#and then a thunderstorm rolls in overhead | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cumironi · 1 month ago

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BLACK AND BRUISE : RYOMEN SUKUNA

“feels like we had matching wounds, but mine’s still black and bruised and yours is perfectly fine.” you broke up with your boyfriend for four years and the day after you broke up you saw him already with another girl. you can’t stand the heartbreak so you choose to erase yourself from his life like you were never there, like you don’t exist, until a few years later.

warning. non-sorcerer au, angst no comfort, pregnant reader, yuuji is in his late 20

p.s i may or may not make this another part but from sumuna’s pov. ( previous part )

the gentle warmth of the sun poured into the room, its golden beams slipping past the half-drawn curtains and casting delicate patterns across the walls. the light crept over your face, its persistent glow teasing your lashes until they fluttered open. you groaned softly, shifting under the weight of sleep, when a firm nudge at your shoulder startled you awake. it wasn’t gentle, not in the least—it was rough, urgent, almost impatient.

“wake up.”

the words sliced through the haze of your slumber, low and commanding, like a distant thunderstorm rolling in. your eyes fluttered again, squinting against the blinding glow of the morning. a tall, shadowy figure loomed above you, its broad frame blotting out the sunlight. it was as if the room suddenly darkened, save for the faint illumination outlining his figure.

blinking rapidly, you tried to focus, your vision sharpening just enough to catch a glimpse of him. there he stood, Sukuna—towering, imposing, his body a canvas of intricate tattoos that seemed alive under the morning light. his crimson eyes bore into yours, their depths cold, unrelenting. the sharp lines of his face were cut from stone, handsome yet devoid of warmth, his expression as still as death itself.

a small smile tugged at your lips despite the unease blooming in your chest. your voice, rough and raspy from sleep, managed a soft, “good morning, baby.” your hand stretched toward him instinctively, seeking comfort in his familiar presence. but before your fingertips could graze his skin, he stepped back.

your smile faltered, replaced by a frown that deepened as the distance between you grew. the sheets crumpled around you as you sat up, your chest tightening at his rejection. the way his cold, crimson gaze lingered on you sent a chill down your spine, a feeling of vulnerability washing over you like ice water.

“baby?” you whispered, your voice laced with confusion, almost pleading. the light that once felt warm and comforting now seemed harsh and unforgiving, illuminating every crack in the fragile peace you thought you shared. your heart thudded heavily, the silence between you stretching unbearably.

what was wrong? why was he like this? the questions tumbled through your mind like an avalanche, threatening to suffocate you, but his expression revealed nothing. he remained stoic, a living fortress, impenetrable and unyielding. the golden morning light framed him like a phantom—beautiful, distant, and untouchable.

but he didn’t respond. his silence felt heavy, like a storm cloud looming overhead, ready to break at any moment. your chest tightened with unease, the warmth of the morning light now doing little to combat the cold sinking into your bones.

you sat up straighter, clutching the blanket to your chest with trembling hands. the soft fabric felt like a fragile shield, barely enough to protect you from the weight of his gaze. it wasn’t like this with him—never like this. the sukuna you knew could be sharp-tongued and cruel to others, but with you, there had always been something softer beneath the layers of his rough exterior. but now, as he stood there, unmoving and silent, it felt as if that part of him had vanished.

“baby…” your voice broke the stillness, trembling yet desperate. “what’s wrong?”

your eyes searched his face, hoping to find a trace of the man you loved, the one who held you close during your darkest nights and kissed your forehead like it was sacred ground. but his expression remained unreadable, carved from stone.

the light coming through the curtains illuminated the details of his tattoos, the dark, intricate patterns that wrapped around his arms and climbed his neck, a stark contrast to the vulnerability you felt in that moment. the tension in the air was suffocating, your pulse quickening as you awaited a response—any response.

his silence was deafening, and the distance between you felt more vast than the few steps he had taken away from the bed. your fingers gripped the blanket tighter, the soft material wrinkling under your grasp as you tried to steady yourself.

“please,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, breaking under the weight of your emotions. “baby, talk to me.” still, he said nothing, his crimson eyes watching you with an intensity that made your stomach churn. the morning light, once gentle and golden, now felt harsh and accusing, casting stark shadows across the room and magnifying the growing chasm between you.

his silence was an abyss, a vortex that threatened to pull you in and devour you whole. fear prickled at the edge of your consciousness, making your heart race. the man who used to hold you close, who used to whisper reassurances into your ear, now stood there like a stranger, his gaze as cold and distant as the frozen tundra.

you took a deep breath, desperately trying to steady your voice. “d-did i do something?” you cursed the quiver in your voice, loathing the weakness it betrayed.

sukuna stayed silent, his gaze unwavering as he studied you. for a brief moment, you thought he might finally answer, but instead, he scoffed—a low, derisive sound that cut through the stillness like a blade. he rolled his eyes, the sharp motion as dismissive as the scoff had been, before turning his back on you. the weight of his retreat felt like a physical blow as he strode to the wardrobe across the room, his movements deliberate, almost cold.

“why are you asking?” he said, his voice carrying that familiar edge of irritation. “i thought you already knew what was going on.” his words hung in the air, dripping with accusation, and your heart sank further. his tone was indifferent, like he couldn’t believe you’d dare to ask. he flung the wardrobe doors open with a sharp pull, the sound of the hinges echoing in the quiet room.

you swallowed hard, clutching the blanket tighter around you as if it could shield you from the storm brewing within him. his broad back was turned to you now, the muscles in his shoulders shifting under the patterns of his tattoos as he rummaged through the clothes, seemingly more interested in the contents of the wardrobe than in giving you a real answer.

your mind raced, trying to piece together what he meant, what you could’ve done—or not done—to warrant this reaction. the way he spoke, like you should already know, only deepened the ache in your chest. “i… i don’t understand,” you murmured, your voice trembling as you tried to make sense of his words. “what are you talking about, ryo?”

your words were like a whisper in the face of his silent storm. sukuna continued to rummage through the wardrobe, unbothered by your plea. each movement was harsh, filled with a restrained anger that sent a shudder down your spine.

his silence spoke volumes. as he sifted through the hangers, each rustle of fabric seemed to punctuate his irritation. sukuna’s shoulders tensed at the sound of his name. the familiarity of it, the way it rolled off your tongue like it belonged there, grated on his nerves. he clenched his jaw, the muscles flexing as he continued to rummage through the wardrobe, his fingers yanking clothes off hangers with a bit more force than necessary.

“you don’t understand?” he echoed, his tone biting, “or you’re pretending not to understand?” he didn’t look back, his gaze fixed on the row of shirts in front of him, like they were the most fascinating thing in the room.

then, without warning, he stopped. his fingers stilled, gripping the edge of the wardrobe door. for a moment, you thought he might say nothing more. but then he turned, slow and deliberate, the weight of his gaze crashing into you like a tidal wave.

his crimson eyes burned with an intensity that made it hard to breathe, and yet his expression remained unsettlingly calm. “you asked for a breakup yesterday,” he said, his voice low but firm, steady as a heartbeat. the words hung between you, heavy and unrelenting, as his eyebrows arched slightly, as if daring you to deny it. “remember?”

your mind reeled, his words slamming into you like a punch to the gut. the memories of the previous night stirred, rushing in like a flood you weren’t ready to face. you had called him, your voice trembling with emotion as you told him you couldn’t do this anymore. you’d said it so clearly, so desperately—“i think we should break up.”

you could still hear his response, as clear as the ache in your chest now: “i don’t do breakups.”

and then, like the cruelest twist of fate, the two of you had ended up in the kitchen, the place you’d shared countless meals and stolen kisses over the years. the intimacy of that moment had been almost unbearable—his hands gripping your hips as though trying to anchor you in place, his lips trailing fire down your neck, as if to remind you of everything you were trying to leave behind.

but now, standing before him, hearing those words fall from his lips, you were dumbfounded. your chest constricted, and you clutched the blanket tighter against you, as if the fabric could hold you together when everything inside you felt like it was shattering.

“ryo…” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you searched his face for some kind of reprieve, some trace of the man who wouldn’t let you go last night. “but you said…” but the words faltered, dying in your throat, because a part of you didn’t know if that was true. sukuna watched you, his gaze unwavering, silently gauging your reaction to his words. a twisted satisfaction coiled in his chest seeing the dumbfounded look on your face, the way your body seemed to shrink away as the reality of last night’s conversation dawned on you.

he let you struggle for words, relishing the way your voice broke mid-thought. “but i said…?” he echoed your phrase, his tone laced with mockery. his lips curled into a cold smirk, the edge of his canine peeking out as he took a step towards the bed, closing the distance between you. “but i said…” he leaned down, his face now just inches from your own, his breath warm against your skin as he spoke, his voice a low, dangerous murmur. “you’re not going anywhere.”

the words were a stark contrast to the gentleness of his movements. he reached out, his fingers tracing the edges of the blanket you clutched to your chest, as if they were caressing the fabric rather than you. the small touch still sent a shiver down your spine.

he took another step forward, his body now towering over you, caging you in with his presence. “you’re a trembling mess,” he continued, his gaze moving over your face, taking in every small reaction, every flutter of your eyelashes, every shake of your breath. “it’s pathetic.” a hand shot out, gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him directly. his fingers pressed into your skin, not enough to hurt but with enough firmness to make you feel constrained, as if he owned every inch of you—heart, body, soul.

you looked at him, eyes wide and glassy, the tears that threatened to spill over gathering at the edges but refusing to fall—as though even they were terrified of him, too. your chest felt as though it were weighed down by an invisible stone, each breath shallow, a laborious effort, as you struggled to process the poison dripping from his words. his tone, sharp and unforgiving, sliced through the fragile shell of your composure, leaving jagged wounds in its wake.

his crimson eyes locked with yours, but they were not the same as they once were. gone was the warmth, the fire, the spark that once breathed life into them. in their place was an emptiness, a coldness so profound it seemed to swallow everything whole. they were no longer eyes, but hollow pits, mere remnants of what had once been, as if the embers of some long-dead flame flickered weakly before finally expiring, leaving only ash and the residue of something lost.

his smirk widened, distorting his once-beautiful features into something cruel and alien. the face you had known, the face that had once smiled with a warmth you thought was reserved just for you, was now unrecognizable, a mask of mockery and disdain. his hand tightened around your chin, forcing your gaze upward before it was shoved away, not violently, but with such casual cruelty that it made you feel as though you were nothing—small, insignificant, a mere afterthought in his world.

“but i say a lot of things,” he murmured, his voice dripping with mockery, the words slipping from his lips like poison. he savored each syllable, letting them hang in the air, thick with bitterness, each one designed to wound deeper than the last. “you should know by now that you can’t ever really trust me.”

he bit down on his lower lip, as if he found some faint amusement in the scene unfolding before him, though it was a cruel sort of amusement—half-hearted, a shadow of something darker. the smirk that had briefly faltered now returned with a force that made your heart tighten, twisting the knife already lodged deep in your chest.

“isn’t that something you should’ve learned by now?” he continued, his voice almost playful, as though he were talking to a child who had failed to learn even the simplest lesson. his head tilted slightly to the side, a subtle gesture that made the room feel even smaller, as though the walls were closing in on you, bearing down on you with the weight of everything he was. “years of dating me, and you haven’t figured out even one or two things about men?” he paused, letting the silence stretch painfully between you, before leaning in closer, his breath barely a whisper against your trembling lips. “especially me?”

his tone softened, but it wasn’t kindness that softened it. it was venom, deliberate and calculated, each word a subtle stroke against your unraveling spirit. his presence enveloped you, suffocating, like a fog that had settled in, thick and unyielding. his form loomed over you, an oppressive force that seemed to stretch beyond the room, beyond your ability to comprehend, leaving you trapped in his shadow.

you blinked, the tears in your eyes now a silent threat, trembling on the edge of release, but you refused to let them fall—not yet. not in front of him. the ache in your chest deepened, like a weight pressing harder against your lungs, each breath becoming more difficult, more fragile, as though your very existence was being drained away by the sheer presence of his cruelty.

“ryo…” your voice cracked, the sound little more than a fragile whisper, broken and torn between the desire to speak and the fear of being heard. but he only watched, his eyes cold and piercing, cataloging each nuance of your suffering, waiting for the precise moment when you would shatter completely, when the pieces of you would finally crumble under the unbearable weight of it all.

sukuna’s smirk widened, a grotesque expression of satisfaction at the fragile crack in your voice, the soft, desperate pleading that trembled from your lips. his eyes, once drawn to the warmth and depth in yours, now found only the shimmer of unshed tears, a mirror of the suffering he had inflicted. yet, within the storm of pain that had settled in your gaze, there remained a flicker—a stubborn, defiant glimmer that refused to yield to him, that would not grant him the pleasure of seeing you utterly undone.

he leaned forward, his presence overwhelming, his face hovering just beyond the point of contact, his breath a searing, suffocating force against your skin. “you’re even more pathetic than i thought,” he whispered, his voice a languid mockery, each syllable dipped in contempt, the venom in his words thickening the air around you.

a warmth surged inside you, not the softness of vulnerability, but the sharp, sudden burn of fury. anger, that strange and alien force, slithered its way through your chest, cutting through the dull ache of your own misery, its heat rising in knots that twisted tightly within you. it was fierce, a sharpness that stung with every beat of your heart, and it fueled the fire of defiance that now began to smolder beneath your skin. how dare he? how dare he stand there, that twisted smirk still clinging to his face, as though his cruelty could diminish you?

your thoughts spun in a haze, a flickering montage of last night’s events, each image more jarring than the last. if he truly wanted to leave, to sever the fragile thread between you, he could have done so with honesty, in the silence of an agreement. no games, no theatrics, no bitter proclamations that left you questioning your place in a relationship that had, until then, felt like the ground beneath your feet. no promises veiled in intimacy, no sweetness masking the brutality of his indifference, no gestures that now felt nothing but hollow.

and now this? now, in the sterile light of the morning, he discarded you as though you were a discarded object, leaving you trembling, reduced to a mere echo of yourself? the cruelty of it gnawed at you, an unbearable weight pressing down on your chest.

your fingers dug into the blanket, the fabric biting into your skin, your knuckles turning pale as you clung to the familiar sensation, the only thing in the world that felt solid, that didn’t dissolve like ash at his touch. the anger, now a fire burning hot and insistent, pushed against the fragile walls of your composure, demanding to be released. you gritted your teeth, the tension in your jaw nearly unbearable, and as your gaze met his, a flicker of something defiant rose up within you.

“you’re a fucking asshole,” you said, the words tumbling from your mouth like venom, raw and jagged, cutting through the suffocating silence that had enveloped the room. they were harsh, brutal in their simplicity, a fleeting relief against the weight of the moment. yet, even as they left your lips, you could feel the echo of their truth linger, not in the comfort of release, but in the strange, hollow emptiness they left behind.

sukuna’s smile stretched wider, his crimson eyes glinting with a sadistic amusement, as though he found a twisted pleasure in seeing you unravel. there was an unspoken satisfaction in the way you looked at him, your glare, laced with fury, only feeding the darkness in him, stoking the flames of his amusement as if your anger were an exquisite form of entertainment.

he drew closer, his presence overwhelming, and the space between you seemed to disappear, his face now so near that you could feel the heat of his breath, thick with the scent of musk and spice, an intoxication that tangled with the weight of your emotions, making everything feel unbearably heavy.

“so, you’re finally showing some spine, are you?” his voice was low, a mocking rumble that curled around the room, his words almost savoring the moment. “how amusing. it’s almost endearing to see you so riled up.”

his hand reached out, fingers tracing a delicate strand of your hair, the touch light, almost gentle, yet laced with a quiet malice that made your stomach churn. “but, you’re still the same. still fragile, still breakable,” he whispered, as though examining the very essence of your being, reducing it to something delicate and fleeting.

the anger surged within you, a wildfire now, fierce and uncontrollable, and for a split second, the thought of smashing that smirk off his face crossed your mind like a fleeting, violent impulse. yet, even in your fury, you were still trapped, his towering form pressing in on you, your fingers tangled in the folds of the blanket, as though the fabric itself were the only thing anchoring you to reality.

his chuckle rang out, deep and unsettling, a sound that slithered through the air, sending a tremor through your bones. he tilted his head, studying you with the careful gaze of someone who saw your every nuance, as if he were cataloging each flicker of emotion, each broken piece of you. “so much fire, so much defiance,” he mused, his eyes narrowing, “and yet… here you are. still here, clinging to the futile hope that things might somehow return to what they were.”

his words hung in the air, suffocating, as though they carried a truth you had no choice but to accept—an unspoken acknowledgment that the past had long since slipped away, lost beneath the weight of his cruelty.

sukuna’s gaze locked onto yours, his crimson eyes dark and inscrutable. he was watching you, reading you, but giving nothing in return. sukuna was a master of concealment, his emotions tucked away behind a mask of indifference. no flicker of regret, no sign of pain—nothing to betray what he truly felt. and that made it worse. you couldn’t read him, couldn’t find even the smallest crack in his armor. he was impenetrable, a fortress of cruelty and coldness.

he finally pulled away, stepping back, the distance between you growing with every measured movement. the space felt suffocating and freeing all at once. “i have class,” he said, his voice flat, almost bored. “so, i hope you’ll be gone. from my apartment, my life… before i come back.”

the finality in his words hit you like a punch to the chest, knocking the air from your lungs. you stared at him, your lips parted, trembling, but no words came out. disbelief washed over you, followed quickly by a wave of pain so deep it felt like it might drown you. and then the tears came. they spilled over, falling in heavy streams, as relentless as rain desperate to meet the earth, drowning everything in its path. your body shook with the force of it, but your voice was steady, low and sharp like a blade as you spoke.

“i hope you have everything,” you began, your teeth clenched, your words dripping with venom. “everything you could ever want in life. i hope you get it all. and i hope you never feel satisfied.” his expression didn’t change, but his eyes—those crimson eyes you had once loved so deeply—stared back at you with a hollowness you hadn’t noticed before. an emptiness that made your chest ache, even in the midst of your fury.

your voice cracked, but you pressed on, the weight of your pain propelling you forward. “i hope you grow up. i hope you have a wife, a job that pays well. i hope you have beautiful children who adore you.” you paused, your voice dropping to a whisper that was no less deadly. “but i hope there’s a hole inside you that never goes away. a hole that makes you suffer every single day.” you met his gaze, the fire in your eyes burning through your tears. “i hope you have everything, sukuna. everything. and i hope it’s never enough.”

the words hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting, as sukuna stood there, silent and unmoving. for a moment, you thought you saw something flicker across his face, something like regret or sadness, but it was gone before you could be sure. and then he turned, walking away without another word, leaving you alone in the space that had once been yours together, now shattered and broken beyond repair.

sukuna clenched his jaw, his footsteps heavy as he walked away, the weight of your words clinging to him like an invisible chain. they echoed in his mind, taunting him with a cruel persistence—your curse, your wish for his endless dissatisfaction, for his perpetual hunger, struck him deeper than any physical blow ever could.

his hand rested on the doorknob, but he paused, his back turned to you, your sobs reverberating in the quiet space, each cry a sharp thrust to his chest. he longed to turn, to look upon your face, but he could not summon the will to face you again.

the following day, you found yourself standing outside his apartment, your heart heavy with the weight of everything that had unfolded. you didn’t want to be there—didn’t want to confront the aching void that seemed to consume you whenever you thought of him. you didn’t want to feel the raw sting in your chest deepen, yet you knew you had no choice. there were fragments of your life, scattered among the remnants of your shared past, and though you longed to leave them behind, you could not bring yourself to walk away entirely without reclaiming what was left.

your fingers hovered above the keypad, hesitant, the numbers embedded in your memory like scars. you pressed the code, half-expecting the door to reject you, to lock you out for good, sealing the end of everything. but it didn’t. the lock clicked open, as it always had.

for a fleeting moment, a thought brushed against your consciousness, a whisper of something you wished you could ignore. perhaps he had left it unlocked on purpose. perhaps, deep within him, he wanted you to return, hoped you might come back. but you dismissed the thought quickly. no. that was not him. not anymore.

you pushed the door open, and for a brief instant, the silence greeted you like an old, dissonant friend. the air was thick with the memories of laughter, arguments, love—each corner of the room steeped in the ghosts of your time together. everything was exactly as it had been, as if nothing had changed, the furniture, the faint scent of him still lingering in the stillness. it was a cruel trick, how the space could feel so familiar, yet so estranged at once.

then, a sound—soft at first, but unmistakable. moans, sighs, the low grunts of a voice you knew all too well, mingling with the sound of another. a woman’s voice. your breath caught, and in that moment, it was as though the ground had fallen away from beneath you. you didn’t need to see to know. the sounds painted a clear picture, a cruel and bitter one.

a hollow laugh rose from the depths of your chest, though it never made it past your lips. of course. of course he couldn’t wait. couldn’t even allow the ashes of what you had to settle before diving into someone else’s embrace. the realization struck you like a knife, sharp and unrelenting, twisting deeper as it sank in.

your feet felt frozen to the floor, as if the weight of the moment held you captive. the world spun around you, but you remained frozen in place. the pain was acute, raw, consuming. it wasn’t just the betrayal—it was the confirmation of what you had already known, but refused to acknowledge. sukuna was exactly who he had claimed to be, and you, in your foolishness, had convinced yourself you were the exception.

you swallowed, the burn of your throat making it difficult to breathe, the ache in your chest threatening to overwhelm you. your hands trembled as you stepped back, the door still ajar behind you, its silent invitation to leave hanging in the air.

you didn’t hesitate. you turned, your legs carrying you away from him with a sense of urgency, as though staying even a moment longer would suffocate you. the rest of your things, the remnants of a life you once shared, no longer mattered. you couldn’t bear to be in that space, couldn’t bear the thought of his voice—so familiar, so intimate—intertwined with hers. the love you had once shared, now belonging to someone else.

the door clicked shut behind you, and for a moment, the sound felt like the finality of a chapter ending. but it was not clean. it was not easy. the pain still clung to you, wrapping itself around your ribs, squeezing until each breath became a struggle.

as you walked away, your thoughts churned. it wasn’t fair. he was fine, wasn’t he? perfectly fine, moving on, living his life, while you carried the weight of this broken love. it felt as though you shared matching wounds—his had already healed, smooth and unblemished, as though it had never been. but yours… yours were still raw, still bleeding, black and bruised.

yet, you kept walking. one step after another, carrying yourself away from him, from the life you had once built together. it hurt more than you had thought possible, but beneath the pain, there was a quiet resolve. because this time, you were not just leaving the apartment. you were leaving him.

the sakura trees lined the streets like guardians of fleeting beauty, their delicate pink petals drifting down with the breeze, blanketing the ground in a quiet surrender. each petal lay still, crushed underfoot without complaint, their sacrifice unnoticed by the hurried world above. sukuna walked briskly through the scene, his long strides carrying him across the familiar paths of the park, his destination clear: the ice cream parlor.

his presence was as sharp and cold as ever, his crimson eyes glancing briefly at the cheerful chaos of the park. laughter and joy filled the air—children racing each other across the grass, couples walking hand in hand, families gathered beneath the blooming trees. it was all so ordinary, so unremarkable, and yet it gnawed at him.

the park hadn’t changed. not a single thing had shifted in all these years. the bench where you both used to sit still stood beneath the shade of a sprawling sakura tree. the open field where you used to spread out the red-and-white checkered blanket you’d picked out still invited picnics. he could almost see it—him sprawled on his back, you lying against him, your head on his stomach. the warmth of those quiet afternoons came rushing back, unbidden.

you had a way of making silence comfortable, he remembered. sometimes the two of you would just lay there, lost in your own thoughts, his fingers absently twirling a strand of your hair. other times, the quiet would give way to playful arguments, your voices rising in mock irritation before collapsing into laughter. this park was a haven for you both—a place where the weight of the world couldn’t quite reach.

but now? now it was just a park.

sukuna stepped into the ice cream parlor, his voice cool and detached as he ordered. “two ice creams.” he didn’t bother glancing at the menu. his eyes were elsewhere, scanning the park with a hunter’s precision, though he wasn’t sure what he was looking for. he was about to turn away when something—no, someone—caught his attention. his sharp eyes narrowed, his breath hitching ever so slightly.

pink hair. a bright smile.

his twin. yuuji.

sukuna’s brows lifted in faint amusement, his lips curving into a smirk. what’s that idiot doing here? he wondered, already imagining some clumsy attempt at flirting. his eyes followed yuuji, watching his every move with a predator’s patience. but then yuuji turned slightly, revealing the person beside him.

and sukuna’s world shifted.

it was you.

the air seemed to still around him, his smirk falling as if the weight of the moment had stolen it away. the color drained from his face, and for the first time in years, he felt truly unmoored. it was as if the ground beneath him had crumbled, leaving him suspended in disbelief.

you hadn’t changed. not in the ways that mattered. the curve of your back, the way you carried yourself, the softness in your expression—it all came rushing back to him, a flood of memories he hadn’t asked for.

he took a step forward, then another, each one slow and deliberate as if testing the solidity of the earth beneath his feet. but then he saw it—yuuji’s arm around you, the way his lips pressed to your cheek, the way you smiled up at him.

the world tilted further.

just as he was about to take another step, his eyes caught movement by the swings. a child—a boy, no more than a few years old. his pink hair shone in the sunlight, his laughter ringing out like a melody sukuna hadn’t realized he missed.

then the boy called you “mommy”, his voice bright and pure, as if it carried no shadows.

sukuna froze. his breath caught in his throat, his chest tightening as his mind raced. his gaze darted between you, the child, and yuuji, piecing together a puzzle he didn’t want to solve.

was he…? no. impossible.

the boy’s face was round, soft, bright—none of the sharp edges sukuna saw when he looked in the mirror. there was no darkness in his eyes, no coldness. just light.

“what the fuck?” sukuna muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his own heartbeat. you and yuuji both turned at the sound, your eyes locking with his for the first time in years.

and in that moment, everything—the sakura trees, the children’s laughter, the warmth of the spring sun—seemed to fade away. it was just you and him, standing on opposite sides of a chasm neither of you knew how to cross.

you sat side by side on the bench, close enough that the sakura petals falling around you landed in your hair, yet the distance between you felt infinite, an ocean of memories and regret stretching wide. your hands trembled, curling into fists on the fabric of your dress as if the pressure could hold your emotions in place. you didn’t look at him. maybe it was the pain, still raw and deep despite the years. or maybe it was because you had moved on, and seeing him no longer filled the hollow space inside you.

no, you didn’t starve for him anymore.

he sat rigid, his long limbs folded in a posture too controlled to be casual. his crimson eyes, those piercing eyes that once held you captive, were now fixed on the child playing in the distance. the boy laughed brightly, running to yuuji, who scooped him up with ease, their matching smiles lighting up the park.

sukuna’s chest ached, the unfamiliar weight of it catching him off guard. he didn’t expect this—didn’t expect to feel anything. but watching the boy—your boy—he felt something sharp, something he couldn’t name.

regret?

his gaze lingered, tracing every familiar feature: the pink hair catching the sunlight, the laugh that rang like a melody, the wide, innocent eyes. it was all so achingly familiar, yet so far removed from him. and the way yuuji looked at the boy, the ease in their interactions, the warmth of their bond—he has everything, sukuna thought bitterly.

and yet, somewhere deep down, a selfish part of him wished it was his. his throat tightened, the unspoken words clawing at him. he didn’t know what to say, didn’t even know why he had stopped here, why he hadn’t turned away the moment he saw you. but instead, he let out a breath, low and shaky, before speaking.

“how are you?” his voice was softer than he intended, a hesitant tremor running through the words. you stiffened, your fingers clenching tighter on your lap. for a moment, you didn’t respond, the silence stretching unbearably between you.

sukuna’s jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to the ground. you’re fucking lame, he cursed himself, the words echoing in his mind. of all the things he could have said, this was what came out? after everything he had done, after all the time that had passed, the best he could manage was a shallow pleasantry?

he felt your exhale, slow and measured, before you finally answered, your voice quiet but steady.

“i’m fine.”

the words were simple, but the weight behind them was heavy. they carried years of hurt, of healing, of learning to exist without him. you didn’t look at him as you spoke, your gaze fixed firmly on the boy in the distance, on the life you had built without him.

sukuna felt your words pierce him like a blade, deep and cruel. fine. just fine. nothing more, nothing less. after everything, after all the destruction, all the chaos he had unleashed upon you—this was all you could say. ‘fine.’ it was a slap to his face, a reminder of everything he had lost, and the bitter weight of it suffocated him.

his throat tightened. he didn’t know what he had expected from you, what he had hoped to hear after all this time, but ‘fine’—that word felt like a finality, an impenetrable wall of cold distance. the silence that followed stretched between you, suffocating and heavy. his gaze flickered to you, lingering on your face, yet seeing you as if for the first time. the years had marked you, yes, but the angles of your face, the way your eyes held a spark of something that was undeniably you—everything about you felt the same, and yet it was so utterly alien to him. his fingers clenched at his side, the muscles taut with the desire to reach out, to touch, to trace the lines of your face as he had done before. but he could not. there was too much hurt between you, too many wounds that he had carved deep into your soul.

the silence became unbearable. sukuna was a man of words—of sharpness, of mockery, of heated arguments. but here, beside you on this park bench, he was mute. there were no biting remarks, no cruel barbs. just an oppressive quiet, a world of things unsaid.

his gaze drifted to the child, laughing in the distance, as yuuji chased him with exaggerated panic. a part of sukuna's chest tightened painfully, and his words came out fractured, thinner than he had meant them to be, choked by something he couldn’t hide.

“kid, huh?” he said, the words thick with a bitterness that didn’t come from the sarcasm he had intended. “and yuuji’s?” they were meant to cut, to wound. but they fell flat, weak, crushed by the vulnerability he had tried so hard to bury. his voice cracked under the weight of something he couldn’t name, a storm of emotions tangled within him.

you turned to him, lips parting as if to respond, but the moment was stolen by the sound of small, hurried footsteps. your son came stumbling toward you, his legs unsteady with joy. his laughter, pure and untainted, filled the air, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. his eyes, shining with uncontainable happiness, locked onto you, and he collided with your legs, wrapping his tiny arms around you in a clumsy hug.

you chuckled softly, steadying him with gentle hands, your voice a whisper of tenderness as you murmured, “careful there.”

he grinned up at you, his little face lighting up with something he had to tell you. but then his gaze shifted, and he looked at sukuna, studying him with an intensity that seemed too thoughtful for someone so young. the child’s eyes widened. he blinked, his brows furrowing in a silent question. and then, for the briefest of moments, his gaze met sukuna’s—eyes of crimson red.

the same red that stared back at sukuna in the mirror every morning, that had stained his soul, that marked him in ways he could never escape. the breath left his lungs in a harsh, silent gasp. his body froze, a shiver running through him. it wasn’t possible. it couldn’t be. but there it was, undeniable and raw.

the boy blinked, confused, still staring at sukuna, but before he could speak, yuuji was there, scooping him up effortlessly, lifting him onto his back. “gotcha, kiddo,” yuuji said, his grin wide as he carried the child away toward the playground, the laughter spilling from the boy in a carefree squeal.

but sukuna remained frozen, his eyes wide in disbelief, his chest tight with something he couldn’t identify—something heavy, something ancient, something that churned and shifted deep within him.

you didn’t meet his gaze. your eyes remained trained on the ground, as though avoiding his stare could keep the truth from surfacing. “those eyes…” sukuna murmured, his voice barely a whisper, the words trembling as they left his lips. “those eyes are…” his breath caught, his chest tightening further as the truth settled around him like a cold fog.

he knew those eyes. he would know them anywhere. they were his.

your voice broke through the thick silence, soft yet heavy with the weight of what you were about to say. “i found out i was pregnant a month after… that day.” the words hung in the air between you like a thread ready to snap. you finally looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time since he had appeared in the park. the wind carried the faint scent of sakura, making your hair sway gently. strands danced across your face, brushing your cheeks, which had turned a delicate pink from the cool breeze. your eyes met his, unflinching yet filled with a raw vulnerability that made his chest ache.

sukuna froze, his crimson gaze locked onto yours. he couldn’t look away, even if he wanted to. this moment, this version of you—standing against the backdrop of falling petals, the soft pink tint to your skin, the weight of years etched into your expression—it was something he would never forget.

he had always been good at reading people, at seeing through their masks, but with you, it was different. even now, as you stood before him, there were layers he couldn’t unravel, emotions he couldn’t pin down. all he knew was the sudden tightness in his chest, the guilt clawing its way up his throat, and the realization that no matter how much time had passed, you still held a piece of him that he couldn’t reclaim.

“and you didn’t tell me,” he said finally, his voice quieter than he intended. there was no malice, no sharp edge—just a quiet bewilderment, a pain he didn’t know how to mask. your gaze didn’t waver, but your lips pressed into a thin line as if holding back a flood of words. “what would it have changed?” you asked, the question soft yet pointed. “you told me to leave. to be gone. i just… listened.”

those words hit him harder than any curse ever had. he wanted to argue, to demand why you hadn’t fought back, but deep down, he knew. he had made you feel like you had no choice. he had driven you away, and now, years later, he was standing in front of you, realizing the depth of the consequences he hadn’t dared to imagine.

his gaze flickered to the playground, where your son—his son—was laughing with yuuji. sukuna’s hands clenched at his sides as he turned back to you, searching for the right words and finding none.

“he’s mine, isn’t he?” he asked, though the answer was already written all over the boy’s face. you nodded, the smallest of movements, but it was enough to shatter the fragile barrier he had been holding up. “why didn’t you—” he stopped himself, exhaling sharply. “why didn’t you tell me back then?”

“because you didn’t want me,” you said simply, your voice steady though your eyes glistened. “and if you didn’t want me, why would you want him?” the wind carried your words away, but they left a hollow ache in sukuna’s chest.

sukuna’s heart pounded against his ribs, the sound deafening in the silence that followed. how could he explain what was going on in his head, when he wasn’t even sure himself? all he knew was that finding out he was a father, suddenly, out of nowhere, was throwing his whole world off-kilter, turning his reality on its head. and the fact that you hadn’t told him, kept his own flesh and blood away from him—it was infuriating and yet, in a twisted way, made sense.

sukuna was silent, the park suddenly feeling too crowded, too noisy, yet incredibly empty all at once. his heart pounded in his chest like a drum, each beat a reminder of how much time he had lost, how much he had missed. he swallowed, the lump in his throat thicker than he had anticipated. he had been ready for a lot of reactions from you—anger, perhaps even indifference. but seeing you so calm, so unbothered, stung more than he ever thought it would.

sukuna’s eyes never left yours, studying your face, the small tics and twitches that spoke volumes. but behind the veneer of calm, there was something different—an undercurrent he couldn’t quite place. he could feel it, sense it in the air between you, in the tension that had settled in your shoulders.

“all those years,” he began, his voice a low rumble. “i had a son, and i never knew.” his eyes flicked back to the playground, where yuuji was now pushing the boy on a swing. the kid was laughing again, his little legs kicking up dust with each push forward.

sukuna watched him for a moment, taking in every detail. his hair, the same shade as his own. his eyes, those wide, innocent crimson pools that mirrored his own. the sound of his laughter, a sound he’d never heard before but recognized as his all the same. you smiled softly, your gaze drifting to your son as he soared higher on the swing, his laughter cutting through the hum of the park like music. for a moment, your expression softened in a way that made sukuna’s chest ache, a bittersweet mix of warmth and loss. when your eyes returned to him, they held no resentment, no anger—only a calm acceptance that he wasn’t sure he deserved.

“he’ll be four this december,” you said quietly, the corners of your lips lifting just slightly. “yuuji and i are planning a party for him. something simple, with his friends from kindergarten.”

your voice was steady, each word so matter-of-fact that it twisted like a knife in his gut. sukuna studied your face, searching for something—anything—that hinted at lingering bitterness or regret. but there was nothing. you looked… content. beautiful in a way that felt distant, like a piece of art behind glass.

his eyes flicked back to the playground. the boy—his son—was shouting something to yuuji, his tiny hands gripping the swing’s chains as he kicked his legs. the sight made sukuna’s throat tighten. he had missed so much. “kindergarten,” he murmured, almost to himself, the word foreign on his tongue. “he’s already in kindergarten.”

you nodded, your hands folding neatly in your lap. “he loves it there. he’s made so many friends. and the teachers… they always tell me how bright he is, how full of life.” sukuna could only watch, listening to your words as you spoke about your son. a part of him was proud—proud that his son inherited his own intelligence, his own vitality. but most of him was just lost, drowning in a sea of emotions he couldn’t fully comprehend.

he had missed all of it. the first words, the first steps, the first laugh—all because he had been so stupid, so blind to what was right in front of him. his hands clenching into fists. he didn’t want to hear about how the kid was thriving in kindergarten. how he had friends. how he was happy without him.

yet he could hear the pride in your voice, the undeniable love and adoration you had for your son. it was clear in the way your eyes sparkled when you spoke of him, the protective, motherly instinct that emanated from you like a force field. it was so foreign, yet undeniably human. “he never... asked about his father?” he asked, the question slipping out before he could stop himself.

you shook your head, your expression calm, yet tinged with a bittersweet sadness that sukuna couldn’t quite place. “no,” you said softly, your eyes drifting back to the playground where your son was now tumbling in the grass with laughter, yuuji playfully chasing after him. “he’s never asked. maybe it’s because he sees how much he and yuuji look alike… the hair, the face. he doesn’t question it.”

your voice was steady, but there was an undertone that lingered, a quiet weight beneath your words. sukuna stared at you, his crimson eyes narrowing as his mind reeled. of course, the kid wouldn’t question it—not when yuuji was always there, stepping in, filling the void sukuna hadn’t even realized he had left behind.

his hands twitched at his sides, his jaw tightening. “so that’s it?” he asked, his voice low, almost a growl. “he just assumes yuuji is his father?”

you looked back at him then, your gaze unwavering. “he doesn’t assume anything, sukuna. he’s just a kid. he doesn’t need the weight of complicated answers right now.”

the words hit harder than he expected, the implication slicing through him. you were protecting him—shielding him from the chaos sukuna’s presence could bring. and deep down, he couldn’t blame you.

but it still burned.

sukuna swallowed, the lump in his throat feeling like sandpaper. the fact that his own son didn't even know who he was, the fact that yuuji was taking over the role he should have had… all of it stung like a thousand knives.

he didn’t know what to say. didn’t know how to process the emotions swirling inside him. he could feel a storm brewing within, but for once, he didn't want to unleash it. not on you, not in the middle of the park where his son—his son—was playing gleefully.

sukuna’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he watched his son’s joyful antics. the kid was climbing on a jungle gym now, his small hands grasping the metal bars with determination. yuuji stood below, ready to catch him if he fell, a small smile on his face.

the sight should have been endearing—the carefree boy playing with his surrogate father. but all sukuna felt was a bitter mixture of anger, regret, and envy. he should be the one standing there, spotting his son, ready to catch him if he fell.

sukuna’s fists clenched at his sides, the desire to march over and rip yuuji away from his child overpowering. but he held himself back, a bitter taste in his mouth. that wasn't his place, not anymore. he had made sure of that. instead, he turned to you, his eyes locking with yours. “how can you just sit there?” he spat, his voice low and laced with anger. “how can you let yuuji play father to my own son?”

you held his gaze, unruffled by the sharpness in his words, your expression calm yet firm. you had always known how to stand your ground with sukuna, how to weather the storm of his anger without losing yourself. “and what would be the point?” you replied steadily, your voice soft yet unyielding. “to stir up confusion? to fill his head with questions he’s too young to understand? he’s happy, sukuna. he’s safe. isn’t that what matters most?”

your words were deliberate, cutting through his anger with a quiet precision. sukuna’s jaw tightened, his crimson eyes flickering with a mix of emotions—rage, guilt, and something far more vulnerable. “he’s my son,” he bit out, his voice low, almost trembling. “he should know who i am.”

“and he will,” you answered, your tone unwavering. “when the time is right. when he’s old enough to understand what it means. i’m not keeping him from you, sukuna. i’m protecting him—from the pain, the confusion, the chaos. i’m protecting him the way a parent should.”

your words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and sukuna found himself at a loss for a reply. he wanted to argue, to fight back, but deep down, he knew you were right. it didn’t make the bitterness in his chest any easier to swallow, but it made him pause, his anger faltering.

you glanced back at the playground, your gaze softening as you watched your son laugh, his small body swinging from the jungle gym with unrestrained joy. “he’s all that matters now,” you added quietly, more to yourself than to him. “and i won’t let anything—or anyone—take that away from him.”

sukuna remained silent, the weight of your words settling over him like a heavy blanket. for the first time, he truly saw the depth of your love for your son, the lengths you would go to keep him safe. and it left him reeling, his emotions a tangled mess he couldn’t begin to unravel.

sukuna swallowed, the lump in his throat feeling like a stone. all the anger, the rage that had been brewing inside of him—it all evaporated in an instant, replaced by a bitter sense of realization.

you were right. as much as he hated to admit it, your words were true. you weren’t keeping his son from him. you were protecting him, shielding him from the chaos that sukuna’s presence could bring. the kid was happy, thriving, blissfully unaware of thecomplicated web of emotions surrounding his existence.

he gazed at you, truly seeing you for the first time in years, and in that moment, he recognized something in you he had never expected to find: the quiet strength in your eyes, the resolute determination etched into the curve of your shoulders. you had changed, morphed into something he couldn’t fully comprehend. you were no longer just the person he once knew—you were a mother now, shaped by a fierce love that had carved new paths in your soul. there was a wildness in you now, a power, a willingness to move mountains to protect the child you had brought into this world. and in some dark, twisted corner of his being, it made him love you more than he ever had before.

“i…” he began, the words choking in his throat, as if the very sound of them was foreign to him. he faltered, unsure, because nothing he could say could ever match the storm inside of him, the chaos that had long since swallowed him whole. he had no words for the depth of the feelings that tore at him, no way to untangle the mess of love, regret, and longing that knotted in his chest.

you offered him a smile, and for an instant, it was the same smile he had once known, so long ago—genuine, warm, and familiar. it was like the briefest glimpse of light breaking through the oppressive clouds that had settled over both of you, soft and fleeting, yet undeniable.

“i’m sorry,” you spoke, your voice unexpectedly tender, carrying a weight that caught him off guard. “for the things i said that day. wishing you everything in life but never being satisfied—it was cruel. it’s the worst thing i could ever wish on anyone. i wouldn’t want anyone to curse me like that, so i shouldn’t have done it to you.”

your gaze held his then, steady and unwavering, but gone was the venom and resentment that had once filled it. now, there was only warmth, a soft tenderness he had long forgotten. “i just… i just want you to have the life you deserve,” you added, your voice unwavering, as if the words were not born of this moment, but of something far deeper, something more enduring.

he opened his mouth, the words dancing on the tip of his tongue, but they faltered, suffocated by a weight he couldn’t name. for once, sukuna—the man who had always prided himself on his sharp tongue, his biting words—was rendered speechless.

before he could collect himself, you rose, brushing the coat from your shoulders as you called for yuuji. he turned at the sound of your voice, his eyes catching yours, and with a silent understanding, he scooped up your son and began walking toward you.

your son’s delighted giggles filled the air, his tiny arms wrapped around yuuji’s neck in pure joy. when they reached you, you glanced back at sukuna for the briefest of moments, your eyes meeting his. but there was no anger, no regret. only something unspoken, something that neither of you could articulate.

the image of you, with yuuji and the child in tow—so perfectly entwined, so whole—was a blade lodged deep in sukuna’s chest. he wanted to rise, to speak, to confront the weight of this impossible truth, but his body remained frozen, bound by the gravity of what had not been said.

you did not look back. without a word, you turned away, your son’s laughter echoing through the cold, empty air as yuuji carried him toward the car. sukuna could only watch, his gaze locked on the fading figures, as you disappeared down the path. and in that moment, he was utterly alone, left to drown in the silence he had created, swallowed whole by the dimming light of the day.

sukuna remained frozen, his crimson eyes fixed on the space where you had just stood, the weight of the silence settling over him like a crushing blanket. the world seemed to shrink around him, the laughter of the child, the warmth of the moment fading into a hollow echo that only deepened the emptiness inside him. the weight of his own solitude was unbearable, a crushing, gnawing feeling that clung to his bones and choked the very air from his lungs.

it was a solitude he had always known, yet never truly felt—until now. it was as if the universe had conspired to bring him to this very moment, to this precipice, and now that he stood at the edge, he realized how terribly alone he truly was.

his heart, which he had long since buried beneath layers of indifference, thudded painfully in his chest, each beat like a slow, agonizing reminder of his own failures, his own incomprehensible loneliness. he had spent years in a fortress of his own making, convinced that he could bear the isolation, that he could find solace in his own darkness. but now, as the light of your departure seemed to wash over him, he realized how false that belief had been.

it was as though the very ground beneath him had crumbled, leaving him suspended in a void that threatened to consume him. the void was cold, oppressive, and suffocating. he opened his mouth to speak, to call out, to demand something, anything—but no words came. they were swallowed by the silence, absorbed into the air that was thick with the weight of what had been lost.

he wanted to scream, to tear at the sky, to shatter the world around him until there was nothing left but the raw, bleeding truth of his own desolation. but he remained still, paralyzed by the overwhelming realization of how utterly empty his life had become without you.

the laughter of the child, now distant, reverberated in his ears like the sound of mocking, bitter fate. how had it come to this? how had he, who had once held so much power, so much control, been reduced to this broken thing, left behind in the fading light of a world that no longer included him?

his chest tightened with a suffocating ache, his hands curling into fists, nails digging into his palms, as though the pain might anchor him to something, anything, other than the suffocating void that stretched before him. yet, nothing could fill the emptiness, nothing could undo the damage he had done to himself, to you, to everything he had ever touched.

he had been a fool. a fool to believe that time would erase the wounds, that power would shield him from the consequences of his own choices. but now, with nothing left but the hollow echo of his own regret, he understood—the price had been far higher than he could ever have imagined.

and as you disappeared from his sight, so did the last vestiges of hope, the last thread that had held him to any semblance of meaning. he was alone. utterly alone. and the weight of that truth felt like an insurmountable mountain pressing down on his chest, each breath a labor, each moment a torment.

in that unbearable silence, he felt it: the deep, gnawing ache of his own heart, the loneliness that had been there all along, waiting for this moment to unravel him.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #jjk x reader #sukuna angst #ryomen sukuna #jjk angst #jjk #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujustu kaisen x reader #anime angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #ryomen sukuna angst #ryomen sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction

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tender-rosiey · 3 months ago

Note

I have a ✨request✨

So I would like to ask (if you want to do this) if you can make husband!Sukuna and wife!Reader but the reader gets scared easily and she’s terrified of thunderstorms.

Thank you! Btw, love how you write everything 😌❤️

thunder — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: glad you do, love! hope you like this as well! <3

the skies turn an ominous gray, heavy clouds swirling as the first low rumble of thunder rolls across the horizon. you feel your stomach twist in response, a familiar unease creeping up your spine. the storm is approaching, fast.

you swallow hard, trying to distract yourself with the mundane tasks of the day, hoping the sound of the thunder will fade into the background.

but with each passing moment, the storm grows louder, the skies darker. a flash of lightning lights up the room briefly, followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder that shakes the walls.

you flinch, heart pounding in your chest, and hurriedly step away from the window, as if being near it somehow makes the storm more dangerous.

your fingers tremble slightly as you clasp them together, trying to keep your breathing steady.

it’s ridiculous, you think. you are the wife of ryomen sukuna, the king of curses. by all accounts, you have no reason to fear anything. and yet… thunderstorms always find a way to unravel you.

another bolt of lightning splits the sky, and you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the inevitable roar of thunder that follows.

the sound reverberates through the room, louder than before, and despite your efforts to stay calm, you can’t stop the small gasp that escapes your lips.

you hate feeling this way—small, vulnerable. you have faced so much worse and come out unscathed, but the irrational fear of storms clings to you, reminding you of your humanness.

a faint sound behind you makes you jump, your pulse quickening before you realize it’s just the door opening. you exhale in relief but freeze when you sense his presence in the room.

sukuna’s aura is unmistakable—heavy, oppressive, and dark. yet there is something familiar and comforting in it, like the weight of his power grounds you in reality.

he stands in the doorway, watching you in silence for a moment, his four eyes taking in your tense frame, the way your shoulders are slightly hunched, and your knuckles are white from gripping your hands too tightly.

“you’re scared,” he says, his voice low.

it isn’t a question. he senses it, of course. there’s no hiding anything from him, least of all your fears. you try to shrug it off, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“it’s just a storm,” you mutter, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, though your fingers still tremble. “nothing to worry about.”

sukuna steps further into the room, his towering figure casting a shadow over you.

he raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your attempt to downplay the situation. another crash of thunder booms overhead, and despite yourself, you flinch again.

his gaze sharpens. “don’t lie to me,” he warns, his tone cold.

you bite your lip, feeling foolish. of course he sees through you. he always does. there’s no use pretending.

“I’m… not good with thunderstorms,” you finally admit, your voice quieter now. “I know it’s stupid.”

sukuna remains silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he observes you. he is never one for unnecessary softness, and certainly not the comforting type.

but there is something in the way he looks at you—calculating, thoughtful, as if he is deciding what to do with this newfound knowledge.

another streak of lightning illuminates the room, casting sharp shadows across his face. you instinctively take a small step back, but before you can fully retreat, sukuna moves faster, closing the distance between you in an instant.

his large hand wraps around your wrist, firm but not harsh.

“are you serious?” he asks, incredulity lacing his tone. the idea seems laughable to him.

“I can’t help it,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. the thunder crashes once more, and your body tenses involuntarily.

sukuna exhales, a low, rumbling sound that seems to match the storm outside. his grip tightens slightly, pulling you closer to him until you’re inches away from his chest.

he looms over you, his eyes dark and piercing, yet there is something oddly reassuring in his presence—something that makes the storm outside seem less terrifying in comparison.

“you fear something as insignificant as this when i stand before you?” his voice is a mixture of disbelief and amusement, but beneath that, there is a thread of something else—something almost protective.

you can’t meet his gaze, embarrassed by how small and fragile you must seem to him. sukuna, of all beings, thrives on chaos and destruction. the very elements of the storm that terrify you are likely nothing more than a minor inconvenience to him, if that.

“look at me,” he commands, his fingers tipping your chin upward to force you to meet his eyes. his red irises burn into yours, fierce and unyielding.

“do you think something as trivial as this storm could harm you while you’re mine?” his words are sharp, almost cutting, but the underlying meaning isn’t lost on you. sukuna would never allow anything to touch what was his.

he would never allow the world—let alone a storm—to hurt you.

you swallow, your voice shaky but trying to sound braver than you feel. “I… I know. It’s just—”

“you know nothing,” he cuts you off, leaning down until his face is inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. “if you truly understood, you wouldn’t be trembling.”

you open your mouth to respond, but the thunder booms again, and instinctively, you press closer to him, your hands clutching the fabric of his robes as if he were the only anchor in the storm.

sukuna’s expression shifts subtly, his eyes softening—just barely—as he feels your grip tighten on him. he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t mock you for your fear, but instead, he allows you to cling to him, his body solid and unwavering.

“pathetic,” he mutters, though there’s no venom in his voice. he wraps an arm around your waist, holding you firmly against him. “but if you’re going to be scared, at least hide here.”

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austinbutlerslovers · 8 months ago

Text

Chokehold

Label Mature 18+

Benny x You One Shot

Summary

When Benny decides to take a thrill ride before a thunderstorm, you chastise him about his safety. With his free spirited nature, he flat out dismisses you as “causing trouble,” riding off on his bike and setting off your short temper.

When he returns from his ride cockier than ever, you hurl an insult his way, frustrated by his recklessness. Benny enjoys your fiery and overbearing nature, knowing you can never tame his wild side. He playfully puts you in a chokehold until you submit to his will and carries you to the kitchen to tame the temper right out of you.

Established Relationship Bennys Girlfriend

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut❤️‍🔥

manhandling•fiery female•chokehold• male dominance • edging•fingering •dirty talk •pxssy taming•“good girl”•neck pinning•sex over a kitchen counter •overstimulation•simultaneous orgasm •cream pie•aftercare

🫦Smut consultant @purejasmine

Choke Hold

“You’re seriously going to ride out in this weather Benny?” you question, your tone laced with frustration and a hint of anger, as you eye the dark clouds gathering overhead.

“C’mon baby don’t be such a buzzkill,” Benny replies, sliding on his riding gloves, his grin only adding to your irritation. “I’ve ridden in worse.”

“But it’s not just about you,” you argue your voice rising slightly. “What if something happens? What if you get hurt?”

Benny shrugs, seemingly unconcerned by your worries. “Baby your always stirring up trouble relax, I’ll be fine a little rain never hurt anyone.”

You clench your fists, struggling to contain your frustration.

“Fine Benny do what you want. Just don’t come crying to me when you get caught in a downpour and end up stranded somewhere.”

Benny laughs and with a swift motion he kick-starts his Harley, the loud roar of the engine grating on your nerves.

“I’ll be back before you know it, baby. Try not to miss me too much,” he says with a wink.

His casual dismissal only serves to fuel your anger, and you feel the words bubbling up in your throat, ready to spill out in a torrent of frustration. But you bite back the retort swallowing it down with the bitter taste of resentment. You know all too well that once his mind is set, there’s no changing it back.

Benny, seeing your restraint flashes you a cocky grin and revs his engine drowning out any further protest. Then with the flick of his wrist, he rides his motorcycle out of the driveway and speeds off into the distance.

Your frustration mounts as you watched him embark on his thrill ride into the horizon with the ominous storm clouds.

You can’t help but feel a surge of anger rising within you. It was his casual dismissal of your opinion on several recent decisions that ignited your spark of defiance. Benny had a way of underestimating your insights, and though he meant no harm, it grated on you to no end.

A while later after the first crack of thunder, cutting through the air like a warning, you strain your ears and hear the familiar sound of Benny’s bike approaching. The rumble of his Harley growing louder with each passing second until finally he pulls into the driveway and abruptly cuts the engine.

You come to stand in the doorway and lean against the frame, your arms crossed in displeasure as you judge him.

"See? I told you it was fine," Benny quips, his grin unapologetic as he dismounts from his bike.

He approaches you and leans in, planting a kiss on your forehead before walking past you through the front door. Your hidden rage in striking contrast to his relaxed demeanor from the recent ride. With a practiced ease and without a care in the world he hangs up his riding gear.

You watch as heavy droplets of rain begin to patter on the driveway as a streak of lightning fills the sky. A roll of thunder rumbles, shaking the ground beneath your very feet. The storm is going to be severe, Benny barely made it in by the skin of his teeth.

"Your fine Benny ?” you retort closing the door. “You were practically going to ride through a monsoon out there! It’s like you’ve got a death wish or something." You say as the sound of heavy rain suddenly pelts the house.

Benny brushes off your concerns with a casual shrug “Come on, you worry too much” He says nonchalantly.

When he sits in the lounger and pulls off his boots, your frustration boils over, and you can’t hold back any longer. The insult that’s been lingering on the tip of your tongue bursts forth.

“Yeah, well, maybe if you had half a brain to go with all that brawn Benny, you’d actually listen to reason for once!” you snap.

Benny looks up at you and tosses his boot aside rising from the chair. His tall and imposing frame towers over yours as he stands, his muscular build only adding to his presence. His grin widens, mischief dancing in his piercing blue eyes.

“You’ve got a real smart mouth,” he says, his tone laced with amusement as he approaches, each step exuding his confidence and a hint of challenge.

Coming to a stop before you he gazes down, his eyes trailing over your smaller stature.

“But I guess that’s all you’ve got when you’re lacking in the brawn department,” he adds, his tone tinged with a hint of superiority.

Though his authority is infuriating it arouses you, and you find yourself fighting the urge to touch him, to feel the strength of his grip. Even as you resist the idea of giving in, his dominance is overwhelming.

You can’t deny how attractive he looks, especially in his muscle tee. The ruggedness of his appearance, combined with the confidence exuding from his every movement makes you crave him deep inside of you.

But this time, you’re not going to let him have his way. You double down on your resolve, determined to make sure he knows you won’t be easily swayed.

As you stand in a face off the air is charged with tension. The sound of rain pounds against the house as thunder shakes the foundation. You glare into Bennys eyes, your resolve doubling with each passing second. You choose your words precisely, knowing this is the moment to show him your strength, your words laced with determination as you answer.

“Brains beat brawn any day, Benny, you should kno-,” before you finish, Benny grabs you by surprise.

His grip is strong as he pulls you to him whipping you around in his arms and holding your back to his chest.

“Come on troublemaker, you think you can take me?” Benny chuckles, his voice deep and vibrating against your ear as he wraps his impressive bicep around your throat.

“You’re asking for it, Benny!” you retort in anger as you put up a fight pulling and struggling against his vice-like grip.

His strength is unyielding, every muscle in his arm flexed and tense, holding you firmly in place. As you struggle, you can feel his chest pressed against your back and his breath warm against your ear.

“Got you good now, don’t I?” Benny murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “Think you can break free?” he asks as his bicep clenches even harder around your throat. The pressure intensifies against your windpipe and a wave of panic sets in.

Your struggle turns into genuine resistance as you realize he is overpowering you with his strength in a chokehold. The air quickly grows thin and your movements become desperate. “Benny..-ease up a bit!” you manage to gasp out your voice strained with effort.

Benny remains calm, his grip firm yet controlled as he exerts his strength. “Don’t worry baby I’ve got you” he says, his tone firm yet reassuring. “Just surrender to it.”

Your vision begins to blur and your body starts to go limp as you cling to his forearm for support. Exhausted and gasping for breath, you reluctantly give in and weakly tap his forearm, signaling your surrender as you see stars.

“Looks like you’ve had enough, huh?” he chuckles as he releases you on your easy submission.

You stumble forward unable to gain your footing and he quickly reaches out grabbing your waist to prevent you from falling and pulls you back to face him.

“Guess brawn did beat brains this time,” he murmurs low and seductive, his eyes locking with yours in a heated gaze.

“You win this time, Benny,” you say, your voice laced with the hint of threat as you glare back at him. “But payback’s coming.”

Benny’s face lights up with a big grin at your threat of revenge.

“You look real adorable when you’re mad, baby,” he admits, his voice laced with charm. His eyes wander over your body, as he takes in your fiery demeanor.

“I’m not here to be adorable, Benny,” you retort, your voice edged with defiance. “I’m here to be respected.”

As you speak, your eyes hold his, conveying your determination to stand your ground.

“Alright then trouble maker” he says and before you can regain your composure, he surprises you by lifting you up over his shoulder with effortless strength and carrying you off.

“Benny where are we going?” you protest, your voice a mixture of surprise and anger.

“To a place where I can tame that temper of yours,” he responds, giving your backside a playful swat.

He carries you to the kitchen with determination his grip firm and unyielding as he sets you down gently in front of the center island. You look up at his intense gaze with a flutter of excitement coursing through your body.

“You know, you’re not as tough as you think,” he teases as he cups your jaw in one hand. When you open your mouth to protest he pulls you into a deep kiss.

Your arousal instantly wins over reason and you find yourself melting into his touch, unable to resist the magnetic pull of his lips on yours.

Your hands instinctively find their way to his chest grabbing his shirt pulling him even closer.

He smiles against your lips at your neediness for him and you feel the soft press of his mouth intensify as it moves against yours in a tender deliberate rhythm.

You respond eagerly, matching his pace with a hunger of your own. You feel the softness of his lower lip beneath yours, the gentle tug of his teeth as he teases and tantalizes, drawing out every moment with precision.

You arch into his touch, craving more of his kiss as you lose yourself in the intoxicating sensation of his lips on yours.

He presses himself against you, backing you to the edge of the counter and pulls his lips back in anticipation. You are breathless and exhilarated, your heart pounding in your chest as you gaze into his eyes.

“What were you saying about payback?” he murmurs, as you feel his impressive hard on touch between your legs as he pins you against the counter.

You meet his gaze with a mischievous smile, your eyes filled with seduction as you respond, “I think payback can wait.”

Benny chuckles softly, a playful glint dancing in his eyes as he leans in closer.

“Because you know you won’t win against me,” he responds, his voice laced with confidence and a hint of challenge. “Even if you tried, you’d never get your revenge.” He says as his eyes trail seductively down your body “I’m too good at this.” He confirms making your heart race with excitement.

He swiftly grabs your waist, effortlessly turning you around and bending you over the counter. His strong hand presses your chest to the cool tile surface pinning you down in place.

He brushes your hair aside and you feel a surge of excitement coursing through your veins, the anticipation sending shivers down your spine.

With a knowing grin Benny leans in closer, his chest pressing against your back, his voice low and soothing. “Let’s bring down that fiery temper of yours hm?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear.

His tongue darts out and traces a tantalizing path along the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. As he sucks gently, his lips create a sweet, tingling sensation. Each movement of his mouth against your skin ignites a fiery passion within your body.

You can’t help but let out a soft sigh of pleasure, completely lost in the sensation of his tender kiss. His hands strong yet gentle trail down your body, caressing every curve with a delicate touch.

He leans back to standing, his grip firm yet gentle as he guides your legs apart with ease. With a confident touch he lifts your dress over your back exposing your bare skin to the cool air of the kitchen.

A rush of heat floods between your legs as he slides your panties down, the fabric grazing against your skin before settling just at the folds of your thighs. His fingers, warm and skilled, trace intricate patterns against your heat teasing you mercilessly.

“You’re getting so wet for me, aren’t you baby” He smiles feeling your arousal on his fingers “It’s like you can’t resist my touch.” he says punctuating his words with gentle strokes.

“You think you can …make me lose control that easily, Benny?” you pant against the tile, trying not to give in. “You haven’t even …done anything yet,” you say, a hint of defiance in your voice as you try to hold your resolve.

Benny chuckles softly “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with confidence. “I haven’t even begun to show you what I can do.” He glides his fingers over your folds and traces them around your sensitive entrance with increasing pressure until your arousal intensifies as you become wetter under his expert touch.

Then with his fingers fully soaked he trusts them into you pushing them deep inside as he continues to tease and explore. His fingers move in and out of you with deliberate thrusts to drive you wild with desire.

Your body tenses with effort as you try to resist the intensifying sensation. Every muscle is coiled with anticipation with each passing moment until you give in to the urge and surrender to the pleasure building within you.

Just as you moan in acceptance against the counter, he withdraws his hand, leaving you craving more, your body still tingling with desire. Your anger rises within you once again “Your such a tease Benny” you say taunting him in frustration.

“Just a taste of what’s to come,” he says with a smirk as he takes a step back leaving you wanting more.

You hear the faint sound of his zipper being lowered and feel his hand return reassuringly on your back, as he lines himself up.

He presses his hard tip to your entrance and runs it up and down your folds collecting your arousal for penetration. Your back arches from the extreme sensation and he gives your backside a playful slap, the sound echoing the kitchen. “Look how quiet and docile you are for me now,” he says with a grin.

“You’re impossible,” you gasp, your voice breathless with desire as you resist the urge to give in completely again.

Benny chuckles huskily, murmuring, “And you love every minute of it.”

With a slow deliberate push he thrusts his large cock into you, the sensation is overwhelming yet undeniably pleasurable as you both lose yourselves in the heat of the moment.

Your body trembles as he presses you firmly against the counter, the cool surface providing a stark contrast to the searing heat of your body.

His strong hands grasp your hips with a primal need, pulling you back as he presses his cock completely into you stretching you full. You moan as he sets a relentless pace thrusting you forward into the counter.

Each movement sends shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your body, the force of his thrusts driving you deeper into ecstasy. Your muscles clench around him with each powerful stroke, your senses consumed by the overwhelming intensity of his plowing cock.

“You’re being such a good girl for me,” Benny teases, his tone playful as he observes your response in his thrusts.

“I am not …a girl… Benny!” you retort firmly. “I am…a woman.”

“Is that right, darlin’?” he asks, his playful demeanor unwavering. You nod determined to stand your ground as he thrusts into you.

Benny responds by placing his large hand on the back of your neck, pinning you in a submissive pose as he guides his movements. With each snap of his hips, he thrusts into you hard with a raw, primal energy that consumes your every thought and sensation.

You moan against the tiles with your face pressed to them as every collision of him against your body thrusts his cock deeper against your cervix. After several aggressive thrusts in a row a deep moan escapes from you as he breaks down your resolve. Benny revels hearing the sound of your pleasure.

He begins to clap his hips against you, deepening his thrusts until the intensity builds to a fever pitch. You can feel the tension of the coil inside of you winding tighter and tighter, ready to snap at any moment.

Leaning over you he grabs your waist and changes the intensity of his thrusts, driving his movements slower and deeper until you gasp in pleasure as your core throbs from the sensation. His grip on your waist tightens as he leans in to whisper, “You sure are taking my cock like a good girl.”

Overwhelmed by the pleasure he’s giving, all you can do is moan, your body completely surrenders to his will. Benny sits up and pulls your arms back lifting your chest from the counter using them as leverage to bounce you on his hard, thrusting cock.

With each slap of your bodies meeting, your loud moans fill the air as his grunts of exertion echo the kitchen. Your walls begin to flutter around him and you cry out his name like a prayer, he smiles to himself, relishing in the sensation of you fully surrendering to him.

“There’s my good girl,” he says, his voice husky with desire. You let out a guttural moan losing all your anger as the pleasure surges in your core.

And then with one final, explosive thrust, you both orgasm to the overwhelming waves of pleasure. His ropes of cum painting your fluttering walls.

“Benny!” you cry out trembling as he holds you against him standing up. You pant for several moments as he presses his cock deep inside releasing every once of his sperm. He kisses along your neck as he holds you to him savoring your shared connection.

When he begins to soften he pulls his hips back grasping his cock at the base sliding it from you as you feel the loss of contact.

He turns you to face him and pulls your lips onto his softly kissing you once more before he leans back to gaze into your eyes.

They are filled with satisfaction and a small smile tugs at the corners of your lips

“You look real pretty when you’re not being a little trouble maker baby” he teases as he smiles caressing your temple.

With a mischievous grin, you respond, “Dont get used to it Benny trouble is my middle name.”

You both share a laugh and he holds you close, his strong arms wrapped securely around you. The rain outside begins to subside, the soft patter against the windows gradually fading away.

You feel the warmth of his body against yours, a comforting embrace in the aftermath of the storm. As you smile to yourself, a sense of satisfaction washes over you knowing that while he may overpower you physically, you’ll always find a way to turn the tables with wit.

⛈️END⛈️

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inkievoid · 2 months ago

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Selfish || Leon S. Kennedy x Fem!Dog Hybrid!Reader

Inspiration: Puppy Pound - Jazmin Bean

Content Warning: Baby's First Hybrid fic, Starts as Post RE4R Leon, Mentions of Suicide (no actual death), Spoiled Brat Reader, Pet Names (hehe but no really - Sweet Girl, Grumpy Bitch, Princess), Unrequited Love (Not really though).

Authors Note: Decided to post what I had so far of this. Test the waters for a part two if anyone is genuinely interested.

Leon was always lonely after that night in '98. The soul-crushing pressure of keeping the public safe from horrific monstrosities created by cults or money-hungry corporations alike. The bitter feeling of everyone around him moving on with their lives, while he constantly feels stuck.

No one to come home to at night. No one to even call his own. Devoid of the most basic of relationships. Hardly even able to call coworkers friends, maybe acquaintances at best if they're even that. No one to share laughs, or meals, or time with was starting to get to him. The heavy weight of loneliness stuck to him like a mouse in a glue trap. Just abnormally cruel at this point.

Until you came into his life a few years ago.

Just a sweet little dog hybrid sitting under a shop awning, trying to keep dry during a thunderstorm. Being dealt the shittier hand in life of not being brought in by a complete stranger like your siblings. Left to search through trash cans and dumpsters just to scrape by another day. Unsure of how you'd get by the next or even survive the night with how rough the city could be.

Your stomach aches with the familiar hunger of another day with no luck, even just barely making it under the awning. Starting to dry off with your damp hair. The fur on your ears and tail no longer puffed, just a drenched flat matted mess.

That's when he saw you, standing across the street with an umbrella overhead. A hot bag of Chinese takeout ready to be eaten, slowly going cold as he watches the sweetest girl he's ever seen look borderline pathetic. The way your tail is curled around your ankles as you tuck your knees closer when a clap of thunder makes the ground shake, it's so loud. The whimpering sounds you made were so loud he could hear them clear as day across the street.

He can't help himself. Leon's always been helpful. Now, only worse with his job, helping others is just his second nature. That's why he didn't even think twice about jaywalking the second he noticed you shiver once. The sound of wet footsteps caught your attention.

"Are you okay, girl?" Looking up, you're met with the sight of an angel looking down on you. Dull blue eyes sitting in dark exhausted bags stare at you as you take him all in. The light of the closed storefront made his blond hair shiny, along with his luscious lips and large prominent nose.

You're absolutely baffled that someone is even talking to you. Use to people waving you away from their sight or even chasing you off their property. The sound of a foreign language hits your ears, head tilting as you snap back to reality. Ears twitching in response to whatever he asked. Deep chuckles roll from his chest as he smiles at your clear confusion.

"I'm not gonna hurt you. I just wanna help. You got an owner? I don't see a collar on you sweet girl."

Sweet girl. Your brain almost melts at the name alone. Slowly shaking your head, he holds his hand out for you, letting you sniff him and familiarize himself with you. Damp tail starts to wag as he cups your chin, turning your face.

"You wanna come home with me?"

And that was the question that sealed their fates for the next few years. That night, he took you home, fed you, bathed you and gave you the love and attention you'd needed for years. Giving him back companionship he desperately wanted without even realizing it.

You're far from a purebred but treated like one instead of the mutt you actually are. Pampered to the nines by the finest of things. Great clothes, food, products, doctors, anything for Leon's precious little princess. Toys o' plenty, even the most expensive dog bed lays ignored by you. Favoring sleeping with your owner nightly. Clinging to his side the second he got home for the past 3 years now.

Leon's 30th birthday, coming and going by with him just celebrating the day off with you. Cuddled up on the couch, clinging to his side as you napped on his chest. He sighs, watching the commercial for some random romantic comedy coming to theaters soon. Glancing down at the sleeping figure next to him, one of the few reasons on this planet he hasn't blown his own brains out yet.

Your soft features illuminated by the glow of his flat screen. Every soft little note he's made thousands of times before scribbled across your soft skin he's made soft over the time you've spent together. Taking in the details of the small things. The way your ears twitch when you sleep, the small little scar on the side of your nose you told him the story about getting at least thirty times by now, the tiny sharp canines showing through plush open lips.

Eyes linger, brain yelling at him to stop. He can't have his cake and eat it too. That's not his life anymore. That thought alone makes his heart hurt. A pretty girl he knows who'd be perfect for him, but fate decided to make you his glorified pet instead of a woman he could love without judgment.

Getting that familiar loneliness again, he runs his thumb over your cheek, making your face scrunch in your sleep. Not bothering to pull away because he knows you won't budge. That serene mumble you always do as you tuck your head under his chin to get comfortable again. His hand moves from your shoulder, hovering over your lower back like some magnetic force field is keeping him away. You settle down, his hand goes back between your shoulders.

He can't. He'd ruin a precious thing like you. Building you back up to how you deserve to be treated. He's worked so hard to keep you happy. Treat you like a spoiled little princess, even if you act like a grumpy bitch when he's away for long.

He just can't cross that line. Not with you.

Sighing, he flips through the channels, picking an older black and white movie to watch. Ads are rolling on this channel too. He's about to pick up the remote again when a new commercial pops up for a match-making service in the area. The number scrolling along the line at the bottom of the screen in bright pink with a little heart accentuating the end. All he can think about is Claire nagging him to try dating websites, since online dating is apparently the "hot new thing".

He's too fucking old for that... At least he thinks so. But this... This could work. Common interests tend to bring people together, at least that's what he tells himself, pulling his phone out of his pocket and looking up the website.

Jessica? No. Josie? No... Joyce? No! God, he's terrible with names sometimes... His brain can barely let him remember his dates name, he can't do this too.

Leon fumbles with his tie in the mirror, pulling it from the collar and back onto the pile of clothes he can't bother to hang up clustered at the bottom of his closet. The top buttons on his shirt come undone as he glances at you in the mirror. Lying so pretty on his bed, tail curled around your legs as you watch him get dressed for his date. Turning back to you, you sit up quickly. Tail thumping against the sheets as you stare in awe. As if you hadn't seen him in his button ups for work dozens of times by now.

"Well, what do you think, princess?" Your head tilts, ears flopping to the side with your signature cute smile.

"Handsome." The word flows through your lips so easily, his heart rate picking up as he feels the heat in his neck forming. It almost makes him blush at how blunt you can be sometimes. Clearing his throat is the signal for goodbye most days. Crawling over, your delicate hands go to his shoulders, rubbing the top of your head under his chin. Pushing your scent all over him. Even if it can barely be traced over his cologne, you know it's there. It's a mark of ownership over him, at least to you, even if humans don't exactly follow the same rules hybrids do. Other bitches will keep their distance.

"Alright, you know the drill. Don't answer the door and no wild parties. Be a good girl for me while I'm gone, okay?" Leon leans in, giving you a kiss between the ears and a light squeeze before he's gone. Out the door and to dinner with whoever he's going with.

Sauntering to the door, you sit and wait, staring at the thick wood for so long that your eyes start to burn. That's when your pathetic little whimpering starts. Just to walk off to the living room and sulk on the couch like you do every time he leaves without you in tow. Laying your head where he usually sits, his musky scent fills your canine senses and calms you slowly.

It's okay, he'll be back. He always comes back.

An hour goes by, the familiar click of the lock sounds. Ears perking up as you rush to the front door, an excited bark ripping through the air as your tail thumps against the floor. The door opens, Claire stepping through. Which isn't abnormal, sometimes when Leon and Claire go to dinner they end up back there to keep chatting for a while.

"Hi girl!" Claire gets smothered in a tight hug, muzzle buried in her shoulder as she squeezes you. Looking behind her, you see the empty hallway of the apartment building. The lack of Leon behind her, reprimanding you for crowding her when they got back. Your tail halts, stomach knotting up.

Where is he? If he's not home, then where is he? He was just going to dinner with someone. That someone wasn't Claire?!

The brunette immediately notices your distressed tension. Rubbing your back to calm you as she kicks the door closed.

"It's okay girl, he should be home soon. Leon just asked me to drop by and make sure you ate something. C'mon, let's get you fed, yeah?"

She gives you a little squeeze, stepping by to walk into the kitchen. Your eyes still transfixed on the door, plopping to the floor to start your routine of waiting again. Claire looks down at you, worry washing over her as she frowns slightly.

"It's okay girl, he'll be home from his date soon." Her footsteps led away, the sounds of buttons being pushed and the hum of the microwave heating up your dinner was enough to pull you from your rapid thoughts.

Date? What's a date? If he's not with Claire, who is he with? Is it other people you know? What if he's with a stranger? Could that stranger hurt him? Oh no, what if he's hurt somewhere!?

Whining starts again, louder than before, alerting Claire as she walks back into the doorway of the kitchen. Crouching next to you, stroking between your shoulders gently.

"Hey, hey it's okay..."

"Where is he?" Your mumbles come out as more pathetic than you intended. Eyeing Claire finally. Her soft smile does very little to comfort you.

"He's on a date, sweet girl. Y'know, like, a romantic outing. Having a fun time! He might even like her so much he could make her your new mama." The beep from the kitchen catches Claire's attention as she stands up and walks away.

Mama...? He's trying to find you a new mama? You don't need a mama, you want your owner. Only your owner. Taking another woman out on a romantic outing when he could have just taken you somewhere instead?

What are you, chop liver? No longer his little princess? His sweet girl? The light of his life?

He'd always seemed so obsessed with you, just like you were him. Loving him with everything you had and getting back what you thought was your equal share of his love in return.

But now you might have to share him...?

Your eyebrows furrow, eyes going back to the door before Claire calls you to the kitchen, just to get ignored as you angrily pout at nothing. Footsteps round the corner as she crouches next to you again.

"C'mon girl... You can't sit here all -"

"No..." You disobey, tone laced with a growl as Claire looks a little thrown off, not scared but surprised by the sudden attitude change. Her lips draw to a line, her hand coming to your shoulder as she squeezes it gently.

"There's food on the counter. Nice and hot just for you... Please eat it, he'll be home soon. You don't have to sit here all night." Standing up, she gives you a scratch between the ears, heading for the door. The lock clicks into place as you're left in the silence of the apartment again. Nothing but the sound of the outside world to accompany you.

After a few minutes of sulking, you walk to the kitchen to at least look at the food you were offered. Stew sitting piping hot at the kitchen counter with a spoon next to the bowl.

You aren't even hungry, your stomach still in knots as you glare at the food. You know you should at least try eating, unless you actually want to upset Leon.

A little defiant voice in the back of your head pushes through your thoughts to get a pint across.

Make him know you're mad at him...

All content on this page is fictional and I do not condone the acts I enjoy in a fictional sense. I don't consent to my work being reposted or translated.

#resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy

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scribbly-squid · 20 days ago

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Anyone, Anything

Lucifer x F!Imp Reader

Lucifer's world is thrown into chaos when his wife, Lilith, announces she needs a break from their relationship. Her sudden departure leaves him reeling, clutching their infant daughter, Charlie, in his arms as he battles feelings of betrayal and heartbreak. Struggling to reconcile his emotions, he finds himself thrust into the challenges of parenthood alone - until he meets a fellow Hellborn who understands his struggles.

🌻I finally got this chapter finished. It took too long in my opinion, I kept rereading it and didn’t like how some parts sounded. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter / Masterlist

Chapter 1

“What do you think happened?”

You glanced over at Carrie, a fellow imp maid who’d become your closest companion since you started working at the Morningstar Manor. She stood with one hand on her hip, a mischievous gleam in her yellow eyes.

“About what?” you asked, your tone light as you continued sweeping the vast banquet hall. The gilded chandeliers overhead sparkled like constellations, but the heavy silence in the manor was impossible to ignore.

Carrie groaned dramatically, rolling her eyes. “You know…” She glanced around, making sure no one else was nearby before leaning in closer. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “About Lilith leaving.”

Your movements slowed just slightly, the broom catching against the polished marble floor. You straightened and looked up at her, feigning indifference. “I don’t know.”

Carrie narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms as she leaned against the handle of her feather duster. “Oh, come on. You’re telling me you haven’t noticed anything weird? The arguments? The way Lucifer’s been stomping around like a walking thunderstorm?”

You straightened, gripping the broom handle a little tighter. The mention of Lilith’s departure made your stomach twist. Of course you’d noticed the shift in the manor’s atmosphere—the tension so thick it felt like it could suffocate you. Lucifer Morningstar, the King of Hell and the most fearsome being you’d ever encountered, had been anything but his usual self.

“I try not to get involved in things that don’t concern me,” you said finally, your voice quieter than you intended.

Carrie let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “Don’t concern you? Girl, everything concerns you when you live under the same roof as him. Especially when you’re cleaning up after his messes.” She gestured vaguely to the ornate table behind you.

You sighed and turned back to your sweeping, but the knots in your chest only tightened. It wasn’t as though you hadn’t thought about it—hell, you’d overheard more than you cared to admit. The shouting matches, the muffled sobs, the tension that seemed to saturate the very air of the manor. Lilith’s departure hadn’t been a single event. It was a slow unraveling, weeks of barely-hidden turmoil that had finally snapped.

And then there was Charlie, their three-month-old daughter, who’d been thrust into Lucifer’s care. You’d seen him with her a few times. He tried, that much was clear, but he looked… lost. Out of place.

But it wasn’t your place to talk about it.

“I think it’s best we stick to our jobs,” you said carefully, focusing on the rhythmic sweep of the broom. “We’re here to clean, not to speculate.”

Carrie snorted, muttering something you couldn’t quite catch under her breath. But for once, she dropped the subject, moving off to dust one of the massive chandeliers.

The two of you worked in silence for a while, the occasional clang of cleaning tools echoing off the high ceilings. Somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of Charlie’s cries reached your ears. It tugged at something deep inside you—a strange mixture of pity and unease.

You shook the thought away, focusing on the task at hand. The Morningstar family’s affairs were none of your business.

“That should do it.” Carrie’s voice broke the silence. She stood back, brushing a stray feather from her duster as she surveyed the gleaming banquet hall. “Banquet hall’s clean. Mister Winfred will be satisfied.” She pulled a crumpled note from the pocket of her apron and squinted at the next item on the list. “Next up… the parlor room in the west wing.”

You groaned, leaning against your broom for support. “Are you kidding me? We’re on the complete opposite side of the manor! Isn’t there something else we can do here in the east wing?”

Carrie scanned the list, her lips moving silently as she read. After a moment, she shook her head. “Nope. Everything else is west wing. Looks like we’re walking.”

“Great,” you muttered, dragging the broom behind you as you followed her toward the door. The thought of trekking across the sprawling manor was exhausting enough, but the unspoken tension in the air made it worse. The weight of it pressed down on your shoulders like the suffocating heat of Hell itself.

You paused at the doorway, casting one last glance back at the room. The banquet hall gleamed, every surface spotless and perfect. But it was hard to ignore the feeling that no amount of cleaning could fix the fractures running through the Morningstar Manor.

As you and Carrie made your way toward the west wing, the faint sounds of Charlie’s crying grew louder, echoing through the long, marble-lined corridors. The noise tugged at your heart, each sob sharp and insistent, like a tiny dagger pricking your conscience. Before long, you found yourselves passing her nursery, the door slightly ajar. The room inside was dim, but you could make out the faint glow of a nightlight and the shadow of her crib.

Your hoovesteps slowed, hesitation creeping in. Should you check on her? The idea of Charlie crying alone made your stomach churn. You stopped, your hand twitching at your side as if to reach for the door.

But before you could take another step, Carrie grabbed the sleeve of your uniform, stopping you in your tracks. You turned to her, confused, only to find her shaking her head firmly.

“What if His Majesty got the wrong idea?” she whispered, her tone serious.

Her words sent a jolt through you. The last thing you wanted was to be caught somewhere you didn’t belong, especially by Lucifer Morningstar himself. You nodded reluctantly, even as every maternal instinct in you screamed to go inside.

Ignoring the pull in your chest, you forced yourself to follow Carrie, leaving the sounds of Charlie’s wails behind. Each step away from the nursery felt heavier than the last, but you kept your head down and your focus on the path ahead.

By the time you reached the parlor in the west wing, the cries still echoed in your mind, no matter how far you walked. Carrie was already at work, humming softly as she dusted an elaborate set of shelves lined with ancient books and strange artifacts. But you... you couldn’t focus. Your hands gripped the broom tightly, your tail flicking with unease as your thoughts spiraled.

“Hey, you alright?”

Carrie’s voice snapped you back to reality. You glanced up at her, startled, your tail instinctively curling around your ankles as if to ground you.

“Yeah,” you said softly, nodding. You forced a small smile, hoping it was convincing enough. “Just a lot on my mind, I guess.”

Carrie raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. “Don’t let it get to you,” she said, returning to her dusting. “Things in this place are always messy, one way or another.”

Her words lingered as you turned back to your work, sweeping the intricate patterns of the parlor’s marble floor. But no matter how hard you tried to focus, the image of Charlie’s tiny, helpless form wouldn’t leave your mind. And somewhere, deep down, you wondered if anyone else in this entire manor felt the way you did.

“I’m fine… just noticed we left one of the buckets with some of our supplies back there,” you said, forcing a casual tone. Setting down the duster in your hand, you straightened up and glanced toward the door.

Carrie paused mid-dust, arching an eyebrow. “Really? I didn’t notice anything missing.”

“Well, I did,” you replied, your voice steady as you moved toward the exit. “I’ll go fetch them. Wouldn’t want Mister Winfred finding out we’ve left unsightly items lying around for guests or, worse, His Majesty to see.”

Before Carrie could object or ask questions, you slipped out of the parlor and into the hallway, your heart racing. Retracing your steps toward the banquet hall, you couldn’t shake the growing unease gnawing at you.

The sound of soft humming drifted down the corridor as you neared the nursery again, making you slow your pace. You stared at the slightly ajar door, your ears twitching to catch the tune. It wasn’t the usual stillness you associated with the nursery—it was soothing, low, almost angelic.

*He must have heard her crying and came to lull her back to sleep,* you thought, relaxing slightly.

Just as you turned to leave, Charlie’s wails broke through again, this time louder, more desperate. The sound startled you, and you froze in place.

“Oh, golly, what’s wrong, sweetie? You were falling back asleep…” Lucifer’s voice came next, carrying a hint of panic beneath his typically smooth tone.

Against your better judgment, your feet moved toward the door. Your curiosity—and that unshakable maternal instinct—got the better of you. Peering cautiously through the small opening, you caught sight of him. Lucifer Morningstar, the King of Hell himself, was pacing back and forth across the nursery. He cradled Charlie in his arms, his movements careful yet frantic as he hummed a soothing tune under his breath. His usually pristine suit was slightly disheveled, his bowtie loosened and his hair tousled from running his fingers through it.

It was a sight you never thought you’d witness. The fearsome ruler, looking utterly normal as he tried to console his infant daughter.

For a brief moment, you felt an unexpected pang of sympathy for him. He wasn’t just the all-powerful king you served; he was a father fumbling his way through the chaos Lilith had left behind.

But before you could linger any longer, a sharp throat-clearing behind you jolted you back to reality. Your entire body stiffened, and you turned slowly, dread pooling in your stomach.

Mister Winfred stood there, his gaze like daggers as he appraised you. His hands were clasped behind his back, and his posture was as rigid as always.

“And what exactly are you doing here, loitering outside His Majesty’s nursery?” he asked, his voice icy and clipped.

Your tail instinctively curled around your leg as you stumbled over your words. “I-I was just… I thought I heard—”

“Save your excuses,” he snapped, his lips pressing into a thin, unforgiving line. “You’re not paid to eavesdrop on matters that do not concern you. Get back to your duties before I report this breach of discipline to His Majesty.”

Your stomach dropped at the threat, the weight of his words hitting you like a blow. Bowing your head quickly, you stammered, “Y-Yes, Mister Winfred. Right away.”

Without another glance back at the nursery, you hurried down the hallway, your hooves clicking against the polished floor.

[ . . . ]

The cries echoed through the hall, dragging Lucifer from a rare, deep sleep. Groggy and disoriented, he reached instinctively for the space beside him—only to find it cold and empty. His fingers brushed the silken sheets, and a sharp ache of loss filled his chest. Lilith’s absence was still fresh, raw enough that every reminder felt like a blade twisting. With a weary sigh, he slipped his hooves into his soft duck slippers, the absurdity of the gesture lost on him as he accepted the tug back into harsh reality.

It had been less than forty eight hours since Lilith left, yet it felt like an eternity. The once vibrant and commanding aura of the Morningstar Manor now felt muted, its halls too quiet except for the cries of their infant daughter. His responsibilities as a father weighed heavily on his shoulders, and sleep had become a fleeting luxury. Whenever he closed his eyes, he was haunted by memories of Lilith’s departure, her face devoid of the warmth he once knew, her parting words cold and final.

Dragging himself down the dimly lit hallway, his tail trailed limply along the floor. The cries grew louder as he neared Charlie’s nursery, each sob pulling at a part of him he hadn’t known existed. This wasn’t just unfamiliar—it was uncharted territory. Fatherhood, single parenthood, the raw ache of abandonment… Every piece of it unraveled him in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

With a resigned exhale, Lucifer pushed open the nursery door and stepped inside. The soft glow of a nightlight bathed the room in a warm, golden hue, casting shadows on the walls adorned with delicate celestial designs. His daughter lay in her crib, her tiny face red and scrunched as she wailed, her tiny fists flailing. The sight softened something in him, a reminder that no matter how lost he felt, she was even more helpless.

“Alright, apple pie,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing as he scooped her up with practiced gentleness. “I’m here now.”

Charlie’s cries quieted slightly as he began to rock her, pacing the length of the nursery. His movements were slow and deliberate, a sharp contrast to the storm raging inside him. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured a bottle of milk, its surface glinting faintly in the dim light. Holding her securely with one arm, he warmed the bottle with a soft, golden glow from his palm.

Once it was ready, he offered it to her, and she latched on eagerly, her sobs dissolving into quiet, rhythmic gulps. The room fell into a peaceful silence, broken only by the sound of her feeding. Lucifer sank into the rocking chair by the crib, cradling her close as he watched her eyes begin to flutter shut. A tender smile flickered across his lips, though it was weighed down by the shadows in his gaze.

“At least you’re still here,” he whispered, stroking her fine hair. “You’re the one thing keeping me sane in this mess.”

The quiet was broken by the sound of a throat clearing behind him. Lucifer’s head snapped toward the door, his crimson eyes narrowing dangerously. His aura darkened instinctively, a protective edge sharpening in his voice.

“And what exactly are you doing here?” he growled, his tone low and menacing.

Standing in the doorway, poised and unflinching, was Winfred. The imp butler’s expression remained neutral, but his piercing gaze met Lucifer’s without wavering. “My apologies for intruding, Your Majesty,” he began evenly, his hands clasped behind his back. “But I thought it prudent to check in, given recent… changes in the household.”

Lucifer’s annoyance flared, though he quickly turned his attention back to Charlie, who was drifting into a light slumber. He adjusted her position slightly, his movements careful and deliberate. “You have a habit of showing up uninvited, Winfred,” he muttered, his tone icy.

Winfred remained unfazed, his posture as rigid as ever. “A habit, perhaps, but a necessary one. With Lady Lilith gone and many of the staff following her or deserting their posts, someone must ensure that the manor—and its King—continues to function.”

At the mention of Lilith, Lucifer’s jaw tightened, and his tail flicked sharply against the floor. The betrayal still stung, even if he’d grown accustomed to hiding it. “The manor will survive,” he said curtly. “Hell will survive. Right now, she’s all that matters.”

His gaze dropped to Charlie, his voice softening instinctively as he held her close. For a moment, he wasn’t the King of Hell or the fearsome Morningstar; he was simply a father, cradling the one person who hadn’t abandoned him.

Winfred inclined his head, his tone calm but firm. “Of course, sir. However, there is a balance to be struck. Your responsibilities as a father are undeniable, but so are your duties as the ruler of Hell. Delegation, at least in part, may ease your burden.”

Lucifer exhaled sharply, his frustration mounting. “And what do you propose, Winfred? That I hand her off to someone else? That I treat her as an inconvenience like—” He stopped himself, the words catching in his throat.

Winfred’s expression softened just slightly, his tone almost understanding. “No, sir. I propose finding someone trustworthy to assist you. Not to replace you, but to ensure that you can balance both roles. Hell may wait, but it won’t wait forever.”

Lucifer’s gaze lingered on Charlie’s peaceful face, his tail curling protectively around the base of the chair. The thought of entrusting her care to anyone else gnawed at him, but he couldn’t ignore the truth in Winfred’s words.

“If you truly believe there’s someone capable of earning my trust, then perhaps,” he said finally, his voice quieter but no less commanding. Rising from the rocking chair, he adjusted Charlie in his arms, her tiny form nestled against his chest. “But for now, leave us.”

Winfred bowed deeply, his movements fluid and respectful. “As you wish, Your Majesty.” With that, he turned and disappeared down the hall, leaving Lucifer alone in the golden glow of the nursery.

He looked down at Charlie, a rare, soft smile gracing his lips as he stroked her hair. “It’s just you and me now, apple pie,” he murmured. “And I promise, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

[ . . . ]

Once you grabbed the bucket from the banquet hall, you made your way back to the parlor, your mind still reeling from the earlier conversation with Winfred. The butler’s words weighed heavy, and though you tried to shake them off, they lingered like an unwelcome shadow.

As you entered the parlor, Carrie was finishing dusting the last of the shelves. She glanced over her shoulder and smirked. "Wasn’t sure when you’d be back," she said, her tone teasing.

"Sorry," you muttered, setting the bucket down. "I bumped into Winfred on the way there."

Carrie winced, her tail flicking nervously. "Oof. That explains the look on your face. What did the old grump want this time?"

You hesitated, debating how much to reveal. "Nothing much," you lied, grabbing a rag from the bucket and moving toward a nearby table. "Just reminded me to stay on task. You know how he is."

Carrie snorted, rolling her eyes. "Sounds about right. He’s always lurking around like he’s got nothing better to do than breathe down our necks."

She hopped down from the stool she’d been using to reach the higher shelves, dusting off her apron with exaggerated annoyance. "Last time, he scolded me for ‘improper posture’ while dusting. Posture! Who cares about posture when you’re cleaning?"

Her dramatic reenactment of Winfred’s scowl drew a genuine laugh from you, momentarily easing the tension you’d been carrying since your run-in with the butler.

"Alright," Carrie said, stretching her arms above her head. "We’ve got one last thing on the list—"

A knock at the door interrupted her, and both of you turned toward the sound.

Standing in the doorway was Guthrie, a cheerful imp who worked in the kitchen. He offered you both a friendly smile. "Good afternoon, ladies. Just checking in on how you’re doing."

Carrie raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "What? Winfred’s too busy, so he sent you to spy on us?"

Guthrie chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not spying, no. Well, maybe a little. He’s rounding up what’s left of the staff for a meeting."

Your brows furrowed. "What for? Is someone in trouble?"

Carrie scoffed, her tail flicking dismissively. "When isn’t someone in trouble with that shriveled imp?"

Guthrie shifted awkwardly, glancing between the two of you. "I don’t know the details, but he specifically asked for everyone to gather. You two should come along."

Reluctantly, you exchanged a look with Carrie before following Guthrie out of the parlor and down the hall. The tension in the air thickened as you approached the kitchen, where the remaining servants had gathered. Whispers filled the room, but they fell silent when Winfred stepped onto a crate to address the group.

The butler’s stern gaze swept over the assembled staff, his hands clasped behind his back. "Thank you for arriving promptly," he began, his tone clipped and commanding.

"As many of you are aware, Lady Lilith is no longer residing in the manor. Some of you witnessed her departure; others have heard rumors. Regardless, this is a private matter, and discretion is paramount. His Majesty does not wish for this information to leave these walls."

A ripple of unease passed through the room. One of the younger imps raised a trembling hand. "But… what about the staff who left? Won’t they spread word about what happened?"

Winfred’s expression darkened, his crimson eyes narrowing. "Those who abandoned their posts have forfeited their loyalty to this household—and the protection it offers. His Majesty will address them in due time. For now, your focus should remain on your duties. His Majesty and young Miss Charlie are our priorities. Am I clear?"

A chorus of uneasy nods followed, though the tension in the room remained palpable.

"You are dismissed," Winfred said sharply, stepping down from the crate.

The staff began to disperse, their murmured conversations resuming as they filed out of the kitchen. You turned to leave with Carrie, but Winfred’s voice stopped you in your tracks.

"Y/N, a moment."

Your stomach dropped, and you exchanged a worried glance with Carrie before turning back to face the butler. "Yes, sir?"

Winfred regarded you with his usual composed demeanor, though his piercing gaze seemed to weigh you down. "You will assist His Majesty with Miss Charlie. Effective immediately."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you struggled to find your voice. "W-what? Why me? I’m just a maid—I barely know anything about…" You trailed off, unsure how to phrase it without sounding defiant.

"Precisely," Winfred replied, his tone unyielding. "You are unassuming, diligent, and discreet. His Majesty requires someone who can balance attentiveness with subtlety, and you have demonstrated those qualities."

You hesitated, your mind racing. This wasn’t what you’d signed up for. You’d come to the Morningstar Manor to escape your past, to provide for your son without drawing attention to yourself. Now, Winfred was thrusting you into the center of the Morningstars’ inner circle.

"But… I’m not sure I’m the right person for this," you said weakly.

Winfred tilted his head slightly, his gaze softening just enough to unsettle you. "You have a son, do you not? Five years old, if I’m not mistaken."

Your blood ran cold. "That’s none of your business," you said sharply, though your voice wavered.

The butler’s calm expression didn’t falter. "Perhaps not. But I believe your experience as a mother will serve you well in caring for Miss Charlie. You understand the stakes better than most."

Anger and fear churned in your chest. "You can’t just… use that against me!"

"I’m not using anything against you," Winfred said evenly. "I’m offering you an opportunity to prove your worth—to His Majesty, to this household, and to yourself."

You clenched your fists, glancing away. Images of your son filled your mind, his laughter, his smile. You’d made sacrifices to ensure his safety, to keep him hidden. Refusing this assignment could risk everything.

"Fine," you said quietly, your voice laced with reluctant resolve. "I’ll do it."

"Good," Winfred said with a curt nod. "You’ll begin immediately. His Majesty is in the nursery. Introduce yourself and make yourself useful."

As you turned to leave, you paused, glancing back at Winfred. "And if he doesn’t want me there?"

The butler’s gaze was steady. "He will. He may not realize it yet, but His Majesty needs help. Even the Morningstar has limits."

With a heavy heart, you made your way toward the nursery, each step feeling heavier than the last. You could only hope that stepping into this new role wouldn’t unravel the delicate balance you’d fought so hard to maintain.

You inhaled deeply, steeling yourself before heading down the hall. Every step felt heavier than the last, your mind racing with what awaited you in the nursery. As you neared the corridor, you spotted Carrie fussing with some picture frames hanging on the wall, clearly stalling to catch you on your way out.

The moment she caught sight of you, she bounded over, her tail swishing nervously behind her.

“What in Satan’s name was that about?” she demanded, her voice a mix of curiosity and worry.

You avoided her gaze, keeping your expression as neutral as possible. “It was… nothing. Winfred gave me a new task to do, nothing more.” Your tone was curt, and you resumed walking further down the hall, hoping she’d take the hint and drop it.

“Nothing?” she repeated, hurrying to keep pace with you. “I thought he was going to skin you alive! What did you do? Forget to polish the silver? Spill something in the banquet hall? Oh, wait—don’t tell me it was because of the time I—”

“It wasn’t about any of that,” you interrupted sharply, cutting her off before she could start confessing to crimes you didn’t want to hear about.

Carrie’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, and she darted ahead to block your path, forcing you to stop. “Uh-uh. You don’t get to brush me off like that. What did he want?”

You hesitated, weighing your words carefully. Carrie had been your closest friend in the manor, but even she didn’t know the full truth about your past—or your son. "It’s nothing you need to worry about, Carrie," you said firmly. "I have it handled."

Her tail flicked, and her brow furrowed as she crossed her arms. “Oh, really? Because you’ve got that look on your face. You know, the one you get when something’s bothering you but you’re too stubborn to say anything.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "It’s just… Winfred assigned me to assist with Miss Charlie."

Carrie’s jaw dropped, her tail stilled in disbelief. "What? You? Of all the imps in this cursed place?"

"Yes, me," you said dryly, stepping around her to continue down the hall.

"But why?" she pressed, falling into step beside you. "You’re not even a nanny! I mean, I’m sure you’re good with kids, sure, but this is different. This is the Morningstar’s kid! If you so much as sneeze wrong, he’ll—"

"Carrie," you interrupted, your voice laced with irritation. "I don’t have a choice, okay? Winfred made it clear this isn’t optional."

She fell silent for a moment, processing your words. Then, with a sly smirk, she elbowed you gently. "So, you’re telling me you’re going to be spending quality time with the big boss himself? Maybe you’ll even get on his good side."

You shot her a look. "That’s not how this works, and you know it."

Carrie shrugged, the smirk never leaving her face. "Hey, I’m just saying—if anyone can charm a grumpy king, it’s you."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," you muttered, quickening your pace.

As you neared the nursery door, Carrie finally stopped trailing you, her teasing expression softening. “Hey… seriously, though. If you need anything—or if it gets to be too much—just let me know, okay? You don’t have to deal with this alone.”

You paused, her words catching you off guard. Turning to face her, you managed a small, genuine smile. “Thanks, Carrie. I’ll keep that in mind.”

With a deep breath, you pushed open the door to the nursery, stepping into its quiet warmth. The room was dimly lit, with soft golden hues spilling from a nearby lamp. Inside, Lucifer sat in a rocking chair, his posture both regal and relaxed as he cradled Charlie against his chest. The infant was sound asleep, her tiny hand clutching the edge of his jacket.

Lucifer’s gaze shifted to you the moment you entered, his crimson eyes sharp and watchful. There was no mistaking the subtle narrowing of his gaze, the unmistakable glint of protective wariness that only a father could carry.

Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “Your Majesty,” you said softly, inclining your head in a respectful bow. “Winfred sent me. He thought you might need… assistance.”

Lucifer’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, the air in the room seemed to grow heavier, his presence suffocating in its intensity. “Did he, now?” he said coolly, his deep voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. “And what makes him think I need *help*?”

You hesitated, carefully choosing your next words. “He thought… perhaps it might ease your burden, even just a little. Raising a child is no small task, especially with everything else you’re managing.”

The room fell silent, save for the faint, rhythmic sound of Charlie’s breathing. You could feel the weight of Lucifer’s scrutiny, his piercing gaze dissecting every word, every twitch of your expression.

At last, his eyes dropped to the sleeping infant in his arms. His features softened imperceptibly, the harsh lines of his face easing just slightly. When he spoke, his voice was quieter, though no less commanding. “And what experience do you have with children?”

Your heart pounded, memories of your son flickering through your mind like a distant flame. “I… I’ve cared for children before,” you said carefully, the words deliberate as you skirted around the full truth. “Being an older sister, I’ve learned how to handle their needs. I’m… patient.”

Lucifer studied you for a long moment, his tail swishing lazily behind him, though his gaze remained sharp and calculating. The seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity before he finally exhaled, a low sigh that carried both weariness and reluctant acceptance.

“Fine,” he said at last, though his tone remained guarded. “But don’t worry about today. You’re free to go.”

Relief washed over you, though you kept your expression neutral. You bowed respectfully. “Of course, Your Majesty. Thank you.”

Lucifer didn’t respond, his attention already returning to his daughter as he gently adjusted the blanket around her. You took that as your cue to leave, stepping back into the hallway and closing the door quietly behind you.

As the door clicked shut, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. You made your way toward the staff area where everyone’s lockers were tucked away. The dimly lit corridor offered a brief respite from the tension you’d been carrying, though your chest still felt tight. Slipping inside the locker room, you let out a heavy sigh, the weight of the day pressing down on you.

You quickly began to change out of your uniform, swapping it for your usual attire. As the fabric slid off your shoulders, the familiar comfort of your clothes helped ease some of your nerves. Tugging your shirt over your head, you brushed your hair back, smoothing the strands that had been tousled and fixing the bits that stubbornly pricked upward at the base of your horns.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed someone entering the room. Carrie stepped in, her arms folded, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern. She caught your gaze and gave you a small nod.

“Hey…” you greeted softly, your voice subdued as you grabbed your bag to stow away your dirty uniform.

“Hey yourself,” Carrie replied, leaning casually against one of the lockers, though the tilt of her tail betrayed her curiosity. “You okay? You looked like you were walking to your own execution earlier.”

You let out a dry chuckle, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” you muttered, shoving the uniform into your bag.

“Well, I mean, you walked into the devil’s den,” Carrie teased lightly, though her tone grew more serious. “So? How bad was it? Did Lucifer breathe fire? Throw you out the window? Blink and disintegrate you?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, nothing like that. He was… intense, sure. But he didn’t kill me.” You slung your bag over your shoulder, leaning back against the locker with a sigh. “He’s just… protective. Can’t really blame him for that.”

Carrie studied you for a moment, her usual snark giving way to genuine concern. “Still, that’s no small thing—being asked to help with his kid. Winfred must think you’ve got nerves of steel or something.”

“More like he didn’t give me a choice,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “It’s not like I volunteered for this.”

Carrie tilted her head, her brow furrowing. “You sure you don’t think it’s a punishment or something, do you? Like, ‘Hey, you annoyed me today, so go deal with the King of Hell’s kid’?”

You shook your head, though her words made you pause. “No… I don’t think so. Winfred was weirdly insistent, like he thought I’d be good at it. It’s just—” You hesitated, the weight of your secret hanging heavily on your mind. “It’s a lot.”

Carrie gave you a long look, her tail flicking thoughtfully. “Well, if anyone can handle it, it’s you. You’ve got that whole ‘calm under pressure’ thing going on. Plus, you’re good with kids… right?”

Her words struck a chord, and you glanced away, pretending to adjust the strap of your bag. “I guess,” you said quietly.

Carrie didn’t push further, instead offering a small smile. “Well, good luck with it. If nothing else, you’ll get some great stories out of it. ‘The Day I Survived Lucifer Morningstar’ has a nice ring to it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking your head. “Thanks, Carrie. That’s… oddly encouraging.”

“Anytime,” she said, giving you a playful salute as she turned to head toward her locker.

As you made your way out of the staff area, her words lingered in your mind. Despite the weight of the task ahead, there was a strange sense of resolve building within you. Whatever came next, you’d face it—one day at a time.

"I’ll see you later," you said, managing a small smile, though exhaustion was already tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"See you later!" Carrie called back, her voice cheerful as she headed in the opposite direction, her tail swishing as she disappeared down the corridor.

You sighed softly, adjusting your bag’s strap and stepping out into the streets of Hell. The evening air was heavy with the scent of sulfur, mingling with the distant din of chatter and the occasional scream. Finally, you spotted the bus stop just up ahead and felt a wave of relief at the sight of the bench waiting for you.

I can finally rest my feet, you thought, eager for even a moment’s reprieve after such a long day.

But, as luck would have it, your relief was short-lived. A hulking shark demon plopped down on the bench just as you approached, sprawling out and taking up every inch of space. His massive tail swayed lazily, nearly knocking over the trash can beside him.

You stopped in your tracks, an internal groan echoing in your head. Great.

Awkwardly, you hovered a few feet away, clutching the strap of your bag a little tighter. The demon glanced up, his beady black eyes locking onto you, and a slow, toothy grin spread across his face. You could feel the weight of his gaze, predatory and calculating, making your skin crawl. Still, you kept your eyes straight ahead, trying to focus on the road.

Hailing a cab wasn’t an option—you’d spent nearly every spare cent on bills and essentials for your son. That left you with one uncomfortable choice: waiting here in silence, no matter how unnerving it felt.

“Just wait it out,” you muttered under your breath, casting another hopeful glance down the road. The bus had to show up soon, right?

The demon’s grin widened, his jagged teeth gleaming in the dim light. “What? Too good to sit by me, girlie?” he sneered, his voice deep and mocking.

You stiffened but didn’t look at him. “Just waiting for the bus,” you replied evenly, keeping your tone calm and distant.

Your tail swished behind you, betraying your unease as you heard the demon shift on the bench. His heavy footsteps thudded against the ground as he stood, his towering shadow falling over you.

Fuck me, you thought, shoulders tensing as you braced yourself for whatever was coming next.

The demon leaned closer, his breath foul with the stench of decay and whatever he’d eaten last. “Waiting for the bus, huh?” he rumbled, his voice dripping with amusement. “Seems to me you’ve got nothing better to do. How ’bout keeping me company, sweetheart?”

You shifted your weight, gripping your bag tightly. “I’d rather not,” you said sharply, forcing yourself to remain composed as your eyes flicked to the horizon.

Where is that damn bus?

He laughed, a low, guttural sound that sent a chill up your spine. “Aw, don’t be like that. Bet you’re more fun than you look,” he teased, his grin widening as he leaned in even closer.

Your patience snapped like a taut wire. Turning sharply, you finally met his gaze, your eyes narrowing. “Back off,” you said, your voice firm and unwavering. Your tail cracked loudly like a whip, the sharp sound cutting through the tension. “I’m not interested. Move along.”

For a moment, the demon looked surprised, his grin faltering. Then he laughed again, louder this time, a sound that grated against every nerve in your body.

But before he could say anything else, the rumble of the bus engine filled the air. The headlights cut through the haze, and the bus rolled to a stop with a hiss, its doors creaking open. Relief flooded you as you stepped forward quickly, ignoring the demon entirely.

“Catch you later, sweetheart,” he called after you, but you didn’t spare him a glance as you climbed aboard, finding a seat near the middle of the bus.

Sinking into the worn cushion, you let out a long breath, the tension finally melting from your shoulders. You glanced out the window, catching a glimpse of the shark demon glaring after you, his face twisted in annoyance.

Safe at last, you leaned back and allowed yourself a moment to relax. The familiar sights of I.M.P City rolled past the window, the vibrant chaos of Hell’s streets a strange sort of comfort. As the bus rumbled along, a small smile tugged at your lips. Home was close, but there was one more stop to make before you could call it a day.

Pulling out your phone, you tapped out a quick message to your son’s babysitter, confirming that everything was still fine on that front. Within moments, a thumbs-up notification popped up, and you felt a surge of gratitude.

The bus slowed to a stop, and you hopped off, your shoes clicking against the pavement as you made your way to the nearby grocery store. The doors slid open with a mechanical hum, and you stepped inside, heading directly for the aisle you needed.

Your hand found the familiar box on the shelf, and you smiled faintly, tossing it into your basket. It wasn’t much, but it was one of your son’s favorites—something small to make him smile after a long day.

After a quick trip through self-checkout, you stepped back out into the warm evening air, the receipt crinkling in your pocket. With your purchase in hand, you started the final leg of your journey, your thoughts already drifting to the warmth of home and the sound of your son’s laughter.

No matter how difficult the day had been, you reminded yourself, it was worth it for him. Always.

As you rounded the corner, your apartment building came into view—a modest structure that had seen better days. The paint was peeling, the windows were slightly fogged, and the steps groaned underfoot, but it was yours. No palace in Hell could match the comfort of the home you’d built within these walls.

You climbed the familiar flights of stairs, each creak of the wood a sound you could trace blindfolded. At the top, you paused in front of your door, the muffled sounds of cartoons and soft giggles filtering through. A smile tugged at your lips as you pulled out your keys and unlocked the door.

The hinges squeaked as the door swung open, and the lively chatter of the cartoon characters greeted you, mingled with the unmistakable sound of your son’s giggles. The sight of him on the living room floor, cross-legged with his favorite plush toy clutched in his tiny hands, made your heart swell. His eyes, wide and bright, flicked to you instantly, and his face lit up with sheer joy, revealing his sharp little teeth in a grin that mirrored yours.

“Mama!” he cried, springing to his feet with surprising speed and charging toward you, his small arms spread wide.

You crouched just in time to scoop him into your arms, holding him tight as his arms wrapped around your neck. The exhaustion from your day faded into nothing against the warmth of his embrace. "Hey, sweetheart," you murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Were you good for Ms. Ella?"

He nodded so enthusiastically you thought his head might pop off, and from the kitchen, you heard a chuckle. Turning your head, you saw Ms. Ella wiping her hands on a dishtowel as she stepped into view. Her kind, wrinkled face softened as she watched the two of you.

“An absolute devil, as always,” she said with a knowing smile. “He helped me set the table for his snack earlier. I’d say you’ve got a proper little gentleman in the making.”

You laughed, ruffling his messy hair, and he beamed with pride. “Couldn’t do it without him,” you said, your tone warm as you gently set him down. Reaching into your bag, you pulled out Ms. Ella’s payment for the evening, handing it to her with a grateful nod.

“Thank you so much, Ms. Ella. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She waved her hand dismissively, her smile unwavering. “Oh, it’s no trouble at all, dear. He’s a delight, as always. You just make sure you get some rest tonight, alright?”

“I will,” you promised, seeing her out with a final wave.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, your son tugged on your sleeve, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Mama, can I have it now? Pleeease?”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning confusion. “Have what, exactly?”

He pointed at your grocery bag, practically bouncing on his toes. “The Greed Seeds! I saw them!”

You laughed, reaching into the bag and pulling out the small box. His delighted gasp filled the room, and he clapped his hands together like he’d just won the lottery. “Yes!”

“After dinner,” you said firmly, holding the box just out of reach as he pouted dramatically. You scooped him up again, carrying him toward the kitchen. “Now, how about you help me cook tonight, huh? Chef’s assistant, as always?”

He nodded eagerly, the pout vanishing as he threw his arms around your neck again. Together, you began working on a simple dinner, with him passing you ingredients and ‘taste-testing’ bits of veggies when he thought you weren’t looking.

The kitchen was small, but it felt vast and alive with the sound of his laughter. When the food was ready, the two of you sat down to eat at the little table by the window. The meal was simple but hearty, and as you listened to him animatedly describe the latest episode of his favorite cartoon, you couldn’t stop smiling.

It wasn’t a glamorous life, but it was your life. Every late shift, every exhausting day, every run-in with the rougher parts of Hell—it was all worth it for this.

Later, after dinner was cleaned up and his small hands had claimed their prize—much to his uncontainable delight—you tucked him into bed. He clutched his favorite plush toy tightly, his eyelids heavy but his grin still bright.

“Love you, Mama,” he whispered sleepily, his voice barely audible as he snuggled into the blankets.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” you replied, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead before pressing a kiss there. “Sweet dreams.”

As you turned off the light and quietly shut the door behind you, you stood for a moment in the silence of your small apartment. Exhausted but content, you let out a long breath and smiled.

This was home. And nothing else mattered.

Tag list: @diffidentphantom

#lucifer hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer magne #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #x reader #hazbin hotel #helluvaverse

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unboundprompts · 7 months ago

Note

Hiya, can you write some thunderstorm setting prompts? Such as activities, dialog, how to describe the storm itself and ect? Thank you so much!!

Thunderstorm Prompts

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

The air was thick and charged with anticipation. Dark, heavy clouds loomed overhead. The atmosphere was tense, as if nature itself was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable release.

"Don't be nervous," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her in a safe embrace. "The storm can't bother us in here."

A distant rumble echoed across the sky. A warning of what's to come. The wind picked up, swirling through trees and knocking leaves from branches. The scent of rain hung heavy in the air.

He had always been a little afraid of storms. The sudden, loud noises never failed to make him jump. "Don't worry," his partner told him, "I'll protect you. Lightning doesn't stand a chance."

The storm intensified, unleashing its fury with unabated vigor. Lightning continued to crackle across the heavens, painting fleeting landscapes of stark contrast. Thunder rolls continuously, punctuating the relentless assault of rain and wind.

"Well," she said, "there goes our plans." They watched the downpour from the window, rain coming down in sheets. "Do you want to watch a movie?"

Jagged streaks of lightning illuminated the sky in brilliant flashes, illuminating the world in start relief for split seconds. Thunder followed closely behind, a deep, booming percussion that reverberated through the air and through your bones.

"This is kind of perfect, actually," he chuckled. "There's this card game I've been meaning to show you. I don't think we'll be going anywhere anytime soon."

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#writing prompts #creative writing #writeblr #dialogue prompt #story prompt #prompt list #ask box prompts #otp prompts #setting prompts

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cevansbrat0007 · 10 months ago

Note

Request: Andy Barber & Baby Girl having sex during a thunderstorm.

Through the Storm

Summary: Andy helps you overcome your fear of thunderstorms.

Warnings: Astraphobia, Smut, Anxious Reader, Dominant Andy, Manhandling, Fingering, Spanking, CMNF (Clothed Male, Nude Female), Safe Sex, Cuddles, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Finally finished this WIP! This request takes place early in Andy and Reader's relationship. Part of my ongoing Growing Pains Series, but can also be read as a standalone. Not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

You stare out into the backyard, watching sheets of slanted rain pelt against your boyfriend’s newly installed patio. While it wasn’t much, it was enough to give the compact enclosed space the cozy feel it had long been missing. You’d even helped him with the landscaping, much to your chagrin.

Andy had been quick to learn that while you enjoyed gardening you were also terrified of virtually all things creepy crawly, like bees. Especially bees. Your man hadn’t known what to make of that one, which had certainly made for an entertaining afternoon.

A loud crash of thunder suddenly booms overhead, startling you so bad that you nearly drop the bottle of water in your hands. You fucking hated thunderstorms, a fun little nugget that you had yet to share with the man who was currently waiting for you to join him upstairs.

Truth be told, you hadn’t even planned on staying over tonight. You were supposed to be home by the time the storm rolled in, tucked away safe and sound on your couch. All the while clutching your stuffed bear, Mr. Sprinkles, for dear life and watching your favorite comfort films until Mother Nature decided she was done with her tantrum.

But dinner with friends had gone long and then the show had started late. Well, the dinner itself hadn’t actually been with friends – more like one of his work colleagues. But the guy’s wife had been nice enough. And after enjoying one last round of drinks, you four had wandered across the street to take-in a production of Aladdin on Broadway.

Of course musicals weren’t really your thing, but since it was a childhood favorite of yours you’d been all for it. Your boyfriend didn’t know how much of a Disney fan you really were. Which was okay. Because he was older, more mature. And as such, you always tried to come off more sophisticated than what you actually were.

He’d already been married once before and had a child. One he’d lost a few years back. You two had yet to actually have a true conversation about that one but you were almost certain it was coming.

It had to be, right? Because it wasn’t like you both could skirt around the topic forever. But, at the same time, it’s also not like you could be the one to bring up. Like, how would a conversation like that even go?

Exactly. It wouldn’t. Because you couldn’t. It wasn’t your place.

So, you would allow that door to remain shut for as long as it took to allow him to open it and guide you through. You could be patient.

Alright fine. You would make yourself be patient. And until then you would keep trying to demonstrate the right amount of emotional maturity needed to prove that you could be a good partner and support system. Or at least a little worldlier than you probably came off.

But all of that would be pretty hard to do if Andrew Barber knew that you were secretly afraid of thunderstorms. He wouldn’t get it and you would only end up tripping all over yourself if you tried to explain. Which meant that you had to make a decision.

Either you could be brave and climb the stairs so you could crawl into bed – his bed – wearing nothing but a pair of panties and one of his oversized t-shirts. Or you could sneak upstairs, grab your clothes, and dash out your man’s front door into the night like a madwoman and hope that he would be too stunned to chase you down.

“Whatcha doin’ down there, Baby Girl?” Andy bellows from up above, making you jump.

“Noth–coming!” You shout back as you pad towards the stairs, still trying your best to devise a plan. Andrew Barber was deceptively fast, which meant running was out. So you were most likely gonna have to suck it up until he fell asleep and then you would be free to tremble in peace.

The city’s hottest attorney could not know that he was dating the world’s biggest scaredy cat. If he ever found out, you might never recover from the embarrassment.

You find yourself holding your breath as you round the corner before stepping inside Andy’s bedroom. Your man looks up from his phone when he notices that you’ve finally joined him. A warm smile spreads across his handsome features as he leans back, allowing his big body to relax against the frame.

“Thought I was gonna have to come looking for you.” His husky purr sends a tiny shiver coursing through you, all the way down to your toes.

“Uh, nope. Here I am.” Your eyes stray towards your overnight bag nestled innocently in the corner. Because if you weren’t mistaken you were also beginning to sweat. “But I was thinking that maybe I ought to – nooope!”

An loud, unexpected clap of thunder has you diving towards the bed with a shriek. You seek refuge under the blankets, ignoring the sounds of a bewildered Andy calling your name. He tries to lift up the edge of the comforter, but you refuse to let go.

At this point, you have no desire to acknowledge just how ridiculous you were being at that very moment. Because you were scared.

And also a smidge mortified.

“Um, honey..?” Andy works to keep his tone light. “What’s going on?” He pauses briefly as one big hand comes to rest on what he assumes must be your head. “Are you okay?”

“Yep!” You squeak out, clutching the blanket even tighter around you. “But I’m also really, really sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Again he tugs at the edge of your makeshift shield, prompting you to try and roll away. “You haven’t done anything – can you at least look at me? Please.”

“Um, I…I don’t think so. No.” Your words come out slightly muffled.

You’re rewarded with a heavy sigh followed by a brief moment of silence. Although you’re not sure what you expected him to say, you’re still surprised by what comes next.

“Well, if you won’t come out, then I guess that means I’ll just have to come under there then, won’t I?”

Fine by you. Because you were pretty sure that you were only seconds away from dying of embarrassment anyhow.

“Kay.”

“Let me in, princess.”

Relief fills him when he sees you finally relax your grip. Seconds later he joins you under the blankets, cocooning you both within the plush softness.

“Hey.” Andy breathes as his eyes strain to adjust to the light.

“Hey.”

As if of its own accord, one of his hands reaches over to gently brush your curls away from your face. A quiet sigh makes its way past your lips as you feel yourself melting into his touch. In a way it acted as an unspoken reminder.

You were safe with this man. Which meant it was time to fess up.

“Umm…” He makes an exaggerated show of looking around. “Why are we hiding?”

“Because.” You whisper, only to flinch when another crack of thunder echoes above.

“Because?” Your man drags out the word. “Because what? Are you–?” He cuts himself off before trying again. “I’m gonna guess that all this has something to do with the storm. Am I somewhere in the ballpark?”

His question has hot tears pricking the backs of your eyes.

“I don’t like it.” You croak before giving into temptation and burying yourself in his tattoo-covered chest. “In fact, I hate it.”

Good Lord, you sounded so pitiful right now.

“The…storm?”

“All of it.” You confirm as you begin to tremble ever so slightly. “The lightning, the thunder, the heavy winds, the sound of the rain. S’too much.”

“I see.” Is all he says, even as his hand goes to rest on the small of your back, rubbing in easy, soothing circles.

“I’m sorry.” You feel even worse when the tears spill over onto Andy’s bare skin.

“Hush.” Comes the soft-spoken command, drawing you flush against his much larger body. ��There’s no need to be sorry. I just wish you would’ve said something earlier. Is that why you were so adamant about going home tonight?”

“Mmhm.”

But then your handsome ogre just had to go and be difficult.

“And I convinced you to stay.” Andy huffs out a disappointed breath at the same time as he drags his knuckles along your spine. “I should’ve noticed something was wrong. All I could think about was how much better I sleep whenever you’re next to me.” You can tell he’s annoyed now – not with you – but with himself. “Should’ve thought to ask why you seemed so skittish.” He drops a brief kiss on the top of your head.

“Andy…”

“I’m sorry, Baby Girl.” He grunts, pulling away so that he can get a good look at your face. “No–” He continues when you open your mouth to interrupt. “I should’ve been paying better attention. That’s on me.” He takes a moment to whisper his sensual, full lips over your own.

“It’s okay.” You assure him before pressing a tender kiss on his left pec, just above his heart. “I probably should’ve said something earlier. It was just…I guess I was embarrassed.” You finish with a shrug.

“Why?” He cocks his head to the side as he patiently waits for you to answer. Although it was hard to read his expression in the dark, you knew he was genuinely curious.

“Because it’s a stupid.” You mumble a few seconds later. “It’s stupid and I’m stupid for–”

“No it’s not.” Andy swiftly interjects. “And no you’re not. So please let that be the last time I hear you refer to yourself that way.” His gruff tone leaves little room for argument, not that you were in the mood anyway. Seconds later, another clap of thunder, followed by a flash of lightning, has you diving back into the safety of his arms.

“Fuck.” Pissed at himself, he quickly wraps his arms around you before gently rocking you back and forth in an effort to calm you down. “When did it start?” More thunder booms overhead the whole house, loud enough to shake the whole house.

Andy frowns when he hears the tiny whimper that escapes your throat. .

“It’s silly.” You warn, even as you close your eyes and force yourself to take a deep breath.

“Try me.”

He’d stay up all night if that’s what it took to get you to talk. The last thing he wanted was for you to shut down on him. Again.

“Please.”

Guess that was your cue to start spilling your guts.

“Wh–when I was a little girl, I couldn’t have been more than six or seven, there was this really bad storm. I mean later we would find out that tornadoes had touched down all over the region. But that night – I swear the rain was coming down so hard it sounded like hundreds of baseballs were being pelted against the roof. And the wind was blowing so hard that it kept rattling windows.”

“Mmhm.” The small, noncommittal sound rumbles from somewhere deep within his chest, spurring you forward.

“So my dad woke us all up, me and my siblings, and herded us down to the basement. I guess he’d been watching the news and figured we’d be safer there. My mom had laid out blankets and sleeping bags for us. At first it seemed kinda fun – almost like we were camping out.”

Another bright flash of light briefly illuminates the bedroom, but you’re too engrossed in your story to really care. Plus, you had Andy to keep you safe. Nothing bad ever seemed to happen when you were with Andy.

At least not so far.

“I could see that.” Your boyfriend affirms, before giving your hip a light squeeze. “Bet you probably had a cool sleeping bag.”

“I totally did. I actually had one of those Disney character sleeping bags.” The memory makes you smile as your initial anxiety begins to lessen. “Come to think of it, we all did. But mine had Genie from Aladdin on the front of it. I remember because I got to pick it out myself.”

“I knew I had the right idea when I invited you out tonight.” Andy muses, brushing his mouth against your curls once more.

“Yeah, Big Man. I’m a Disney girl. And I sure did love that sleeping bag.” You take a moment to lace your fingers through his, needing the connection. “Which was why I climbed right on in and let my mother zip me up. At that point, I think my little sister started crying or something, so I let her crawl inside with me. After that she went right to sleep.”

“But I’m guessing you didn’t.”

“Nope.” Your grip on his hand tightens, but your man doesn’t pull away. Even so, you allow your thumb to sweetly caress along the ridges of his knuckles. “I stayed wide awake for what felt like hours just…listening. Listening as the wind picked up, as the thunder got louder and louder. Until it became so loud that it sounded like the storm was happening right above our house. And then suddenly there was this crash that shook the entire house – almost like a bomb went off.”

“Listen, I know sometimes storms can seem–”

“It was a tree.” You quietly forge on. “The storm had knocked down a tree. It fell through the roof, into the room I shared with my sister. Of course nobody was hurt, but ever since then I’ve been terrified of thunderstorms.” You finish, somehow feeling even more foolish than when you’d first started.

“Holy shit.” Andy exhales before briefly nuzzling your nose with his own. It was a simple stress touch, nothing more. But at this particular moment, it means everything. “I mean, I’m sure this probably goes without saying, but I’m so glad you weren’t in there when it happened. You or your sister.”

Wordlessly you nod, still wishing that you’d found a way to make it home tonight after all. Come tomorrow you’d finally bite the bullet and start looking for a therapist. Perhaps it was finally time you found a way to move past some of your childhood trauma. And maybe then–

Your thoughts are interrupted by the deep, rich timbre of Andrew Barber’s voice.

“I’m afraid of clowns.” Your boyfriend grunts in a very matter of fact tone. “And spiders.” He tacks on with a slight grimace. “Can’t get near either one of them without breaking into hives.”

“Oh.” Is all you can manage, clearly surprised by his sudden openness. You hadn’t been expecting that at all. “So I‘m guessing anything to do with Pennywise is probably – ahh shit!” You cry out when the familiar sound of thunder makes you lose your train of thought, leaving you unable to finish your small attempt at humor.

Almost immediately, you feel two strong arms band themselves around your waist, drawing you closer even as you try your damnedest to scramble away. You throw off the covers before attempting to swing your legs over the side of the bed so that you can make a mad dash in the direction of the basement.

“Hold on, baby.” Andy growls, wincing when your elbow accidentally connects with his ribs. “Just settle down for a second, okay? We’re gonna get through this, I promise.”

“Nope – I’m good! Just let me go, please.” Instead of doing as you ask, he flips your bodies, using his considerable weight to keep you still. “I’m serious, Andrew!” You tell him, thumping his back with your fist for good measure.

“Hush.” He takes advantage of your positions long enough to glide his lips along the column of your throat, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. “Just focus on me – on us – and let everything else fade away.”

Hmph. Easier said than done, handsome.

Andy gifts you with a glimpse of his pearly white teeth before slanting his hungry mouth over your own. He moans into the kiss, gently sucking on your bottom lip and releasing it with a slight pop. When you don’t respond he does it again, this time tracing the curve of your lips with his sinful tongue.

“But what if –.”

“Shh.” Your boyfriend pauses his sensual assault long enough to stare down at you while he braces himself on his forearms. “You have my word that nothing bad is gonna happen while I’ve got you here, with me, in this bed. We’re safe, Baby Girl.” He then angles his head to nip along your jaw. “Let me show you.”

“Do you trust me?” Where had you heard that before?

“I…” You trail off as he continues to nip at your heated flesh, paying special attention to the sensitive shell of your ear. “Y–yes.”

“Good.”

Apparently that’s all the permission Andrew Barber needs, because the next thing you know he’s sliding one large hand up your thigh, his lightly calloused palm sending pinpricks of pleasure straight to your core. Seconds later, you both are treated to the sounds of tearing fabric.

Well, there went your panties. They’d been shredded to hell just like every other pair that went before it.

Next up is your shirt. He manages to whip it over your head with relative ease before resting his delicious weight on top of you once more. Clad in only his boxers, he makes a show of grinding rapidly hardening cock against your damp pussy.

“Andy.” You whine, wantonly arching your hips in time with his thrusts. “Don’t tease me right now.”

“Why not?” He purrs as a hand moves to fist itself in your hair, wrenching your head back with just enough force to make you feel dizzy with lust.

Reaching up, you capture his face between your hands to pull him down for another kiss. The scruff of his neatly trimmed beard feels so good against your skin.

“Fuck me, please.” You hiss, seeking a much needed distraction as a flash of lightning threatens to send you running for the hills. Since this man wouldn’t let you leave, your next best option was to let him bury his thick cock inside you so hard and so deep until you no longer had the capacity to think.

Or walk properly, for that matter.

“Your wish is my command, baby.” Your boyfriend groans as he continues to circle his hips. With that said, he then makes quick work of removing his boxers before tossing him aside in the direction of his hamper. He misses, of course. Which is why you silently vow to pick it up later.

Now freed from its confines, you watch Andy’s impressive manhood immediately spring to attention, lightly smacking his abdomen as it bobs up and down.

Good God, you’d be lying if you said the sight didn’t make your mouth water.

His mouth curves into a roguish grin as he purposely slides himself between your slippery folds. He revels in your wetness, loving the way your slick coats his aching cock. Shit – if he wasn’t careful he risked blowing his load before it was time.

Which absolutely would not work. You always came first. That was the rule. There were no exceptions, unless you were playing a game or something.

Reaching over you, Andy grabs a foil packet from his nightstand. Tearing it open with his teeth, you lean back on your elbows while he handles his business with the condom. Maybe next time he’d allow you to put it on for him. You’d always wanted to try…

You also weren’t quite sure of exactly when he’d gone and removed his boxers, but you also weren’t complaining either.

“Now, sweetheart.” Your man begins as he takes a hold of your calf, tenderly draping it over his muscled shoulder as the wheel continues to howl outside. “All you’ve gotta do is lay back and focus on how good you feel.” He leans forward so that he can trace his tongue around your nipple before sucking the delicate flesh into his waiting mouth.

Your back bows as you thrust your chest forward in silent offering. Andy groans as continues to toy with your pouting nipple before switching to the other. You let out a sharp cry as he brings the pebbled tip in his mouth, lightly pinching it between his teeth just hard enough to make you writhe beneath him.

That’s part of what always made this feel so good. The way he always seemed to mix pleasure with a little bit of pain.

His mouth eventually finds yours again as your hands smooth their way over the blades of his shoulders, allowing you to run your fingers along the contour of his muscles. And when you finally reach the firm globes of his ass, you can’t help but giggle as you finally give into the temptation to smack it. Hard.

Just the way he liked it.

“Remember, sweet brat. If I’m gonna wear your handprint then I think it’s only fair you wear mine too. Understand?” Of course he doesn’t wait for you to answer. Instead he maneuvers himself up so that he can expertly flip you over onto your stomach before pulling you up so that you’re now resting on your hands and knees before him.

Instinctively you arch your ass in the air, inviting him to make good on his promise. This man loved spanking your ass every chance he got. And what’s more, you seemed to enjoy it almost as much as he did.

“Now be a good girl and put your hands where they’re supposed to go.”

A small shiver of anticipation courses through as you move to obey. He chuckles softly as he watches your eager fingers grip the headboard. Later he would tell you how proud of you he was in that moment, that he was honored by your faith in his ability to distract you from the violent storm taking place right outside his window.

It meant the world that you trusted him enough to take care of you at a time like this.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” Andy purrs as the heavy weight of his palm comes down on your upturned rear with just enough force to make your naughty pussy gush. Unable to stop it, you can’t help the groan you emit when he does it again, loving the way he kneads and caresses your most intimate curves.

“So are you.”

Your body jerks when he decides to focus his attention on your greedy little cunt. Nimble fingers spear you open as they between your glistening folds to tease your throbbing clit. It’s not long before your hips begin moving in time with his ministrations.

Soon your eyes flutter closed as you bear down, shamelessly grinding yourself against his calloused palm. At first, Andy is content to simply watch as you slowly work yourself into a frenzy.

Because this time, when the sound of thunder crackles throughout the room, you barely react. In fact, you hardly hear it. You’re too engrossed in the pleasure, too caught up in just how good your man is making you feel, to remember to be afraid.

“Easy, greedy girl.” Andy hums after another beat goes by before finally removing his hand. The fucking bastard.

“Nooo!” You whine, hating the way your impending orgasm lingers just out of reach.

"Yeees.” There’s a slight mocking edge to his tone that has you glancing over your shoulder to shoot him a glare.

“Swear to God you’re so fucking beautiful. Even when you’re trying to turn me into dust.” He winks at you then before allowing his hands to settle on your hips. Goosebumps pebble across your sweat-dampened flesh when you feel the head of his impressive cock nudge at your entrance.

“Please.Please.Please.” That one word is whispered over and over, like a fervent prayer.

Just then, a stroke of lightning brightens the room, treating you to a fleeting glimpse of your man right as he thrusts himself inside of you, all the way to the hilt. Your eyes threaten to roll back in your head as he forces you to take every deliciously thick inch of his cock, stretching your tight pussy until you can’t help clench around him.

Andy starts off slow, gradually building up the pace as your velvety walls continue to milk him for all he’s worth. His fingers dig into your curves as you rear back to match his movements. Soon, he adjusts the angle of his thrusts, allowing him to go even deeper.

“S’good, Andy!Fuuuck!” You moan as Andy continues fucking you into oblivion. “Yes!Harder, pleeease!”

“My baby wants it harder?” He growls, adjusting his position to give you exactly what you asked for. A desperate sob bubbles up from your throat, prompting you to bury your face in a nearby pillow.

Too bad your man is having none of it.

“Oh no.” One large hand moves to wrap itself around the delicate column of your throat, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your pulse spike. “You don’t get to hide that pretty face from me. Not tonight.” He grunts before allowing his free arm to encircle your waist to haul you against the hard wall of his chest.

A hand soon finds its way to your breast. He lifts the tempting weight, before plucking at your nipple with his thumb and forefinger, evoking the most exquisite sensations.

“You’re doing so good, Baby Girl.” Andy rasps, tweaking his angle so that he can find your spot. “So good. Told you I’d keep you safe.” The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh echo throughout the room, creating an erotic tempo. “Would never let anything bad happen to you.”

Your boyfriend’s Boston accent grows thicker and more pronounced with each passing second – letting you know that he’s close to losing control. That’s when you decide to push him closer to the brink by reaching behind you to pull his head down for a kiss. It’s hot, wet, and deep. And by the time you both come up for air your heart is hammering in your chest.

“I…I know.” And you did know.

Tipping your chin back, you allow your walls to flutter around his fat cock, making him twitch. Your core begins to spasm as you feel the coil in your belly tighten even more. Andy makes sure to keep a tight hold on your sweat-slicked body as his lips continue to whisper kisses along the curve of your jaw.

White hot pleasure dances along your skin, meanwhile Andy’s thrusts continue to grow more and more erratic with each passing minute. One of your hands slips from the headboard to help keep you upright.

“Cum, princess. Give it to me.” He snarls through clenched teeth before reaching down to deliver a slap to your pussy. It feels so good that you beg him to do it again and again. “Be a good girl and fucking cum!”

That’s all you need to hear before you go tumbling over the edge and into bliss. “Fuck!Fuck!Fuck!” Ecstasy slices through you, making you cry out loud enough to wake the neighbors. Thank goodness there was a storm going on outside, otherwise someone might’ve taken it upon themselves to call the police.

Chest heaving, you continue bouncing on your man’s cock. He felt so amazing it bordered on obsession. And you knew he’d feel even better once you had him in your mouth. Andy shudders behind you, his big body trembling with the force of his orgasm.

Completely spent, you both flop down on the bed. You’re both naked and sweaty, but neither of you really cares all that much. You curl up in his arms, resting on his chest so that you can listen to the soothing sound of his heartbeat.

“You okay?” Andy murmurs a little while later when he notices that your eyes have begun to droop. “Do you need me to–”

“Mm…” You purr, stretching your arms above your head as you stifle a lawn. “I’m thinking I need some more of that. Like tonight.”

You grow quiet once you realize that you no longer hear the sound of the rain. Or the wind. Or the thunder. All is as it should be. Thank goodness.

“Give me ten minutes to refuel and I’m all yours.” He grunts before disposing of his used condom in a nearby garbage can..

“Thank you.” You mumble, feeling your cheeks heat. “For tonight, for what you did.”

“Not sure if I did much of anything.” Andy smiles down at you, his brilliant blue eyes filled with sincerity. “You’re always safe with me, princess. So just relax."

“I believe you, Andy. But the storm –"

“Is about over. We fucked right through it, baby.” You don’t have to look up at him to know that he’s got some kind of shit-eating grin plastered across his handsome features. "But most of all, thank you for trusting me with your secret.”

“Thank you for not laughing.“ Your hand reaches up to stroke your knuckles along his bearded jaw.

“Hm.” Andy mutters. “Maybe next time we’ll have to try making love in the rain. What do you think, princess?”

“Um, baby steps, Andrew.” You counter, expertly dodging his first question. “Let’s go smaller. I’m talking waaay smaller.”

“Fine. I’ll settle for a kiss during a light drizzle.” Your boyfriend concedes, laughter and warmth suffusing his tone.

“Consider it done, handsome.” You mumble as sleep threatens to overtake you.

Later, Andy would tell you that he let you fall asleep that night on purpose. Your earlier anxiety had really done a number on you, which is why he was content to let you rest. Instead of complaining, he holds you close, silently willing his heart to beat in time with your own.

And when you wake in the middle of the night, cocooned in the safety of your man’s arms, you know without question that you are cherished beyond measure.

END

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solarmorrigan · 2 years ago

Text

The crack of thunder is loud enough to jolt Steve awake, and for a moment his sleep-clouded eyes search the room wildly for the threat, for whatever woke him, before another peal of thunder seems to roll the tension right out of him.

“Shit,” he sighs, relaxing back into the mattress. “Big one.”

“Yep,” Eddie says tightly from where he’s sitting up against the headboard beside him.

Steve squints up at Eddie in the dim light of the bedside lamp (which Eddie has no plans to turn off, despite the fact it’s gone past two AM). He’s clearly not quite awake, but something in Eddie’s tone has pinged in his brain, and he’s trying to work it out.

Another crash of thunder rattles the house and Eddie can’t help it – he jumps.

It’s small—maybe more like a twitch—but Steve catches it. He always does.

Frowning, Steve reaches out and soothes a hand up the top of Eddie’s thigh, stopping at the bend of his hip and rubbing circles with this thumb.

“Hey,” he says softly, half muffled by the pillow. “Okay?”

Eddie shrugs, hunching over the book in his lap that had been an adequate distraction until the storm had rolled right overhead.

“Not a fan of thunderstorms, I guess,” he admits, lowly, because he’s kind of embarrassed, but willingly, because he knows Steve won’t give him shit – not for something that really upsets him.

“No?” Steve asks, still looking up at Eddie through his lashes, still not entirely awake and an invitingly soft distraction from the rain spattering the window like bullets.

“Nah.” Eddie shrugs again.

Steve hums—a short, distracted sound—and leans in to press a kiss to Eddie’s hip. Then he’s sitting up and stretching with a sharp intake of breath before draping himself over Eddie’s side, kissing his shoulder and looking up at him with expectant eyes.

I’m awake now, he’s saying. You can talk to me.

And Eddie knows he can – and Eddie would, except he’s never really had to put into words why he—Eddie Munson, champion of chaos and discord—has never liked thunderstorms. He’s never had to articulate how the trailer walls had never felt thinner when he was a kid than when a storm was furiously beating at them, or how all the noise and destruction had been something totally out of his control.

Wayne is the only one who really knows, and Wayne had just gotten it. He’d started playing music for Eddie when those Midwestern spring storms started rolling in – and maybe Eddie didn’t love thunder and lightning, but that had been how he’d fallen in love with the idea of making music.

There, at last, had been a form of noise and chaos that Eddie could control and wield for himself.

But it’s late, and Eddie is strung out and wrung out and it doesn’t feel like he has the energy for that conversation.

“Never really liked them when I was a kid,” he says instead. “And then after all the shit with the Upside Down, I think it was the final nail in the coffin.”

Steve makes a little wounded noise, maybe at Eddie’s phrasing, maybe just in sympathy, and he turns his head to press a kiss to the side of Eddie’s throat.

“Anyway, it’s stupid, and I can deal with it. You can go back to sleep,” Eddie says, very much aware that he’s clutching one of Steve’s hands as he does so.

“Not stupid,” Steve says. “I’ll go back to sleep if you lay down with me.”

Eddie sighs. “Steve…”

“I’m serious. Hit the light and lay down with me.” Steve kisses Eddie’s neck again, twice, three times, trailing up to the hinge of his jaw, where he murmurs, “Trust me.”

And Steve is a bastard, because Eddie can’t say no to that, so with another (greatly put-upon) sigh, Eddie leans over to put his book on the nightstand and then, after just a moment of hesitation, he turns out the light.

The storm wastes no time in reilluminating the room with flickering lightning, followed by another crash of thunder.

But Steve’s hands are on Eddie, warm and sure, and he’s telling him come here and then pulling him nearer like he can’t wait.

Eddie lets himself be rearranged without complaint and finds himself lying face to face with Steve, legs tangled, arms caught between them, their foreheads brushing. He can feel Steve’s breath against his lips when he begins to speak.

“When I was a kid, I loved thunderstorms,” Steve says, voice soft.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, the word feeling small in the scant space between them.

“Yep,” Steve says. He takes one of Eddie’s hands and pulls it to his chest, pressing it flat there where Eddie can feel the beat of his heart, calm and steady. “My favorites were the ones just like this. Loud and strong, in the middle of the night.”

Frankly, Eddie can’t imagine a worse type of thunderstorm, listening to the deluge falling on the roof of the tiny house he and Steve share, his body practically rattling along with the windows when thunder booms overhead.

Still, he dutifully asks, “Why?”

Steve is quiet for a moment, still collecting his words.

“The world didn’t feel as empty, when there was a storm outside,” he finally says. “If there was noise, it didn’t feel like I was alone.”

It’s a much more thoughtful admission than Eddie was expecting, much more somber, and he’s not quite sure what to say. He presses a little closer to Steve, nudging their foreheads together.

Another rumble of thunder passes over them, still so loud that Eddie can feel it in his bones, and Steve sighs like he’s perfectly content.

“I liked that, too,” he says. “When you could feel the thunder in your chest like a second heartbeat. Like there was someone there with me.”

Eddie finds Steve’s free hand with his own and squeezes.

“I think I just forgot after a while. Or maybe it wasn’t enough. When I got older, I went out and surrounded myself with people instead. The noise at a really big party felt like a storm sometimes.” Steve gives a subdued little laugh. “But when I was a kid… just this was enough.”

“What about now?” Eddie asks, practically whispering, just loud enough to be heard over the percussion of the rain.

Steve tilts his head forward until their lips meet, sweet and certain.

“This will always be enough,” he says when they part.

He doesn’t go far; their foreheads are still pressed together, their noses are still brushing, hands and arms and legs are still tangled like Steve wants to pull Eddie inside of himself so he can feel the storm the way Steve does.

So Eddie closes his eyes and he tries.

He and Steve lay there quietly, listening as the storm finally begins to pass from over their heads. It isn’t great—it’s loud, it’s violent, it’s nerve-wracking—but Eddie never has to check to know that Steve is still awake, still with him, keeping Eddie’s hand pressed to his steady heartbeat.

Eddie doesn’t start to magically enjoy the storm. He’s not sure he ever will. But – for the way Steve loves them, for the way they had given him comfort for so many years, Eddie thinks he might just be able to make his peace with them.

[Prompt: Touching foreheads]

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #eddiesteve #can you believe I used to say that I didn't like romance?#what a fucking liar #I mean look at this shit. soft as hell. valentine's day heart confetti for your brain #solar wrote

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novasintheroom · 8 months ago

Note

Prince!Vash AU. Thunderstorm in the dead of night means one spouse seeking out the other to feel safe.

Thank you for sending this in, anon! I appreciate it!!

“Vash…”

“…”

“Vash…”

“Hm…?”

“Vash, can I…?”

He doesn’t catch the end of your sentence, too drowsy from sleep. He blinks his eyes open in the gloom, registering the sound of rain and thunder booming overhead for a moment. Ah, the storm season. He’d forgotten it was coming.

Where are you?

Vash’s brain is slowly catching up. He heard your voice. Here. In his room. Had he been dreaming? He’s been having more dreams about you, lately. Perhaps that’s all it was – a waking dream. Vash sighs and rolls over, toward the door between your rooms.

It’s open.

And you’re standing next to his bed.

“Can I sleep with you?” you whisper.

That wakes him up.

Vash sits up in bed, looking at your shadowed form. You’re hunched, almost like a scolded child. He can hear you cracking your knuckles in the dark – a nervous tick you have.

You’re here. In his room.

You’ve finally crossed the line between rooms.

He says your name like a question. “What are you doing here?” Such a silly question for a husband to ask his wife, but…his heart skips beats. Is this it? Is this when you’ll…?

You clear your throat and flinch when another burst of thunder roars overhead. “The storm…it woke me, and I…I’ve always had a fear of them, so I was wondering if I could sleep. Here…Tonight.”

He pauses. Sleep? Here? The rain torrents on the roof overhead; he can hear the sheets of water even through the thick stonework. A flash of lightning bursts into the room, and for a moment, your terrified face is lit in full stark white. His mind finally catches up to what you’re asking.

Ah. That explains it.

Vash quashes any kind of disappointment that springs up from the truth and nods emphatically. “Yeah, of course!” He opens up his bed sheets like you’ll crawl in right there with him.

But you don’t. You hurry to the other side and lift the blankets, scurrying underneath. He feels the brush of your bare legs against his as you adjust yourself, and goosebumps trail all over his body. You settle. The room goes quiet but for the rain.

If he listens hard enough, he can hear your breathing. And he can’t stop the question bubbling up, now awake. “You’ve never liked storms?”

You shift your head to look at him in the gloom. “No. I hate them. It’s the thunder.” On cue, thunder breaks overhead, and you hunch further into the covers. “It always scares me awake, and I fear someone is in my room when I do. So I stay up all night looking at every shadow.”

He hums. His eyes feel heavy, but this is new information. He pursues it further. “Who would you go to when you were at home?”

“My siblings would usually come to me for comfort. I never…had to seek anyone out but for when I was a little girl.” You scooch further into bed, arm brushing his. You don’t pull away. “I’m sorry. I know I must be brave, but – “

“Who said that? I didn’t.” Vash reaches out and takes your hand in his, intertwining your fingers. Even now, he can feel the tremors shaking your body, the bed. “I’m scared of lots of things, and I think that’s okay.”

He feels your eyes on him again. “What are you scared of?”

Vash yawns, then clears his throat. “Don’t laugh. But I hate bananas.”

You laugh. “What?”

He shakes your arm in reprimand and continues. “I don’t know what it is, but ever since I was a kid, I’ve been terrified of them. Their shape, their texture…eugh.” He shivers. Your laughter, though, is worth it.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing!” You giggle. “I just thought you didn’t like fruit at banquets!”

“I love fruit! I’m very fruity!” He realizes his mistake and shakes your arm again when you snort. “Shut up. You know what I mean.” The thunder rolls overhead, and you go quiet. He strokes his thumb along your hand and squeezes. “Hey, it’s okay. Nothing’s gonna get you.”

“I know,” you murmur. Then, slowly, as if waiting for him to reject you, you turn to him and wrap your arms around his torso. When he in turn wraps his own arms around you, you both settle into the embrace and warmth. Vash hadn’t realized how cold it was in his room ‘til then.

Minutes pass by like this. Vash is fully awake now, heart pounding. This…this is nice. This is really nice. Even if his arm is falling asleep under your head, he isn’t going to move. Nope. This is what he’s wanted for a while, now. He rubs a hand along your back, slow and methodical. He teases the skin at the base of your neck with tickles. Your breath evens out, and, eventually, you fall asleep.

Vash stays awake longer than he intends. He just can’t get over the feel of you this near. You’re warm. Soft. Your hair smells good – a day or two from washing, but good nonetheless. He thumbs at the fabric of your nightgown. It’s well-worn; a favorite of yours.

“Would you mind if we do this more often?” He asks openly, knowing you were too far gone to answer. “I really enjoy it…”

He falls asleep.

-~-

A gold morning wakes you slowly. Its beams shine through the cracks in the shutters and window panes. The storm has passed, and with it, the night.

You feel breath on your forehead. Such a strange place to feel it. You reach a hand up to brush at your bangs, only to feel toned muscle beneath your fingers first. What…?

Your eyes creak open. You stare at a white shirt, the chest it hides rising quietly. The night comes back to you, and you look up at your husband.

His eyes are closed, and he lets out small snores.

You didn’t know he snored.

You don’t know a lot of things about him. Much less than you would like. But…you reach up and move his bed-tangled hair from his face, he is kind, and good, and unfairly handsome. And isn’t that what matters most? You could have gotten a lot less lucky being married off to someone else.

But that’s the thing isn’t it? He is more than kind and good and handsome. He is loyal, and quite funny, and sociable, and…and he’s afraid of bananas!

That startles a laugh out of you, and it stirs Vash in his sleep. You put your fingers to your mouth and watch with guilt as Vash’s blues open and blearily look at you. “Wha…” he says, clearing his throat, “Wha’s so funny…?”

Your eyes crinkle, and you can’t help but brush his face now, laughing openly. “Just…you have a bit of drool, coming out here.”

Vash groans and rolls away, wiping at his face. You continue to laugh. Today is already going to be a great day.

#trigun #vash the stampede #tristamp #trigun stampede #writing #vash x reader #vash the stampede x reader #reader insert #nova writes #self insert #x reader #trigun x reader #prince!vash #prince!vash x reader #prince!vash arranged marriage au

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fayes-fics · 2 years ago

Text

Electric

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: Modern AU. Passionate al fresco thunderstorm sex…

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, vaginal sex, passionate sex al fresco during a thunderstorm, a touch of biting, marking. Also, beware, this has a very soppy ending. Yes, that needs a warning.

Word Count: 3.7k

Authors Note: Not what I should be working on, sorry. Sort of a request fill for a handful of my lovely discord mutuals (you know exactly who you are). Blame the thunderstorms that tore through the Northeastern US yesterday for this one. Thanks to @colettebronte for reading through for me. OK, now back to my queue that I should be writing. Enjoy <3

“We must have taken a wrong turn,” you sigh, watching the gathering shelf of dark grey, almost purple-hued clouds rolling overhead just as dusk approaches, the lightning flashes you had seen on the horizon a few minutes before a harbinger.

“Yes, I think so,” Benedict admits quietly, scanning the surrounding countryside of the narrow single-track lane you are on somewhere in the wilds of Cornwall. He took over the driving duty a couple of hours ago.

“I don’t think we’ll make it to the reception dinner on time now. We probably should have downloaded the route so we could have navigated offline,” your voice rueful about your lack of planning.

“Hindsight is always twenty-twenty,” he shrugs as he flicks on the wipers, rain pattering onto the widescreen. His laissez-faire attitude to the dilemma is somehow a calming influence over your vague anxiety about being late. And lost. In an approaching storm. He always seems so calm in the face of everything; you envy him a touch.

There are a few minutes of silence as you ponder what to do. Whether you should try to find a spot wide enough to turn around and backtrack or keep going, knowing you are headed in the approximate correct direction, in the hope the patchwork of country lanes crisscrossing the area will eventually lead you somewhere more promising—all the while, glancing up at the darkening sky.

“Pull over. I might have an old-fashioned roadmap lurking somewhere in the boot,” you offer as the car slips into a tunnel of trees, the lack of view galvanising your resolve to find a way out.

“Will it be detailed enough for us to work out where we are?” he frowns.

“Better than hoping for our phones to work out here, especially in a storm,” you point out, holding up yours that still reads No Service as if mocking you.

“Okay,” he agrees.

He drives a little further until there is a pull-in designed for passing; it’s just about the length of your car. By now, the rain is pelting down; it is almost night-time dark under the canopy of trees; the thunk of heavy drops on the car roof is more pronounced as it filters through the dense branches above.

“What are you doing?” he asks as you unbuckle your strappy evening sandals.

“It’s pissing it down, and I’m certain this lay-by will be all muddy. I’m not ruining these fancy new shoes.”

“So you are just going to get muddy feet instead?”

“Yes, my feet are washable; these are not,” you argue, waving the shoes before tossing them into the backseat.

“Look, you stay here. I’ll get the map,” he offers chivalrously, “just tell me approximately where you think it might be?”

“I have no idea,” you admit sheepishly, “somewhere under our suitcases… and, well, everything else piled back there. Sorry…” you wince a little, apologetic.

He rolls his eyes without heat, throws open the driver’s door, slams it shut, and sprints to the back of the car just as thunder claps make you jump. You hear him rummaging around in the boot for a while then there is a muffled voice saying that he can’t find anything. You glance in the rearview mirror and see him close it, then tip his head up and let the rain sluice over him, giving up on attempting to stay dry.

“Ben, get back in here,” you shout, cracking your window a tiny amount, droplets painting your arm even with an inch of opening.

“No point now, I'm soaked through,” he laughs loudly, and you watch as he jogs around in front of the car and throws his arms aloft in the beam of the headlights whooping in child-like delight. “Come join me!” he yells over the din of the rain.

All you can do is stare incredulously as he stands there, his white shirt turning translucent and clinging to his torso, rivulets of rain running down his face and slicking back his hair. He looks beautiful. Handsome. Carefree. His face cracks into a large grin as he spins slowly and tilts his head back.

“Come on!” he calls again, shouting skyward.

With a twisted pout, you reach over and flick off the ignition, the headlights cutting out. Tentatively you open the door, and the noise hits you like a wall, the rain sheeting down, splattering noisily onto the road, that intensity which only comes with a summer storm rolling in to usher out the heat. You take one rueful look at your floral dry-clean-only knee-length dress and then step out. Your foot sinks into the squelchy, verdant grass verge as he jogs up to you, arms aloft in celebration, almost giddy with excitement.

“This storm is intense, isn't it?! Let's go into the field over there. I bet the view over the valley is amazing!” he declares, grabbing your hand and heading for an opening among the line of trees.

“Ben…” you trail, your gait reluctant, feeling a trickle of rain track down your spine from your neck all the way into your underwear.

“We are never going to make it to that wedding reception on time now,” he accurately surmises, “So… lets's just… enjoy this! Live in the moment! When do we get thunderstorms this intense?! Hardly ever. Come on!!” he grins, shaking your joined hand slightly to gee you along.

His enthusiasm is infectious, and the rain is surprisingly refreshing after the last few days of stifling heat; you find yourself capitulating and letting yourself be dragged along.

“Come here,” he laughs, picking you up bridal style when he notices the slightly rough stony ground under the tree cover.

You can’t help your laughing bubbling up as he carries you until you reach the grassy field, his body flexing against you, stirring something in you. You've been together for a few months now, long enough to be each other’s plus one for friends' weddings, such as was supposed to happen tonight, but still in that early flush of romance where given half a chance, you will not leave a bed all weekend.

He gently places you back on your feet, and once outside the tree cover, you are soaked through within seconds. Your dress rapidly becomes heavy and glued to your skin. You don’t even want to think about your hair and makeup….

“You look beautiful,” he assures, as if reading your mind, a soft smile on his handsome face, all jaw and cheekbones as water sluices over the contours.

“So do you,” your reply is a truthful reflex, and his responding demure smile melts a hot pool in your chest, like a little oil lantern you hold behind your ribs just for him.

“Let's go see,” he urges, wrapping an arm tight around your shoulders. Yours bands around his slim waist, the water from the back of his shirt seeping over your forearm as you do so.

It’s about fifty feet of slight incline until the field falls away, and there is suddenly a beautiful rolling vista of the Cornish countryside before you. Little fields dotted with hedgerows and in the sky above the storm slicing across the valley, half still dry and half obscured by a grey fug of heavy rain. Beyond, you can just see a slice of the sea.

You both stop short and just stare at the wonder before you. “See?” he enthuses, squeezing your shoulder.

“It's beautiful,” you admit, even as you have to brush a sodden strand of hair away from your face. A sudden flash of lightning rips high across the sky, making you jump instinctively into him. His hand curls tighter around your shoulder, and your gaze cuts to meet his; something wild there, electric, like the storm you are in.

Wordlessly, he twists to kiss you, the fervency taking you by surprise, his lips hot, the water trickling down his face cool by comparison. Just as you go to deepen it and open your mouth, he pulls back with a little smirk and grabs your hand again, drawing you off to the right. He is making a beeline for a large, sprawling oak sitting majestic but incongruous in the middle of the brow of the field. Likely the remnants of a great wood that once stood here, hundreds of years before, a singular monument to the past.

“Isn't it dangerous to shelter under a tree in a storm?” you question, your words almost stolen by a stray gust of wind.

“Probably,” he buzzes and something in his tone feels daring; he stops moving and pulls you hard into his body. “It's exciting, isn't it?” his words hot over the shell of your ear, and your body feels alive.

Only he can do this. Just one rumbled sentence and a frisson runs through your entire being. Your hands map his neck as you push up onto tiptoe to meet his lips, unable to resist your body's siren call for him. The kiss this time is more frenzied, and as your tongues touch, there is a rumble of thunder you feel reverberate in your ribcage.

“Have you ever had sex outside in a storm?” he whispers over your lips as you part.

“No,” you confess, your eyes fluttering closed as he peppers little kisses across your face.

“Me either. Would you like to?” the ask is murmured into your ear as he gently sucks the edge of your earlobe.

“Fuck yes,” you breathe, excited by the prospect, feeling an entirely different wetness between your legs.

Out here in nature with a beautiful view and a storm raging seems adventurous and so elemental, the ozone in the air making every hair on your body stand on end, the petrichor oozing from the earth beneath your toes, the sight and feel of his toned body, soaked, warm skin under cool rain.

You back away from him towards the tree trunk, and although he stays rooted to the spot, his stare is predatory, and his chest heaving as you bite your lip and wordlessly shimmy under your dress until you can drop your underwear.

The noise he makes is as savage as the roll of thunder it accompanies, and in three long, athletic strides, thigh muscle prominent under his clinging trousers, he is on you. Large hands grab your bottom and haul you off your feet; your legs wrap around his hips on instinct as he sucks your neck, walking you backwards until rough bark abrades your shoulder blades. Your fingers card through his drenched hair as you moan under his attention, his hands frenetically pushing your dress high up your thighs until you feel the wind around your bare bottom cheeks.

Everything between you suddenly frantic, like the storm, roiling and tempestuous, every sensation heightened. Warm skin and cold, wet cotton, soft earth and solid treetrunk, light and dark as the view is almost daylight under the intense flash before plunging into dusk again. And the noise. So much noise. The pounding rain, the howling wind whipping through the tree above and whistling low through the grasses, the rolling thunder, his breath hard in your ear, your own moans as you fumble to unzip his fly, feeling his cock insistent against you, so very desperate for him to be inside you immediately.

Your head tilts into a knot of wood as he slides into your body in one swift motion, pulling you down onto his cock as he thrusts upwards. The feral noise you make is almost lost to the wind, and your eyes roll closed, just going limp at the overwhelming heat and stretch, toes curling around the back of his knee as his trousers slip further down his legs. It's only recently you both agreed to go condom-free, and every time his unsheathed cock plunges into you, it feels so visceral, like every contour and vein was designed to hit just the right spots deep inside.

A hand yanks aside your neckline, with what sounds like a rip in the fabric under your arm, as a wet hand cups your left breast, a fingernail dragging bluntly over your nipple as it puckers almost painfully. All his movements ferocious, so different to his usual gentle, sensual pace in the quietness of your beds. But somehow, it’s precisely what you need, crave, and want. Untamed and tumultuous.

Your base demand for him to fuck you hard is a clarion call that catalyses him to begin moving, his hard hot tip splitting you open with every thrust. Your hands want to be everywhere at once, in his hair, gripping his neck, his shoulders, his back, his bum, tearing open his shirt. They settle on a combination of all; your motions just as fevered as his. When you are able to peel his shirt down to his elbows, he takes over briefly, propping you against the tree, speared deep on his cock as he fights it off around his cuffs and tosses it aside.

“How does this dress undo?” he pants loudly in your ear, and one fumbling hand unzips down your side, giving enough slack for him to tug it over your head.

Then you are both naked, fucking hard against the tree, your sodden clothes discarded around you as you take from each other primally, sucking and biting shoulders hard enough to leave marks, the rough bark rubbing abrasions into your spine and his kneecaps. And yet you do not stop. Like the storm, the intensity is almost like whiplash. He has never fucked you this hard before, and you have never been so rough, fingernails digging into flesh until he grunts, teeth biting his neck, his ear, teeth even grazing his cheek on the way to biting kisses.

Staring over his shoulder at the wondrous view as he surges into you over and over, as you moan encouragements, always so greedy, begging for more, and now, and to never stop. He obliges, kneading the flesh of your bottom, fingers snagging and tugging your nipples, pulling back to stare into your eyes and lean your heads together, slack mouths breathing each other’s air as you ratchet higher.

This is the least you have ever communicated during sex, but somehow it feels superfluous. Like your bodies are in tune, moving in tandem, push and pull, together and apart, over and over and over, your sweat sluiced away by the rain tumbling from the heavy boughs above. The only words spoken are your names, and as he pulls one of your legs up over his forearm, your thigh muscle burning slightly with the stretch, you know it's burning intensity now. Open and vulnerable to him, he brushes your clit with every thrust. You start to scream, the liberating feeling of solitude, miles from anyone and anything, making your inhibitions tumble away. And he loves it, growls at you to be loud, scream his name, his chest swelling with heaving breaths and pride about how he can wring such sounds from you.

This is the sort of sex you have only read about before now - passionate, near animalistic, rabid, frantic, and so addictive you want to move to the countryside and fuck in the woods for the rest of your days. Rain or shine.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, and your movements slow a touch as you tilt your eyes up to meet his, seeing the lightning flash behind you reflected in his inky pupils, mouth open and face unable to mask any of your teetering shudders. You are so close to a precipice, almost reluctant to tumble over it, wanting this intoxicating experience never to end. It feels like he wants to say something else, something profound, but the words appear stuck in his throat, almost afraid to be declared.

“Me too,” you whisper urgently, a cryptic enough response to any number of statements he could be struggling to articulate.

He nods ferociously and kisses you like a starved man as he grabs one of your hands and guides it between your bodies, pressed into each other.

“Touch yourself for me, please,” he begs, and you do as he starts that punishing pace again. It's only a few strokes, and you are convulsing, lightning piercing the sky and painting the inside of your eyelids as you screw them shut and allow yourself to tumble over the edge into oblivion, your body convulsing hard, rain trickling hard down your limbs, your skin both hot and cold and too tight at once as you fracture in his arms and slump into him babbling incoherently, Distantly you hear him biting off curses, and with a few thrusts, that push you up off your feet, he stills and shouts a biting version of your name into your shoulder as he comes hard, the warmth coating inside you as yet another clap of thunder causes you both to jolt.

The sound of both of your ragged breathing is louder than the rain as you slowly return to the scene, your thigh slipping from his forearm as he leans into you, into the tree, almost a crushing weight.

“Wow…” he sounds awestruck.

“Ditto,” you struggle out, sharing a lighthearted chuckle.

You wrap around each other in a wordless tangle of limbs, leaning on the solid trunk and mesmerised by the beautiful view, watching as the worst storm clouds move away towards the sea.

Deciding there is barely any point in attempting to re-dress, once the rain abates slightly, you agree to brave the dash back to your car nude, hand in hand and laughing carefree. Once there, you yank open your gym bag and giggle as you both attempt to dry off using the one towel in the backseat, discarding your sodden garments into a plastic bag and laughing uproariously as you pull on your casual clothes for the journey home in the tiny cramped space.

“I’ll never forget tonight,” he says softly, sincerely, after you clamber back into the front seats.

“Me either,” you smile gently back.

You never did find the wedding venue, but somehow, neither of you particularly care.

____

Twelve months later, you are back in Cornwall, and he pulls up in that familiar layby.

“Is this…?” you twist to look at him; it appears so different on a bright sunny July day you almost double-take.

“Yes,” he answers, a nervous energy vibrating off him that seems odd.

“How on earth did you find it again?”.

“A lot of time spent pinching in and out on Google Maps for many weeks,” he confesses meekly.

You laugh and allow him to drag you out of the car, enjoying the sun's warmth as you emerge from the treeline and walk up that slight slope.

The view is just as breathtaking as you remember on a warm sunny afternoon; the memories of that night, always so clear and vivid, come tumbling back as he leads you under the shade of the mighty oak.

You laugh as he whips a penknife from his jeans pocket and carves your initials into the wood, like some cheesy teenage couple. He doesn't release your hand as he does so, so you push up your sunglasses, enjoying drinking in the vista, idly thinking this is such a beautiful spot that you would happily live right here.

“Whoever owns this land will be mad if they ever find this,” you state drolly.

“I think they are just fine with it, actually,” he answers somewhat cryptically, but you let it slide. Perhaps he looked up the owner when researching how to locate the field again.

It's only when he steps away that you notice he has not carved a last initial for you.

“Do I not have a last name?” you raise an arch eyebrow, body checking him lightly in jest, but your brow knits as his nervous energy returns. “Are you okay?” you check.

“What I carve depends on your answer to my next question…,” he rushes over an exhale.

Before you know it, he is down on one knee before you.

And you entirely forget how to breathe.

“I… I couldn't think of anywhere else to ask this…,” he begins tremulant, but you don't even let him finish.

“YES!!” you squeal behind a shaking hand cupped over your mouth.

He laughs and hangs his head briefly. “Can I please ask anyway?” his eyes sparkling as he looks up again.

“Sorry!” you squeak and squeeze his shoulder, fingers trembling. “Please, continue….”

“Y/n, will you marry me?” his face radiates devotion as he holds out a ring box with your ideal ring nestled inside.

“YES!!” you squeal again, impatient and vibrating with emotion as he shakily pushes the ring onto your finger, and you haul him to his feet and launch yourself into his arms, almost knocking him over.

“Ooof!” he exclaims as you partially knock the wind out of him, but he rallies, and you share sweet kisses.

“How much do you love this view?” he queries when you finally part and slip back to your feet.

“I love it as much today as I did that day,” you sigh dreamily.

“Something you would perhaps like to look at frequently?” his voice uncertain, seemingly hedging.

“Of course… why?”

“I may have done something… a little rash,” he admits.

“What?” you frown.

“So the owner of this land doesn't mind the oak being carved because… well… that owner is me.”

And your jaw drops for a second time.

“Benedict…” all other words fail.

“And you too now, of course; what's mine is yours.” He points to a far-off spot at the end of the slope. “That hedge down there? As far as that is ours. I brought this whole field from the farmer, and umm, I’m in the process of applying for planning permission to build a home right here. For us. This view will be our back garden. Right next to this very special tree,” he concludes, tapping the sturdy trunk with his knuckles.

“You utter romantic idiot,” you whisper through blinking tears.

Back in his arms this time, you tumble to the ground, rolling in the cool grass under its sheltering might.

“One electric night changes it all, doesn’t it?” he whispers.

You couldn't agree more.

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ameagrice · 9 months ago

Text

Genesis

chapter three

summary: you begin the journey across the country with two adults who couldn’t hate you more.

Marlene handed you over to them without hesitation. Take her, she yelled, getting away before FEDRA showed up. Get her there, Joel!

Now, Joel is a man you decide to be in his late forties, with greying hair, and a pissed-off-don’t-talk-to-me look about him. He’d looked at you with nothing but distain the second Marlene hauled off.

Here’s how it went:

“She’s immune, Tess. No—listen! I know what you’re thinking, but I’ve seen it. I’ve watched her for a week. She’s immune.” Those words meant nothing to Tess, a woman near Joel’s age, with also greying, brown hair and a piss-me-off-and-I’ll-kill-you look about her. They’re a team, this Joel and Tess. They’re going to take her across the country and hand her over to them when they arrive, them, being Marlene’s team.

“Do you have a clue what’s out there?” Joel spat, waving his gun around. Slight exaggeration—he waved it. Marlene pressed her hand against her stomach, against the blood bulging out there, breathing deeply.

“Of course I do! But, do this for me, and you can have whatever supplies you want for however long you want. I promise. You’ll have no trouble from us. We’ll help you out—the Fireflies; if you need protection, we will—”

“Yeah, alright, Marlene,” Tess scoffed. She paced the rotting hall, floorboards creaking, all the while the sound of FEDRA got closer. She stopped short and shared a look with Joel. Neither of them had spoken to you, like you were invisible, an imaginary thing they could only talk about. “What are you thinking?”

Marlene huffed. Your head turned like a ping-pong ball, this way and that, between the three adults. “Y’all talk it out, but remember I’m bleeding here!”

The pair talked amongst themselves for a few seconds, in a corner of the hall, voices hushed. Finally, just as the flashing lights arrived through the grimy windows, Tess strolled over, picking up your knife from the floor—you had unsuccessfully tried to stab Joel. Feral, he had called you, you want us to take this feral kid?

“We get all the guns we want,” she declared. “Accommodation when we need it, and food, medication. We get this kid there unharmed, and we have a deal. Agreed?”

“Yes!” Marlene snapped, rolling off her leaning stance against the wall. “Can we go before we’re hanged?”

“What?!” You shrieked. Even now, you remember the way Tess had looked at you: like you were one of the decaying infected out behind the walls. “I’m not going with them! Marlene—!” These people were strangers, and clearly thugs—trading you for guns.

Her eyes pleaded with you, weak, and walking backward to the exit. “I’ll meet you on the other side, alright? Now go!” Cops began yelling outside. “Take her! Get her there, Joel!”

Tess snatched your elbow with a strong grip, fingers digging in hard. She pulled you along, through a gap in the wall you hadn’t seen. “Get down the ladder. Move.”

“Fuckin’ Marlene,” Joel grumbled above you, climbing down after you, marshmallowed between the two adults. “ ‘S exactly what we need. Where now?”

“Back to the apartment,” Tess demands. “We’ll figure it out there.” Tess is strong of tone and sure of herself, and it’s intimidating. Joel is harsh-toned and refuses to look at you, which might be worse. Either way, you’re feeling pretty intimidated by these adults.

Town is crawling with cops, even more than usual. They’re raiding the building and the ones around it forcing people out into the thunderstorm raging overhead, even the kids. The sky is dark, plummets of rain forcing down on everyone’s heads. Tess and Joel crouch by the staircase of which you’ve emerged by, looking left and right before Joel runs across, straight into an alley opposite. He holds against the wall and peers out, before gesturing for Tess to follow. She snatches your wrist and gets to her feet, looking around as you run. Her longer strides yank you along at an impossible speed, and if she wasn’t holding on tight, you would have tripped from the get-go.

They seem to know their way easily. Up the rusty steps of a fire escape stairwell, through that door at the top and round a block of apartments, down, down, down until you’re back on the ground floor. Then it’s across another street, through barbed-wire topped alleyways, until they’re slowing, ducking into an apartment block. The hallways are covered in wilting wallpaper, and dirty hardwood. Some people are home, voices floating through their apartment doors. Tess has long since let you go, so you opt for trailing after them up the stairs to the third floor, all the way to the end of the hallway, to a door on the right. Tess unlocks the beaten door with a set of jingling keys, pushing it open.

“Get in,” she orders, so you trudge between the adults into the apartment, where the door swings shut behind you. Instantly you’re on guard.

“Hey!” You try the handle, giving the door a strong pull, to no avail—someone’s holding it on the other side. You drop your hand and press your ear to the door, trying to listen to them. All you get is muffled words—voices low.

You take the time to look around. It’s small. The wallpaper is floral and faded—not something you’d have imagined people like Tess and Joel to have in their home. A slouchy sofa sits by the window, a side table beside it and a coffee table opposite. In the adjoining kitchen are the typical, worn cupboards in nearly every facility in the Zone, a table and chairs set neatly in the middle. Curtains, a painted butterfly in the window, and a couple of pictures standing on the window ledge: Tess and a little boy. Joel and another man. None of Tess and Joel together, which you think is relatively strange.

The door open jolts you back into the living room. It’s Joel, only Joel, rubbing his forehead like he has a headache.

You hesitate before you speak. “Where’s Tess?”

Joel ignores you, sitting down on the sofa and leaning his head back.

“When are we leaving?”

“I don’t know.” Hm. Progress.

“What are we doing now?”

“Waiting.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?”

“Figure it out.”

You huff, turning in a circle for something to do. Joel appears to fall asleep, and you wave a hand in front of his face daringly, testing a response. He doesn’t budge.

The shelf holding papers and books looks interesting. You take a slim one from the end, American Woman. At first it’s good enough—new books are always good at first. But it soon proves boring, and you dump it back where you found it. It’s still drizzling outside, and the sky is darkening with nightfall instead of thunderclouds, by the time Joel wakes and Tess returns.

“You got a coat in that pack?” She asks you, and you nod your head. “Good. It’s time to go.”

She and Joel spends a few minutes throwing things into their backpacks, things from the kitchen—rations, bottles of water, the pictures and things from the bedroom and bathroom. You can’t fit your whole life into bags, so when they’re not looking, you take some memorabilia from here, too, to remember your pit stop: the butterfly in the kitchen window, a book. Your own belongings—the small amount of things you own—are in there, too, stolen from your dormitory after Marlene’s group caught you. Your hairbrush, the water bottle from the night, your necessities. There are a couple of tees and leggings, too, and a book of your own, and finally your precious Walkman. The only things you own. Ironically, a Firefly also shoved in your grey hooded jacket, lettered in gold: FEDRA TRAINEE. Because that’s what you are. You don’t doubt they didn’t take it for what you’re training to become, though, and more for warmth. In a few weeks the temperatures will fall even further.

Tess is fumbling around in the bathroom while Joel sits waiting on the sofa, elbows on his knees, silent. He hasn’t looked at you still, and it’s grinding on your anxious nerves. You’re going beyond the walls of the Zone. This won’t be like exploring with Rudy, where your biggest threats are gangs and older men. No, out there, your biggest threat is also the source of all your confusion.

“We’re gonna be okay out there, right?” Your words cut through the silence like a knife. Joel opens his eyes, blinking at the wall next to your head. “I mean, you’ve done this before, haven’t you? So we’re gonna be okay.”

Finally, those empty eyes land on your own. He doesn’t speak for a second, just searching your face. Then he sighs through his nose slowly and nods his head. “Yeah.”

That one word is enough of a prompt to get you to your feet, abandoning the arm of the chair. Thunder cracks and rumbles in the distance; you turn your head to watch at the window.

“Alright,” Tess strolls in. “Time to go.”

You’ve shrugged on your FEDRA trainee jacket and pulled up the hood, laying on the thin black coat Marlene dug up from somewhere for you. There wasn’t much need for proper coats at the school: you never left the walls of the building unless on a guided walk by the guards, and even that was rare. The times you slipped out around the Zone were only because Rudy had the guts to go and drag you with him. In the winter, Rudy’s inquisitive nature was a curse.

Tess leads the way down the apartment block with Joel calling out questions to her, that have no real meaning to you: exit round the back or the slow way? should we drop by the South end first?

FEDRA presence is still very, very strong. They’re storming the streets, even in this awful rainstorm, their radioes blaring directions and muffled tones from the headquarters. Tess stops by the front door and turns her head this way and that before she sets off with a hand to the hood of her jacket. For a second, you watch as the rain bounces off of it like pelts, until Joel shoves you firmly in the back with a strong hand, almost winding you. You trail after Tess with a hammering heart, wishing somebody were here to save you. What would they do, really, if you approached a FEDRA officer and explained you were being smuggled across the country by two random strangers? But then, you would have to explain why you were being smuggled by two random strangers, and it wouldn’t end well.

“Keep your head down,” he mutters, jogging after you. “Follow Tess.”

It’s easier to do as he says, though everything in you is screaming to yell back. Tess is almost a blur of khaki as she zips through streets and people, until you reach a barren area full of wilting, soggy boxes. You don’t ask where you are, and don’t have much chance to, before Tess is crouching and yanking on a drain cover. She looks up to Joel, eyes falling to you, and back again.

“I’ll head down first,” she breathes, ditching the dirty cover. “Get a look at the other end. If I come back, we’re all clear, if I don’t…”

Joel nods his head, expression unclear. Is that the only look he has? He guides you to the wall and you’re pliant, while he stands at the end of the street keeping watch. You’re tempted to follow Tess anyway and avoid being stuck here with Joel any longer, but before you know it, she’s back, lifting herself out of the drain. Joel turns.

“Alright,” she nods. “Let’s go.”

It’s so dark, even with Tess’s flashlight. Joel digs around for one too, in his pack, and you travel between them in the cramped drain. It’s barely big enough to crouch for you, never mind Tess and Joel. But they manage. It smells of shit and drains and dirty water, but it’s surprisingly empty, besides the odd sprinkling of moss and weeds growing. You stop and listen every few yards, before Tess waves you onward. The irrational fear of the drain being filled with water starts to become overwhelming just as you approach the decline and the raising ceiling. It leads out to a small running river, where Joel rises to his feet and stretches his strong arms above his head. His back pops and echoes. You scrunch your nose.

Tess has moss in her tied-up hair by the time she and Joel walk off down the embankment, and you wait a second to see what happens. They don’t turn back around, talking only in hushed voices with a lot of hand movement. You blink, feeling slightly dejected. FEDRA won’t have you back, Marlene passed you off like a broken clock, and now the two people who promised to get you to wherever the Fireflies are, are just walking off without you. Maybe they think you’ll just run after them. After all, it’s dark and you’re without a flashlight in a place you’ve never been before.

And if they thought that, they’d be right.

You sprint after them, slowing by the stream, and begin to panic as their lights disappear, turning the corner. You’re blindly stepping up an incline, beginning to get nervous.

“Tess?” You try, voice echoing. You guess you’re under some sort of tunnel, or bridge. With no answer, your heart speeds up. “Tess?!”

A flashlight appears around the corner, a tall figure looking very pissed off. An annoyed Joel, waiting on you. Although Joel’s presence doesn’t exactly calm your nerves, it calms a section of them, and you scurry to him like a scared kid. Which is definitely not what you are.

“Move it,” he hisses, waving his flashlight on the path. Something twangs in your chest, and you walk with your head down past the man. When you catch up, Tess is kneeling, pulling weeds and brambles away from another tunnel. She grimaces, looking down at her hands. The tunnel looks eery and grim, and you really don’t want to go down there.

“Alright,” she sighs, turning her head to meet your slightly-anxious gaze. “It’s just through here. When we go through here, don’t make a sound. Got it? There’s a lot of FEDRA on the other side tonight. If they catch us, we’re all dead. Understand?”

You nod frantically, mutely. Better to be quiet now. She hums, and holds your gaze for a second before the pair of light eyes move away.

This tunnel is arguably better, but it’s still a tunnel. By the time you’re out, you’re breathless and breathing deep, and your back is aching. You get to your feet and brush off your knees. You’re finally outside of the Zone.

“No fuckin’ way!” You laugh. Tess shushes you, but doesn’t look angry. The three of you walk in silence, sneaking around the debris scattered here, until you turn the corner. There’s a bit of light coming from the wall by the Zone’s entrance and a car engine rumbles, but so far, there are no guards this far out.

Until Tess slams to a stop, holding her arm out to stop you, too. Joel steps back, tilting his head slightly. They share a look, some form of silent communication, and then Joel nods his head, stepping out quietly. You and Tess follow him.

“Hey—hey! Stop! Fucking stop where you are!”

You freeze on the spot, gaze falling to the guard who’s fumbling for his gun laying against the wall. Tess sighs heavily.

“Hey, come on, man, just forget we were here!”

“Forget it?” He laughs. By now he has his gun in one hand, and has brought out the scanner used to detect Cordyceps in the other. “Hands up. Get on your knees. I said get on your fucking knees!”

You shift on your feet, looking to Tess for guidance. She’s visibly angry and nervous. Her eyes meet yours, looking to Joel. “Just get on your knees. Just get down.”

The three of you kneel with your hands behind your head in a line, while the guard goes to Tess first. The scanner bleeds green light, and Tess scoffs, whipping her head around to glare at him. “Seriously, man?!”

“Yeah, seriously. We’re doing this by the book. Unauthorised exit out of a Quarantine Zone—they’ll hang you for that.”

“Look, you let us go, we’ll give you half off on the next run,” Joel bribes.

“Half off? All off. For the rest of the fucking year.”

It beeps green at Joel’s neck, and he approaches you.

“Look, you let us do this, and let’s just forget about it all.”

The scanner beeps, and you already know what the colour will be. Determined not to let Joel and Tess kill you, you turn abruptly and knock the scanner from the guard’s hand, he yells, and reach for your knife from your pocket, digging it right in his thigh. Tess shouts something furious at you, while the guard screams in painc dropping the scanner. He dives for his gun as you get to your feet, aiming for your head, retreating in sudden fear.

Joel moves in front of you. “Stop! We can talk this out!”

He’s relentless. “Move.” The light from the gun is blinding, bright and unmoving. “I said, move.” The gun clicks, and Joel doesn’t hesitate. He throws himself at the guard, the two practically wrestling. Joel gets a hit in, hard, and the guard goes down, trying to get his hands around Joel’s throat. You can hear your pulse in your ears, watching Joel’s fist go down over and over against the guard’s head, until he relents, heaving for breath with a bloody, shaking fist. The man on the ground doesn’t move.

You’re transfixed, barely able to believe what Joel has done. It’s horrifying and gross, but Joel saved your life in doing so. He’s staring at the man, catching his breath.

Movement on the ground behind you prompts you to step aside, heart plummeting to your stomach. Tess has picked up the scanner, and looks between the scarlet colour illuminating her face, to your own, an unfathomable look. She looks away, at Joel.

“Joel!” She calls, and you try to snatch it from her; she leans away, holding it out of your reach, showing Joel. He doesn’t move, doesn’t look away from the scanner showing red, a look you can’t describe.

“No,” you try. “I’m not sick! I’m not infected!”

“Joel!” She barks, kicking the man into action.

“Oh yeah?” He exclaims, taking the scanner from Tess’s outstretched hand. “Then explain this.”

“Look, I know it sounds crazy, but I’m not sick. Believe me!” You try, flaying your hands. Tess raises to her feet, and clutches her gun, raising it level with you. “I swear! Please just believe me—”

“Why should we?”

That’s when the sound of vehicles get closer, the familiar hum of FEDRA cars. Searchlights grow brighter. Tess and Joel share a look of desperation. The man reaches down and swipes you up by the strap of your backpack, pulling you along almost quicker than your feet can catch up. Tess sprints alongside, shutting off her flashlight. You’re running practically blind, with only Joel’s guiding hand on your back to lead you in the right direction.

Somewhere in the distance, an Infected screams, and behind you, FEDRA grow closer; you have no choice but to keep going, trusting Tess and Joel with your life.

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fandom-go-round · 2 years ago

Text

Sea Salt Like Glitter: Part One

Summary: You’re a forest ranger. Trees and mammals are your specialty. Mermaids in the ocean? Way outside your area of expertise. Good News: They like you. Bad News: They like you a lot

Mer! Sun x Plus Sized! Reader x Mer! Moon

Part One (Here!), Part Two ,Part Three

Enjoy the first of the wedding month stories! I’m guessing this is going to be around 3-4 parts. I’m a sucker for Sun and Moon and couldn’t leave the Mer AU alone. I hope everyone enjoys!

Warnings: Trapped in Rocks, Blood, Dehydration, Different Species, Threats of Bodily Harm

The best time to go to your beach is around twilight. It’s not technically your beach but your house is the closest one to the water for miles. And technically it’s a ranger station, not a house, but it feels like home after a year of working. You enjoy the calmness of the ocean, gulls screaming and diving overhead. The air smells like salt but you appreciate the burn now. Part of the job is that you have to patrol the waterfront at least once a week and you do that at twilight.

Fredrick Fitzgerald Beach and Forest. One of the most treasured pieces of nature in the country. Nicknamed ‘Pizza Beach’ after the restaurant chain started under the same family, the protected land is looked over by a special kind of warden. A cross between forest ranger, ocean rescue and PR personality, they have the job of living on site full time and making sure people leave the animals alone. And right now, that’s you.

There are other people of course, tour guides and rangers that help at the nature center. You wave at the groups on the hiking trails and listen to the animal facts that you’ve heard 100 times. What you do is different, more secluded. You’re on the other side of the ‘Do Not Cross’ sign and you take your job seriously.

The last few days have been quiet and you’re hoping that the weekend stays that way. Thunderstorms are going to start later in the evening and you’re hoping to be done by then. You had chased some kids off earlier, teenagers looking for ‘a cool place to hang’ and the weather would hopefully deter anyone else from sneaking in.

The water is starting to darken, deep blue going navy. You take a deep breathe, scanning the sand for any trash or people. There isn’t anything as far as the eye can see and you relax, smiling to yourself. Some people think that it’s lonely, being out here for weeks and sometimes months at a time. You enjoy it; you’d rather be with nature than people any day.

You start to hum, watching as the sun finally slips below the horizon. Now your favorite part of the night starts. There are a few moments of darkness before lights begin to flicker under the water. The underwater bioluminescence becomes visible to the naked eye; even after all this time it’s hard to believe that it’s real. The water is much, much deeper than it looks and there’s something in the water that promotes the creatures to glow. Scientists come to study sometimes and you stay out of their way, you’re more of a forest person.

Everything in the water looks normal and you watch the fish dart around, smiling as you stroll part of the beach. You jump as thunder rolls overhead and speed up, calves burning with trying to move quickly through sand. You don’t want to get poured on, walking up the path towards your cabin. The climb is steep and you’re panting by the end of it. The cliffs gives a great view of the water, large rocks creating an outcropping off shore. They jut high out of the water, the largest shaped like an arch. Lazy glowing turns into streaks, fish scattering; must be something bigger under there.

Another clap of thunder bellows and you take off, rain falling in waves. You swear to yourself; your boots had finally just dried out. It’s a struggle to get the cabin door open and you’re glad you know your way around; it’s hard to see anything with the rain and wind. You watch the trees sway for a bit before going to get changed. There’s nothing to do now but wait out the storm.

♥

It’s a couple days before you head back to the beach. Lightening hit one of the larger trees and you’ve spent the last couple days making sure none of the forest caught fire. It’s not ideal but the job can change quickly. After making sure the nature center was alright, you finally head down to the beach. It’s mid-day, much earlier than you would normally go but you’re tired and want to head back early.

The beach is a mess. Seaweed and branches still cover the sand, the waves calm as if nothing had happened. These are some dead smaller fish but nothing too large and you’re thankful for that. Without thinking you begin to clean things up, gathering the sticks closest to you. You half watch a diving gull, seeing it swoop low and then fly off towards the large rock outcrop.

The air leaves your lungs as a gasp, wood falling to the ground at your feet. You can feel your heart starting to pound faster, brain trying to catch up to your eyes. It’s hard to see from the beach but there’s something in the rocks. You curse at yourself for not having your binoculars on you and turn to the stairs, taking a deep breath. It’ll be easier to see up from the cliffs and you’ll be able to tell what it is. Hopefully.

You curse the stairs once you’re at the top, knees aching. You love your job but it’s not made for fat people, even if you’re damn good at it. The sun is hot on your skin and you place your hand over your eyes, squinting at the rocks. It’s a better angle but farther away and you think you see something in the rock arch. It looks like another rock? Or maybe a log? It’s gray and part of you wonders if it’s some kind of ship that’s gotten stuck. The thought quickly leaves as something dark rises out of the water and slams hard against the surface. The gulls scatter with loud screaming and you feel like your eyes are going to pop out of your head.

Some sort of animal is stuck. Maybe a sea lion? A baby whale? Or a dolphin? You go over the possibilities as you rush back to the cabin. There’s a small boat you take out sometimes, mostly to chase fishing boats off. It’s nothing huge but the engine works and it should get you to the rocks.

At least you hope so. Being on the water makes you nervous; you can swim just fine but the boat rocking makes you sick. You don’t think about any of this as you take it to the water, putting it into the back of your truck. There isn’t a direct ride down to the beach but it’s better than nothing.

It takes an hour before you’re in the water heading to the rocks. You made sure to bring as many tools as you could, along with a camera, an emergency phone and gloves. You have no idea what kind of animal that you’re dealing with but if this creature has been stuck since the storm, it’s going to be in rough shape.

The rocks loom high overhead, casting dark shadows on the water. The sun is just starting to sink, even if it’ll take a few more hours. You have a water bottle and resist the urge to drink; you want to see what you’re dealing with first. You turn the boat off about 20 feet away and try to come to terms with what you’re seeing.

The hole in the rocks is about as big as a basketball hoop backboard, the edges not completely smooth but close enough. It’s about two feet above water and something is stuck. Scales so navy they look black are scrapped against the stone, bits of blood smeared as well. It doesn’t move as you get closer, swinging yourself around to get a better look.

You think that you’re looking at its back half. This side of the rocks is shaded by higher formations and it’s a bit difficult to see clearly under the water. Something that you guess must be a tail is slumped into the water but you can’t make out the shape. You grab an oar and paddle closer, letting the waves move you mostly.

Something hits the bottom of the boat and you jump; it was a brush more than anything and of course there are fish out here. The next hit is harder and the boat sways. You place your oar in the water to try to turn and something yanks. You yell as the oar is ripped from your hand and disappears into the water.

A loud rumble fills the air and you watch, horrified and full of awe, as the creature in the rocks moves. The tail rises and you realize that it’s not a tail, it’s webbing. Tentacles shoot out, some grabbing onto the rocks and others into the water. You quickly grab the other oar and move backwards, barely missing the flailing tentacles. Gulls on the rocks take to the sky and the creature begins to shift again.

It doesn’t take long to realize that it’s not doing well, whatever it is. It only struggles for a moment before sagging once more, the tentacles barely holding on. They push against the rocks but it’s weak and the longer you look, the worse it gets. The scales that are out of the water look dull and are starting to crack; it really has been stuck here since the storm.

You know that this isn’t a normal fish. First off, it looks like either a squid or an octopus but both of those would be able to get out of a hole. Also, the hissing and growling coming from the other side of the rock is ominous. You’ve never heard anything like it. You want to head back but you can’t ignore the suffering in front of you. Taking a deep breath, you count to five before paddling to the other side. You ignore the way your hands shake and hope that whatever it is won’t kill you.

Immediately the hissing turns into snarling and you meet blood red eyes. You flinch, holding the oar across your chest like it’ll help you defend yourself. Sharp teeth snap at your and you can feel the waves from the tentacles behind the rock. You’re not in the line of fire and you take a moment to understand what you’re looking at.

A furious face is set on a head coverd in fins, gills fluttering around the neck. The strong torso is covered in navy scales and two arms are digging into the rockface. You look the creature over once and then twice, your eyes always going back up to its face. It looks pissed and like it wants to break you in half. Blood red eyes stare out from a gunmetal gray face and keeps you in it sights.

“Holy shit.” Your voice makes the snarling quiet down, almost like it’s waiting for you to say something. “You’re a mermaid?” You phrase it as a question and the creature, honest to fuck, rolls its mother fucking eyes at you.

At the same time you take it in, the creature looks you over. You’re not much to look at, between your sad little boat and ranger uniform. It eyes you for a little longer between settling back down and looking exhausted. It’s hands, covered in long claws, detangle from the rock and lay against the surface. That’s when you realize it’s pinned.

There’s a log wedged between the rocks, washed up from the storm. The creature is half wrapped around it, the log pushing hard against it’s chest and forcing it’s torso out of the water. One of it’s arms can touch the water but the other is pinned too high up, it’s shoulders pushed far back. It looks painful and you wince in sympathy. You get a snarl for your look, the creature sending you a glare.

It’s eyes close with what you guess is exhaustion, not deeming you a threat. You want to argue but don’t; no need to push your luck. It looks worse from the front, scales dull and patches missing. The rockface has be gauged deeply in the mers struggle to be free.

It’s beautiful. Navy fins on its head and arms lay low, curled up and dull. It’s torso is lighter, the color of sand in moonlight. It’s clearly built for hunting; it might be lean but it’s covered in muscles. Darker scales cover the torso like stars and you know that you can’t leave it here, even if it wants to kill you.

“Hey.” Your voice has the creature opening it’s eyes again but only halfway. It takes you a second to get that they’re squinting at you; the sun must be bothering them. You lick your lips, knowing that it’s crazy to be talking to something this big. “Do you uh, want me to help you?” You wince at how uncertain you sound and the creature looks even more unimpressed than before. You hear something hit the water and assume it’s a tentacle.

You hold up a length of rope and then gesture ot the log. Eyes flicker between rope, your face and log. Some sort of spark comes into its face and it’s claws curl into the rocks slowly. You put the rope down and grab the oar, slowly moving closer.

It’s hard to get a good judge of size because of how it’s stuck but you guess that it’s at least eight feet long, maybe closer to nine. It doesn’t move as you get closer, eyes locked on you. The log is wedged in two places, one part under the water and the other above. When you look down, the bottom half seems to be covered in rocks, probably from the struggling. The only real option is to loop the rope of the top and yank.

“I’m going to go for the top.” You talk and gesture as you move closer, trying to be transparent in your movements. “The bottom half looks too stuck.” You would be concerned by the lack of response if it wasn’t for the red pinned on your face. It takes a little bit to get the boat maneuvered just right and the scrapping of its claws gets louder. You do your best to ignore the impatience; you don’t want to end up in the water today. Not now that you know things like this exist.

There’s a splash in the other direction and you flinch hard, almost falling from where you’re standing. The creature snarls, sharp teeth flashing in the sun and you look over the water. Nothing breaches the surface again and you shake your arms, trying to get rid of the tension. As long as there isn’t another predator you should be alright.

You have to throw the rope a few times before it’s looped just right and you can feel the waves of judgment coming out of the mermaid. Mer creature? You’re not stupid enough to pretend this isn’t some sort of intelligent creature; you’ve been pinching yourself too much for it to be a dream. That doesn’t mean that you want it commenting on your physical abilities and ignore how embarrassed you’re getting. Finally, you get the rope secured and you tug it to make sure. You can sense the growing impatience behind you and vow silently to go faster. It’s already in rough shape and you don’t want it to suffer.

Sending one last silent plea inside your mind, you start the boat engine back up. The creature flinches inside the rock and the gentle rumblings turn more into a hiss. You glance over and it flashes it’s teeth with a ‘get on with it’ feeling. You don’t hesitate, afraid that you’re going to lose your nerve. You throw the engine into reserve and gun it back, the boat taking off as fast as it can.

The rope is pulled taught quickly and you jerk, almost going into the water. Creaky rumbles come from the creature and you want to swear when you realize it’s laughing at you. You ease the boat back forward before going in reverse again, your eyes locked on the log. The first time it didn’t move but the second it seemed to slip. Gritting your teeth you repeat the actions, the log slowly becoming free.

The creature must feel it moving because it begins to push, well as much as it can with it’s chest. It looks painful with the open wounds but it doesn’t care, eyes getting brighter as the log shifts. You give it one last tug and the log comes free, the creature letting out an ear-piercing shriek.

A few things happen at once. Your boat, tugging with all it’s might, flies back once the resistance is gone and you scramble to not turn over. The creature slides backwards into the hole, sliding into the shadow covered water. Lastly, bright red fins crest the water in front of you, darting behind the rock.

Your boat spins for an embarrassingly long time; your arms ache and it takes everything in you to prevent it from flipping. The bottom of the boat has a good couple inches of water but you’re upright. A miracle. The clicking and hissing sounds are all gone now and it’s just you and the gulls. You watch the water once your heart calms down, eyes darting around to see if you can spot the creature in the water.

You wait for ten minutes before slapping your cheeks and turning the boat back towards shore. Your mission was officially done and you need to lay down, maybe have a drink, maybe get high. There was a lot you have to think about and you don’t want to do it in the open water. Two pairs of eyes, one red and one blue, watch as you make your way back to shore and share a silent look. The water barely ripples as they sink below the waves, determined to pay you back in some way.

#fnaf #sun imagine #moon imagine #fnaf daycare attendant #sun x reader #sun x reader x moon #moon x reader #daycare attendant x reader #daycare attendant #mermaid au #mer sun #mer moon #fnaf security breach

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