#just think about how fucking funny that'd be

[aesthetically-dying101]

how would the jjk men react to the reader jumping out the car during an argument?

A/N: HELLO??? LMFAO???? thats hilarious, im writting this bc this is just fucking funny, im tempted to simply like... kill the reader, but that'd be the easy way out.

warnings: arguments, angst, sad, humor? bad humor. this is all for shits and gids okay? don't take it seriously. couple uses of Y/N. a bit of ooc, toxic behavior

Characters: Nanami, Toji, Gojo, Geto, Sukuna, Choso, Shiu, Higuruma. (in that order)

The countryside stretched on, endless and suffocating, the car’s tires humming against the asphalt in a rhythm that made you want to scream. The air inside the vehicle was thick, not with heat but with words unsaid, unscreamed. Nanami Kento, ever composed, was driving with the calm precision of someone determined not to rise to the bait.

His voice, steady and measured, grated against your last nerve.

“I understand your concern,” he said, not taking his eyes off the road. His hands were firm on the wheel, knuckles pale in the moonlight. “But you’re being unreasonable. The job requires—”

“Requires you to throw yourself into danger headfirst?!” You snapped, twisting in your seat to glare at him. “You think that’s noble, Kento? You think that makes you some kind of martyr?”

He sighed. Not a loud sigh. Not an exasperated sigh. Just a small, quiet thing, like a pressure valve letting off steam. That was worse. Like he’d already decided how this would play out.

“It’s not about martyrdom. It’s about responsibility. Someone has to—”

“Stop the car.”

His brow twitched, just slightly. “Don’t be ridiculous—”

“STOP. THE. CAR.”

“I will not,” he said, voice clipped but still infuriatingly calm. “It’s the middle of nowhere. We can discuss this like adults when we’re—”

You didn’t wait for him to finish. Your hand shot to the door handle, adrenaline drowning out the rational voice in your head. You didn’t care.

You didn’t care.

The door opened. The rush of cold air hit you like a slap, and then you were out—tucking and rolling onto the roadside gravel, the world spinning around you. The scrape of stones against your hands and knees barely registered as you scrambled to your feet, heart pounding.

Behind you, the car screeched to a halt. A perfect, precise stop.

Of course.

You didn’t look back. Not yet. Instead, you started walking, arms crossed tight over your chest. The night swallowed you whole—darkness, the hum of cicadas, the cold bite of an autumn breeze. It was reckless, sure. Irresponsible. But wasn’t that the point? You wanted him to feel it, to see how it felt when someone you cared about did something stupid, reckless, dangerous.

“Y/N.” His voice, steady but closer now, rang out in the stillness.

You kept walking.

“Y/N.” A little sharper this time. A little more him. The sound of his footsteps behind you quickened.

“Go back to your car, Kento!” you shouted over your shoulder, not slowing down. “Since you love driving into danger so much—”

“Enough.”

The word cut through the night, firm and final. You stopped. You didn’t turn, but you stopped, arms still clutched tight against your chest, trembling from more than the cold.

He caught up to you in a few long strides, stepping in front of you, blocking your path. His expression was unreadable in the moonlight—stoic as ever, but his jaw was tight, his shoulders tense. The mask of calm had cracked. Just a little.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice low. “Do you have any idea how—”

“How what?” you snapped, chin tilting up defiantly. “How dangerous it is? How stupid? How it feels to watch someone you care about walk into danger without thinking—”

His hands found your shoulders, grounding, steady. “You’ve made your point,” he said quietly. Not cold. Not dismissive. Quiet in the way a storm retreats.

You blinked up at him, the fire in your chest flickering under the weight of his gaze. For a moment, it was just the two of you, standing in the dark, the night pressing in around you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and the words fell heavy, deliberate. His grip on your shoulders tightened, just slightly. “I’m sorry for worrying you. But don’t ever do that again.”

You stared at him, lips parted, heart pounding. His words weren’t scolding. They weren’t angry. They were something deeper—something raw, a plea wrapped in steel.

“I—” Your voice wavered, and you bit the inside of your cheek, shaking your head. “You don’t get to—”

“I don’t,” he interrupted, softer now. “I don’t get to lecture you. But I’m asking. Please.”

The wind tugged at your hair, carrying the sharp scent of pine and earth. You let out a shaky breath, finally letting your arms drop to your sides. His hands slid away, lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

“Fine,” you muttered. “But you’re not off the hook.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips, so fleeting you might have imagined it. “I wouldn’t expect to be.”

The car’s interior was suffocating, thick with anger that burned hotter than the night outside. Toji’s knuckles were white against the steering wheel, his jaw locked tight, his eyes glued to the road with a fury that made you want to shrink into the seat. But you didn’t shrink. You stared ahead, matching his tension with your own boiling frustration.

“It wasn’t my fault,” you said, your voice sharp enough to cut.

“I know it wasn’t your fault,” he bit out, the words snapping through gritted teeth. “It was that idiot Shiu sending you in blind—”

“Then why are you yelling at me?”

His hands slammed against the steering wheel with a crack that echoed through the car, his lips curling into a snarl. “I’m not yelling at you! I’m yelling because you could’ve gotten yourself killed!”

The words hung there, heavy and seething. The car swerved slightly as his grip returned to the wheel, the muscle in his jaw twitching like a live wire. You could feel his fury rolling off him in waves, not aimed directly at you but still scalding, too hot to bear.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, the walls of the car closing in. The road stretched endlessly under the dim glow of the headlights, the countryside a black void on either side.

“You don’t get to do this,” you shot back, voice shaking with the adrenaline surging through you. “You don’t get to act like you care and then—then—”

“Then what, huh?” he barked, glancing at you, eyes flashing. “I told Shiu to back off. I told him not to send you, but he didn’t listen, and now I’m cleaning up his—”

You didn’t think. You didn’t plan. The door handle was in your hand before you realized it, the rush of cold night air slapping you in the face as you yanked it open.

“The hell are you—” Toji’s shout was drowned out by the roar of wind as you threw yourself out of the car, tucking and rolling onto the gravel shoulder. The impact jolted through your body, but you barely felt it, adrenaline numbing the scrape of rocks against your skin.

You were on your feet before the car screeched to a halt, headlights slicing through the darkness as Toji slammed on the brakes. The sound of the car door opening and slamming shut followed, heavy boots crunching against the gravel as he stalked toward you.

“What the fuck was that?!” he roared, his voice carrying over the empty countryside, sharp and furious. “You trying to get yourself killed again?”

You didn’t turn around, just started walking in the opposite direction, arms crossed over your chest.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me!” Toji shouted, the anger in his voice now laced with something else. Something sharp and raw.

You ignored him, steps deliberate, the cold wind biting at your skin.

In two strides, he was on you, grabbing your wrist—not rough, but firm enough to stop you in your tracks. “Hey,” he growled, voice low and dangerous. “You don’t get to pull that kind of stunt and just walk off. Not with me.”

You whirled on him, yanking your wrist free. “And you don’t get to treat me like some reckless idiot when you do this kind of shit all the time!” you shot back, chest heaving, voice trembling with anger. “You want to talk about getting killed? Look in the damn mirror, Toji!”

He froze, the words hitting him square in the chest. His jaw worked, but no sound came out for a moment, his shoulders stiffening as his gaze bore into yours.

“I’m not—” He stopped himself, dragging a hand through his hair, fingers gripping the strands like he wanted to rip them out. His voice dropped, low and tense. “You don’t get it. It’s different when it’s me.”

“Why?” you demanded, stepping closer, your voice rising. “Because you think you’re invincible? Because you think I can just stand by and watch you do it, over and over again?”

His eyes narrowed, the muscle in his jaw ticking again. For a second, you thought he might explode again, but then his shoulders sagged—just barely—and he exhaled sharply through his nose.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he muttered, the admission rough and grudging, like it had been dragged out of him against his will.

“Then stop acting like I don’t care when you do,” you said, your voice softer now, the anger ebbing just slightly, leaving exhaustion in its wake.

The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, the night pressing in on all sides. He looked at you, really looked at you, his gaze lingering on the scrapes on your hands, the way your shoulders trembled—not just from the cold.

Finally, he sighed, long and low, and ran a hand down his face. “Get back in the car,” he said, his voice quieter now but still firm.

You hesitated, meeting his eyes, waiting for something more.

“I’ll... drive slower,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. His tone softened further, almost grudgingly. “And we’ll talk when we get back.”

It wasn’t an apology. Not exactly. But for Toji, it was close enough.

You huffed, crossing your arms tighter over your chest, but after a beat, you nodded and turned back toward the car.

He followed a step behind, silent but watchful, like he’d be ready to catch you if you bolted again.

The air between you both is sharp, thick like the tension that’s been building for days, if not weeks. Every word Gojo says is like a slap against your skin, each tone laced with venom, dripping with frustration. You can't take it anymore. You’d tried, you really did—tried to understand his side of things, but how the hell are you supposed to when everything seems to revolve around his ego, his strength, his damn Infinity?

You're seething in that passenger seat, hands balled into fists, teeth gritted so hard you're sure you'll snap them. Then he says it, something about being "the strongest" again, like it means anything to you anymore. Like it's some sort of answer to every damn thing in this relationship.

"I don't care that you're the strongest, Gojo!" You snap, voice sharp and unforgiving. "It doesn't make you untouchable, it doesn't give you the right to be reckless, and it sure as hell doesn’t mean you can ignore me when I’m worried sick about you."

But no, of course, that doesn't go over well. He's pissed too. He’s glaring at you, hands gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles are as white as his cursed energy. His lips curl into a sneer. "You think I don't know what you're saying? But this—this is just how it is. I don’t get to stop, okay? Not with everything the clans are pushing on us. This is the life we lead—”

"Yeah, well, I'm not just some accessory for the clans to throw into the mix!" You cut him off, barely holding back the rage in your voice. "I’m a person, not a tool for your legacy!"

That’s it. The straw that breaks the camel’s back. His words get louder, each one bouncing off the inside of the car like it's shaking the world around you. He's got every excuse in the book, and you’re about done with it.

Before he can finish another sentence, before that arrogant smirk can crawl back onto his face, you fling open the door. Without thinking, you just—jump.

The world spins as you tuck and roll, landing with a thud on the ground, your heart pounding like you've just done something insane, which you have. You don’t even spare a glance back at him, just start walking—stomping away like you mean it. You don’t care if he catches up or not, you're just done.

Gojo slams on the brakes, tires screeching as he skids to a stop. You hear the door swing open, his voice booming from behind you, "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

You don’t stop, your pace just as fast, your anger rising with every step. He’s right there, a few feet behind you, his breath heated, as he jogs to catch up. "You think you can just walk away from me, huh? What, you think I'm just gonna let you leave like that?"

You turn your head, throwing him a look that’s half fury, half disbelief. "You’re not untouchable, Gojo. Stop acting like you are. You’re just a man. A very strong, annoying, overpowered man—"

"I’ve got Infinity!" he interrupts, mocking, that cocky grin plastered on his face. He says it like a child, making sure to emphasize the ‘in’ like it’s the only thing that matters, the only thing that’s real in his world.

You can feel it in your chest, the ridiculousness of it all, and for a second, just a second, your resolve wavers. He’s being childish, but it still makes you want to laugh. And you fight it, you really do, but when you look at his face—his dumb, smug face—you can’t help but let out a laugh, short and sharp, despite yourself.

He’s still smirking, walking beside you now, like he’s won, like this is all some stupid game. But it’s not. Not to you.

"You're a fucking idiot, you know that?" you mumble, eyes glaring ahead, refusing to look at him, even though his presence is like a constant pull you can't quite ignore.

And Gojo, always the one to make everything about him, only chuckles in response, like he’s getting some sick enjoyment out of this back-and-forth.

"Yeah, maybe. But I’m still the strongest, right?"

You don't even dignify that with an answer.

Not yet.

The car hums beneath you, but the tension between you and Geto is suffocating. The engine’s low growl matches the intensity in his voice as he rips into you, trying to force you to see the world through his eyes. But it’s like listening to a nightmare—one you’ve already woken up from, and yet, here he is, dragging you back into it.

"You're still so blind," Geto snarls, his fingers tightening around the wheel. "You don’t see it, do you? The truth is, they’re all weak. Normal people? They're nothing but monkeys. You think they deserve your loyalty? They're nothing but pawns in a game they can’t even understand."

His words hang heavy in the car, sharp like daggers, and they cut deeper with every breath. He’s not the person you knew anymore. This isn’t the man you trusted, the one who once laughed with you, who fought at your side. He’s become something else, something dark, something dangerous. His vision for the world feels suffocating, and you won’t be a part of it.

You can feel your pulse quicken, your blood boiling with anger. The venom in his voice—the conviction, the belief that he’s right—it’s pushing you to the edge, testing every ounce of control you have left.

"I won’t be a part of this." Your voice cracks through the tension, a brittle sound that almost breaks. "I can’t be. You’re talking about destroying people—people who don’t even have the ability to see the curses, to see what we do. They can’t fight back, Suguru. They don’t deserve this. I won’t be your weapon."

His eyes snap to you, his gaze sharp as a blade. For a moment, the car feels like it’s closing in on you, the walls too tight, his presence too heavy. The silence is almost worse than his words, the oppressive weight of his fury pressing down on you.

Geto lets out a harsh laugh, a sound that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

"You don’t get it. You still don’t get it. They’re all sheep. I am offering you something better—a future without them dragging us down. You could be so much more, if you just open your eyes. We’re better, you and me. We can reshape the world."

Your hands tremble with rage. His words hit you like a slap, but it’s not just his twisted ideals that make you want to scream—it’s the way he’s trying to convince you, like you’re nothing but a piece on his chessboard, something to manipulate. He’s trying to pull you into his madness, to drag you into his vision of a world built on violence and control.

"Stop." The word comes out sharp, almost like a growl. "I won’t be a part of this. You’ve crossed a line, Geto. You’re not the person I knew anymore."

Oof- back to his last name??

You don’t care that his grip on the wheel tightens, the knuckles white with fury. You don’t care about his angry, piercing glare. The air inside the car is thick, suffocating, pressing in on you with every word he spits at you. You’ve had enough. You can’t breathe anymore, can’t stand being trapped in this twisted conversation with him.

Without thinking, your hand shoots out, grabbing the door handle with desperate force. You slam the door open with a flick of your wrist, the wind hitting your face with a rush of cold air. You don’t give him the chance to stop you. You don’t give him the chance to change your mind.

With a deep breath, you push yourself out of the car, rolling your body onto the asphalt in one smooth motion. Your body protests, but you barely register the pain; it’s nothing compared to the ache in your chest. You land on your feet and take off, walking away without a single glance behind you.

You can hear the car screech to a halt, the engine roaring as he slams it into park. You hear him shout your name, his voice full of rage, but it’s all distant now. His words are meaningless, like the noise of a storm that’s passing.

You’ve already made your decision.

"I'm not going to be part of your cult. You’re wrong, Geto. You’re delusional." The words leave your mouth cold and final, cutting through the air between you like a blade. "You don’t get to decide who lives and dies, and I won’t follow you into the hell you’re trying to build."

Geto’s voice rises behind you, thick with fury. "You’ll regret this," he calls after you, but you don’t flinch. You won’t. Not anymore. "You’ll see. They’re all going to fall."

You don’t look back, your feet pushing you farther away from him, away from the mess he’s trying to drag you into. With each step, the weight in your chest lightens.

He’s lost. He’s gone.

And you’ll never let him drag you down with him.

All you can do is mourn the man you once loved.

The car’s too small for all the fury in the air, every inch of it heavy with the weight of the argument. You’ve been staring out the passenger window for what feels like hours, the night sky swallowing the city’s glow. Sukuna’s words buzz in your head, replaying over and over. “It’s not a big deal. He’s fine. He’ll forget about it.” The way he shrugs it off, like it means nothing. Like he hasn’t scarred your kid for life. You can feel the heat rising in your chest, the tightness in your throat as you grip the seat, trying so damn hard to hold it together.

But you won’t. Not this time.

You turn your head slowly, eyes catching the way his fingers twitch on the steering wheel, like he’s just waiting for you to break. He’s so damn sure of himself. So damn confident that he’s right, as always. But this time, his smirk makes your blood boil. His dismissive tone stabs at the raw nerve inside you, the one you’ve tried so desperately to protect. Your son.

"He's fine," Sukuna says again, his voice as smooth and cold as ever. "You’re making a mountain out of a molehill."

Every word that leaves his mouth just makes it worse. Your son—your baby boy—is having nightmares, waking up in cold sweats, eyes wide and terrified, unable to look at you without seeing the bloodstained images from that night. The night you specifically told him not to expose him to. The night he thought it was fine to act like an idiot.

“I said don’t let him see that,” you snap, voice trembling with a mix of anger and heartbreak. Your hands are shaking now, and you’re gripping the armrest so hard you’re sure it’s gonna snap off. You look at him, not even trying to hide how pissed you are anymore. “You broke the one rule I had. The only rule. Don’t expose him to that.”

Sukuna flicks a glance at you, eyes narrowing just slightly, but his expression doesn’t change. “He’s a kid, he’ll forget. You’re overreacting. Get over it.”

You blink, hard. He’s not even listening.

It takes everything in you to not scream, but you manage to hold it in, just barely. You’re already feeling the cracks form inside of you. You’re done. The car’s cramped. The air’s thick. The tension suffocating. You can’t be here anymore. You need to get out. You need to breathe.

You don’t even think about it. You don’t give him the chance to stop you. Without a word, you yank the door open. The metal groans in protest, the sound of the lock clicking just before you toss yourself out. You tuck your body into a roll as soon as your feet hit the ground, the asphalt scraping your skin as you brace for impact. Pain flashes in your shoulder and knees, but you don’t care. You don’t care. It’s better than staying in that damn car with him, with the anger boiling over between you both, suffocating every part of you.

Before you can even get to your feet, there’s the sound of tires screeching. You hear the slam of the brakes, the engine roaring to life as Sukuna’s car jerks to a stop. You can already feel his presence behind you, towering and relentless. You don’t turn around. You don’t want to see that look on his face, the one that says he’s about to destroy you for this.

But you don’t care anymore.

You start to take a step forward, ready to walk away from him, but then there’s a sharp tug on your arm, like steel, pulling you back. Before you can even process it, he’s yanking you up, dragging you back toward the car. His grip is like fire, burning through your jacket, through your skin, through your very bones. You don’t have time to think, not as he shoves you into the backseat like you’re a doll he’s tossing aside.

You try to fight back, but it’s useless. His hand pushes you down into the seat, hard enough that your head rattles against the window. He slams the door shut with a finality that leaves no room for argument.

“What the hell was that, huh?” His voice is low, dangerous, each word dripping with a mixture of anger and disbelief. You can feel his eyes burning holes into you as he leans over the seat, his shadow stretching across your face. “You think you can just run away? You think that’s gonna solve anything?”

You don’t flinch. You don’t back down. Your heart’s still pounding, the fire still raging inside of you, but now you can’t escape. Not this time. Not anymore. You press your back against the leather seat, glaring up at him.

“You don’t get to control everything,” you say, voice steady, even though your chest feels like it’s about to implode. “I don’t care how much you think you know. You crossed a line. And you’re not going to pretend like it didn’t happen.”

His eyes flash. The air between you thickens. And then, in a move so fast you don’t even see it coming, his hand shoots forward, locking the child safety locks on the door with a sickening click.

You freeze, the weight of the motion hitting you like a punch in the gut. Your heart drops into your stomach as you realize what he’s just done. You’re trapped.

“Now, you listen to me,” Sukuna growls, his voice so low, it’s almost a rumble. His gaze locks onto you like he’s trying to strip you bare, like he’s trying to make you break. “You think this is over? You think this is going to go the way you want? No. It doesn’t work like that. Not when you’re mine.”

But even though his voice is dangerous, even though there’s a part of you that knows he could snap you in half, you don’t back down. You don’t flinch. Not this time. You stare him down, chest rising and falling with each breath, fury mixing with the bitter taste of defeat.

“You’re wrong,” you murmur, almost to yourself, but loud enough for him to hear. “You don’t get to make decisions for us anymore. Not after this.”

Sukuna stares at you for a long, excruciating moment, his grip tightening on the wheel, his jaw clenched so tight you’re worried it might snap. But then he pulls back, the silence hanging between you like a storm on the horizon.

You don’t know who’s going to break first, but you’re done letting him control this.

Done letting him walk all over you.

And you sure as hell won’t apologize for caring about your kid.

Choso's car is too quiet for a fight. But it’s that suffocating, deafening quiet—the kind where every word, every breath feels like a spark about to set fire to everything. You’re seething beside him, knuckles white on your lap as you try to breathe, try to hold it together, but it’s slipping, crumbling.

“You never fucking listen,” you snap, eyes narrowing as you stare out the window, trying to calm the storm raging inside you. You can't help the way your voice spikes. It's not like you want to blow up. But goddamn, his indecision drives you to the edge. "You just... sit there, like it’s all fucking fine. Like people aren’t walking all over you."

Choso's grip tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles going white. He doesn't say anything. Nothing at all. He doesn’t even look at you, his gaze focused straight ahead, his jaw clenched like he’s trying to keep it all in. But it’s always the same with him. You talk, you yell, you try to get through, but it never fucking matters.

“Answer me!” you demand, your voice sharp, cutting through the silence. “Why the hell won’t you stand up for yourself? For us? You just let people use you—let them walk all over you—and you do nothing. Nothing!”

He swallows hard, his breathing deepening, but his hands don’t leave the wheel. His eyes are still on the road, and there’s that damn tension in his shoulders. You see it, the way he’s folding into himself, curling inward like he’s trying to hide from everything you’re throwing at him.

“I’m not—” he begins, but the words die before they can even finish forming.

“No. You’re not what? What exactly are you not, Choso?” Your voice is practically dripping with bitterness, a mix of anger and frustration and maybe something else—something more desperate. “Do you think I’m blind? Do you think I don’t see you letting everyone walk all over you? Just fucking stop acting like it's okay.”

He winces at your words, but it’s worse when he does respond. It’s soft, almost pleading. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“That’s the problem! You don’t know anything. You just sit there, acting like if you don’t say anything, things will get better. But they won’t. They never do.”

His lips part, but he doesn't speak. He’s trying to make the words come out, trying to hold himself together, but all it does is piss you off more. The fact that he can’t—won’t—get it together.

“You’re always so fucking passive, Choso. Always.” You almost laugh, but it's hollow, empty. “Why is it always up to me to fix everything? To fight for us? I’m tired of doing everything.”

You feel him stiffen next to you, his eyes flickering toward you briefly. “I’m trying, okay? I’m trying my best,” he says, his voice breaking under the strain, desperate in its own way. “It’s just... I don’t know how to make it better. I don’t know how to fix it.”

You’ve heard him say that so many times, and it’s always the same. Like he’s always trying, but it never really shows. It’s always excuses, always reasons for why nothing can change.

The car feels like it’s closing in around you, suffocating. His words don’t reach you anymore. The air’s too thick. You can’t breathe. You’re done.

“Stop the car.”

It’s not a request. You’re done asking.

But Choso doesn’t even blink. He keeps driving like nothing’s wrong, like you didn’t just tell him you’ve had enough.

“I said stop the car,” you repeat, low, fierce. You can feel the heat of your anger burning under your skin, clawing its way out.

He shakes his head, eyes flicking toward you but never fully meeting your gaze. “Please, don’t do this. We’ll talk—just… just give it a minute.”

“A minute?” you scoff, the laugh coming out bitter. “I’ve given you more than enough minutes, Choso. I’m done. So, stop the damn car.”

But he doesn't. Not until you’ve already swung open the door.

The wind howls in, biting your skin, tugging at your hair, and before he can even register what you’re doing, you’ve already thrown yourself out of the moving vehicle.

It happens so fast. Your feet hit the asphalt with a sickening thud, and for a split second, it feels like the world is spinning. You roll with it, muscles reacting before your mind can even process the pain. The road scrapes against you, but it’s nothing compared to the anger boiling inside, the absolute rage at being trapped in this moment, with him.

The car screeches behind you, the tires scraping against the pavement as Choso slams on the brakes, panic in his eyes. The car comes to a jerky stop a few feet ahead of you, the engine still roaring as if it's a living thing trying to escape.

You’re on your feet instantly, dusting yourself off, every muscle screaming from the impact, but none of it compares to how your chest feels—how much lighter you are now, finally away from him and the suffocating weight of his inaction.

Choso stumbles out of the car, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his face pale like he’s seen a ghost. He’s not sure what to do, doesn’t know how to react to this, to you. “What the hell... what the hell are you—”

You stare at him, your eyes cold, hard. "I gave you so many chances. So many times I begged you to stop being a doormat, but you just let me down every fucking time." The words are sharp, cutting through him, but you can’t bring yourself to feel sorry.

His shoulders sag as he takes a step toward you, like a man broken. “I didn’t want you to—” He stops, his voice choking, and there’s a desperation in his eyes, something raw and vulnerable you’ve never seen before. “I’m sorry. I... I don’t know how to be what you want. But I’m trying, okay? I’m trying. I swear I am.”

The apology feels weak, like he’s not even sure how to ask for your forgiveness. But that’s just it. He’s been trying. But it’s never enough.

“You say that every time,” you mutter, shaking your head, the frustration still thick in your chest. “But I’m not here for the 'trying' anymore. I’m here for the real shit.”

He steps closer, almost pleading now, voice cracking. “Please. Don’t leave. Please don’t do this. I’ll change. I promise I’ll do better.”

But it’s not about promises anymore. Not about words. You’ve heard them all before. You turn away from him, not willing to look back, not willing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his apology stings.

“Fix yourself first, Choso,” you say, voice flat. “Then maybe we’ll talk.”

You leave him standing there, chest heaving, hands trembling, the weight of his failure pressing down on him. You’ve made your decision.

You’re done. For now.

The tension in the air is so thick it feels like you could choke on it. Shiu’s words are venomous, biting at your every attempt to get through. You’re practically suffocating under the weight of the argument, your hands clenched tight in your lap, but nothing you say seems to matter. You try to stay calm—you try—but with every dismissive sneer, with every mocking word, you can feel yourself starting to lose control.

“God, you’re so exhausting,” Shiu mutters, leaning back against the seat like he’s bored, like you’re just some irritating fly buzzing around him. “You don’t get it, do you? You're just... complaining again.”

You’re not complaining. You’re asking, trying to make him understand, but he won’t listen. Doesn’t even want to listen. His eyes stay on the road ahead, face cold and detached like this entire conversation doesn’t matter.

“Why can’t you just hear me out for once?!” you snap, the words flying out before you can stop them. You’re not sure if it’s the frustration or the hurt that has your voice trembling, but at this point, it doesn’t even matter. You can’t keep this in anymore. “I’m not some... some damn punching bag for you to—”

Shiu cuts you off with a low, mocking chuckle. “Oh, so now I’m the villain? Always your side of things, huh? You can’t even see it, can you? You’re the one who never gets it.”

The nerve. The sheer audacity. You can feel your blood boiling, your heart hammering against your chest. He’s not even trying. He doesn’t even care.

Your fingers graze the door handle, the cool metal sending a shiver up your spine. Before you even fully process it, your hand is gripping the door, your body already leaning toward it. You’re done. Done trying to reason with someone who isn’t listening.

The moment the door opens, a rush of cold air hits you, and without thinking, you slide out of the car. You hit the pavement with a rough roll, knees scraping against the rough ground, but you don’t care. You can hear Shiu yelling behind you, but you’re not stopping. Not now.

“Are you out of your mind?” His voice slices through the air, close now, frantic with rage. You hear the screech of tires as he slams the car into park, and a moment later, you feel his presence looming over you like a dark storm cloud. The gravel beneath your feet crunches as he stalks toward you, and you don’t dare turn around.

“Get back in the fucking car, now.” His voice is low, like a threat. Dangerous. He’s pissed—so pissed that you can practically feel the heat radiating off his skin. His hand grabs your wrist, fingers digging into your skin like a vise, pulling you back toward him.

You try to wrench your arm free, but he’s stronger, his grip unrelenting. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” His words are sharp, cutting through the air. “You think this is some kind of fucking game? You think you can just throw yourself out of the car like some child when you’re not getting your way? Huh?”

Your chest is tight, heart pounding in your ears, but you manage to pull your arm from his grasp, your voice steady despite the fire burning in your veins. “I’m not a child, Shiu,” you spit, your eyes meeting his for the first time. “And you sure as hell don’t give a shit about what I’m trying to say. You just keep brushing me off. Dismissing me.”

His nostrils flare, and you see that flicker of frustration in his eyes, something darker underneath it all. He takes a step closer, crowding your space, and you don’t back down. You can feel the heat of his breath on your face as he snarls, “You think I don’t care? You think I don’t hear you? I’m the one trying to make sense of all this while you’re too busy throwing a fucking tantrum to see it!”

“I’m not throwing a tantrum,” you say, your voice quieter now, but it cuts through the tension. “I’m just... trying to be heard. And all you do is mock me. Disrespect me. It’s like nothing I say matters.”

Shiu’s jaw tightens, and for a split second, he just stands there, staring at you like he can’t quite decide whether to rage or say something else. He clenches his fists at his sides, his breathing harsh.

“You think I’m disrespecting you?” His voice is low, cold now, like he’s fighting to control something dark and dangerous underneath the surface. “You wanna know what I think? I think you’ve got a serious fucking problem if you think that’s the way to deal with things. Just running off. Throwing yourself out of the car like an idiot. Do you want to get yourself killed?”

You can feel the sharpness of his anger, the way it presses in around you. But you’re tired. You’re so fucking tired of this. Of being made to feel small, of being belittled and mocked every damn time you try to open up.

“I’m not trying to die, Shiu,” you mutter under your breath, the words barely audible, but you know he hears them. His eyes narrow.

“You don’t get it, do you?” His voice is rough, strained, like he's holding onto something. "You think I don’t care, but when you do shit like this, it’s like you’re testing me. Testing how far you can go before I snap. And you will snap me. You keep pushing me until there's nothing left to give."

You take a deep breath, gathering yourself, and look up at him. You’re standing your ground, your voice steady despite the chaos bubbling inside you. “I’m not trying to test you. I just need to know you’re listening... actually listening."

Shiu’s hands ball into fists, his entire body tense, like he’s one wrong move away from breaking. But instead of shouting, instead of pushing, he just looks at you, the anger still there, but it’s... different now. Less explosive, more something you can't quite place.

"Don’t pull that shit again," he growls, low and dangerous. "Next time you wanna walk out, you better be ready for the consequences."

You swallow hard, meeting his gaze, the storm between you still raging but, for the first time, it feels like it might settle. Or at least... it might.

Hiruguma's car was moving too fast, tires humming a low, steady growl against the pavement, a sound you couldn’t shake, one that throbbed in the back of your skull like the beat of your pulse. The air between you two was suffocating, charged with the kind of tension that made your stomach churn and your fists clench in your lap.

“Hiromi, you’re not listening to me,” you said, voice shaking despite your best efforts to keep it steady. He was gripping the wheel with one hand, his other resting lazily on the gear shift. His face was cast in sharp shadows from the headlights of passing cars, jaw tight, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.

“I’m listening,” he muttered, his tone flat, dismissive.

Another empty response.

“No, you’re not,” you snapped, louder this time, your voice cutting through the low rumble of the car. “You’re not fine, and you know it! You’ve been running yourself into the ground, and you don’t even care anymore!”

He didn’t even flinch.

“I said I’m fine,” he repeated, voice low, monotone, as if the words meant anything at all. His grip on the wheel didn’t tighten, didn’t change. He was detached, like he was somewhere else entirely, somewhere far away where your words couldn’t reach him.

You could feel the frustration boiling over, bubbling under your skin.

“You’re going to kill yourself at this rate!” you shouted, your voice cracking. You didn’t care if it sounded desperate. You were desperate. “And what then? Huh? What am I supposed to do, just sit here and watch you self-destruct?”

“I got it,” he bit out finally, sharper now, but still not looking at you. Not really looking at you. “I told you, I’m handling it.”

Your breath hitched.

“No, you’re not.” The words came out quiet this time, trembling, filled with something deeper, something raw and jagged. “You’re not handling anything, Hiromi. You’re barely holding yourself together.”

And still, nothing. Just that same blank, tired expression, the same hollow reassurance, the same nothingness.

Something inside you snapped.

Before you could second-guess it, before the gravity of what you were about to do could settle in, your hand shot out to the door handle. The wind roared against the opening door, the sound cutting through the argument like a knife.

“What the—?!” His voice cut through, but it was too late. You threw yourself out of the car, the wind slamming into you, the world spinning into a chaotic blur as you hit the ground. Pain bloomed sharp and immediate, your body rolling across the asphalt before finally coming to a stop on the hard, unforgiving pavement.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your own ragged breathing and the distant screech of tires. Then you heard it—the car skidding to a halt, the engine cutting off abruptly, followed by the slam of the door. Footsteps. Fast, frantic. His voice, raw and panicked in a way you’d never heard before.

“Are you insane?!” Hiruguma was on you in seconds, his hands gripping your shoulders, pulling you upright with a force that was almost too much. “What the hell were you thinking?!”

You didn’t answer right away, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. His hands were still on you, gripping too tightly, shaking slightly. His face was pale, eyes wide and frantic, the mask of apathy completely shattered.

“You’re not listening to me,” you whispered finally, your voice trembling. “You’re not hearing me, Hiruguma. You’re going to kill yourself. And I can’t— I won’t just sit there and let you.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes searching your face, and for the first time that night, he looked like he was actually seeing you. Really, truly seeing you.

“Do you have any idea how scared I was?” he said, his voice breaking on the last word. “You could’ve been—” He cut himself off, his grip tightening for a moment before he let out a shaky breath. “What if you’d gotten hurt worse than this? What if you—?”

His words faltered, and you saw it then—the cracks in his armor, the exhaustion, the guilt, the fear. It was all there, laid bare in the way his hands shook, the way his breath hitched, the way he couldn’t seem to meet your eyes for more than a few seconds at a time.

“I can’t lose you,” you said softly, the words falling between you like a stone, heavy and unyielding. “I’m scared for you, Hiruguma. I’m scared of what you’re doing to yourself. And if you won’t take care of yourself for your own sake, then do it for me. Please.”

He exhaled slowly, his hands loosening their grip as he closed his eyes for a moment, his shoulders slumping. When he opened them again, there was something different in his gaze—something softer, something broken, but still there.

“You’re right,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re right. I… I’ve been an idiot.”

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his, and for the first time that night, he didn’t pull away.

A/N: tbh i didn't rlly take this srsly, hence the low word count, but it was funny to write

Masterlist

:)

[bear-cubs-art-things]

[Same anon]

Viola was hilarious, honestly, and I hope she's a returning character!

I'm still a bit in the middle for Furnoss. I know he's changing and such, so I'll give him a chance

YESSS!!!! I LOVE VIOLA I HOPE SHE COMES BACK- [or at least has more of a character arc]

Also completely random but I'd love to see Viola [Fallen Stars] and Blue [A Girl And A Bowgart] have interaction XD I'd think I'd be pretty hilarious XD

[scarlettcryptid]

someone's probably already pointed this out already, but shigaraki said the same thing that bakugo said to deku before he was taken by the league:

ch. 82 bakugo: 来んな

ch. 416 shigaraki: 来るなあ

(don't come/stay back/stay away)

[moongothic]

I keep on seeing people mention how they want to see another Davy Back Fight during the Final Saga, and while I'm 10000% sure we won't see another Davy Back Fight

Unironically

I think a Davy Back Fight between the Strawhats and Cross Guild could be fucking hysterical

Especially because like. Buggy could totally challenge Luffy intentionally, desperately hoping that either Luffy will save HIM from Crocodile and Mihawk, OR that Luffy ends up taking Croc and Hawk into his crew if he wins

(Sidenote, DBF is normally only about exchanging crewmates and stealing pirate flags, but could you imagine if Buggy could demand to have Luffy's copies of the Road Poneglyphs if he won? Hell, I imagine Buggy could probably get away with innitiating the challenge regardless because once it's on, it's on, and surely his men would be so riled up Croc and Hawk would know there'd be no way to stop it anymore even though Buggy's not the true boss. But just to keep Croc and Hawk from trying to murder him on the spot Buggy could maybe suggest taking the Poneglyph copies as if it were a part of his plan from the begining)

And you know if Buggy challenged Luffy into a DBF Luffy might just accept??? Because it could be fun (in Luffy's mind)??? And it could be kind of on-brand for him to jump in on a challenge like that???

And yes

The idea of Luffy winning against Cross Guild in a DBF, resulting in fucking Mihawk and Sir Crocodile joining the Strawhats would be fucking hysterical man, and that alone makes me kinda want it

[the-acid-pear]

It's actually really funny how it is bc despite being an insane person with weird kinks whenever I see someone with kinks I DON'T share I'm instantly thrown off by it. Which is comedic to me bc you'd expect the freak to inherently Understand other freaks but no unfortunately that's not how it works necessarily.

[mememan93]

Skyward sword aionios AU.......

[holytrickster]

idk i think it's so funny I went down a survival horror game rabbit hole when a) I'm too freaking anxious for horror games I will make myself cry, b) it was all PS2 stuff which is extra funny bc I've never even played on someone else's playstation let alone had one, i was always a wii kid lol. but now my brain is like ah yes. time to consume everything I can about games I can't even play and that are stupid expensive/hard to get now

[monty-glasses-roxy]

Was thinking about it and ya know, the medieval/fantasy AU could be pretty funny if you think of it as Roxy basically having to idiots gambit her way through several meetings with royalty. She doesn't know what she's doing she's just saying it poshly and they're all scrambling to figure out what her plan is because no respectable monarch would ever do this what the fuck is she up to

[foone]

Full disclosure ahead of time: I'm trans, and not a fan of Harry Potter, as you might guess. However...

My favorite thing about the writing of Harry Potter is how the first book is set several years earlier for no reason. It's set in 1991 and came out in 1997

Then because of how the books came out over many year and each book is a year later in the story, the last book ends up being set in 1997 and published in 2007, a full decade later.

This would be an interesting writing exercise if it was at all used by J. K. Rowling, but it's not. This very specific dating of the books, and increasing dated setting is just there so that Rowling can make repeated anachronistic errors because she forgot her characters aren't living in the modern day.

There is no upside to definitively setting Harry Potter in the near past: nothing comes of it in a way that'd be impossible to do if the books were set in a vague present. All setting them in the past does is let Rowling repeatedly make mistake, like having Dudley get a Playstation for his birthday.

In the 1997 she wrote that in? Perfectly reasonable present for a kid! In the summer of 1994 this scene is set it? Fucking impossible. The PS1 wouldn't be out in Japan until that December, and wouldn't be released in Europe until the next year, after his NEXT birthday.

And it's like... This is just the most well known of the anachronisms. There's an endless parade of them solely because she decided to set the books in specific years, a choice which gained her NOTHING! This doesn't happen because the final battle needs to happen at the millennium for prophecy reasons, or because she needs her characters to meet up with real life people who were dead or otherwise unavailable by the time the books were written, it's just some story element she picked and then never for one second thought about the consequences.

(Another retroactively funny mistake caused by this is that she ends up having a character inadvertently misgender Margaret Thatcher of all people, because they call the previous prime minister "he", and the because the scene is set in 1996, the prime minister is John Major, so the previous one should be Thatcher, but she's clearly thinking the current PM would be Tony Blair, and the previous one would be John Major)

I dunno. It feels like there's something meaningful in how J. K. Rowling made a clearly bad decision once and hasn't thought about any of the negative effects of her decision, standing by and doubling down on it, no matter how much it doesn't help her or anyone. It just seems like this might be a metaphor for something.

But who can really say?

(that last line assumes you're using dark mode)

[relia-robot-writes]

I am the Princess in the Tower.

You know, people hear that, and they say, "Oh, that poor Princess, she must be so lonesome up there. Some cruel fate must have befallen her, to be trapped so."

It's true, to a certain extent. I am lonesome. There's no shortage of princes and princesses - I have to wonder where they all come from - who come to try to rescue me from my captivity. None of them ever get particularly close, of course. The Tower is surrounded by a dark and tangled wood, monsters of flesh and stone stalk the grounds, invisible barriers and devious traps block all entry, and even if they got to the base of the Tower, they'd have to figure out how to climb up a sheer, frictionless vertical surface while automatically triggered fireballs rained down upon them... it's pretty well defended, is what I'm trying to say. Every single one of them gets sent packing, cursing the wizard who built the Tower and imprisoned me.

Which is, you know, pretty funny, when you get right down to it.

I mean, it's only natural to assume that, right? Wizards are mysterious, they pop in and out all the time. If one decides to suddenly vanish one day, well, he's probably just off calculating the angles of reality, or whatever, he'll be back. And if a girl appears in his Tower, well, of course he kidnapped a Princess for his own unfathomable wizard purposes.

It hardly matters that there aren't any kingdoms missing a Princess.

I don't correct them, anyway. It's safer for me if nobody knows who I am, or how I've changed. Safety was, after all, why I built the Tower in the first place. You think wizards do this for fun? Out in the middle of nowhere, forced to conjure food and water? Having to walk up and down twenty flights of stairs if I feel like going outside?

Wizards build towers when they are scared shitless.

See, I cast this divination spell when I was an apprentice, and I fucked it up. It constantly shows me visions of my own doom...

Not buying it?

Well, there was this devil, see, and I tricked him into thinking I'd signed my soul away, so now he stalks me forever, seeking vengeance through the very shadows themselves...

No good?

Well, I was cursed as a wee babe, and now all the world is my enemy, from the mightiest warrior to the softest blade of grass, and each one thirsts for my blood!

...I would have died to that one, like, immediately, huh.

Okay. Fine. I'm just... a coward. I built my Tower as far away from everything and everyone that could possibly do me harm as I could. I studied magic because it felt like the best way to avoid any and all hard work, conflict, and danger. I held off on telling anyone anything about who I truly was or what I wanted until I felt I could be absolutely safe.

And still, with "rescuers" at my door just waiting for my hand, I can't bear to look at them. The idea of one even getting close enough to attempt to climb the Tower (it's happened more than once) is terrifying. I could ask them to stop, but who would believe me? "Yes, I, the Princess in the Tower, am totes fine, please go away forever thanks, I am not an evil wizard." That'd go over well.

There's another princess that just made her way through the Woods and slayed one of my constructs. She'll be at the Tower base soon. She's got really pretty hair

I wish

I hope that you

Please don't

I'm writing this down here, and then I'm gonna go hide. If you're reading this,

The blue-armored princess flipped the paper over to the other side. It was blank. Her hair smoldered from the fireball she'd almost dodged, and she drummed her fingers on the hilt of her blade as she reread the first side. Aside from the paper, the room - and, indeed, the entire interior of the Tower - seemed completely empty.

[enbyfvcker]

[Unsettling silence]

Wade Wilson x Logan(worst!wolverine)

Word count: 0.7k

Summary/prompt: Wade is insecure and quiet after coming back home, and Logan notices, concerned about the unusual quietness.

Tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, fluff, insecure Wade Wilson.

Something's off.

Oh, something is definitely wrong.

Wade's home, and it's quiet. Fucking silent.

Not a joke could be heard, neither humming, whistling, or singing, or anything. Nothing.

Logan's a quiet person himself, but honestly, over the past months, he grew used to Wade never shutting the fuck up.

So yeah, he knows something's off when Wade barely uttered a word today after coming back from the market in the morning.

He was sitting on the couch, watching some random cheesy reality show with the captions on and hugging a cushion, wearing a hello kitty themed shirt, boxers with hearts printed on them and his mask.

He doesn't usually wear his mask inside the apartment.

"Hey, bub." Logan speaks, sitting next to the merc that doesn't take his eyes away from the TV.

"Hi, peanut." His tone seemed normal enough... Distant, though.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes."

"You sure?"

"Yes, why wouldn't it be?" He finally looks at Logan. The whites of the mask pointed at him.

"You're quiet today..."

"So? Aren't you happy?"

"Why are you wearing your mask?"

"Cause I'm Deadpool. Duh-doy."

"Sure, but usually at home, you're just Wade."

"..."

"Is everything really okay?"

"Yeah! And if it weren't, then I probably wouldn't know how to talk about it since you probably wouldn't understand and probably think I'm dumb. So yes, I'm great. Perfect. Really jolly, thank you."

Logan's definitely not great with words, but he cares about Wade. So he makes an effort.

"I can listen... I won't think you're dumb. I mean, not more than I normally do." He tries to joke, but Wade doesn't laugh. "Talk to me."

"That's a new one."

"Wade..."

"Is no big deal. Really. I was just grocery shopping, and people looked at me weird. Nothing new. Kids looked traumatized, old ladies terrified... You know, the usual. Heard some fun comments. Had a real great time." Wade sighs, looking back at the TV, but he didn't really seem to focus now.

Logan felt his heart ache at the sadness clear in the merc's tone, so uncharacteristic of him.

"I'm sorry, W-"

"No. It's fine. It's nothing. I'm used to it. 'Been living with this ugly old mug for years, it's not like any comment or insult can be news to me or whatever. It's not like they're wrong to feel repulsed, anyway."

"You're not repulsive."

Wade just chuckles, even though there's no real amusement in his voice. "Right."

"I'm serious, Wade. You think I just fuck with anyone?"

"Yeah...? Not to call you a whore or anything, but-"

"I don't. And I don't think you're ugly." He gets closer, hand slowly creeping behind Wade's head. Wade quickly holds Logan's arm strongly, hesitantly, but then he sees the genuine look in his eyes and let go.

Slowly, Logan removed the mask and placed it on the couch, holding Wade's face with both hands and looking at him deeply.

"Those people don't know you. They don't know the kind, great, funny, loyal guy you are. I know you, bub. And I love you. Every part, even the ones that annoy the shit out of me."

Wade's eyes fill with water, and he looks at Logan like a sad puppy.

"Got it?" Logan asks firmly, and Wade just nods, feeling a knot in his throat. "Good." Logan leans and kisses Wade's lips softly, the merc melting completely. They pull away, and Logan can see Wade fighting some tears.

"You really mean it? You don't think I'm ugly?"

"No, I don't."

"Can you put me in your pocket and never let me go? Back pocket is preferable." Wade whines, burying his face in Logan's neck, who just chuckles.

"Don't think I can, bub."

"You can! We can steal Antman's suit and shrink me or something. Want you to take care of me..."

"What if I just make us a bath and hold you?"

"...That'd be nice..."

"Great." He kisses Wade's neck.

"Are you being romantic? You are! Didn't know you had it in you, peanut. I love it, don't stop."

"What do you mean? I can be romantic." Logan retorts, sounding a bit offended.

"Can you buy rose petals and make a path for me to the bathub?"

"What, do you want a honeymoon?"

"Yes!"

Logan laughs. "I can carry you." He offers.

Wade's eyes shine.

"Pleasepleasepleaseplease-"

Logan rolls his eyes and scoops Wade up, standing and holding him bridal style. Wade wraps his arms around Logan's neck eagerly.

"Oh. Did I just die? I'm in heaven. Wolvie heaven. Gosh, your arms-"

"Come on, let's go." He carries Wade to the bathroom.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 24: What The Past Held

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter twenty four of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 6.3K

Warnings:  Angst, Cursing, Sexual References, Family Problems, Past Trauma, Death Mentioned, Drinking. Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, completely a little OOC. Soldier Boy is really all you need as a warning.

Note: This is told from the Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Steam from the two coffee mugs sitting on the kitchen table between Rosemary and you tangle and twist in the air like two dragons locking claws in the morning sun.

Sitting there, staring at your daughter felt odd.

You trace her face with your eyes noting the cinnamon colored freckles, the greenish-hazel eyes, the soft curve of her jaw, the almost unnoticeable traces of wave in her dark hair, and stop on her nose. It's the same face that'd you'd looked into the past forty years and yet you don't recognize her.

A memory of holding her when you first gave birth flashes through your mind. You remember the promises you whispered to her when you held her in your arms for the first time, looking down into her little face, with her small hand clutching the tip of your finger while she slept. One was the same promise that Ben made to you the night you chose him, the words all too familiar as you spoke them to the small infant in your arms. Promising to protect her, be strong for her, but now you felt like you failed, because you hadn't been able to keep her safe from Vought.

After all these years, it was just a lie.

Ben was sitting to your right, his hand holding on to yours resting gently on top of your thigh. He wasn’t drinking coffee. Ice floated quietly in the glass of scotch on the table in front of him, the condensation dripping down the outside of the cup to form a ring beneath, but he hadn’t touched it since the three of you had sat down a few moments ago. The morning sun was seeping through, casting an amber glow upon the worn wooden grains of the kitchen table, but you feel no warmth from it's rays.

Rosemary had fought to talk to you alone, told Ben to leave, but you refused to speak to her without him there. You didn’t give a fuck anymore about that, didn’t care if she hated Ben or didn’t want to be around him anymore. You wanted him around and he was going to be here whether she liked it or not, she might as well get used to it.

Lou was in the living room playing Go Fish with Hughie. You could hear her giggles, the almost silent shuffle of cards in her small hands, and the slap of cards against the all glass coffee table two rooms away. When Ben and you had come up from the basement this morning she had practically tackled you she was so happy. You were thankful that Ben had kept her away when you began to spiral. You didn't want her to see you like that. It hadn't been that bad since Ben died, when the pit opened beneath your feet and you all too willingly fell into the darkness.

Funny how the person who sent you into the darkness all those years ago would be the one to light the beacon that brought you back home. It made you more thankful that Ben was here for you.

You knew that it probably hadn’t been easy for him to see you like that and probably went against his internal struggle to push people away for him to care for you like he did. But for you it solidified that Ben loved you and cared for you as much as he said he did when he came back to you.

It meant more to you that he would ever know, just knowing that he would take care of you, would be strong for you the way he promised all those years ago. You had seen bits and pieces of that side of him over the years, but the other day was different. It snagged hard on something deep in your ribcage and refused to budge, understanding that Ben was here to stay, and you'd never be without him again was more wonderful than you could have imagined.

It made you feel once again like the little girl who clung to him when Ben crawled into her bedroom window and begged her not to marry Howard, reminded you once again that you were still important to Ben, and that all the time you spent over the years together was not a waste.

You didn't regret a single second, even if it had ended up the same way that it had, even if everything with Countess still happened, you didn't regret your life.

Butcher and Legend were in his office talking in hushed whispers as if they could hide it from you. You didn’t like it, didn't like the idea that they were scheming something and trying to hide it behind locked doors. The truth was, you weren't focused on them. The only thing you were focused on was the looming conversation between you and Rosemary that seemed to grow more and more until it was the size of the empire state building. The same conversation that you were about to have.

Her legs are crossed beneath the table, frown pulling at her bow-like lips, as she looks from Ben to you trying to think of a way to start the conversation. You'd already told Ben what Stan Edgar told you, but you still wanted him here for this. He had been curious as to why you wouldn't speak to her when you started your descent into the darkness, and you weren't going to lie to him about that.

"Why did you do it?" The words come out calm, you're anything but. You can't fight the war of disappointment and silent rage swirling beneath your skin. You hated that she did this, that she gave a piece of herself to Vought and didn't think to tell you.

You had found out that your daughter had been lying to you for ten years on the same day you found out that Dr. Vogelbaum had stolen your genetic material. You knew that you weren't going to be the same ever again.

Rosemary sits for another moment, eyes flicking to Ben. It's another silent jab at the fact that she doesn't want him here, but you squeeze his hand tighter to tell him you do.

"He approached me." She says finally.

"Who?"

"Stan Edgar."

"When?"

"Five years ago." Her arms tighten where they are crossed over her chest.

"Five years?" You hesitate confused.

Stan told me that he knew that Rosemary was Ben's daughter the moment he saw her ten years ago, but why five years?

"Yes." She nods once as if she's confirming it to herself.

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

"You were so happy, you were doing better than you ever had and I-" Rosemary sighs heavily. "I didn't want to ruin that."

"I don't give a fuck if I was happy! Stan Edgar coming to you and asking you for-" You begin to snap, losing your temper, but Ben squeezes your hand to remind you to calm down.

"He wasn't asking." Rosemary's eyes darken, and you see a sliver of the mask slip for just a moment and you see her rage.

"What do you mean?"

"It was Charlie." She all but spits out the name.

At the mention of Rosemary's husband's name you pause. It was the first time you'd ever heard her say his name like that. You'd believed that she and Charlie had a perfect marriage, and to learn that it was his fault that everything with Vought starting was jarring. You didn't understand why he would matter in any of this. He wasn't a supe and he had died weeks after Lou was born.

Ben looks from Rosemary to you in confusion, eyebrows furrowed. He knew the story of Rosemary's husband, but didn't know his name.

"What does your husband have to do with any of this?" You say it mostly to clarify for Ben.

Rosemary reaches across the table and takes Ben's glass of scotch, knocking it back in one gulp, but the darkness does not fade from her eyes. "Do you remember the day I met him?"

You did. It was autumn, a few weeks after Rosemary and you moved back to the city for the first time, ten years ago. The leaves were changing into marvelous flashes of red, orange, and yellow, and there was just a hint of winter in the wind. Rosemary and you had moved into the apartment you were still living in, and Rosemary had just gotten her job at the hospital.

She loved it. All the long hours, the helping people, and the dealing with crazy patients.  But the day she met Charlie was different. It was her day off and she was sunning herself on a park bench while drinking an iced coffee and reading one of those paperbacks she loved so much when a handsome stranger had stopped and started talking about the book with her, telling her how much he loved it and suggesting another few books she should read.

Rosemary had floated into the apartment. It was the first time in years that you had seen her so genuinely happy that it made you happy. She'd had a few relationships in the past, but none that made her sparkle like those ten minutes she spent with a stranger on a park bench.

She didn't see him again until a week later, reading one of the books he had suggested while sitting on the same bench and this time he sat with her. Rosemary asked him if he wanted to go get coffee. Their coffee date had turned into a mid-day movie, that turned into dinner and then she finally stumbled into the apartment at 2 am after she and Charlie had closed the restaurant, disrupting a late night painting session that you were doing because sleep never seemed to come. You could see how smitten she was. It brought you comfort to know that she had found someone that made her feel the same way that Ben made you feel the night he made love to you.

Apart of you had been afraid, because Rosemary was a supe and Charlie wasn't. She wouldn't die, wouldn't grow old, but he would. You didn't want to see your daughter go through something like that, to live in a world where she lost someone that meant everything to her.

It was a feeling that you knew all too well.

"I was so stupid." She mutters, before she waves her hand and the whiskey bottle hidden under the sink comes shooting out like a bat out of hell. She pours herself another glass of whiskey in the cup she'd emptied moments ago.

"What are you talking about?" You ask her, still mildly confused.

"Charlie." Rosemary all but spits his name. "I was so stupid. I should have asked more questions, should have waited, but I-" Her voice sticks.

"What about Charlie?"

"He was working for Vought." She takes a long drag from the glass she just poured while your entire world goes upside down all over again.

"What? How? Why?" If you'd been drinking anything, you would have done a spit take.

"I should have questioned it. The moment we move back into the city I meet the perfect man?" She snarls, lips pulling back to bear perfectly straight teeth. "In the five years we were married, Charlie was obsessed with having a child. Said that he wanted to start a family early, said that he wanted to be a father. I kept telling him that I wasn’t ready, but finally I gave in.”

No. That can't be true, Charlie was-

Rosemary hadn't told him who you really were until after they got married, didn't tell her the truth about who she was. You remember how much she agonized over it, how afraid she was to tell him that she was a supe and that she was the daughter of a famous hero. She hadn't told him the true nature of your powers, just told her who you really were. But then it hits you like a bolt of lightning and you remember, Charlie had taken it calmly, only been thrown for a few days, but snapped back as if nothing happened. If anything he acted like he loved her even more that she trusted him with something so important. You remembered being surprised about him being okay with it after so little time.

That son of a bitch.

"When Stan first approached me five years later I was pregnant with Lou." Rosemary continues. "It was too late. Charlie had gotten what he wanted. They knew I would be easier to manipulate if I was pregnant, that I wouldn’t be willing to harm the baby by hurting them. Stan said that they just wanted my blood and he’d leave us alone, all of us. I didn't know about Charlie then. He'd convinced me to do it, said that it would only upset you, said that it was the only way to keep you happy.” She drinks from the glass, frowning as the ice clink against the glass. "He knew how much that I cared about you. How much I wanted to give you a rest after everything that you'd been through. So I did it."

Rosemary's eyes flick to Ben for a moment as she says that last part, a silent jab at him that you catch.

"I told Charlie everything about the two of you, about me-" She says it quietly, pouring the amber liquid into the empty glass. It splashes against the sides as she brings it back up to her mouth. "I thought he loved me, but it was all just a big fucking lie.”

Ben reaches across the table, taking the bottle from where it sits, and takes a sip from it. You could tell that he was getting as mad as Rosemary was. He might not have known Charlie or been in Rosemary’s life, but you knew deep down Ben still felt the need to take care of her. Before he puts it down you gesture with your free hand and he hands it to you, because you needed it to process this and coffee wasn't going to do it. When you drink you don't taste it at all, all you can think about is Charlie.

He had always seemed nice, accepting, laughed easily, and you liked how Rosemary was around him, lighter somehow. If this was true, it meant that he had gotten past you, gotten past the background checks that you ran, gotten past you following him trying to figure out what kind of man he was, and it meant that you had failed to protect Rosemary.

“I found out a few weeks after Lou was born about Charlie. At first I thought he was having an affair, the long hours at the office, the weird phone calls in the middle of the night- but no. It was Stan. Charlie was watching me, updating Stan on the baby. One night I woke up and he wasn't in bed, and I found him standing over Lou's crib holding a vial of her blood." Her teeth clench together. "And that's when he told me."

"Told you what?"

"Lou is a supe."

The words ring around in your head, bringing a wave of anxiety, horror, and fear. It started deep down, bubbling up from below like a witches cauldron until it rises and splashes over the brim.

"What?" You sputter.

"Charlie was a supe and it was his power. He could sense the powers of other supes, knew how powerful they would be before their gifts developed. And he said that Lou would be more powerful than any of us."

"Did he say what it would be?" Ben asks.

"No." Rosemary shakes her head. "Just that when it manifested she would be extraordinary. More powerful than any supe that had ever walked the earth. Even Homelander. And that’s why Vogelbaum and Stan Edgar wanted her.”

You take another sip from the bottle trying to digest her words. Your greatest fear was coming true, any aspect of Lou ever having a normal life was evaporating before your very eyes. That meant you couldn't send her to school, couldn't trust anyone to watch her, not without believing that they were working for Vought and had ulterior motives for watching her. Now it was terrifying to think that the babysitters you had for Lou in the past had done things to her without you knowing.

The thought that someone had done something to Lou without you knowing made you livid.

"He said that Vogelbaum was willing to pay, to give us enough money to start over, to have another child, all we had to do was give Lou to him and we could really be happy. Charlie said that you were too controlling, that this was the only way we could break free from you." Rosemary seethes. "Charlie didn't care about Lou, all he wanted was the money. I’m sure that if I hadn’t woken up he would have taken her and run. Sold his own child. But when I caught him, he thought that if he turned me against you that he could manipulate me into doing whatever he said. Just like he had manipulated me all those years by telling me he loved me."

You watch her haunted expression flip into something darker, something triumphant. You'd seen it before on Soldier Boy's face when he put someone in their place, when Ben was riding high from a good interview or a sparring session when he beat someone into submission. A small tickle of fear began to creep down your spine, cold, like a droplet of rain that raced down your back from under your collar in a thunderstorm.

"I smiled at him, told him everything he wanted to hear as I brought him close, and then I ripped his head off." She leans back in her chair with a shrug, the ice cubes clinking against the glass sides of the cup in her hand. "For such a little bitch he sure did make a mess, but the real mess was trying to cover it up."

You remember the night she showed up on your doorstep toting a sobbing Lou in her arms, the night that Charlie died, when she told you the police called and said that he drowned in his car when it went over a bridge. You remember the look in her eyes days later, hollow, like she was haunted by something otherworldly. And you realize that the haunted look wasn't that Charlie had died, that it was she had killed him after she found out that Charlie was prepared to hand over his own child for a small fortune.

In hindsight that also would have made you kill Charlie. Finding out that he used your daughter to make a child for Vought was about as bad as learning that they stole your genetic material to make Homelander. It was the same idea as the perversion of your body, except this time Vought had hired someone to purposely pretend to love her all because they wanted another supe from your bloodline.

It made you feel sick to your stomach, knowing that Rosemary had to endure that and she never said anything to you.

"But the car-" You say to steady the torrent of anger and nausea beginning to build up in your chest.

"Necessary casualty. Put the body in his car, drove it over a bridge, put him in the front seat, did some artful contortions with the hood of the car to make it look like his head was cut off then and there." She sighs.

"You drove it over a bridge, how did you survive that?" Ben asks her, his hand still clasped in your own. You could feel some heat beginning to build under his skin and you hoped that he wasn't about to go nuclear.

"I didn't, but y/n had come over earlier that day to see how I was doing and I touched her so I didn't have to worry about dying."

The silence that follows her confession is deafening. You don't know what to say, don't know what to do, so you just sit there staring at the woman you thought you knew, trying to find some familiarity, but you can't.

“And you didn’t think to tell me any of this?" You say, a little bit heartbroken that she kept something like this from you for all these years.

“It was my business.” She downs the rest of the amber liquid in her glass.

“What the fuck do you mean it was your business?! It’s our family-“

“It was my daughter!” She snaps. “My husband!”

You stare at her, eyes wide, mouth open in shock. You’d never seen this side of Rosemary before, and it scared you.

She exhales a breath. “It was my mess. And I needed to clean it up. Charlie was my mistake.” Her expression shifts to something else, something small and broken.

“He tricked both of us.” You whisper. “It’s not your fault. What Vought did- what Charlie did to you it-"

“It was.” You could hear the emotion building in her voice. “I was the one who was stupid. I was the one who let him in, told him everything about us. I needed to fix it.”

You sit there for a moment because you’re not sure what to say. Learning that Charlie was practically a sleeper cell in your lives was more than just surprising. It was heartbreaking. Because it meant that Vought had won, that they had infiltrated your lives after all these years, that they were still watching, still controlling things behind the scenes.

"Mom." She says tentatively. "I didn't enjoy killing him. I'm not a monster. I-" You can see your daughter again. "I did it because he was going to take Lou, that he had been lying to both of us all those years. And I didn't want Vought to take her away. I didn’t want to lose her.”

"I know. I just-" You take in a deep breath to cleanse whatever sins you think are still hanging in the air. “It’s a lot to take in.” You understood why she did it, understood that you would have done the same thing.

Hell, I have done the same thing. You think to yourself remembering what happened with Stan a few days ago.

"I wish you had told me sooner. I wish you hadn't kept this from me all these years." You sigh.

"I know. I know I should have, but I couldn't. You were really painting again, selling your art, and you were so happy and carefree not worrying about anything and I didn't want to change that. I'm sorry-"

"I know you're sorry, but I don't care if I was happy or you thought I was happy. I would rather know the truth and know what was going on than live completely in the dark. What Charlie did to you-"

"I know." She looks down at her lap in shame and you see the Rosemary you know come back into focus. "I wanted to protect you." Rosemary raises her head to meet your gaze again. "You always do that for me and I-" Tears begin to form. "I just wanted to do that for you."

"Oh honey." You reach across the kitchen table and squeeze her hand, fighting tears of your own. "I'm sorry you felt that way. You're my daughter, I'm supposed to protect you-"

And you hadn't. You'd allowed Vought to do something to her, to mess with her life, to take something so precious and pervert it, and attempt to take a piece of her the way they stole a piece of you.

"But what about you?" The tears began to roll down her cheeks. "All you do is care about me and Lou, it's always been about us, but who's going to take care of you?"

"I am." Ben says it before you can answer, coupling it with a squeeze to your hand that still rests on top of your thigh. Your heart feels like it's going to melt, seep through flesh and bone until you're nothing more than just a puddle of what you used to be.

It was so honest, so completely unlike the man who used to be Soldier Boy that you finally felt the memories of who that man was beginning to fade and leaving you behind with the boy you fell in love with all those years ago. The boy who you'd seen every day since Ben came back.

Rosemary glances at Ben, her expression hardening.

"Look, I know you think that I'm going to leave, that I'm going to fuck up and hurt her again." Ben says, his voice strong. "But I'm not. I don't know how long it's going to take you to trust me, but I love your mother, and I regret the things I did to her every day." For a moment you think you hear something on the edge of his voice, it thickens with emotion for just a second, and you're sure that Rosemary didn't notice because she didn't know Ben as well as you did and she didn't know how hard it was for him to admit something like that. "I promise that I'm going to protect her and take care of her for the rest of my life, because nothing else matters to me the way she does."

The urge to cry lodges itself in the back of your throat as you release Ben's hand and raise it to his face, gently tracing his bearded cheeks with your fingertips. You didn't think that it was possible to love someone this much, to care about someone and wish to have someone this much. You remember all the years before this when you were children, when you wished for it to be this way, but you never imagined that it would be anything like this. To be wholly entangled with someone who completely understood, saw your flaws, saw you at your worst, and still wished to love you.

But you were and you never wanted it to stop.

"I love you too Ben." You whisper, and Ben raises his hand to hold your wrist, keeping your hand pressed against his face. Your other hand was still holding on to Rosemary's, and you knew she was watching the two of you, but you didn't care. You refused to ever let Ben feel like you didn't or feel like no one did. It had been your job for so many years, protecting him, taking care of him the way he always took care of you and it was the job you'd never quit.

Rosemary sighs and wipes her face with the back of her free hand. "Well, if you're going to be around more you might as well know, he was right about Lou."

"You've seen her powers?" Your eyes widen as you turn to look at her, dropping your hand from Ben's face to take his again so it's resting on your thigh once more.

"No, but when I killed Charlie I understood." She presses her lips into a thin line releasing your hand. "Before when I touched him I didn't know how to unlock it, how to use the power so I never noticed how it worked, but when I killed him I realized something about me."

"What do you mean you realized something about you?" Ben asks.

"When I touch someone I get their powers for 24 hours, but when I kill them-" She inhales. "I keep their powers." 

"You WHAT?" Your hand tightens so much in Ben's that you hear an audible crack.

Ben clears his throat. "Softer Sweetheart." He murmurs and you loosen your grip enough for Ben to flex his hand.

If you weren't so shocked at the news you would have teased Ben about it, but now definitely wasn't the time. 

"Why didn't you know that?" You stutter.

"I'd never killed anyone before so I couldn't exactly test the theory out!" She shouts back. "But it's true. My powers are almost the complete opposite of yours."

"Holy fucking shit-" You mutter to yourself closing your eyes for a minute. You'd known that Rosemary was powerful, but this was almost overwhelming.

She could have any power, relatively limitless power and all she has to do is kill another supe.

But so could you. A little voice whispers in the back of your head. The memory of the day that Rosemary stabbed you with a knife by accident and killed you comes rising from the darkness in the back of your mind. She killed me… which means if I kill a supe I get their powers too. This day keeps getting better and better.

"So when you look at Lou what exactly do you see?" Ben asks her with a frown.

"If I concentrate, it's almost like she glows."

"She glows?" Ben clears his throat not quite understanding.

"Yes. For other supes it's not obvious, it's more of a shimmer. For Ben or you or me it's a lot stronger, but when I look at her and concentrate, it's like looking at the sun. Like there's liquid fire that rolls through her veins."

"But she hasn't shown any powers at all?" You say looking at Rosemary, trying to see if she would lie to you about this.

"No. None. It's not through touch, because she's touched me, you, and Ben and she hasn't shown any powers. And if she inherited anything else from either of us I don't know how to test it out. You have to die to get powers and I have to kill someone and I don't want either of those things to happen to my child so-"

"That's probably for the best."

"Yeah."

"This is bad." You murmur sitting back in your chair. "And I thought that it really couldn't get any worse, but here we go."

"What do you mean?" Rosemary squints in confusion.

"They used your blood to make Temp V. That shit that Hughie and Butcher have been shooting up for the past few days, but now I'm worried that they did more with it than Stan told me."

"It's blood. What else would they do?"

"I don't know." You bite the inside of your cheek. "I mean I don't think it's enough genetic material to make a child or anything like that but-"

"A what?!" Rosemary chokes on a sip of her coffee. "Why would they do that?"

You open your mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. You wanted to tell her about Homelander, tell her everything that Stan said. You could feel it on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn't say it.

"Homelander." Ben says slowly, understanding exactly what was happening to you. His thumb strokes against the smooth skin on the back of your hand.

"What about him?" Rosemary looks from Ben to you still confused.

"They took genetic material from me and y/n. And they made Homelander."

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?" Rosemary shouts, and this time her coffee cup busts in her hand sending coffee raining down over the table. "You mean they-" Her eyes flick to you with rage, horror, and shock swirling behind her eyes.

"Ben donated his." You clear your throat. "But Vogelbaum didn't wait for me to accept the offer."

Rosemary rises from the table so fast in your head you think she developed the ability to fly. And before you can ask her what she's doing she grabs you and holds you so tight that you'd be worried she'd snap your spine if she could. "Mom I'm so sorry. That's inhuman." She pulls back to look at you. "They shouldn't have done that to you. Treated you like that."

The urge to cry was back, this time coupled with the fleeting memory of what Vogelbaum did flashing through your mind like strobe lights. It had haunted you last night in your dreams, but when you woke up in Ben's arms it had vanished away.

"No they shouldn't have." Ben growls.

"You didn't stop them?" She looks at him, still hugging you, but you can feel her anger. "You let them do that to her?"

"I didn't fucking know they did that shit!" Ben snarls the words, the room heating slightly as he begins to get angry at Rosemary's accusation.

"They did it when Ben wasn't there. He was shooting a film overseas. Stan said that I wasn't supposed to remember and that they were too afraid of what Ben would do to them if they tried to do it with him in town."

Rosemary relaxes. "The nightmares?"

"Yeah."

"I should have killed them all when they started coming for Lou. Shouldn’t have stopped with just Charlie.” She spits.

"I would have gone with you to do it if I knew." You half-smile even though it doesn't really seem to be the type of thing to smile about.

"I would have too, if I was here." You hear Ben mutter under his breath.

"But it’s the same way they treated you with Charlie. Vought used you-" You begin to say to Rosemary.

"I agreed to it-" She interrupts.

"No." Your arms tighten around your daughter. "No you didn't. You didn't agree to marry a psychopath who forced you to have a child with him."

"But-"

"No." You can hear your voice hardening with emotion. You were trying to contain the anger and fury that was almost radiating out from your body. "What Vought did to you was just as bad as what they did to me. They used you, Charlie used you. That is not your fault."

"I should have known better. I should have asked more questions, shouldn't have let him in so easily, but I-" Her shoulders slump a little.

"Sweetie." You stroke her cheek lovingly, looking into her green eyes. They were dim, rimmed with red, and wet. It broke your heart to see her this way, to see her look so small, when the Rosemary you knew inhabited such a large persona. It made you want to resurrect Charlie from the great beyond and then send him there all over again. "This is not your fault. Sometimes you can't help who you fall in love with and you fell in love with the lie of who Charlie was, the man that he pretended to be. It's easy to fall, but when love becomes a burden it's hard to carry." You could feel a lump of emotion forming in the back of your throat.

With Ben it had felt that way sometimes, well, at least when you were younger it felt that way. When you watched him with so many women over the years and it felt like you were dragging your heart behind you as you witnessed it. When it ached each night Ben would crawl into bed with you and act like the boy you used to know, when you weren't sure he still existed. Now it didn't feel that way, because you knew and understood that Ben loved you wholly and completely, just the way that you had loved him for so long.

"And it shouldn't ever be a burden or something you should be ashamed of."  You continue, pulling her in tight for a hug, one of your hands fitting on the back of her head while she leans into your shoulder. You could feel the wet trail of her tears through your shirt. "Falling in love is never a shameful thing, the only shameful thing is those who try to take it selfishly from you without giving anything in return. Love isn't prideful or selfish. And the pieces of yourself you give to someone else when you love them should be shared and should be molded with their own to become something wonderful and beautiful. This isn't your fault and I don't want you to carry this with you. Okay?"

"Thank you mom." She whispers and you hold her all the more tighter against you, trying not to cry yourself. You hated what Vought had done to her, that they had taken something that should be sweet and turned it sour, something warm and turned it frigid, and something caring into something selfish.

Ben made eye contact with you over Rosemary's shoulder and you could see an emotion reflected there that you'd seen the night he came to your apartment with Butcher and Hughie.

Guilt was bubbling up all over again, the guilt that you hadn't seen this coming or tried harder to ensure that Charlie didn't insert himself into Rosemary's life and the guilt that you had allowed him to break her. It was the first time that you had ever seen her look so broken and it reminded you of the way Ben looked when he finally confessed his love for you days ago.

"So what do we do now?" Rosemary asks. She pulls back from you, wiping her eyes with her shirt sleeve.

"I have no idea." You sigh, brushing away the last of her tears with your thumb. "Homelander's a monster. Butcher wants him dead and maybe… Maybe that's on us to carry it out."

“Or maybe-“ Rosemary stops for a moment. “Maybe we should run.”

“Run?” Ben scoffs.

“Yeah. Just get out of here before it’s too late. Change our names. Go somewhere Vought can’t find us.” She continues. “I can work anywhere mom, so can you. And I guess Ben can figure out what he’ll do for a job.” Rosemary shrugs glancing at him where he still sits at the table with the almost empty bottle in front of him. “We could keep an eye on Lou, not worry about someone coming to take her away.”

You consider what she says for a moment and then you remember what Stan told you, remember the rage, remember the horror, and remember what it was like to make him pay.  The truth was you knew that there wasn’t any running or any way to hide. You knew that as long as Vought was still Vought, they would come for Lou or Rosemary or even Ben. You didn’t want to live that way, with one eye over your shoulder always prepared to hide.

You’d hidden long enough.

“If that’s what you want to do sweetheart we can.” Ben touches your arm and you know he’s addressing you.

“No.” You set your jaw and make eye contact with Ben. He’s looking at you expectantly, waiting to hear what you’re going to say. “I’m tired of running. And it’s time that Vought pays for what they’ve done."

A/N: A lot of secrets revealed in this chapter, but I promise I think I have finally figured out exactly where I want this to go. Which is great... but now the hard part is finding the motivation to write. 😭

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[silverskyeline]

ੈ♡˳ 'birthday cake' - logan howlett x wade wilson

summary: logan buys wade a cake for his birthday and tries to convince himself it doesn't mean anything. (900 words) tags: kinda fluffy, kinda angsty, set a year after the movie, references to losing the x-men, feelings realisation, animal metaphors for logan, cussing, logan x wade. a/n: happy birthday deadpool!

birthdays. running a calloused hand across his stubbled jaw, logan eyes the cakes in the bakery aisle with disgust. when's the last time he celebrated a birthday? not since. . .

well.

not since.

he's not sure why he's here. except he is. yet he won't admit it. can't admit he gives a damn about that stupid red leather-wearing freak. isn't that what he's doing right now, though? a birthday cake, an admission of sorts?

logan grumbles, a deep rumble in the back of his throat. why was this so hard? why couldn't he just pick up a cake and go? or better yet, forget about this whole damn thing and go home?

home.

a word that still feels so foreign in his mind, a long-lost concept that's only recently begun to take root again despite his best efforts to weed it out. that's the thing with wade, he's persistent. fuck, he's extremely fucking persistent to a highly annoying degree. but it's funny how the things we want to deny the most are the things that turn out to be the best for us in the end.

there's a unicorn cake that catches his eye. an imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of logan's lips, a reluctant grin quirking up without permission. he can't help it. "god damn it," he mutters, letting out a soft exhale that could possibly be perceived as a laugh.

it isn't too late. he could back out now, snuff the candles out and toss the cake so hard into the garbage can that it explodes on impact, leaving no evidence behind. that'd probably be the best thing to do. because what the fuck was this?

the unicorn cake sits on the dining room table, a few candles placed carefully (yet still somehow messily) into the pink icing, thoughtfully avoiding the unicorn decorations and rainbows.

logan shuffles nervously on his feet, hands clasped behind his back. he can already hear wade's annoying squealing in his ear, fussing and yelling and talking and just always fucking talking.

he'd made a deliberate effort to ignore all of wade's incessant reminders, 'it's my birthday month peanut, gotta be nice to me', 'i made sure to cancel everything on your very empty calendar for my birthday'. but in reality, logan had it memorised from the moment he learned the date.

a key enters the door, and logan stiffens up, then forces himself to relax in an attempt to look nonchalant. he looks anything but, head tilted down with dark eyes glued to the door - watching, waiting, anticipating.

"holy fuck balls that traffic is ridiculous!" wade whines, closing the door and rolling his neck as though he'd been worked to the bone, "i swear, it's like none of those careless fuckers know it's my birthday - can you believe that? i was thinking about getting a tattoo, the date on my forehead, y'know, so that when anyone asks they-"

wade stops, finally looking into the open room, eyes landing on the flicker of the candles. then to logan, eyes softening. "you. . . got me a cake?" wade whispers in the softest tone logan's ever heard from him, voice thick with emotion. it hits him unexpectedly.

logan puffs his chest out, "don't make a big deal outta it, bub." he says firmly, eyes straying from wade's gaze. feels like his eyes are boring into him, he doesn't like it. doesn't like the way wade looks at him, really looks at him. that kinda look is dangerous, could make a man believe he deserves to be forgiven for all he did or didn't do. could make a man believe that he's allowed happiness, however strange or unusual that source of happiness may be.

when logan's eyes trail back to meet wade's, he's already in front of him, arms wrapping around him in a tight hug as he rests his cheek against his broad chest. logan huffs, making a sound of disapproval initially, yet makes no effort to move or push him away. instead, he settles, allowing it.

he knows wade must hear his heartbeat, the fact that it's fluttering in his chest. but wade only squeezes his arms around him tighter in response.

for once, the merc with a mouth is silent, basking in this moment the other has allowed. he's almost in disbelief. to some, and hell, maybe even logan himself, it looked like. . . well, just a cake.

but it symbolised so much more than that.

if wade has had his hand outstretched all this time, approaching the skittish animal threatening to lash out in learned survival instincts - then this is the gentle nudge from the animal's snout into his palm. a curious, tentative step forward. a willingness to let someone in, let someone help.

and god, wade won't mess this up, won't disappoint, despite the fact that it's all he thought he was good for, for a long ass time. if logan's taught him anything, it's that life is so much more than what you boil yourself down to. it's what others see in you, too.

wade's eyes pop open when he feels logan's firm hands hesitantly rest upon his back, giving a gentle pat. he bites his tongue, a mirage of sex jokes slinging through his filth-riddled mind. perhaps in a way, that was his own defense mechanism, push him away with just enough jokes to keep him guessing.

but not today.

because today logan bought him a cake. the same day that logan realised that he's hopelessly, ridiculously, disgustingly, annoyingly. . . in love.

[the-acid-pear]

It's not easy to be a guy with a weird gender and complicated relationships with its sexuality and romantic attraction and fat and autistic and traumatized to the bone but someone has to do it

[uh-oh-its-bird]

Offshoot of my "team Ro time travels to the founders era" post because @prinzgnomeovonchaos infected me with brain rot in the notes

So buckle in baby it's time for

Sakumo and babyKashi time traveling to the warring states ✨️

So first thing to get out of the way; Modern Hatake's and warring states era Hatake's do not hold up to the same standards.

The Hatake's during the states were a very small clan with a very big reputation. Hailing from Iron, they were an almost famous wild clan even all the way in fire country. Distantly related to the Inuzuka's but leaning more towards wolves than dogs.

They had a proper kekkei genkai and everything, unnaturally fast and strong, often born with some form of enhanced senses— be it smell, sight, taste, or even touch. Their white chakra fed into it, and they'd feed their chakra with diets of raw meat and the occasional light cannibalism during some special clan celebrations and rituals.

Unfortunatley Sakumo knows very little about the above because he was very young when his clan was pretty much all wiped out. He was raised by the only other survivor, his grandmother, who was pretty young herself when the clan got wiped, and unfortunatley was never all too concious of many of the rituals and traditions of her clan until it was too late.

Sakumo grew up to village standards and was mostly declawed because of it, and Kakashi is only doubly so. And with that dulling of all the different traditions and specific diets also came the slow fading of their bloodline limit, which was already pretty subtle if you didn't know what you're looking for.

Anyways moving on, and if you want more details for my headcanons ab warring states Hatake's vs modern standard Hatake's look at my other time travel post bc I talk ab it more there.

So Kakashi is like 6 (holy shit he's a BABY baby)

Google keeps giving me conflicting numbers for Sakumo's age at his death so we're just gonna shrug and say he's in his early 30's.

Then for the founders;

Madara (23)

Hashirama (23)

Izuna (19)

Tobirama (18)

Sakumo is staring at these guys going through it bc they are BABIES to him. And like look, he's used to working with or even occasionally under people much younger than him, but like. Oh man that's the shodai hokage. And he's like a toddler.

(He's a 23 year old man but Sakumo is kind of having a crisis so he can't register that)

So like. All the founders have major daddy issues, right? Like we can all agree that's plausible? I'm so sorry I just think it'd be *really fucking funny* if they look at Sakumo and just kinda. Yeah.

You know what I mean.

Anyways;

No idea how they got there!! This is set maybe a week before Sakumo offed himself but now he can't kill himself bc that'd mean abandoning Kakashi to the fucking warring states.

Kakashi fits the warring states standards alarmingly well actually. Honestly I think even for that time period he's still scarily young to be on the field. People are giving Sakumo looks like 'it's so hard what we've been forced to do to our children, the battles we've pushed them into, the things they've seen and done all too young'

Sakumo is going *hrrg.* and having a good long look in the mirror actually. Proper crisis, lots of guilt, Kakashi should not be out in the field this young and at least before he was mostly getting baby missions but now they're stranded in time and keep running head first into trouble.

I want Izuna and Kakashi to fight and even though Kakashi absoloutley should NOT win that battle I want him to win just so that Madara and Tobirama can make fun of him for losing to an actual child

Izuna is mortified he wants that brat DEAD

Uhh I have some more but I'm at work and actually hit post too early on this post so I had to come back to rush add all these edits bc I meant for it to stay a draft I could keep adding too later. So I'll just come add more later fr

[mcflymemes]

GONE GIRL (2014) PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary

what are you thinking? how are you feeling? what have we done to each other?

i felt i needed to shoot something.

we've never fucked in a bookstore.

you know i have to kiss you now.

sometimes i want to punch us in the face, we're so cute.

when you're upset, you bottle up.

brought you a present.

i need you. now. touch me.

that's very sweet of you and very unnecessary.

pour me a bourbon, would you?

it's a bad day.

i'm so crazy, stupid happy.

i met a boy. a great, gorgeous, sweet, cool-ass guy.

things could get ugly.

whose beer am i drinking?

i prefer men who are funny, not "funny."

i'm the guy to save you from all this awesomeness.

it's hard to believe you. i think it's your chin.

you are way too into that cat.

tell me how it ends.

i'm not someone who hits the panic button, but... it's weird, right?

you mind if we look around?

so what do you do now? for work.

perfect, time for a quick tour of my failings.

i love your parents, but they can be assholes.

people want to hear from you.

i thought that'd be embarrassing.

i am here on a strictly journalistic capacity.

[name], you are beyond amazing. you are incredibly smart but entirely unsnobby. you are kind, but never a martyr.

you surprise me. you challenge me.

isn't it time we fixed that?

we're going to take this very, very seriously.

i go there for the quiet.

we're still not sure what we're dealing with.

please don't take that tone with me.

everyone told us... and told us and told us... marriage is hard work.

technically we're supposed to fuck at the next stop.

books, sex, bourbon... life is good.

i knew you shouldn't have moved back here.

maybe i'll teach you a thing or two.

i'm a little drunk.

let's swear we will never be like them.

everything else is background noise.

why are you throwing that in my face again?

it's like you're daring me to be someone i don't want to be.

i'm not that person. i'm your wife.

suddenly i knew everything was about to get worse.

i'm asking you nicely.

everyone is projecting their shit onto me.

i feel like i could disappear.

i've been so worried about you.

i don't want to fight. i just want to be with you. that's all i want.

you fucking lied to my fucking face.

for valentine's day, i thought i'd buy a gun.

you have to fucking talk to me!

i'm not going to be scared anymore.

this man of mine may kill me.

men always use that as the defining compliment, don't they? she's a cool girl.

i will admit. for someone who likes to win, it's tempting to be the girl every guy wants.

we were happy pretending to be other people.

i need to show you something.

see we have the same taste in men.

you're reading it again? you know how it ends.

whatever the hell they found, we have to assume it's very bad.

everyone would hate me.

why are you so good to me?

my defense is the truth.

i've never seen it in my life.

i feel myself fading.

i just said what you wanted to hear.

take off your clothes.

i'm a fighter. i fought my way back to you.

kiss my cheek.

you're not at risk anymore.

you know you can sleep with me, right?

we should hold hands.

you called me a murderer.

i haven't touched you.

i've killed for you.