made videos or slideshows defending Stolas regarding the punishment he got and that baby talking at Blitz or calling him "impish little plaything" isn't crime enough to justify what happened to him.

The 19th making another post defending Stolas due to his words being miscontextualized which inspired the Stolas, Miscontextualing his Words, and Boundaries post. The 22nd I documented my feelings about Via rejecting Stolas and that I couldn't agree with her at all and that echoed its way into The Octavia Dilemma. Christmas day at like 3am I made a post defending Stolas against people accusing him of being "fake" for using medication to handle his depression. Then January 1st was when I voiced I believed Blitz was the most at fault during the Full Moon argument.

Then January 30th I make a video detailing why I believe Blitz was at fault. I go into explicit detail outlining why Blitz was wrong, how he was wrong, and this was when I came up with the concept for the projection argument (Seen in First Ask: Has Stolas Truly Grown? Section 2) I utilize when talking about the Full Moon argument. I go to the point of saying Blitz isn't emotionally mature enough to be with Stolas. (Daaammnnnn past me, let the guy stand back up!!!)

How is it from November 29th-January30th my view changed so much? As I said I used to be the type of person that blamed both sides. What happened?

The Fundamental Moment My View Changed

Tonal Shift

Usually when I believe in something I don't let it go. If I believe in something with my entire heart it will take something huge happening to change my perspective.

However, during Mastermind it felt almost... gross and sickening to watch Blitz fawn over and help Stolas while simultaneously enjoying the tender moments we had waited so long for.

I felt so- guilty. Like I was watching my best friend get back with a man I knew was bad for them.

It felt hard to enjoy the positivity as I knew what impending doom was coming. I mean I felt awful for enjoying my comfort ship while Stolas lost everything.

The tonal shift in Mastermind changed a lot and reframed so many episodes as you see such a radical shift in the span of a month or two. As much as I appreciated Blitz's efforts, in my mind it was all "too little, too late". It was everything I wanted from the series but too late.

So that guilt and anger manifested into a several month long rant and frustration of me bordering on turning into a Blitz Anti. Hell, I designed an OC just to spite Blitz and ship Stolas with my OC. (Theyre the best couple btw I love them sm their ship name is Hot Messes.) However, what made me fall right back in love with Blitz was that damn kind heart and the fact he can make Stolas laugh. As angry as I remain to be and as staunchly I stay defending Stolas, I still love Blitz, but again Mastermind provided a lot of reframing of past episodes I could not get over. It was like the floodgates opened and I couldn't close them.

Stolas Antis and Blitz Dickriders

I also want to acknowledge that it was Stolas Antis specifically that made me start despising Blitz as a character.

While I no longer feel this way and have separated the Antis from our sweet Lizard King. At the time I was angry that people were coming down hard as hell on Stolas for things they gave passes to Blitz for.

I've noted this in many posts, but I call it the "trauma pass" and for some reason Blitz is the ONLY character in all of Helluva Boss who has this card. My anger brewed from there, watching Stolas be beat down for minor offenses and Blitz getting the trauma pass purely because people like him, but if Stolas did the same thing he'd be burnt at the stake.

Now besides the fact I am an October Libra with a strong sense of justice, I'm also an ADHD bitch who can argue for 5 days on end over the same thing and not stop defending my argument. I can get physically ill or tired but I am as stubborn as a damn mule.

Therefore further interactions with Blitz antis and defenders sent me into what I now call the "Stolas Defense". Pretty much a litany of arguments, pieces of evidence, and information that I utilize to make a strong barrier that no Blitz Defender can get past.

While I didn't get much interaction on my Tiktok account, those videos are what built this lovely blog and is the reason my defense remains so strong. Purely based on memory recall those videos fundamentally shifted how I see Blitz.

They also are why my defense remains the way it is. Sure, I repeat the same points over and over, but there is a purpose and reasoning to how the Stolas Defense functions. It's about appealing to every area of argument along with substantiative evidence to make a strong ass defense.

Despite Blitz Antis leaving me alone and now finding solace in my Stolas Kinnie Family. I still think about how it took one episode for me to change my entire perspective on ONE character.

Mastermind As an Episode

Everything in Mastermind was done so well. it was meant to make you question and think. A complex narrative that truly left the fandom in shambles after it's release.

However, why was it this narrative that changed my mind? As an audience, many people believed this episode was necessary for Stolitz to thrive as a couple.

At that time I actually told someone I felt it was "unnecessary" for Stolas to give up everything for Blitz. (I was reaaalllyyyyy angry ya'll. Blitz hun I am soooooo sorry)

Mastermind as an episode had the fandom splitting off into sides and caused very real division which from a writer standpoint is beyond impressive.

The episode took me, a neutral viewer, and turned me into a staunch Stolas Defender. Talk about phenomenal writing.

Conclusion

Despite this episode rehashing many of my older points, I hope you all get a better view from this post as to why I am the way I am. I ain't saying it'll make you all agree with me or anything, but this is the direct timeline of all my thoughts and how it all went down since November 30th.

Toodles! Amalthea Out!

[tickettride]

Bad omen

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

pairing is johnny davis x wife!reader

in which you know something’s wrong when Johnny doesn’t come home one night. Instinct tells you the Kid has something to do with it—you just don’t know how deep it goes. Based on Johnny's last scene, except for some details.

word count: 5,7k

warnings: complete angst, blood, violence, mentions of death, hospital, hopefully no big mistakes

A/N: : I knew I wanted to write something about Johnny’s last scene ever since I rewatched the movie. Something angsty? Absolutely. And then I fell upon one of my favorite x-files scenes in which Scully is filled with both sorrow and rage, thinking that her man is going to die. It helped me so much. That’s how I’d have reacted in front of the kid. Or at least what I’d have thought. It took me weeks to write something I really liked, and even longer to finish it. Sorry if it feels rushed!

based on the same universe as one of my previous fics

“I thought he’d eat with us,” Joan repeated for the third time, her doe eyes dropping to her empty plate. 

Instead of sighing into the silence like you’d done for the past hours, you kissed the top of her head and faked a smile against her soft hair. Your mother used to do the same. With a big smile on her lips, you could never tell how bad it really was. 

"Daddy's been real busy lately. Probably caught up with some papers or somethin'."

“He said he’d take us to the movies,” Lynn added, chewing on the rest of her food. 

What could you even tell them? Johnny had made lots of promises lately. None of them had seen the light of the day, drowned by his worries about the club, about Benny, about the young ones wanting to join. It was a miracle he’d kissed you goodbye that morning.

“I know, honey.”

Scraping your chair back, you took your plate to the sink and started running the hot water to wash it up. Joan came up behind you and handed hers, always first to finish. 

“You’ll read to us?” 

“I will,” you assured her, though you couldn’t see yourself tucking them in when you had no fucking idea where Johnny had gone. They’d ask for their daddy at least ten times before accepting to close their eyes. “Go get a book.”

Joan happily walked away while Lynn ate in comfortable silence, her feet dangling as she hummed something. The driveway was empty, just like it had been five minutes ago. 

You’d promised him a fine meal and a nice night in to make up for the long shifts you’d taken at work these past few weeks, sweet words along with a swift kiss on his temple. The girls had let out a scream that had your heart stop beating for a second, only to realize they were just playing hide-and-seek and laughing hysterically. And Johnny had grunted in response, his eyes on the newspapers spread on the table. You’d thought he’d got the message then, but maybe that distant agreement had meant ‘whatever you say’. 

Your face shrouded in disappointment as something resembling anger bubbled in your chest. 

So much for trying. The girls had asked about him ever since they came back from school, and you were running low on answers. 

Minutes later, the book was finished—you read the last chapter twice—the girls were changed into their pajamas, and you lectured them for being rude to each other. Sweet words were exchanged, the girls wished each other good night, and you closed their bedroom door with a rock lodged in your throat. He would never have left without telling you. Johnny was a man who liked his peace; he didn’t have Benny’s reckless spirit.

At least, that’s what you told yourself. 

The thoughts were torturing and endless as you swept the last shirt from the pile of clean clothes on the bed, catching a whiff of his smell as you took it to the closet for a hanger. Another look was thrown out the window as you carried the empty basket, swallowing the negative images. 

For the first time in months, you’d taken an entire day off and he wasn’t even there. Maybe he was at the club, getting his third round of drinks fetched by Cal or someone else while you were there, getting yourself sick over him. Maybe he was out there bleeding to death. 

With a sigh, you halted in your steps. 

Stop it. He’s just late. 

Yet, the late afternoon bled into the night, the time passing to a soundtrack of light rain and enthusiastic actors on TV, and the distinctive sound of keys jingling never echoed. Rising to stretch out your stiff limbs, your gaze dropped on the framed photo on the cabinet. Your parents had taken the same photograph thirty years ago. The dress was the same. The looks were just as sincere. On your wedding day, Johnny had promised it would never end–his hand on your hip meant so. 

Angry with yourself, with him, with the club, you pushed a strand of hair out of your face and grabbed the phone receiver, hesitating a second before dialing your sister. Faster than any other babysitter, she walked through your door with concern edged over her soft features, already knowing. 

“He left?”

“No,” you said coolly, tired of repeating yourself. “He’s just out somewhere and that’s unusual.”

Your sister looked tired, maybe more tired than you. Still, she picked up on her babysitting habits and plopped down where you’d been sitting a few seconds before, turning the volume up. 

“Is that Paul Newman?”

You barely glanced at the screen, too focused on checking that you got anything you needed. Your keys, some cash just in case. A quick trip to the bar to make sure he was okay, and you’d be back. 

“Mmh, yeah. Might be.”

“He looks fine.”

“The girls are sleepin’,” you ignored her, not in the mood to gossip about men's looks when yours was missing. “Tell them I’ll be back soon if they ever wake up, and… put them back to bed.”

“Sure. No problem.”

Letting out another sigh, you kissed the top of her head and thanked her before gently slamming the door behind yourself. 

The chilly hair nipped at your skin, begging you to turn around and slip on a jacket or a pair of pants to cover your legs. Instead, you slid into the passenger seat and hovered the key near the ignition for a second. Another fuck it slipped past your lips and the car roared to life. After all, he could be at the hospital for all you knew, and you wouldn’t know until the next day. Better safe than sorry. 

The roads were empty and familiar, and it didn’t take long for you to find a parking spot in front of the Hi-Hat Club. Smoke lingered in the air, like halos above the men’s heads. The air inside was filled with smoke too and the flickering light of the neons greeted you like it did any other night. Yet, you could practically hear everyone’s breath halting as you crossed the room towards the bar, where one of the guys you didn’t quite recognize lingered, his eyes trained on you. Like everyone else. There was something odd in the air, a bad omen. 

Your name didn’t seem to ring a bell with the man wiping glasses. A newbie, you guessed. It felt ridiculous to be offended by this, but you couldn't help feeling it nonetheless. Everyone knew you were Johnny’s wife. Wasn’t that obvious? 

Though the club was close to making you scrap your hair, it was a family you’d come to accept years ago. You’d been there at the very beginning, back when it was nothing but a project in Johnny’s mind. Now his mind was plagued with fears and anger, and your face was one of a distant relative he once knew. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you sighed exasperatedly, resting your sweaty palms on the bar. “D’you know where he is?”

“Johnny? Haven’t seen him today. He ain’t gonna show up here again anytime soon, if you wanna know.”

Through his casual British tone, you could tell it was some sort of secret he’d been dying to share. And you were human after all, so curiosity piqued and your narrowed eyes focused on him. 

“Why’s that?”

Next to you, a loud manly roar of laughter erupted, close to shaking the walls. It pissed you off even more that you didn’t even know who those young guys were. Johnny would never have let them in. No, the club wasn’t a daycare, he’d said once. Those young ones had different views on the matters at hand, and they’d ruin the spirit with their ideas. 

“Gonna shut his mouth myself,” the one in the middle snickered, nursing a drink while the others around laughed. 

You couldn’t help but glare in pure disgust. Or maybe that thing you felt was pity. Surely the kid wasn’t older than twenty or twenty one. Already dreaming of violence like this was the one thing that would get him to the top. Or the gun showing out of his jeans. 

“What happened with him?” you turned back to the man standing behind the bar, twisting your wedding ring around your finger. 

He busied himself with pouring two glasses of some amber liquid, the thick grayish locks covering his forehead hiding his frown. “Doesn’t like the change. But it’s gonna happen, whether he wants it or not.”

Nodding solemnly, you looked over at the table where you’d first met. Now, two men and a girl who looked barely legal occupied it, unaware of the history beneath their feet. 

You swallowed another rock in your throat, willing yourself to stay strong until you found your husband. Then, you could lash out at him and make him feel sorry. 

Beside you, the group rose to their feet, downing the last of their beer in a single gulp, letting it drown their already drunken minds. As they passed, they shot daggers at your back. You didn’t bother to care.

“I need to find him,” your voice wavered, but your confidence remained. “It’s urgent.”

“We all do, love.”

Out of desperation and frustration, your palms hit the bar. The thud had everyone's head turned to your direction, judging you or recalling you from that time you’d smacked a man’s cheek for groping you. The rumors that you were mad and unstable had only hurt the first week. 

The thud had also reached the group that lingered behind the door, their cigarettes in mouth. Only one of them wasn’t smoking. The leader, you’d guessed. His eyes fixed on you, cautiously watching. 

“His two little girls are worried sick about him,” you said lowly, a cold edge to your tone. “I’m not goin’ home until I’ve found him. So, please, call someone who might know ‘cause I’m not movin'.”

Instead of telling you to fuck off, the man stared at you. “He didn’t lie ‘bout you.”

“What did he say?”

“That you’re a fierce one.”

A desperate sigh left your mouth, joined by a desperate expression you hoped would make him spill more secrets. It was time you’d stop thinking you could intimidate men. Pushing them away was easier than getting answers.

“I don’t give a damn about bein’ fierce. I wanna know where my husband is.”

The man looked over your shoulder for a second, thinking to himself before he put his attention back on you. “I think he was meetin’ with the lads over there. A fist or knives meeting, y’know.”

With a quick nod of his chin, he indicated the small group behind the door. You followed the direction, instantly meeting that young man’s eyes. His gaze didn’t waver at first; no, he looked at you as though he was considering something, and it seemed to leave his brain at the same time as he trailed behind his friends. That same boyish expression on his face had replaced the doubt. 

“I’ve never seen ‘em before.”

“Me either. They’re just kids who want more than what they have.”

The nod you gave him was small, defeated. Now Johnny’s stories made sense, and you could put a face on the nickname he’d given. The Kid. The death of me. He’d had tears in his eyes telling you Benny was gone. It’s only exhaustion. The same kid with a gun. Dreaming of violence. Gonna shut his mouth myself. The death of me.

You had to find him. 

“Where they meetin’?” 

“Either the place in front of Brucie’s or behind that bar downtown. The one with the blue lights.”

The blue lights. You’d been there once with Kathie. You looked over your shoulder again before some sixth sense warned you. 

You dashed to the door where you stopped short, your fists clenched. Every cell in your body filled with desperation as you watched the young ones ride away, and you ran toward Johnny's car, your breath coming in shallow pants as you reached for the car keys in your handbag. You nearly drove into a pole while turning around, but it didn’t matter. You made it to Brucie’s empty house in record time, where there should have been dozens of bikes lined up or a few cars waiting, engines idling, their drivers watching to see who’d hit first. Who’d shoot first. But no one was there.

“Fuck!” you yelled into the silence, hitting the wheel as you sped up. 

It didn’t take long to reach the bar with the blue lights. You remembered Kathie telling you it was a meetup spot for junkies, but you’d always brushed it off with a laugh. Now, squinting through the windshield, you saw what she meant. You’d been too blinded by foolish love to notice just how dangerous it looked from the outside.

Fear choked you, but nowhere near as much as spotting what was on the other side of the building. Behind the familiar cars you often saw through your window, Johnny had his back to you. His leather jacket hugged his shoulders tightly. You couldn’t tell which shirt he’d put on. The red one, maybe. All you saw was the metal glinting in his hand–that damn knuckle duster. 

Corky and Wahoo stood there, the smoke of their cigarette flying above their heads. Others talked among themselves, as the show hadn’t begun yet. 

Your seatbelt was unclipped as Johnny started walking in that kid’s direction, fumbling with something in his hands. A cigarette, too. Then he slid his knife out of his back pocket with his usual confidence. Oblivious to the bullet awaiting him. Although the thought that the young man would only threaten him to get what he wanted had crossed your mind, you knew the outcome would be bloodier, if not deadlier. His look had faded into a deathly quiet upon you, because he’d realized you were Johnny’s wife. That wouldn’t stop him, though. 

The cold in your veins froze to ice as your hand shot out to the handle, slamming the door open as you yelled our heart out. Not loud enough to be heard. Or maybe all of them were just too focused on the adrenaline to make out your familiar form in the shadows, crashing onto Corky’s back, whose arms held you back. Once again, you were the invisible mad woman, the unstable and now paranoid one. 

“Johnny!”

He had no time to turn around. The kid shot, and a dull thunk sounded as his body hit the ground. Numb. For a second, you were completely numb. 

The body you loved more than anything, the body who’d shielded you and loved you was reduced to nothing but a weight, a target. His daughters were sleeping, waiting for him to come home, and here he laid, unmoving. Dead. 

The scream that left your throat then was inhumane. 

Someone held your waist as you began thrashing wildly, yelling nonsense as your heart broke over and over again. Screaming so long and loud that your voice cracked, watching your husband’s sweet soul planning over his head. 

When you finally broke free from Corky’s grasp, you pounded back toward Johnny’s lifeless form, ignoring the eyes burning into your back as you ran harder than ever before. Your knees screamed in protest as you dropped to the floor, reaching for him. The ground scraped the skin beneath the rim of your dress, but the red staining your knees was nothing compared to the crimson spreading across his chest.

“No!”

His head was heavy as you held it up, your trembling thumbs on his cheeks as the feeling of helplessness began to take hold.

So heavy. But not one breath was coming out of his nose, and his blood kept pooling on the ground. 

“Oh, God–oh–what has he done?”

Another strangled cry escaped your throat as you yelled his name, hoping he would feel your presence and blink. When nothing happened and the world went on spinning, your heart seemed to crush in your chest. The eyes who only seemed to light up for you remained empty. 

“No… pleasepleaseplease,” you sobbed, unable to remember where you were supposed to check for his pulse. Your sister would have known. Instead, you pressed a hand over the red spot on his shirt, where the blood spurted over. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave us yet.”

Your name was called somewhere in the distance, but you ignored it. The others were standing just behind, frozen, terrified all of this was real. Only one of them dropped to their knees beside you, yelling to get some help as he closed Johnny’s eyes with a gentle move. Shouts broke out behind you but your heartbeat drummed in your ears, swallowing the sounds.

You watched in horror his closed eyes, his fatal and decisive end. Just like that, he was slipping away from the world, from you. 

Cold fingers were placed on your shoulder. “We’ll take him t–”

A wave of pure panic swept over you as you realized that they’d take him away from you, forever. 

“No!” your raw voice echoed through the stillness, the kind of stubbornness that would have Johnny smirk at himself. “Don’t–no!”

Inhaling shakily, you looked at his tired face. You’d spent an hour studying him just a week before. But now wasn’t the time to get some rest. Not today. You’d spend the rest of your life making him coffee if you had to, but he couldn’t give in to his exhaustion. 

“He’s still there,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I know it.”

You tried to feel his pulse on his neck, but it was hard to feel a thing when your fingers trembled so much, buzzing over his chilled skin. Finally, you rightfully pressed your fingertips just below his jaw and leaned down to listen to his breathing, with your heart painfully clamoring in your chest. His had to beat the same. What would you even do without him? You stayed for a long moment, the sounds of your pain filling the silence as you stained his sweet face with his own blood. Cradling him, warming him. Panicking.

And eventually, a tiny, tiny huff of air brushed your cheek. 

You stilled. And felt it again. 

With that, a small cry of relief escaped you. 

“He’s breathin’!” You looked up from one man to the other—then realizing the other group had vanished. “He’s breathin’.”

From then, everything seemed to speed up. Hope reached their eyes again. Tears squirted into your frightened eyes, and you pressed a hand to your lips, staring down at his closed eyes. He had to live. He had to think about all the beautiful years awaiting you, with all the plans you’d made together. And you, you had to hold that ray of hope. 

“I’m not leavin’ you,” you promised in his ear, holding his face like you would hold a precious china. “I’m sorry I was so rude this morning. I’m so sorry. I love you so much.”

Though the tears continued streaming and drenching his cheek, you kept kissing his face, knowing he’d feel it somehow. 

“The girls are waitin’ for you.”

Your own words had you bursting into loud sobs again. Any other time, you would have felt ashamed for such extravagance in front of the men. But the pain and the fear were too loud to leave any place to reason, and those same men felt the same, deep down.

“We gotta take him to the hospital.”

Shaking your head, you looked up in panic and met Wahoo’s distressed eyes. 

“You can’t move him. You gotta–you gotta get a doctor here.”

“We’ve got no time to wait for a doctor. We have to take him there.”

His eyes were still shut tight. His chest barely moved. The blood kept spilling. If he stayed here, he’d lose too much blood. 

More convinced, you gave them a small nod and watched them pick him up, four of them carrying his body. All wanting to show how much he meant to them, and how much he’d given them. 

The gravel dug painfully into your thigh, but you couldn’t get up, not even with Wahoo’s words of encouragement. Even after blotting your eyes on your sleeve, the tears made their faces swim before you. 

“C’mon, we’ll go with him,” he told you, though it did little to make you move. 

“He can’t die.”

“He won’t if you’re there with him,” he promised, balancing you to your feet. “Trust me.”

The ride to the hospital passed in a blur. It seemed like you’d used all your tears until Corky pulled into the parking lot, carefully throwing you looks in the rearview mirror. Your crying resumed silently, watching as they took his body out of the car before you. 

The walk to the reception was just as hazy. Johnny was rushed inside by the same men who’d held him earlier and laid on a stretcher by a couple of nurses who asked you for his name and basic information. Your lips pressed a long kiss to his forehead, and your bottom lip quivered as they took him straight to another room, with words you didn’t understand and a tone that did nothing to soften your worries. 

They made you wait in a room much too small for the eight of you. At first, you were willing to wait hours until the doctor found you. The same one who’d saved Benny’s foot a lifetime ago. But the image of that kid’s face wouldn’t leave your mind. One man had almost destroyed your lives. He would have killed your daughters without an ounce of regret, but the rage inside him didn’t equal yours. The grief turned into a deep wrath, unmovable. 

Your faraway gaze fixed on Corky, who frowned up at you. “Give me your keys.” 

“I’m not givin’ you nothin’.”

Blinking slowly at him, you swallowed and sniffled hard, wiping your nose with the hem of your sleeve. “At least give me your jacket. I need some air.”

Hesitantly, under the gazes of the others, Corky slipped off his leather jacket and handed it out to you. You thanked him silently and refused when one of the men asked if you needed company. You just needed ten minutes. 

The clicking of your heels echoed on the hospital walls as you strode to the front door, not slowing down your pace. As you’d hoped, the keys were in the left pocket. 

You only realized how much the car smelled of smoke when you settled behind the wheel, with a slightly clearer mind and sharper feelings. Corky’s shouting barely reached you before you drove off back to the Hi-Hat Club.

As though knowing their leader was close to death, the bar was even more empty than before. The lights were dimmer, solemn, too. Still, you spotted the same figure wiping off the glasses—he’d waited for you. 

“Where does he live?”

Your bluntness seemed to set him off, as he looked at your eyes and ran a hand around the back of his neck. Words weren’t necessary. Just the truth.

The man spilled the address with a careful tone, his eyes sweeping over the bar across your shoulder. After making sure the kid wasn’t sitting in a corner, you nodded in thanks and went back to the car. You thought about your daughters during the whole ride. And finally, you stopped in that dark, concealed alleyway the man had told you about. The small knife Corky had left in the glove compartment, rusty but sharp, felt heavy on your hand, but it was nothing compared to the way Johnny’s head had felt. Because his held all the memories he had, and the knife might have only threatened a few people here and there. 

Occasionally a car dashed past, reminding you that the world hadn’t stopped behind. People were sleeping in the houses around, kissing their children goodnight. 

Emotion threatened to choke you, but you didn’t let it. Not here anyway, in a car that wasn’t even yours. The air was foul with stale tobacco smoke and spilled beer. And he was there, somewhere behind that door. 

You got out slowly.

“Jane?”

You spun around. 

The boy you’d been looking for stared back at you, and as he came close he saw that you were not, indeed, Jane. He recognized you instantly, though he only nodded slightly as a sign. His eyes looked just as empty. It seemed like he’d lost all his boyish cockiness to that bullet, and had acquired a somber air ever since. More grown up since his first kill. 

You didn’t scream, but tears ran down your face.

You took a step forward as he took one backward, and another, until his back pressed against the brick wall and he had nowhere to turn left. He glanced down at the knife and up at your face again, judging you. 

“I’m a good person, so I ain’t gonna kill you.”

As a response, he only nodded. You nodded back in agreement. Through a mist of rage, you saw him shoot over and over again. And Johnny’s body never moved. 

“You must think it’s gonna give you the right to do what you want with the club.” Your voice raised with each word, as cold as your husband’s face and as the blade in your tight grip. “But if Johnny dies because of what you’ve fuckin’ done, I’ll make sure you wish I’d stabbed you, you worthless piece of shit!”

He was silent, and at first you thought he was sulkily refusing to answer. But in fact he was just taking it in, perhaps even realizing what he’d done. None of that mattered anyway. The mad woman had screamed in the alleyway, and the young man had kept his mouth shut. 

The knife dropped to the floor with a sickening thud. 

“And if I ever, so help me God, see you lingerin’ around the club thinkin’ you have every right to just because your cock has grown last summer, I won’t hesitate. You hear me?”

He didn’t laugh, nor dismissed you like you’d half expected. The kid’s gaze fell on the street on his left, where the lights were on and the people oblivious. 

“You’re a sick bastard,” you muttered as you sniffled harshly, letting out a shaky breath as you walked back to the car. 

Somehow, you felt a part of the weight lifted off your shoulders. Now was time to pray like your mother had done for your father, with her hands joined together against the bed. 

Corky was waiting when you were back, sitting with his elbows on his knees. You didn’t bother parking carefully either, and slightly blamed yourself for having left his knife on the ground there. Did he consider it a precious item, or would he just yell at your stupidity? Standing in front of him, you ran a hand through your hair and blew out a long breath that he mirrored. He did neither of these things. He just eyed you warily as you opened the door and staggered to your feet. 

“Feelin’ better?”

With a quick nod, not wanting to let him know you’d threatened a young man like some psycho, you followed him in where the smell made your knees weaken. 

“He’s still in surgery?” you dared to ask as you passed a crying mother, tearing your eyes off of her. 

“They sent him to another room to rest.”

Another breath of relief left your lips. He was alive. Maybe not fine yet, but alive. 

You couldn’t see him yet. You stood from the chair every time a nurse rushed past the waiting room, but none of them came to bear you the good news. So you lingered as long as you dared, till your spin grew numb and your stomach growled, along with Corky, who stood so suddenly you thought something had happened. 

“Fuckin’ hungry waitin’ here.”

He left you with the others, two of them you sent home to their wives. It only left you here with Wahoo, whose eyes never left the wall ahead. He seemed to pray for a second. 

“You can go home too, you know. I won’t blame you if you do.”

“I’m stayin’,” was all he said. 

So you nodded tiredly. “Thank you.”

No one spoke until an hour later, when a tall and lanky man with a white blouse told you to follow him. Your heart threatened to burst out of your chest as your pace matched with his, upstairs, and to the first room on the right. 

"He was damn lucky," the doctor finally spoke, peeking his head through the cracked open door. "The bullet missed his heart by inches, and he's lost a lot of blood.” 

A quick nod told him you were listening, even though it hurt like hell to hear those words. 

Noticing your glass-eyed look, his tone softened. "You can see him now. Just don’t expect him to wake up anytime soon."

You thanked him, standing there as he vanished in the next room. Threatening a guy had made you feel so confident though shaky, so why were you almost backing up now? 

A young nurse walked past you, eyeing your dishevelled state and scrapped-up knees. After a minute or two, you finally walked in, where the dim hospital light spilled onto the bed. The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor filled the silence, steady but weak. Johnny was staring hauntingly at the ceiling. 

“Johnny?” 

The room seemed to spin around as you stared at him lying there, his head tilting limply towards you. He looked so pale. They’d even removed his shirt to have his torso wrapped in bandages, replacing your arms. A thin tube ran under his nose–and that was what finally jolted you from your frozen state.

At last you finally grew closer and stammered again in a choked voice, “Johnny? It’s me.”

When his eyes finally locked on yours, a loud breath escaped your mouth. He was alive, breathing. He still had that look in his eyes.

“You know where you are?” 

“Not at home. Can’t smell ya.”

You choked on a strangled noise, caught between grief and relief. “I’m here. I’m with you. You’re at the hospital, remember?”

He grunted his response, reaching for your hand, which you gave immediately as you perched on the edge of the mattress. Your eyes flooded again. 

He knew he’d die, didn’t he? He knew the club was the death of him, and he went through this alone. 

Softly, you couldn’t help but ask, “Did you know he was gonna shoot you?”

Johnny shook his head slightly. Unsure whether he was lying, you nodded anyway and rubbed his hand in absent motion, although they were slightly warmer than when he’d lay there, the blood pooling–

“Didn’t mean for it to be like this,” he said hoarsely, watching you as though he was afraid you didn’t believe him. 

Aware that the next conversation was going to be painful, you tightened your grip around his palm. For a moment you both concentrated on your joined hands. 

“You shouldn’t have been alone.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Not then. I mean… all the other times. I mean when it started, when you knew this was gonna happen.”

Johnny swallowed hard, the effort almost too much. “I didn’t want ya in it. Didn’t want ya carryin’ this.”

“I would’ve—”

Johnny’s fingers twitched, barely, like he wanted to hold on but didn’t have the strength. “Wouldn’t have changed nothin’.”

Your gaze fell on the bandages again. “I’ve never been so scared in my life. I swear, I saw you fallin’ down…” You shook your head, beseeching him with your eyes. “Please don't jeopardize your life like that again.”

“That won’t happen again. Hear me?”

Lifting your head, your chin quaking, you asked him to promise. The kid’s face flashed through your mind. Deep down, you doubted if he’d ever try something again. He was just a lost soul who probably lacked support. But Johnny? He loved riding too much. 

“Promise,” he breathed out. 

A sigh fell from your lips. “I couldn't stop lovin’ you even if they cut the heart out of my chest."

His free hand came to circle your waist as much as he could, the gesture tugging his IV cords and shifting the metal stand. His grip was weak, but the intent was clear. He needed to feel you there, close to him. So you leaned down to kiss his brow and lay carefully by his side, making sure you weren’t hurting him.

“Where the girls?” he asked, head tilted in your direction. 

“Home.” 

The tips of his fingers grazed your forearm, feeling your skin. “And your jacket?” 

“Home,” you said again. “I rushed out.”

“You’re cold.”

“You almost died.”

“Fair enough,” his raspy voice mumbled.

You made a small sound, your expression a mixture of regret and love, for you’d done nothing but worry for weeks and the relief still was nowhere in sight. The next days, if not weeks, would not ease your soul. Not until something was done about his involvement in the club. 

"I'm sorry I said that.”

“Nah,” he managed to kiss you somehow, gently. “Don’t have to apologize for nothin’.”

With a ragged breath, your lips were back on his. Even with your wet nose and your blotchy cheeks, you pressed your weight delicately into that single kiss, like it was the last you had to offer. Johnny slid his hand over your neck and stroked the skin, just how sorry he was. You were sorry too. After all, his dreams had turned into a nightmare. 

But you weren’t going anywhere. So you accepted that this was the best outcome and pushed aside the worst. You promised him you’d help him out of his dark spots, give him a new purpose. Maybe talk to Benny first. Take up riding freely. His life could be full of possibilities. 

You fell asleep there—which was selfish, beside the man who had nearly given his life for his own cause—and didn’t even stir when a nurse came in to check on him. Drifting somewhere between sleep and reality, you barely registered his voice saying he was better now.

[n0-strings]

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent-ish things ~

[twopercentboy]

,,,,

[the-ferocious-kittyrose]

Simon gets a message from reader while he’s on base. It’s a video. The thumbnail looks like a blurred image of a store isle

Once he has a moment to himself, he’s able to sit back and finally check out what you had sent.

The camera pans down to show yours and simon’s two year old daughter. She has half a mini chocolate muffin clutched in her little baby fist and chocolate smudges on her nose and bright pink cheeks. She’s standing, staring at something out of frame.

The camera is a bit shaky and Simon can hear you trying desperately to hide your laughter.

“Baby,” you say, “baby, look at me.” You bend down to bring the camera closer to your daughter, who only turns to look at you for a second before going back to staring at the same spot out of frame.

“Who is that?”

Your daughter raised one of her chocolate covered hands to point towards whatever it was that had been captivating her the entire video. “Daddy.”

Simon here’s more of your pained stifled laughter and the camera follows your daughter’s gaze, revealing a cheaply made Halloween grim reaper statue, with dusty purple robes, a plastic scythe, and a hilariously misshapen skull face.

He reads the accompanying texts that had followed the video.

[She just started saying “daddy daddy” over and over and it took me forever to figure out what she was talking about]

[for a second I thought, “oh is he here?”]

[Im so dense lol]

[she really misses you ]

[I miss you too]

The next text was a picture of your daughter fast asleep in her car seat. Now cleaned of chocolate, she had replaced her muffin with a giant plastic rat that she hugged to her chest like a teddy bear.

[she refused to leave without it]

Simon smiles. It had been a long time since he had a family. People who loved waiting for him to come home.

Your texts had been sent hours ago, and he felt bad about not responding all day.

[that’s unfair. My mask is made of much better materials]

[I miss you both too. If everything goes right I should be home by Monday]

[and don’t call yourself dense]

Simon thinks for a moment, something eating at him about that video

[I wish she didn’t know about the mask. I don’t want her to see me that way]

You respond quickly, making Simon feel worse about his delayed reply

[Dont worry about that honey. She’s only two, and I think she only saw you wear in mask once once or twice. She’ll forget in a month.]

[She doesn’t see you as anything other than her daddy]

[her daddy and her jungle gym]

[lol yes that too]

[Im sorry I don’t have a lot of time. I’ll try and call you tomorrow]

[ok Im heading to bed now anyway]

[goodnight I love you ❤️]

[goodnight I love you too ❤️]

[esyra]

After the hospital bombing, I finally heard back from my grandmother and confirmed that several of my relatives were murdered by Israeli bombing. Seven of them, to be precise. Three are still going, including her. We've been talking constantly ever since.

Asked if it was possible to head south, and was told they did but were also bombed there. So they decided to go back home, in Zeitoun. Their home was bombed and they were pulled out of the rumble, then driven by ambulances to the al-Ahli Arab Hospital. There were people in every corner. Gazans sheltering, sleeping on the floor. Gazans dying on the floor, waiting for beds.

Four were declared dead on arrival, three were in need of surgery and other three were just bandaged. Then, a bomb was dropped in the parking lot that made parts of the ceiling collapse, like Dr. Ghassan Abu Sittah reported in that horrific conference/interview. Those in need of surgery died.

By the way, just in case you didn't know: the Church of Saint Porphyrius, the third oldest in history, bombed by Israel a few days back, was located near the hospital.

When looking for new shelter, they saw schools with signs hanging outside, "We can't take any more families." They met families, sympathetic but already sheltering too many people. They're now staying in an apartment building they found empty. Sleeping in the corner of the living room. If the family comes back, they'll apologize and leave.

Told me she was saving her phone battery for when the bombing stopped, and she had to ask for help to rebuilt the neighborhood. But she doesn't think it's gonna stop anymore. The ones still with her are mute most of the time, like they're saving energy, but she feels lonely and wanted to talk. There's no internet and to connect to WhatsApp, people are buying "a card from the supermarket, there's a password and username." Not sure what she meant. Still, the internet is inconsistent and won't load neither videos or images nor pages, so she doesn't know what's happening on the outside world.

Told her there were a lot of people protesting to stop the genocide, she replied, "The bombings are getting worse by the day." The bombing yesterday was the worst she ever witnessed. The entire neighborhood is infested with the smell of death, of decomposing bodies. Bodies are piling up in the streets and she's not sure if it's because they ran out of places to store them, but most of them are in bags. The smoke of the bombings hide the blue sky—she hasn't seen the clouds for a while.

Asked if I could share their pictures, names and dreams with people and was told, of which I partly agree, "they're not entertainment." If anyone genuinely cared, they would be alive—I'd argue there are people who do care, but I'm not gonna lecture her pain. And they don't deserve to be used to fulfill someone's sick fantasy. Told me to remember what some Israelis do with pictures of dead Palestinians. And I do.

For those of you who are not familiar, many times before settlers got together to celebrate the murder of Palestinians. For one, in 2015, Israeli settlers set a house in Duma, West Bank on fire. An 18-month old baby, Ali Dawbsheh, was burnt alive. Both parents later died of wounds and only a 5-year-old, Ahmad, survived, although severely injured.

Two celebrations of their murder are widely known, one at a wedding and others outside the court in which two were indicted for the terrorist attack. In the wedding, guests stabbed a photo of the toddler, Ali, while others waved guns, knives and Molotov cocktails. Israel's Minister of National Security, Itamar Ben-Gvir, was present.

That's what happens in an apartheid. Palestinians are so abused by authorities that their "innocent civilians" come to accept the brutality as necessary or are desensitized by our suffering. After all, it's been 75 years—get used to it!

So I won't risk the image of my loved ones, in fear they are used in these kinds of depravity. I will say, though, the world lost a young footballer. Lost a female writer and an aspiring ballerina. Lost a kind father, who was also a great cook, and a loving mother that enjoyed sewing and other types of handicraft art. Lost a math teacher and a child that wanted to become one.

People think Israel is testing new weapons on them. There's civilians arriving at the hospital with severe burns, which they thought was from white phosphorus, but apparently the pattern is different from the one caused by white phosphorus. It's widely believed Israel tests weapons in Palestinians.

Jeff Halper, author of War Against the People, a book on Israel's arms and surveillance technology industries, said: "Israel has kept the occupation because it's a laboratory for weapons."

They've ran out of drinkable water and the "aid" Biden sent was only for the South of Gaza and no fuel, for hospitals, was allowed in. Many shelves in the supermarket are empty. She said many are convinced that if they don't die from the bombing, they'll die from starvation or dehydration, or whatever disease will develop from the dirty water they're drinking.

Told me all people do now is pray, cry and die. Told me she hopes West Bank is spared. Told her Israel bombed a mosque in West Bank and dozens of Palestinians in West Bank are being murdered by settlers, so she bided me goodbye.

[lokissweater]

a million more novembers

{mlb!megumi fushiguro x f!reader}

summary: its you and megumi’s cute little two year anniversary! a car picnic at a stargazing hotspot in the city— snacks, drinks, your loving baseball man, and gifts galore? yes please!

warnings: MDNI. afab!reader, cursing, FLUUUUFFF GALOOREEEE AWWWUUHHH!!, sexual themes, mostly sfw except for like one steamy part ;), boobie sucking, grinding, soft loving megumi OFCCC, sliight angst but really nothing, all characters are aged up, mentions of reader having ‘pink cheeks’ is only to amplify and over-exaggerate feelings of embarrassment, shyness, and everything in between, and not to be taken literally! this is a work of fiction, and you can imagine many things for yourself :)

word count: 8.8k

authors note: ANNIVERSARY SPEECCCIIAAALLL I AM CRRRYYIINNNGGG!!! i hope you guys enjoy this little side fun mini chapter of sir gumi and reader’s anniversary day, and their endeavors with yuji and readers best friend :333 wanted to give you guys an extra mlb!megumi chapter in celebration of their LUUUUVVV !!! MWAAAHHHHH I LOOOVEE YOUUUU !!! TAKE CAAAREEEE !!! <3333333

i highly advise you to read the other parts of this series or else you won’t be able to understand some of the storyline and references :( you can find my mlb!megumi fushiguro masterlist here!

if you could, you’d fake pass out at this very moment so that way you’d be excused by your professor and get the fuck out of your afternoon lecture right this instant.

but you couldn’t, because attendance was mandatory and you’d lose points upon missing out… and you had an exam next week— which is something you normally just grumbled about and dealt with seeing as it was just a part of being in college, except right now? it was criminal to even think about an upcoming exam like this.

because it was you and megumi’s two year anniversary.

and the only thing you wanted to do was be there with him for the entire day… but because of your classes and megumi having abnormal back to back practices again due to the upcoming world series, you both agreed that you’d drive over to the stadium after your afternoon class and leave together for your little date after he was done.

but even though megumi had practice, you wanted to be at the stadium so fucking badly— watching him pitch and swing and just do what he does best one of your absolute favorite hobbies, the way he plays never getting old and actually illegal to even think that something like that could be a possibility.

you shrunk down in your seat, arms crossed as your professor went over topics about something and guidelines about whatever, you usually paying more attention to the material if it was any regular day but wanting to strangle yourself because the education system was preventing you from being with your man.

your phone lit up suddenly with a notification, you smiling softly to yourself upon realizing who it was and sitting up, grabbing your phone to unlock it.

(gumi <3): how’s class baby

you quickly typed back a response.

(you): do you think if i pretend to pass out right now my professor will excuse me and i can just leave

(gumi <3): lol

(gumi <3): you only have thirty minutes left though right?

(you): okay but gumi what does that have to do with me wanting to pretend to pass out so i can go see you faster

(you): and make fan edits of you while i wait 

(you): I— I MEAN—

(gumi <3): omg

(gumi <3): you’ve made enough of those

(gumi <3): no more

you quietly scoffed in your seat, thumbs rapidly typing away.

(you): gumi i can’t believe you’re not supportive of my extra curricular activities rn

(you): after EVERYTHING i’ve done for you

(you): after all the times i’ve sucked your dick

(you): and i thought you liked my edits :(

megumi took a minute to respond before your phone buzzed again.

(gumi <3): LOL

(gumi <3): i do baby i’m kidding

(gumi <3): and don’t put that image in my head rn

(you): oh??????

(you): and why not???? ;))

(you): boner alert perhaps??? ;))

(you): maybe today during our cute little date you can take me to pound town in the back seat of your car and make me cum and cry all over your dick gumi!!

you shrunk further down in your seat and snickered quietly, funnily shielding your phone to prevent anyone else seated around you in your lecture from seeing the absurd messages on your phone.

(gumi <3): jesus fucking christ

(gumi <3): why are you doing this

(you): because i loooveee youuuu <33

(you): and i can’t wait to seee youuuu <333

(you): maybe i should go to the bathroom rn and send you a boobie pic :P

(gumi <3): please

(gumi <3): fuck wait my breaks over i have to go

(gumi <3): fuck

you mushed a hand over your mouth to prevent yourself from laughing out loud, typing a response.

(you): BAAAAHAHAHAH

(you): OMG IM SO SORRY GUMI

(you): HAVE A GOOD REST OF YOUR PRACTICE OKAY ILL SEE YOU IN A BIT! <3

(gumi <3): do you think if i pretend to pass out coach will excuse me

(you): NO GUMI 

(you): GOOOO

(you): GO PLAY GO PLAY

(gumi <3): god

(gumi <3): fine

(gumi <3): i love you pretty baby i’ll see you 

(gumi <3): and pay attention

(you): i love you too gumiiii !!! <333

(you): NO PROMISES BYE !!!

(you): SMOOOCCCHHHH

you breathed out softly through your nose and set your phone back down, one leg crossing over the other as you impatiently waited and practically glared at the powerpoint slides in front of you, your ankle bouncing and mind drifting off again— double checking over the list of things you and megumi needed for your date instead repeatedly in case you forgot something.

since your anniversary couldn’t be an all day thing, the two of you planned a cute little car picnic date at a star gazing hotspot out in the hills of the city, a place megumi had actually been to before in his childhood with gojo and his sister, and one he said he remembered to be nice and quiet with a good view of the stars, similar to how they looked like when you all went on that trip in the mountains a few months ago with his dad, yuji, and your best friend— the fact only making you overly ecstatic, since megumi suggesting something like that without a little gruff and huff was always a special rare sight to see.

and the only things megumi literally allowed you to bring were the fuzzy blankets and pillows and such, him forbidding you from buying absolutely anything else like snacks, drinks, and the food, saying that he had it and it was okay— simply only chuckling and lightly flicking your forehead when you grumbled and fought with him over it in the hopes that he would let you take care of at least half of the things.

he did not.

“alright i think i’ll stop here for today and let you guys go a little earl—”

you shot up from your desk and shoved your books in your bag, not even letting your professor finish before you were already up and speed walking out of the lecture hall and down your building, thanking the gods above for the thousandth time that megumi’s stadium was only a fifteen minute drive from your campus, and therefore made it so much easier for you to drive on over without difficulties and pretty much whenever the fuck wanted… which was all of the time.

just as you plopped in the drivers seat and chucked your bag to the passengers side, an apparent buzzing vibrated through the right back pocket of your skirt as you reached in to pull it out, your best friend’s name flashing at the top.

“hellooo!” you answered, swinging the door shut and turning on the ignition, the heater unit blasting through the vents and warming up the spiking chilly temperature in your car.

“hi babe!” your best friend greeted. “how far away are you?”

“i just got out of class! i should be there in about ten if i go over the speed limiiit.” you grinned, putting your phone on speaker and setting it down on your lap, backing out of your parking space.

“SHE SAID TEN MINUTES GOING OVER THE SPEED LIMIT MEGU— what?! i can’t— i can’t hear you idiot you’re across the fucking field!—”

you laughed loudly as you drove out of your campus parking lot, zooming down the street and going the usual route to his stadium.

“oh my— megumi ordered and yelled at me to call you to see how far you were babe.” she sighed. “when is this man ever gonna treat me fairly this is ridiculous— WHAT?! TELL HER WHAT?!—”

“i’m about eight minutes away now!” you laughed. “tell him that please i’m almost there—”

“WAIT SHE SAID SHE’S EIGHT MINUTES AWA— oh my god okay megumi says not to go over the speed limit and to park next to him in the players parking lot.”

“tell him i said watching him play baseball is more important than the law i don’t give a—”

“SHE SAID WATCHING YOU PLAY BASEBALL IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN THE LAW— oh he’s coming. save yourself and hang up y/n he’s coming— YUJI GET HIM HE’S GONNA TAKE MY PHONE— ARGH STOP!—”

“—go over the speed limit and see what happens.”

a different deeper voice muttered over the line, partially out of breath and one you instantly recognized to be megumi’s as you giggled.

“gumi the speed limit is a social construct and if i don’t get to watch you play for the last thirty minutes of practice i’m gonna gauge my eyeballs out.”

“baseball’s also a social construct.” he deadpanned. “and you watch me play all of the time baby don’t speed you drive like a fucking street racer sometimes.”

“but isn’t it cool and sexy that i do? eehh?” you quipped in a silly way. “and i don’t care how many times i’ve seen you play gumi… i still need to be admitted into a mental facility each time it’s embarrassing.”

he chuckled softly.

“you almost here?”

“yeah! i’m just pulling into the stadium i’m going over to your structure right now.”

“okay.” he spoke. “park next to me please.”

“—megumi i told her that already—”

“can you not eavesdrop—”

“—if it has to do with y/n fuck no—”

“—okay!” you sputtered while shifting your gear to park and turning off the ignition, cutting their bickering off. “i’m here gumi i’m gonna walk to the stadium now.”

“alright i’ll see you baby.” 

“i’ll see you!—”

“your phone time’s revoked asswipe give me my device right now—”

“—can you mind your fucking business for two seconds—”

“NO!—”

you winced and hung up the phone, shaking your head amusedly as you grabbed your keys and stepped out of the car before locking it, walking your way over across the parking structure and to the entrance of the stadium, maneuvering through various hallways and corners like muscle memory and politely saying hello to some of the team’s staff that you recognized as you walked.

you passed through the main hall— megumi’s giant glorious handsome portrait still displayed proudly against the wall amongst his other teammates, prestigious awards and trophies in glass frames and casings littering the room from practically top to bottom as you happily moved through the hall, passing by the same bench that you first unknowingly and officially met megumi in while you were embarrassingly crying your eyes out over him— a treasured memory that you swoon over every now and then at the way he kindly gave you his sunglasses to hide your big fat tears.

you hoped that megumi’s management never replaced that freaking bench, as you wanted to put a plaque on it in commemoration of you and your emo man, knowing that if they ever did you’d be at those stadium doors first thing in the morning to grab and take it home with you to keep.

upon opening the doors to the stadium, you continued on down the steps as you looked on ahead and squinted your eyes, distant hollers and the clanking of bats echoing through the otherwise peaceful atmosphere, several players out on the field practicing and pitching but none being megumi as you reached the bottom and went inside the bullpen, expecting to see your best friend sitting there and possibly still fighting with your boyfriend, but faltering instead.

because megumi was sat there on the bench by himself with his baseball cap on… waiting for you, a bouquet of pretty pink tulips in his arms as he looked straight over the field with an emotionless gaze, his head snapping to you once he heard you coming in and standing up, his face gradually warming.

pink tulips were your favorite.

“gumi…” you spoke softly, astonished and mushy inside as you grabbed the bouquet from him, it neatly tucked in brown paper wrap and pretty pink tule with a little matching bow around the stems to tie it off, the paper crinkling in your arms.

“hi.”

“oh my— these are gorgeous baby thank you!” you gushed, your cheeks hot and you absolutely beaming as you swung your unoccupied arm around his neck and brought him in, pecking his slightly sweaty cheek repeatedly as he huffed out a breathy laugh and pulled you to him.

“you’re welcome.” he murmured, cheek lightly resting against the side of your head as you smiled.

“you really didn’t have to gumi you bought basically everything for today…” you spoke softly, bringing your head back a bit to look at him.

he shrugged.

“so.”

you scoffed. “so? you don’t let me do anything and i feel oppressed.”

he snorted, playfully rolling his eyes and kissing your forehead. 

dramatic.

“it’s fine baby.”

“okay but it’s not.” you grumbled lowly, and the corners of his lips quirked up, taking a tiny step back as he released you and lifted a hand, gently pinching your cheek.

“you look really pretty.”

your pout slid into a cheeky smile, a cute blush rising to your cheeks.

“thank you gumi!” you readjusted the bouquet in your arms and shyly looked away, his direct dark blue eyes on you still nerve wracking even after two years. 

“h— how come you’re not on the field?”

“oh.” megumi’s gaze shifted to his playing teammates. “i wanted to give you the tulips before going back out.”

your eyes softened, chest clenching as you stood up on your tippy toes and gave him a little kiss.

“you’re so nice…” you murmured. 

“i—”

“fushiguro i need you back on the field!”

megumi huffed and rolled his eyes at his coach interrupting his time with you, hands reluctantly dropping from your waist as he took a step back.

“m’sorry baby...” he sighed tiredly, lifting his cap up from his spiky hair and adjusting it back on. “practice is almost over i promise.”

you frantically shook your head. “no gumi it’s okay don’t apologize! go please though i don’t want you to get in trouble.”

he nodded, quickly pecking your cheek before stepping out of the bullpen and back out on the field, turning his body slightly just as he reached the home plate and raising a hand to you as a little goodbye, shifting his attention to his coach and the rest of his teammates once he saw you give him one back.

you walked over to the benches then and sat, your eyes happily watching the mock game unfold as you settled your pretty bouquet carefully over your lap.

“please tell me you guys are done it’s fucking cold up here in the stands—”

your head shot to the side and you instantly smiled, your best friend popping her head in from the bullpen entrance and shivering.

“heyyy! oh my god yes come come—” you scooched over and patted the spot next to you, her trodding over and plopping down.

“let me seeeee!” she squealed and nudged your shoulder with hers, gesturing to your tulips as you lit up and turned the bouquet in her direction, her jaw dropping.

“i hate him but he’s good.” she muttered, shaking her head as you laughed and lightly hit her arm. 

megumi ran through a few bases, passing by the bullpen and stopping at a base closest to it with remnants of brown dirt puffing and swirling through the air, him looking over his shoulder at you briefly before turning back to the game.

“he does so much for me that i feel like a big fat loser that does mediocre for him.” you spoke worriedly, and your girl friend looked at you bewilderedly.

“are you kidding? y/n you being with him is enough jesus that man is an ogre—”

you flicked her forehead and she cackled, pushing your hand away.

“i’m sorry! i’m sorry i’m joking… kind of…whatever— babe you literally do so much let him dote on you like this… that man loves you.”

you pursed your lips to suppress a giddy smile.

“plus after the pain and torture we both went through with your high school boyfriend christ—”

“oh my god don’t remind me.” you mumbled, shifting your attention back to the field. “he sucked so bad.”

she laughed. “and it took you forever to realize that he was a loser y/n… you gave him too much and he gave you absolutely nothing.”

you solemnly nodded, the feeling of miserable regret filling your body.

“granted i think megumi’s also a loser.” she continued, and you playfully glared. “but! he’s a different kind of loser. he’s good for you babe… and you’re super good for him.”

you grinned brightly at her, set your bouquet to the side, and threw your arms around her shoulders, bringing her in a tight hug as she laughed loudly and held you back with just as much love.

“have fun on your anniversary date tonight!” your girl friend exclaimed. “you guys are still going to that stargazing spot right?”

“mhm!” you nodded. “we’re going up in his car and setting up the backseat once we get there.”

“are you guys getting freaky too back there?—”

your head snapped ahead to find yuji leaning against the gate of the bullpen on the other side, your eyes wide and mortified as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestingly.

“h—huh?—”

“eehhh?” your best friend matched her boyfriends expression, her eyes twinkling and mischievous. “valid question yu! what are you wearing under your outfit let me see—”

you yelped as your best friend pulled and tugged at the collar of your chunky knitted sweater, basically shoving her head through to see what you had on and you pushing on her shoulders to try and get her away.

“stop you sicko!—”

“y/n why the fuck don’t you have a lingerie set under here—”

“oh my god shut your mouth right now—”

megumi curiously turned his head over to the commotion by the bullpen, jaw dropping and eyes growing big in absolute dumb struck horror as he watched your best friend basically trying to strip your sweater off of you, and yuji just standing there and watching like a fucking pervert—

“itadori!” he barked, and yuji jumped a whopping fifteen feet in the air, swiveling around to face him.

“oh hey man!— WHAT THE FU—”

megumi hurled a literal baseball at him and yuji dove out of the way, the ball hitting against the gate of the bullpen as you and your best friend jumped at the slamming noise.

“the fuck are you guys doing?!” megumi yelled, arms out in emphasis as he quickly strode over with pinched brows.

he looked to you as soon as he properly reached the bullpen, the collar of your sweater stretched out over an exposed shoulder with your black bra literally peeking out, your pretty eyes wide and downright alarmed as your best friend still had an iron tugging grip on your sweater.

megumi’s gaze hardened, switching to your girl friend.

“get off.”

he looked to yuji, his legs wobbling in fear as he used the gaps of the bullpen gate to lift himself up from the dirt.

“close your fucking eyes—”

“yes sir fushiguro sir!—”

“what?!” your best friend exclaimed. “megumi if you guys are gonna fuck in the backseat she needs to be looking scrumptious—”

his face paled and his cheeks turned a vibrant pink simultaneously.

“why are you guys always like this?” he muttered exasperatedly, stepping inside the bullpen now and pushing her off of you, your girl friend scoffing as megumi pulled your collar back over your shoulder and fixed your sweater for you, your lips clamped shut as you tried your best to refrain yourself from laughing.

“oh my bad. thought the perv in you would thank my services—”

“why the hell would i thank you for stripping my girlfriend in front of the entire fucking team—”

“—y/n i literally think i have a lingerie set in my car i’ll give it to you it’s new i just bought it to show yuji—”

you gasped. 

“wait really?! what color? i wanted to wear one but i didn’t want to show up to class with it—”

megumi’s eyes bulged and shot to you, mouth opening and closing like an idiot.

“i think it’s red but i’m pretty sure your tits are bigger than mine lemme see—”

your best friend yanked your collar again and you screamed as megumi grabbed you and pulled you up against his chest, shielding you away from your lunatic girl friend as she cackled and pointed at megumi.

“megumi’s getting a boonneeerrrr!—”

his eyes frantically switched between her and yuji— his hands still tightly clasped over his eyes.

“what kind of sick fucks are you both?!”

you giggled uncontrollably over his appalled menacing face, your laughter muffling up against his uniform.

“us?!” your best friend yelled. “don’t get me started on you! i saw that text you sent y/n last week asking to send a video of her fi—”

“oh god babe don’t finish that sentence also can i open my eyes now you guys—”

“itadori! fushiguro! huddle up!”

yuji timidly seperated his fingers and looked at the group, hands dropping and a wide smile spreading once he realized you weren’t half naked anymore.

“off we go fushiguro!” he quipped, turning and the dirt crackling beneath his cleats as he walked. “boss man wants us—”

“i heard him.” megumi grumbled, arms loosening from their hold around you as they slid and fell at his sides, his face just plain out annoyed and over it, and you smiled sweetly at him.

“it’s okay!” you poked his cheek. “i’ll wait for you here while you guys finish up? or do you want me to go inside the locker rooms already?”

“go to the locker rooms baby.” he mumbled. “it’s cold.”

you nodded, and he placed a hand on your head with the tiniest smile, heading out of the bullpen after and jogging up to the rest of his teammates for regrouping and final announcements.

your best friend swung a heavy arm around your shoulders and you both made your way to the exit just as you grabbed your bouquet again, walking up the steps of the stands and down a few corridors and pathways until you reached the echoey hallway, the teams locker room coming into view as you pushed the heavy door open and went in.

“do you still want my lingerie set?” your girl friend asked, fixing her hair in front of one of the big mirrors. “we could still try and see if it fits but your boobs are huge compared to mine—”

you laughed and waved her off. “it’s okay babe! thank you though… i don’t think we’re gonna do anything like that out in the open and in the middle of nowhere…”

she shrugged, sending you a little smirk through the mirror. “megumi’s a weirdo. so i think you in fact will.”

you shot her a funny glare and walked to your boyfriends locker while placing your pretty bouquet down on the bench— turning the little knob around and hitting the numbers that made up his locker combination, the metal clinking open and you opening it to organize his clothes and equipment like you usually did.

you dragged his heavy duffel bag out and unzipped it, rummaging around a little to find the clothes that he had packed for your date today— spotting his thick black crewneck and gray cargo pants as you took them out and folded them neatly on the bench in front of you, setting the rest of the things he needed to the side and perking up once you heard distant chattering and banter, several players starting to pile in as you shot a few polite smiles, stepping over the bench and plopping down to wait for megumi.

“i said no.”

“pleeeaaasee!” yuji begged, the two of them emerging from the entryway as you lit up at the sight of your grumpy man, his agitated eyes to the floor as he trudged over. “i thought we were best friends fushiguro. brothers if you will—”

“no.”

“pleaaaseee!—”

“what does he want?” you laughed softly, megumi’s eyes coming up and moving to his tidily folded clothes that you had set for him on the bench, his gaze softening.

“nothing bab—”

“wrestle!” yuji wailed, dramatically leaning his entire weight on your best friend in a hug as she dumbfoundedly reciprocated, patting his back. “i wanted to see who’s strongest…”

“babe go change you’re sweaty—”

“not until fushiguro wrestles with me—”

“no.”

“whyyy?!”

you giggled loudly, hand over your mouth as megumi sent you a small close lipped smile and stepped over the bench to his locker, taking off his baseball cap and hanging it inside.

“because it’s stupid.” he mumbled, and yuji scoffed.

“wrestling is the ultimate sport for strategy, discipline and character how could any of that be stupid—”

“yu change i wanna go homeee!” your best friend whined, trying to pry him off of her. “i’ll wrestle with you.”

yuji sprung up and grinned. “will you actually?! i won’t go easy babe i can’t play favorites—”

“yes now move—”

“if i win can you suck my di—”

megumi flung his deodorant at yuji’s head and rolled his eyes as he cried out and pouted, the little container clattering against the ground.

“gumi!” you gasped. “be nice please.”

he sighed softly through his nose, unbuttoning his jersey as he begrudgingly and briefly looked over his shoulder.

“sorry.”

“oh wait what was that?” you girl friend spoke up. “i think you need to speak up a little megumi! can’t hear you.”

“i said sorry.” he spat, and she smiled, satisfied.

“you’re forgiven! thanks!”

megumi grumbled as he shook his jersey off and long sleeve underneath with it, his little chain with his promise ring dangling out around his collar, and you shamelessly and obviously drooling over his bare toned frame then as he sorted through his clothes and got his things ready for the shower— the locker room emptying out now and only one or two players remaining besides the lot of you.

you extended a hand out, wanting megumi to give you his jersey and long sleeve as he shifted his attention to you.

“what baby.”

“i’ll put it in the laundry bin for you!” you spoke sweetly. “so you can go shower.”

his heart squeezed as he shook his head. “s’okay. just wait for me.”

“gumi the laundry room’s just down the hall.” you laughed, taking his uniform from him. “i’ll be quick.”

he pursed his lips, feeling like you’ve already done more than enough for him and him just dicking around and playing ball for hours this entire time, wanting to get your date started so he could spend time with you and give you the things he wanted to give you, and not be around idiot insane people anymore (yuji and your best friend).

“sit down please.” he mumbled.

your jaw dropped.

“i’m being oppressed again—”

“we’ll see you guys tomorrow!” your girl friend smiled, coming over and giving you a hug as yuji went to put a hand on megumi’s shoulder. “have fun on your date! and happy anniversaryyy!”

“thank youuuu!” you responded kindly, hugging her back and swaying funnily, letting her go after and looking to her boyfriend. “drive safe yuji okay?”

“will do!” he smiled brightly, wrapping a friendly arm around your shoulders and pulling you in. “have fun you guys. and don’t get mauled by bears.”

you snorted, the both of you pulling back and waving at each other with final goodbyes before they turned and began walking to the exit, now the only ones left in the locker rooms being you and megumi. 

“text me if you have sex in the back y/n!”

“oh my god!—” you miserably dropped your head in your hands as your girl friends vulgar sentence literally echoed throughout the hallway outside, anyone within a one inch radius able to hear it as megumi laughed quietly, the doors to the locker room officially closing.

“your best friend is clinically insane.”

you giggled, nudging him away playfully and him catching your wrist just as you did so, tugging you in and wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

“no she’s not.” you smiled cutely, your little cheek pressed up against the warm skin of his chest as he looked at you. “she’s honest. and lovely.”

“and deluded.”

“gumi!”

“sorry.”

he craned his neck down and kissed you, every tense muscle in his body giving away and slowly oozing into a state of peace as your soft lips moved with his, megumi finally having you to himself for the night so he could properly get your anniversary going.

he pulled away and patted your head.

“m’gonna shower really quick baby.”

“okay!” you smiled. “can i sit by the shower with you? heh.”

he chuckled and nodded, interlocking his fingers with yours and pulling you towards the shower room— a spacious and modern area with individual stalls and little plushy sofas across from them, megumi leading you to one as you sat down and took his fresh pair of clothes from him to set on your lap.

“remember when i fucked you in here.”

“gumi!” you gasped as your face grew red. “okay but which time because my favorite time was two weeks ago when you bent me over th—”

he laughed, the boyish sound bouncing off the tile walls as he shook his head with a little faint blush to his cheeks, fingers coming down to unbutton his pants and your hands flying to cover over your eyes, him pausing and looking at you quizzically.

“what.”

“i’m giving you privacy gumi. something you wouldn’t know about in regards to me.”

he scoffed.

“kay fine. i’ll stop asking—”

“no!” you yelled, hands clasping together like a prayer. “don’t finish that sentence i don’t wanna know i don’t need to know whatever it is continue doing it—”

megumi rolled his eyes with a smile, taking off the rest of his clothes and you squeaking as you covered your line of sight again, the sound of the shower running with the door closing an indicator to you that the coast was clear for you to look, hands coming down as they settled over megumi’s clean clothes.

and he literally took less than five minutes to shower… or maybe it was because your little endless chattering made the time go by faster or the fact that you always took close to an hour, but he was out of there with a towel around his delicious waist before you could even realize and on the way out to change into his outfit.

megumi straight from the shower was always an interesting sight to see, for the usual spikes in his jet black hair were nonexistent for the time being as his hair just laid flat, and he almost looked like an entirely different man as you stood on the other side of the bench behind him while he sat tying his shoe laces, you drying his hair with a small white hand towel.

“i’m really excited for tonight gumi!” you cheesed. “oh! and i brought my laptop too incase you wanted to watch a movieeee.”

he straightened up from his hunched over position and stood, turning around to kiss your head in gratitude before taking the towel from you and drying off the last bit of his hair.

“sounds good baby.” he grabbed his duffel bag and swung it over his shoulder, keys hooked from one of his belt loops on his pants as he offered his hand out to you on the way out of the locker room, you happily taking it and interlacing your fingers in the hallway, the both of you walking on to leave the stadium with your bouquet in your arm, making a quick pit stop at the laundry room first to toss his uniform and towels in one of the various hampers, leaving and going through the main hall hand in hand after with the building basically vacant now— not a single player, staff, or management member around as you moved your way down corridors to the exit, entering the parking garage.

megumi grabbed his keys and clicked a button upon reaching the players parking lot area, his shiny black car beeping and flickering its lights and him opening the door to the backseat to throw his stuff in, you catching a glimpse of the piles of grocery bags filled with chips, snacks, pastries and such as you smiled, unlocking your own vehicle and opening your trunk as megumi did his.

he swiftly stepped in and grabbed your blankets and a few pillows, transferring them over to his car and you setting your bouquet down in the back, throwing in a few other things.

“oh gumi!” 

“hm?”

you opened your drivers side door and reached in, megumi peering around from his open trunk to look at you.

“i got us a little lunchbox cake!” you pulled out a small white cake carrier and showed him. “and a number two candle too so we can light it!”

“oh nice baby.” he calmly smiled, reaching into the pocket of his cargo pants and pulling out his wallet.

you blinked.

“what are you doing?”

he gave you a confused look, opening the folds and taking out a few twenty dollar bills.

“for the cake.”

“what?!” you frantically shook your head. “no i got this for us—”

he scoffed, extending his arm out to you regardless with a pile of bills in hand that was way over the initial cost of the little cake, your jaw running slack.

“oh absolutely not sir i’m not taking that—”

“take it.”

“nope!”

“y/n.”

“nuh uh.”

megumi sighed and retracted his hand. “i’m putting it in your purse—”

“if you put it in my purse i swear to god i’m never letting you see me naked ever again—”

he froze and narrowed his eyes at you, you standing there with a shit eating grin as you tilted your head.

“just get in the car.” he grumbled, slamming his trunk shut and doing the same with yours, you cheering in your head and lighting up over your win as you opened his passenger side door and got in, completely unaware of megumi choosing to take his chances and shove the bills in your purse anyways.

the car ride there was a whopping one hour, seeing as the stargazing hotspot was in the middle of the bustling city where megumi’s apartment was around, your boyfriend making frequent stops at various food places to pick up the food he had ordered for the picnic, and you still fighting with him over the fact that he should let you pay at least half, him just laughing at your huffs and puffs until he simmered you down to a mere grumble with a kiss to your cheek.

“i don’t care how many times i’ve done it there isn’t a limit.” 

megumi backed in reverse once he found a good spot for you both on the hill, looking behind through his rear view window with a hand on the back of your headrest.

“but you have to let me pay sometimes gumi.” you sighed softly. “i feel like im freeloading off of your millions and doing fucking nothing.”

he gave you a bewildered look.

“first of all.” he shifted his gear into park. “you do everything so don’t give me that. second of all—”

he unlocked the car and you both got out, the trunk latching open on its own as you walked over.

“you’re not supposed to pay baby.” he stared at you sincerely, a little crease in between his brows. “ever. i don’t care.”

he unhooked the backseats and pushed them down, the trunk now extending even wider and leaving plenty of space for the two of you to set up your picnic, your shoes off and down below next to the car.

“i just—” you struggled, shaking out the blankets and splaying them out. “i worry that it’ll bother you eventually…”

“it won’t.” he responded firmly, yet still gentle. “did your ex-boyfriend make you feel bad about it? is that why?”

you froze.

“no…”

he looked over his shoulder just as he set a pillow down, dark blue eyes staring you down.

“wow i’m so hungry right now gumi are you—”

“i heard what your best friend said during practice about him.” he set a few more pillows down. “she talks like a linebacker.”

you laughed, grabbing the box of fairy lights you had brought and pulling them out, untangling them by sections.

megumi never really asked too in detail about your ex, just because he knew he’d get bitter and bothered by the thought of it, and the only things he really knew was that he was a moron who said you were a blabbermouth and didn’t treat you right at all, your three and a half year relationship with him in high school one megumi wished he could erase entirely.

but now with the way you squirmed and stared off into space in avoidance over this particular topic… he was curious.

just how bad was he?

“did he pay for your dates or did you.”

you fiddled with a little fairy light bulb.

“well— he did… but then we started splitting it… and then i started paying…”

megumi shook his head, reaching for the grocery bags and taking out the snacks he’d bought.

“why.”

you finished untangling the cord and reached up, looping the lights around through the grab handles of the car.

“i don’t really know…” you mumbled. “but i felt bad because he always did initially pay… so i was just giving back. but then—”

you looped it through the last handle and grabbed the battery box.

“i remember one time he asked me if we could split the bill on our anniversary dinner.”

megumi stopped.

“and then every time he did pay for me he would say side joking comments like— ‘are you gonna pay this time? are you gonna take care of the bill? since i bought you dinner are you gonna buy me this?’ blah blah—”

megumi was looking directly at you at this point, eyebrows furrowed and with slightly parted lips as he slowly set up the food and listened.

“and i don’t mess around when it comes to things like money.” you finished off screwing the battery box after putting a fresh pair in, switching the small lever and the fairly lights twinkling to life. “i appreciated so much every time he did pay so i just felt like i was— i don’t know i just felt guilty. his side comments made me feel a little awkward…”

you scooched over and sat back on your ankles next to megumi, helping him with the groceries.

“i remember one time too for valentine’s day, we had gone out to eat dinner and he paid with his usual side comment… but when we got back to his place i had given him his gift and he hadn’t gotten anything for me at all.”

“huh?” he spoke up. “did he give you flowers at least?”

you shook your head, a little sad look on your face.

“he told me my gift was dinner… which again i did really appreciate that he paid. and he never really got me flowers either unless it was for special occasions like anniversaries… so once a year?”

megumi was in complete and utter disbelief.

how in the ever living fuck were you ever with a guy like that for so long? a girl like you whom he literally worshipped the shit out of the ground you walked on, the thought of you being so incredibly sweet and doting and selfless for some dumb fuck who just took advantage of your kindness again aggravating megumi, him chucking the pastries he bought out of the bags one by one bitterly and you blinking at him.

“what a fucking idiot.”

you giggled, nodding in agreement as you both finished setting up, you crawling and sitting down by the mountain of fluffy pillows as you extended an arm out for him.

“that’s why i just get nervous gumi…” you spoke softly, pulling him to lay down next to you as you looked at the beading stars through his open sun roof, the view and landscape of the sparkling city below insane as megumi slid an am around your shoulders, nudging you to lay on his chest. “i don’t wanna end up bothering you or upsetting you about it and repeating the cycle so—”

“oh god baby no…” he looked at you, squeezing your shoulder. “you realize all of that was because he’s a loser right.”

“yeah to an extent—”

“no not to an extent.” megumi cut you off. “i know for a fact he never did anything for you… and for him to do shit like that on top of it is crazy.”

you slid a slow arm across his torso and held him tighter.

“i do what i do because i love you… and because you deserve it. and because i’m supposed to.”

you smiled big, your heart hammering in your chest as you slung your leg across his lap and straddled him then, megumi’s hands instantly coming to settle on your waist as you gave him a cute wicked look.

“i’m tired of talking about him, but you know what else you’re supposed to do?”

the side of his lip curled.

“what pretty baby.”

“make out with me.”

he laughed, a shiny smile on his face as he reached a hand up and brushed your hair over your shoulder, cupping your face after and bringing you down to his level.

“if you tell me you love me.”

you giggled.

“i love you gumi.”

megumi brought you in then and kissed you, light little smacks and wet lips parting and moving as your noses brushed against each other’s delicately, his thumb running gently over your cheek as you readjusted and leaned in, deepening the kiss and megumi parting his lips wider as a result to drink more of you down.

your hips subconsciously rutted downward, him taking a sharp breath in through his nose as he responded and lifted his crotch up, meeting with yours and grinding sensually with every steamy exchange of your soft plush lips on his, both of his hands quickly going down to grab your smooth thighs and knead them.

megumi suddenly slid a fast hand up your chunky sweater to cup your tit, you squeaking and trying to pull your lips off of his so you could speak, but him only chasing after your mouth and trapping you in.

“wait what if— mmph!—” 

“hm?” 

he forced your hips down again and you both moaned at the stimulation.

“what if someone walks by there’s a— fuck— there’s a few cars not too far—”

“don’t care.”

“gumi!—”

he yanked your bra cup down and your tit spilled out, his head diving in under your sweater and popping your nipple in his mouth, both of your hips still grinding and rocking against each others as you dazedly tried to look around for any passing people.

you tried to pull off and megumi yanked your other bra cup down, jerking you roughly to him as your weight gave out underneath you and you basically fell on him, his face fully submerged and stuffed in your puffy tits that he nearly lost it and came in his pants.

lewd slobbering sounds filled the car as he sucked and laid his tongue flat all over your boobs, your shuttering gasps and whines making his dick rock fucking solid in his pants as he continued to make out with your chest, relishing in the feeling of your panties running up and down his crotch and your pretty little skirt exposing your ass.

“baby i’m flashing the city please—”

“m’gonna stick my dick in.”

“no!” you whined, your clit pulsing with every rut from his hips. “when we get home when we get home please it’ll be so obvious we’re having sex if we do—”

he bit the fat of your tit and you yelped.

“it’s our anniversary.”

“i— i know gumi but there’s people!—”

he groaned and let your tits go with a pop, head falling back on the pillows as he looked at you with a dead look— knowing you were completely and absolutely right but refusing to believe it because he was fucking horny, the only conscious brain cell that he had left telling him to just wait and that he’d actually cum in his pants if he kept going.

a tiny smirk spread across his face.

“thought you texted me that i could take you to pound town in the backseat of my car.” 

you blushed, totally forgetting you did that.

“y—yes but—”

“and that you were gonna send me a picture of your tits.”

“i—”

“you lying to me baby?”

“no!” you sputtered. “no gumi we’re still gonna have sex just not here!”

he laughed loudly and nodded, pinching your cheek as he fixed your bra and pulled your sweater down, sitting up a bit.

“i’m kidding s’okay.” he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “m’taking pictures of you when we get to my apartment though.”

“huh?!” you exclaimed, your face buzzing with embarrassment but need at the same time. “what— what kind—”

he poked your side. 

“naked.”

your jaw dropped.

“legs spread with—”

“okay i get it i get it!—”

you slapped your hands over his mouth and muffled the rest of his sentence, desperate to get him to stop.

“i have your gift i have your gift open your gift!—”

megumi rolled his eyes and licked his slimy tongue on your palms, you snatching your hands away and giggling as you wiped them on his sweater.

“i told you not to get me anything.”

“too bad!” you grinned, pecking his cheek before swinging yourself off of his lap and reaching into the passengers seat. “close your eyes!”

he sighed softly, a small smile on his face as he complied, hearing slight tissue paper rustlings and things moving before he felt you next to him again.

“okay open!”

his long lashes lifted, eyes growing soft at the ginormous basket you made him— his favorite candies and chips neatly propped up inside with a little baseball teddy bear that had ‘cool baseball man’ embroidered across its jersey, a framed silly picture of the two of you from one of the nights you slept over at his place, various volumes of his current favorite manga wrapped in black tissue paper along with a lego race car set, and a separate shoe box next to the basket— a brand new pair of baseball cleats that he had been specifically eyeing and needing to buy, and knowing that it was ridiculously expensive too as his bulging eyes shot up to your giddy ones.

“baby—” his words got caught in his throat, shaking his head. “baby thank you but you didn’t have to get anything seriously—”

“the fuck.” you snorted. “yes i did! do you likeeee?”

you pushed the shoe box towards him.

“did i get the right ones? these are the cleats you’ve been wanting right?”

he nodded dumbly. “y—yeah but they’re expensive i don’t want you spending this much.”

“gumi money is a social construct.” you smiled. “but my love for you isn’t… it’s bible! happy anniversary!”

megumi looked down and slowly took the little grizzly bear out of the basket, everything you gave him absolutely perfect and filled with the things he loved, but the custom bear with the nickname you always called him— the same one he adored ever since you first said it, somehow pulling at his heart strings more than anything else.

“i love you.” he mumbled. “thank you.”

you beamed, leaning over and pecking his lips.

“because you do everything for me gumi.” you spoke. “i can’t thank you enough for the things you do for me… and i love you.”

a cute pink blush rose to his cheeks as his gaze stayed locked on the bear, feeling his throat closing up from how much you were affecting him at the moment.

he sent you a smile.

“can i give you mine?”

you stopped.

“what? i thought the pretty tulips were my gift?”

he snorted, giving you a look.

“no you dummy.” 

he reached under one of the seats, pulling gift bag after gift bag after gift bag from somewhere as he placed them all in a line in front of you, a shocked look on your face as you looked at the amount of tissue paper and packaging that was in your line of sight.

“holy shit.” you flashed him a growing dazzling smile. “are you— for me? actually?”

he nodded.

“guummiii!!” you flung your arms around his neck and pulled him in a tight hug, rubbing your cheek on his head side to side in a silly way before you let go and sat back on your ankles again, him chuckling at your excitement.

“i don’t even—” your eyes darted around. “i don’t even know which one—”

one by one you unraveled each wrapping and tore open each bag, your lap filling up with things that you fucking loved as you tried not to cry between opening each gift— pretty intricate coquette bottled perfumes that you liked to collect everywhere as you knew they were also a pretty penny (so him complaining about his cleats was dumb), cute mary jane pumps and makeup you needed as well as new that you’d been wanting, silver and gold sparkling jewelry that resided in small boxes and wrapped in pretty pink bows, sweaters and cute tops and just fucking everything as you ended up a crying snotting mess at the end of it anyways, him laughing at you.

because each item were things that you needed, things that you knew he couldn’t have possibly known unless he was truly paying attention to the things you were saying and the things you were looking at… this moment proving that he most definitely was.

and a crazy wicked amount too— because some of the items in front of you were even things you had merely mentioned once and done with, accompanied by others that you babbled on about whenever you could.

“gumi we can have sex right now let’s have sex i don’t care—”

he laughed for the millionth time and shot his hands out, literally trying to pull you off of him as you lunged and leaned your entire weight on him, practically fighting him by the end of it as you giggled and tried to get in his pants.

“you’re harassing me.” he mumbled, and you scoffed.

“like you don’t do this to me everyday of my living life— eek!”

megumi bit your cheek and you pushed on his chest to get him away, him not budging as his nibbling travelled down to your neck as you gasped for air laughing at how much that was tickling you, and him knowing that was what usually set you off into a giggle fit, your stomach aching and him dodging your hits and swings, but both of your hearts full from a days worth of complete and utter unconditional love.

and neither of you would have it any other way as you shared the food and pastries you bought, stuffing your faces full of chocolates and mochi specifically as you both had insane sweet tooth’s and weren’t ashamed of it, chatted on about future plans and your excitement for megumi and the upcoming world series, and you elated for the holiday season too that was fast approaching, your little mind already thinking of gifts and plans and decisions because your boyfriend’s birthday was coming up as well.

and you wanted to do everything you possibly could to make it special.

for he made you feel that everyday.

especially now in this moment, the little heart shaped lunchbox cake you bought with ‘happy 2nd anniversary’ in cursive still looking fucking delicious even after you and megumi had just downed an entire pack of brownies, megumi lightning up the number two candle as you pushed it in the cake, and the both of you sweetly pecking lips as you held up the cake in between the two of you and him snapping a picture with his phone— candid and lovely and everything you’d both ever wanted in your lives rightfully yours right then and there.

happiness. love. 

and your hearts were swelling with everything you had built for the past two years, and swelling in anticipation for the hopes and curiosity of what else the two of you would continue to build… something you only hoped would last forever and ever and that you got to count and spend even more anniversaries with megumi from this point forward.

with nothing less, nothing extra, and just like this.

for a million more november’s to come.

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