#For Instance a School Life of Despair Like This One

[anime-to-the-t]

[simpjaes]

MILF HUNT! ― P.JS

Jay, a favorite among classy wives to hire during the hot summer season for a nice, thorough pool cleaning, seems to have a favorite wife of his own.  You.  Or the one where Jay was the pain-in-your-ass son of the family you used to babysit for, but now he’s making it his mission to be the pain-in-your-ass pretend husband that you never asked for, but very clearly need. 

minors dni 

PAIRING ― park jongseong x afab milf!reader  

WORDCOUNT― 18.9k

CONTENT―  age gap: reader is 29 and jay is 22, milf trope/single mother reader, college pool boy jay (turned part time babysitter), reader has 1 kid and jay really wants to give her another, reader has morals!! jay just doesn’t see it as a moral issue, he is actually very sweet 

!WARNINGS! ―  age gap, jay is somewhat of a manipulator, he’s gentle but won’t take no for an answer. dub-con in one instance. major breeding kink and kind of a mommy and daddy kink (domesticity), angst regarding reader and her ex husband, reader has huge tits 

NOTE ― this was supposed to be a toxic jay fic but it turned into this instead because i love him so bad…………. NOT PROOF READ, mind the typos. i'm insane for him.

nsfw tags under cut

nsfw tags― big dick jay, masturbation, small instance of dubious consent, tit obsessed jay, groping and grinding, mommy/daddy kink, breeding kink, unprotected sex, cum stuffing-ish, pussy eating, fingering, basically it’s jay doing stuff to you, this ain’t smut this is making love, also reader doesn’t shave her coochie and jay fucking loves it.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Having a stray eye isn’t typically something you afford yourself when it comes to men. Things tend to change with time though, that much you know is true. 

It was proven to you for the first time when your ex husband decided to up and leave you three weeks before your due date for a woman–well, girl, fresh out of high school. Years of trust and promises crushed with just a single sentence and a slam of the door. Time must’ve changed you for him to leave so heartlessly. Time must’ve changed him to become so cold. 

 It was proven again when you were able to heal despite never believing you could. Seconds of pain turned to minutes, to hours. Days. weeks. Months. Years of pain before being able to wake up and feel somewhat numb to it all. Like a flip switch in your head that told you that you can be happy now even if as a single mother. After all, the hard part was over. 

It took some four to five years, but it did happen. Time did change you, it healed you, it matured you. As your child grew, so did you. And for the better, you think. You count your blessings of living a life far more lavish than you ever could have anticipated given the circumstances that had been thrown at you. Even to the point of nesting, wanting another child, wanting a big and happy family. But alas, your ex husband had better things to do. 

At the end of the day, you’d never be able to call this home yours if you had stayed with your ex husband. He didn’t like this kind of “flashy” lifestyle, and to him, everything you wanted seemed too flashy for him. Perhaps he was right to some extent, as you recognize the brand name goods you now own, solely because you had promised yourself in the depths of your despair that you’ll get to a point in life where you can buy yourself everything you not only need, but want. So, here you are, owning an expensive home, in a nice neighborhood, with a nice car and a nice pool. 

Your daughter has everything she could want and need too, aside from a sibling, it’s certainly still more than what you had growing up and it’s all because of you. A fully decorated bedroom drenched in glitter, purples, creams, yellows, and pink, her favorite color. All sorts of play houses, costumes, dolls, a few lego sets, and even some plastic swords and knives for the days she wants to pretend to be her favorite movie characters. Clothes she can grow into, and a nice little fund building up for her as she grows up. Her first car, college, help for a down payment on her own first house. 

Both of you have everything you could ever want or need and for that, you’re so proud. Especially knowing your husband would have never believed you could make it this far without him. Still, despite having everything you could ever ask for, there’s something in you that feels empty.

Time changes things. 

Time changes a lot of things, you note more than usual, as the man you’ve been ogling for the past three weeks makes himself far more known to you than you ever wished he would.

The interaction with him was always so quick before today and given the fact that he was a complete stranger, you never quite invited him into your home considering–you know, small child and all. You had hired him over text. Jay, your neighbor said his name was. His handsome features didn’t offer you anything more than a clean pool and a wandering eye. 

Your neighbor apparently has a friend who has a cousin that has an even nicer pool than you do. Given, it’s only a nicer pool due to the fact that this young man, Jay, tended to it weekly and made damn sure it could be drunk out of if a person had a craving for chlorine. 

You feel like an idiot now that it didn’t dawn on you quick enough. Sure, he looked a bit familiar to you but who doesn’t when you’re always out and about seeing so many different faces on a daily basis? His name, Jay, didn’t ring any bells. Now though, the shame of staring at his sweaty pecs and biceps came crashing down the moment you realized who Jay actually is. 

He didn’t do a damn thing to remind you either, if anything, all he did was walk around all sweaty in the afternoon heat with his tank top either sticking to him, or off entirely. It appears that you had just been too busy running errands with your child, considering his shifts were always when you were home. Too busy cooking, cleaning, reading, lounging. Too busy looking at…well, not his face. 

Too busy to give the man a glance more than that of a slice of pie behind a bakery window. 

Jay. 

Since fucking when was that his name?

“Park Jongseong.” You whimper near mortified, three weeks too late as you hand him his pay with nervous hands. “Spray-cheese in my hair Jongseong?” 

“Ah, was wondering when you’d pick up on that.” He smiles at you with that crooked grin, a knowing look that any man at a bar would give you if he had caught you checking him out. Then, he pockets the hefty amount of cash that you hand to him. “I go by Jay more often these days.” He trails off, an amused smirk half-falling as he looks at your expression of realization. “You can call me whatever you want though.”

He’s well aware of how often you’ve checked him out since he started intentionally taking his clothes off. After all, it’s mid-july by this point and the sun baring down on him doesn’t quite call for a fucking turtle neck sweater. Or a T-shirt, or a tank top, for that matter. It calls for all skin baby, beautifully tanned and toned for you and any of your neighbors to look at if they so wanted to. 

Jay doesn’t work out for nothing, after all. Summer after summer, he’s found himself to be quite fond of the rich women that hire him for their pool services. Always wanting an attractive young man to wander around half naked and satiate their lack of sex life with their husbands, or boy-toys, or what have you. He knows all that extra pay isn’t because he does a good job either. He’s gotten winks, small comments, even a few offers of his body for more pay.

He’s turned them all down, of course. For a full-on affair, anyway. Jay has gotten a few blow jobs and quickies as a tip before though, and a lot of that is why he keeps getting referred to more women. Richer women. Never single women. 

Until you. 

He quite enjoyed catching you looking at him. Especially given the fact that he knew exactly who you were when you introduced yourself to him via text. That little childhood crush on you came back within an instant upon actually seeing you again. Truly, he had forgotten all about you up until that fateful day three weeks ago. 

If he’s being honest, he’s been pining something fierce since he first stepped foot on your property. Excitement swelled inside of him just to see you again. To see if you’re still hot, to see how you’re doing, what you’re doing. How your life is going.

 He knew you didn’t recognize his nickname through text, and he definitely knew you didn’t recognize him to be eating him up with those eyes of yours either. So, he played along, enjoying it while he could before it would inevitably dawn on you. Still, he remembers you so well from back then. Crazy to know that he rarely thought of you for the past twelve years or so, and how all those little butterflies of his came back in a far more mature way. He was only ten back then, but he’s a man now. 

Twenty two and perfectly sound as a man who knows what he likes. The fact that you happen to fall into that category is no fault of his own, honestly. It’s your fault if anyone’s at all. Jay is a man that likes a specific type of woman too. Woman. Not a girl, not a young lady, not a free spirit, nor a prude. He is drawn to the idea of experience, to the idea of settling down. It’s not easy to find that at his age, in college, surrounded by party girls and casual drug use. 

And, well, imagine his smile upon seeing your lovely, lavish home with the large pool, no ring on your finger, a whole fucking child, and your motherly instincts when you buckle her into the car for an errand. Oh and the broken fence in the far back of your yard.

You’re a single mom. 

A hot single mom who lives lavishly. One who could probably use a man’s help around your house.

He half expected you to be able to recognize him when he appeared for work the first time. He even had a monologue in his head on what to say to you, and how to present himself. You didn’t seem to take notice though, introducing yourself to him as if you hadn’t spent all that time in his childhood home when you were a teenager. Like you never mothered him, or put him to sleep with the soft lul of your voice when you let him watch all those scary movies before bed. 

 Clearly you’re too busy experiencing life to notice the way he fawns over you too. Hating how you’re more reserved than the other lavish, fixed-up women. You seem to have standards, or maybe it’s just priorities ... that's so hot. Truly, it only makes him want you more because by now, the other women would already be rubbing all over him. The ones who shouldn’t be wanting him the way they do. So, yes, he’s always stealing glances at you with sparkling dark eyes, fantasizing in his head that this pool is his to clean now, because that’s what a good man would do for you, right? With him around servicing your pool and lawn, you’d never need to hire or spend money on another broke ass college student again.

Yes. That’s how quickly he fell into this infatuation solely because you looked at him like you want it without realizing who he was. Hell, without realizing how perfect you are in terms of what he wants.

God, how are you still single? 

Like, why do you have a child and a house so beautiful without a man wandering around doing all of this work for you? Not that you couldn’t do it on your own, it’s just, you clearly have the means to make a man do as you please. Why haven’t you?

You happen to fall almost perfectly into the categories of what he’s looking for. Save for the fact that now you recognize him as that kid you used to babysit rather than the man who tries to be sexy while cleaning your pool. Which is a fucking shame, if he’s being honest, to be written off as that same ten year old child rather than a fucking man who very clearly has needs and desires. 

The point is– Jay wants you and he parades around your pool for you to look at him. So what if you used to babysit him? It’s not like you’re an old swamp-hag trying to lure him with candy. You’re just…a woman. And he’s just a man. 

“Well, thank you for cleaning again,” You trail off in an awkward tone, shifting your eyes to anywhere but him. He watches you though, smiling a smile you know all too well from his childhood antics. It must mean something different now, or maybe not. “I guess I’ll see you next week?” 

“Well, actually,” Jay offers, “Would you be opposed to–” You cut him off instantly with an awkward wave of your hand.

You don’t know why you make assumptions, maybe from that damned smile on his face, but you do recall your ex husband reminding you time and time again that it’s one of the things he hated about you. 

Assumptions. Always thinking the worst, or perhaps the most filthy of situations and expressions. To be fair, you feel guilty about how you’ve been looking at him, you can’t help but panic trying to pretend like it never happened, and that he never saw it happen.

“I’m not interested, Jongseong.” You respond hastily, pressing your thumb to your bottom lip to bite the skin on it, keeping your eyes away from him with the awkward words. After all, he knew who you were this whole time and paraded around like that? 

Even before recognizing him yourself, you know men well enough to know when they’re trying to flaunt. Is it so wrong to assume?

“Interested in what?” Jay tilts his head knowingly, seeing the way you buckle under the guilt of staring at the very man you used to tuck into bed every night. He can see the way you try to push those sexual thoughts you had away in the quick rejection to a simple assumption. 

 “I was just going to ask if you want me to fix your fence.” 

Ah, you did get ahead of yourself through the guilt, and you’re far too aware of it as you draw your eyes back to him and note the expression on his face. Amused, maybe a bit of concern in his eyes, even? 

“Ah, um–” You start, trailing your eyes down your fence line never once noticing a break in it. Jay is quick to point though, leaning to you with a whisper of “right there.” And well, you did not need to hear that tone in his voice the way you just did.

God, it’s so awkward.

“Well, how much would that cost me?” You question with an empty voice, staring at the broken fence. 

“Free.” He uses the same tone, leaning away from you now and smiling wide. “That is, if you provide lunch.” 

Well, despite the awkwardness, that break over there would cost you a pretty penny to fix, and your daughter needs the safety of playing in her own yard without random animals or worse, people, making their way in. Plus, you’re quite fond of saving money. How else would you be here if you weren’t good at it? And now, given that you’re most definitely not interested in Jay, what's the harm in making a few sandwiches for someone you already know well enough? It’s not like you’ve never made him lunch before.

The awkwardness will pass and your guilt will subside. You both will laugh at it over a cold glass of iced lemonade, surely. It’s not like you realized who he was anyway, it’s not like you’re just gonna keep looking at him like that. You should just push forward and it’ll all be fine. 

“Hell, I’d even watch the kiddo so you can have a break every now and then.” He watches your reaction, wanting to ask so many questions about why you’re single, who the father is, where he is, why he isn’t here. “After all, I learned quite a bit from you.” 

For a second you consider that too.

And there’s three reasons as to why you should. The first being that you were literally just looking for a new child care facility due to learning of the staff coming to work while sick. Your poor daughter came home with a fever just last week, and you’ve had little luck in finding a place with the same educational benefits for her. 

The second being that, well, while you’re not hurting for cash or anything, it wouldn’t hurt to be able to put a little more back for her college fund. Or for fun little vacations. 

And lastly, despite your guilt of lusting over someone you shouldn’t have, you know Jongseong and you know his family even better. No background check would be needed, your daughter could be in the comfort of her own home rather than a classroom setting that she’s sure to see for at least twenty years of her life in the future. 

So, yes. You consider it instantly, and Jay sees it. 

You only know of the childhood version of him and, well, the slutty pool-side version of him apparently. If only you knew of that other side of him and how fond he is of watching his own younger cousins. How good he is with children, and how much he clings to the idea of being a father one day.

Jay is great with kids, with or without them having a hot mom.

And well, he knows that he’s fond of looking at you at least. Besides, as long as you can work with his class schedules, he’d be willing to do just about anything to play pretend-husband, even if you’re unaware of it. 

“Is that so?” You finally ask, curious eyes looking at him with a furrowed brow. “Shouldn’t you be out living the life? College parties and such?” You add, wondering why such a great deal has managed to flop down on your lap. The idea of even cheaper childcare without the risk of unvaccinated children, and sick caretakers being far too good of a deal to pass up. 

“Well, yeah I guess.” He shrugs, leaning backwards to stretch and roll his shoulders. “Not really my scene though. I have classes Monday and Wednesday all day, Tuesday and Thursdays my classes are online. If you can work around that, I’d rather just be making money and chilling.” 

You think about it just for a second more when he continues. 

“I can be here on weekends too. Maybe you should be the one out relaxing and having some drinks.” 

“Well, I don’t quite need that, or for you to be here on weekends.” You think as you say it, knowing you have given up on going out to try and meet men two years ago. “I could pay you though, let’s say, thirty an hour?” 

Well, shit, that’s not too bad at all, especially considering he’s about to give up on cleaning the pools of a few women in his contacts for this. It’s a major pay cut, but still enough to get by comfortably if you’ll have him multiple times a week. That plus the pool cleaning money? And free lunch? 

“Oh, you don’t go out at all? I don’t see why not, could probably get a man in no time–” Jay ignores the wage offer and pushes to note the singlehood he had been noticing for the past three weeks. “and the pay is fine.” 

“Ah, well, the dating pool isn’t so great in this neck of the woods.” You scratch the back of your neck when you say it. “That aside, I'll have her in day care on the days you can’t be here, but it really would be a big help. Thank you for the offer, Jongseong. And for the fence too.” 

He watches you with a firm nod, shoving his hands into the pockets of his basketball shorts, still entirely shirtless in front of you. 

“And the pool.” You add quietly after a moment. 

“I think you’d be surprised about the dating pool.” He smiles as he pushes the subject back to what you had previously said, hoping you believe those words before continuing. “So, when do you want me to start?” 

“Is tomorrow too soon? You’re okay to set up here with your online classes?”

“Tomorrow is perfect.” He smiles.

“I’m sure she would be so happy knowing she won’t be going to daycare–” You clap, feeling a bit less awkward despite the boldness of the man in front of you. You’re sure he’s just teasing you for knowing you checked him out. “I know I am.” 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It’s a little too perfect, actually.

After that first day of watching your child and making a lazy attempt at “fixing your fence,” he’s settled in like it’s home. He wishes it was, with the lavish lifestyle in a house far too pretty compared to his own living space with piles upon piles of laundry he’s too lazy to pick up for himself. 

It’s different for you though. Different when he’s here.

Truly, he feels like he’s living the life after a couple of weeks with decent pay and a comfy space to do his homework. He watches your child, which is arguably the hardest part of the job but she’s well behaved for him. In fact, she seems to have taken a shine to him.

He’s starting to be very intentional with taking far too long to work on your fence too, and still maintaining your pool. He’s trying to drag this out for as long as he can. Even if just to see if you still look at him when you come home the same way you did before recognizing him. You never do though. When his shirt is off and he’s wiping his forehead in the sun, you don’t look at him anymore.

Hell, he’s even considered breaking things in your home just to give himself more jobs to do. More things that make him feel needed, like a husband. More things that you thank him for fixing, even if it breaks again two days later.

And ah, the food in your fridge is always free reign to him, that large television in the living room too. God, sometimes he dreads going home, and by sometimes, he means all the time. Who in their right mind would ever fucking want to live outside of this lifestyle? He really can’t believe you’re single, nor can he believe that he has the opportunity to be in your home, close to you. It shouldn’t take too long now to convince you, right? That you don’t necessarily have to be single? That you need him around to live even more comfortably?

In short, Jay is in his head about how he’s practically just roleplaying as your stay-at-home husband before having to go back to his shitty little apartment and remind himself that he’s just a fucking college student with no interest in the people on campus. And like, even with the way you come home from work, all groggy and exhausted on the days he’s there, you always thank him before giving him his pay. What he likes best about those nights is when you’re too exhausted to even pay him and you promise to do it next time.

In his mind, that’s you promising to see him again. 

He could give less of a shit about the pay at this point, as long as he gets to be in this house, smelling your favorite candles and dish detergents, seeing you, being a semi-father to a child who deserves more love than the two of you combined can give…he’ll fucking do anything you want for free. 

It’s difficult sometimes, like he really can’t help it. Some days wandering around this house and imagining how the two of you could have landed on buying it together. How the rooms would be organized if he were here from the start. Claiming his spot on your couch like any dad would. Playing dolls with your daughter, laughing with her, letting her paint his nails and put his hair in little pigtails. He even cleans your pool as if it were his own, meaning, he genuinely cleans it. 

He has taken it upon himself to mow your lawn, confusing the yard workers that you apparently hired years ago. Did he accidentally fire them? Maybe, but any good husband would save you money, right? He checks your mail, waves to your neighbors and lets them make assumptions. 

And every single fucking night it’s harder and harder to go back home.

Especially after a full day of playing dad then seeing you come back home so tired. Turning off that switch in his head isn’t easy. He wants to greet you like the husband you don’t have. He wants to ease your hard days in so many ways. Tell you he’s proud of you, that you still look so pretty after an exhausting shift of whatever the fuck you do. He wants to serve you dinner, run you a bath, fix your hair, lay you down– oh, he’s fantasizing again. Unfortunately, he has to settle with seeing the relief on your face when he lets you know in a soft voice that he’s cooked dinner and he will heat it up for you before leaving, kiddo is in her room sleeping, no dishes in the sink, and laundry is folded and put away. 

He loves the appreciation in your eyes, and sometimes even sees a glint of sadness. He can tell you wish you had this from a person who isn’t here for pay. Someone who loves you, and loves your child, and feels joy in making your life easier. 

Fuck, if only you knew. 

And  you’d be lying if you tried to say Jay isn’t a godsend to you on the days he babysits. Many times you find yourself wishing he’d just move in and do everything that you can’t do. You’d pay him well, give him a guest room, whatever. But it’s just…not viable to support a full time employee like that, nor is it fair to your daughter. 

She needs a parent, not a paid college student who needs some extra cash. You have to be that parent, you have to make time for her and witness all of her joys in life. You have to protect her and never bring in faces of men who claim to want to be a father, only to run and break her heart more than your own. 

For now, you settle with this godsend of a little shit you used to babysit. Still you can barely believe that’s the same person, but again…time changes things. And thankfully, the awkwardness of what you did has died down drastically.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Today, you’re more thankful for Jay than you have been previously. After a heavy workload has been lifted off your back with the approval of this project, you need a night out. For the first time in years, you’re giving yourself a night out, all because you have someone you can trust to be here for your daughter.

He was so understanding when you called, even happy to come over right then and there to put her to bed and mostly just house-sit for the night. Even without an end time for him, and even without asking for extra pay, he just…accepted with an understanding tone and that stupid breathy chuckle he gives to you when you ask for favors. “What? You need me there right now? I’m putting on my shoes.” He had said.

It’s the fact that now, as he sits on your couch looking at you in your chosen outfit– he seems a little off. Maybe it’s because you asked him where the best spots in town are because it’s been so long since you’ve gone out, or maybe he just feels awkward seeing so much skin on your body. 

To be fair, he didn’t realize you were going out out. He thought that maybe you were gonna go stay with a friend to celebrate and have a drink or two. 

In reality though, he’s just awestruck. Already you look great even after your busy days at work but…this is a different level. The way your tits look in that push-up bra and tiny ass top, when he’s used to seeing you head out in some sort of business casual outfit without an ounce of skin showing save for your ankles or wrists…jesus. He’s struggling more than usual to keep himself calm around you, hopping up on one leg when you walk away to try and adjust the chub in his pants, and releasing a small sigh before you’re looking at him again.

His skin feels like it’s on fire knowing you’re going out looking like that.

“You sure you're okay to sleep over? I figure it’ll be easier since I’m not sure when I’ll come home, or if I come home.” You smile with a wink, your stomach in knots over the two shots you’ve taken for the first time in years. “I can call my friends and tell them not to come if you’d rather focus on your studies.” 

Jay shakes his head, waving his hands in defense for you as if he didn’t just see the way your tits bounce and squish against your shirt with each move you make. 

“No, no! Go on, have fun.” He says, encouraging you to go out despite hoping you come home with no luck of finding a man out there. 

Just, look at you. Fuck, he’s staring again. He hates knowing that he could be one of the guys at whatever bar or club you’re landing on tonight. He could be the person that makes sure you don’t come home, getting to plant his face right there. He could be whatever you want him to be if you’re looking like that. 

But no, he has to play husband again, which is normally something he’s all too excited to do. Tonight though, he feels like a fucking cuckold. After everything he does for you, after not mentioning how you’ve skipped a few of his payments, after slaving away for hours over your pool, your household chores, fixing and breaking that fucking dishwasher, cooking you dinner every single night he’s here just to make sure you have a meal when you get off of work…you imply you may not come home tonight?

And you’re dressed like that?

And you’re…

God, you just look so good right now. It pains him to know you didn’t dress like this for him, the only man who cares enough to make your life easy. He’s not mad at you, per se, but he’s pissed that you don’t see him as an option despite showing you time and time again that not only is he an option, but the right choice. 

This is what you look like when you want to impress a man? This is how you act? How you talk? Fuck, god, fuck– maybe he’s just too deep in his one-sided roleplay but it really, really fucking feels like he’s watching his woman go off and look for someone else to fuck.

“Thank you, Jongseong,” You smile, walking over to him with a saunter in your step and a gentle smile across your lips. 

He’s never heard you speak his name so sensually, the way his cock twitches forces him to wince away from you. He’s never even seen you saunter before. Fucking hell, somehow it feels worse seeing you act like this after how many times he’s imagined it, all alone in his room. 

A slow walk from you, with the strap of your shirt slipping off your shoulder, fat tits threatening to spill out, lifting the hem of your skirt, or dress, or whatever you’re wearing in his fantasy at that point. Your voice, so soft, so sexy. And you’re practically bringing his fantasy to life right now, except he knows you’re going to fucking walk away from him like this. Into the fucking arms of some random dude at a club. 

Probably some loser he’s seen on campus too.

“It means a lot.” You add, popping a quick, platonic kiss to the top of his forehead. 

Ah, lipgloss. That little kiss on him is enough to ignite him to the point of no return. He almost wants to skip the part of asking you not to go and straight up just beg that you pick him, that you choose him. It’s not just your home, or the luxuries that come with it. It’s you that he wants. You’re the fucking luxury and you’re just gonna go to some sticky-floored club and pretend he’s not clearly checking you the fuck out right now? Like he’s not about three seconds from dropping to his knees just to see you from the angle you deserve?! 

“It’s no problem.” Jay relents, dropping himself onto your couch instead and adjusting his body to sink deep into the cushions just to keep himself from arguing against everything he’s giving you permission to do right now. 

Hah. Permission.

“Be safe.” He adds in an even more monotone voice. “I’ll be here when you get back.” 

And god, he seethes in his thoughts after you close that door and hop into the car with your friends. You don’t look like a mother tonight, and he wonders if you’ll be upfront and forward with anyone you intend to hit on too. Probably not. He’s well aware of the men in this city, after all, he’s one of them.

It’s really not something he can control after seeing you like that either. Your child is already in bed and he’s just sitting here on your couch with a throbbing, fucking weeping cock thinking about you. What’s stopping him from taking care of it? You’re not here, after all. 

You’re not fucking here. But everything about you is. 

And that’s how he finds himself in your bedroom for the first time, barely making it a foot into the room before closing the door and dropping to the floor. The scent in your room is different. It’s feminine, gentle, like the energy is kissing him all over and sending goosebumps straight to the head of his cock. He couldn’t even pull it out, already holding his breath with his hand down his pants, vigorously trying to get what he wants so badly yet knowing that his hand will never compare to you. 

And it’s here where he feels like a husband. Spilling against his pants with a silent, choked back sob as he stares forward at your bed, and the way you didn’t make it this morning. It’s messy, and he wants to be in that mess of sheets with you more than anything. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jay hates that he’s now forced to get used to your late night ventures. Every weekend now. Every. Fucking. Weekend.  You ask if he’s willing to stay over so you can go unwind, and despite his better (or worse) judgment, he accepts. The only solace he finds in these ventures is knowing you consistently come back home right after usual closing times, and you’re mostly sober. Sometimes a bit whiny that you’re not lucking out, worrying that maybe you’re too old now, or maybe you’re just not as desirable. There have even been a few times where you’ve exposed your ex husband during your rants, giving Jay little hints to follow as to why you’re single, and how he left you. 

Still, he knows in your tipsy state that you usually wouldn’t talk about these things with him, but he’s all too happy to get the details once you come home. Mostly because it calms his rising rage at how you’re doing this to not only him, but yourself. It’s mostly because you’re technically coming home to him though. 

And every single time, you go back to your bedroom to grab his payment even though it could wait until morning, considering he’s been sleeping in the guest room– all he can think about is how he’s been in your room. He’s gotten off countless times by now by the smell of your room alone, still barely able to even reach your bed to lay in it himself for a better experience. God, he’s probably memorized each little fray in your carpeted bedroom floor by now with how much he’s zoned out on it mid-jerk off session right there on his knees at your door. 

He’s truly pathetic for you. 

This time though…three in the morning has passed and normally you’d have been stumbling through the door an hour ago. Normally, he’d be fighting back the need to tell you that you’re beautiful, not too old, and entirely desirable. Normally, he would be fisting his cock again in your guest room before sleep, getting off on the idea that he can cum in a house that you live in, smothered by the sheets you meticulously picked out to match the walls of the room. Moaning for you, practically crying for you to let him do it all. 

Have you really done it this time? Gone off with some man? Are you getting railed right now in some hotel, or car, or someone’s shitty man-cave? God, his mind is racing, both aroused at the fact that you must be horny to be constantly wanting to go out like this, but equally as devastated because like…he’s right here.

Who the fuck cares if you babysat him? He’s a man. No longer that child who sprayed cheese in your hair or dumped salt into the bag of sugar. He’s a fucking man, cooking you dinner when you work, parenting your child, cleaning your house, maintaining your pool and fence….He does everything for you, why the fuck don’t you see it?!

Click.

Jay’s ears perk up instantly at the sound. He sits up on the couch from his depressed slump of scrolling through his phone, quickly fixing his hair and clearing his throat. 

In you stumble, right into the little entryway table with a whisper-screams “Shit, fuck–”

Jay looks at your state before standing to his feet and rushing to you, helping you balance on your feet despite your footing not quite being grounded even with his help. You lean on him closely, letting out an alcohol scented sigh. 

His nostrils flare as he holds his breath, feeling your tit press against his arm, smelling the drinks, the sweat, and the dulled perfume on you. Then, a hint of something else. Musk. 

You’ve been with a man. 

He holds back a gesture at the way you lean on him. Nothing more he could want at this moment but to hold you tightly and tell you that he’s got you, despite the panic in his stomach at the way he sniffs out another man. Out of lust, love, desperation, frustration. This is the closest you’ve been to him for this long. You feel clammy and cold, a clear indication that you drank far, far too much. Your tank top is sticking to you, your eyes are a bit glassy–

“You’re late.” He says shortly.

“Late?!” You raise your voice before looking at him with drowsy eyes, furrowing your brow. “I don’t have a curfe-”

“Shh–” He shushes you, helping you get to the living room. “She’s sleeping and you’re going to have her make a fuss about waking up.”

You giggle to yourself as he drops you onto the couch, now aware that yes, you are not a single college student anymore. You’re a single woman. A fucking mother. 

You should’ve just gotten a hotel for the night and slept there to dream a little longer. 

“Right.” You laugh, slouching, spreading out wide against the couch and trying to fix your gaze on him. “Why’re you still awake?” 

Jay fixes his eyes on you, swallowing around a lump in his throat. The way you’re slouching…seemingly forgetting that you’re wearing a skirt and basically flashing your panties at him. God, the things could do to you right now. The things he could get away with if he wanted to. He tries to shake those thoughts for now, and instead, inspects you from head to toe.

He’s never seen you look so relaxed. Chest raising and falling with each breath, hair a little messy, lipstick stains smeared on the outsides of your lip line. He chooses to ignore the faint swell against your neck indicating someone has been sucking on you. But, well, he can’t ignore it. Both his cock and heart aches at the very thought.

“You’ve been kissing?” Jay tries to ask nonchalantly. 

“A lot more than that–” You smile, feeling a flush cross your cheeks before the disappointment hits you square in the gut. 

Jay watches your face fall, and he mimics it by falling onto the couch and sitting by your head…you know, allowing you to lay your head on him if you want to. You’d probably not notice his arousal anyway, given your state. 

“Oh?” He asks gently, the disappointment now showing plainly on not just your face, but his own.

“Thought I was gonna go home with him, turns out he decided to be done after a blowjob in the parking lot.”

Oh, the way his blood boils. Not for the fact that you were used or rejected, but for the fact that you found someone that you were interested in and genuinely intended to leave your home life in his hands for however fucking long. Really? Just gonna leave him here all alone? Like he couldn’t do better for you?

“It’s for the better–” Jay says as he shivers with irritation, struggling to keep his façade up. It’s definitely not what you wanted to hear, and definitely not what you’d have expected to hear from a college guy at all either.

“This happened last time too, except he didn’t even get me to the parking lot.” You huff, unaware of how much you’re sharing right now. 

He bites back the anger yet again, inhaling deeply before releasing a calming breath through his nose just to contain it. So…it has happened more than once? 

“Why don’t you let me take you out someday?” He says suddenly, well aware that you’ll probably never remember he said it in the first place. 

If anything, he’s testing the waters for his own sake. He’d hate himself forever if he didn’t at least take advantage of this moment a little bit. 

“Then who will watch my daughter?” You respond in slurred speech, not even comprehending who it is that’s asking you this question right now. Not even thinking about your history with him, or the family ties. 

He, on the other hand, is quite entertained by the way you don’t bring the history up like he expected. His cock twitches at it, bumping your head just a bit, not enough for you to notice apparently. Fuck, it would be so easy for him to pull it out right now, and just…tap your lips with it. 

Maybe you’d even open your mouth for him. 

“I’ll skip class on a Wednesday, we can go while she’s still in daycare.” He continues through an almost-moan, encouraging the conversation to stay positive.

“Jongseong–” You slur before clearing your throat and sitting back up in a dizzy show of how drunk you are. “You know I can’t do that. It’s too weird.” 

In all fairness, you know he has like…a thing for you. After all, why else would a college dude be spending his weekends here babysitting your kid? It’s not like you haven’t noticed the way he checks you out before you go out for the night. Why would he do all of this if he didn’t have some sort of attraction to you? Sure, you’re taking advantage of it as best as you can despite how you didn’t recognize him at first. 

Despite how deep down, you very well know how attracted to him you are too. 

“Only because you make it weird.” Jay rolls his eyes as he looks at you, spreading his legs out to adjust his comfort, noting the way you glance down to his lap and see it. “I’m a grown man–” He starts, spreading his legs wider, pressing his cock against his pants to the point you can practically see the outline. ”you know this.” He continues, trying to be bold now by reaching forward and moving a strand of your hair from your cheek. 

“You’ve seen it.”

You freeze, suddenly feeling entirely too sober to be talking about this kind of thing with him. With Jongseong. God, his mother would fucking kill you if she found out he’s in your house while you’re out trying to get fucked by whoever is willing to love you temporarily. 

Jay sees you thinking though, and continues to take the advantage now that he’s feeling brave. Now that you’ve seen the twitch in his pants and haven’t moved off the couch, or told him to go home. 

“I saw you watching me when I was cleaning your pool, multiple times.” He whispers snidely. “You stopped when you realized who I am. Why?”

“Jongseo–…” You trail off. “You know this isn’t okay. What would people think of me? There are rules, and I will not go down this route with you.”

A rush of air hits your face and suddenly, warmth hits your cheek. You feel him so close, closer than ever before. It’s dizzying. Jay is over you, hovering with one hand ghosting over your hip. 

“You want to though, don’t you?” He gets even closer now, darting his eyes down at your chest and unable to pull them away. “Knowing how good I am with your daughter? How well I clean up? How strong I can be–”

You swallow hard. For a moment, you almost lean into him. You almost melt right then and there, the need for intimacy so heavy inside of you after being left high and dry, knowing that you’d accept it from just about anyone at this point. But– this is Jongseong. You can’t. 

You really, really, can’t. 

The look of disappointment in his eyes kind of hurts when you’re pushing him away. That playful smirk falling faster than you think your sanity did the day your ex husband left you. 

“This–” You pause, realizing all too well how he’s used your drunken state against you for this conversation. “This is your last paycheck.”

“I don’t think so.” The smirk is back now, except…it’s different. “You know I promised her a Barbie dream house next weekend.” He smiles fully now. “She’s a bit attached, you know, even called me dad by accident the other day.” 

You’re shocked. 

“She…what?”

“You know she’s attached to me already, don’t be selfish.” Jay shrugs at you while rolling his eyes, leaning against the couch again and turning his head to look at you. You try to pretend that you don’t see his hand slightly groping himself. “Guess she misses having a father around. Can’t be too easy for her, especially with her mom going out every weekend trying to fuck guys who would run the second they learn about her.” He ticks his tongue now, as if he’s pitying you more than your daughter. 

“Jongseong, that’s not–”

“That’s not, what?”

“That’s not what I’m doing…” You lower your voice to a near whisper, upset that you couldn’t even enjoy the drunken state you came home in, now feeling entirely too sober, and a little sick in the stomach. 

“Oh, so you haven’t gotten laid since I’ve been here–” He leans closer again now, trying to resume what he was going to do just moments ago. “They haven’t even touched you, have they?” His hands move to your thigh and presses down as if to hold you in place. “Why?”

“I try not to just sleep with anyone.” You lie, knowing you’d sleep with anyone just to feel wanted for once. And you’re trying to ignore his hands on you right now, trying desperately not to like it. It’s the first time a man has touched you in this house since your husband left you. As expected, you almost feel your knees buckle despite sitting comfortably. “I have to be careful, you know?”

“Mm, I know more than you think.” He leans into you, hovering yet again with his upper half over you as he whispers it. “Don’t need to be careful around me though.” He adds, this time trailing his voice right against your jaw, up to your ear. “You must be so frustrated.” He ghosts his lips there for a moment, waiting for you to push him away, or say something, anything, really. 

“Why would I be frustrated?” You lend the smallest of whispers, feeling the goosebumps against your skin rising at the mere thought of giving in just this once.

“Not having anyone to please you.” He adds now, landing a very slight kiss right under your lobe. “Always being used for someone else’s pleasure, maybe?”

You almost nod, feeling weak in your state and thoughts swimming with what if’s, morals, and anxieties. You’re frozen in place despite knowing a simple push would create the distance you need to breathe. 

“Your fingers will never be enough, will they?” He continues, essentially chaining you to this couch with his words alone. You can’t help the fight in your head, you need to feel wanted, and you want so badly to feel needed. “I bet you wish someone would love you for all that you are, not all that you have.” 

It’s silent as you feel his lips press down again, this time moving his body over you almost entirely. You can feel the couch dip a bit as he places all of his weight on a knee, moving his other leg to stand between yours.

“You must need someone to fill that hole in you by now, right? That pussy of yours?” He continues, his tone a bit more snide now as you give in to his hold with shaky breaths. 

And truthfully, Jay has never let himself come on this strong towards someone before. Usually the wives are doing this to him. They’re trying to convince him, encourage him. He’s so fucking horny right now though, with that daze in your eye, your legs spread around his knee, blinking up at him like a cheating wife. As if you want to apologize, as if you need him to forgive you. Need him to make everything better.

“I heard you the other day, you know, talking to your mom–” He smiles, tilting his head to look into your eyes, seeing a small shine in them. “You want another, don’t you?” He continues, moving his lips now just over yours as he, now, presses you firmly against the couch. “You must hate knowing that I’m the only person who can do that for you.” 

“God, Jay.” You immediately buckle, not realizing how suddenly he’s not Jongseong at this moment. He’s someone else. He’s Jay.

“Why don’t you go for girls on campus?! Don’t you have parties to be attending on the weekends instead of being here, trying to parent my chil–”

“Lower that voice of yours,” He whispers, eyes now hooded as he looks at you. “You know she’s asleep.”

God, he’s right. 

“Besides, why would I want them when I have you right here under me–” He tilts his head. “Looking so disappointed that you like it, too.” 

Right then, your moral code shines into the front of your mind at the consideration of giving in.

A weight on one shoulder chanting, “No! What would people say?! What would people think?!”, and then little to no weight on the other shoulder, echoing in a sweet song of “Finally! Someone who will love you! Finally! Someone! Finally!!! Finally!” 

You pause, not knowing at all what to do. Your body wants to push him away, even your mind and soul wants you to push him away. But you know deep down, you’d only push him away to see if he will try again. No man has ever tried for you like this, and you need more of it. 

To feel desired after so long of neglecting this side of yourself, it’s enough to make a person lose their footing in reality. To give in to just about anyone willing to look at you the way he is right now. It’s the fact that you go out to try and find it, and even with this alone, Jay has satisfied you more than any stranger promising to make you cum.

“I…don’t know what to say–” You stutter. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I do.” Jay smiles, glancing at your lips before meeting your eye again. “Why not hand over the reins and relax for a–” His hand dips under your skirt, cupping your sensitive cunt in one hand alone. “Ah, I knew it.” Then, his other hand finds purchase on your chest, lifting your heavy breast in his hand with a blatant, hard squeeze.

After a sharp inhale you look away from him in shame, afraid to admit it despite the truth of it leaking through your panties and onto his palm.

“Wet.” He smiles, no longer looking at you but flicking his eyes back and forth from between your legs, and to your chest. Still, he fumbles around the wet spot, wanting so badly to lift these fingers to his mouth and taste. He’s fantasized about it, about how you’d taste, how warm it would be, what your pussy would feel like against his fingers–

And just as he’s pushing your panties to the side, pads of his fingers touching right where you need them with his eyes hooded and watching you closely, something snaps.

You push his hand away, only to feel him push back, holding you down with more force, gripping your tit tighter, sliding his fingers in before massaging the slit with a blatant moan on his lips. Then, you try again, shoving him back only to hear him chuckle and continue his antics until– you jump to your feet. It felt too good, too grounding to have him touching you like this. You nearly stumble back over the coffee table, but you manage to stand tall and firm despite the fact that even though your mind feels sober, your body is fucking wasted.

“Jongseong.” You argue immediately, using his name the same way you did when he was a child. “Stop.” 

He throws his hands up in defense, raising his brows in surprise. 

“I–” He pauses, staring at you. “I thought you were enjoying it, my mistake.” 

It’s the fact that you were. You were enjoying it too much, and there would have been no defending your actions if you had given in to the feeling. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, fucking stupid. That’s what you are. 

Your ex husband was right all along. Out of everything you’ve accomplished since your heart was shattered, ripped to shreds, stomped on, you’d think it would take a lot more to break you. 

“You ask for too much.” Your ex husband had said once. “You can’t even stand to be alone for one day.” He had said a year or so later. Small digs on who you are and what you need sprinkled into small arguments, only to come more and more from the lips that you kissed and promised to kiss until you die. Until all of his words were to make you feel inadequate. Until everything he said to you stuck with you, forcing your confidence to bury itself six feet under. 

Are you to blame? As it stands, maybe. Why else would you be allowing yourself to consider it? Consider Jongseong, you mean. Never in your life would you have considered him of all people to be the one that you need. 

Never in your life would you have thought he’d be interested in a woman like you, in a situation like yours, with a child. Why did that night with him stick in your head more than every single mean thing your ex husband said to you? Why did his words seem more believable? 

Because you were drunk at the time? Wet, neglected, and drunk? 

Then why is it that you’re sitting here on your day off with your beautiful, bright-eyed daughter rummaging through your purse for whatever catches her eye….and you’re thinking about him? About what he's doing right now, how he’s feeling, if he’s eaten. 

Why is it that you’ve gone the entire week ignoring his texts, asking if you need him to come resume his job as babysitter? Why the fuck do you want to accept after how he took advantage of your state of mind? After he came onto you and tried to manipulate you? 

Despite all of his words ringing true in the back of your head. That was a dirty tactic he pulled on you. Yet, still…you want him back, and god fucking dammit you could cry knowing your daughter called him “dad.” You hadn’t believed him at first, but after this week alone it slipped from her mouth several times. 

“He’s not your dad, baby, that’s just Jay.” You remember correcting her more than once, and all she responded to you with was a confused expression. 

“Why not?” Is what her little voice gave back to you after her child-like brain decided it was fed up with you correcting her very right assumption of the guy who promised her the Barbie Dream House. 

Why not?

Why not?

Well, if you could have an adult conversation with a five year old it would be much easier to answer that. Because he sprayed cheese in your hair. Because you were seventeen and his babysitter when he was ten years old. Because you ogled him without recognizing him as your pool boy. Because of a lot of things.

“Uncle Jay.” You finally corrected her again. 

She shook her head, and continued doing and saying as her little mind pleased. It made you miss having a father around for her though. You think she needs it more than you do. 

And that fucking Barbie Dream house is what brings Jay back. 

Right at your doorstep today, with a gentle knock to the door and a timid smile on his face. He doesn’t even look at you when you open the door, and instead crouches down in front of you with the big, flashy box. He ignores you, tilting himself to look past you and straight at your daughter. 

You hold your breath when she runs to Jay, arms spread open and laughter shrieking in your ears. Your heart aches so much at this moment. 

Given your work schedule, you’d never gotten to see them interact much. He always came over as she was eating her breakfast, and you always came home after she was put to bed. You guess it’s fair that they have a bond now. She doesn’t even run at you like she does for Jay. In fact, the only time she ever did was when she had a bad day at daycare and had a tummy ache. 

She runs to you when she needs you, but she runs to Jay like she wants to. Like she genuinely is attached to him, and his kind smile, and his eyes, and probably that warm embrace that you’ve never let yourself experience.

You watch them, not allowing yourself to melt at the moment because you did not invite him over, nor did you give consent to bring that fucking doll house here. But you can’t say no now, as she clings to his leg when he stands up and looks at you with an almost irritated glint in his eye. 

His eyes trail all over you briefly too, as if checking for any new spots or marks that a man could have put on you. You feel seen, dipping your head to not meet his eye and scratching the back of your neck as if to hide a spot there. There isn’t a mark, it’s just…fear? nervousness? anxiety? 

And then he hauls the box in for her without saying a word to you. You watch him hard now that his back is turned. His voice sounds so loving when he speaks to your child as if she’s an equal. Plopping down on your living room floor with her and opening the large box. 

He Ooo’s and Aahhh’s with her as he pulls each piece out, connecting the walls, the doors, handing her little things to help him with. And both of them are so focused on the task at hand to create a safe space for all of her abused barbie dolls that… you feel invisible.

For the first time ever in front of them both, you feel like you are nothing but a ghost. That he is the single parent. As if you’re forgotten, less loved, not wanted, not even needed. 

There’s a bubbling in your gut when you tear up, reminding yourself that what Jay did that night was probably just, well, he’s a man. Men aim to fuck at all times usually, and you guess you should have expected it at one point from him because, again, you’re aware that he’s attracted to you. Even more aware now. 

But the way you feel right now outshines that. He’s ignoring you to keep your child happy. She is ignoring you because it seems Jay does a better job at it than you do. 

And, well, he’s not holding you down, whispering things in your ear, letting out frustrated little sighs at your drunken or drowsy words now. So, you say nothing. All you can do is go to the kitchen and prepare a snack, trying to force the tears to stay inside of you with quiet sniffles, hoping you can join their little picture perfect moment so that you can be helpful too. 

Your heart swells when they both look at you as you present a plate of snacks. You have to hold back tears again at the way their eyes shine, thanking you for the snacks. Jay’s eyes stay on you a bit longer though, as if saying “See? See what you’re making her go without?” 

You do see it. 

But…it can’t be him. As much as you wish it could be, you just can’t. There has to be another man out there just like him, one that doesn’t have a history with you that would cause whispers and questions. There has to be. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

That moment you witnessed seems to have solidified Jay’s place in your home. Whether it be for babysitting or simply so your child can see him when she’s asking for him (which is often.) It’s kind of an issue, actually, because now the choice isn’t yours anymore and it appears Jay knows that.

You hate that you’re forced to see him for what he is now. How he proves himself over and over again to be the man you need. The issue is that you still don’t want it to be him. The bigger issue is that he’s breaking down your walls, doing little things for you, looking at you with those dark eyes– your resolve cracks and reminds you every time he’s here that maybe it could work. Maybe you’ll give him a chance. Maybe you won’t have to go out anymore looking to fill a void that no one else fits into. 

It’s the way that now, you can’t help but to compare him to your ex husband. The man who you loved for so long, who you genuinely thought you’d spend your life with happily and safely. Now, compared to Jay, your ex seems like…nothing. Like a little crack in your resolve. He was older than you by just two years, took care of you for so long, impregnated you, and slowly but surely throughout all that time grew to resent you too.

You still don’t know why, but perhaps it’s just because you were growing into your own. You were becoming more independent, though he never had the capability to realize just how much you depended on him during the very time he left you. 

“I just don’t want to do this anymore.” Your ex had said to you on that fateful morning. 

Your belly was big as you tried to waddle up to him when he said that. You can’t help but think back now and wonder how pathetic you must have seemed when he yanked his arm from your grip, especially due to the difficulty of your pregnancy already. You were sick through most of it, only having a few good days here or there where that pregnancy glow would make your ex husband second-guess himself. 

The slam of the door after that was more exhausting than the months of pregnancy you’d gone through. It felt loud, so loud you could hear it vibrate throughout your whole body. You recall falling to the floor and carefully holding your stomach. It’s like all of the heartbreak pooled there. The loss of your husband three weeks before he got to meet the child he was supposed to love. Her little heart must have been breaking inside of you too. 

Double the pain.

And then you were mending yourself on your own. Going into labor early from stress,  your family helped take care of you more than her. You were needier. You were broken. 

And never, fucking ever, did you think you’d find yourself sitting comfortable in your lavish home realizing that your ex-husband didn’t deserve all of that pain from you. He left you for that girl, and not two months later did she leave him. 

Never did you think you’d find yourself thinking about Jay as a replacement either. Well, not a replacement, but like, maybe just…he’s the idea of a perfect dad if you pay attention to how your child talks about him. How they act together. How she cries for him before bed when he’s not there, asking you why you don’t read to her the way Jay does. Why don't you sing to her the way he does? Why don't you use the same voices for her dolls? Why you don’t cut her food like he does, why you don’t do this or that.

That’s what makes it click the most you think. The fact that Jay has given her something you never can. The love of a father. It doesn’t even feel like he’s babysitting at this point, he’s parenting, teaching her lessons, bandaging small boo-boos, fixing her hair,…cooking dinner, cleaning…existing here like he belongs.

Jay has done more for your daughter than your ex husband ever could have, more than you could have done for her too, you think. 

Even now, as you come home night after night and see him, you struggle to see him as anyone that isn’t who your daughter needs. Maybe who you need. 

His summer semester is coming to an end too, and it’s hard to see him as a college student now. He really does coursework and everything that needs to be done at your home all within a single work day? With no complaints at all? Lately, you’ve noticed that he’s been more focused on studying when he babysits too, but still your daughter listens to him better than she listens to you. 

Yet, still, it’s like you’re avoiding each other as you go through the motions, but you notice him more. You feel more discomfort because of it, mostly because you know your resolve about this is breaking. There’s a fear inside of you that revolves around him.

What if you missed your chance? 

What if it does end up being a mistake if he still wants you?

You don’t know what to do, but you know you want him. 

Some nights, Jay does sleep over due to exhaustion and you don’t even ask him to leave because you know he’s not doing it to try anything. The avoidance is loud. Lately, you come home from work and there he is, sitting up with his laptop on his lap but sound asleep, softly snoring. Each time, you remind yourself of how he’s sacrificing his study time to babysit. You know your child can be distracting and needy when she wants something too, but he doesn’t complain even a little bit. The least you could have done was bring him a blanket, which you did. And you woke the next morning to find him curled up on the same couch, laptop toppled over onto the floor.

Small, gentle acts of kindness towards each other but never face to face. You’ve woken to fresh coffee countless times, made exactly the way you like it because you know he’s watched you make it yourself. You’ve come home to re-stocked items, like milk and eggs, laundry detergent, and even toothpaste. It’s nice, and a small indication that he doesn’t resent you. Even through face-to-face avoidance on your part.

Tonight seemed different though, compared to all of the other nights when you can’t go out. You walked through the door to the smell of dinner and your child still awake, sing-songing at you the moment you walked in. 

“Dad said I can stay up late!” 

You quirk a brow, her calling him that now becoming a regular occurrence to the point it goes through one ear and out the other for you. You recall discussing her bed time though, with absolutely no exceptions.

“Did he now?” You hug her before taking off your coat, walking with her to the kitchen where you find Jay, placing down a small plate on the table with cartoon characters on it, right in front of two bigger plates with bigger portions of delicious looking food placed neatly on it.

Your heart swells, but your anxiety grows twice as big alongside it. This. 

This is what you’ve wanted for so long. This is what you never thought you could find. So, why is it that you still have push-back in your mind? Despite knowing that Jay has proven himself time and time again, you want to argue?! 

Perhaps it’s because you like the way he tries. Maybe you’re not ready to lose that feeling of being chased in some way, of being begged to let him stay. Maybe it’s because you begged your husband, desperate for him to keep you, but he left anyway. It feels like Jay gives you power over yourself, over your love-life, over everything, really. 

And if you were to actually accept his advances, even just a dinner on your table, what if he stops? What if he gets bored once he gets what he wants? After all, he’s still young, you can’t truly imagine he wants to do this forever. 

Not with you, and not with your daughter either. 

“What’s all this? Isn’t it a bit late for her to have dinner?” You question him instantly, anxiety bubbling up out of assumption alone. 

“We had a small snack a few hours ago.” Jay reassures you. “I finished my exams and had a burst of energy to celebrate, besides, it’s a Friday–” He goes to pull out a chair for you. “You don’t need to be up early either. A late dinner every now and then never hurt anybody.”

The way this is the first time the two of you have had a face-to-face conversation since…that night. His voice calms you, and that’s scary. 

You huff, happy because you could easily melt into this chair and pretend you’re having a family dinner, like you always wanted, like you never rejected a touch from him that you desperately wanted. You could just play along and pretend Jay is everything you need. Except, it wouldn’t even be pretending at this point. The whole idea of him has changed. But, again, that anxiety. You still have that little voice holding you back, no matter what you want, or what you need, you fear it’ll be ripped from you again if you were to let yourself be weak for another person.

“I’m really tired, Jongseong.” You explain, walking past the kitchen and towards your bedroom. “Thanks for dinner but I’m not too hungry and I just want to lay down.”

And with that, he watches you leave. No real appreciation, no congratulations on him finishing his exams, not even a kiss to your child’s forehead. Is he still expected to be the one to put her to sleep? 

Why is he even here? Why did he do all of this? 

His patience is running dry.

So, he eats with your child as your plate goes cold and he leaves it there. If you can’t even handle a dinner at the table with the person who cooked it, you can deal with your own fucking plate. Throw away your own fucking food, wash your own fucking dish. And if you can’t tuck your child into bed, he’ll do it, but you can shove that fake ass exhaustion right up your ass for all he cares. 

He knows you’re not exhausted. He’s seen you when you are. You’re just being an asshole to him at this point, trying to appear like you’re perfectly happy with the life you live when your drunken rants prove otherwise. You treat him like everything he does has an ulterior motive. Which, yeah, maybe it does, but he was genuinely excited to have someone celebrate the end of this semester with him. Maybe assuming you’d indulge him went too far. For the first time, he wasn’t doing it to impress you.

By the time Jay gets your daughter to bed, all tucked in with a little tune to fall asleep to, he closes her door and just stands there in the silence on the other side of it. 

You must really enjoy being a single mother, huh? This is why too. He always questioned it. You’re so attractive, so well-adjusted. You work hard, your daughter is a sunshine in this world, and you’ve not managed to find anyone to love you yet? He thought he was lucky to be the one getting to spend time with you. 

Turns out, you refuse to let anyone in despite Jay knowing, fucking seeing straight through you. You want something from someone. You need it, yearn for it, even. But it’s almost laughable at the way you refuse it. 

Excuses, excuses, excuses. 

It’s the fucking audacity you have taking advantage of him. You’ve practically led him on. You lend him everything he wants in life. That’s it. You lend it. From flaunting yourself before you go to bars, to exposing all the marks you allow other men to leave on you. Letting him stay in this house, father your child, cook, clean, mend, fix, heal. 

From being a faux-father to being minimized to a college student that you used to babysit. He’s offered you relief in so many ways including sexual, and all you fucking do is avoid, deny, fucking reject him. You still go out to bars, later and later you’ll come home with new swells against your skin, but always looking so empty and disappointed. Sometimes he thinks you try to make him jealous. Sometimes, he thinks you want him to try again. 

Sometimes, he thinks you get off on the fact that he keeps trying.

And he has tried. Albeit more gently lately, but he has. Small, lingering touches when he hands you your coat to help you get out the door and to work quicker. Starting your car for you before you leave. Fuck, he even opens the goddamn door for you. Anything to make you feel appreciated, respected, and fucking wanted.

The silence is loud in his ears due to the sheer irritation as he drops his head, staring at his feet and knowing it’ll only take a few strides to reach your bedroom. A room he still craves to be in.

He’s raided those drawers by now, because of course he has. Soiling your panties, your sheets, anything that still smells like you when you’re gone for the day, all so he can act normal upon seeing you when you come home. He’s laid in your bed by now too, wondering what it would feel like to have your weight beside him. He fantasized about anything and everything he possibly could in there.

And he’s always warmer. Always cums the hardest with weak, muffled moans as he stuffs your pillows into his mouth to keep quiet. All before cleaning every trace of himself there, closing the door, and wishing he was allowed to exist in there with you. 

Right now will be the first time Jay enters your room to your knowledge, and it sucks for him because he has essentially trained himself to get hard every time he opens this fucking door. Still, he composes himself, and it’s a bit of a shock if you’re being honest.  You thought he’d go home after this, you were kind of hoping he would after you made it so awkward. 

You felt guilty the second you saw his expression fall to your rejection of eating dinner like a big fucking happy family. You want it so bad, you want him so bad.

When you left the kitchen, you immediately went to your room and hopped in the shower, well aware that he wouldn’t follow you. You thought hard while the hot water made attempts to wash away your feelings. Would it have been so bad to just eat with him? With your daughter? With both of them? The way his eyes fell, it burned your heart a little bit.

Still, no answers came to you because you know part of you just wants to see what else he will do for you. Despite the history with him, and despite knowing his entire family would question and scoff at you for it…Is it really so wrong? To want to give him a chance just to see if he’ll leave you too? 

Just to see if it’ll hurt when he does it too?

Inviting him to your home almost every day of the week isn’t wrong, right? Forgetting to pay him all those times before, hoping to see him again and get that confidence boost, that wasn’t wrong. Letting your daughter attach herself to him when you swore he wasn’t permanent, no longer having the energy to correct her use of “dad” towards him… none of that is wrong.

 It’s all Jay. He’s the one in the wrong for willingly following along, not you. Right? 

And as you’re sitting on your bed in your towel, zoning out and staring at your floor, Jay swings your bedroom door open without a single knock, mindfully closes it, and immediately goes off on you.

Somehow, you really expected him to accept your rejection but your heart swells that he didn’t. You don’t think he ever will, and you’re exhausting yourself hoping he’ll prove you wrong.

He’s shown you enough by now. This is what breaks down that wall inside of you, isn’t it?

“What am I doing wrong?” He shoots his first question out in a desperate whisper shout, eyes searing into you before continuing without a single breath. “Because I do everything for her, and i do everything  for you, does that really make you so fucking uncomfortable?”

“J–” You try to respond, feeling your skin prickle at the sheer irritation in his expression.

He’s fighting for you.

“Isn’t that what you want?!”

“After everything I do–” He throws his hands up now, running his fingers through his hair as if you make him feel like he wants to rip it out. “After trying to make your life easy while making mine harder, for what? You to not eat the fucking food I made? For you to go to the bar all the time just to come back disappointed like I’m not right here waiting for you to come back?” 

“What ar-”

“Don’t ask me any stupid fucking questions, Just answer me.” He drops his hands, stepping up to you, placing both hands on either side of your hips, doing his best not to react to your near-naked body. “Why?”

You lean back, trying to create more distance to try and give him an answer that you don’t even know yourself, but he just keeps closing in. Not letting you escape this time. You’ve never seen him so riled up before, it’s…

Well…

“Because I came onto you? Because I tried to do what no one else will do for you?” His voice shakes when he says it, and you can feel the heat radiating from him. Is he…about to cry?

Only now, seeing him so close with an entirely sober brain do you realize an answer. Maybe not to his question of why, but to the same question you’ve been asking yourself. It’s because of that look in his eye. You’ve never been able to put a word to it, but now with him demanding you explain yourself so closely, you see it.

He’s desperate. 

Arguably as desperate as you’ve felt to fill the void. Except, he’s trying to do that for you and you won’t let him out of what? Fucking fear? Hell, at this point the history means close to nothing when it comes to all the new memories he’s made in this home, even without you. The history of babysitting him, the history of your ex husband leaving you. It doesn’t matter.

You think hard, so hard that you feel your eyes burn as you stare up at him. Glancing without intention to his jaw when he clenches it, to his neck when he swallows his words, to his lips, his eyes, the hair falling in his face…and you just–

You reach up, running a soothing hand through his hair to get it out of his face. Then you see those same desperate eyes somehow grow more desperate as he lowers them, leaning into the touch, as if you’ve been starving him the same way you’ve been starved for years. He falls silent too, cutting himself off mid-question just to feel you touch him for the first time.

“I don’t know.” You say, which seems like a better answer than having an excuse. What can you say otherwise? That it’s because it shouldn’t  be him? That you’re afraid he’ll realize he’s not ready to settle? To be a dad? He’ll ask why, and it’ll be the same answer you gave on that drunken night. An answer that you no longer care about. 

You babysat him when he was a child, but you were still a child too. 

You were still a child, and time changes things.

Your ex husband left you, and you’re afraid he will too, especially because he’s so much younger? Who cares?

Your answer seems to fly right past his head though, because he’s still leaning to feel your fingers in his hair, and he’s looking at you as if nothing you say will matter unless you make it hold some weight to him. 

“Jongseong–” You pause, scratching right at his nape, uncaring of how you can feel your towel loosening on your body. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Somehow, his name on your lips is what he needed to hear. The tone of it, the rasp in your voice, your fingers in his hair. Actions speak louder than anything the two of you could say right now, and he can’t help it. Nothing can stop him, not even you at this point. 

He hasn’t done anything wrong you say? It’s because he fucking knows what you need.

You inhale deeply, holding your breath when you feel your back hit your mattress, his warm hands instantly taking advantage of your freshly-showered state and tugging at the towel just slightly to let it fall open. You hear a slight breath from him at that moment, an inhale. There, he climbs onto the bed, nudging himself between your legs and trapping you there under him, both hands holding your arms down.

Like he’s afraid you’ll reject him again.

“You’re going to let me take care of you now.” He demands, though to him it sounds more like a plea solely due to the fact that he’s so fucking turned on it’s unreal. That feeling of when your fingers were in his hair? Seeing your naked body? Unshaved pussy? Being in this fucking room with you? It throws him into overdrive, especially with the way you just lay there blinking up at him in surprise. The anger melting away only amplifies it more. 

How could you do this to him? Genuinely, how could you have let him fucking suffer for you like this? 

Still, you blink up as if you’re a deer caught in headlights and it makes his heart thump against his ribcage. Your eyes are so bright, that glint of sadness he had seen so many times isn’t there right now. And there’s so much adrenaline inside of him, like he needs to move fast before you change your mind again. You’ve not let him do this for some fucking reason or another and now you’re just laying here for him.

 There, with your entire body on display, and you appear to be docile. Fucking obedient? Like he always knew you would be if you’d just drop the fucking act?! You were meant for him and him alone, and he’s going to show you why.

In all honesty, you’re tired of denying yourself by now. From the moment you saw him that day cleaning your pool for the first time, you’ve wanted him on some level. It wasn’t an emotional attachment, but a hope, a fantasy for you. And when you recognized him, you were more impressed with him than embarrassed. You tried not to let your eyes wander out of guilt, out of feeling like a pervert. 

And then, that day when he came onto you, he was just a man to you. Your faux guilt kept you from letting him, and your hope to be chased kept you from it too. As if you’ve never pleasured yourself to the thought of him, shamefully in this very bed. As if you’ve never called out his name with a silent breath. If you keep going at this point, you’ll lose him before ever knowing what he could really be for you. 

This is his last ditch effort to beat you at your own game, and you’re ready to lose.

  So, now, you let yourself get lost in him. In  his eyes and the way he pleads and makes his demands. He probably doesn’t recognize his strength against you right now, or how much it’s turning you on. With the way he has both hands on your wrists, probably bruising them, and there’s nothing you could do even if you wanted to. His weight holding you down feels better than you imagined. 

After so long, with so many failed hookups where you’ve told them of your daughter and all they’ve done in return is get their orgasm then leave…Jay. He wants to take care of you? 

He wants to…give you what you need?

Fuck, you know he can. That’s the fucked up part. He’s proved it so many times to you in so many ways. You’ve watched him, the way he moves and acts around you. He’s exactly what you need. You pushed him to this point, where his sanity is on the brink of crashing. Taking it away from him again feels wrong, because it’s exactly what you want.

And when he presses his leg between yours, he knows.

“Again?” He comments, now releasing your wrist from one hand and running it down, able to slip his fingers right into the slick of your bare pussy. “You’re wet.” 

You still just blink up at him with an intake of breath at the pleasure, thoughts running left and right on what to do, finally realizing you don’t want to do a damn thing. He’d do it all if you let him. Clean your house, be a father, fix all of the breaks, make you wet.

And you just feel him, the way his fingers play around with what he does to you. You can practically feel his confidence rise at the way you spread your legs a bit more, as if to give him more access. When you look at him, his expression remains harsh, but slowly he moves himself down, lips brushing over one of your nipples while keeping eye contact.

Still that irritated look, like he’s mad you haven’t let him do this before now.

“How many times are you going to pretend like I’m not the one who gets you wet?” He asks before rubbing circles around your clit, tongue flicking in the same way around your nipple. “Like I don’t have a right to take care of you?”

Your breath is still caught in your throat, trying to be careful about what you say right now despite knowing you can’t speak. You focus on what he’s doing instead, losing yourself to something you’ve not felt in far, far too long. 

He’s right. He’s gotten you wet more than once by now. More than he knows. 

And goddamn, he knew your tits could bounce, but the way they move without the support of a bra, the plush, soft feeling of your nipple growing erect in his mouth, all for him to bite and pull at. He does it too, listening to the little seething sound of pain from you when he pulls all the way back with your nipple between his teeth. Only to let it fall from his mouth and break eye contact with you to see the jiggle as it falls.

His cock twitches, at everything that you are right now, feeling more pleasure through seeing you like this alone compared to fucking his own fist on your bedroom floor. He notes how your legs squeeze him more at the nipple stimulation than his fingers too, memorizing the way your labia falls open between them. He smirks, flicking his tongue more, quicker. 

There. There it is.

A low rumble in your chest falls from your lips. Soft, a moan. A very small, delicate sound.

“You like this?” Jay asks, looking up at you, letting his tongue fall from his mouth again and flicking the erect nub. “When I play with your tits?”

You nod, throwing an arm over your face in embarrassment that this is actually happening. You’re letting him. Already you feel yourself heat up more, even when he takes his fingers away from your clit and instead, uses them to flick your other nipple. 

And he does this for a few minutes. Paying special attention to your tits, going back and forth with his fingers and tongue to each bud, trying so hard to not stop just to shove his cock between them and use them the way he’s always wanted. He focuses on drawing out more and more little sounds from you instead, slurping his own saliva from your painfully erect nipples, pulling back, blowing cold air, then warming it up again with his lips. All while simultaneously groping, flicking, and pinching with his other hand. 

“Jesus, Jay–” You moan quietly, chest rising and falling as he squeezes and licks against you. 

That’s right, say his name. Let him fucking know he’s doing what you like. Jay thinks, feeling his cock weep in his pants as he does it. Wondering just how sensitive you are to be reacting like this to simple nipple stimulation. God, he’s wanted to suck on these for so long, and now you’re letting him. They’re so big, so plush. He wants to fucking cover them with his mouth, he wants to bury his face in them, kiss them all over them. 

And if they were to get bigger? He moans at the thought, remembering that conversation you had with your mom. You want another. He bets they’d swell up–Oh, fuck yeah. They’d probably hurt to rub against your shirt. God, fuck, he can’t control his thoughts right now.

 Finally. 

Fucking finally, he has you and he’s not going to let you run away again.

He doesn’t fucking care if it’s forward. He wants what he wants, you want what you want. That want just so happens to line up. Besides, he’s already proved himself to you, he knows it. If you’re letting him do this, maybe you’d let him stay like this. 

“Did they get bigger?” He moans briefly as he swaps to your other nipple again. “So full, so heavy, were they leaking all over you?”

You listen to him, trying not to feel the pit in your stomach bubble with even more arousal at his blatant and dirty words, feeling your clit throb at the stimulation your tits are getting right now. 

“Makes my dick fucking throb just thinking about it. Fuck–” 

“Let me give you another,” He mumbles now, almost mindlessly before looking up at you with an intense gaze as he bites down, indicating that he’s not mindless about it at all. 

“Swell you up, make you glow–”

Oh. 

Why is that– why are you dripping?

He hears that moan you let out. Different from the others, almost desperate.

“Mm, yeah.” He encourages it, now allowing his hand to travel back down to witness how much wetter you’ve gotten at those words. So messy, so perfect. “Knew you’d want it raw.”

You can’t help the nod, as it comes before you even process his words solely because you feel his fingers slip inside of you. You haven’t been this wet in so, so long. You want to feel it. To be full again, of anything. Of him.

“Ye-” You start, interrupting yourself with a bite of your lip and your eyes rolling back. 

“That’s right mama,” He coos, tilting his fingers up and amplifying the pressure inside of you. “Gonna let me take good care of this pussy, yeah?” He adds, lifting from your tits and ghosting his lips over yours. 

He watches you closely, that daze in your eye. God, you look so horny right now. There’s nothing more he wants than to see this time and time again. To let you wake up every morning with his warm cum inside of you, to see your belly swell with his child, to see your tits grow until they hurt. 

He’d take care of you. He’d take good fucking care of you. 

“Say something.” Jay whispers against your lips, darting his tongue out against your lips, angling his fingers up and making you moan. “Say you want me to give it to you raw.”

You open your mouth, feeling his tongue lick and swallow up that moan you just gave him before you try to compose yourself. You can’t help it, you’re so, so sensitive right now and you can’t help but find it incredibly sexy to be here, laid bare, while he’s still fully clothed.

Like he really is doing this for you. He’s not trying to get his own orgasm and leave. You’re weak and those words of “let me give you another” shines in your head. Weak, you’re weak. You should be thinking about condoms, you should be thinking about the consequences of this. 

But you’re not. 

You do like it raw.

“Jay–” You stutter as you try to grasp the reality of his words, feeling his fingers repeatedly hit right where you need it. “I’m…not protected.”

He moans. Loudly, before huffing out an irritated groan.

“You must really want it then.” He narrows his eyes at you. “Going out all the time trying to get fucked–” 

He plunges his fingers in again, deep, and holds them there as he pulls back to look at you. To really look at you, then he glares.

“You’d really let just some fucking dude give you a baby?” 

You repeatedly shake your head. 

“No!” You retort, thrusting your hips up. “I just–”

“Mhm,” He pulls his fingers out now, sliding himself down so fast that you can barely comprehend him sucking your clit into his mouth before pulling back in a moan at the taste of you. “If mama wants another, daddy will give her one.” He says now, as if to pacify you.

As if to give you everything. 

And you’d argue, really, you would.  You want another child so bad, but this is– it’s too soon. You haven’t even established a relationship with him yet. Boundaries haven’t been discussed. His college plan– but fuck it’s not entirely your fault that you’re like, super turned on by the idea of it. To the thought of being so filled with cum that there’s no possible way you couldn’t end up pregnant. An indication that, no matter what, no man at a club could fulfill the arousal for you even if they cared to do it. 

You’d never have let them actually fuck you raw. 

Jay though…how can you keep telling him no?

How could you reject him again when you want it so badly? 

Fuck now, think later.

“Yeah–” You say against your better judgement, hands reaching down to his hair so you can grind up against his mouth, lost to the arousal as you mimic what he referred to himself as. “Daddy?”

You feel his mouth fall slack at that, as if you’re accepting him in full now. You feel your clit hit nothing in his open mouth, but it throbs harder. 

 He knew you were slightly into him for letting him do this at all, but now, you’re truly accepting it. Like you know he’ll fucking do it, like you want him to fucking do it.

“That’s right,” He moans against your clit as he licks at it, barely able to comprehend your voice calling him that but clinging to it all the same.  “Gonna let daddy do it all for you.”  

Yeah. You are. You’re gonna let him do it. All of it. 

And then, the room is enveloped in quiet moans, more from Jay than from you due to your breath being stuck in your throat. His tongue, licking every part of your sensitive cunt, his hands reaching back up to your tits, fondling, pinching, painfully tugging at them as he moans louder, louder, louder for you to want him.

He presses his hips up and against your mattress as he tastes you, so deeply it hurts his cock to neglect it like this. Each rub feels raw, twitching and pulsing to be let out, to be inside of you, on you, against you. Filling you up with his cum, plugging it in as a promise that you can’t leave him even if you wanted to. 

He’s going to fucking do exactly what he said he would. 

And only when you feel his tongue lap against your hole do you finally release your breath, “Daddy” coming out in a choked back sob. It breaks him, his body going into overdrive as he pulls back and just– stares at you with wild eyes. 

You stare back up at him, knowing that calling him that means something more than a cringe little roleplay kink. It means something deeper to him. He wants to be a dad, a real one.

“Oh yeah?” He finally says, hands going straight to his button and zipper. 

You can’t help it, biting your lower lip as you blink up, watching his shoulders move, the veins on his arms protruding as he rushes to pull it out and– oh. You moan at it, the way his heavy, slicked up, cock falls out, heavy, needy. 

“Daddy–” You urge him on, knowing that it’s driving him absolutely insane. 

“Mhm?” He shuffles himself off the bed, letting his pants drop as he lifts his shirt off of him and fucking glares at your tits. “You want daddy’s cock?”  He adds now, shooting his eyes up to you as both of his hands land on your legs.

Your mind goes blank when you feel him slide his hands around to the back of your thighs, pushing your legs forward, curling you in on yourself, forcing your pussy to be out and on display for him. 

And you watch him, the way he stares down at it. It’s embarrassing to be so seen right now, not having expected to get fucked open by anyone tonight, let alone him. You probably should have shaved or something, or like, not gotten out of the habit in the first place. But he moans at it, mouth falling open at the fact that you are entirely a fucking woman. 

A fucking mother.

The prettiest pussy he’s ever fucking seen let alone tasted.

And he moans, breaking the silence, forgetting only for a moment how long he’s been wanting this. It boosts your confidence more than you’ve ever felt. His reaction to this is more than your ex husband’s reaction to you when you were pristine and borderline pornstar quality. 

Jay doesn’t see you as used and neglected, he just sees you. And this. This is the pussy he wants. This is what he wants to put his baby in. 

When he flicks his eyes back to you, with that same open mouthed expression, it knocks the breath out of you. There’s so much love in his eyes, or maybe lust, you don’t care. You think you’re matching that expression for him too, because it’s like he can’t hold back anymore. He can’t just sit and look at you anymore. 

He just can’t.

And you feel it, his thick head pushing past the tightened, pulsing hole and not stopping. He pushes in slowly, painfully slow, to the point you’re both looking at each other with a slack jaw. Finally. The pain of it, the pleasure, the fucking need you’ve been trying to fulfill. 

That look on your face drives him wild too, he knows he has you by now. You like it, you love the way he slides in and makes damn sure you feel it the way he does. Every second of the slide pries you open, and he wants to remember this moment forever. He wants you to fucking remember too. 

Wants you to know that no one will ever fit inside of you so perfectly, so deeply.

When he finally bottoms out, he leans forward to keep himself buried deep as he ghosts his lips over yours. He feels the way you try to kiss him, but he pulls back with a confident smirk. 

“When was the last time you’ve felt a cock so deep in you?” He whispers hotly, knowing you need not answer. Knowing you won’t answer, not with the way you’re instantly lifting your head and kissing him. 

Your pussy pulses around him when you lick into his mouth, the first real kiss sending his heart soaring. He twitches inside of you with each squeeze, and kisses you harder, deeper. And somehow, it brings tears to your eyes. 

The way he kisses, the way he makes you feel him. Fuck, the way he makes you feel whole, so wanted, like you’re amazing to him. In more ways than just a body to fuck, but he’s stuck around despite all of your avoidance and rejections. You hope you’re making it worth it. 

Fuck, you need to feel worth it to him.

“You’d better not fucking pull out.” You groan through a breath, his lips still kissing you through your words as he finally pulls his hips back, fucking in once. 

Hard.

Honestly, could you have said anything else at this moment? He’s trying to make this last, he needs it to last. If you keep fucking talking, saying everything he’s ever wanted to hear– 

“Fuck,”  He moans, his hands moving up to your cheeks as he licks into your mouth. “You can’t–”  He continues, fucking in again, moving your body up with each thrust do to the sheer force of him trying to plunge in as deep as he can. “You can’t fucking say that to me right now.”

You’re seeing stars though, unable to say anything else as your eyes roll back at the way the head of his cock practically kisses your cervix with each push into you. He’s so rough, so desperate for it. 

You don’t think he expected you to respond either, with the way he keeps his lips on yours, his body pressed so closely that having your legs to your chest means nothing to him now. Mating press be damned, he’s lost his mind to the feeling, not the aesthetic of being a fucking dad. 

Your legs wrap around him instead, and he’s all to happy to feel it. Your legs hug him the same way your arms do, the same way your pussy does, and he’s fucking in love with you. 

He braces one hand back against your leg, holding it against his hips as he continues to fuck forward, still at the same pace. Deep and with purpose. Every few seconds the bursts of pleasure run through him, making him shiver and moan into your mouth. Little grunts, near whimpers for you to let him give you the world. 

More than this. More than fucking, more than taking care of you, more than anything he could ever possibly give you. He’ll find a way. 

And then, you’re clenching hard, matching his near-whimpers except moaning in full pants, babbling and drooling cries against his mouth. 

“Mama–” Jay soothes, continuing his pace as he tilts his head back to get a good look at that lost gaze in your eyes. “You’re crying?”

You nod with a laugh, tears rolling down the same way the wet of your cunt slips down your ass. You’ve never felt so good, so fucking full.  And for some reason, that does him in. Making it last be damned, he genuinely thinks he’s won you over. He can make it last next time, he can do more next time, he can–

He leans back all the way now, onto his knees as your legs try to hug him back to you, and his eyes go straight back to those tits. The way he made a promise. The way they bounce, slick with his sweat from pressing against you. 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.” He grunts in a breath, now quickening his pace and snapping his hips. Pulling out all the way briefly to plunge into your again. “Can’t get any deeper–” He continues, flicking his eyes from your face, to your tits, to that beautiful pussy of yours swallowing him up. 

Now his eyes roll back, hands going back to your thighs to push you back into position. No way in hell can he last, not at a pace like this, inside of a woman like you. 

“Don’t pull out.” You repeat again in a breath, seeing his face and the way he focuses solely on you. You know he’s going to cum, and you want him to. You want to feel it, every single fucking drop of it. 

“Yeah?” He nods his head with laser-focus on your pussy now, staring down as he points tight, short thrusts inside of you. “Momma wants my cum? Hm?”

Oh, he’s fucking gone.

“She likes it?” He continues to talk himself up. “Likes being so fucking full of it? Yeah?” 

Goddamn, fuck, he’s insane. 

“Yes, daddy!” You whisper-shout, fingers shooting to your clit, other hand raising to your mouth to silence the moans as to not be too loud. 

“Fuck, yeah you do.”  He lets out a near growl, his voice low and rumbled as he slaps your hand away, pressing hard on your clit with his thumb as he buries himself in you once more and stiffening his abs. “That’s right.”

And instantly upon feeling him pulse, that first spurt of cum painting your insides, you lose yourself with him. Your fingers drop from your mouth and you release a pornographic moan for him, rutting yourself against him, as if to fuck it deeper into you. 

It only prolongs the orgasm though, for both of you. 

Jay is silent, trying to keep his eyes open through the pleasure as you pulse and squirt around him, his thumb pressing so hard  into your clit, his cock cumming so deep, filling you up so well– He wants to see it. Wants to watch you fall apart for him. Wants to witness the way you let him do this. 

And he holds himself there, so hard and so full of pleasure for you. Keeping himself practically impaled against your cervix until your body falls slack. Still, he fucks it into you, holding you in place with a softer moan now. No longer guttural or deep from his chest. His breathing is rough, a soft, near feminine moan leaves his lips as he falls forward onto you. 

You wince along with him at the sensitivity, panting, a sweating tangle of a mess the two of you have become. And it’s the fact that it’s the first time you’ve ever gotten off at the same time as someone else. You feel…soft. 

Your hands find their way to his hair as his face squished against your tits while he regains breath, not daring to move his hips because your pussy is too warm to leave right now. You brush the sweat-slicked hair out of his eyes, running your fingers all the way back to his nap, and then slowly down his back to rub and scratch.

He shivers at the feeling, humming the same feminine-tone he had released previously. And all he can do is hear your heart thumping against your chest, even through these soft tits of a pillow he’s lying against.

Jay never wants to move again, not from this spot, ever. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“You know I’m in love with you, right?” Jay mentions briefly after a long moment of silence, looking up at you with his wet hair. 

Deep in the night, your food still cold and on the table, you’ve found yourself freshly showered and on your living room couch with Jay’s head on your lap. He made sure to have stayed long enough inside of you to implant…something if it was going to happen. So he didn’t argue a shower, and you didn’t argue letting him join you either. 

He had washed you, gently running his hands between your legs with what you can only describe as the softest, most alluring face a man has ever given you. Like he won the lottery, or found the answer to eternal life or something. You repaid him by letting him admire your tits again while you jerked him off, but that’s besides the point. 

“Like, I’m not going to leave. I hope you know that.” He adds with a soft groan to your hands still in his hair. His new favorite thing. 

You look down at him, hand moving to his cheek as the words hit you in the chest.

There’s anxiety along with happiness, at all of the boundaries and serious conversations that will need to be had now, but still, you feel like you’re glowing when he looks at you.

He didn’t even have to say it, and arguably you probably don’t need to say it back either. You think he sees it in you. Even if he didn’t, you think he’d take anything you give to him and cling to it. After all, it only took one time for you to break entirely for him. 

“Are you now?” You smile with a chuckle, looking back to the tv and pretending to watch it. “Well, that’s good. Otherwise I’d be making you go get a plan B or something.” 

His eyes narrow at you.

“Like hell I’d let you, even if I didn’t love you.” He groans. “But I do, so don’t ever say that shit again.”

You chuckle, feeling the calm in your home that once felt so chaotic. It’s quiet now, both inside and outside of your head. 

“Congratulations, by the way.”

He looks at you with question, quirking a brow.

“For finishing your finals, I mean.” You smile, going back to petting through his hair and feeling like you’re on top of the world, despite what you assume to become half of your world lying his head on top of you. 

“Oh, right.” He smiles, now turning his head to watch the tv. “I probably failed them.”

You don’t believe that, but even if he did, you think you could be what he needs too. He wouldn’t have to work if he didn’t want to.

If he’s really in love with you, all he’d have to do is…not leave. 

“Are you sure you want to be having these conversations with me? You can just call it a hook-up.” You finally say, hoping he means it, knowing it breaks your heart a bit to give him an out. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m going to trap you here just because I’m a little smitten too.” 

Jay glares, blinking up at you.

“I literally just tried to put a baby in you.” 

That’s fair. 

“And you’re not going to run off? Get cold feet?” 

“Can you stop doubting me and just let me do what I want for once?” He argues playfully. “Do you even know how much that barbie fucking dream house costed me? I couldn’t run even if, for some stupid ass reason, wanted to. I love her too.”

Silence for a moment.

“Maybe even more than I love you.” 

You really, really, want to believe him.

So, you do. ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・ please remember to like and reblog! feedback would be lovely too, of course ; 3 ; i'm not below begging.

[thedepressedjuggalette]

Arcane is a GOTHIC Show.

No, not Goth like Goth music, I mean GOTHIC as in Gothic Literature like Mary Shelly's Frankenstein, Robert Louis Stevenson's The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, or literally anything written by Edgar Allen Poe.

I am dead ass serious. Or maybe I'm just insane.(Spoilers ahead!!!)

Now it is okay if you didn't pick up on this, I am just one of those extremely weird kids that grew up reading Gothic Literature so much that it was almost an unhealthy obsession so I kind of spotted this within the first 6 episodes of the first season.

Now if you don't believe me when I say that Arcane is Gothic in nature I need to ask you this:

Did Arcane ask these simple questions:

What does it mean to be human?

What defines humanity?

When is a person too far gone?

Can grief ruin a person?

Can trying to help others turn to destroying others?

And can obsession turn to madness?

These specific questions are the very questions I've noticed pop up a LOT in OLD SCHOOL Gothic literature.

For instance Viktor is a lot like Viktor Frankenstein and Dr. Jekyll (more so Dr. Jekyll) in the sense that he slowly loses his humanity the further he pushes his research before finally falling to a destructive path. He quite literally loses himself to his own research and by his own research subject.

Singed (Dr. Ravick) is more Viktor Frankenstein than anything else. So obsessed with bringing the dead back to life. But whereas Frankenstein was obsessed with the idea of it that he never thought if he should. Singed found it merely to be nothing more than an illness needing to be cured because he couldn't stand the idea of losing his daughter.

Gothic Literature came out after the Romantic Literature Era, however in the Romantic Literature Era a lot of writers were protesting workplace mistreatment such as forcing children into working in coal mines and cleaning chimneys, along with the obsession of nature, Gothic Literature focused on the morality of Humanity, what it meant to be human and what defines us and how quickly a person can fall into insanity (aka mental health issues).

The first to start this was Mary Shelley over a small bet with her husband and several other authors. Her work was mortifying in comparison to the others because of what it forced the reader to think about.

Her work took place during the Enlightened Era where scientists were obsessed with Progress (Riot I fucking saw this shit coming, fuck you guys), and how if as a species can we become like god and make something from our own deaths and if we even should?

Shelley doesn't directly answer this but we actively see through her writing the death of a god -- Viktor Frankenstein -- because Adam (the monster) views his creator with contempt and disgust and thus demands his Eve despite Frankenstein's reluctance.

Can you imagine what Vander would've thought of Singed?

Can we really say that Vander would not view Singed as both his Savior and Destroyer. Can we even call Vander human? Or is he something else entirely? We can't call him a werewolf in the traditional sense, so what truly is he? He is the Adam of a species not meant to exist. Is he even Vander anymore or is he truly Warwick?

A lot of Poe's writing is very much about madness and grief. Well... To me anyways, it could just be my obsession with his poem The Raven (it reminds me of my great grandmother).

And I've personally in my own life seen how grief can destroy a person physically -- their despair destroying their physical health because that person feels their life died with that person. And I fear every day for my grandma to head down the same path that her sisters are when they pass.

But it's the mentality that the more subtle and at the same time the most extravagant thing to be destroyed through grief.

We see this repeatedly with Jinx and Vi.

They lost their stability the moment that their brothers and Vander died, and when Jinx thought Vi was dead.

They had already lost their bio parents, so this was another nail in their coffins. However Vi had no idea if Jinx was alive or dead and thus had that to hold onto despite being beaten bloody in an unstable environment that is prison.

Jinx however had her grief and trauma constantly lectured into her and had to form her personality around it. She even comments on it in episode 9 of season 1. Silco didn't know how to be a dad, but he was trying his best but he was a grown ass man when he had his personality reformation unlike Jinx who was like 10.

Her grief was haunting her and ruining her mental health.

I had recently learned that psychotic depression is a thing.

With her guilt and grief and PTSD eating her alive she was bound to go the road she went down. But what truly killed Jinx was the death of Isha.

I want to make it clear that I don't view Jinx and Isha's relationship as sisterly. I view it as maternal due to the comparisons between her and Silco and Isha to Powder.

However the point still stands.

She, like Silco, could not stand the mere idea of their child being in any sort of life threatening situation -- especially dealing with enforcers -- and thus would jump to protect them. But they both fail at the end in many ways.

Vi literally stopping Jinx from getting Isha out of there, and Silco being unable to stop Vi from triggering Jinx's PTSD.

And there's one more thing about Jinx we need to address...

If there is one thing I know about bullying and brainwashing is that if you keep telling someone they're worthless etc. one day they're going to believe you, and you cannot be surprised they do and when they act accordingly. Especially when the victim is a child. This is why suicide in children and teens is so devastating and cannot be fixed with religion or weird as hell wrestlers or stupid manosphere podcasts.

We don't know how long Powder had to put up with Mylo's bullying of her, but telling by her reaction to and how the loudest and most negative voice she hears from her hallucinations is his voice... I'd have to say that it started from the moment they met up to his death and it was sealed when Vi hit her and called her a Jinx.

"Who truly made Jinx?" is a question that has been brought up by everyone and their mother by this point. Some agree with the character herself when she said that it was Vi. Others agree with Silco when Jinx stated that Silco thinks he made Jinx.

Some reading this might say "Oh my god was it Mylo???"

I disagree on all fronts.

There is one video essay I keep coming back to because anyone with any sense of media literacy will outright point this same shit out but not as... Artfully as the essay itself.

It is called "Arcane, a Monster Factory" and it starts out with a single statement:

"Piltover breaks people."

And ends with a terrifying statement:

"Sometimes when I can't sleep at night, I start to think that maybe Piltover is more realistic than I'd like to think..."

It wasn't a single person that made Jinx. It was the entire city.

I want to point to Episode 7 to show you what I mean.

Without the death of Grayson but instead the death of Vi and without the creation of Hextech and Silco choosing to forgive Vander, Powder herself changed for the better and never needed to become Jinx. Rather she focused her energy on helping everyone around her -- and not taking time for herself in the process but we've always seen this even in Jinx. She focused on helping Silco then jumped to just trying to destroy for the sake of destroying only to end up helping the under city without meaning to, only to help Isha, and never really helping herself.

No matter what she'd have liked to think, she could've done wonders. Viktor even said so himself. She could do a lot to help his commune with her talents.

Even said it when he was looking at her bomb for the first time, calling her work "inspired".

She is talented but her talents never got the chance to truly shine.

Imagine what she and Ekko could've done if they were able to attend Piltover's academy.

But as stated before, Piltover breaks people.

Piltover made Jinx.

And in a cruel twist of fate it made the two people who cared about her the most hold the blame for the city's actions.

The ending of Arcane was fumbled when it came to Jayce's speech to Viktor and I'll stand by that because it was the fault of Piltover for Viktor having a preventable disease and thus leading to his obsession with avoiding death and avoiding needless suffering.

But in this ending these two science husbands did ask the one question that truly defines Gothic Literature.

What does it mean to be human?

And it's answer is one that I am unsure about because no one can truly define the human experience. The experience of life. The grief. The pain. The love. The joy. All of it.

In my own fanfic for a completely different fandom I had two characters talk about emotions. One couldn't truly feel emotions while another could. It took me a long while to try to figure out how to answer the question of "What is it like to feel emotions?"

It's hard to answer, isn't it?

I did figure it out though, having to take a page out of Kindred's playbook. But it was one I was very satisfied with.

It is questions like these be them asked through subtle writing cues, or blatantly asked by the characters themselves, they define Gothic Literature to me.

Arcane is the beautiful marriage of Greek Tragedy and Gothic Literature.

[penguwastaken]

Danganronpa's Most Misunderstood Mastermind

*Obvious spoiler warning for Danganronpa 3, go watch it it's awesome

Danganronpa 3 is one of the more controversial entries in the series. While I'm not here to discuss all of the decisions it's made (many of which I think get way more hate in the fandom than they deserve), I do want to talk about one thing in particular that many seem to dislike: the mastermind.

In Danganronpa 3, we discover that the chairman of the Future Foundation, Kazuo Tengan, organized the killing game in order to manipulate Ryota Mitarai into releasing the Hope Video to create a world without despair, or rather without conflict.

Many criticize Tengan for seeming inconsistent in his motives or having an unnecessarily complicated plan. People have even gone around spreading the narrative that Kodaka himself was disappointed in Tengan being revealed as the mastermind, which makes no sense because not only is there no source to this, Kodaka himself literally worked on Danganronpa 3.

In my opinion, I feel like many of these criticisms are either unfounded or come from a poor understanding of the character. With this giant post I hope that maybe I can try helping people understand the point of Kazuo Tengan.

The Man Before

Before we discuss Tengan as the chairman of Future Foundation and mastermind of the killing game, it's best to understand his origins and where he came from.

Tengan was formerly the headmaster of Hope's Peak Academy before being succeeded by Jin Kirigiri, afterwards becoming the school's advisor. This is the first instance we see of a core trait of his, that being his distaste for conflict.

In his artbook profile, his dislikes are listed as just "conflict." His personality description reads:

"Former headmaster of Kibougamine. A good-natured old man who currently works as an advisor at the school. He understands what the academy is aiming to do, but questions if it’s true hope. He wants the main and prep school students alike to enjoy carefree school lives." -Translation Source

Tengan wants everyone to live a carefree life free of conflict, this is what hope is to Tengan. As an advisor, Tengan is able to voice his opinions on issues regarding school, particularly ones about the school's vision and ideology.

Tengan believes that hope comes from a world without conflict, one of peace. To him, conflict just creates despair.

Tengan questions many of the decisions made by Hope's Peak, and is personally against the Kamukura project. However, as just an advisor, he never forces his hand and gives Hajime the choice of whether or not he wants to participate on the project on his own. This ties into Tengan's core trait of hating conflict, allowing Hajime to make his own choice but still trying to persuade him into making a certain choice.

The Tragedy

Unfortunately as every one knows, Junko's plan succeeded and the world was plunged into despair.

Tengan made the decision to stay outside of Hope's Peak and help fight against despair, doing whatever he could in order to end the conflict.

The war began to take a toll on Tengan. He knew that all the fighting that the Future Foundation couldn't end the war. After all, violence creates more despair.

When Kyosuke asks Tengan why he changed, he simply responds with "Because I learned the way that we're doing things now will not eliminate despair."

Now the question is, how exactly did Tengan change? What made him become a "coward?"

It's revealed that before the killing game, Tengan obtained the despair video and watched it by his own volition as a last ditch effort to end the war. He knew that the conflict wouldn't end just by constantly fighting, so in a way this was him giving in. And with that, the old Tengan was gone, and he became another Remnant of Despair.

The Man After

Despite being brainwashed and having his mind reconditioned in the same as Class 77, he didn't align with their goals nor was he even a part of them. While his mind was twisted, his core traits and ideals remained.

It's worth noting that being brainwashed doesn't completely change who you are as a person. Just like how Nagito obsession with hope remained as a remnant, Tengan's desire to end conflict remained as well. The difference is that their methods became more extreme and subconsciously reflected despair more than hope.

As despair Tengan, he would go to whatever lengths it necessary to achieve "true hope," or in his eyes, peace.

In Danganronpa Gaiden, Tengan tells Kyosuke to let Misaki and Takumi decide what they want to do.

However, Tengan slips a bomb into Misaki's pocket as an extreme measure. As despair Tengan, he didn't lose the side of him that lets people choose what they wish to do, what changed is his method of persuading people getting more extreme.

The Final Plan to End All Conflict

During this time, Tengan began working on the plan that would end all conflict and despair once and for all. The war wouldn't end the way things were going, and more fighting would pointless. However, the perfect opportunity fell into his hands.

Tengan had discovered that Ryota not only developed the technology used in the Despair and Suicide videos, but that he was also working on a brand new Hope Video as well. With this, Tengan could put an end to the war once and for all.

With his immense power in the Future Foundation, he was able to make changes to the building in order to set up his very own automated killing game. He would take advantage of Makoto Naegi's trial to bring the top members of Future Foundation in one place, only to gas them and trap them in a killing game. Through word of mouth, Ryota would discover the killing game and release the Hope Video in order to end everything. Why did he choose to do it like this instead of just stealing the video? Well, it's pretty simple.

Looking at it realistically, tension was already brewing amongst Future Foundation. The chances of someone like Kyosuke who already wanted Tengan dead getting in the way were too high, so getting them out of the way so that way they can't affect his plan was important.

More importantly though, he wanted to give Ryota a choice. As we saw with the board of trustees, Hajime, Takumi, and Misaki, Tengan wants people to choose what he believes is true hope on their own. However, he's not opposed to persuasion, and as despair Tengan, his methods have only gotten more extreme. Obviously Ryota wouldn't possibly say no in a situation like this, and that was Tengan's plan.

Unfortunately Tengan made one mistake, Ryota showed up to the meeting uninvited. Unfortunately the word of mouth that Tengan intended to use to get Ryota to discover the killing game ended up causing Ryota to find out about the meeting and go there.

Unfortunately, once the gas was automatically released, Tengan couldn't just cancel the killing game, and it would be suspicious if everyone but Ryota vanished. As a result, he had to bring Ryota along with them and give him the wristband that was meant to be used for Yasuhiro.

The wristband prevented Ryota from using his talent, which may seem backwards on the surface, however it makes more sense when you think about it. If Ryota used his talent to make everyone stop fighting, then that would completely screw up the killing game.

So Tengan opted to protect Ryota until the killing game ended, and when he died, he left a message for Ryota inspiring him.

It's worth noting that Tengan didn't intend for the killing game to last forever. He knew at some point they'd regain connection with the outside world or discover the breaker room, which he intentionally hid behind an exit door to bait people to it. His plan was just to have it last long enough for Ryota to release the Hope Video without anything getting in his way. But now with Ryota with him, his plan shifted to protecting Ryota until the game ended.

But things were different now, Tengan was affected by the virus known as despair. Whether he was conscious of it or not, his plan to get rid of all conflict, to eliminate all despair, was just another form of despair in itself. Tengan's plan would inadvertantly bring more despair than hope.

And that is the very nature of Kazuo Tengan's plan! (dun dun dun)

So Basically

Tengan was a man who believed that true hope came from peace. His distaste for conflict was the driving force for many of his actions. While he encouraged people making their own choices, he aimed to persuade people into picking what he perceived as true hope.

When he was brainwashed as a result of his own desperation, his methods became more extreme and twisted and he didn't even realize. He believed that everything he did was for the greater good, to end all conflict, even if he had to manipulate people and go to extreme lengths to do it.

That's why Kazuo Tengan is such a great mastermind. In the end, Tengan's goal was to end all conflict and create what he thought was true hope. However his nature as a despair betrayed him, and unbeknownst to him, he would actually be creating another form of despair.

Conclusion

I feel like a lot of people underappreciate Tengan. In my opinion, he's such a cool character and belongs next to Junko, Izuru, and Monaca when discussing the masterminds of the Hope's Peak saga.

If I were to try to guess what caused Tengan to be so disliked, I'd say it has to be due to the quality of the dub which makes him more difficult to understand along with Danganronpa 3's (honestly undeserved) reputation in general.

There's a lot of really cool things about Tengan, like just how awesome it is that he's an old man with his chuusen. But unfortunately, he's just seen as the forgetable funny old guy from Danganronpa 3.

Maybe with this thread I was able to persuade you into reconsidering. However, in the spirit of Tengan, that's a choice for you to make. I'll still give my input though :)

[ladyylavenderrr]

Garak and Psychosis

Very self indulgent little post about instances of Garak displaying behaviors that read to me (or at least can be read) as a symptom of psychosis. I will almost certainly miss some, but I want to compile this together for myself. I completely see Garak as having some kind of psychotic disorder. Most of these examples will come from A Stitch In Time, but we have some from the show as well. Also keep in mind that many of these could be interpreted in a myriad of ways, not just as a psychotic symptom. I’m not claiming any of this is definitive proof or anything of the sort, and Garak’s past as a spy (a profession that by nature demands a lot of paranoia) certainly complicates all of this. That’s not to say this an either-or situation. He can be both psychotic and a former spy and in fact the effect both would have on the other would be quite interesting, as laid out in this post

Again, all of what I say can be interpreted in many different ways, but I just want to have it all written down in one place. Psychosis can manifest in very different ways for different people. Some people might be debilitated by their symptoms, struggling to function without assistance. Others might function just fine most of the time and only experience relatively mild symptoms, though the associated distress isn’t any less important.

Season 6, episode 5 “Favors The Bold”. Garak insists Julian examine him for a some kind of mind reading device put in his head by Starfleet Intelligence. Despite Julian telling him there’s nothing out of the ordinary in his head, Garak doesn’t believe him and insists he keep looking. Came off as a delusion to me, especially since he remains convinced despite evidence proving his delusion false.

Season 4, episode 21 “For the Cause”. Upon meeting Ziyal, Garak becomes convinced that she wants to hurt and kill him. I wouldn’t say her being Dukat’s daughter is enough evidence for the average person to be this worried. In fact, Quark even calls him out on his paranoia and we get this exchange.

GARAK: I was going to cancel. I've had visions of Ziyal presenting my head to her father as a birthday gift. 
QUARK: That's a little paranoid, wouldn't you say? 
GARAK: Paranoid is what they call people who imagine threats against their life. I have threats against my life.

To be fair, Kira warning him to stay away from Ziyal gets him to calm down a bit, or maybe not because he still seems quite apprehensive when he actually meets Ziyal, still afraid she might want to hurt him.

Now to A Stitch In Time.

Part 1, Chapter 7. As Garak helps Parmak dig people out of the rubble of a bombed Cardassia (highly stressful and traumatic situation), he seems to hallucinate a figure. You could read this as metaphorical, but he reacts to and tries to interact with the figure in the real world, which doesn’t come off as a metaphorical way of describing his despair to me.

“I have never lived with despair, Doctor, the way I live with it now. It's almost like a phantom companion that shadows me and casts doubt on whatever I do.

"Why save him?" it asks, as we remove a young boy from the rubble of a school. "You're only keeping him alive for a future of privation and chaos. Wouldn't it be more satisfying to join the burial unit?"

I want to scream at this phantom, to shut it up. Once I turned around suddenly and raised my hand to strike it. When I realized it wasn't there, it was too late. Everyone in the unit was looking at me; I'm sure I must have looked like a madman.”

After this, Parmak gives Garak some pills. He only calls them “relaxants” so it might be a sedative of some kind, but I’m not sure. Either way, Garak hallucinates again after swallowing the pills, panicking as he sees those Cardassian orphans from the episode “Cardassians”. I doubt the pills are hallucinogens, both because Parmak specifically gave them to Garak after witnessing him hallucinating and is seemingly trying to stop that, and because they speak about the hallucinations like an unintended side effect ("I'm afraid they don't react well with me," I explained. “I understand," he said.)

Certain drugs making psychotic symptoms worse isn’t uncommon.

Part 1, Chapter 6. As Garak and the rest of his group in Bamarren are forced to stand still in the heat for what might be hours as part of a training exercise, he begins to hallucinate multiple figures, including his parents (it’s interesting that one of the figures seems to be Palandine, even though neither we nor Garak have been introduced to her yet). If this were the only instance of Garak hallucinating in the book, I wouldn’t assume he has a psychotic disorder since this example has obvious an explanation outside of a mental health issue. People are known to experience hallucinations when suffering from heat stroke. However I’m putting this example here simply because it’s part of a larger pattern of Garak hallucinating multiple times throughout the book. It’s also interesting to note that this scene happens right before the scene of an adult Garak hallucinating that figure with Parmak.

Part 2, Chapter 18. Garak seems to hallucinate as he looks at the frieze. He sees the frieze move and the people painted on it move as well. He thinks some of the figures are he and Palandine but isn’t sure.

“The frieze now began to move in the upward direction. I was too amazed to ask if this was truly happening. People would disappear at the top while more would enter from below.

Certain faces were recognizable, but I didn't know why. Something was also rising within me, an energy moving up my spine to my head, and I began to feel dizzy. Two of the figures could have been Palandine and me, but I couldn't be sure. I was almost nauseous with the energy surging within me. The figures completed the cycle and disappeared at the top. The frieze stopped moving.”

This one can be interpreted in a more metaphorical way than some of the others, but like I said, it could also be another symptom of this potential psychosis.

I’m sure I’ve missed some examples, but you get my point.

[caytoniccox]

I deleted all my social media apps but not this one so I guess I just lied. I’ve felt incredibly strange recently. That’s also a lie. I’ve always felt this unease about my existence and frustration that I want to matter both to myself and others and yet I feel dreadfully alone. It is this sinking feeling. I guess that would be depression but it doesn’t always feel like despair. I guess it is though. Everyday feels like a loop of a video game where I wake up and work and wake up and work not feeling like any of this matters. That I’m not doing anything that matters. Lots of my feelings revolve around wanting to matter and I’m not sure what that means either. I guess I’d like to have some kind of impact to other people but am I really chasing that? No, of course not because it’s easy to think about these things and then in practice it’s like, welp I better run away from it.

I’ve always wanted to be a writer for instance. Instead of going to school for it I’ve worked retail and been in a cycle of wondering if anything matters. I think about writing and avoid it. I’m writing this well I’m on a bike thinking about how to be understood and cogent with my thoughts but I almost don’t care. Let myself become a rock thrown off a cliff. Who cares if anyone understands. This is for me I guess!

I don’t know. I was thinking how I haven’t spoken to my father in years. He’s a stranger. My friends father died. I keep thinking in these contrasts. I still have this father like figure but he’s a stranger as I’ve said. I don’t know how to jump this gap or even if I want too but I won’t deny that I do feel this kind of parental ache. This yearning for wanting family be it blood related or not to be present and know that I’m struggling I guess? I think I’d like someone to say I love you and mean it. I want to matter to others. I want to take up space and offer something up to my friends and I suppose the world but I’ll stick with my friends mostly for now even though I constantly feel like I don’t have any. Which isn’t true. It’s the same story. Maybe others can relate. This voice comes in and says

“You won’t have any friends lol.” And it can very much feel true. It makes me not want to reach out. It’s so hard to reach out to people especially if it’s because of mental health.

I don’t know, I feel like I’m having a mid life crisis and I’m not like 50. I just feel things. I feel things and I don’t know if I want too or if it’s helpful or whatever the fuck.

[bakafurai]

Man nothing quite like the 4am realisation hitting me like. Oh.

Oh, Kenji has rumours spread about him dating a teacher.

(Side note: this is incorrect btw, Kenji was very insistant to p3mc several times during his social link to keep it a secret so idk wtf ms kanou was on about here but the point here is that rumours were apparently spread)

Oh this is kind of fucked up when you think about it.

Like it's not really in your face, but there are several instances of bullying or just shitty ass behaviour from students in gekkoukan:

>the several girls that bullied fuuka by: throwing the stuff on her bag on the ground*, mocking her for crying behind her back, took a picture of her and threatened to accuse her of theft and litterally locked her up in the gym storage room.

*taken from the p3 movie

>akihiko's fanclub that regarde him as property and not a person, they're so coocoo for him that femc needs like level 3 charm not to catch akihiko's attention- but to muster enough bravado to ignore the death glares she gets from his fans

>that one student who resorted to punching hidetoshi for angering him, the students who just watched it happen and also that student that had smoked in school and left a cigarette butt. (even if he did come clean in the end)

>the girls who shit talked chihiro behind her back when she was being falsely accused of stealing money.

>the group of girls (and that one boyfriend guy) who managed to spread rumours about saori that were so bad she had to transfer schools.

>the couple of girls having a go at yuko for stupid reasons and very definitely would just put gum in her locker which is incredibly unsanitary might i add

And lastly while not bullying per say, i do want to point out that rumours tend to spread very quickly in gekkoukan high school- the same day p3mc transferred in, there was already rumours fastly spreading that he and yukari were dating or smth because they happen to walk to school together.

Which... paints a nasty picture for Kenji when you take all that into account, doesn't it?

Like how many people do you think stared at him while this was going? How many people whispered nasty things about him as he passed by? Do you think they'd stare at him in class too? Do think they would audibly make fun of him? Do you think he had to find places to hide less he get anymore judgeful stares and tourment?

Do you think the teachers got very upset at him? Do you think the school told his parents? Do you think his parents probably got mad at him? Do think Kenji felt at his lowest point in his life, where everyone he knows is looking at him like some freak.

Do you think finding out Ms Kanou had a fiance this whole time sent him into further despair thinking about he stupid he was? Do you think felt so unworthy of comfort in that moment?

Do you think that maybe Kenji could have really used a hug from a friend anyways because only an asshole would have the audacity to laugh at a distressed 16 year old going through what probably is the lowest point in his life right now? I think he probably did.

[the-darkness-does-not-bargain]

Rated M for Massage Therapy

Here, take this.  I am hopelessly caught in my AvaLil feelings whirlpool, and the violent currents have shaken this out of me.  Once again, this is set in my Twitch AU, which has two other parts here and here, one tame and and one decidedly not tame.  This one is just tooth-rotting sweetness though.  And I’ll probably put it up on ao3 now, so I’ll add the link here when I do.  Enjoy!

//////

It wasn’t something Lilith noticed right away.  How could she, really?  Their first interactions at the bar were understandably shallow, and Ava was very good at hiding the signs.  She danced around the bar with perfectly careless grace, mixing drinks and applying garnishes like it was what she was born to do.  She danced around Lilith with the same gangly, uncoordinated charm, smiling that million watt smile and flirting with devious grins and terrible jokes.  It was all remarkably guileless to the untrained eye.

Lilith would learn in the following months that subtle subterfuges were Ava’s specialty, small mistruths and lies of omission that she told to protect herself from the scrutiny of others.  From their doubt, and their pity.  This revelation came on slowly, as they so often do, starting with little incongruities that gradually painted a larger picture.

The first time she saw Ava drop a drink, she didn’t think anything of it.  A common mistake, with nothing noteworthy about it, except perhaps the look on her face when it happened.  Surprise would be expected, maybe even a flash of panic and a cringing grimace as the glass hit the floor.  Yes, that would have all been very normal.  But the small quiver in her lip, the way her hands shook in the seconds afterward, and the quiet despair in her eyes were very much not normal.  She brushed it off quickly though, laughing loudly and apologizing with an exaggerated bow to the patron she was serving.  It was concerning, but Lilith didn’t know Ava very well at that point, and the incident slipped from her mind just as quickly as it occurred.

It kept happening, though.  Not frequently, or regularly, but enough to eventually raise an eyebrow.  There were other little flags too, ones she only picked up on when she started watching Ava with more than friendly interest.  Ava was a restless girl, incurably fidgety.  She was constantly wiggling and bouncing about.  She was clumsy in an endearing way, and always looking for something to occupy her hands with, be it a shaker, a pen, or once, memorably, an ice hammer.  So any time she was still, any instance her movements were contained and careful, was something to pay attention to.  There were days when Lilith spent hours after work just watching Ava do her job, and she found herself genuinely perturbed when the other woman seemed to be restraining herself.  No playful flourishes, no thoughtless bar tricks, not even any spinning and twirling between customers.  It was all very unsettling.

Bigger, more obvious signs appeared when they stopped circling each other and officially started dating.  Ava’s tiny apartment was stocked with a multitude of curious items, some that Lilith expected, like silly trinkets and extremely tacky novelty mugs, and some she didn’t, like heat packs, grip strengtheners, and resistance bands.  More telling still was her medicine drawer, which Lilith found by accident the morning after their first night together.  Ava had gabapentin, tramadol, extra large bottles of tylenol and ibuprofen, and capsaicin cream, all strategically clustered together behind her toothpaste, moisturizers, and hair brushes.

Lilith was quick to put the pieces together after that, but she didn’t confront Ava about it.  Too many times in her life, she had damaged or broken something important by pushing too hard or coming on too strong.  She lost her first job prospect out of law school that way, and the fallout of that mistake was painful to think about even to this day.  She refused to do that with Ava, especially when what they had was still so new and delicate.  She resolved to wait until Ava was ready to bring it up herself.

But she never did.  Lilith waited, keeping her discoveries to herself, but she was waiting in vain.  Ava never talked about it.  She kept this secret locked tightly inside herself, putting a wall around it and covering it in barbed wire and caution tape, leaving Lilith at a loss for what to do.  

She thought she understood why Ava was so reticent about it.  After all, she had plenty of her own difficult secrets she was struggling to share, none of which were life-altering, physical disabilities.  She just wanted to let Ava know, somehow, that she didn’t think of her any differently for it.  To be frank, she was already falling pathetically in love with her, and every new thing she learned about Ava just added fuel to the wildfire.

Lilith decided to keep waiting, but she didn’t do it idly.  She started researching instead, reading medical journals and scrolling through websites for organizations like the Foundation for Peripheral Neuropathy.  She knew there probably wasn’t much she could add that Ava didn’t already know, but she resolved to jump on anything she could find.  The resources she looked at frequently highlighted the benefits of massage therapy, so she decided to start there.  During her few moments of downtime at work, waiting for meetings to start or milling about the courthouse, she read guides and watched videos detailing the best techniques for hand and finger massage, practicing the motions on herself until she felt she could do them with some confidence.  

It was a small gesture in the grand scheme of things, but she committed to it.  She kept practicing while she waited for Ava, holding onto the skill for whenever she needed it.

The moment arrived approximately five months into their relationship.  She was at Ava’s apartment to pick her up for their date, only to be left outside the door when her girlfriend didn’t answer her knock.  After a minute of standing around awkwardly, Lilith pulled out the spare key Ava gave her and quietly let herself in.  

Inside, she found most of the lights shut off, the space darkening rapidly with the setting sun.  The only light that was on came from the skeletal kitchen.  Ava was slumped at the card table that was her main sitting space, her head lying against its surface while her hands were sticking up in the air, clenching and unclenching repeatedly.  Next to her were two different bottles of pain medication as well as her tube of capsaicin cream, all open.  Lilith had planned for them to go to a reasonably high-end restaurant owned by her friends Mary and Shannon, but Ava was barely even dressed, wearing nothing but a pair of boyshorts and an overlarge t-shirt.  Sitting there, half curled in on herself, she looked very small, in a way that triggered all of Lilith’s intense protective instincts.

She moved into the kitchen hastily, taking louder steps than she realized, and Ava jumped, lifting her head from the table and gawking at her owlishly.  “Lilith?”

“Uh, hi.”  Lilith stopped in her tracks just inside the threshold.  “I, um…” Her mother would pinch her for stammering if she was here.  “I came to pick you up.”

“Oh,” Ava said dumbly.  “Right, shit.”  She looked around her kitchen and then down at herself.  “Shit, sorry, I guess the time really got away from me.”  She started fumbling with the items on the table, grabbing the open bottles and clumsily trying to stick the lids back on as casually as possible.  “I’ll be ready in a minute.  I can… I’ll be ready.”  Her fingers were fumbling to twist the cap back on the cream, but when she realized Lilith was watching her, she quickly turned away.  “Do you want to wait outside?  I just need a couple minutes to get dressed and do my make-up.”

Lilith stood there for a long moment, contemplating her options.  She could let Ava hide again, let her keep all of this to herself for god knows how long.  Or she could take a chance, and maybe this night would end without her fucking everything up.

“Wait!” She finally said, speaking rapidly before Ava could retreat any further.

She watched the other woman pause before slowly glancing back at her.  Her shoulders were tense, but her expression was just cautious.

Lilith carefully pulled the second chair out from the table, set her purse down, and sat in it.  “Sit with me?”

Like a wary animal watching out for traps, Ava slowly sat back down, putting the yet uncapped tube back on the table.  She watched Lilith, waiting for her next move, and Lilith hated the uncertainty in her expression, and the vague resignation.  It was a look she sometimes got when they fought, and Lilith hated it because it meant that Ava thought she had already lost.

“Can I try something?” She asked.

Ava stared at her, eyes slightly narrowed.  “Try what?”

Lilith held her hand up, palm open.  “Give me one of your hands.”

“Lilith…”

“Ava, please,” she pleaded softly.  “Just let me try.”

Ava kept staring for several eternal seconds, glancing between Lilith’s face and her hand.  Then, she finally acquiesced, carefully placing her left hand in Lilith’s right.  Lilith rewarded her with a small smile, before bringing her free hand up to join its counterpart.

“I will admit, I’ve only tried this on myself,” she prefaced, trying to inject some levity.  “And not very well.  But I’ve studied all the tutorials I could find, so…”  After taking a deep breath through her nose, she started moving her fingers along Ava’s hand.

They were both silent as she worked.  Lilith focused all of her attention on the task at hand, rubbing with firm, meticulous strokes and seeking out the pressure points and special areas identified in the guides.  She kept her touches fairly simple.  Some of the more advanced techniques were quite involved, but she stuck mainly to effleurage, cautiously rubbing her fingers into Ava’s skin as the tutorials had instructed.

Ava watched her intently the entire time, and she was acutely aware of it.  She didn’t let herself falter, however, and pressed on.  After several quiet minutes, Lilith stopped and cupped Ava’s hand in both of hers.  “Does it feel any better?”  This was the moment of truth, the moment where she would find out if her efforts were misplaced, or if they would be worth it.

Ava licked her lips, a whirlwind of emotions on her face.  “Did you know this whole time?”  She asked.

How to answer… “No,” she said honestly.  “At first, I had no idea.  I just… noticed things over time.  And I found…” She glanced meaningfully at the capsaicin cream, and Ava followed her gaze.

“You never said anything,” she said, almost too quietly to understand.

Lilith took another deep breath, all while stroking her thumbs across the back of Ava’s hand.  “I didn’t want to ambush you.  You didn’t exactly seem ready to talk about it.”

“But you learned how to do a hand massage in the meantime?”

Lilith nodded.  “I did.  I still wanted to help, so I did some research.”  She leaned forward in her seat.  “You didn’t answer my question though, Aves.  Does your hand feel better?”

Ava blinked several times, and Lilith could see her throat move as she swallowed.  “It does,” she answered roughly.

Lilith breathed a sigh of relief.  “Oh good.  If it didn’t, I was going to sue the guide makers.”

Ava barked out a surprised laugh.  “Oh come on, Lil, you can’t take someone to court just for writing a mediocre massage guide.”

“I certainly can,” she responded archly.  “It would have been false advertising.  They charged a high price for the course.”

“...You paid a bunch of money just to learn massage therapy to help me with my pain?”

The humor faded from Lilith’s expression, replaced by fierce earnestness.  “Of course I did,” she said.  “You matter to me, silly.  I hate when you’re in pain.  I know you’ve been trying to keep it from me.  You hid it very well, but I still noticed.”

“I wasn’t.”  Ava cut herself off, inhaled sharply, and then continued.  “I wasn’t trying to keep it from you for a bad reason.  I just…”

Lilith only shook her head.  “You don’t have to justify yourself to me, Aves.  I think I get it, actually.”  She looked down at their joined hands again.  “There are things I haven’t told you either.  Hard things.  Things I never imagined telling someone else, even you.”  She sighed.  “So I get it, at least a little.  And, I know this happened without your consent, but I’m not going to force you to talk about it if you don’t want to.  I will never do that to you.”  She squeezed Ava’s hand, careful not to do it too hard.  “But if you do want to talk, I’ll be here.  You’ve got me.”

Ava’s lips quirked into a watery smile.  “I’ve got you?”

“Mmhm, your awful puns and terrible mug collection have captivated me.”

She laughed again, and this time didn’t stop, giggling madly as she roughly wiped her eyes on her forearm.  She made no attempt to reclaim her hand.

“Why was I so scared of telling you?” She asked herself.  “I mean, I knew you wouldn’t think less of me.  I knew it.”

Lilith scoffed.  “Don’t be ridiculous.  As if our fears cared a whit about rationality.  Give me your other hand, so I can treat them both.”

Ava tilted her head like a puppy and glanced at the clock.  “If we do that, we’ll be late.”

“That does not concern me.”

“But what about the reservation?”

Lilith just shook her head.  “Trivial.  I know the owners.  They’ll fit us in when we’re ready.”

“Bougie,” Ava teased, her smile now steady and bright.

Lilith shrugged primly.  “It simply pays to make connections wherever you can find them.  But tonight, we’ll order in.”

“Lebanese?”

She smiled, the last bit of worry easing from her mind.  “Lebanese.”

[loveinhawkins]

oh goodness, I just did a reread of nbtdad and thought of the director's cut thing for a couple scenes as I did so I'm so excited two seconds lemme go find them!!

in the meantime (and hopefully you don't mind multiple asks from the same person), [presses a star sticker to your hand] tell me something about any fic you want, please!

(oh so touched you were re-reading! i’ll be updating nbtdad as soon as i can, was actually working on the ending recently—don’t worry, we’re not quite there yet! not ready to say goodbye to it ❤️)

i don’t mind multiple asks at all, feel free to send as many as your heart desires! looking forward to answering the rest of yours ❤️

ooo… i’ll talk a little bit about this ficlet, pre-series 3 pre-steddie crossing paths on one of steve’s last days of high school, posted on ao3 as like something from the silver screen.

He jumps up onto the window sill to better enjoy the breeze, stretching his legs and idly looking outside. He just catches Eddie scoffing, the little aside he makes: “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Steve turns his head to him. “What?” Eddie rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. “Just… you,” he says. And it’s said with a kind of reluctant fondness, almost like they’re friends—which is bizarre, Steve thinks, since this is definitely the longest conversation they’ve ever had. But maybe the approaching summer break has Eddie all sentimental. “What about me, Munson?” Eddie gestures at him, as if to say uh, everything, but it somehow doesn’t come across as an insult. “Just… the way you do things sometimes. Like you’re in a goddamn movie.” Steve raises an eyebrow. “Dude, I’m just sitting. Anyone could do this.” “Nah, Harrington. It’s all in the execution, y’know?”

it makes me laugh thinking about this moment from Eddie’s POV, because his internal thoughts as Steve sits on the window sill are mostly …are you fucking kidding me followed by swiftly changing the pronouns of a police song, every little thing he does is magic.

i liked hinting at this kinda reluctant but huh maybe not really infatuation Eddie has going on. Like in this instance, Steve really does hop onto the sill gracefully, but he could also do anything and Eddie in his poetic, rose-tinted view would find it graceful. Like I’m imagining Steve accidentally dropping his lunch tray while recovering from the fight with Billy and Eddie just sighs in despair at himself, because how does Harrington even do that with style, Jesus Christ, Munson, this is a new low.

in that fic in general with the title and the mention of movies shots and whatnot, i wanted to show a sorta commentary on how obviously the show itself has got iconic shots, and also that Steve is feeling frustrated with himself because his life hasn’t panned out idealistically, no girlfriend (but now he’s quietly gaining more perspective on that), no dream college. the it’s a wonderful life references also compare Steve’s frustration to the main character George Bailey who wants to leave his small town & ‘see the world.’ it also foreshadows some more of Steve’s self-sacrificial tendencies cause George ends up staying in his hometown for the sake of the people who live there. While Steve doesn’t technically actively choose to stay in Hawkins, he does end up staying and protecting the kids. ❤️

fic director’s commentary ask game

[mtdthoughts]

Migi & Dali Final Episode Reaction Pt. 5 (final)

Click here to return to the top of this thread.

As always, spoiler warning.

It was nice to see that Eiji, like Dali, was able to move on from his guilt and despair, and accept a normal, happy life after returning from prison, and I'm sure the twins (particularly Dali) were happy to hear this.

It was sad to see that Eiji still clearly missed Reiko, whom he thought of as his real mother. Even if she was a horrible person, I still feel bad for her, since she could have found happiness too. I wonder what it'd be like if she was able to enjoy cherry pie with everyone.

But what's done is done, and it was good to see that Eiji was willing to find atonement through living. I just want to know what it is that Eiji plans to do in the future. Does he still want to become a doctor? Would he attend the same school as Dali? Who knows...

And now, the final scene, and the twins who were always together now separate as they choose different ways of life. Dali goes to a faraway school while MIgi stays behind to be an artist. As hinted by Maruta's snide remark, I'm wondering if Migi has backup plans, and I suspect that he's staying behind because he doesn't want to leave his family, friends, and home. There's one final instance of bird symbolism, where they fly in different directions as the twins say that their hearts will always be connected no matter how far they are.

This was definitely a callback to the aquarium date in Episode 4, as Dali moved to a faraway town for real, and it's cool that this event was foreshadowed so early in the story. It's also interesting that it was Dali who ended up moving away, leaving behind the first family and friends that he made in Origon Village, considering that he seemed to have abandonment issues and was afraid of being left behind.

But that's the thing. Dali developed these issues because of his mother's death and the revenge quest, and because Dali was the smarter and "stronger" twin, he bore most of the emotional burden alone. As a result, he forced himself to bottle his negative emotions, which resulted in the darkening of his heart and the deterioration of his mental state. But thanks to Migi, Dali was able to overcome himself, accept his own happiness, and wipe away whatever was haunting his heart. The weak Dali burdened by revenge, loneliness, and guilt was now dead, and the strong Dali that Migi looked up to all his life was back, as Dali is now ready to move on and face an unknown world on his own.

Migi knows that he's not like Dali, and was probably not ready to leave the Sonoyamas, his friends, and his home. He probably didn't want Dali to leave, but at the same time he didn't want to interfere with Dali's life, and I'm sure the feeling was mutual. But this was okay, because now they no longer needed to be physically together to remain truly together.

Looking back, I think I wrote a lot more than I expected. I guess it's not surprising since this episode was one of the hardest to unpack. But it was fun for me to explore this episode and write out all my thoughts, and I hope whoever read all this had fun too. I am grateful to Nami Sano for creating such a wonderful work, and I imagine she would be very happy to know that I and many others have enjoyed her work through this anime.

[anime-to-the-t]

[ultfan]

anonymous sent in the best ask i've ever received: When it comes to sex, does his luck/bad luck come into factor at times?

anon thank you so much for making me think about this because it isn't smthn i've considered much — but it definitely would come into play at times. my god. it effects every part of his life, sex should 100% be included. i doubt it happens every time, komaeda's luck isn't something that is always attacking/blessing him constantly. it has it's major highs and major lows. i honestly think the reason komaeda had so many things go his way during dr2 is because he was already in an extremely unlucky situation. — as a reversal of that i wonder if komaeda at hopes peak had a buncha mini fumbles with bad luck, since getting into the school was such a great thing for him. but that's for a different ramble.

yeah ——— i imagine it does come into effect at times. especially when strong feelings are involved. i think neutral flings are kinda a gray area for his luck. he might get passively "lucky" finding things that his partner really enjoys, but i think that's more his skills of observation and general knowledge of the human body at work rather than true luck. on the "bad luck" but not really end for these kinda flings (again, more of a gray area) he's likely to exhaust himself pretty quickly. he is not someone who can exert himself physically for a while. hence why he tends to bottom/be submissive even though he does really enjoy topping/being dominate. again though, not really the place for those wild swings of good/bad luck. in general they're probably just decent experiences for him.

for example... say komaeda is really happy in a relationship. he's feeling so so fortunate and lucky and he's finally able to be intimate with his partner. erectile dysfunction. premature ejaculation. the bed fucking breaks. a stray baseball flys through the window and hits his partner in the face. it just goes wrong — embarrasses the fuck out of him. possibly even frustrates his partner. — if it's extreme levels of bad luck there could be a really shitty instance of something killing his partner during/before/after. or maybe his partner turns out to be really bad at sex!!! or he learns something about them that makes him want to break off the relationship immediately.

but say... if he's together with one of the despairs — be it junko or otherwise — someone he's physically attracted to but hates/has mixed feelings on... god is it the best sex he's ever had. and it's so fucking infuriating. he's able to push through and get extra bursts of stamina to keep it up longer. oh? looks like there's a box of brand new sex toys under the bed in this abandoned house we're banging in! having sex in public in the riskiest place ever and somehow not getting caught. or... they do get caught, if that's what he wants. not that he's much of an exhibitionist, i don't really think he cares if people see him nude.

now i really wanna write threads where komaeda's luck just makes a sexual situation really fucking comedically bad (or comedically good). that'd be so silly. who's gonna hmu?

[kingmaker-b]

Abandoned (1)

I really wanted to finish this one, I really did. Though I guess you could probably tell by how much effort I put into the gif itself. Sadly, it suffered from a shift in my writing style and focus. Mainly my realization that while I like media with more physical conflict, it's not translated super well on paper at least with my current skill set.

Word Count: 1.5k

Things had been uneasy in Gotham, turbulence in the sea of crime and violence wasn't unheard of. 

But this... this was different. A raging typhoon had brewed underneath the filth and grime. The death of the bat revitalized the weeds of the dark seedy underbelly, growing, moulding Gotham to their twisted designs.

Rain pelted her shoulders, working into every nook and crevice it could. 

A familiar neon eyesore sears bright in the horizon, the Iceberg Lounge.

Penguin needed a visit

A deep breath as her fingers coil around her grapple hook, something so familiar, yet so foreign.

Was she ready? 

It didn't matter.

Gotham needed a protector.

Her grip tightens, almost forcing a grimace onto her face. Was she worried about living in her successor's shadow?

Surely not. 

Her movements, deft and graceful swooping through the sky, a swipe across her wrist guarantees there are no lights on in the lounge. 

Fear ripples through her as her feet collide with the skylight, her calves tighten as the glass caves underneath her boots and so does her fear.

Her eyes trace the shattered glass as it flutters like snowflakes through the cold crisp air of the iceberg lounge. 

Soft and delicate.

Her cape catches the air at her command and in that instance, she feels the tension and fear hang thick in the air like toxic smoke.

There was a bat amongst them after all.

Rain pours through the ceiling like a waterfall, melting into her tension-filled shoulders. 

They make the first move, but she's already won this chess match of flesh and steel. 

A lunge comes from one of the dissident elements within the iceberg. 

Predictable, wild and ineffective, like a Barnes opening.

As she twists her body she notices one of their friends ready a gun, a flick of the wrist and the call is answered by a Batarang. She catches the lunge with practised ease and redirects him to a more suitable target.

Exhilaration and adrenaline flood her veins like old times sake, yet she tastes something off on the horizon, gunfire echoes through the lounge.

The explosive rattle of clashing metal and wildfire sparks.

Foreboding, as it wasn't aimed at her.

Too focused on her twisting trepidation, a bad move she's forced to reconsider as she's launched over a nearby railing. 

More out of practice than she thought.

Her instincts still honed to a fine edge, her grapple hook saves her. 

A lifeline from a less than ideal landing. 

A groan escapes her lips as her legs collide awkwardly with the floor, pain ripples through her legs, a sensation she wished stayed foreign.

A dull thud echoes across from her. 

A cocky laugh escapes from its owner's lips.

"Should've stayed in retirement," probably accompanied by an annoying cocky smirk. 

Yet something calls to her, begs for her attention.

Anger and rage flare to life flowing through her like coursing red-hot lava.

A cracked flickering bat-signal with a single bloody handprint.

Perhaps the raging typhoon hidden amongst Gotham's filth and grime was her.

Shin Ryujin.

-

You pull your red hoodie over your school uniform, a small comfort against the coiling rain cresting your skin.

A comfort nonetheless.

The last good gift from your parents.

"Yo, Hoodie," Soyeon calls, offering a tenderly lit cigarette, smoke pulling from her lips.

The embers fight desperately to stay afloat in the pool of cold weather and despair.

Concrete and brickwork, your only shield against the incumbent rain. 

Though you preferred the rain over trust fund kids.

Soyeon and her gaggle of cohorts were a weird paradoxical exclusion. 

Money didn't fix screw-up parents after all.

Your hand waves her off, a path best avoided.

She rolls her eyes slightly, taking another drag. Her eyes narrow across the rooftop, a glint of mischief dances in her eyes.

A barely hidden smile.

A lioness on the hunt.

"Gotta say a rebellious streak wasn't on my bingo card."

A shrug rolls through your shoulders, trust fund babies deserved it.

Even if you were technically one now too.

Your tongue scrapes across your teeth, you preoccupy yourself with your phone. 

You just wanted to return to the cave, Nightwing was supposed to train you tonight.

-

Gunshots, spark crackle and bloom against you like the explosive dying embers of the stars in the night sky. They echo and ricochet through your ears like a dull alarm. 

You're almost enraptured by the scattering flecks of metal dancing like fireflies, you had the Bat's last gift to thank for that.

Your relationship had always been tumultuous, your fists bludgeoned the unjust before you, your anger vents with each collision but you know it'll never be enough.

Your fingers itch for the guns at your hip, the easy way. But your mentor deserved respect in their death, something you wished for.

You watch as the last goon crumples before you, a solid hit to the stomach. "Stay down if you know what's good for you."

The sound of shattering glass distracts you before you can earn a response. None of the family should be here.

This was your penance and your burden.

You quickly hit your stride, bounding over and across abandoned tables and stools, you weren't as smooth or as graceful as Jiu, you were used to running through your obstacles.

Another shattering noise sends worry shivering through your spine, Jiu was supposed to be in Bludhaven. Rain poured like a river as you came across the scene, a shattered rail leading into the depths of an abyss.

Voices echo and boom across the scene, and your body aches, wishing nothing more to rampage. Yet you halt in your tracks. 

"Looks like Big Boy got her," a smile blooms across the thug's features. All you can think about is lodging a bullet between his eyes. A primal urge itched at your fingers, abated only by the promise you made. "I didn't realise the original flavour was back in stock."

Anger flares through you, a beast gnawing at its tether. Your teeth grit as a deep breath soothes your lungs, water to cool the fire of rage. 

Your eyes prowled over their forms, planning your assault like links in a chain. 

Twenty goons all up, it wasn't gonna be a fair fight.

For them.

A flash bang and smoke grenade cocktail to get the party started, you're disgusted with the part of you that enjoys being a hunter. 

You dive into the fray, your armoured boots collide with flesh as you land, the sound of broken ribs is hardly a surprise.

One down.

The smoke obfuscates you and every move you make, you'd never felt closer to your mentor than in moments like this. 

An apex predator amongst sheep, you'd found it harder than any of the others to toe the line.

You fire a stray bullet, loosening one of the many gaudy chandeliers.

A whole squad is gone.

You hear the familiar bloom of bullets against your suit, the pain is nothing but a dull echo of what it should be.

Bruises instead of blood. 

Sparks instead of scars.

Minor inconveniences, as you dive into the smoke. You can almost feel their palpable fear as their friends disappear one at a time.

Nothing but echoes and whispers. 

The boom of your boots, a haunting siren of pain. Primal rage etched into every stomp, a beast you desperately fight against.

A flash of fear haunts the last man standing, his eyes linger on your holsters. 

A deep gulp.

A gun levelled to his temple, everything in your core begs for the return of the executioner.

A raging beast tempered against a cage.

Insert line here.

The cage remains strong.

-

Her fingers itch capriciously against the hem of her dress shirt, her father's scoldings ring still in her ears.

The only time they really shared.

Well aside, from the times she donned the mask. But that didn't count.

She chews at her tongue, cornered by Soyeon of delinquent fame.

A small drop in the bucket of ne'er do wells she's washed over. Her fist clenches at her skirt.

"Does dear daddy the commissioner know you're here?" An infuriating smirk lines her teeth, so deliciously punchable. 

Her hands were tied... figuratively of course. It'd be a simple gesture, a right hook to her smug face.

A more becoming smile.

Yet all Ryujin can offer is a weak smile as fingers lock in her hair.

"How about we do the commissioner a favour? Teach his daughter to avoid the rats in the gutter," a scowl etched into her features, her eyes haunted with a twisted sense of pleasure.

Weak without the mask, pain tickles its way through the nerves in her scalp. Her brain shifts, survival mode a must... at least for her father's sake.

She's prepared for more, a blow to the ribs or the stomach, maybe even a hook to the face.

Her eyes snap shut.

Even among the pews of her thoughts, there's a surprise when she feels a shift. With a soft... hesitant release of her scalp, her feet stumble with the sudden adjustment.

A red hoodie, a defiant grip against Soyeon's wrist. 

"Cut it out," your voice is surprisingly soft, delicate even. It cuts like a knife, all the same, leveraged by your soul-piercing gaze.

[redspringthorn]

I'm not the most social person but after 3 years of the covid pandemic I just wish I could go to events the way I used to but I don't even enjoy them anymore. Every time I've tried to go to an actual event like that oddity expo, or see some music played, I show up and the massive crowd of people unmasked just fills me with despair. Like it's not even just anxiety, I have anxiety I'll get covid every day even from my roommates, when I'm in the packed doctors office, in fucking Walmart. The anxiety I can handle, but the pure despair I feel just seeing that throngs of people have not only given up wearing a mask, but won't even wear one during an insanely crowded event. I just can't get over how the hell this is happening. I just don't understand.

I tried talking to my therapist about it and it is so unhelpful. In therapy it's not about how horrific this is on a massive level, what I need to focus on apparently is to get comfortable going to these places again and get over it and go back to normal. Like fucking why? So I can get sick like everyone else? So I can risk permanently fucking up my heart even more? So I can pretend it's normal for an entire society to give up and let a virus disable half the population or more, while actively killing already disabled and sick people? Because I am not interested in that at all.

It's another instance where I have to confront how useless therapy is for me for like, the majority of things I'm actually upset about. I don't need to pay someone $200 an hour to try to convince me that I should just be cool with it and get used to the mass death, actually. Don't you see how everyone else has gone back to being Normal? Don't You want to Be Normal Too?

Also like. I'm just exhausted always being the one right about fucking shit and having to piss and shit at other people about this shit, being belittled and repeatedly convinced to just try to get over things I KNOW TO BE WRONG, hurting people, damaging to the human soul, killing us all slowly.

All through school I raged against school and the way it punished and destroyed me, but I was convinced by adults I needed it for my future. But looking back on it, it only caused me harm. But I gave in and gave up, because my "therapist" at the time convinced me I would only lead a future of desolation and despair if I didn't complete American public school. I was right when I was begging the adults in my life that I needed to leave school! And looking back on all those dark years and seeing how right I was is agonizing.

I've known this society is destined for destruction and doom from the moment I started to conceptualize what's actually happening in the world around me and yet no one ever listens because they can't imagine any alternative to the one they're living. I'm tired. But I can't talk to a therapist about it, because this feeling, it's "just anxiety." Except I know I'm not wrong. I know we're all hurtling toward a collapse of many systems, both of the Earth and human society. This dread I feel is not anxiety, it comes with living in this reality as someone who isn't in complete denial.

[teegeewrites]

Comparison

From the pit of my stomach rises that familiar feeling

Of being in situations that always have me dealing

With intrusive thoughts of feeling inadequate

Like I’m some horse that’s repeatedly saddled with

An inferiority complex standing next to others

Each minute in their presence my self-esteem suffers

Can’t help but think whenever we’re together

No matter what I do, they seem to do it better

Always falling short despite my best efforts

Up to them I feel I could never measure

It’s no use because whatever I produce

Is destined to be trash when compared to their treasures

Why do I keep doing this to myself

When I know it’s no good for my health

Maybe one day I’ll finally see the light

Because this destructive belief can’t last forever, right?

~~~

I'm back with more poetic musings! While it might seem like yet another melancholic piece, there is what will hopefully be a bright and uplifting message that follows it. 😅

When it comes to this topic, I must confess that I am completely guilty of perpetually measuring myself against others, a tendency that has lingered throughout my life. On platforms like Tumblr, I can’t help but feel a twinge of envy when I see someone share an exceptional piece of writing or a breathtaking drawing, wishing I could possess their remarkable skills. In real life, I’m quite the introvert, often keeping my guard up and finding it difficult to open up to others. I frequently find myself wishing I could be more like those who exude natural charisma and can effortlessly engage in conversation, even with a grizzly bear. This leads to a persistent feeling of inferiority, as I struggle to recognize any redeeming qualities within myself that others might admire.

The dilemma we encounter is that this type of destructive thought process only serves to deepen our feelings of despair, potentially leading us to a place where no amount of effort can help us escape. There's a saying that suggests the first step to getting out of a hole is to put the shovel down and stop digging. In our context, this means we must stop the harmful habit of negatively comparing ourselves to others. I readily admit that this is no simple task; I’m still working on it myself. A helpful approach is to concentrate on the things we take pride in. For some, it might be their athletic talents; for others, it could be their cooking skills. Moreover, we may possess attributes that others envy and desire.

Take, for instance, my high school friend, whom I’ll refer to as John, a brilliant mind among my acquaintances. He possessed a remarkable talent for solving intricate math problems as effortlessly as one might recite the alphabet. John once shared a memorable experience tutoring our basketball team's star player, whom I'll name Lucas. Lucas was teetering on the edge of failing his math class, a situation that would have barred him from participating in an important tournament. He was the quintessential popular kid—an athletic marvel with a magnetic charm that left girls swooning at every turn. In stark contrast to John and me, Lucas seemed to have it all. During one of their tutoring sessions, Lucas picked up on John's body language after a girl had flirted with him. Concerned, he asked if something was bothering John. John confessed his envy of Lucas's athleticism and social ease. What happened next was astonishing: Lucas revealed that he actually envied John's intellect and would gladly trade his basketball talent for just a fraction of John's brilliance. Hearing John recall this tale left me utterly speechless, and I witnessed a newfound confidence blooming in John. As a side note, thanks to John's guidance, Lucas passed his math class and was able to take the court in the tournament.

In essence, I’m expressing that we all possess a light within us that can outshine others in various ways. The trouble is that we frequently become so focused on the dazzling lights of those around us that we unintentionally diminish our own. As the saying goes, “comparison is the thief of joy,” a quote often linked to Teddy Roosevelt. I think many of us can identify with the character in my poem, but it’s vital to recognize that such feelings are not permanent. Let’s dedicate ourselves to becoming the best versions of who we are, allowing our inner light to banish any thoughts that make us feel inadequate.

[ayearwithoutwater]

Ten.

Rhonda, one of my best friends, has taken up needle felting. She was at the home of a friend who'd recently begun it as a hobby and then, as if through osmosis, she found herself playing around with the technique, too.

She began with gray and brown fabric. "Sometimes," she explains to me, "you just start felting and don't know what it's gonna be, or you'll be felting something specific and have an idea for another project in the middle of your current one." It's the mode of creation that she's describing to me, and it's a procedural logic that mirrors my own when I write or when I'm on the pottery wheel. Sometimes, you just have to turn your brain off and let instinct guide you towards whatever feels right. It's the parallelism of our logos that flushes my spirit with joy; she understands me, more intuitively than most. Her first project, upon completion, took the form of a Sasuwatari that now keeps her company on her desk at work.

I was a lonely child, but I didn't know it until much later. My parents struggled to make ends meet and were never home. I would take myself on a grand adventure biking around my neighborhood to discover hidden parks or I would be left at the local public library, often waiting around until several hours after it closed because my parents forgot that I existed.

In one instance, I waited for so long that a passerby saw me from her car and doubled back to park nearby so that she could wait with me. As the sun set, she grew worried—she lent me her cellular phone so that I could call home, but nobody picked up. Finally, as evening set in, she couldn't wait much longer, and so she called 911. My idiot father arrived only as I was about to be taken into police custody.

I thought that that was normal. If I were being generous, I thought that that was just the average experience of a child born to working class immigrants. I thought it was common for one's parents to not have any friends, to never socialize, to not have anyone in their lives with whom I could socialize, and to actively chase away the few friends I made on my own.

I wanted a best friend so badly. Books and television shows depicted all sorts of characters, those with many friends and those with few. Even the loneliest ones had a singular best friend, someone who looked out for them and cared for them and served, as Ken Liu often describes within his Dandelion Dynasty quartet, as the mirror of their soul. I wanted to be understood. I wanted at least one person in the world with whom I could do things and share experiences, all before I even possessed the vocabulary to capably express this desire. I never had that.

Nyota tells me, nowadays, that the apologies we're owed as we go through life never materialize. An inconvenient truth, universal, that I've come to learn is that I have to make my peace with it myself, in my own way.

As I began seventh grade and learned to introspect, I fell into a deep depression. I attended a school regionally renowned for its academics, but I couldn't relate to any of my peers, who seemed to be smarter than I was, who seemed to live exciting lives and have interests outside of the classroom. In comparison, I felt worthless. If one knew where to look, all the signs were there: my LimeWire history was full of records by the likes of Senses Fail and Taking Back Sunday, and my Xanga posts were vague paragraphs philosophizing the non-impact of my theoretical vanishment. I kept a LiveJournal account under lock and key, where my innermost and darkest thoughts resided; I'd learned early on not to leave a physical paper trail, because my mother was controlling and a snoop.

Throughout those years, until I turned eighteen, I cried not more than twice. The despair I felt in the core of my being was a dark hole, a void, utterly incapable of the emotional amelioration that crying can bring. I didn't feel sad—I felt empty. I went through my days mechanically, as if I were on autopilot, as if I were programmed, as if I had no choice. I didn't hate myself because I wasn't worthy of even that.

With what little agency I exercised, I tried to hurt myself. I took a knife to my forearm and carved the word 'loser.' I told anyone who would listen (and, clearly, there weren't many listeners) that I had a grand plan: if my life felt like it was still going nowhere by the time I turned twenty, I would end it. Thankfully, when nineteen ended, I had managed to change my life for the better.

It was during high school that I discovered MapleStory, one of the many massively multiplayer online role-playing computer games that gained popularity in the late 2000s. I loved its combination of cute graphics and worldbuilding lore, all that could be experienced with other people virtually. I had nowhere to go after school and nothing to do (I abjectly refused to study for hours without end), so I sank my time into MapleStory.

I admit, I felt a little bit ashamed that I was spending so much of my life online. Yet, I was enthralled, not so much by the game itself but rather by the ease of access it gave me to the other people within. I found myself logging in, day after day, to talk to strangers from around the world.

bell hooks once posited, "Love does not lead to an end to difficulties, it provides us with the means to cope with our difficulties in ways that enhance our growth." My idle friendships gained depth through repeated iterations, and suddenly I was using the game how I imagine today's teens use the comments section within TikTok. (Chat, am I cooked?) Rhonda is one of those friends; another is Cornelius, the older sister I never had, who would mail me care packages of Andy Capp's and iPod touch devices (yes, more than one, that she'd dubiously claimed to have won in local giveaways and sent me, because I didn't own a smartphone and because I'd lost the first one). For once, I had friends who cared that I existed, to whom I was worth something, friends who would miss me if I was gone.

When it came time for me to apply to college, I asked my internet friends for help. I knew nothing beyond the school rankings compiled by U.S. News & World Report, and prestige seemed to be all that my high school administrators cared to instill within us students. With my limited resources, I wanted to find a (competent) school where I could exist, freely and without parental interference. Cornelius, a native of New York City, suggested that I apply to some of the colleges there; the summer before my senior year of high school, she housed me for a month in her tiny Financial District studio, in the same building I would come to live a decade later, so that I could visit the city to make an informed decision. By doing so, she changed my life, irrevocably.

Lindsay C. Gibson, in Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents, writes: "Lacking adequate parental support or connection, many emotionally deprived children are eager to leave childhood behind. They perceive that the best solution is to grow up quickly and become self-sufficient. These children become competent beyond their years but lonely at their core. […] They look forward to adulthood, believing it offers freedom and a chance to belong." When my parents were upset with me, usually over trivial matters like why I was on the computer so much (why, indeed?), they would confiscate the household internet modem. By doing so, they cut me off from the only method of communication I had with the only people in the world that I felt cared about me. I would be completely isolated, forced to exist in the physical reality of an unhappy household where all I was allowed to do was study—my mother wasn't a tiger mom, but she was a 遥控 parent. Without hyperbole, I wanted to kill myself.

New York City represented freedom to me. As much as I'd like to extend my parents grace, to be forgiving of the conditions we were under, my forgiveness does nothing to change the fact that I was severely neglected, at best, by the people I should've been able to trust the most. In fact, they gave me only repression and reprimands when what I wanted, needed, most was support. When I was accepted into my college of choice, I booked a one-way flight to the other side of the country, and I've never looked back since.

Today, on my bedroom windowsill sits an Orange Mushroom, an iconic MapleStory creature, felted by Rhonda. It's a gift she created for me after nearly two decades of friendship, representing our beginnings. She's become quite handy with the technique; eventually, I'd like to commission a felted Dragon Quest Slime from her, a friend to keep the Orange Mushroom company and to symbolize, in addition to the other video game we both love, the continuing, everlasting bond between us.

"Let's face it," writes Judith Butler, "We're undone by each other. And if we're not, we're missing something. If this seems so clearly the case with grief, it is only because it was already the case with desire. One does not always stay intact. It may be that one wants to, or does, but it may also be that despite one's best efforts, one is undone, in the face of the other, by the touch, by the scent, by the feel, by the prospect of the touch, by the memory of the feel. And so when we speak about my sexuality or my gender, as we do (and as we must), we mean something complicated by it. Neither of these is precisely a possession, but both are to be understood as modes of being dispossessed, ways of being for another, or, indeed, by virtue of another." Butler, whose seminal works taught me to conceptualize identity as a performance, dealt primarily with identity vis-a-vis transgender and intersex experiences in Undoing Gender, but I know without a doubt that she wouldn't admonish my extrapolation of this concept to better reconfigure the self. I am not me without my closest friends, my chosen family. We're undone by each other. I grieve because I desire. I desire because I grieve. Without them, there is neither; with them, there is both.

When my breakup with Henry happened and I was consumed by the same void of despair of my teenage years (by now a familiar friend), one of my therapists at the time asked if I had anyone else in my life to talk to about it. I remember laughing through tears as I counted off seventeen distinct individuals, none of them familial by blood, whom I felt would—and did—offer me comfort. Gina, who knew that I'd been sending my ex-boyfriend roses each month because I wanted so badly to save our relationship, would press into my hands a flower bouquet of my own, lovingly handpicked by her, each time we rendezvoused. I mourned the love I'd lost, but love never comes when one wants in the way one wants it to. Accepting the love that offers itself, the love that exists, the love that I have and nothing more, is all that I can do; the alternative is a lifetime of misery, self-imposed. Ursula K. Le Guin says "the essential quality of [the entire human condition] is Change"—so be it. I am ever-mutable, done and undone by the people who have chosen to be in my life, and I am all the better off for it.