Husband

Ch.2: Thundering Fear (part 3)

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[WARNING]: This book will contain mature themes such as: Violence, Disturbing Imagery, Sexual content, extremely unacceptable behavior expressed by the antagonist, kidnapping, Dark, uncomfortable and disgusting topics, etcetera. Not suitable for readers under 18. A 'Yandere' should never be sought out in real life as they are incredibly toxic, dangerous and abusive. I do not condone the actions and/or the ideals of 'yanderes', this is purely fictional and should never be emulated in reality.

[WARNING/TRIGGER WARNING (TW)]: This chapter contains depictions of gore and violence.

The antagonist (the 'yandere') is supposed to be unsettling and immoral (abusive), I do not condone his ways.

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Husband is in the middle of food preparation— for dinner, humming a tune to himself while you're upstairs, fast asleep.

His ears perked up at the low grumbling from outside. He sets his knife down on his chopping board and lets go of the carrot, it's going to rain. Husband turned the tap on and washed his hands, once he's done, he flicked it dry.

The blond then pat it dry on a nearby towel hanging on the rack. As he was about to make his way upstairs, he spotted some flashing through the small gaps made by the wooden boards.

Before he can react, a deafening crash sounded itself. The boom was strong, so strong that the glass panes behind the wooden boards rattled. Husband winced and covered an ear, that was uncomfortably loud.

His blue eyes widened and pupils dilate when he heard a blood chilling scream from upstairs.

"(Y/n)!" He yelled, his feet propelled him to the source. He silently muttered prayers, praying that you won't do anything reckless out of fear.

"I've been shot, I've been shot!" Husband felt a chill run down his spine, what...?

He swung the bedroom door open, only to see you on the ground clutching your abdomen, face contorting in pain, vocal cords stressing itself due to your incessant screaming.

But there's no blood. No guns in sight, no bullets.

Husband's heart wrenched at the sight, if he could control the weather, he would. Maybe it's time to soundproof the walls, that way, you wouldn't need to face this flashback whenever there is severe thunder.

"Shh, shh. It's okay, I'm here." He crouched down next to you and held you tight in his arms.

"Get a medic! I'm dying!" You shouted in his ear, making him flinch.

"No, (y/n). You're not. It's okay, you're safe here—" he was cut off by your screaming and thrashing.

"I need a medic! I'm going to die!" You squeezed that one specific part on your abdomen with such great force, your knuckles turned pale.

"(Y/n), you're not shot. It's just a thunderclap—"

How unlucky it is to have another bolt of lightning crash down on earth in the middle of consoling you.

"MEDIC! PLEASE!" Your voice became hoarse from the excessive screaming.

Husband sighed and frowned. "I'm a medic. I'm here—" you gripped onto his arm.