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Guilty Pleasures ( chapter three )
18+ 7.3k homelander x plus size f!reader. workplace harassment, stalking, voyeurism, assault (not perpetrated by HL), violence, smol murder, manipulation/gaslighting, hurt/comfort. nebulously takes place post s1. part 3/4. AO3 link. | Chapter Directory
Homelander will do whatever it takes to convince you that he's the hero you need.
Itâs shortly after one oâclock when Homelander knocks a whimsical melody against your office door, deciding he shouldnât be precisely on time, lest he look as eager as he feels. He can already smell your perfume wafting through the doorwayâthe same scent he feverishly pumped his cock to the night beforeâas a teaser of whatâs to come.
âCome in,â you call from the other side.
Homelander takes in a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. He screws his eyes shut, pinching his expression in a tight squeeze before he replaces it with a flashy grin, squaring away his anticipation in favor of his showman persona.
âGoooooood afternoon,â he drawls, strolling in with the same feigned level of confidence heâs entered every other moment of your life since stumbling across you, whether you knew it or not. Heâs taken aback almost immediately, slowing in how he closes the door behind him.
You look nicer than usual. Your hair is styled with more conscious effort, and heâs been in show business long enough to recognize the makeup on your face. The shine of your blouse is a quality silk blend, and he canât hear the scrape of cheap cotton underneath it anymore. No, youâre wearing something nice below, too. His lips slowly spread into a self-satisfied smile.Â
You dressed up for him.Â
Homelander takes the seat set across from you, sweeping his cape to the side with a flourish. He watches you tuck an empty containerâyour lunch, presumablyâinto a side drawer of your desk. His eyes closely track the way you lift your thumb to the corner of your mouth and swipe residue from it, sucking the mess from your digit. A distinct pang of arousal hits him just watching your cheeks hollow.
Imagine what she could do with that mouth.
âAnd good afternoon to you, Homelander,â you respond, straightening up in your seat. His gaze briefly dips to the swell of your breasts as you adjust yourself, casually dusting away any remnants of your lunch. Saliva gathers on his tongue at the instant memory of you scantily clad in your sleep wear, nothing but a thin sheet of worn fabric between you and his hunger. His eyes snap back up before you can take notice of how they wandered.
Lucky for him, youâre busy splaying out the folder he brought you the day before, scanning over the list of bullet points heâd slapped together for the sake of having enough talking points.
âI wanted to start with your concerns regarding the marketing for your upcoming miniseries,â you say, glancing up at him.
He clicks his tongue. âWow, alright. Straight to business then,â he says, absently rolling his palms over the ends of the armrests on either side of him.
âIâm very bad at small talk,â you say. Probably to diffuse any notion that you were being rude on purpose.
âChâyeah, Iâll say,â he says, smiling thinly. âLucky that youâre good at your job.â
âShockingly, I was actually a personality hire. I donât know what any of this means,â you say, matching his thinly veiled snark while gesturing to the spread of documents in front of you. He snorts softly. You have a knack for using that sharp wit to diffuse, but he doesnât feel manipulated. You actually are funny. âI was hoping youâd explain your concerns.â
Smooth segue, he thinks, his eyes narrowing appraisingly. Heâs worked enough interviews to know when heâs being led, but he takes the bait anyways, widening his smile.
âSounds great.â
Homelander knows that youâre sharp, good at your job, but he needs to needle you into giving him what he wants. He wants to understand you, and the stack of his films he found hidden in your apartment. What he gets in the meantime is ample taste of your silver tongue, parrying his every jab with an equally sharp counter.
He canât keep the smile from his face.
Gradually a level of familiarity slips into the air between you. He can see some of that tension in your shoulders easing. Heâs steadily wearing down the walls youâve managed to construct.
âI still think audiences will be confused,â he says, feigning a profound concern, stretching out the time of your little appointment.
âWell, audiences are a lot like celebrities,â you say, the hard candied shell of your professional exterior thinning with every back and forth, poised to crack at any second. âTheyâre smarter than we think they are.â
âOohh, ouch,â he purrs. âNice backhand you got there.â
A twitch at the corner of your mouth. He knows youâre fighting a smile of your own, and pride blooms warmly in his chest. He likes sparring with you, but he likes pleasing you even more.
âI disagree about market confusion. Your diehard audience will already be up to speed, your broader target audience will show up for anything with your face on it, and anyone more casual than that likely wonât have seen the miniseries anyways, so thereâs nothing to confuse it with,â you say, scanning down through one of the pages of the document he gave you.
Perfect opening.
âAnd which audience is it you fall into, exactly?â He asks, cocking his head a degree. âI mean, given your position, I have to imagine youâve seen my range of film and television.â
âIâve done my due diligence,â you say vaguely. Youâre good at answering without answering. Normally it would irritate him, but your forced aloofness combined with your closely guardedâand inexplicably secretâveneration of him makes it into tantalizing bait begging for the sharp sink of his teeth.
âSo youâve seen all my movies, then?â He extrapolates, setting a line of his own.
You chuckle, gaze flickering to him before back down to the pages. Too brief a glance to even come close to satisfying his hunger. âI didnât say that.â
He scoffs lightly. âBut youâre a fan of mine?â
âI definitely didnât say that.â He can sense heâs hit a vein, and like any good predator would, heâs eager to bite into it.
âCâmon. Donât tell me youâre shy,â he continues to prod, leaning forward slightly in his seat.
You inhale a breath that you barely prevent from sounding too obviously irritated. His grin remains untarnished by the scrutiny of your unwavering stare. There it is, thatâs what he wants. The weight of your gaze upon him, evaluating, taking him in fully. He doesnât care how he gets it, he just knows he wants it.
âYou are shy,â he accuses, knowing you arenât.
âIâm not shy, Iâm a professional,â you say curtly, the scratch of your pen scathing while you write notations on the document.
Good, he thinks. More likely to slip up now.
âJeeze,â he laughs. âYouâre wound up tighter than my fictional manager in Darkest Day.â
âYou didnât have a manager in Darkest Day, that was Origins,â you correct. After a beat, your hand stills.
Homelanderâs gaze slowly slides to meet yours. He watches your face fall and clicks his tongue. He positively relishes how your mask of indifference slips into subtle dismay at your misstep. Such a simple bit of trivia, and yet it spoke volumes.
Gotâcha.
âYou do watch my movies,â he said, tone dropping to a near whisper. He revels in the quiet way you groan, leaning back in your chair.Â
âOnly the ones I was paid to,â you say, straightening up in your chair, but he can hear the defeat in your voice.
âLiar,â he says through his perpetual grin. âDonât be embarrassed. How long have you been a fan?â
âStop,â you say, burying your face in your hands. Oh, this is good. Was he your first crush? Your favorite hero? He must be still, judging by the flush of heat moving through you. All that pretense, all that haughty glowering, and beneath it all youâre a fan girl. He almost laughs at the thought of the face youâd make if he called you that.Â
âWhich was your favorite?â He asks, burying the knife deeper, eager to cut through flesh and muscle and bone to get to the heart of truth beneath. âBright World? Rise of a Hero? Justice Dawning?â
âI despise you,â you say melodramatically, digging your thumbs into your temples. âAlso, Justice Dawning was cheesy, Iâm offended youâd even offer it.â You try not to smile, but it happens anyway, and as soon as that secret little smile sneaks onto your lips it brightens Homelanderâs eyes, reflecting your amusement back to you. Not just that, but amplifying it.
âYouâll learn to love me,â he tells you with confidence. You drop your hands, looking at him with subtle surprise. He holds your gaze. The earnestness of his words seems to dispel your mortification and replaces it with something more difficult to define, but he likes the shine it brings to your eyes.
The taste of your defeat is sumptuous. Heâd prefer licking it straight from your tongue, but heâll settle for this for the time being. An easiness settles into the air between you, deeper even than before your hackles rose with the lurking reality of your hidden opinion of him. Itâs like a bubble has popped, dissipating uncomfortable tension, replacing it with something warmer.
He has every intention of turning up the heat even further.
The meeting moves forward. You work your way through his folder, and during a natural lull in conversation, he finally broaches the topic thatâs been plaguing him since he stepped into your office.
âSo,â he begins, interlacing his gloved fingers in his lap. âGonna tell me what youâre all dressed up for?â He asks, wearing the same smile and speaking in the same tone he had when he baited you into admitting your secret love affair with his cinema.
He wants to hear you say that itâs for him, but heâll settle for a flustered deflection. Theyâre as good as the same.
âOh,â you huff with an airy little laugh, the sound like silver bells chiming. âI have a date tonight.â
You say something else, but Homelander doesnât hear it over the tidal-like rush in his ears. He watches your pretty lips form words that he canât understand. Everything falls out of focus as he tightly reins in the white hot rush of furious jealousy that floods his gut and erupts up the back of his throat like bile. He swallows the burn of it, jaw tight, and manages a tense smile.
âGreat,â he barks, not realizingâor perhaps not caringâthat he interrupted you. âFirst date?â
âFirst date,â you confirm, your tone less conversational than it had been a beat ago. The walls are going back up, but heâs too fixated on what feels like a stabbing betrayal.
âExciting,â he says, adjusting his tone and mannerisms until they once more resemble something genuine. Something civil, despite the hostility in his gut. âSomeone you know? Going anywhere special?â
âNo, and not really,â you say evasively. He loathes how withdrawn youâve become. You should be pleased heâs put off. Gloating even. Itâs proof he cares, isnât it? âIt was his suggestion.â His. The leather of Homelanderâs glove creaks subtly in the fist he makes. âI forget the name of the place,â you say, avoiding his gaze.
His right cheek tics. Liar, liar, pants on fire. People always underestimate his ability to read them.
Youâll learn not to lie to him.
âBut you have an out if you need it, donât you? Someone to bail you out in case he turns out to be some kind of freak,â he says, huffing the word with a lick of venom. It takes significant effort to keep the disdain from his face to imagine you as you are now sitting across from some nobody schmuck, lit by candlelight and smiling sweetly for them instead of for him.
âI always do,â you say, smiling thinly. He curates his own tone often enough to hear it in yours, and it pierces his ears like a thistle. He taps his fingers on his thigh, scrounging for something, anything else to needle you for, but your responses donât give him much to work with.
âWell. If you did need someoneââ
âIâm a big girl,â you interrupt, surprising him. Heâs rarely interrupted. âI can take care of myself.â
At that, a thought strikes him. The slack line of his lips curls into a thin smile, and his hands relax on the armrests of the chair.
âIâm sure you can.â
Shaking off the aftermath of your one-on-one with Homelander proves to be more difficult than youâd anticipated. You replay it nearly moment for moment in your mind while freshening up after work.Â
Homelander has an uncanny knack for moving through demeanors as though heâs trying hats, determining which one best suits the situation. One moment heâs a slick carnivore licking his chops in anticipation of his meal to come, and the next heâs every ounce the hero they market him as. Heâd been relentlessly charming during the meeting, his charismatic smile becoming one youâd wanted to earn again and again.Â
Then came the news of your date, and all at once Homelander possessed the ominous calm of a sentient statue. The moment still sends an eerie chill down your spine, even in recollection. How radically his appearance can change with mood or thought alone. Youâd hate to ever see him truly angry.
âGet a hold of yourself,â you say to the bathroom mirror. You have a date tonight, and the last thing you need is to bring this kind of nervous energy to it. Powers or not, the commonality of man is easy to rely on, and youâve developed the tactical mindset of an aloof cat. Never beg for what can be given freely. Never give more than you get. Never settle. âBe the cat,â you tell yourself affirmatively.Â
A directive which, unfortunately, winds up being exceedingly easy to follow through the course of your date. James, bless his heart, struggles to wring more than the occasional piteous chuckle from you. Conversation with him is akin to drinking seltzer waterâhe is neither offensive nor particularly exciting, being only a step above plain water.
Perhaps Jamesâ blandness isnât entirely his own fault, but rather the basis of comparison he is subjected to. Throughout the night, you find yourself critical of the way he looks at youâor rather, the way he fails to look at you. Your thoughts keep drifting back to your meeting with Homelander and the way he looks at you. The intense ocean-blue caress of his eyes summons a blush to your cheeks even in hindsight.
He looks at you in a way that no one else does. It's as if he's trying to memorize the smallest details in your skin, to uncover every secret trapped behind your guarded gaze. He has a stare determined to lay you entirely bare to him.
Jamesâ wine dulled ogling could hardly hold a candle to that. Looking into his eyes, you see only the planning for whatever dullard comment he was going to make next.
Still, itâs not until the end of your dateâan exceptionally long two and a half hours thanks to a mishap with your orderâthat James displays a behavior unsavory enough to elicit a truly unpleasant feeling in you. Heâs quite clingy after a few too many glasses of wine. He walks you out of the restaurant with an arm around your waist, and more than once you have to bat his hand away from the seam where your blouse is tucked into your skirt.
âYou in the parking garage or the back lot?â He asks, smiling in a way he must mean to be salacious, eyes half-lidded like heâs lost control of them.
âThe back lot.â Parking was a nightmare with how late you arrived after work. âIs that where you are?â You ask, hoping it isnât.
âNo, no, I actually took an Uber in,â he says, and you know immediately by the way he starts tapping your hip with his index finger why he chose to do that.
âWant me to wait for you here until your Uber arrives, then?â You ask, turning out of his grasp to stand face to face with him outside of the restaurant. Itâs late enough now that the streets have calmed some, at least by New Yorkâs standards.
Jamesâ expression falters, but he tries for a recovery with a hopeful smile. âWell, you know, I was sort of hoping we might continue this elsewhere,â he says, slipping his hands into his pockets. Is he trying to look suave?
âOh, no,â you say, putting forth your very best sympathetic head tilt, matched with a well placed brow furrow. âNo thank you.â
This time his expression doesnât recover. His hands lift from his pocket and he makes a helpless gesture with them, very nearly pleading. âReally? I thought we were having a nice time.â
âAnd Iâm so glad for that,â you say, and even you can hear the corporate edge sliding into your tone, which doesnât seem to soothe him any. âBut itâs for the best that we part ways here, James. Thanks for your time.â
âButââ Your inarguable dismissal staggers him. He gropes for recourse. âI paid,â he blurts out, which proves to be his final mistake.
Your polite facade drops. âFor what?â His booze addled panic shifts into confusion. âFâŚFor dinner, but I didnât meanââ
âAnd that entitles you to fuck me?â No sense in mincing words now.
His expression morphs again, this time into mortification. âNo! No, butââ
âYou thought this would be a transaction? God, and here I was thinking your gravest flaw would be how mind-numbingly boring you are. But to be boring and stupid?â You scoff, waving a dismissive hand. âGoodnight, James,â you say, the kindest dismissal you can muster. You turn on your heel before he can sour the evening any further, and luckily for him, he doesnât pursue you further.
Unbelievable. As if you hadnât offered to split the check. As if he expected it to be a transaction that he cashed in your bed. As if the cost of dinner was worth anything more than a polite smile from you. As if.
New York doesnât sleep, but it does grow very, very dark. Youâre on a narrow street, not an alley exactly, but not a main road, either. Still riled up, you bring up the parking app on your phone as you walk, swiping through to get ready to pay for your crummy back lot space. A clatter brings your attention up, and thatâs when you see themâtwo men. One wearing a black leather jacket, the other with a kerchief slung around his throat.Â
You stop walking, caught between turning around, which would mean putting your back to the men up ahead, or continuing forward, which would mean passing within armâs reach. They havenât noticed you yet, or at least theyâre pretending not to, but now they look right at you and smile.
The men donât look dangerous, not like they do in the movies, but you know that means nothingâplenty of the worst people in the world looked safe. Yet the longer you stay put, the more you sense the ill intent wafting off of them like cheap cologne. âHey, baby,â says one of them, moving toward you. âYou lost?â
âNo,â you say curtly, taking a step back. âNot lost. Excuse me.â
âYou sure? Weâre real good with directions,â says the second man, leering. Your eyes snap between them, phone clutched tight in your hand. âYâlook like you could use some.â
âNo,â you say again, louder. How loud would you need to be for anyone to hear you over the sounds of the streets? Panic swells in your throat.
You donât know how they got so close so quickly, but as you turn to run, a hand catches your collar. The guy in the leather jacket wrenches you back against him, one arm wrapping around your shoulders. Your phone clatters to the ground.Â
âHey now, whatâs the rush?â He asks, yanking you backwards. âGet off me,â you snarl, but heâs squeezing you tightly across the chest, making it hard to think, let alone breathe. You struggle until you feel something hard dig into your hip. A knife? No. You realize coldly that itâs a gun, the handle of it jutting out from his waistband and digging into you. In a desperate bid, you twist in his grip, trying to grab it.
âCareful,â says the other one, moving in front of you, closing in. âSheâs got spirit.â
You kick out at the other guy but he jumps back, laughing at you. Theyâre both laughing, relishing in your fear. Your fingers skim the gun, but you canât quite get it.
The first manâs breath is hot and sour on your cheek. âCome on, now, letâs have some fun.â You slam your head back into his noseâor try to, but you only manage to clip his chin. Still, you hit bone, hear the crack of a tooth, and just like that youâre free, stumbling to your hands and knees as the man reels. You hit the ground hard, the shock of landing lancing pain through your arms and legs. The gun tumbles from his waistband. Without thinking twice you lunge for it, fingers successfully closing around the grip right before one of the men grabs your ankle and pulls.
The street bites into your elbows and scrapes your knee bloody as you twist around and raise the gun, barrel leveled at the manâs heart. âLET GO!â You scream, heart hammering against your chest. âOh shit,â says the man in the kerchief, eyes wide at seeing you armed, but the other one sneers at you, blood spilling from his mouth. Thereâs fury in his eyes, and the unmistakable intent to hurt you. âYou ever held a gun that big, baby?â
âLet go,â you say again, voice firmer than the tremble of your hands. Your finger flexes on the trigger.
âYou even know how to use it?â He asks, using his grip on your ankle to pull himself over you, his other hand falling to your thigh. He gives a pointed squeeze as he lifts himself up to tower above you. He reaches to take hold of you again, but you wonât let him. Canât let him.
âYes.â You squeeze the trigger as you say it, bracing for the recoil, the bang. Itâs always so loud in the movies.
Nothing happens. You panic, looking at the weapon in your hands in dull shock. The safety isnât on. You pull the trigger again, but the chamber rings hollow. It isnât loaded. You look up at the man as his shadow falls over you. He bares his teeth at you, painted an ugly dark red with the blood spilling from his mouth. The man laughs, a short barking sound, and knocks the gun from your hands with a harsh slap. It goes skidding away.
âStupid bitch,â he says, raising his boot as if you were an oversized bug, something to crush. You close your eyes and scream as he brings it down hard.
Or at least, he started to, but his leg locks up halfway, and then he topples, a single horrifying sound leaking from his clenched teeth. Your eyes open just in time to see his body hit the ground, a smoldering wound smoking from his chest. An instant later, the second man falls. This time you see the flash of crimson light that drops him.
Homelanderâs cape billows in the wind with all the majesty of the flag itâs designed after as he descends from the sky. He lands in front of you, backlit by the distant street lights that give him an artificial glow. Heâs beautiful, a perfectly manufactured angel delivered straight from some market tested Heaven.
âHey, you hurt?â He asks, reaching for you.
Awestruck, all you can do is stare at his outstretched hand. Tears well in your eyes. Shock is setting in the aftermath of all that adrenaline in your veins crashing your system. Through the blur of your tears, Homelanderâs expression shifts from concern to that of determination.
âItâs alright, Iâm here now. They canât hurt you,â he says, bringing your arm around his neck while he slips his own around your waist, effortlessly lifting you from the ground. Before your gaze can drift to the corpsesâwhose burning flesh you can smell mingling with the acrid city airâHomelander rotates, taking them from your line of sight.Â
With a flourish, he unhitches his cape from his shoulders and swings the fabric over yours. It settles on you heavier than you expected it to be, and impossibly warm. Moving back in, Homelader readily takes you back into his arms. He cradles you in his embrace, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other drawing lines up and down your back.
You try to choke out a sound, to ask him, how? How did he find you? How did he know you needed him? But none of the noises you make form any actual words. Your throat is too tight, and your tongue feels too big for your mouth, gnarled silent by panic. Everything is just too much. Your breaths only grow sharper as tears burn hot streaks down your face.
âSssshhhhhhh,â he shushes by your ear, lifting you just enough to keep you on your feet, but take the weight of your body from you. His hold is compressive, but not oppressive. It takes everything you have left to lift your other arm around his neck while the sobs overtake you. He continues to hush you, whispering a menagerie of honeyed assurances in your ear, the core sentiment always the same.
Iâve got you. Youâre safe now. I wonât let anyone hurt you.
You cry harder, coiling your arms tighter around his neck. He lets you cling to him, lets you sob away your makeup and soak the collar of his suit with the mess of it.
You donât know how much time passes in your addled state of panic, but eventually your breaths begin to even out, though your heart continues to thunder. Your body isnât convinced that the danger has vanished yet, eager to turn to flight now that your fight has gone.
âThatâs it, just like that,â Homelander praises. âBreathe. Breathe. Good⌠Light as a feather now, okay? Like you can fly,â he tells you. The weightlessness you feel in his arms helps the idea, helps you to feel like you arenât being crushed by the terrible weight of such a moment of horror. Thatâs all it had been, a momentâtwo at mostâand yet the torment of it had felt hours long. Exhaustion falls over you in the wake of adrenaline, and youâre glad for Homelanderâs arms around you. You doubt youâd be standing without them.
âHome,â you manage to croak. âPlease.â You can still smell the manâs sour breath, the memory even more powerful than the stench of reality.
âI can take you home,â he coos, maintaining that same soothing tone of comfort. âIs that what you want?â
You nod, focusing instead on the vetiver fresh smell of him. Youâve never been near enough to him before to notice it, but now you fixate on it. Anything to drown out the stink of the alley. He smells so much cleaner, like fresh linen drying over green grass in the summer sun.
His arms flex around you before he adjusts them, lifting you smoothly into his arms. Your stomach flips the way it does when you go down a hill in the backseat of a car, gravity loosening its hold on you. You can feel the motion all around you, the wind ghosting over you, but Homelander himself feels motionless against you.
Flying. Heâs flying. And so are you.
His cape shields you from the night air bite, pulled snug around you and secured where your bodies are pressed together. You havenât felt like this since you were a child, cradled with such care and strength that feels beyond your comprehension. Homelander serves as both place and personâsomewhere safe, someone kindâand you tuck yourself closer into the sanctuary of his arms, hands fisted in the protective fabric of his cape.
âIâve gotâcha,â he assures you, voice warm in your ear.Â
Without a shadow of a doubt, you believe him.
Homelander doesnât need to ask where you live. Itâs an easy detail to brush off if you question him. He doubts you will with the way youâre clinging to him, though. You feel good in his arms, settling so naturally against the contours of them he might convince himself you belong here. He doesnât mind your weeping when it comes with your arms around him, fingertips brushing the nape of his neck.
A small shiver rolls down his spine.
Of all the ways Homelander expected the evening to unfold, he hadnât properly anticipated you. While he cradles you, he replays again and again the moment you were snatched. You fought without hesitation. You wrenched the gun free. The fierceness in your eyes as you aimed it had been exquisite. The resolve in your gaze as you fired it even more so.
Heâd known you were confident, but that kind of clawing survival can only be learned of a person in action. Heâs known many supposedly strong peopleâsupe and human alikeâwho walk as stone giants, but shatter like glass when faced with any real danger.
You couldnât have known that you werenât in any real danger. You couldnât have known that heâd told those thugs to scare you, but not hurt you. You couldnât have known heâd ensured the gun wasnât loaded. You fought as though it was for your life, and it enthralled him.
He hadnât planned on killing them in front of you. They would have been loose ends to tie up after his heroic rescue, but somewhere along the line that stupid bastard lost the thread. He hurt you, bloodied those pretty knees of yours, and he moved to strike you. To grind you beneath his heel as if you were the vermin instead of him. For thatâand for so flagrantly going against Homelanderâs own direct orderâyou witnessed his downfall.
As far as heâs concerned now, everything happened precisely as it needed to. Youâre in his arms now, and heâs still half hard from witnessing you choose fight when your instincts kicked in. Youâre too fragile to choose it so readily. Your bones feel bird-like compared to the scope of his strength. Hollow and brittle. You would make for a hell of a supe, though.
Still, he wonât break you. Heâs spent his entire life learning what it takes to snap bones like party favors, and more crucially, what it takes not to. Yours are safe from him. In fact, youâre the safest person in the whole world now.
Homelander glides down to a soft landing on your driveway. Your car will be an issue for another time. For now, he walks you to your front door before gently placing you on your feet.
âBelieve this is you, young lady,â he says, leaving space for plausible deniability. If it occurs to you to interrogate him about it, it doesnât show on your face. With hands still softly trembling, you fish your keys out of your purse. He watches you fumble with them for only a moment before he steps in behind you, one hand gripping your upper arm to steady and pause you while the other covers your shaking hand, helping you to slide the key into the lock and turn it.
Your hand fits nicely in his.
âThanks,â you whisper. Itâs the first thing youâve said since asking him to take you home. He takes the liberty of opening the door for you while heâs at it, swinging it wide to allow you in. You grab his forearm, and he thinks youâre only balancing yourself, but when you donât let go he steps with you, letting you lean on him as you guide him into your home. He closes the door behind the two of you, smiling to himself.
He may not need an invitation to enter, but itâs charming to have one.
Your movements are stiff, a slight limp to your gait. You fell hard, and the delicate flesh of your knee had ripped apart against the concrete when you were dragged. You hesitate at the stairs, but Homelander doesnât. You inhale sharply when he scoops you back up into his arms with ease and starts up the stairs. He keeps his gaze ahead, but he can feel yours on him.
âThanks,â you say again, the word barely more than a hiccup, adjusting his cape over yourself like a blanket.
âItâs what heroes are for.â He smiles. Itâs a party line, one heâs said a hundred thousand times before, but you make him mean it. This is what heroes are for. To be worshiped and loved, understood deeper than pop stars and false idols like them. Thereâs a reverence in your stare that transcends the vapid starstruck way most people look at him. You understand now. You know how much more he is.
He brings you to your bedroom and sets you on the edge of the bed, adjusting his cape back up over your shoulders. Youâve scarcely let go of it since he wrapped you in it. Will you sleep with it tonight? He bets you will. The thought sends a pleasant tingle through him.Â
âAlright, letâs get a look at those knees,â he says, crouching in front of you. Thereâs blood running down your left shin. He lifts the edge of your skirt hem just enough to catch a glimpse of shredded skin. It looks rough, dirty and embedded with bits of debris. He blows out a breath. âGot a first aid kit?â
You nod numbly. âUnder the bathroom sink.â
Itâs odd to see you so subdued. He forgets sometimes that you humans can be as emotionally fragile as you are physically. Surely the death of two measly thugs isnât enough to break you.
Rising, he moves to your bathroom. He feels slightly unbalanced without the sway of his cape behind him, the garment as integral to his physicality as any limb. He rummages through until his hand lands on a bright red fabric pack with a zipper. He gives it a little toss and catches it, bringing it back to you, alongside a wetted towel. He gives the pack a victorious little shake.
âHâokay, down to business.â Homelander kneels before you, splaying open the kit and placing it on your lap. Heâs never used one of these before, but heâs pretended to do it on set. How different can it be? He cups your leg, thumb absently smoothing back and forth on your skin while he uses the towel to gently wipe up the blood, dirt and debris from your shin and knee.
You flinch, tense a moment before you relax. âHomelander, you really donât have toââ
âAm I doing a bad job?â He asks, glancing up at you through his lashes. Thereâs a playful lilt to his voice.
âI didnât mean it like that,â you say, the smallest hint of exasperation in your voice. Heâs pleased to hear it. Perhaps youâre less wilted from the encounter than he thought. âI just mean that I canââ
âI know you can,â he says, and this time he definitely sees a flare of annoyance. You donât like being interrupted any more than he does, but you donât protest further. He smiles, triumphant, and focuses back on the task at hand, petting you the same way one might soothe a wild animal.
Thereâs a novelty in doing this for real that he hadnât anticipated. Itâs entirely unlike wiping away congealed red corn syrup from an actor. Your skin is sweeter, softer. He suddenly resents his gloves for the barrier they provide, despite his usual reliance for that very thing. Heâs meticulous in flicking out the little stones embedded in your skin, spotting each one with ease.
Next, he tears open the alcohol wipes with his teeth and uses them to disinfect, rubbing at the sores. You flinch, sucking in a loud breath through your teeth. âOopsy-daisy,â he says, switching to gently patting. He has no real concept of what youâre feeling right now. Heâs never had a scraped knee before. The scientists at Vought had to get much more creative in order to gauge his capacity for healing.
He imagines they were disappointed to realize that, once damaged, he healed as slowly as a human.
âHowâd you find me?â You ask, snapping him out of his unpleasant reminiscence. Your shock seems to have worn off entirely. You look more present, alert to his every move.
âHeard you scream,â he answers simply, unraveling a roll of gauze. That much is true.
âBut how? How did you know where I was?â You push, watching him wind the white material around your knee.
âI didnât,â he lies smoothly. Heâs followed enough scripts in his life to do so very well. âIf Iâd known exactly where you were, I would have been there sooner. I was minding my business on 5th Avenue when I heard you. Familiar voices canâŚâ He makes a vague gesture. âCut through the din. Voices I want to hear.âÂ
He thinks he catches you flush at that. Just a touch. He bites back a smirk, pleased with himself. Does it matter if itâs true when it makes you look at him like that?
âI didnât know your hearing worked like that,â you say, fidgeting with the hem of his cape.
His gaze flickers up every so often to watch your finger pick at the seam, inexplicably charmed by it. âWell, thereâs some things not even a super fan can glean,â he teases, securing the gauze with tape. He expects to see a familiar indignation in your expression, but when he looks up, heâs caught off guard by the unmistakable fondness in your eyes.
âI was over the moon when I got my job at Vought,â you say quietly, like youâre whispering in a confessional. âI always wanted to work with heroes.â
âWith me?â He pushes, lifting his brows.
Very slightly, you smile. âYeah. With you.â
âBusted,â he says, his own voice equally soft.
You give him a little nudge with your foot. âGauze wonât stay by itself. Need to use a roll of self-adhesive wrap,â you say, plucking the beige roll from the kit. He likes the shy warmth in your voice. He would have done much worse to see this side of you. Have the intimacy of your pain, fear and relief all to himself. This glowing affection youâre so full of. He feels drunk on the cocktail of it all.
âRight, obviously,â he says, taking the wrapping from you. âI knew that.â
âProbably should have put a gauze pad under it, too,â you continue, eyes heavily lidded, expression soft.
âEveryoneâs a critic,â he laments, affixing the textured bandage around the gauze. You laugh, and the sound of it feels like a space he could belong in.
He checks your other knee, your elbows and your palms, but nowhere else on you calls for anything more than some antiseptic and a few bandaids. With the wrappings secure, he shuffles the mess of supplies haphazardly back into the kit, zipping it up much more bulging and misshapen a state than he found it in. He pushes it under the bed with the towel atop it, standing.
âGood as new. Or close to it,â he says, making a small show of dusting off his hands for a job well done.Â
You stand, letting his cape slide off of your shoulders for the first time since he put it on you, the fabric pooling on the bed. You step forward, and of all the things he expects in this moment, you blow them out of the water by suddenly wrapping your arms around him, the soft curves of your body slotting against his in a way that trips something primal and needy in him. He puts his arms around you the second the shock wears off, holding you with the barest fraction of his strength.
Tension drains from your body. Were you nervous he wouldnât reciprocate? Itâs an endearing thought. He gives a deeper, brief squeeze. He canât remember the last time someone held him.
âThank you,â you say after a long beat, drawing back. He reluctantly loosens his grip, but not by much. Heâs loath to relinquish you so soon after heâs gotten hold of you. âItâs not enough, but I donât know what could ever be.â
I could make a few suggestions, he thinks, but he doesnât give voice to the lewd thoughts that follow.
âIâll never forget what you did for me tonight,â you say. Your face is so near to his, it makes it difficult to focus on anything other than the curve of your lips as you speak.
Instead of responding, Homelander leans in, eyes falling shut.
âOh,â you say sharply, your soft body suddenly going tense in his arms, stopping him in his tracks. Both of your hands are braced against his chest now, creating a distance that feels craterous.Â
He blinks, brows furrowed in confusion. âWhat?âÂ
âIâm really tired,â you say, tone shifting to mild diffusion. It reminds him of the way you spoke to James, and his ego stings with both the rejection and the comparison. Heâd laughed listening to you reject that pathetic, simpering man. It seems less funny now.Â
He scoffs an incredulous little huff. But I saved you, he thinks, indignant panic flaring in his chest. To his dismay, however, the thought doesnât sound like his own voice. It sounds like Jamesâ.
But I paid!
Repulsed, Homelander swallows the thought like bile. If the comparison comes so readily to his own mind, thereâs no way you wonât make the connection yourself. He feels his skin prickle like there are fire ants crawling beneath his suit. The memory of Jamesâ pathetic begging is the only thing that keeps his composure together.
âOf course you are,â he says tightly. His smile is forced, slightly too wide. âYou should sleep. Rest up. Take the day off tomorrow,â he says stiffly, rattling off lines like theyâre pre-recorded. Only then does he surrender his hold on you, hands moving to his hips instead. You take a step back, and he stands straighter to disguise the sting of rejection.
âThank you,â you say, tone indecipherable. Itâs full to the brim with something, but nothing Homelander can parse in his current state. âIââ
âNo need,â he dismisses, jumping on the opportunity to end the conversation on his terms. âReally. Just doing my job,â he says, tossing you a little two-finger salute off of his brow, already moving towards your balcony door. You donât move, watching him from the foot of your bed, arms wrapped around yourself.
âCatch you at the office,â he says. He knows heâs speaking too quickly, but itâs all he can do to keep himself in check. Anger and misery broil in him like vinegar and baking soda, the caustic brew threatening to erupt.
âOkay,â you say, which isnât particularly what he wants to hear. He turns his back to you, and his smile drops, his ego violently stung. With a force that billows wind through your bedroom, he takes off into the night sky.
You just werenât ready, he tells himself, gritting his teeth. Itâs easier to be angry than embarrassed. He wants to make as much distance between himself and your rejection, flying higher and higher until frost begins collecting on his lashes. He flies until thereâs no sound, no oxygen, no life but his own. He flies until gravity releases him and he can finally relax, suspended by cold, vast space.
The earth glows beneath him, reflecting the light of the sun where it illuminates a distant portion of the globe.
Closing his eyes, he tips his head back.
Heâll fix this.
( chapter four )
#heavy breathing#icb i actually did it#tysm to everyone who let me scream and cry at them about this fic as i wrestled nonstop with it#homelander x you#homelander x reader#x reader#homelander fanfiction#yandere x reader#my writing
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"Why did you comb your hair up today?" HIS MAN 2 (2023). Episode 8.
#his man 2#asianlgbtqdramas#asiandramasource#asiandramanet#dailyasiandramas#*#faiza gifs#WUyfgygy IM STILL NOT OVER THIS ICB THIS IS AN ACTUAL CONVERSATION THAT HAPPENED#IN THAT LAST GIF U CAN /SEE/ WHEN SUNGHO IS LIKE OH SHIT OH SHIT DID I SAY THAT OUT LOUD HUFHVYGD
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ngl gang I finished both my dissociation fixation games and got a rejection letter for a job I was a shoe-in for after a month-long, three-pronged review/interview process and I am not having a great time
#finishing dredge's dlcs and dave the diver within the same week was a mistake#where am I gonna find another free chill game to dissolve into#at least daima's coming out friday that'll cure me probably#lays on the floor I am so so grateful for freelance and commissions I truly cannot overstate that#but I haven't had full-time work for what I actually do for a living in Nineteen Months because of stupid ass corporate greed#Ninteen Months of telling myself I'm still a member of this industry despite. No work.#And this rejection letter was for a fraction of what I do for a living. I got told they were very impressed and also I did not get the job.#Idk man like idek what it is I do for a living anymore bc I don't have a living anymore#I've been a member of my union for *four years* and I don't have a living anymore lol#anyway. /vent /negativity etc you get it#I've got stuff I need to work on and I'm beyond grateful for that. I'm just bummed out. I was so close to being okay again.#THIS CLOSE to having some semblance of stability.#icb I got scruffed an inch from the finish line on something that by all accounts I should've been overqualified to do#And both Ganondorf and Vegeta continue to be relatable and so real for having exhausted rage-induced breakdowns over that exact thing lol
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Replies etc. may be spotty tonight bc this is still sinking in. Bear with xoxo
#đˇđžđťđł đžđ˝ - đżđžđżđ đ¸đ đˇđ°đ
đ¸đ˝đś đ° đđˇđžđđśđˇđ. (OOC)#I'm trying but the thoughts return to this#I'll get some more bits out I promise#but OMG icb he actually went and did it
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đđ¨đ° đ°đđĽđĽ đđ¨ đ˛đ¨đŽ đ¤đ§đ¨đ° đđđđđŹđđ˘đđ§?
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wrote pangwave again. need help
#someone sedate me icb i actually did this#will pangwave ever leave me alone đ#its angsty but happy ending#and pang is the best bf ever âšď¸ god i miss them truly#pangwave#dawn.txt
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byan's opinion is that valentine's day is stupid and pointless. unless you're buying stuff for them, of course.
#they have not in fact ever bought anything for anyone else#......i mean except in elementary school but that doesn't count#--actually that's not true... they did give lena friendship chocolates last year icb I forgot that#things are different this year though :> they've got one person in mind who they want to do something for#they're thinking they're going to spoil the hell out of him while pretending to be indifferent đ¤#ââ Ë â° â° ooc ⎠donât @ me.
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kid aemond whenever he sees rhaenyra with a lemon cake: may I have some kind older sister my favorite older sister PLEASE MAY I HAVE SOME FUTURE QUEEN OF THE REALM
#& what the hap is fuckening ( ooc )#actually thinking abt him and her and how their narrative is DOOMED#i donât see rhaenyra has a horrible absentee older sibling before he lost his eye towards him or her other siblings#and thatâs esp cause i also write her#sheâs not as active as almond but nyra is my baby girl#i also donât think she would condone her kids bullying him cause like ???? what was that#whatâs funny is most of these characters are doomed and it hurts me#writing nyra aemond jacaerys and the dragons KNOWING what will happen hurts me so bad#at least w jaime and dany and cella i CAN hope their book endings arenât as tragic#but i canât with aems nyra and jace#and daeron#Icb i forgot daeron like the writers did i am a SHAM
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got my litte ID card, idiot man is officially a museum worker :)))
#the over-active spleen#icb i actually work there wow#i did my first closing today and it was SO SURREAL#what do you MEAN ive been here my entire life and now I have to shoo people out and turn out all the lights!!#it's only part time but all my colleagues also have academic bgs so im so ready to learn sm from them aaaa#while i figure out the rest of the shitshow that is post degree life
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OH MY FUCKING GOD. OH MY GOD.
sincerely yours. (12)
âł gojou satoru/reader
when a twist of fate led their marriage to the path of a quintessential tragic romance, two past lovers go through another series of experiences on love, heartbreak, identity, illness, and trauma along the road to a happily ever after.Â
genre. heavy angst, amnesia, modern au, 18+Â
tags/warnings. depression, mentions of cheating, trauma, implied suicide attempt, toxic relationships, illnesses
notes. 11k wc. finally. i wrote this with only one eye open so please don't mind the inconsistencies, i'm trying my best to tie any loose ends before we reach the ending. if the writing feels rushed, itâs bcos iâm just ready to wrap up this series đ
series masterlist -> episode thirteen
You thought everything that had happened last night was just a dream.Â
Because you had gotten used to the constant disappointments and vicissitudes of your life, sharing such domestic bliss with the person you loved had started to feel far-fetched for you. It had become an unachievable fantasy, a colorful delusion created by your mind to conceal the actual darkness of pain that surrounded it.Â
But as you opened your eyes that morning, the familiar warmth of a sleeping Satoruâs embrace was the reality you never saw coming. The steady rise and fall of his chest, the comfort of his arms around you, it all felt surrealâlike a fragile dream teetering on the edge of shattering. You wondered if it would be okay to stay here for now. To forget about the rest of the damn world and remain in his arms, staring at his beautiful saintly face, listening to his slow and steady heartbeat.
When Satoru stirred from his sleep, you knew your daydream was over. But he was pulling you dangerously close with arms wrapped around your frame and his lips pressed against your forehead. He was only half-awake, it seemed. His long white lashes reminded you of Sachiroâs as you watched him mumble incoherent words from his sleep, something along the lines of, âIâm sorryâ and âAkemiâ.Â
That was your cue to pull yourself away from him. With guilt now coursing through your body, you sat up from bed and covered your naked body with the duvet. Akemi. You had completely abandoned the thought of Akemi last night, and now you were here in bed with âsupposedlyâ her man. As much as your heart was in bliss from last nightâs events, the dark and cold reality was that you slept with a man who wasnât yours. It was a principle you told yourself you would never cross, but everything concerning Satoru Gojou seemed to be bringing you to that.Â
âSatoru, hey.â Your voice almost came out as a plea as you shook his arm, your guilt eating at you with every minute that passed. âWake up.âÂ
His eyelashes fluttered as he struggled to open his eyes, blinded by the sunlight that gleamed through the window as he stretched his arms and looked at you. âY/N?â he softly whispered, a hand tenderly placed on your back as he scooted closer. âWhatâs wrong?âÂ
Slight disbelief blanketed your gaze. âYou think this isnât wrong?âÂ
Satoru let out a sigh of exasperation, pulling his head back, and covering his eyes with a hand as if last nightâs events played through his mind scene to scene. He was obviously caught in a mindwreck thinking about the girl he had just cheated on. âIt shouldnât be,â he mumbled, âBut it feels like it.â
âSo you do regret it,â you laughed at your own words, internally in pain.Â
âI didnât say that.â He finally pulled himself back up, sitting as he pulled you towards him. âY/N, if we really thought last night was wrong, we would have stopped after the first time.â He shook his head at the irony. âLook, itâs on me, alright? I put you in this situation.âÂ
âAnd I allowed it,â you argued, âI allowed it, Satoru. It makes me feel dirty. I feel like, like Iâm wrecking someone elseâs home. Itâs not me.âÂ
Satoru held his breath, a look of hesitation dawning on his face as he realized that this wasnât just a dream of his. It was pure and raw reality that he had made a mistake that he could never undo. While thinking it through, he rubbed his eyes and sat up, leaning against the headboard as he assessed the situation. Then, he looked at you, his expression softening as he spoke, âNo, not your fault. Itâs just complicated,â he insisted, âYou didnât do anything wrong. Iâm the one who owes âKemi an apology.âÂ
Each time you heard her nickname from him was a punch to your gut. And each silent cuss that left his lips was an arrow to your heart. So you put it on yourself to accept his reaction. âItâs okay. You can be honest and say last night was a mistake.â
âNo, no, no. I didnât say that,â he replied quickly, reaching out to take your hand.Â
But you already stood up from the bed, clutching the duvet around your body like a shield against the encroaching chill. Your throat felt tight, and tears threatened to spill, but you fought to keep them at bay. Satoruâs gaze followed you with an expression of helplessness, as if he was struggling to bridge the gap between his rights and wrongs.
As you turned to face him, a knot of frustration and heartache tangled within you. âSo, what now?â you asked, trying your hardest to keep your composure. âHow are we gonna fix this, Satoru? How?â
Before he could answer, the door to the cabin suddenly burst open, and Akemi stood in the doorway with her eyes wide with shock and fury. The confrontation followed as soon as she caught you in a compromising position with Satoru, and the words she uttered next were ones you least expected from her.Â
âYouâre a hypocrite! Youâve become the person you despised the most when you were married.âÂ
âYouâre no better than Sera! And thatâs why youâre miserable, and youâll forever be miserable! If this is your way of getting back at me..âÂ
âThen jokes on you, because Satoru will never be faithful to you. Heâll keep cheating on you, just like he did now with me! You two belong in that cycle!â
You felt like an outsider in your own heartbreak, the confrontation intensifying as you tried to process the bitter truth in silence. All you could do was stand there and cry. Even Satoruâs attempts to placate Akemi were futile as her anger only seemed to grow. The more her eyes danced back and forth between you and her lover, the more she wanted to destroy everything in her path.
Satoruâs face was indiscernible from where you stood. âAkemi, please, just listenââ
Akemi, however, was already turning on her heel and storming back into her cabin while eliciting loud, muffled sobs. Your chest tightened with sorrow and shame. Complete, utter shame of doing this to another woman. How could you even correct a situation like this? How could you pick yourself back up after you just trampled on another womanâs feelings because of your actions?
Satoru, like you, hesitated on his next move, his eyes meeting yours with a look of anguish. âI need to talk to her, Y/N. Iâll be back.â
Without waiting for your response, he already bolted after her, leaving you alone in a quiet, pathetic state. The door slammed behind him, the sound reverberating through the cabin like thunder in a heavy storm.
You didnât know what to do, didnât know how to face everyone, didnât have the guts to even talk to Shoko and Suguru who now both have to deal with such scandals. You were too ashamed of yourself, as if your femininity had been stripped off its rights after you slept with the man you swore you would never get back with.Â
âI didnât mean it,â you could only silently whisper your laments, pacing around your cabin while swallowing the weakness that tried to escape. âI hate this.âÂ
The minutes dragged on, and each second stretched into an eternity as you waited for Satoruâs return. For now, you sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, wondering what excuse he was telling Akemi, and what actions he would do to try and calm her down. Did he kiss her, perhaps? Did he cup her face and tell her that you were nothing but a mistake? What was taking him so long? Or were they doing things to try and erase the same deeds you two did last night?Â
The cacophony of voices and commotion from outside the cabin grew louder, and your curiosity led you to open your door, meeting the eyes of one of the hotel staff who sent you a look full of judgment.Â
âWhereâsâŚâ you hesitated if she was the right person to ask, âWhereâs Satoru? Would you know?âÂ
âOh, maâam. He already left the hotel half an hour ago⌠with Miss Akemi.âÂ
Her answer hit you hard like a truck on a highway. And your heart dropped as you realized who became The Fool in these deck of cards. Satoru had not only run off after Akemi, but had also left you behind without a word.Â
The room felt colder now, the once-intimate sanctuary you shared with your ex-husband now a prison of your own grief. Even the familiar warmth of the bed seemed like a distant memory as you approached it, your body trembling as you thought of how you were treated like a dirty rag, thrown away after being used over and over again.Â
With a soft, choked sob, you collapsed onto the bed, the duvet still a tangled mess from earlier. And your emotions, so tightly restrained, finally broke free. You pulled the blanket around you as if it could shield you from the crushing pain. The betrayal, the sense of being discarded for anotherâit all converged into a torrent of anguish. All you could do was cling to the duvet as if it were the only anchor in a stormy sea.Â
ââ
Returning home didnât make the situation any better.Â
Although you tried to tell yourself that you shouldnât be waiting on Satoru to contact you, you still found yourself checking your phone multiple times a day. Each second that passed without hearing from him was another stab to your heart. But it shouldnât feel like that. It shouldnât, not when Satoru clearly made his choice of choosing yet another woman over you.Â
Of course, you knew what you did was wrong. In everyoneâs eyes, sleeping with someone elseâs man was unforgivable. There was no excuse, no way to justify your actions. Even if some people might side with you, saying you owed no one loyalty, it didnât change how you felt about the whole situation. And that was because you remembered all too well the pain of being cheated on, and letting another woman endure the same heartbreak and betrayal was a weight on your conscience that you couldnât ignore.
Sighing, you turned to the left side of the bed and saw Sachiro sleeping peacefully, clutching his favorite starfish plushie in his tiny arms. The thought of losing your son was unbearable, especially when he was your only source of calm amid the chaos that surrounded you. Caring for him was your solace, and his innocent presence served as a band-aid for your wounded heart. The most heart-wrenching part of this was knowing you couldnât even repay him for the stability he brought you. Sachiro deserved a complete family to enrich his life, yet youâas his own biological motherâwere unable to give him that.Â
âSleep tight, Sachi.â You lightly stroked his white hair before planting a soft kiss on his cheek. âDonât let the bed bugs bite.â
The past few weeks had been a blur of emotions, work, and parentingâwith each day blending into the next like a tornado of dull colors. You still hadnât heard from Satoru, but the days of waiting and checking your phone for any notification from him did gradually stop. The only thing that didnât stop replaying in your head like a broken record was the cabin incident, the very night that drew all these overthinking in your mind and in your heart.Â
Returning to work did provide some distraction, but it didnât take away the sting. It also didnât help that your staff noticed the change in your demeanor, and how distracted you often were during your meetings and warehouse visits. Even Nobara was worried about how absentminded you had become, but you brushed off all their concerns with a forced smile. After all, staying at home would do you worse than being at work.Â
Now, you were back in your office, and the soft knock on the door cut you off from your trance. It was Yuki peeking through the small opening on your door, her usual professional demeanor softened by a concerned expression. âHey, Y/N. Do you have a minute?â she asked, stepping inside and closing the door behind her with a quiet click.Â
You nodded, trying to muster a smile. âSure, Yuki. Whatâs up?â
âI wanted to check in on you,â she began, taking a seat opposite your desk, âIf you need to extend your vacation, please, by all means, go ahead. Itâs off-season, anyway. Iâll take care of everything here while youâre focusing on yourself.â
That wasnât really a good idea. And you shouldnât be slacking off work when this very fashion house you establish used to be your passion, not your job. Yet here you were, losing all the inspiration to even run a business. âI donât know if I have the energy for anything else right now.â
âWell, if youâre too worried about leaving work,â Yuki continued, her tone shifting to a more business-like note, âthe progress weâve made with Hearte is looking really promising. The new collection is getting great feedback, and our upcoming showcase is shaping up well. Weâre on track for a strong quarter.â
âAll because of you, Yuki.â A spark of gratitude appeared on your face. âThanks for the update. Itâs good to know things are moving in the right direction.â
She then stood up and gave you a reassuring smile. âIâm here if you need anything, Y/N. But seriously, take some time for yourself. You deserve it.â
On that same evening, you came home to your fatherâs mansion, and the first thing that greeted you when you entered the foyer was Gen sitting by the living room. And needless to say, her expression was a mix of concern and frustration as if she had been waiting for you to return. You werenât really in the mood to have some back-and-forths with her, but you also didnât like how she dropped her phone on the table and crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing at you like she was a mother who could scold you like a child.
âIâm not even gonna say anything at this point, but did you really do it with him?â Genâs voice was low, but the disappointment was palpable. You could feel it from a few meters away.Â
âWhat are you talking about?â you bit back, your already-terrible mood swings shifting into an unhealthy direction.Â
Gen responded by pointing at her phone, gesturing for you to take a look at whateverâs on it. Reluctantly, you grabbed the device, and as you were scrolling through the screen, you stumbled upon a blind item circulating on social media. The words were vague but pointed, hinting at a scandalous encounter between two ex-spouses, both of whom were well-known figures. Great. Your heart stopped as you realized that the article was very much about you and Gojou.Â
The online comments were brutal, not like you werenât used to anonymous harassment anyway, but these ones were full of speculating and judging without knowing the full story. Everyone also seemed to be siding with ��Ms. Aâ instead of you as though the person behind the article was clearly trying to paint you as the villain. It was written for the purpose of destroying your reputation rather than any regular exposĂŠ, and whoever wrote it was definitely someone who disliked you.Â
Your shoulders slumped as you scrolled through hate comment after hate comment, a seemingly endless vitriol for someone they didnât even know, and avoided your sisterâs gaze knowing full well that seeing her expression would only make you feel worse.Â
âIs it true?â your sister asked like there was even an ounce of chance that it was simply a rumor. Unfortunately, it was anything but.Â
Sliding her phone back on the coffee table, you drew in a deep breath. âI canât undo it, Gen. It happened.âÂ
âSo, you did sleep with him? Am I hearing this right?â Gen sighed, rubbing her temples. âDo you have any idea what this could do to you? To Sachiro? People are ruthless, and now this blind item is all over the place and theyâre targeting you like a punching bag!â
Your mouth felt heavy, as if it was weighed down by an invisible burden, making it difficult to form words or speak. And before you could think of a response, Ian became your temporary savior as he walked in with a calm but serious mien. âIâve seen the post,â he said, holding up his phone. âItâs clearly defamatory, and we can take legal action. Iâll handle it.â
Even though Ian was a man of remarkable phlegm, you remained abashed, knowing that everyoneâs feasting at the juicy rumor that you slept with your ex-husband. Yet, the only thing you could do was to put on a front. To save face. To act like someone youâre not. âThank you, Ian. Iâd appreciate that.â
Anticipating another lecture from Gen about Satoru, you began retreating to your room with your footsteps bouncing desperately on the grand staircase. This conversation was done. You just werenât there to hear it anymore. However, as you climbed the stairs with a vacant mind, you could still hear your sister calling out to you.
âY/N!â she called, her voice now tinged with concern. âIâm not going to give you a hard time. We can sort this issue out. Maturely.â
âIâm good.â Sorry, Gen. It was the anxious-avoidant side of you speaking. You didnât want to discuss such a sensitive situation to anyone, even with your sister, because you werenât ready to face all the negativity it would put you through. You were already dealing with enough, and going through yet another emotional turmoil might actually put you to your deathbed at this point.Â
So, for now, isolating yourself from the world was the best choice.Â
And as soon as you entered your room, you saw Sachiroâs nanny tucking him into bed. All your worries and self-destructive thoughts vanished in an instant the moment you looked at your son. It was like the heavens gave you your personal angel, a cute little cherub who brought nothing but light and happiness to your life. He was your sunshine, your shooting star, your bundle of joy. Nothing in this world could erase the pessimist in you than little Sachiro.Â
âI got it from here.â You thanked the nanny and asked her to close the door before quickly joining your son in bed, wrapping him in a warm, comforting hugâmore for your own comfort than his.
âMama?â he asked, his voice unusually raspy, and his chest rising and falling heavily. âI mwiss you, mama!â
You pressed your lips onto his forehead. âI miss you too, my baby. How was daycare today?â
He seemed to struggle to speak too, but Sachiro still did his best to recount his day while he was trying to catch air in between his sentences. âTeacher ask Sachi to go home, mama. Sachi is tired.â
âBaby, are you okay? Are you sick?â Now, your motherly instincts kicked in immediately. You could tell something was wrong, so you reached for a thermometer from the bedside drawer to check his temperature, and listened to his breathing at the same time. âWhat happened to Sachi? Do you want Mommy to take you to the hospital?â
Sachiro shook his head and gave you a sleepy smile. âNo, mama. Sachi is just sweepy.â
When the thermometer beeped, you were relieved to see that his temperature was normal. âAre you having trouble breathing, my sweetheart?â You looked into his droopy eyes and gently placed your hand on his chest.Â
Once again, Sachiro shook his head. Maybe you were just overthinking. He often ran around the house or played in the bathtub before bed, which could explain why he seemed out of breath. It wasnât the first time it happened.Â
âOkay, Sachi. Go to sleep now. Close your eyes, baby.â
âNight night, mama.â
For now, you turned off the night lamp, and headed to the bathroom in silent and careful steps. It was quiet enough indeed, but in your head was an awful noise you couldnât escape. And stepping into the shower only increased the warfare in your mind, as it immediately brought images of Satoru and Akemi back in the cabin, the harsh comments from the article, and the lack of contact from your ex-husband which all overwhelmed you at once. By now, he would have already seen that article. Nanami or Miwa might have already alerted him about it. But the fact that he said nothing, the fact that he let the public scrutinize you, destroy you with such vile, hurtful words behind their screens brought you a kind of pain that you wouldnât wish upon anyone else.Â
Because if it was Akemi in that position, he would have defended her in a heartbeat.Â
So in your silence, under the cascading water of the shower, you let the tears flowâits warmth distinguishable compared to the cold droplets falling on you. If only you had successfully drowned yourself that night at the lake. If only Satoru didnât pull you back in, none of this would have happened.Â
That moment was deeply poignant to you, and you saw him in a new light you thought you would never see again because of the darkness of your past. Yet, with the events that followed your special moment, memories eventually turned into spite. Your sweet exchange twisted into something bitter. Looking back at that time when he kissed you at the lake now made you feel nauseous and hollow inside, with bile forming on your throat and threatening to be retched.Â
The most gut-wrenching part about this was the fact that there wasnât anyone left who could rescue you from this abyss of heartache anymore.Â
ââ
There had been a sense of detachment in your emotions in the following days that passed, almost as though they belonged to a stranger inhabiting your body. Toji, the only person who comforted you at times like these, was no longer by your side to fulfill the warmth you once desperately sought, and now you were alone to face this cruel, mind-numbing battle all by yourself. It was you against the world. You against the entire populace inhabiting this living hell. And with that many enemies against one, how could you win?Â
It was quite funny, actually, that your humor took a surprising turn when you thought of how Sera must have felt when it was revealed to the public that she was Satoruâs mistress. The irony didnât even stop at your thoughts alone, it manifested itself outside Hearteâs headquarters, wearing a pink puffer jacket and a white prairie skirt.Â
âSera?â you blurted out her name in wonder, nonplussed as you got out of the car to approach her.
âHey, Y/N.â She offered a casual smile while carrying an air of sophistication around her. That wasnât the only thing that changed about Sera. Her hair was also shorter than the last you saw her, her face now sporting a more natural makeup, and her outfit a more modest yet classy choice. It was no longer the Sera who tried hard to fit in amongst the upper echelon of society, but a Sera who seemed to be satisfied at her current standing in life.Â
What an awkward encounter. Was her presence your hypocritical reminder for sleeping with Satoru behind Akemiâs back?Â
âWhat are you doing here?â you asked.Â
And she answered with, âI read about what happened. You know, the thing on the internet.â She took a moment to pause, probably trying to choose the right words to say to her previous adversary. Because in a way, you two werenât exactly friends. And you were no longer rivals either. Satoru was the only common denominator here, and Sera proved her exact sentiments about him by saying, âI just wanted to let you know that I understand your side. Itâs a tough situation.â
You looked at her, searching for any hint of insincerity, but found none. âYou were once on my spot,â you pointed out and gauged whether or not she would take the bait. For all you know, she could be putting on an act. âIâm assuming youâre here to rub it in my face how much of a hypocrite I am.âÂ
âNo, thatâs not it.â Sera was vehemently denying any malice on her intentions, and was instead trying to show you the sympathy of a woman who was once caught in the same predicament. âLook, I know itâs weird that Iâm here out of all people. But the truth is, I just had to let you know that someoneâs on your side. Iâve met the girl, okay? That⌠whoever she is. I donât remember her name, and I hate having to pit two women against each other, but Iâm telling you itâs about time you cut Satoru off your life. Completely. She doesnât look like someone whoâd easily let go. Youâre just gonna suffer, Y/N.âÂ
Perhaps three years was too far back in your life and that tables could turn in a direction that you didnât expect, as you could recall fragments of memories from when your only dilemma was dealing with Satoru and Sera in your marriage. She used to be besotted with your ex-husband back then. But now, it wasnât until you heard the way she spoke about him that you realized she must be harboring a grudge deeper than you had imagined. After all, he did ruin her life in ways you couldnât imagine. And her advice, though unsolicited, made sense. Because you could understand where she was going with it. You could see the true intentions clearly conveyed by her face.
The only problem here was that you didnât have it in your heart to agree with her. You were too much of an empathic person to be taking sides, even if the supposed villain in this painting was the ex-husband who, time and time again, hurt you. Your heart stubbornly cared for Satoru deep down, and your wifely instinct of defending him no matter how poorly he acted had always been there. No one could hate Satoru more than you did, that was true, but you also werenât very accepting of hearing others describe him as this ruthless, cheating bastard.Â
That was the reason why talking to Gen had eventually exhausted you. Because no one knew the real Satoru Gojou behind his facade of an irresponsible and reckless husband.Â
âNow that youâre hereâŚâ The idea to redirect the conversation to another topic struck you, unwilling to engage in a conversation that pushed Satoru in a bad light. âWould you be interested in being a model for our upcoming campaign? Weâre launching a new collection, and I think youâd be perfect.â
Seraâs eyes were an amalgam of confusion and surprise. âUh, I mean⌠Iâd love to, but why so sudden?âÂ
��You have the face for it.â You shrugged, but still sent a smile her way. âAre you working right now? If not, this could open doors for you to be discovered by modeling agencies. Iâm closely tied with them since I work in the fashion industry, so I can do a few calls if you want.âÂ
âHold on, Iâmââ Sera touched her head, laughing as if she were dreaming this conversation. âY/N, youâre doing too much here. I mean, Iâd obviously love that, but wouldnât it be awkward? People know me as your ex-husbandâs mistress, and if they recognize me in Hearte ads, Iâm sure as hell those fuck ass netizens wonât stop talking about it.â
She had a point, a very good point, but then again, your suggestion was only brought up because you had to change the topic. âWell, itâs just an offer to consider in the future.âÂ
âAnd I appreciate you always extending a hand to help me even if I did you wrong in the past,â she said, feelings of shame lacing her voice. âI havenât forgotten about what you did for my brother, thatâs why Iâm here. Iâm not your enemy anymore, Y/N.â
Just then, the roaring engine of a classic red Ferrari pulled up to the curb, interrupting the unexpected conversation you were having with your ex-husbandâs former mistress. The window rolled down to reveal a pink-haired man whom you recognized as Ryomen Sukuna, an up and coming tech mogul, that Toji had mentioned about many times before. His eyes were only on one woman alone, and it wasnât you. âReady to go, babe?â
Honestly, good for Sera. No wonder her aura had become different. They seemed to be in a stable committed relationship, something that you could only ever dream about. If karma was truly real, this was the perfect example for it.Â
In the back seat, you spotted a younger boy who looked exactly like Sukuna and, surprisingly, Megumi, the son of your ex-fiancĂŠ. Really? How many more people were you going to âcoincidentallyâ run into today?Â
âHello, miss!â the other boy called out cheerfully, while Megumi offered a polite nod. You replied with a wave, feeling a small sense of normalcy in their innocent presence.
âI gotta get going, Y/N,â excused Sera, gesturing a civil goodbye.Â
But as she moved to get into the car, your phone buzzed in your pocket. A single glance at the screen made your heart drop. It was a call from the hospital.
âHello?â you answered almost immediately, pressing the phone on your ears with a tight push.
âMs. Y/N, this is the hospital. Your son, Sachiro Gojou, is in the ICU. We need you to come as soon as possible.â
Your stomach contracted into a tight ball as you stood rigid with terror. Then and there, the world seemed to tilt on its axis. âWh-What do you mean heâs in the hospital?!â you managed to shout, swept by horripilation from the sudden news. âWhat happened to my son?! Whatâsâ!âÂ
Seraâs concerned gaze met yours as you desperately yelled into the phone, hyperventilating. Your trembling hand was threatening to drop the phone. âY/N, is everything okay?â
âMy son⌠I⌠heâŚ,â you stammered, your voice shaky with fear and urgency. Your muscles locked in a momentary paralysis, eyes wide with astonishment, and surprise rendering you immobile. The thought of Sachiro in a critical state was about to make you faint, with the last bits of images you saw that afternoon were of Sera and her boyfriend rushing to catch you from completely falling to the ground.Â
ââ
Megumi didnât know how to deliver the bad news.Â
He came home after Yuujiâs brother rushed you to the hospital, shocked by everything that happened in a span of a single day. His mind was aching from all the thinking he was doing; praying that little Sachiro will be fine, hoping that you would stay strong throughout, and lastly, wondering how he would break it to his dad that something terrible had happened.Â
His father wasnât exactly the greatest man to tread this Earth, especially not after the drunken words he had âmistakenlyâ uttered to you that night in Miami that resulted in your separation. Yes, Megumi knew every word and detail. His father told him everything just as a sober man would. Did you really think that the Toji Zenâin you knew would sputter that utter nonsense to you? That you had an empty soul. That he couldnât be with someone like you. That you would forever be a placeholder to Megumiâs mother. Bullshit. None of those were true. His father told him that the reason he had to say those words, as piercing and trenchant as they may be, was because it was the only way he could free you from being caged in a relationship your heart didnât genuinely want.Â
It was Tojiâs last resort to hurt you with his words, hoping that you would wake up from your false fantasy and finally have a reason to leave a relationship with a man that wasnât Satoru Gojou. If Megumiâs father wasnât at the top of the list of Forbesâ richest men in Japan, he would have felt a great deal of inferiority complex over a younger man like Gojou. Not because of his looks and his riches, but because he had you. No matter what Satoru did, no matter how many times he hurt you, he was and would always be that man you wanted to be with.Â
Sighing, Megumiâs first task upon coming home was to check on his fatherâs room, only to find the dark room void of its owner. When he made his way down the grand staircase, he met an ill-spirited Naoya who was ranting to Mai about Sera flaunting Sukuna in front of his face. Megumiâs sigh was then followed by another. The drama in this house was relentless. He felt like he was exhaling endlessly, like a malfunctioning appliance.Â
âWhereâs dad?â asked Megumi, directing her question to a more rational Maki.Â
The tall, green-haired girl gave him a knowing shrug. âYou already know,â she said, âDrowning himself in alcohol down at the bar.âÂ
As always.Â
Megumi jogged around the estate to eventually find his father at one of the wet bars near his home office. He was there, seated on a stool, his head drooping low with a glass of premium scotch in hand. How many glasses heâd had, Megumi could only hope the numbers weren't that high. But upon approaching his father, his presence was barely acknowledged as he sat on the stool next to him, suggesting that the grown man might be more inebriated than his son had expected.
âDad,â spoke the Zenâin heir, âDad, you good?âÂ
Toji lifted his head up, three sheets to the wind, as a smile crept up on his scarred lips. âSon.âÂ
âLet me take that.â Megumi grabbed a hold of the glass of scotch, sliding the strong liquor away from his father. âThereâs something I ought to tell you.âÂ
Toji stayed nonchalant, sitting upright and tapping his fingers on the counter. âWhatâs it about this time?â he asked. âIâve told you, I canât stop the elders from arranging your marriage unless youâre honest with me about someone you like. I know you have someone in mind, but youâre not saying who. Are you just shy?â
Megumi gave his father a look of exasperation. Heâs rambling, he thought, frustrated with his fatherâs inebriated chattering. âItâs not about that. Itâs about Y/N-san.â
The mention of your name was the only thing that made Toji's demeanor shift to one of genuine concern. âWhat happened?â
âSachiâs in a critical condition,â the younger Zenâin went straight to the point, âY/N-san went manic over it and fainted before we could get her to the hospital.â
Toji was quick to grab his coat and car keys, as if all the alcohol in his system had immediately evaporated. But before he could leave, Megumi caught his fatherâs arm and pulled him back.Â
âWhat?â said Toji, concern and urgency blanketing his gaze. âI need to be with her.âÂ
âDo you really need to?â Megumi countered. âDad, I know itâs not right for me to stop you in this crucial situation, but are you gonna do this every time sheâs in trouble? Do you plan to do this forever? Do you plan to keep drowning yourself in alcohol thinking about her? We care for her like family, thatâs true, but you and her arenât a thing anymore. Your responsibilities in taking care of her should stop, too. You, yourself, said itâd be best if she stopped being reliant on you. Now, do yourself a favor and stop trying to be this pathetic superhero.âÂ
The concern etching on Tojisâs face softened into a sense of realization, a sense of candidness that only someone as straightforward as his own son could evoke. Megumi had to, not because he didnât care for you anymore, but because he had to ensure he wouldnât lose his father over a relationship that had already ended. Toji was the only real family Megumi had left.Â
âStay, dad,â he pleaded, âPlease.â
Toji took a deep breath and released it in the same second. âOkay,â he softly said, ruffling his sonâs hair. âI wonât leave.âÂ
ââ
Why is it that you keep attracting things, places, and people that you disliked the most?Â
You hated hospitals, and you had spoken about it enough to make it clear how much you dreaded going to a place where your worst memories had taken root. Yet, the sterile environment seemed to beckon you, dragging you back with a new nightmare each time. It was beyond your worst fears that you would find yourself racing through the halls mere minutes after regaining consciousness, desperately trying to reach where your son was.
Please be okay. Please be okay.Â
Frantically, you scanned the corridors, searching for the ICU and hoping that what you had just heard was nothing more than a cruel illusion, that this was all just a nightmare. You werenât a deeply devout person, but you did send prayers to every saint you could think of, hoping that Sachiroâs current state wasnât in the median between life and death.Â
Because if you lost your son, then there was no point in living anymore. This life wouldnât be worth enduring.Â
âY/N!â
You werenât the first one to arrive outside the pediatric ICU, with Gen and your father already being there moments before you came. You were struggling to breathe by the time you reached them, feeling your heart race with a thunderous beat. âGen⌠Dad, what h-happened to him?â You couldnât stop the weakness in your voice. âTell me heâs fine, please. Please. My baby. If anything h-happens to him, Iâm g-gonna die, Gen! I c-canât h-have that!â
Gen quickly enveloped you in a tight embrace, trying to offer any form of comfort she could. âIâm so sorry, Y/N. Dad and I are just as shocked.â She held you closer, her voice trembling as she, too, was just as anxious as you. âSachi refused to eat and complained about having a hard time breathing. He was so pale and his lips were blue. We knew we had to rush him to the hospital immediately.â
âOh my God.â Your hand flew to your mouth, trying to stifle the uncontrollable cries that were escaping. The news of Sachiro developing cyanosis shattered your heart, and the crushing reality that you werenât there to take care of him tore you apart. âMy baby, no. No, no. H-Heââ
âY/N!âÂ
Out of breath and also visibly shaken was the father of your son, Satoru, who came running to your side the moment his eyes landed on you. Behind him was his mother, clutching a rosary in her hand as both of them were seemingly shell-shocked in the same magnitude as you and your family were. Everyone cared for Sachiroâs well-being, everyone prayed for his safety, and the thought of losing an angel like your son was a soul-crushing thought that sent you slipping into a chasm of suffering. Â
âWh-What happened to Sachi?â Satoru asked in desperation, his question raised to everyone in the vicinityâyou, your family, the nurses. But no one could give him a decent answer. âPlease, tell me my sonâs alright. Tell me.âÂ
You watched him walk in circles, raking his fingers through his hair as if he was seeking anything to hold onto. And you, feeling that magnet that pulled you closer to him, broke away from Genâs embrace to look at your sonâs father. âSatoruâŚâÂ
âY/N,â his voice cracked as he met your gaze, âOur son.â He stopped, ready to wrap you in a hugâa moment of solace you both desperately needed in this critical time. But just as he pulled you close in a fragile attempt to find comfort together, the door to the ICU swung open, abruptly ending the brief respite.
All of you immediately rushed over to the doctor, the sterile white walls and the distant hum of hospital machinery did nothing to calm the turmoil inside you.Â
âDoctor, howâs he?âÂ
âHowâs my grandson, doc?â
âDoc, my son, is he okay?âÂ
âIs he stable, doc?âÂ
âDoctor, howâs my son, please?â you asked, your body growing tense to the point of shaking.
The doctor took a deep breath, his expression serious amidst the fusillade of questions thrown at him. âWeâre currently running a series of tests on the patient. We suspect Sachiro may have congenital heart disease, specifically a ventricular septal defect with associated pulmonary hypertension.â
No, it canât be. Itâs not possible! The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You struggled to process the information, your vision blurring with tears and your heart drumming a rapid staccato inside. You didnât need to look at everyone to know that they all, for a moment, looked at you. âHeart disease? But⌠how? I didnât thinkââ
âCan you explain more, doc? Please.â Gojou was desperate, his bright blue eyes now dull and severely clouded with a brewing storm. It was as if he was keeping himself from crying.
The doctor continued gently, âVSD is a condition where thereâs a hole in the heartâs ventricular septum. It can lead to pulmonary hypertension, which means the blood pressure in the lungs is elevated. Itâs a serious condition, but weâre doing everything we can to assess the extent and provide the best treatment.â
âN-No, oh God. My baby.â You felt your knees go weak, and you sank down against the wall, with more tears cascading down your cheeks like waterfall. The weight of the diagnosis was crushing, but the hardest part was realizing that this was something you had unknowingly passed on to Sachiro. The heart disease was inherited from you and had now manifested in your beloved son.
Itâs my fault. Itâs my fault!Â
The doctor placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. âWeâll keep you updated as soon as we have more information. Please, try to stay calm, Y/N. Itâs not best for your heart to panic right now. Sachiro is in good hands.â
You were unable to speak through the sobs that wracked your body. The hospital corridor felt endless, and you couldnât shake the feeling of guilt and helplessness that consumed you. You could feel all eyes on you, judging, harboring hatred, carrying deep-rooted resentment. You were torn apart by the knowledge that the very thing you had feared most was now a reality for your son.
âItâs⌠Itâs my fault,â you sobbed, covering your face with your quivering hands, âThis is all my fault. I gave it to Sachiro, I⌠Iâm a terrible mother!âÂ
Gen knelt beside you, her hands gripping your shoulders with a firm yet gentle touch. âY/N, stop it. This is not your fault. You didnât choose this for Sachiro.â
Your father, who had been pacing anxiously nearby, joined in. âYour sisterâs right. Youâre blaming yourself for something beyond your control. Weâre all here for you. Weâll figure this out.â
But amidst your familial exchange, Satoru stood nearby, frozen and listless. His silence only added to the overwhelming distress. Was he also blaming you for what Sachiro was going through right now? Was he also angry at you for putting his son into this critical situation?Â
Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the commotionâvoice that was equally harsh and spiteful. It was Satoruâs mother, boring her fiery eyes into your skull as she opened her mouth. âThatâs right! Youâre self-aware, arenât you?â she spat and stood rigidly, arms crossed defensively over her chest. âThis is all your fault. Youâre such an irresponsible mother! You canât even take care of my grandson properly, and now youâve passed your disease onto him!â
You looked up in shock, seeing Satoruâs mother standing there with a disdainful expression. The sting of her words felt like a knife twisting in your heart, because they were true. They were painful, yes, but they were true. And all you could do was lower yourself until you were sitting on your haunches, trying to make yourself as small as possible.Â
âExcuse me?!â Gen stood up, her eyes blazing with anger that came from the deepest pits of hell. âYouâre unbelievable, Auntie. How dare you speak to my sister like that! You have no right to blame her for this. I hope to God it was you in the ICU right now instead of Sachiro!â
âYouâŚ!âÂ
Satoruâs mother raised a hand to slap Gen, but your father stepped forward, his face a mix of disbelief and indignation. âThis is despicable. How can you stand here and say such things to someone whoâs already suffering? Werenât you friends with my wife once?â
Satoru, who had been standing still, suddenly moved with a menacing calm. His face was hard as stone, and his eyes narrowed in anger. What was scarier was him approaching his mother with a threatening stance. âAre you really this pathetic, mother?â Satoru questioned with a cold, cutting tone. âDo you get off on making Y/N suffer? Do you think youâve gotten away with slapping her behind my back? You donât get to blame Y/N for anything. Any fucking thing!â
His motherâs eyes widened in shock, but she tried to defend herself at the ruthless stance her son was carrying. All of you were stunned at the realization of how Satoru resembled his cruel father at that moment. âB-But Satoru, my sonââ
âShut up!â Satoru cut her off, his voice harsh and unforgiving, before he threw his cold knuckles against the hard surface of the concrete wall. âI donât want to see your face ever again! Donât consider yourself my mother any longer, you witch. Youâve lost that privilege.â
This took a wild turn, and hearing the brutality of Satoruâs words was like a thunderclap in the tense atmosphere. His motherâs face turned pale, her mouth opening and closing in shock as she struggled to respond.
âGet out of here,â Satoru commanded, his voice uncaring towards her. âLeave, and donât ever come back. Youâre nobody to me now.â
With that, Satoruâs mother turned and fled, stumbling down the corridor as if she was the victim in this situation. However, the tension in the air began to dissipate as soon as she left, leaving you, Satoru, Gen, and your father in a heavy silence. Only your sniffles could be heard.Â
Even Gen, who was often hostile around your ex-husband, had remained quiet and composed after she watched him take such drastic measures to keep his mother away.
Everyone was silent. Pure, unbothered silence until Satoruâs phone began to buzz loudly, cutting through the stillness of the hallway. For a moment, he closed his eyes, then he fished his phone out of his pocket where you caught a glimpse of the caller ID.Â
Akemi.Â
ââ
The ICU only allowed short visits and one person at a time, so there was no need for everyone to stay the night. You were the parent, you were the one responsible for your sonâs situation, so you insisted it was best for your dad and Gen to go home and get some rest. You didnât mind watching over your son for the whole night, because coming home without him was the last thing you would do right now.
My precious angel.
Sachiro lay in the hospital bed, his small chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The doctors had managed to stabilize him for now, and the sight of his heart monitor showing a stable rhythm was a small comfort amidst the chaos.
Still, you sat by his bedside, mindful of your timed visit as your hands gently held his tiny ones, feeling the warmth of his small fingers. You glanced down at the medical report on your other hand, trying to make sense of the complex terms and figures.
The words blurred together as your tears fell silently onto the paper. âIâm sorry, baby.â He didnât deserve this. Heâs just a baby. âMommyâs very sorry.â
You tried to stay strong, putting on a brave face for your son, but inside, you were falling apart. It was impossible not to blame yourself over this, wishing you could do more than just be present around him. This was the comeuppance of your own actions after you focused on your own emotions for the past few weeks to the point of neglecting your sonâs wellbeing. If you had been more present in his life, if you had been more observant, you would have easily noticed the signs. Now, you allowed Satoru to find a flaw in your duty as a mother, and he could cite this very event as evidence to get full custody of him. That is, if he were to ever consider taking your son away from you.Â
But in the first place, he should be the last person to do that, because where exactly was he now?Â
Your thoughts kept drifting back to the earlier scene, where he excused to answer Akemiâs call, and later that night told you he had to leave and âcheck somethingâ urgently. He promised heâd be back before midnight, but where was he?Â
Resentment began to fester within you.
You had been very perceptive of Akemiâs feelings, apologetic in the way you supposedly betrayed her, but the fact that she was still scrambling for Satoruâs attention in the midst of your sonâs hospitalization was something you could never forgive her for.Â
And as for Sachiroâs father, how could he prioritize another woman when his own son was in such a critical state? The confusion of his actions was overwhelming. It felt like a cruel deja vu that, at a time when you needed him the most, he was choosing to be elsewhere. You could accept it if it was a choice between you and another woman, but between his son and her? His behavior was unacceptable, disgusting even, and it only served to deepen your grudge against him.
You clenched your fists, trying to push away the surge of anger that threatened to consume you after seeing that the disparity in his actions felt like both a betrayal and a slap to the face. Your poor son. You stared at Sachiroâs peaceful face and stroked his cheek. How could Satoru be so indifferent to his own flesh and blood?
The room was silent except for the soft beeping of the heart monitor and your quiet sobs. The situation was almost too much to bear, and your resentment towards Gojou grew heavier by the second. Each minute felt like a lifetime, and the emptiness left by his absence was a constant reminder that yet again he chose another woman over his own family.
Itâs okay. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. I wonât leave you, Sachi. For Sachiroâs sake, you needed to find the strength to carry on, to be the mother he needed in this moment of crisis and never again failing to be there for your only child.Â
At exactly 10:30 pm, the nurse came in and told you visiting hours were over. You complied.Â
At 11:00 pm, Ian paid you a quick visit and talked to the nurses, perhaps giving them reminders to look after you.Â
At 12:00 am, you were alone again. Seated at one of the benches outside the ICUâsleepless, starving, and nauseous.Â
At 2:00 am, you remained in your seat despite the sterile smell of antiseptic mingling with your own discomfort. The flickering fluorescent lights above did little to help you get some proper sleep. The cold air-conditioning alao made you shiver slightly, hugging your own body to try and give yourself some warmth.Â
At 4:00 am, you awakened from the noise of the movements beside you. Realizing you had fallen asleep, you looked up and saw Satoru taking a seat to your left. His coat was draped over his arm, and he offered it to you.
âAre you cold?â he asked, his voice softer than usual, but you could see the bags under his eyes suggesting the sleepless nights heâd had for the past few days. âYou can use my coat.â
You took the coat, but as you caught a whiff of it, a familiar scent of Akemiâs perfume lingered. Rose Prick by Tom Ford. It was a scent youâd come to recognize after your years of being her best friend, and it made your stomach turn slightly. Without any hesitation, you handed the coat back to him. âNo, thank you. Iâm fine,â you replied, avoiding his gaze. Looking into his eyes was the last thing you would do.Â
And you knew Satoru was sighing, but didnât press the issue. âThe nurse mentioned you havenât eaten today.â He pulled out a small bag of assorted fruits, placing it gently on the seat between you. You eyed the offerings, feeling a pang of hunger but also a strange aversion. âI bought some fruit. Is there anything you like?â
You took a deep breath and broke the silence with a hint of sarcasm. âYouâre really good at this, huh?â
âAt what?â was his immediate question, puzzled.
âHitting two birds with one stone.â
âY/NâŚâ
âStop trying to take care of me,â you interrupted, your tone sharper than intended. â I donât need it.â
âButââ
You swallowed the lump in your throat. âYou canât even be here for Sachi. You canât even choose your son. Heâs in a life and death situation and weâre still only receiving scraps of your attention.â It was the deep-seated grudge spilling out of you. âYouâre so good at abandoning people, huh? Even though thatâs what you hate the most. Youâre so good at disappearing without even a text or call to check on me and our son. After that night at the cabin, you justâŚâ you paused, realizing that you were opening too much of your heart to a man who didnât deserve it. âForget it. Just go home to Akemi. Live a happy life, build a family with her. Forget us. I donât care. Iâll take care of Sachiro myself. Iâve done it for three years!â
âY/N, Iâm not trying to hurt you. I justâŚâ Satoru fumbled for words, his somber blue eyes bearing the history of your shared heartbreak. It was as though the painful memories of your past were flooding his thoughts, seeking justification as to why he couldnât pick you again this time. âI had to be there for her. SheâsâŚâ
You turned away before he could see your expression, because your heart was splintering at the thought of Satoru Gojou shattering it once more. As he always did. There seemed to be no end to this relentless heartbreak, as if any hope of a happy ever after with the man you loved would only return a pain that was a hundred times worse. Perhaps, this was destinyâs way of telling you that you and him werenât meant to be. That any wishful thinking of being with Satoru again was only something that you could expect in another universe.
So, in your defense, you had to pull on a facade. A mask that you had to wear in the face of being the target of never-ending despair. âSatoru, I donât want to talk about it,â you said firmly, concealing the raw ache in your voice with a smile. âAnd I donât expect you to choose me every time. Itâs okay. Itâs happened before.â
âCanât you see Iâm hurting, too?â he asked, his voice breaking. Though you couldnât see his face, the tremor in his voice revealed his struggle to hold back tears.Â
You couldnât understand why he would be hurting with his decision. When faced with two crossroads, he always seemed to pick the path that led away from you. So instead of trying to comprehend his pain, you decided it was time to honor your own. For your sake. For Sachiroâs.Â
âLetâs just forget about that night,â you declared, wiping your eyes as you got up from your seat and prepared to walk away. âFrom this day forward, letâs pretend it never happened.â
ââ
Akemiâs apartment was dark when Satoru stepped inside.Â
And to be honest, the darkness was a relief. At least, she wouldnât be able to see the lassitude etched on his face, not just from juggling his time between his son and her, but from the constant ache of hurting the person he loved.
Miscommunication is a coupleâs greatest enemy, and the persistent disconnect between you two, coupled with the reluctance to clear things up, had worn Satoru down. He wanted to end thisâthe feeling of helplessness and the torment of seeing the woman he cared for caught in a labyrinth of despair.
The hospital visits to Sachiro alone had been a whirlwind of emotions and responsibilities, and this brief visit to Akemi felt like an unwelcome detour, but one he couldnât avoid. Satoru knew his heart wanted to stay in the hospital with you, to wait for any updates on his son, to hold your hand and care for you, yet here he was, dragging his feet across the carpeted floors to approach Akemi.Â
âHey.â She was sitting on the couch, looking frail but alert as if she had been desperately waiting on his arrival. She had recently started treatment for her stage 3 endometrial cancer, and Satoru could see the toll it was taking on her, physically and emotionally. He would be cruel to leave her hanging like this, to neglect her at her worst when she had been there by his side at his. Satoru had an unspoken accountability on her, because it wouldnât be fair for him to just abandon her after she poured all her heart and soul into helping Gojou get back onto his own feet. Â
âHey, âKemi,â he said, his tone soft but distant. âDid you take your meds today?â
Akemi looked up at him, her eyes tired and heavy. âI did. I took them just like the doctor said. Howâs Sachiro?â
Gojouâs expression tightened. âHeâs holding steady at the moment.â
A heavy silence settled between them before Akemi broke the tension. âIâm glad heâs stable,â she said, quietly. âAre you okay?â
He nodded once, his mind already drifting back to the hospital. âYeah. Listen, I need to head back soon. Nanami and Miwa will be alternating in looking after you from now on. Theyâll make sure youâre okay while Iâm dealing with Sachiro. I have to focus on my son.â
Akemiâs frail hand reached out to gently grip his arm, the other held her lower abdomen in pain. âSatoru, please donât go just yet. Canât you stay a little longer?â
Nowâs not the time to feel guilty. It was either her or Sachiro. Her or his son. Gojou decided to pull his arm away gently, his gaze distant. âSachiro needs me, Akemi. You know that.â
Akemiâs face fell, but she knew it would be ridiculous to argue over that. âNo, I understand. I get that. I want you to focus on Sachi, too. I just wishââ Before she could finish, her voice faltered, and she looked up at him with a hesitant gaze. âSatoru, do you regret that I took you back even if you cheated on me?â
The question caught him off guard, and Satoruâs blue eyes narrowed as he processed her words. He had been so focused on his responsibilities and the immediate crisis that he hadnât given much thought to their ârelationshipâ. All he knew was when he showed up at her doorstep back at the cabin, he was only going to try and end things with her. He was only going to clarify the longstanding feelings you and him poured out to each other that night, which was why he ended up sleeping with his ex-wife. But because Akemi suffered at the time, because her pelvic pain worsened to the point of an emergency, he had to hold back and just take care of her in the weeks that passed. He was caged in this situation like a prisoner who was found guilty for the crimes he had committed.
Just be honest, Satoru. Disregard everything else and just be honest. Satoru believed it was about time he stood his ground no matter the consequences. âYou canât take me back if weâre not together, âKemi,â he breathed out those words, reticent on hurting her with the truth. If she would lash out on him, throw a vase on his head, slam a book on his faceâhe wouldnât mind. He was ready to accept all the violence he deserved from being an asshole. âYou knew from the start that this, us, was only temporary. It was never supposed to be serious.âÂ
Her expressions turned doleful. âThen, in that case, did you at leastâŚâ Tears welled up in her eyes as she she paused, âDid you at least love me?â
âI just⌠I never saw it that way, Akemi.â Satoruâs honesty would destroy her, but he didnât want to keep on sending out false hopes. He had to be firm, and while he was grateful for everything she did for him, that doesnât mean he owed her his life and loyalty. In the first place, he warned her that he wasnât ready to be in a relationship. And God, he was far from ready to even settle down, yet Akemi constantly hinted at wanting to tie the knot with him. Again and again did she mention the thought of a wedding and a child and her own family.Â
Satoru wanted all those things too, but with another person in mind. He was only set on having those things with one woman.
Akemiâs face paled upon hearing his answer and the fact that he didnât even bother to explain himself. âI see. I guess I needed to hear that.â
Gojou looked at her with a mix of regret and sympathy. âIâm sorry. Iâm sorry for hurting you like this, I really do.â
âItâs fine. Donât worry about it.â
It definitely wasnât fine, but Satoru had to take her word for it as he got out from the couch and gave her a gentle pat on the head. âI have to go. Nanami will be here soon. Please make sure to follow the treatment plan and take care of yourself.â
Akemi nodded, though her gaze remained fixed on the floor, unable to meet his eyes. âAlright. Iâll see him when he gets here.â
As Gojou turned to leave, he felt a pang of guilt twisting deep in his gut but pushed it aside. He was a father first before anything else. Sachiro would always be his first and foremost priority amongst everything else.Â
ââ
After leaving Akemiâs place, Satoru was driving his car into the evening air beyond the speed limit. And his mind was racing together with him as he thought of you, your son, and the myriad of emotions he was struggling to manage. He couldnât wait to be home, not literally at his own place, but anywhere with you and his son was his definition of home.Â
It would be diabolical for him to run into your arms and yell, âIâm free! We can be together again!â No, that would be cruel and disgusting. He respected Akemi just as he respected you. It was himself that he couldnât respect, because he was the one responsible for the mess that he created. And adding Sachiroâs critical condition on top of the already festering wounds in your relationship? It truly was the manifestation of karma in his actions.Â
His footsteps bounced through the hospital corridors the moment he arrived, each impatient step was ready to see your face and tell you he would never leave you and Sachiro now. But as he neared the pediatric ICU, his eyes darted around, the sight of his ex-wife was nowhere to be found. And instinctively, his heart pounded in his chest, and a drum of panic seemed to warn him of a storm that was about to come. Something was off, and it scared him.Â
âNurse,â he called out, his voice edged with urgency as he approached their station. âWhereâs my wife? The boyâs mother?â
The nurse looked up, recognizing the infamous CEOâs face. âUh, Mr. Gojou, she was heading to the rooftop, I think.â
âWhat?!â he unintentionally yelled at her face, âWhy didnât you guys keep an eye on her?âÂ
âSir, calm down. Sheâs probably going to get some fresh air.â
A cold chill ran down his spine. You were definitely not there for that.Â
Without another word, he sprinted towards the stairs, taking them two at a time instead of waiting at an elevator together with a group of people. He had to get to you as soon and as fast as he could without another second to waste. Although the climb felt endless, his mind racing with fear and dread was the push he needed to finally reach you.Â
And upon bursting through the door to the rooftop, he was met with the soft whisper of the evening wind and the heart-stopping sight of you standing perilously close to the edge.
âY/N!â he called out, his voice breaking with desperation. âDonât do this. Please, step back.â
You stood motionless, eyes fixed on the distant horizon, the city lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of sorrow. âThe world hates me, Satoru,â you whispered, the mellow tone of your voice carried away by the wind. âIâm a burden to everyone, even my own child. I-I just⌠I want to end it all.â
âNo!â Satoruâs heart shattered at your words while he moved closer, his hands outstretched and careful not to startle or provoke you. He was dying to have you in his arms and keep you safe. âY/N, please. Come back. What about Sachi? What about me? We need you. Sachiro needs you. I need you.â
What exactly made you go here? How did thoughts of ending yourself suddenly come into fruition? Was there something you discovered that brought you to this ultimatum? Gojou was desperate, utterly desperate, to hear what was running through your mind so that he could at least ease the burden that you were carrying all by yourself. He was once in the position where he wanted to commit too, and he knew the temptation that came with permanently escaping the cruelty of the world in just a single action.Â
âY/N, please. Please, Iâm begging. Come to me,â he rattled on in a suffocating whisper, the pleading in his voice was heavy, âPlease. I love you. Only you.â Â
It was when you turned around that Gojouâs world collapsed, and the words you said after had shattered his entire universe.Â
They were still.Â
You.Â
And the wind.Â
âIâm pregnant,â you finally confessed, voice cracking as you looked at the faint tears that fell from Satoruâs eyes. âI donât wanna have this baby.âÂ
#icb kemi has cancer. thatâs actually insane.#and also. satoru did her so fucking dirty OMMGMGGGG#leading her on like that knowing he didnât fuck w her is nasty#thinking abt running back to your ex wifeâs arms after all that is even NASTIER.#kinda unrelated but I think this is the first time I read abt a story where a character (or reader) is pregnant and they donât want the baby#LAAAWWWDDD sera almost came back tooâŚ..donât jumpscare me with my enemies like that#she can heal and do better away from me ty â¤ď¸#and OF COURSE satoru wonât tell reader âoh I went to kemi for a bit bc she has stage 3 cancer in her uterusâ or smth#heâs just messy like that ig tee hee#the update gagged me itâs 2am where Iâm at
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â§ď˝Ľďž @halovien sent: â delivery for you, dear. â sunday's tone gives no indication that anything is amiss, though the presence of mail in general was odd given physical mail in space delivered to their home was highly unlikely. yet he says nothing else, just holding out the letter for his husband to take. when the blond takes it and reads it, it is unmistakably sunday's own writing. to my dearly beloved, i am unsure why this must be put to print, but i hereby declare that as my husband, you have the executive privilege to do whatever you please in regards to me and our life together. there is, however, some limitations i must impose such as: nothing too inappropriate in public ( given the chance we can. kissing and decent displays of affection are perfectly welcome ), refraining from giving the cats an excessive amount of treats, and no distractions while i'm working. no one has anything close to this much freedom regarding my personal life, but it is only right that it's your sole privilege given our status and my devotion to you. if you have questions pertaining to the limitations or what exactly your privileges entail, as always, feel free to let me know. yours, gabriel / unprompted, always accepting.
â   mail?   â     theyâre  careful  not  to  let  this  ship  linger  around  long  enough  to  be  recognised  anywhere,  even  the  few  people  made  aware  of  their  current  arrangements  wouldnât  know  where  to  find  either  of  the  two  without  asking  first.  so  he  doesnât   buy  it,    evidenced  in  gaze  flitting  between  sunday  and  the  envelope  and  back  to  sunday  in  rapid  succession   â   but  he  accepts  with  a  hum  only  slightly  skeptical,   coffee  abandoned  in  favor  of  carefully  unsealing  the  top  and  unfolding  the  letter  within.  an  arm  curled  around  his  partners  waist  to  tug  him  in  towards  the  kitchen  table;    avenâs  head  falling    to  rest  against  his  side     as  he  takes  in  familiar,   beautiful  penmanship.      Â
   Â
this  is   âŚÂ   he  pauses  half  way  through  to  cast  a  look  of   disbelief   in  the  others  direction,  amused  little  smile  only  widening  the  further  he  reads.   â   whatever  i  please?   â   heâs  grinning  now.   â   darling,   i  thought   you  knew  how  to  draft  a  contract.  the  terms  laid  out  here  are   ⌠  vague  at  best,   hardly  as   comprehensive     as  iâd  expect  from  you   of  all  people.   â   oh,   heâd  love  to  hear  about  those  privileges  in  detail,   but  his  head  already  tilts  into  sunday,   overcome  by  a  surge  of  fondness  when  he  cranes  to  look  up  at  them  that  subdues  the  inclincation  to  tease.  gabe  indulges  in  his  most  asinine  requests   far  too  much   and  it  stirs  a  concoction  of  something  dangerously  smug,   admittedly  soft  in  him.   â   letâs  see   â   unfortunately  i  love  you  too  much  to  take  advantage  of  the  lack  of  a fine print,   so  letâs  treat  this  as  an  informal  mutual  agreement,  shall  we?  mutual,   meaning  that  the  same  statutes   also    apply  to  you.    â                       Â
#what he really means to say is thank you#he appreciates sunday humouring his silliness and he loves him VERY much#icb i said give him that in writing and u actually did it#LAYLAAAAA#â đđŁđŠđđ§đđđŠđđ¤đŁđ¨ â¤*´. ââ answered.#halovien
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finally  made  a  lil  page  regarding  all  the  info  abt  pompom,  keep  in  mind  that  my  depiction  is  canon  divergent,  most  will  align  with  the  show  and  changes  might  be  made  depending  on  its  direction,  but  overall  my  portrayal  will  still  be  very...  original,  in  a  sense  <3
#ooc : posts .#wow icb i actually did it!#might sleep tho bcus its legit midnight 2SWEDRFTGYHUJI#anw goodnight oomfies sleep well love poms <3#also yes colored text links to the page! it's also linked on my pinned post <3
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the urge to gatekeep is so hard to control when i see tweets of mingyu with Millions of views like i need to be normal
#the popbase tweets are so real but also YOU DONT KNOW HIM !!!!!!! and now the whole dior show ohhhh i need to stop#the nana tour episode where hes in the white outfit and being charming as fuck talking to everyone in the street why did i actually CRY#icb hes real and just goes out and about in the world and people get to SEE him like walking on a street thats so insane đđđđđ#me when people talk about one of the most famous idols đđđđ like I KNOW objectively this is stupid hes literally mingyu from seventeen#hes not like my little secret but i feel so đđđđ#and im also like happy when he gets the recognition i feel proud but the gatekeeper in me....igh#h talks
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#;out of time.#god icb I called someone for immigration advice yesterday and dude was basically like 'this year's bust and america is volatile rn.'#'but also lemme regale you with tales of how great america is to work in actually' LIKE MIXED SIGNALS MUCH?!??!#it was like talking to a wizard. I had to divine the answers between his riddles lmfao#like??? was it helpful???? or did it utterly destroy my hopes and dreams??? I DON'T FUCKIN KNOW#anyway I didn't hear no bell I am actively asking other friends and acquaintances for pointers lmao#I AIN'T GOING DOWN WITHOUT KICKING AND CLAWING AND SCREAMING
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h got me the badlands vinyl âšď¸
#ive wanted it for saur long icb she did this actually hi h if ur reading this i love youuuu :(#the way i like opened the package and burst into tears im just . Obsessed and also very grateful like what did i do to deserve this#also h u should come back so we can hang out more i Will be normal about making plans and taking buses#actually yk what im gonna murder my fear of driving and get my license just so we can go loads of places the next ur here
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alright now, ya'll be proud of me. my draft folder is EMPTY. i can finally direct my attention to my inbox lmfao.
#icb i actually did all my drafts#you know what? im proud of myself#đ˘đ˘đ˘. â đđđ đđ
đđđđđđđđđ â ă mun speaks â !
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