#tw: minor injuries

[anithesunshineoutlaw]

Playing the Hero

( Abigail Roberts x Reader )

TW: mentions of vi0lence, bl00d and de@th

Abigail grasped your hand as she pulled you up from the ground.

"Come on. We can't waste time here. Are you hurt?"

For a moment, you couldn't process her words. You stared at the dead man on the ground, your lips parted in shock. Only seconds ago all you could see was a gun barrel pointed right at your face. You swear you had your life flash before your eyes. You were sure it was over for you.

Abigail's hard expression softened upon your silence. She gently cupped your cheek. "Hey, look at me. You're alright now. It passed."

She paused before taking your hand in hers, her voice taking a firm tone as she turned around and led you over to your horse.

"Let's go home."

* * *

The campfire's sparks flew before your eyes, the wind stirring its dancing flames. You leaned back on the chair you were sitting on. A stinging pain bolted through your body causing you to wince. Your bloodied shirt stood loose on your form, the rolled-up sleeves revealing the beaten state of your body.  

"Bounty hunting?! Just what were you thinking, (Your Name)?! You were almost killed! You were lucky-"

Abigail's scolding rang in your ears as she cleaned your wounds. You couldn't really focus though. Your mind kept looping that same scene as if it was a weird nightmare you just couldn't wake up from. 

Punch after punch, the harsh collision with the dirt as you fought furiously against the towering man. The blood over your knuckles...and then. The metal pressed to your face. 

BANG!

You thought it ended. At that moment, you had faced death so close you almost felt it devour you whole. But it wasn't your time, not now. Your opponent fell off you with a hole through his chest. Abigail glared at your attacker with disgust before dropping the gun you had lost during the fight and quickly running to your side.

Your eyes locked onto her as she lectured you while wrapping a bandage around your fist. She had saved your life, she didn't have to..but she did and you had no words to thank her. 

You looked back at the fire and then said in a hoarse whisper. 

"I love you, Abigail."

You knew it was out of the blue but you wanted to show if not with your actions, then with words that you truly appreciated everything she has done and is still doing for you. She's shaped your life more than you would like to admit and it didn't feel right to you to keep the admiration and thought you had for her silent. She was important to you even if your way of living created tension between the two of you.

 Abigail's rambling ceased as she lifted her gaze and stared at you for a moment before sighing. 

"I want you to promise me something. Promise you'll be more careful... I can't keep doing this."

You frowned. You knew it was hard for her to watch everyone she loved putting themselves in danger like this..but again, you were in the gang for a reason. You couldn't just let everyone down. Your eyes met with hers and your chest tightened. 

"I promise, I'll try."

That woman had been nothing but kind to you ever since you met. She has been with you through thick and thin. She saved your life today. The least you could do is try, you owed her that much. 

She smiled. "Good." She stood up and kissed your forehead before turning away. "Get some rest, I'll go check on Jack."

You smiled slightly and gave her a wave before focusing on the view ahead, losing yourself in the depths of your mind once again as the night moved its course. 

[rairecs]

title: adopt don’t shop author: catsonthewindowsill rating: general wordcount: 149843 fandom: stray kids pairing: bang chan/lee felix summary: 

Felix revels in the close contact until Chan buries his nose in Felix’s hair and takes the most dramatic deep inhale. It’s like he’s trying to see if he can suck up Felix’s hair with his nose to tickle his brain.

“Are you smelling me?”

“You smell nice,” Chan says, taking another exaggerated sniff. Felix can’t really imagine how he’d smell nice, after a day out dancing followed by a restaurant visit. Felix pulls his sleeve to his face to see what Chan is talking about. He gets a nose full of smokey, meaty, fried cotton, under it lingers the scent of Chan’s detergent. “I smell like barbecue.”

“Yeah, like I said,” He buries his nose in Felix’s shoulder. “Nice.”

______ aka the found family trope with werewolves and an oblivious Felix OR Felix unknowingly adopts a bunch of Werewolves.

link

[laikascomet]

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READ AHEAD ON MY KOFI!

[kk1smet]

Potter? Potter! Bloody fuc—

WIP Snip!

Tagged by @kamaela and @edieblakewrites who shared scrumptious snips and I ask you to scream at me when you publish them thank you very much. Kamaela, I think it’s only fair to share something in the same line to your wip, no? 😌

Okay I wanted to tag various mutuals this time so I used a random number generator, picked its corresponding alphabet and the first name to appear from that. I'd love to see/read your wips (but no pressure!) @dewitty1 @kyuini @notti-bianche @xanthippe74 @faiell + ofc @soliblomst ♡

[the-bisexual-bitch]

Tw- themes of rape/noncon, minor injuries

Donnie x Donnie? What? (It makes more sense in context)

Basically, I'm writing a fic (will post the link on here when it's finished) and decided to draw fanart of it.

[heynhay]

i don’t want to leave without you 🌟

[eldritch-ace]

Coming out as a Hey, Melissa! defender, she’s just girlie pop and I think catboy Paul and dogboy Ted are great additions to the lore ✌️🐈💖

[c-rose2081]

I don’t like you…

Ariana’s not a fan of Red dating Chloe (her cousin-by-marriage). Actually, she’s not a fan of Red AT ALL, but she makes Chloe happy, so Ari’s not going to intervene.

HOWEVER, that doesn’t mean a well placed threat and a bit of blood won’t set the tone between them. Red can try to be edgy and tough all she wants, but Ariana’s actively in anger management therapy and on probation for violent behavior. She’s guaranteed to put her money where her mouth is and put Red ten feet under right back into Wonderland.

Note: Red’s actress is only 5’3–she’s a shorty. Ariana is 6’2 in heels 🫢

[warriorrazor]

Part 1

They help each other out :)

[cirtusmistress]

Hurricane

Authors Note: I wrote this about two years ago and posted it to AO3, and never cross-posted it to Tumblr. But given I want to get back into writing, I may as well start by posting what I got! So enjoy my first fic, two years late.

Ship ~ Brahms Heelshire x GN Reader

Tags ~ Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Reader is Competent, Storm prep, Brahms is Scared of Storms, Touch-Starved Brahms Heelshire, Reader Replaces Greta Evans, Minor Injuries, Doll Brahms Heelshire, One Shot, Gender-Neutral Pronouns

AO3 Crosspost

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“A storm? Like, a thunderstorm? Or is it worse?” You asked. You’d been working for the Heelshire’s for around two months now. And though they’d left you with very detailed instructions on how to care for their beloved son, they had never brought up things such as house care. Honestly, you hadn’t planned on staying this long. Not into Autumn.

“A full on hurricane.” Malcolm answered, setting the last of the grocery bags down. He continued, “The worst one we’ve had in years apparently. They’re predicting outages and downed trees. I can help you secure the windows and doors if you’d like?” He offered. A sweet gesture. An olive branch of friendship. But you knew better than to take it.

During your short time at the Heelshire estate, and caring for Brahms, you’d learned a great many things. The most crucial being that whenever someone stayed around too long and stole your attention away from the doll you cared for, there was hell to pay. In one instance you found the dining room in complete disarray after simply inviting Malcolm in for tea, during a rare social moment for you. The worst case was when a friend of yours stopped by. They were a globetrotter, and seeing as you already had residence found it simpler to just stay with you. A mistake. One night was enough to send Brahms into the worst tantrum you’d ever seen. Multiple rooms destroyed, a window had been broken, and he had stolen your friend's passport. Your friendship didn’t last long after that. After all, who was to believe that a doll could cause so much harm?

“Thank you, Malcolm, but I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with a few storms in my life, I’ll manage.” You replied. Malcolm studied you for a moment. Likely trying to read you, sniff out any signs of dishonesty. But, there were none. Just that warm smile that could melt anyone's heart. He gave a sigh of defeat and nodded.

“If you say so. Just give me a call if you need anything. I’ll come check on you when the hurricane passes.” With that he gave you a wave and headed back to his truck. You muttered a soft thanks, finally returning to your chores.

Brahms sat in the kitchen where he’d been waiting. Like he was listening to your conversation. You’d grown used to this odd job of yours. Caring for a doll as if it were human. Though you’d always figured there was more to this situation then most believed. You’d heard of people using dolls to cope with loss, the concept wasn’t lost on you. But for a couple well into their later years? And there were just.. Too many small things. Even in the rules. Playing music loud, reading in a loud clear voice, leaving food in the freezer. Food which you knew was going missing.

But the biggest tell was an accident. It had been about a month into the job. You’d actually begun to believe Brahms was a child's spirit trapped in the doll. What with him moving around on his own, and leaving you little offerings, and once saying your goddamn name when he was upset. But then, just by accident as you were putting Brahms to bed, you hit your foot against the wall. It had hurt so badly you thought you’d broken a toe. But what stood out in your mind even now was the sound the wall made. It didn’t make the thud you knew from stubbing your toe time and time again in youth. The wall sounded hollow. There had been an echo. Now you knew some older houses had hollow walls. Normally the cavities between the two layers were used for insulation. But that echo.. That wasn’t a normal hollow wall.

After that you’d started paying closer attention to the house and Brahms as you went about your day. Watching and listening. Countless nights where you’d lay in bed and just listen. You’d hear shuffling, the rare footstep like someone had stumbled. Once you swore you heard breathing. You noticed how many rooms had large paintings or cabinets, your size or larger. For a while you thought you were going mad. There was no way in hell that an elderly couple had been keeping their son in the walls for twenty years. But then you learned of the Heelshire’s deaths. Suicides. So many things pointing to something you didn’t quite know how to feel about. On one hand, you were now basically the sole guardian of a doll who was actually a stand-in for the hypothetical twenty-eight year old man in the walls. On the other, Brahms was now completely alone after twenty years of isolation. Alone, save for you. Sweet, kind, loving you who treated a porcelain doll like a real boy. Who read to him every night and tucked him in with a kiss. You couldn’t just leave him. No matter what Brahms was.

“We’re in for a storm, Brahms. I guess that means we’re having a slumber party downstairs tonight.” You cortled, putting the last of the groceries away. You took note of how little perishables Malcolm had dropped off. Thinking ahead. You wouldn’t be able to cook for however long the power was gone, if it did go that was.

You turned back to the doll, scooping him up and taking him with you. You figured the downstairs office would be the safest place. The windows were relatively small and were less likely to break. It would do for your purposes. You sat Brahms in the corner and got to work moving the desk out of the way. You’d have to lay down blankets and things to sleep on. You doubted the old fashioned Heelshire’s were going to have something like an air mattress.

You spent a good hour doing basic storm prep. Dragging some old blankets and comforters out of wardrobes and laying them down on the floor. Filling up buckets and the tubs with water. Getting crossword puzzles and cards. By the time that was all done, it had begun to rain outside. The calm before the storm you supposed. The last thing on your storm checklist was lanterns. This was an old house, you were certain that the Heelshire’s would have oil lamps somewhere. Naturally the first place you wanted to check was the attic.. But you knew better. After all, if your theory was right you didn’t want to scare the poor man by invading his space. So you settled on checking the cellar first.

Only issue was, you really couldn’t bring Brahms. You knew he was never meant to be alone but taking a fragile doll into a dark cellar was too risky. He’d have to stay upstairs. You were hoping he wouldn’t be too upset.

“Brahms, I’m headed to the cellar. I’ll be quick, I promise.” You hummed. With that, you headed down alone. You had been right, it was dark and musty and damp. You started to wonder if there was mold down here. You flicked on the old dingy light which surprisingly still worked. You began digging through the clutter. Old things like furniture, clothes never worn since the sixties, even some art pieces. It was like a time capsule. You didn’t have time to walk through history though, you needed to find anything that could give light without the use of electricity. Lower and lower you went through the piles, until finally you found something. A pair of old oil lamps and a small can of oil to go with it. You muttered a soft thanks, pulling them out from beneath wicker chairs. But what was behind them gave you pause.

The bricks were singed. Dark burn marks that showed age. Your eyes followed the marks. The furniture in here had covered them, but now they were exposed after your rummaging. They flowed over the bricks going upwards. They almost looked beautiful. But that beauty hid a tragedy that plagued this home. You knew why they’d been hidden with so much clutter.

Your thoughts were interrupted when something crashed behind you, making you scream and jump. When you turned you saw one of the mirrored vanities stored away had been smashed. The mirror shards now littered the floor. And on the steps sat the Brahms doll, staring you down. It took you a moment to catch your breath, realizing your error. Brahms didn’t want you uncovering his painful memories. And he’d made sure you knew that. Gathering yourself, you pushed the lamps aside and began to put all that you’d moved back into its place. Covering those painful memories back up, letting them remain hidden and forgotten. Once finished you picked the lamps and the can up and approached Brahms. Kneeling to his height you gave an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry Brahms,” you spoke with such a genuine tone of sincerity, “I shouldn’t have snooped around. But look! I found the lamps we’ll need!” You held up the lamps, jostling them a little so they clinked together. Of course the doll remained frozen. But just faintly, almost missable under the sound of rain pouring down, you heard panting. Like someone coming down from a rage.

“I’ll clean up the shards, then we’ll head back upstairs, okay?” You’d started speaking to Brahms out loud more after you’d learned about the walls. Feeding your own delusions some would say. You held your word, starting to pick up the larger shards and resting them on top of the vanity. The smaller ones you just brushed away with some loose fabric you found. You didn’t really plan on coming back down here anyways, not after that outburst.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You always found time moves slower when there was a storm. The day seemed to drag on as the storm became worse and worse. The wind had picked up and those raindrops just kept getting larger. It was loud, even on the bottom floor. You had settled on just simple sandwiches for dinner, making sure to put a ‘spare’ in the freezer. And after that you’d just settled in to do a crossword. It was.. Probably the first time in weeks where you felt safe. There was something about the dim lighting and blankets that just felt right. Secure. Warm. Brahms sat under the covers and you’d even given him a crossword book of his own. Slightly cruel, knowing he couldn’t move with you there with him. But at least you’d been talking to him. Funny, you always struggled talking with real people. But this doll turned you into a chatterbox. Maybe it was the simple fact no one was attempting to speak over you. Like someone was actually listening.

Your tranquility was disrupted by a large gust of wind, followed by a crash that made the manor shake. And what sounded like a scream. It had come from upstairs. Something inside you just knew. That crash was in the attic. You were running upstairs before you even had time to think. Up the stairs, and finding the attic ladder down. You were unsure if it had come undone itself or if someone had moved it. That didn’t matter as you climbed up. It was your first time in the attic but you didn’t get a chance to explore. A branch had flown off a tree and crashed through the wall, opening it up to the elements. You could only act, no time for clear thoughts. You grabbed a nearby blanket and started to desperately try to cover the hole, but another gale blew you back. There was nothing you could do to patch it right now, not unless you wanted to risk injury or worse, death.

Your rattled mind returned to the scream you had heard. Or at least you thought you had heard. Looking around you didn’t see a body but there was a bed up here. A tv, a sink.. Someone was living here. You didn’t have time to celebrate your theory being proven. Where was Brahms? Your eyes flitted around, finally landing back on the ladder. Somehow you had missed the very clear bloody handprint on it during your panic. But if Brahms was bleeding.. Oh God, how badly was he injured? Quickly you descended the steps, trying to find any sign of him. You were too panicked to even fear this man who was hiding from you for so long. All you knew somewhere in this house he was hurt and bleeding.

“Brahms?” You called, starting to check every room. Could he have climbed back into the walls? Fearing you discovering him? You checked everything on the top floor and worked down, calling his name in a more desperate tone with each exclamation. But finally you found him. Turning the corner back into the downstairs study. There he sat, in place of the doll. It wasn’t what you expected to see. The mask was shocking at first glance. You were momentarily stun locked. He was bigger than you anticipated, even sitting down. Finally you snapped out of it when he looked at you, and held out his bleeding hand. It had a sizable gash across the palm.

“It hurts,” He spoke in a child-like voice. The voice you’d heard months ago. His head drooped a touch as he spoke, “Can you fix it?” He asked. Finally, after another beat, you nodded. Your mouth felt dry. Too dry to speak. In the kitchen you found the first aid, and took it back with you. He hadn’t moved from his place on the makeshift bed. You knelt beside him, and carefully took his hand in yours. Up close you could see the burn scars that ran along his entire right side. Suddenly his outburst in the cellar made much more sense.. Carefully you applied some rubbing alcohol to the cut. That made Brahms whimper and pull his hand back. The look in his eyes behind that mask was murderous.

“I’m sorry, Brahms, but I have to.. To clean it.” You choke out. Your mouth is still far too dry. You hold your hand out for his again, giving him those warm eyes again. He would trust you wouldn’t he? After all, you had been the one to care for him all this time. He looked at your hand, then back to your face. For a moment Brahms almost seemed entranced by your eyes before conceding and resting his hand back in yours.

“Good boy..” You said, starting to clean the wound. He made a noise akin to that of a moan at your praise. You supposed you were the first person to touch him or give him praise in years. He was likely touch starved. Once the cut was clean, you grabbed the bandages and began to wrap his hand. He kept watching you. His breath was heavy behind that mask.

Finally you were done, and you let his hand go. Brahms examined your work, how carefully you’d wrapped him, and the cute little bow you’d tied it off with. As he studied his hand, you studied him. Despite the childish voice he put on, he was very much an adult. You could see his beard poking out from beneath the porcelain. He was actually rather handsome, you’d admit. The rain picked up again, and the lights began flickering. Brahms jumped and quickly moved closer to you. Before you knew it his head was hiding in your lap. Apparently he was afraid of the storm. Made sense, it had attacked him after all. Carefully you began to stroke his hair in an attempt to soothe him.

“We’ll be okay. Just a little wind and rain, that’s all. Maybe we can play cards? Or I can tell you a story?” You offered. Just trying to find anything to distract him from the weather outside damaging his home. Slowly he nodded, not lifting his head from your waist. Actually his grip seemed to grow tighter. You could feel him inhaling a little too deeply, and his hands started to squeeze your thighs as he held tight. You felt bad thinking how unsurprised that made you. But he had lived in the walls for twenty years.. And you were likely the first person he’d had stick around.

You settled back on to the makeshift mattress, Brahms never letting you go. He shuffled up a bit, so his face was resting against your chest. You kept stroking his hair, picking your brain for a story to tell. Something romantic as you had a wild feeling that was right up his alley. You recounted the story of Pride and Prejudice, not skipping any details of the classic story. Brahms seemed all too enthralled by the tale. He even began to kick his feet in the air when you recounted the climax between Elizabeth and the beloved Mr.Darcy. Just before you could finish though, the lights finally gave out. Brahms tensed up against you and again hugged you tight against him. You let out a wheeze. You needed to get the lamps but he seemed content just smothering you until the lights came back themselves. Finally you managed to sit up as he continued to cling like a baby koala.

“Brahms, sweetheart, I need to light the lamps.” You manage to get out. But that seems to make his grip tighter. He shakes his head, face pulling your shirt back and forth.

“No. No lamps. I don’t want any fire in the house.” He whimpered. Your heart broke a little. That night seemed to have never left Brahms.. You stroked his back soothingly before trailing your hands to cup his cheeks.

“Brahms, we need light. It’ll be okay, I can work an oil lamp-” You were cut off as Brahms slammed you back down against the floor. Even with the cushioning it knocked the air from your lungs. Your hands fell from his face beside yourself as his own gripped your shoulders.

“No fire in the house. Never again.” His voice was no longer that high falsetto. Instead it was deep, aggressive. He sounded his age. You gasped for air, before nodding. Tears had pricked your eyes. You felt a twinge of guilt as you questioned whether or not he’d hurt you.

Finally you found your voice again, “Okay Brahms. No lamps, I promise. Do you want another story?” You asked in a feeble attempt to calm him back down. Lucky for you it seemed to work. Brahms grip on your shoulders loosened, and he returned his head to your chest. He nodded and urged you on to tell your story.

A shaky sigh escaped you. You thanked your lucky stars that you could calm him so easily. As you began telling another story, the rain and wind outside crashed into the manor. You knew Brahms would never harm you. Not you. Not his caretaker. But you began to wonder. How long would this storm last? Suddenly, in the dark, the room no longer felt secure.

[black-aurora-nora]

That's What You Get (Yandere!Hawks x Pregnant!Reader)

SERIOUS WARNING: This is an extremely disturbing read with themes and topics that include: suicidal tendencies, cursing, verbal abuse, blood, self-harm, infantilism, forced pregnancy, purposeful miscarriage, descriptions of gore, physical abuse and mentions of rape.

Please read with caution as you have been warned of the heavy subjects present in this story.

You wondered to yourself what you did to deserve all of this.

What god had decided to push all their anger unto your poor, unfortunate soul with such mercilessness?

What events led you to meeting a red-winged devil pretending to be an angel?

A hot hand grabbed at your hand without warning, yanking it away from your mouth. A trail of bloodied saliva followed and you only then noticed the familiar taste of blood on your tongue.

"Can you fucking stop?" Dabi hissed, turquoise eyes glaring deep into your hazed ones. "Do you want Hawks to lose his shit again?"

Yes, is what you wanted to say. You wanted Hawks to watch as you bit into your fingers with little thought. You wanted him to see how numb you were from all his abuse. You wanted him to know that he did this.

He was the reason you were broken now.

You didn't answer his question or even bother to truly look at him, only bringing your other hand to your mouth and biting down.

Your nail cracked against your teeth and felt slight satisfaction when Dabi cursed again and had to grab both your hands to keep you from doing any further damage to yourself.

"God dammnit, Y/N!" He growled, grabbing the attention of nearby league members scattered about the hideout. "Can someone please take this stupid bitch? I am not babysitting that hero's fuck doll today!"

Entering the room with a long sigh, Mr. Compress switched places with the purple-skinned villain, a first aid kit in tow.

When Dabi exited from the room, a dry chuckle left you but disappeared just as quickly as it came.

That's how most feelings worked for you now. They'd come and go. You were never allowed to truly feel anything for longer than 10 seconds.

Compress eyed you disappointingly, "It's not funny, Y/N." He scolded as he began to wrap your fingers, "Hawks told you to take better care of yourself. The more you put yourself at risk, the harder this pregnancy will be in the long run.

You stilled at that, nausea rising to your throat at the painful memories of Hawks holding you down against the cold, tiled floor and his warm, smooth cum filling your bruised cunt to the brim despite your cries.

That was followed by many more nights painted the same way.

A month later, you found out you were pregnant after Hawks had tested your toilet water.

The bastard was happier than ever but that happiness went right out the window when he caught you attempting to throw yourself down a set of stairs later that day. You'd even looked him in the eyes as you'd started to fall.

It was too bad that he'd caught you. That fall definitely would've done the trick.

After numerous other attempts, the hero finally decided that while he was gone, someone had to be with you at all times for both you and the baby's parasite's protection.

"Done-" Compress finished wrapping the bandages around you fingers, "-Have you eaten lunch yet?"

No, you hadn't. You hadn't moved from your curled position on the couch since Hawks left way earlier that morning.

To please Compress, you ate a few bites of what he made you and sipped some of the soup Hawks had packed for you.

Soon, you were back in your corner of the couch, filling in the permanent dent that you’d made from sitting there for so long.

You shivered as you hugged yourself.

Despite wearing a sweater and leggings with thick socks, you always felt so cold. Even if you were sweating, you were still cold.

You wondered why that was.

And now that you were left alone with your thoughts, you began to wonder other things.

Was your family regretting giving you to Hawks?

How long had it been since you'd seen them?

Did they even care?

What would they think if you escaped now and showed up pregnant?

Would they even believe you if you told them what Hawks did?

They’d probably think you were a slut.

A good for nothing whore that would do anything to get money.

Your head felt like it was about to explode.

Everything felt so meaningless now.

Why did this happen to you? Why couldn't you get control of your life again?

You placed a hand on your stomach, feeling the small hump that would soon be bigger and heavier in just a few months.

And then you'd have to push it out while it tore your pussy apart. Then you'd have to heal for who knows how long, taking care of a screaming, shitting lump while Hawks goes out and lives however he pleases.

As he always has.

...

Were you really supposed to just sit here and accept that?

That's what Hawks wanted you to do.

But how the hell could you?

"Baby, I'm back!" Hawks beamed as he walked up to you, stealing a kiss to your cheek. His smiled faded slightly, however, when he saw your bandaged fingers, "Aw, (Y/N), were you biting your fingers again?"

You didn't answer. You never really did anymore, much to his annoyance.

He sighed deeply and turned to Compress, asking him about how you'd done throughout the day. His expression only soured further at the villain's words and he glanced down at you with unimpressed eyes.

"Alright, thank you guys again for watching her-" He picked you up bridal style, "We'll be back next week as discussed."

The flight home was eerily quiet. You could tell that Hawks was upset with you. But he couldn't be nearly as upset as you were. But you knew he never thought about how you felt.

Everything was always about him.

When you both got home to his condominium, he sat you on the couch, unwrapping and examining your damaged fingers.

His lips were downturned and his brows were furrowed. His golden eyes weren't as bright as they'd been previously.

He wasn't happy with you at all.

Good.

His face made you giddy for some reason and you couldn't stop the corners of your lips from twitching upwards. It was so great that you could almost laugh with genuine joy.

Hawks' snapped his eyes up to you with wide, unbelieving eyes.

Shit, you must've laughed without realizing it.

No, wait.

You were crying.

"Oh, (Y/N), it's alright.” He cooed, “I know you'll do better for me and the baby next time, right?" That was a threat and you felt your mood plunge at the mention of the baby parasite resting in you. "Right?"

"Yeah..." You mumbled robotically. You could give less shits about the baby.

Hawks wasn't happy with how you'd responded but shrugged it off with a mumble of 'pregnancy hormones' and started to make dinner.

Ever since he’d found out you were pregnant, he made you take it easy. No unnecessary movement, as he liked to phrase it.

“So…” Keigo started, washing some rice in a bowl, “you’ve got your first appointment coming up next week. How’d’ya feel?”

You touched your growing stomach underneath your loose t-shirt. Was it really time for that?

No, no this couldn’t be.

If Hawks made you wait too long, you won’t be able to get rid of it and then you’ll really be stuck.

Nausea came back full force and you retched aloud, stomach curling. You turned away from the table and threw up the little bit of lunch you’d had earlier.

Keigo was by your side in a flash, rubbing your back when you continued to retch and gag.

“The morning sickness is becoming more frequent now, huh?” He asked, “Here, rinse your mouth with some water.” His feathers brought over a small cup of water and a bowl for you to spit into.

After rinsing your mouth out, you glanced up at Keigo, something you hadn’t done in a long time and saw how he visibly brightened when you did so.

“Please, Kei… I don’t-I don’t want this.” You told him honestly, your voice heavy with misery.

He instantly frowned at that, lips turning downwards and eyes going sharp, “What did I tell you about talking like that, (Y/N)? What the hell is wrong with you?!” He snapped, feathers shaking.

You stared at him as if he weren’t there and shrugged, “I guess you won’t know until the baby’s dead.”

“You don’t mean that.” He seemed to be telling himself that because deep down… deep down he knew that you meant it. “(Y/N), you don’t mean that.”

You felt the corners of your mouth lift again, “I’m not going to my first appointment because there will be no baby. Hell, there weren’t even be a (Y/N) to take to the appointment.” Now you were really smiling, no more tears to give.

Hawks feathers shook more, a hopeless look graced his features as he brought a hand to his mouth, “(Y/N), I-“ He looked away from your wide smile and void eyes, he couldn’t stand to look at you anymore, “What is happening to you? A baby is supposed to make you happy! Why isn’t this working?”

He walked away without another word, leaving you alone in the kitchen.

A burning smell caught your attention and you stepped over your vomit puddle to turn off the chicken he was cooking on the stove.

You took the pan off the still hot burner and placed it on the back one.

If only a burn could kill you.

A glint in your peripheral vision caught your eye and you snapped your head towards the sink. Your eyes widened.

There, like the forbidden fruit, sat a large kitchen knife. You realized Keigo must’ve left it when he was arguing with you.

Now was your chance.

You gripped the knife in both your hands.

You hadn’t seen a knife in so long. Keigo had locked them up when you started ‘acting up’.

You lifted it above your head.

Deep breath in.

Hold it.

You swiftly brought the knife down into your stomach. It slid right in like butter and you surprisingly didn’t feel anything.

With a shaky breath, you looked down and stumbled awkwardly as you struggled to pull the knife back out.

Blood started to soak your t-shirt and stain it dark red. A metallic smell clung to the air and you raised the knife above your head again.

This was easier than you’d thought.

You brought the knife down at an angle and groaned, the pressure of your stab felt like a punch.

One more stab should do the trick.

“(Y/N), I got off the phone with your pediatrician,” Keigo started from the bedroom you both shared, “Turns out, you’re just going through a pregnancy depr- (Y/N)!” He screamed seeing the blood on the ground.

Feathers shot towards you and you smiled wildly as you were pinned to the ground.

Keigo turned you on your side and you let go of the knife, letting it stay in your stomach.

There was no need to do anything else. You’d gotten rid of it for good.

He sobbed loudly in your face, his eyes screaming with despair. He didn’t even recognize you anymore, just like how you hadn’t recognized him for a long time now.

His screams of why were only met with one answer.

“Because, that’s what you get.”

[peppermintpillz]

Glass Jane's design gives me ultimate wine aunt energy :P

With the shit she goes through, I don’t blame her

[akuisinsane]

200+ notes... you all seemed to like The Reverse AU. so i made these HEAPS of drawings! (blood and minor gore on last page)

commissions open

[orange-peony]

Supernova

SnowBaz (+ side DeNiall) I Explicit I 25k I Superheroes AU, secrets, comfort, fluff and smut, domestic feels, very soft d/s dynamics, praise kink, smutty smut.

Summary: What happens when you lose your superpowers (and your job) (and your house!) but are still left with a pair of dragon wings? You move in with your former enemy and secret crush, of course.

I genuinely felt like I won the lottery when I managed to snatch @pato-roldnart's amazing art for the @carryon-reverse-bang! Their Simon and Baz are just soooo perfect and lovely and take my breath away. I mean, just look at Simon's bum in that fantastic art piece! 🍑💙 It's been an absolutely blast working with Pato on this fic. Thank you, Patito!

A heartfelt thank you to @bubble-gumhead for being such an amazing and supportive alpa/beta/human being! I wouldn't have done this without you!

A shiny thank you to the lovely mods of the @carryon-reverse-bang for organising this fest.

Read chapter 1 of Supernova on AO3.

[kk1smet]

Working with danger is one thing, but did you really have to marry one too?

Made this for DCC's May Microcreation with the theme Hidden Identities. Check out the collection to view more fantastic works, and to see the full artwork for this one! ♥︎

[happyfoxx-art]

Aftermath 16- tw/ depiction of a seizure, blood, we seein' dee's messed up shell again. Sorry Donnie, you can't just get your nervous system screwed up by an alien spaceship and not have consequences.

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