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btsmosphere · 4 years

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Crossfire | KTH

Moodboard Masterlist

~summary: The night your life blew up sent you on a collision course with the campus bad boy, Kim Taehyung. Though you were well aware of his reputation, it was his doorstep you ran to when you were bleeding with nowhere to go.

~word count: 1.5k

~gang!au, mafia!au, college!au, angst, fluff, action, strangers to lovers, friends to lovers

Warnings: violence, swearing, interrogation, torture (warnings apply to each part individually, please read them)

~a/n: okay, when I was dividing my chapters I didn’t really think about how long each part was, I just split them where it felt right. sooo I’ve ended up with this really short part, but as an apology for that I will be uploading the final part early, on Thursday instead of Sunday!!

Also if anyone is interested in checking out more of my work, I now have a masterlist up and I posted a halloween Jimin fic earlier this week - find it here

Taehyung closed his door behind him and leant against it, shutting his eyes and exhaling.

They had made it out of angel. Just.

Entering in a car, they raised no suspicion. He had been lying on the floor of the back seat with Jimin, three boys crammed in above him while Yoongi crouched in the boot. The base leader had agreed to wait for the car, saying it was expected, though they made sure the handful of guards all saw the driver as he was waved through, known as one of Shinhyuk’s.

Their modern-day trojan horse then opened, and as planned, the head of the base had placed the whole building in lockdown, pretending to be surprised that the bangtan boys were found inside. Thus, Shinhyuk had been locked in his office, and the guards sent to man his door were all defects too, doing nothing while their boss pounded on the door, all in pretence of protecting him.

Of the guards they passed, only about half were still under Shinhyuk’s thumb, and they fought their way through with ease, all six of them come to rescue their brother.

Eventually, they were all positioned as lookouts while Jin and Jimin fetched the younger, but Shinhyuk had overridden the system and let himself out before they had left the final door.

In the end, they were in a standoff as Yoongi frantically hacked through the last code lock to freedom, hopefully flooding their system with enough malware to keep Shinhyuk occupied for some time, even if they hadn’t taken him down.

It had been a close one, but they made it. They always did.

Opening his eyes again, he let himself dwell on what was ahead instead. The only light in the house filtered underneath the bedroom door, so he climbed the stairs to greet you with a smile on his face.

But the room was empty.

“Y/N?” he yelled, spinning around.

Next he ran to the bathroom, pounding on the door, but it fell open straight away. It was unlocked, empty and dark.

Stumbling back out onto the landing, he tugged a hand through his hair. Already, his breathing was accelerating and he spun around again, eyes looking left and right as though you might suddenly jump out at him.

“Y/N?” he cried, feet pounding down the stairs.

He tore through the downstairs space, finding it equally abandoned.

His thoughts were tripping over each other as he stood in the centre of the living room, cold terror pulsing through his veins. Fumbling hands reached for his phone and shakily he pulled up Namjoon’s contact.

“She’s gone.”

You flinched as soon as your eyes cracked open. Only a flickering yellow light lit the room, but you had just surfaced from complete darkness. Swallowing, you found your throat dry, your head throbbing.

Trying to stretch your aching shoulders, nothing budged. Your hands were fastened behind you with rough and unyielding rope, pulling your shoulders painfully against the back of a chair. Warm liquid had soaked the top of your sleeve.

“Oh good.”

A rough voice broke through your haze of pain and you opened your eyes again.

In the middle of the room stood a stocky, balding man, dressed in a smart black shirt though it was rumpled. But it wasn’t the sight of him that made you gasp. You were tied up in the middle of your old living room.

The space was the same, except guns lay on the coffee table and duffel bags were piled up in one corner. Not to mention the two burly guards standing at either corner.

“So you’re the girl that’s been causing such a fuss,” the man who must be Shinhyuk rose from your dad’s tatty sofa and strode towards you, “I must say I’m impressed. Jintao, or should I say, Jake, assured me he knew you from college, and knew where you might run.

“We never expected this. Running off to join bangtan? But I suppose you had fun while your father worried sick about you, didn’t you, little slut.”

You could do nothing but stare down at Shinhyuk’s smart shoes. Dread had joined the pain filling your body.

“I was impressed that your little friends were able to escape me earlier,” he told you. Your head rose a little, sighing in relief as you heard they had made it out, “but I wasn’t worried. Now I have you to bring them back in.”

Chewing your lip, you prayed they wouldn’t come.

“Now,” Shinhyuk suddenly bent down, his hand gripping your cheeks harshly while you threw your head about, trying to throw him off. He just laughed, showing his teeth, “your lovely dad’s on the way to see you right now. And it’ll be a much sweeter reunion if I can show him to you unharmed.”

Your blood ran cold, still jerking away from his touch.

“And once your boyfriends get here, I won’t sentence you as badly if you just answer some questions I have.”

Wolfishly, he grinned, finally releasing you from his grimy fingers. In your chest, your heart thudded against your ribcage as you wondered what you could do.

“I want you to tell me where their properties are.”

Not meeting his eyes, you stayed silent.

Tutting, he crossed the room back to you, hand meeting your cheek with a loud slap.

Simply staring at you, he waited as you breathed in and out, reeling from the hit.

“Fine, let’s say you don’t know,” he started up again, “let’s try something else. Are any other members of my army spies for you?”

You held your tongue, and once again were met with the palm of his hand.

“How brave you are, protecting them,” he snarled, voice deadlier by the second, “if I don’t have some answers by the time your father arrives, he’s going to feel what you are, and more. Try again.”

Helplessly, you shook your head. This time, he punched you and you felt the harsh cut of his ring into your temple, tears springing to your eyes and you let your head fall to the side, breathing heavily.

Just then, another sound met your ears.

Shinhyuk spun towards the noise whereas you didn’t move. Outside, on the side where you knew the front of the apartment to be, came a grunt and a thud. Then another, followed by silence.

Striding over to the corner where a guard stood, Shinhyuk held his hand out and gestured for something. The guard handed over a black receiver, which Shinhyuk spoke into.

“What’s going on out there? Lee? Park?”

“Two of the bangtan boys, boss, they came like you said. We’ve got ‘em on the floor.”

A sadistic smile crossed Shinhyuk’s face.

“Put them in the kitchen. I’ll deal with them in a bit.”

“Copy that,” the voice came from the other end, and crackled off.

Heart sinking to your stomach, you watched Shinhyuk approach you again with a proud smirk. Outside, you heard the front door creak open in the way it always did, before slamming shut.

“You don’t have long, sweetie,” Shinhyuk’s words made your stomach churn, “who are the spies?”

“You really don’t trust your men, do you?” you finally spoke up, already knowing it unwise. But what did you have to lose? Either your father or your friends were going to get hurt and you were panicking.

“Little bitch-“

A sharp kick landed on your shin, which was tied flush against the chair leg and took the full force. You had to bite your lip to contain your cry.

“That’s it,” he grinned, “let your friends hear you.”

Another slap.

By now your eyes were watering, face cut and smarting, but you pressed your lips together.

Your eyes had been closed, anticipating the next strike, but nothing came. Lifting your head again, you found Shinhyuk with his back to you. When he turned around, you saw he held a knife, lifting a lighter up to its edge and flicking it open, flame leaping up and dancing along the blade.

Terrified, you watched the orange glimmer reflecting in his eye as he walked towards you.

“One more chance,” he gave you the ultimatum, but you already knew your answer.

Gulping, you looked him straight in the eye, desperate not to crack. But his mouth turned to a snarl when he was faced with silence, and he jammed the lighter into your arm.

You choked on your cry, determined not to make a sound, but Shinhyuk wasn’t playing around. The hot blade pierced your arm, and you couldn’t stop it as a scream ripped from your throat, drawn out as he dragged it down, leaving you gasping.

And then several things happened at once.

“Boss!” you heard Jake – Jintao – shout from the back of the apartment.

Shinhyuk turned to the sound.

Both doors into the room burst open.

The guards raised their guns.

And there, weapons cocked and ready to face them, stood five bangtan boys.

And they were pissed as hell.

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saxxxology · 4 years

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What Goes Bump in the Night - 12

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics, Victorian social dynamics, allusions to non-consent and dubious consent, dominance/submission, slow burn with eventual smut, suspense/horror/gore themes.

THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY OTHER SITES.

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TWO YEARS LATER...

Yours and Sam’s relationship continues. The brothers work hard, sometimes leaving for weeks at a time as they go on hunting trips with their colleagues. Per Sam’s preferences, you spend your time reading and researching for them, which gives them considerably more time to focus on whatever case is at hand.

On your second summer at the Winchester house, Sam takes you overseas to England for a much-deserved holiday. You spend the first day of the trip being sick in your private room onboard and finally venture out on the second to gaze out at the open sea. When you return, Sam promptly jumps back into the life, only giving you a couple of days to readjust to living at home before requesting your aid.

One cold night in August, you’re woken by the sounds of an infant crying in the distance. Maternal instincts quickly take over, and you slip from the bed, runing from the room even as Sam warns you to stay back.

You follow the cries to the front door and let Sam work the heavy bolts back. It’s cold outside, and you shudder when a gust of cold wind washes over you. The cries are much louder now, and you peer through the darkness to see a basket on the stoop, piled high with blankets.

“What the hell?” Sam steps out and carefully picks the basket up, cradling it in his arms as he walks back inside and lets you close the door. Once you’ve thrown the bolts home, you’re at Sam’s side, eager to peer into its depths.

There’s a pup nestled inside the blankets, wrapped snugly in a few thin layers that have done little to keep the chill out. The wailing hasn’t ceased, and Sam hears the sound of his brother’s bedroom door slamming shut.

“What is that?” Dean asks loudly as he takes the steps two at a time. He’s upset at having been woken so late, and Sam places a hand on his chest, stopping him from coming closer.

“It’s a baby,” you murmur, quickly unwrapping the blankets and checking the infant for injuries. He’s unharmed, if a little bit thin, and you swaddle him in one blanket and gently cradle him against your chest. He’s cold, his ears, nose, and fingers especially.

“There’s a note,” Sam says, pulling a thin piece of paper from the unraveled blankets. He skims over it, eyes narrowing before he starts to read aloud.

“Dear sirs, this is my son, Jack. He was born on May eighteenth, in the year of our Lord 1890. I am very sick and I am not strong enough to care for him. Your home is the only place I could think of where he would be truly safe for the time being. Sincerely yours, K. Kline.”

Sam sets the paper back inside the basket and peers down at the baby. His cries have petered out into soft, whimpering coos, and you’re carefully wiping the tears off his reddened cheeks.

“He’s still cold,” you murmur, “we need to feed him.”

“With what?” Dean asks gruffly.

“We have milk in the pantry, correct?” You watch his nostrils flare and turn instead towards your Alpha. “Sam…”

With a grumble, Dean stalks away, heading back to his room. The sound of the door slamming again echoes all the way to the living room, and Sam lets out a deep sigh.

“Sam,” you try again, “please?”

He swallows thickly and watches the baby root against your chest, searching for a nipple to latch onto. “Take him upstairs,” he says softly, “I’ll get the milk.”

You take the stairs carefully one at a time, trying not to jostle the baby too much. When you’re safely back in your bedroom, you slide back underneath the covers, slowly maneuvering Jack so that he’s cradled in one arm. You grip both of his hands in one of yours, trying to warm his chubby fingers. He’s barely three months old, and you have no idea how long he’d been out in the cold before his cries had finally woken you.

Sam comes back several minutes later, an old bottle half filled with warm milk in one hand. Jack’s begun to whimper again, his frustration evident as he tries in vain to search for food on a foreign body.

“It’s from when Dean and I were little,” he murmurs when you give him an inquisitive look. “I sterilized it and the nipple’s a little stiff, but it should be okay for tonight.” He slips into bed beside you and watches you offer the bottle. Jack greedily accepts it, cooing lowly as the warm milk fills his belly. “I don’t understand why anyone would consider leaving their child with us,” he says. “We’re known through the city for being scientists who study inhuman things, not caregivers.”

“Maybe she knew I’d take it?” you supply. “At least he’s out of the cold. Any longer out there…” shaking your head, you lean down to nuzzle his soft blonde hair.

“Where’s he going to sleep?” Sam asks.

“Right here.” You pat the mattress next to you. “He can sleep between us, we’ll keep him nice and warm.”

Sam’s jaw tenses, but he gives in. He’s suppressed his Alpha instincts for a long time, especially with his denial of wanting children. Now, seeing you holding and nursing a baby sparks a warmth in his chest that he can’t stop from spreading. For a brief second, he wonders if this is how his father had felt when he’d seen Mary holding each of their newborn sons for the first time.

“Just for tonight,” he says, trying to remain firm. The last thing either of you need is to bond with the infant, and as an Omega you’re already on your way there. “Tomorrow, we’ll have to let him sleep elsewhere.”

Satisfied, you allow Jack to finish the rest of his bottle and pat his back until he burps. You smile and nuzzle his cheek as you wipe the milky spittle from his chin, and Sam lets you tuck him in beside you before he turns out the light and lies down as well. One of Jack’s pudgy fists nudges his chest, and the baby gives a nervous whimper as he’s shrouded in darkness.

“There, now,” you coo before Sam can do anything. “It’s okay, Jack, you’re safe.”

It takes Sam a long time to fall asleep. When he does finally drift off, he’s torn between two final options. Convincing you to take Jack to an orphanage is going to be a long shot, and keeping him isn’t preferable either. Having a child in the house has never been a good idea, at least in his mind.

We’ll see what happens in the morning, he thinks to himself.

***

You wake up to the sound of Jack’s mewling cries. Sam’s already out of bed and getting dressed, and he barely casts you an eye as you sit up, gathering the squirming baby to your chest to calm him.

“Good morning,” you offer him a small smile. “Did you sleep well?”

He grunts a reply and tucks his shirt into the waistband of his pants. “I’m going to make a run into town,” he says shortly. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“What for?” You ask, sliding out of bed with Jack still cradled in your arms.

“We have nothing to care for a baby,” he says, “even if it’s temporary.”

He grabs his coat and gives you a short kiss before turning and leaving the room. He’s upset, and you can practically feel the tension mount when he leaves the room without fully closing the door. You wait for the creak and slam of the front door before looking down at the baby.

“You need a bath and a change, don’t you?” you coo, immediately overtaken by maternal instinct. “Come on, then, let’s give you a nice bath and then we’ll get you some breakfast.”

You’ve never bathed an infant before, but you slowly get the hang of it. It’s easier to simply draw a bath for yourself and bring Jack in, holding him firmly as you pour warm water over his body. He protests loudly when you wash his hair, and immediately calms when you allow him to float his body in the water, held up in your arms. His little arms and legs pump reflexively in the water, and you watch him play for a few minutes before getting out and carrying him into the bedroom. There aren’t any clothes for you to change him into, so you settle for swaddling him in one of the softer blankets he’d been delivered in and make a nest of four pillows to lay him in while he sleeps.

Dean’s in the kitchen making breakfast. He eyes you suspiciously as you walk in, but you pay him no mind. You learned to ignore Dean’s attitude a long time ago.

“Sam was upset,” he says gruffly. “Bringing that baby here was a bad idea.”

“Desperate mothers do desperate things,” you reply simply, gingerly dismantling the bottle and setting it in the sink. “She probably didn’t want her baby to get sick.”

“Could’ve just taken it to an orphanage, that’s what they’re there for.”

“And what would they do with him?” You rinse the inside and refuse to look at him as he butters a slice of toast. “They give children away to abusive parents or send them straight into the workforce.”

Dean grumbles around a mouthful of bread. “Just don’t keep it.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you snap back. “I understand that Sam is less than happy about having a child around, but he is my Alpha and I will discuss this with him as I see fit.”

Dean relents with a quiet growl. “Where is it, anyway?”

“Asleep in our bed upstairs,” you answer simply as you pour boiling water over the glass and set it on the rack to dry. “I bathed him and let him rest. I was just going to make him a little bit of milk for breakfast.”

You finish sterilizing the bottle and prepare another small serving of warm milk before heading upstairs. Jack’s awake and wiggling around in his blanket, and he immediately takes the rubber nipple in his gums. He finishes the bottle in only a few minutes, after which you burp him again and snuggle back underneath the covers.

Sam returns after another hour. He’s carrying a burlap bag in one hand, and you cast him an anxious glance as he sets it on the foot of the bed.

“Please don't be upset,” you beg quietly, “I know you don’t want children, but I want to have him a little while longer—”

“I’m not upset.” Sam heaves a sigh and glances at the tuft of blonde hair visible between your breasts. “I just… you know how I feel about wanting children.”

You watch him start to unpack his purchases and hesitate briefly before speaking. “You’ve never explained why.”

Sam freezes for a beat. His eyes close, and he turns slowly to sit on the edge of the bed. “You know that I wasn’t born out of my mother’s will,” he says, “I’ve always been afraid that if I create a child, I’ll become my father, or pass his… his afflictions onto them. I don’t have the time for them, anyway, or the patience.”

“Jack isn’t yours,” you try to reason.

“He’s barely been here twelve hours,” Sam says sharply. “I understand that children have been on your mind lately, but… Y/N, we can’t keep him.”

You clutch Jack tighter. “Just a little longer,” you whisper, “please, let me just… what if he goes to someone else and he gets hurt or grows up abused?”

“We’ll find him a place where that won’t happen.”

You try to hide the tears in your eyes as you cast your gaze down at the sleeping baby. “I don’t want to let him go.”

Sam’s chest aches when he sees an errant tear stream down your cheek, and he reaches over to wipe it away. “Don’t cry,” he murmurs, “I know you want him, I really do, but we can’t.”

You pull your face away from his touch and turn away, slowly lying down on your side and tucking Jack in against you. Sam bites the inside of his cheek and stands up, slowly unpacking the rest of the supplies before muttering something about making something to eat, heading downstairs and leaving you alone.

#alpha!sam winchester #alpha!sam x omega!reader #sam winchester x reader

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kazjaurelia · 5 years

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PROMPT TIME! So if you wanna do Marvel I'm weak for anything where Tony gets a chest infection because of the arc reactor. If you wanna do DBH, maybe something where Connor is so busy on a case that he forgets to do rest mode and ends up experiencing random powerdowns and overheating issues from a battery working too hard?? :O

Okay, so I’m pretty sure this ask took like two years to actually fill, because my goldfish brain yeeted it into the abyss, but alas, it is done. @taylortut If anyone asked Tony, it wasn’t his fault. It really wasn’t. No, you could blame it on the newest menace that S.H.I.E.L.D. had tasked the team to. They called themselves Gadianton, and they targeted charities mostly. Either quaint or worldwide, it didn’t matter to them. Everyone was a target, as long as they had money. They’d been attempting to track the group down for a month straight by now and had made very little process. It seemed like every possible lead turned to dust almost as soon as it was discovered. Ultimately, time led to an escalation in the group as they became more confident. The first time a life was taken by a Gadianton operation, it struck a giant blow. It stung worse that Peter had been patrolling in the area, gotten involved(of course), and subsequently injured.

Tony was determined not to let it happen again. He did what Stark men do best. Focus on their work and neglect their personal care. He wouldn’t stop until he had caught Gadianton.

Tony took a sip of his fifth coffee of the morning and returned to typing away at his keyboard. He knew he was making headway, and that, if he dug just a little deeper, he would find something. He was hoping to be able to put an end to it all before the dinner for his mother’s charity, but things weren’t looking the brightest.

He scrubs a hand over his face as he pours more closely over the text, the words beginning to slightly blur together. His whole body was beginning to ache and shiver with how cold it felt down in the lab. Tony wondered for a moment if he was coming down with a cold, or worse, another chest infection, but quickly dismissed the idea and wrote it down to how much coffee he had ingested in such a short amount of time. He turned back to the screen while taking another draft of his coffee and settling in for a while.

Peter was practically jumping out of his suit. The suit which Mr. Stark had so nicely bought for him so he could attend the Maria Stark Charity Dinner. The ballroom that had been rented was enormous, and it appeared to be completely filled with people. This made it increasingly difficult to figure out where Mr. Stark was. Peter knew he should have continued to follow Happy once they were through the entrance, but he had quickly gotten distracted by some of the scientific displays of student projects that had been put up for the crowds to see what they were supporting.

“Maybe if I can get higher I can find Mr. Stark,” Peter mumbled to himself as he made his way towards the stairs, weaving his way in between the pulsing crowd. Up in the balcony, the crowd didn’t thin at all. In fact, it seemed like there were more guests packed up onto the ledge. Peter picked his way through the crowd as fast and as politely as possible, but, of course, someone else wasn’t watching where they were going and happened to trip into the young hero. The pink champagne in her hand exploded out of the flute and cascaded down the front of her alabaster gown.

“What are you doing!?” she shrieked as she desperately tried to brush off the champagne, only spreading it more. “Do you know how much this dress cost? You’re going to pay to have this fixed!”

She had been inching closer as she screeched, looking angrier and angrier as Peter stuttered an apology.

“That won’t be a problem. I’ll cover the bill, just send it to Pepper,” rasps a voice behind Peter. The lady immediately simmers down and merely grumbles about her ruined dress but meanders away from the party’s host with an agreement.

“Mr. Stark, I’m so sorry she just bumped into me and I didn’t mean for her dress to get spilled on and then she just started yelling-”

“Kid relax. It’s okay,” Tony rasps out as he pulls Peter with him towards the stairs. “She’s usually high strung about everything anyways.” Tony walks over to a chair on the side of the ballroom and plops himself into it. His body has steadily become more and more achy over the course of the event, and it was yet to be half way over. Every so often, a rough, chesty cough makes itself known, further adding to the aches in his body. He wants more than anything just to retreat back to his lab, but knows that isn’t an option right now. Tony is dragged from his thoughts by Peter’s babbling.

“Are you okay, Mr. Stark?” Peter can see how pale Mr. Stark looks. “You look like you don’t feel so good. Do I need to call Dr. Banner?”

A sigh escapes from Tony’s mouth as he tiredly runs his hand over his face, again. Another spike of pain drives its way through his skull, running from his eyes to the base of his skull. He knows he most likely has another chest infection due to the combination of the arc reactor and self neglect, but there are more important things to be worried about. Like making it through the rest of the charity dinner. Besides, it’s not like he hasn’t worked through worse.

“Look, kid I-”

His retort is cut short by the sudden sound of shattering glass and screams as the glass dome above them shatters under the weight of sixteen armed men. They position themselves around the ballroom and being herding the guests into the middle of the room. The guests trip over each other in their hurry to obey their captors’ demands.

“Come on, ladies and gents, we don’t have all night!” one of the men shouts as he shoves a couple harshly onto the ground in the center of the chaos.

Tony really isn’t in the mood for this to happen tonight. It’s bad enough that they’ve been on a wild goose chase to find the group of armed robbers, but for them to so blatantly attack his own charity event? He should have seen it coming, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less annoying.

One of the men comes up behind Tony and Peter, aiming his gun directly at the small of Peter’s back. “Ah, Mr. Stark, what a nice event you have put together for us. Now, if you’ll follow me please.”

As the duo is guided to the center of the hostages, F.R.I.D.A.Y. reports that the rest of the team is on the way, only about three minutes away. He just has to keep the bullets from flying until then, and most importantly keep Peter safe.

His attention is pulled back to the present and the leader moves the gun to aim at Tony. “Now Stark, where do you keep the donations, hmm? Hopefully not too far, if you wish to remain unharmed.”

Tony lets out a short peel of laughter, sending another spike of pain through his head. “Yeah, you do know me tho-” He’s cut off by a sharp blow to the left side of his face, sending him to the ground. The world seems to be rocking around him, unable to remain still as pain ripples through his body. Air seems to be coming through a straw, and Tony can faintly hear sound returning through the ringing in his ears. All he can hear is his raspy wheezing and the sound of Peter shouting.

“Stop! Don’t hurt him!”

The world manages to right itself long enough for Tony to see Peter being held back by another one of the intruders. That’s all he sees before a foot is being driven into his abdomen, knocking what little breath he had out of his lungs. Black spots border the edges of his vision and he desperately tries to draw in at least one breath of air. His lungs seem to have given up. The black creeps closer, taking up his whole view. As he falls into the darkness, he swears he can almost hear the sound of Peter pleading before it’s over taken by the sound of breaking glass.

Consciousness comes back to Tony slowly. Cool air on his face, a weight against his thigh, a steady beeping, and the smell of disinfectant. It takes him a few moments, but eventually he gathers enough energy to open his eyes. A mistake, he notes, as the blinding light sends pain shooting through his head, though thankfully not as painful as before. He must have made some noise, because the weight on his thigh eases and he can hear someone talking to him, although still struggling to piece together the words.

“-ark? Mr. Stark? Do you want me to get Dr. Banner?”

“Underoos?” The light has finally dimmed to a tolerable level, allowing him to see a sleepy and concerned Peter Parker.

“I’m gonna go get Dr. Banner,” Peter announces as he starts to get up, but is stopped by Tony softly grabbing his arm. “Mr. Stark?”

“Not yet, kid. Let me have a little peace before Bruce and Pep start worrying at me.”

#marvel #peter parker #iron dad #tony!whump #tony whump #iron man #spiderman #spider man #chest infection #kazjawrites #taylortut #prompt fill #ask

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imagine-darksiders · 7 years

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So, I tend to wander off without telling anyone a lot if I get overwhelmed. So, how would the horsemen, azreal, samael, and draven react to their s/o wandering off without them knowing?

Azrael: You quite literally disappeared. He’d only been trying to deal with an angry scribe for a second, but when Azrael turned around, you were gone. He calls out for you, thinking that maybe you hadn’t gone that far, but gets no response. It’s this that concerns him. He’s gotten used to your constant presence, to having you around the Ardent Spire where he spent most of his time. So to suddenly feel the very distinct lack of you, made the angel very discontent. Especially with how easy it is to get lost in the shelves upon shelves of books. He flits around the library, stopping to talk to angels along the way and ask if any of them had seen you. Almost all of them shake their heads and carried on their way. Azrael’s heart flutters unhappily in his chest until at last, a much younger angel hovers over to him and asks if he’d been looking for his ‘lost human’.

The old angel sighs, his whole posture relaxing as he makes his way onto one of the upper balconies. He passes through the white archway and glances to his right, spotting you leant up against the golden wall separating you from a nasty fall. You jump about a foot in the air when a gentle hand rests on your shoulder. He apologises profusely, joining you in your quiet vigil at the top of the spire, glad that the unsettled feeling in his gut disappeared the moment he saw you.

Samael: In a place like the Black Throne, Samael is not keen on you being on your own. The threat of inciting his wrath only dissuades demons from devouring human flesh for a short while. With a low growl of frustration, he hauls himself up from the throne he’s been reclining in and heads for the door. He stomps around for a while, willing you to appear around the next corner, but you never are. He does eventually find you not far from Lilith’s chamber. You’re studying the remains of some long-dead creature, running your hand over the bleach white bones almost unconsciously. Samael will deny until his dying day that he felt relief wash over him when he spotted you there, unharmed. He stops the sigh from escaping his lips and instead, clears his throat, making you jump and whirl about. You meet his eyes and give a shy smile as he stalks up to you, looming overhead with his arms crossed. “You’re lucky I found you before something else did.” He grumbles, quirking an eyebrow at your abashed expression that followed his words.

“Sorry..” you whisper. But the giant demon just huffs a hot breath into the air. He steps over you and turns, giving you a prod in the back, ushering you towards the throne room. You take the hint, it’s obvious he’s intent on seeing you all the way back.

Draven: “Y/n?” He swivels around, scouring the training area for you. He’d been sure you were sat right there watching him. His hood nearly falls from his head as he whips around, all the while trying to stop himself from freaking out. He knows there’s no real danger in the Eternal throne, none of the other ghosts would be a threat to you, not even the Chancellor. Even the Lord of Bones had expressed something akin to tolerance of you. Yet the undead warrior feels sick with worry, an incredible feat, given his lack of organs. Suppose you’d fallen and hurt yourself, or maybe you’d even fallen off the side. With that thought, Draven starts jogging towards the entrance, only to be stopped by the sound of someone clearing their throat. He turns to see Ostegoth, the old one nods at him before gesturing to the stairs that lead down into the undercroft. Draven nearly slaps his forehead. Of course. Still, he takes the stairs two at a time, flying down into the darkness. There, sat beside an old crate, he sees you. You’re staring into the flickering flame of one of the wall sconces, seeming not to notice your surroundings. Normally, he’d scold you for such an amateur move. But honestly, he’s just happy to find you okay. Briefly, Draven wonders when you’d become so critical to his state of mind, when had he started to get so clingy? The blade-master leans up against the adjacent wall, content to watch over you until you notice him.

Death: Nothing escapes his notice, he realises you’ve wandered off. But he never dreamed you’d go so far as to be out of earshot. There are so many places you could have gone. “Dust,” he calls to the crow, “Go. Find Y/n, you’ll spot our little wanderer before I do.” With a squawk, the crow takes off into the air, circling high above the tree line and giving the area a wide sweep. Death looks in the other direction, his vigilance granting him no favours in finding you. Curse the Makers and their realm. So many places for a curious human to get themselves lost in. Death’s head shoots up as he hears a distant commotion, doubtless Dust has found you. Summoning Despair, the horse and rider gallop towards the Tree of Life, where they can see Dust circling briefly before diving down into the thick branches. Death dismounts and follows his bird into the thick, twisting roots. There he spots you, reclining against a large knot in one of the tree’s lower branches, eyes closed and looking generally lackadaisical. With a scowl, Death leaps up onto the wood and stomps over to you. He tells himself that he’s angry because he had to drag himself out to save you again, not because you worried him half to….well..death.

You notice a shadow fall over you, so you jerk your head up to see Death looking justifiably cross standing above you, haloed by the light shining through the tree leaves.

War: Too caught up in the heat of a fight with a particularly nasty demon, War didn’t notice you weren’t with him until he pulled his sword from its chest and was about to ask you if you were hurt. A moment passes where a surge of rage fills his body when his eyes dart about the area. So help him if some other demon had gotten the jump on him and-

Ah, no there are your footprints, sunk into the soft soil and leading off into an old crumbling building. Still, War grips Chaoseater ever tighter. You might still be in danger. He thuds his way into it at a brisk pace, looking around to try and spot any sign of you having been there. The longer you’re out of sight, the more alarmed he becomes. Until at last he finds a staircase, the top of which he catches sight of you laying down on a dusty old bed. War growls, not in anger. It’s softer than anger. Yes, he’s not happy that you left on your own without protection, but he’s not angry either. He’s more…..frustrated at having felt so vulnerable. He’s long since realised you’re his weak spot. He didn’t have one before you. War strides into the room and looks down at you, noticing that you’re just staring out the window. “You shouldn’t leave me.” He states, simply. Only later realising the deeper meaning hidden behind his words.

Fury: You were right here. She left you right here! So where are you now? “Y/N!?” She shouts, “Y/N!?” Nothing. Fury sighs anxiously as she scours the area, trying to find you again. How could you be so irresponsible? She can’t help but scold you internally for doing this to her, she’s far too old to be worrying like this.

The horseman frantically keeps calling out to you, listening for a response, then trying another direction. She finds you after about 20 minutes of desperate searching. You’re in the burnt out husk of a school bus, staring around in deep thought, hardly noticing when Fury cries out your name in relief and pulls the door off it’s supports, leaping into the bus with you.

She bends down in front of you and takes your hand, looking for any signs of injury. “What on Earth possessed you to run off like that Y/n?” She sighs exasperatedly. You don’t meet her eyes and she fears she’s upset you. “Oh, Y/n.” Fury pulls you into a tight squeeze, telling you not to do that to her poor heart again.

Strife: He shrugs it off, figuring you’re doing some weird human ritual and you’ll catch up. He makes it about 3 steps before the overwhelming desire to know you’re safe slams into him. “Ohshitohshitohshit.” Strife leaps up onto a tall rock, scanning the area with sharp eyes and chews on the inside of lip to distract himself from the disturbing thoughts he’s having. Thought of you, lying dead or dying. Injured in a ditch maybe? He shakes his head, “Nah,” he says aloud. “That ain’t gonna happen, you worry too much.” Well aware that you’d have something to say about him talking to himself, Strife moves on, scouting out the area until finally, finally he sees a small, human shaped figure in the distance. They seem to just be wandering aimlessly around, not doing much else other than walking. He catches up to you quickly and grabs your arm, eliciting a cry of surprise from you. Strife grips it almost painfully as he growls in your face, “God dammit! Why’d you go off on your own like that? What are you stupid or something? You know how many things out here wanna kill you?” His rant fades when he sees the grimace on your face at the pain of his fingers digging into your bicep. He release you, then a breath and finally he crouches down and rubs his hands over his face. “S’not safe out here, okay? I can’t rescue you if you’re not around to be rescued, y’know?” He rubs at the spot he grabbed as you nod, albeit shakily in response.

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #imagine darksiders #reader

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