#suicide attempt aftermath

[quietly-by-myself]

A Wicked Work of Art - Chapter 8

Masterlist

CW: medical whump, trans whumpee, test subject whumpee, experiment whumpee, fantasy racism, dehumanization, fantasy whump, doctor carewhumper, carewhumper, suicidal whumpee, suicide attempt aftermath, overdose mention, suicidal ideation mention, discussion of noncon (not whump), violent/abusive relationships, brief mention of familial rejection around being trans

===

Akakios found himself very tired after the doctor left. He didn’t know what to make of the doctor anymore. The medicine wasn’t going to work. Who was the doctor kidding? Nothing would ever change his life. He would never be allowed to attempt suicide again. He would never be free, seen as human again. So, what would medication change? 

Those were the thoughts plaguing him as he sunk into the sleeping world.

There was Asimi, waiting for him, tears in their eyes.

Guilt overwhelmed Akakios. He couldn’t meet Asimi’s eyes. He expected them to berate him, to tell him how awful and selfish and abhorrent he was. Instead, Asimi just ran to him and hugged him tightly.

“I thought I was going to lose you.” Asimi’s voice was shaking, afraid. “I’m so glad that I didn’t.”

After a long period of silence, Akakios finally found his words. “Why, Asimi? Why did you possess me?”

Asimi pushed Akakios back a bit and put their hands on his shoulders. “I knew you couldn’t take that first experiment, Aka. I just, I panicked. I wanted to save you from that. I forget how much weaker your body is than mine, even with my influence.”

Akakios looked away. “He really hurt me.”

“I never expected him to.”

“Why not?”

Asimi went quiet. “When you’ve been around long enough, Aka, people rarely catch you off guard, but that doesn’t mean that it never happens.”

Akakios considered Asimi for a while. “I really do love you, Asimi. You know… the way that we do.”

Asimi nodded. “I didn’t know that one could love a friend without romance before you, my dear Aka.”

Akakios felt something in his heart that was part longing and part guilt. What was wrong with him? How could he have forgotten how much Asimi meant to him? How much he meant to them?

They shared a dream - a world where the two of them could live in peace together, as something more than friends, but not as lovers or romantic partners. It felt like a pipe dream. That world could never be. However, did that mean that he had to give up hope? Give up on himself?

It all felt so small, his reasons for dying, now that he thought about them with Asimi there. After all, times could be hard, but he knew that they could get better. After all, he’d lived all those years pretending to be a woman. He’d put on a good show for his mother and father, who, though he loved dearly, would never accept this new him. They would never accept the man who never wanted to wed. 

And he’d survived Constantine. He’d actually survived. The worst, everything he’d feared - losing total control over his body - had happened and he’d fucking survived. He still didn’t have control, but he was still alive, wasn’t he? Even when he’d tried to take back control by ending his life.

Asimi smiled a little. “You’re so strong, my love. We can make it through this. The world we want will be ours, one way or another. But it will not be achieved through death. I am here forever. If you die, we will be apart forever.”

He’d hurt Asimi and they still had the strength to love him.

“I’m so sorry, Asimi.”

“You have nothing to be forgiven for, Aka, my love.”

Akakios found tears in his eyes and embraced Asimi again. Asimi held him, long in fast in their arms as Akakios cried all the tears he couldn’t in the world of the living.

—

Vasiliki didn’t sleep when he returned home. Instead, he found himself at the phone, carefully considering the phone call he was about to make.

Did he really want to do what he was about to do?

Vasiliki picked up the phone and dialed the all-too familiar phone number. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually wanted to call someone for something that wasn’t directly work-related.

Was this technically work related? Maybe. But, he felt like a ship in the middle of a hurricane and found himself longing, for the first time ever, to speak to someone.

It was early enough that his friend would be awake, but not early enough that he would be at work.

“Hello, this is Stergios speaking?”

“Stergios, it’s Vasiliki.”

“Vasiliki?” The surprise in Stergios’ voice was painfully obvious. “What are you doing calling me?”

“Do you have to go to work soon? It’s kind of a long story.”

“No, I don’t work. It’s a Saturday.” The concern came next. It almost made Vasiliki flinch. “What’s up?”

“Well, something came up at work.” Vasiliki took a seat next to the receiver and pressed his nose bridge. “I got a new patient and I decided to keep him.”

The silence on the other end of the receiver was painful. “I don’t want to hear about your work unless it’s important. You know I don’t like the way you guys operate at the Facility.”

“I know, I know. That’s why I’m coming to you for advice.” Vasiliki groaned. “He attempted suicide last night. I had to stay up with him doing an observation. Kid cried himself to sleep. I just, I can’t deal with this shit anymore.”

“It reminds you of your early days, right?” Suddenly, the voice that had been hostile was caring and soft.

“Yeah, twenty fucking patients and no time to properly care for any of them. I just started having them all restrained after I lost those three that week. And again, this only happened because he was left unrestrained. I’d forgotten to give him his testosterone shot, ‘cause he’s trans, and found him OD’ing on a bottle of pills I’d forgotten about.”

“Well, then, why call me? I’m always happy to listen to you, Vasil. You know that. But you never call.”

“I know I’m doing something wrong by doing what I’m doing. I’m ashamed that it’s taken me a hundred fucking years and four suicides, only one of which I was able to save, to make me realize it, but fuck. I feel like shit.”

The other line was silent for a long time. Vasiliki knew his admission could easily get him fired, but he didn’t care. Stergios wouldn’t tell anyone. He was sure of it. After all, they’d known each other since they were kids. If Stergios was going to betray him, it would’ve been a long time ago.

“What… what changed?”

“Fucking Constantine. And,” Vasiliki found tears in his eyes as he continued speaking. It was the first time that the words he was about to utter had ever left his lips. “You know that boyfriend I had ten years ago? The one named Giannis?”

“Yeah, I remember him. He was a real shit head.”

“Yeah,” Vasiliki broke down crying, unable to hold back the sobs. “He raped me. It was only once and he broke up with me the next day. But, fuck.”

Vasiliki found himself unable to talk.

“It’s okay, Vasil. I believe you. That must’ve been awful.”

“It was. After that, well, I’m naive as shit, but I could only work with Constantine because he didn’t do that to his subjects. But he did that to this kid and then he attempted suicide and I tried to be the doctor, the scientist, but I just can’t anymore.”

Again, Vasiliki found himself unable to talk over the tears. The guilt - both of his own experience and of Aka’s experiences - overwhelmed him.

“How about I come over, Vasil? I want to be there for you. I don’t want you to be alone going through this.”

Vasiliki nodded, but realized that Stergios couldn’t see that through the phone, so he whimpered that he would be happy to have Stergios over, but that all his food was rotten. Stergios simply said he would bring something fresh for them to eat and hung up.

And so, Vasiliki sat in wait for his friend to arrive, bawling his eyes out like he never had before. At least, at least, someone was coming to see him. Somehow, for the first time, that thought made him feel better.

===

Tags(always open): @i-can-even-burn-salad, @whumpsday, @pigeonwhumps, @oddsconvert, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @writereleaserepeat, @just-a-silly-little-whumper, @sparrowsage, @inscrutable-shadow, @whumplr-reader, @whumpycries, @demondamage, @whumpshaped

#medical whump #trans whumpee #test subject whumpee #experiment whumpee #fantasy racism #dehumanization #fantasy whump #doctor carewhumper #carewhumper #suicidal whumpee #suicide attempt aftermath #overdose mention #suicidal ideation mention #discussion of noncon #violent/abusive relationships #whump #whump writing #whumpblr #whump fic #whump community #a wicked work of art

[trashideas]

About the AU:

Everyone is aged up (except Dokja)

The Company just wants Dokja to have a good fucking childhood

This is like... Set in some time where everyone from the Company knows Dokja but he doesn't know them.

The Company is all looking for him, Joonghyuk is the first to find him

However, there were some complications for his transition into the world. He is a cat.

WARNING: TW aftermath of suicide attempt, manipulation (bc of kdj Aunt), overall depressing themes

-------

Part 1

After Kim Dokja’s little fall out the second story window, he is recommended to get a therapy dog by one of the doctors.

Of course, nobody wants to spend that kind of money on something a like dog, much less a dog specifically for Dokja’s comfort. Instead of telling that to Dokja, they say:

“The hospital bills are already putting a dent in our savings, we need to be on a strict budget because of you.”

In reality, the hospital is costing them nothing. The payment for the hospital is coming directly from Dokja’s mother’s money. Which- in turn- is actually Dokja’s money.

After the long weeks of being in the hospital, Dokja doesn't like being in his Aunt’s house anymore. He doesn't like the looks people keep giving him. Nobody talks to him, too afraid to be the next reason why Dokja jumps. People don't want his death on their hands, but they also don't want to be responsible for his life.

So he finds himself walking outside more often than not. He can't go far, his limbs are far too heavy for that. If it weren't for his aching muscles and screaming bones, Dokja is pretty sure he would walk until he couldn't find his way back his Aunt’s house.

Walking is a therapy of itself. It keeps his mind occupied and puts an aching pain in his bones. The pain keeps him grounded, out of his mind.

He has found a nice park while on his walks.

While it technically is supposed to be closed after sunset, nobody is near enough to tell he is there, and if people do notice, then they don't care. Because Dokja isn't bothering anyone, no one bothers him.

He likes to sit on the swings and scroll through his phone. Most of the time he is looking for something good to read rather than actually reading a webnovel, but the pass time is rewarding. Especially when he finds something truly good to read.

It's a rare occasion of actually reading something when it happens. He is a few chapters in of a novel called SSSSSSS-Class Infinite Regressor. The plot is interesting enough with enjoyable characters, but there is a nagging in the back of his mind. Something about it is familiar, and for some reason he doesn't like it. He is contemplating dropping it when he feels a set of eyes on him.

He checks the time. Ah... It's gotten late. Early? The white numbers of 1:32 stare back at him.

Someone must think he is doing something nefarious. He gets off the swing quickly. A little too quickly. His limbs are still weak from his... It hasn't been long since he left the hospital. Maybe a few months, so he hasn't fully recovered yet. Dokja thinks he is still supposed to be using crutches, but he lost them at his Aunt’s house at some point.

He stumbles awkwardly and falls to the ground. He has fallen enough to know how to hit the ground. Nothing is in pain and his phone is still in his hand, but he just doesn't have the energy to get up again. Whoever is watching him must have seen and he doesn't want to face the humiliation of getting back up.

He stares up at the blank sky. The light pollution of the city makes it impossible to see the stars.

“Mrrow?”

Dokja’s eyes snap to see a short-haired cat. Well, he thinks it's a cat. It's big enough to be something more akin to small leopard, but he doesn't see the fuzz that baby animals have and assumes that it's just a really big house cat.

The cat is staring at him with wide, yellow eyes. Dokja notices the little dot of white on it's chest. It's too dark to tell the true color of the cat. It's fur is dark, it could be grey or brown- but looks like a pure black under just the light of the moon.

The cat looks like it wants to approach but only stands just out of reach. Dokja isn't sure if he should hold out a hand or not. Despite its size, it doesn't look like a street cat. There are no wounds or scars that Dokja can see and its fur has a healthy sheen to it.

It must be someone’s house cat.

Or its just such a good fighter that no other cat can land a hit on it. Dokja laughs at this, light and airy. It fills him with a joy he hadn't expressed in a long while.

To be comparing a cat to some protagonist, Dokja’s mind must really be skewered.

The cat tilts its head in an obviously questioning manner.

“Sorry, you just reminded me of a character.”

The cat huffs.

Huffs!

Like an actual overdone main character.

Dokja can't help but compare him to the main character of Infinite Regressor, Yoo Joonhyun. He was the typical main character- cold and selfish. However, with the novel’s approach to writing, it allowed the reader to peek into his mind every now and then.

While he acted standoffish and almost rude at times, his mind was a different place. He was always caring for the people around him. Their best interests were always at the forefront of his plans even if it put them in harm's way sometimes.

Dokja decided to call the cat Yoo Joonghyuk. For some reason, the name came to him easily. Probably because it was just another version of Yoo Joonhyun.

“Yoo Joonghyuk,” Dokja said quietly, testing if he liked how it sounded.

The cat’s attention was grabbed immediately. With the uttering of the first few the syllables, the cat’s ears twitched so intensely that Dokja thought it was going to bolt away. Instead, it took a small step forward, and uttered a questioning, “Mrr?”

It's shining eyes bore into Dokja, as if looking through him. It almost made him uncomfortable. The cat was looking at him like it knew him. Like it knew everything about him and more.

Dokja finally sat up and laughed a little uncomfortably, “Ha-uhh, alright I guess that's your name.”

The cat’s ears drooped. Dokja thinks he said the wrong thing.

“Unless you wanna hear the other name options. What about Tank?”

The cat turns away. Sitting with its back at Dokja, but still giving him a nasty side-eye.

“Okay, not Tank... Did you like Yoo Joonghyuk?”

The cat’s ears perk again.

Dokja glances down at the time again, 1:56. He sucks in a breath. Fuck if they find out he was out late again, he might actually get punished. The noise must've sounded too much like a hiss because the cat is standing up quickly and turning to face him.

“Oh, sorry, it's okay- I just have to go now, sorry again for scaring you.”

Dokja gingerly got up with the help of the metal pole of the swing.

Dokja missed the worried look “Yoo Joonghyuk” gave him. However, he did not miss the loud meow the cat said as it trotted to stand beside him. Dokja did not want to think about how big the cat was next to him. It was nearly up to his knee. He was sure that if it decided to stand on its hind legs, then it would be the size of a child.

Dokja looks down at the cat, “Maybe I should call you Tank.”

The cat doesn’t react this time, but Dokja also doesn’t want to throw away the name of Yoo Joonghyuk. The name has grown on him.

“You’re right, Tank is a dumb name anyways.” He steals another glance down at his phone. “Ah- I actually have to go this time,” Dokja starts his version of a brisk walk- which is still embarrassingly slow, “Their alarm goes off at 3 for work,” Dokja feels the need to explain to the cat that is still following him. Was this cat trained for something? Or was it just naturally this friendly?

The cat- Yoo Joonghyuk, Dokja decided finally- kept following him through his walk back. Yoo Joonghyuk was quite talkative with some of the stories Dokja told throughout the walk, mostly when Dokja said something a little depressing. Joonghyuk was so attentive to Dokja’s words that Dokja started leaning away from heavy topics and discussed anything he saw to avoid the cat’s irritated mewls or growls. His sentences didn’t make sense more often than not, but that was okay. He was just talking to fill the silence of the streets.

Dokja didn’t like silence.

It wasn’t like Yoo Joonghyuk could understand him anyways. No matter how angry or confused the cat sounded, there was no way he actually understood him.

It was impossible.

Yoo Joonghyuk was a cat.

Dokja’s mind whispered about all the different types of isakai journeys he has read, and how some of them had the main character turn into some sort of animal that needed to go on an epic journey to become human again.

Dokja laughed to himself. He really was crazy, wasn’t he?

He was comparing the types of tropes in fiction to reality. That was the one thing that normal people were supposed to keep separate.

The cat meowed loudly, pulling Dokja out of his thoughts.

“Yeah?” he asked the rhetorical question for no real reason, “We are almost there, aren’t we?” Dokja looks around the familiar streets that are starting to be illuminated by the rising sun. “I should pick up the pace,” he says but doesn’t do.

#trigger warning: suicide attempt #well the aftermath of it #orv kim dokja #kim dokja #orv spoilers #cat Yoo Joonghyuk #Hes not happy with this #depressing themes #snippysnippet #yoo joonghyuk #orv au

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Beyond the Lights AU, Pt 6

Content warning: suicide attempt, hospitalization

After leaving the hospital, Kara doesn't expect to hear from Lena or her team again. She does her best to ignore the reporters outside her home, and studiously avoids the tabloids that cling to the story of Lena's latest attempt to end her life. This time, there is no way to spin the aftermath, no excuse that can be given that wouldn't be worse than the truth.

This Kara knows, and so she throws herself into work. Her colleagues, at least, know better than to tease this time. Kara feels like a vice has tightened around her chest, pressing tight and ready to burst at the slightest provacation. At home, more than one glass meets its end thrown against a wall or cabinet, but anywhere else, she remains collected, barely.

All she can think about is Lena, dreading that her friend-- if that's what they even are-- has been thrown right back to the wolves. So it comes as a surprise when she comes home to a message on her answering machine from the psychiatric unit of National City Regional Hospital.

"Kara, hi--" Lena sounds hesitant, nervous. "I know you probably don't want to hear from me, but I was hoping... I'm at-- well, I've... been getting some help, and I was hoping you'd come and see me. I-- there's something I want you to know, but not over the phone."

Lena pauses, taking a breath that Kara can hear shaking, even over the line.

"I hope you'll come, but... I understand if you don't."

Another beat.

"Bye."

The message clicks its end. Kara stares at the machine, shocked at what she's heard. In the end, she's helpless to resist the pull that tugs her back to the hospital. The nurses don't seem to care that she's there for Lena, for which Kara is grateful-- treating Lena like any other patient could only be good for her.

When she's shown to the visitation room, Lena is already there, seated at a table with a small stack of marble composition books in front of her, gripped in both hands. When Lena looks up at her, it's with a mix of hope and trepidation. Kara doesn't know how to react, so she simply takes a seat opposite her.

"Thank you for coming," Lena says softly. She swallows audibly. "I-- I wasn't sure you would."

"I wasn't sure either," Kara admits. "But I guess I have something to say too." She takes a breath. "I'm sorry, for the way I left things. The way I left you. I just-- I can't--"

"No, no. Stop. Please. That's what I wanted to tell you." Lena meets her gaze. "I want to tell you that I understand."

Kara holds her gaze, waiting.

"Ever since we met, you've been the reason I held off as long as I did. I was a bomb waiting to go off-- Edge only sped a fuse that was already lit. But allowing you to be the my reason for living wasn't fair to you, or-- or to myself."

A tear slips from the corner of Lena's eye, quickly wiped away by long fingers. Kara notices that the bandages on her wrists are gone, leaving the sutures of her injuries plain to see. Seeing them drops the bottom of Kara's stomach out from under her.

"I'm sorry," Lena whispers. "I'm sorry I put you in that position, and I'm sorry I let myself get so lost from myself that I couldn't see the worth of living-- for myself."

Kara wipes away her own tears. She nods, accepting the apology as graciously as she can without breaking down. In a bid to divert attention from her, she nods towards the notebooks.

"What are those?"

Lena blinks, surprised as though she had forgotten they were in her hands. She glances down, then inhales deeply, gathering courage.

"The other reason I asked you here." She slides the books across the table towards Kara. When she nods, Kara takes the top one and opens it. Inside, she finds every page filled to brimming with words, inscribed in graceful, looping script.

Upon a cursory read, they seem to be poems, but as Kara looks closer, the words seem to take on new shape.

"Is this--?" Excitement fills Kara for the first time in weeks.

"Lyrics," Lena confirms with a nod, a small smile on her lips. "The first few days I was here, I slept. Part of it was the meds, and-- what happened. But, once I woke up..."

Lena looks around her, and in the light coming through the windows she seems... at peace.

"Time passes slowly here, now that my days are my own. And every moment of them, words have been coming to me, in a way they haven't before. In a way they couldn't. I was pulled in so many directions, with every piece of me claimed by someone else, I had nothing left to give to my music. But now... they fill every part of me."

Kara stares at her, stunned. In that moment, Kara knows she's finally meeting the real Lena. The one with magic inside her.

"I'm--" Kara's voice cracks. "I'm so happy for you, Lena. Truly."

Lena's sweet smile grows. "Thank you." She clears her throat. "But I have one last favor to ask of you."

Kara nods, her heart all but ready to grant anything Lena asks of her.

"Take them."

"What?"

"Please. My mother-- she's already thinking about how to come back from this, to get back to how things were. And I-- I don't want that. Until I figure out what I do want, I'm afraid-- if Mother finds them, I don't--"

Kara nods, already pulling the books close. "Okay," she promises. "I'll keep them safe. Until you're ready."

This, this she can do. She can keep Lena's secrets just a little while longer.

"But not forever," Kara caveats. She raises an expectant eyebrow.

Lena's features warm into a smile once more.

"Not forever," she vows. "Very, very soon. I promise."

#supercorp #beyond the lights au #suicide attempt #the aftermath #things are looking up

[hithertoundreamtof23]

Whumptober day 22

Prompt- Glass Shard

Stephen gets ready to sell his awards, but realizes how broken he really is.

~~ Excerpt::

He was broken, just like his career.

He looked back at the trophies, his eyes welling up with tears as he looked at how successful his life had been. He once had a job, millions of dollars, and a girlfriend.

Whumptober Masterlist

#whumptober2023 #no.22 #glass shard #doctor strange #Fic #stephen strange #suicide attempt #Suicidal thoughts #Hurt/comfort #heavy angst #aftermath of accident #Gap filler #hurt stephen strange #stephen strange needs a hug

[ilkkawhat]

MK’s Favorite Post-Grave Danger Things for @letswaitforme​ Part One: Hope For the Future (my commentary below)

So one of the biggest things to admire about Nick (and a big part of why I love him) is no matter what he goes through, he has this optimism that I feel is displayed in full force in both the immediate aftermath we see where he goes to Kelly and gives her advice— something that I’m sure he does because he feels he needs to follow those words, too—and in the first half of season six as he displays hope that he can find another kidnapped victim because he was rescued so why can’t they be, that he can live his life “above ground” and do a good job playing with the hand that he’s been dealt with (spoiler for another scene I’ll be putting in this series), and finally, that once all the players are off the field in the case of his abduction, perhaps he can move on. 

But...it’s not that easy. Not even for him. There’s a part of him still buried, something still crawling under his skin, it’s not over and it never quite will be for him. 

#csiedit #csi cbs #nick stokes #george eads #grave danger #csi 5x24 #csi 6x12 #csi 6x01 #mk.op #mk.edit #mk.gifs #sorry i like to see you suffer nick #grave danger aftermath series #i have 10 parts planned for this lol buckle up everyone #some which will be re-tread of things I've giffed before but...i'll try new things with it #and plus i just idk i feel like my gifs have been better quality lately?? no idea why #but anyway here you go! just the tip of the iceberg #suicide attempt / #guns /

[purposefully-lost]

something something charlie growing up around a religion / culture that views suicide as something deeply sinful and the deep shame he feels over his attempts

#+ the fact that both of his attempts are methods that could... potentially leave room for doubt #if he was given a whole lot of grace in the aftermath to believe he was forgetful or reckless rather than downright suicidal anyway #cw suicide mention

[tryst-art-archive]

Context: 2009 Addendum

This is about suicide.

I'm sure we're noticing how a lot of the archive is about suicide, and so I feel compelled to reiterate that I'm doing fine in the present day. I've lived with wanting to die for 20 years, and there are times when it's been worse and times when it's been better. Regardless of which, it's something I know how to manage by now; I have a whole system for it.

So, if you're reading of my history, don't worry too much. These are things that happened--things I and those around me survived.

Something I left out in my initial recount of 2009 is that one of my bestie's and boyfriend's roommates made a suicide attempt that he survived. It landed him in a local mental hospital, which we visited him at, and ultimately led to his leaving their college entirely. In his place, another of our friends moved in with them.

That particular incident left a mark on the three roommates, though. My boyfriend wasn't home when it happened, but my bestie and their third roommate, who they were both close to, were meaning they missed the victim's preparatory steps, administered first aid, fell under suspicion from the police until the victim acknowledged he'd done it to himself, interfaced with the EMTs, and were left to clean the blood off their floors. I learned about it when my bestie called me to tell me what had happened while he was running to the corner store for more paper towels; they'd used all of them. I remember volunteering to go be with them, but my bestie turned down the offer. I remember sitting in my dorm feeling useless, with "We're out of paper towels"--which I remember being how my bestie opened the call--bouncing around my head like a Windows 98 screensaver.

I don't really know how to explain what it meant for me as a person who'd been actively suicidal for seven years, but there was something to bearing a form of witness to the aftermath of the attempt. When we visited the victim in the mental hospital, that also left a mark on my psyche. I think it was at this point that I became aware of what failing a suicide attempt might mean, and the fear of institutionalization became a tool in my arsenal to avoid making attempts. If I was going to try, then it would have to be a sure-fire thing, and there's not as many options for that as you'd think.

#context #info #me #00s #2009 #Age 18 #suicide #suicide attempt #aftermath

[tinajoweiss]

...still cleaning up the aftermath...

I have not processed the fact that I am still here. The experience was horrible. One that I will never repeat. Yet, the sadness and hollowness and emptiness I feel now is very real and loud to the point of being deafening.

#suicide #suicide attempt #aftermath #powderriverhomestead #dragonfrye #montana #philipsburgmt #tinajoweiss #tinaweiss #bigskycountry #second chance at life #what now #hope

[rhys-writes-some-shit]

The Dilemma of a Rubber Duck

Alastor x Reader (Queer-Platonic) ft. Bestie Lucifer

(TW: Mentions of depression, mentions of suicide attempts)

You knew Alastor didn’t like Lucifer. You weren’t 100% sure why, only that the King of Hell really got on Alastor’s nerves. Ever since Lucifer had moved into the hotel in the aftermath of the battle with the angels, Alastor had spent hours ranting and raving to you about him. They were constantly trying to one-up each other. It was comical, really.

Except that you were stuck in the middle of it. 

Unlike Alastor, you and Lucifer had hit it off right away, getting along like two peas in a pod. There was a certain camaraderie that came with being clinically depressed and still having to force a smile, which both you and Lucifer were experts at. Many late nights had been spent exchanging stories and finding humor in things other people might not otherwise find humorous. 

(“I tried to kill myself twice, and then end up getting hit by a car! That’s how I end up in Hell? What did I do all that work for?” That was the first time that story had been met with laughter, and that was when you knew Lucifer was a good guy.)

You were constantly thinking about how Alastor would react to knowing you enjoyed hanging out with Lucifer, or vice versa. It worried you to no end, so you tried to keep your friendship with Lucifer under wraps, for Alastor’s sake. He needed someone to back him up, and you wanted to be that person. You wanted Alastor to know he could trust you.

One evening, you and Lucifer were talking in the parlor, drinking tea. Alastor was out for a fancy Overlord meeting, so you were able to relax a bit. 

“I’m so glad we have Niffty around,” you were saying. “Sometimes I just can’t find the energy to do my laundry, but I know that if I leave it on the floor, she’ll take care of it right away.” You thought for a moment. “It’s not like I’m forcing her to do it. Or taking advantage of her. Right?”

“Nah, I thought cleaning was her job,” Lucifer reassured. “My loophole with that is all my outfits are the same. Also magic. Magic is very helpful.”

“Man, I’m jealous!” You gave a lighthearted groan. “I wish I could have magic like that.”

“Who’s saying you can’t?” Lucifer shrugged, sipping at his tea. 

You snorted. “Have you seen me? Do I look like Overlord material to you?”

“I didn’t think Mr. Crimson Asshole was an Overlord, so looks aren’t everything.” Lucifer hesitated. “Oh, shit, I shouldn’t have said it like that. You two are like, dating, right?”

You made a ‘fifty-fifty’ gesture with your hand. “Eh… Not really? It’s like… a mutual relationship. Neither of us are the ‘dating’ type, so we just kind of… vibe. But it’s fine, I get it. You should hear the things he says about you.”

“Oh?” Lucifer leaned forward, curious. You mimed zipping your lips, grinning playfully. “Alrighty then, keep your secrets.”

The feeling of guilt you’d been getting used to returned, but you smiled past it. If there was anything Alastor taught you, it was that you could hide everyone behind a smile. And it worked, for the most part. The only person who’d ever been able to see though it was Alastor himself. Similarly, you were the only person able to see through his ever-present smile.

Setting his cup down, Lucifer waited for a lull in the conversation. “Before I forget, I have something for you.” With a wave of his hand, a little yellow rubber duck appeared in his palm. Its features and markings made it resemble you. 

Eyes wide, you carefully took the duck from his hands like it were an actual duckling.

“This one doesn’t breathe fire or anything, but…” Lucifer paused, like he was struggling for words. “I haven't had a real friend in… a really long time. S-so I wanted to thank you. For that.”

You were at a loss for words. The only other person to get you gifts since you’d died had been Alastor. That feeling of guilt hit you like a train, but it was masked with a bright, grateful smile.

“Lucifer, I… I’m honored. Thank you.” You struggled to tear your eyes away from the duck. “Can I hug you?”

Instead of replying, Lucifer pulled you out of your chair, hugging you close. You matched it, hoping your appreciation for his existence was properly conveyed.

“Ahem.”

You and Lucifer pushed each other apart like a teenage couple caught making out. Alastor was standing in the entrance to the parlor, teeth bared. His grin was sharp, borderline violent, and his eyes were narrowed. 

“Al,” you tried, but no other words followed.

Then Alastor sighed, and the murderous look in his eyes disappeared. You were still holding the duck Lucifer had given you. Looking down, you realized you were shaking, and felt a little faint. 

You stumbled back, right into Alastor’s arms. Head spinning, you allowed him to set you down on the chair. Alastor kept a hand on your arm, watching your every movement with surgical focus. He knew, you realized. He knew how guilty you felt, how much anxiety it was causing you. How long he’d known, you had no idea, but you could feel it in the way he wouldn’t let you go. You didn’t want him to let you go. 

“Are you okay?” Lucifer looked frantic, obviously worried. “Do you need water? Something to eat? Medicine? I’m sure there’s some around here somewhere, if you just give me a minute—”

“I’m fine,” you interrupted, trying to muster a smile. You failed. How Alastor held his grin all day, every day, was a mystery to you. “Well, okay, maybe not fine.”

“They could use water,” Alastor provided, only a slight edge in his voice. Nodding, Lucifer ran off to get a glass of water, leaving you and Alastor alone in the parlor. 

Alastor was silent for a moment. You could tell he was trying to figure out what to say. “I apologize for not noticing your anxiety sooner.” A little joy fluttered in your chest. Alastor enjoyed watching everyone’s suffering—everyone except for you.

“It’s not your fault,” you told him. “I should’ve been more upfront. I just…” You were still a little shaky. Alastor’s hand moved so it rested over your hand. The rubber duck was still in your other hand, and you turned it over with your fingers, fidgeting with it. “I didn’t want you to leave me.”

“Now that is nonsense if I ever heard any!” Alastor laughed. “What a ridiculous sentiment, my dear. It would take more than that to take me from you, I assure you.”

“But I know how much you hate him.” You looked towards the direction Lucifer had gone. “You hate that he’s here. You hate that he’s meddling. And this is just another reason to hate him.”

Alastor was contemplating his words again when Lucifer came back. He gently handed you the glass of water, causing you to have to put your duck down. Alastor was right to ask for it—the water helped. The air was tense as Lucifer and Alastor glared at one another while also keeping an eye on you. 

“When you are happy, I am happy,” Alastor said out of the blue. Both you and Lucifer looked to him for clarification. “If talking with Lucifer makes you happy…” Alastor swallowed, gritting his teeth, glowering deeply at Lucifer, “then, by that logic, it makes me happy.”

“Hey, same here.” Lucifer put his arms up symbolically. “I’m not gonna leave my friend just because I hate their boyfriend– er, whatever you are, that is.”

“Partner,” you and Alastor said in unison.

“Right. That.” 

The air was still tense, but it made you feel better knowing that Alastor and Lucifer wouldn’t be fighting over you, at the very least. 

“Okay,” you said suddenly, having finished your water. “I’m going to bed. Thanks again for the duck, Lucifer.”

You barely heard Alastor growl at Lucifer upon realizing that he’d given you a gift, but it just caused you to smile fondly. Alastor was quick to step in beside you, taking your arm to escort you up to your room. 

“You’re welcome!” Lucifer called back. “But don’t think that just because you and Alastor are partners that I’ll make one for him too!” You had to stifle a laugh. Lucifer was too sweet for his own good, no matter how awkward it made him seem.

You turned so Lucifer could see your grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

#hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor x reader queerplatonic #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x reader platonic #lucifer and alastor #i wrote this instead of doing my homework #aroace reader #aroace alastor #lucifer is trying his hardest #rhys-writes

[throwing-summers-at-the-walls]

I could write something based on number crunch (my beloved) with John being high af on morphine...

#still thinking about i need something stronger by unkle #tw suicide #when im not busy projecting my suicidal ideation im projecting the immediate aftermath of my suicide attempt ig lmao

[cleoluvrr]

high school sweethearts (rafe cameron x reader) - I

these are the requirements, if you think you can be my one true love

WARNINGS: mature content; dark!rafe, dub!con, choking, domestic violence, substance abuse & addiction, controlling behavior, coercion, manipulative behavior, stalking, toxic relationship, attempted suicide ,kook!reader

masterlist

series masterlist

rafe’s head weighed down your chest, tears soaking through your pajama shirt that left your skin feeling sticky from the salty substance. his large body was racked with sobs and while it may have made someone else feel pity for the boy, all you could feel was the uneasiness creeping up your spine.

he’d shown up randomly in the dead of night, the sound of his knock at your window leaving you filled with so much dread that you almost ignored the desperate tapping. the tall man stumbled in like a fawn, leaking blood from his flushed, teary face that left stains all over his shirt. as he came closer, the red scratch left behind from his father’s family ring was clear on his cheekbone, raised and pink from the irritation.

it was the second time that week he’d come over like this. the bruises from the last time had not even healed before being overlapped by fresh ones.

you weren’t sure why rafe and his father got into it so bad, so often; but it had taken a toll on you both mentally and physically for having to deal with the aftermath all on your own. 

after nursing his injuries and having him change into a spare shirt he’d left in your room, all you could do was allow him to cry into you. it was the only thing you had the energy to do, and there were no words you had to say to him to make him feel any better than he did now. 

so, here you sat with your back against the headboard, legs outstretched and weighed down by your boyfriend’s body as he buried his face into you chest to muffle the cries that he couldn’t stop from escaping. sleep was slowly creeping through your body, but you fought it off to pacify your aching lover’s pain.

“it’s okay,.” your voice was soft, the sweet sound vibrating against his ear drums. “you don’t need to cry, i’m right here.”

you continued to speak soothing words to him for what felt like an eternity before he finally began to calm down, his cries steadily reducing to erratic sniffle every few dozen seconds. your arms cradle his upper body as you gently rock side to side in both an effort to calm him and keep yourself awake.

a pair of puffy eyes stared back up at you as rafe pulled his face from its hiding spot. his face was tired, pink, and tear stained, though most of the salty fluid was thoroughly soaked into the tank top stretched across your chest that he used to cry into. you don’t complain about the less than comfortable way it sticks to your skin out of concern that it would only manage to further upset him.

“i’m sorry…” rafe’s voice was quiet and broken as he spoke, the strength of his sobs evident from the damage it left on his voice. 

“don’t be. you have nothing to be sorry for.” your head shakes at him in refusal. nimble fingers graze over his face gently as you wipe away the stray tears that continued to fall. 

“i didn’t mean to come over so late.” the pink of his tongue pokes out to moisten his chapped lips before it retreats. “i didn’t know what to do. i–i just really needed you, y/n.”

“i know, baby, i promise it's okay.” you look down at him with soft eyes, one that you pray display deep affection for the man and not the irritation you felt inching closer to the front. “you can come to me whenever; i always have time for you.”

it wasn’t a lie, exactly. if rafe wanted to see you then he would do it, whether you were busy or not. you had no free time, practically your entire life outside of school was dedicated to your relationship. going to a college on the mainland was completely out of the question, simply because rafe would never let it happen–he already hated the fact that you lived fifteen minutes away. you couldn’t count how many times he’d begged you to live in tannyhill with him, nor could you count how many times you’d said no. living four hours away in a different city where he couldn’t keep a constant eye on you, where you would be around thousands of guys, would never happen–in this lifetime or the next.

you had to go to a university nearby to take classes, one that was close enough to home that so wouldn’t have to leave. you rarely hung out with your friends alone because it offended your boyfriend if you spent too much time with them. ‘are they more important than i am?’ is what he would ask through gritted teeth whenever you made plans with them more than twice a week. 

that’s how much rafe controlled every aspect of your life.

the last time you tried to free yourself of it, rafe promised to kill you. so you’ve learned to accept it for your own safety. even if your entire life revolved around your boyfriend, you’d rather that than having it be taken from you.

“do you want to talk about what happened?” you remained cautious in your inquiry, trying your best to be inoffensive as to prevent triggering him to anger or another crying fit. “it’s the second time this week you came over like this, baby…i’m worried.”

“my dad doesn’t think i deserve you, that’s what happened.” rafe chuckled dryly, head shaking as if he couldn’t believe his father would ever say something like that.

“what?” you brows knit together in confusion. “what do you mean?”

“my dad really likes you, y/n. more than he likes me, probably.” he releases another humorless snort. “he called me a, and i quote, ‘worthless leech of a son.’ he said that you were too good for me and that you would never stay with someone like me if you were as smart as he thought you were.”

you blinked at him as you processed the recounting of events. ward’s words towards rafe should never be uttered from a parent to their child, but he wasn't wrong.

rafe stole money from his father and misused their funds very regularly. he would spend it on drugs, alcohol, vehicles, and whatever else he felt like impulsive spending on–all the while he contributed nothing. it was something that you consistently scolded him for, especially when he would spend his father’s hard earned money on expensive gifts for you.

you would never call rafe worthless, but it would be a lie to say he’s not mooching off his father. however, every rich kid in kildare did the same thing to their parents, and his father definitely never worked to stop the behavior while he was younger.

as for you being too smart to stay with someone like rafe–you can’t say that you agree too much.

“don’t listen to him, rafe. no good father should ever say that to their child.” is what you settled on telling him instead.

“i know, what a piece of shit.” he shook his head, eyes rolling in annoyance as he retold the events of the night. you observed the faint appearance of a smirk on his face, the ghost of a smile barely visible but you couldn’t miss the slight twitch of his lips before he spoke again. “so i told him he’s just mad that my girl actually loves me, while my mom was smart enough to leave his ass.”

“rafe!”

“yeah, he didn’t like that very much.” the eyes that had lowered while he spoke flicked back up to watch yours. “he hit me with that big ass ring on and told me to leave, so i did.”

you tilted your head to the side, lip caught between the whiteness of your teeth.

what he shared was not out of the ordinary for the duo. what was out of the ordinary was the state in which rafe was in just a few minutes ago. typically he would just come over and let you dress his wounds before letting you play with his hair is silence, or listening to him call his father everything but a child of god in a rage-fueled rant. 

“and why were you crying? you can’t just show up like that, rafe…you scared me.” the boy in your arms sat silently for a moment before answering.

“its just…you’re in college now. i’ve made so many plans for our future but what if….you’re not gonna leave me, right?” rafe had worry set deep into his expression as he watched you process the question, his head shaking at you. “he was wrong, you’d never do that. you’re smart enough to know better.”

you were sure he heard you gulp after speaking the last sentence. you knew what he was implying, and he was right. ward was correct in saying that you were intelligent enough to know that staying with rafe was a terrible idea, but you were also smart enough to know that rafe would do anything and everything under the sun before letting you go.

“i’m not going anywhere, baby. don’t listen to him, he just wants to get under your skin.” it nearly made you sick to say it, but what choice did you really have? “i love you so, so much, and going to school isn’t going to change that. i’ve had a plan for my life way before i met you, but that doesn’t mean i don’t wanna make you a part of it. my future is my future, but i can’t see it without you there too.”

you meant what you said. you love rafe so, very deeply, and you would do almost anything to make him happy–within reason. rafe didn’t understand reason; rationality was not his forte. any reasonable person would understand that the waters would be tested once a high school relationship became an adult relationship, but rafe was not reasonable. any normal person knows that plans change as life goes on, but rafe was not normal.

maybe you would marry him one day. you might have his kids, be his trophy wife, and live in tannyhill, happily ever after. you knew that even if you went to college on the mainland, you wouldn’t leave rafe. that you would come back to kildare every chance you got and spend every spare second with him until you had to leave again.

even when he gave you hell, you still loved him with every bone in your body. 

rafe didn’t understand that, though, and that’s what led to your attempt at breaking it off with him. he degraded your lifelong goal, telling you that your relationship was more important that ‘some stupid degree’ could ever be. you supported him through everything, even when you thought it was the most idiotic thing someone could do, so his total disregard for something that you deeply cared for hurt you. 

the only reason rafe even let you go to school was because he’s terrified of losing you. not only physically, but emotionally. sure, he could threaten your life to make you stay and you’d listen out of fear. what he knew, however, is that he would lose you if he took your dream away from you. his leash was tight, but it was long enough to keep you satisfied.

rafe nodded at you in approval, seemingly satisfied enough with your answer to leave it alone.

he never wanted you to go to college in the first place. it was the only thing that you put your foot down on, but if it were up to him, the two of you would be getting married by spring.

he thought it was stupid–why do you need a degree or a job? why work when rafe was there to provide for you once he took over his dad’s company? he fought you long and hard about it for months, but you wouldn’t budge. you needed a safety net–you couldn’t let him take the most important thing in life taken away from you; knowledge. 

for you, knowledge was power. it was the closest thing you had to freedom. you knew that if you had a degree, it would be a safeguard in case things with rafe ever went south. deep down your boyfriend knew that, which is probably why he was so against it in the first place.

rafe knew his father was right, which is why he was in such a severe state of distress. he would never admit to that, however,

“are you just saying that because you’re scared?” your breath hitched at the sudden question and you were sure that you’d been caught.

“no! i mean it, seriously-”

“you’re smart to be scared, honestly.” he chuckled at you darkly, eyes glinting in the dim light of your bedroom. “i couldn’t live without you in my life, i love you too much. just thinking about you ever trying to leave me makes me so–so…sick. i need you more than anything. i would probably have to kill myself if you were gone, because i don’t want to live a life without you in it.”

you remained stoic. 

“and i couldn’t see you with anyone that isn’t me.” he stared at you for a heavy moment after saying it. the two of you both knew what he was hinting at, a look of understanding shared amongst the silence that overtook the room.

“rafe, my love…i don’t think that’s healthy.” the words left you in a soft, inoffensive tone. setting off the unstable man was the last thing you wanted to do. “you shouldn’t say things like that, its not funny..”

he shrugged at you, pushing your arms away from him and sitting upright. your eyes fluttered shut as he pressed his soft lips against yours, body melting into him instinctively. it only lasted for a few seconds before he pulled away abruptly, the feeling of his soft breath mixing with yours leaving you confused. 

the moment doesn’t stay on your mind any longer when he leans back in, lips meeting yours in a fervor. your skin feels flushed, face warm as the tingling feeling sets in from his skin on yours. rafe brought his hand up from its resting place on your thigh and attempts to wrap it around your neck like he usually does, but you pull it away haphazardly, hardly paying it any attention as you descend deeper into the kiss.

your own fingers reach up to play with his hair, a set of manicured nails gently scraping against the nape of his neck. you use it to pull him closer, the sound of lips smacking together filling the otherwise silent room along with your minorly labored breathing.

a warm, calloused hand slowly crawled up your side and landed on your throat once again, each finger slowly working to wrap around your neck in a firm grip. it was much tighter this time, and its grip strengthening faster than you could adjust. you reach up once more to pull it away, but he doesn’t let up.

“stop,” you pull away from him mid-kiss, your hand covering the pale one tightly wound around your neck. he doesn’t flinch at the sound of your demand, eyes low as he observes your increasingly frantic movements.

“what?” he asked.

rafe’s face was expressionless, the slight scrunch in his nose being the only giveaway of his sudden rise to anger. it was the silent rage that scared you, why you so carefully chose your words when speaking to him–because it would lead to moments like this. you weren’t even sure what you said to trigger him, but your rapidly decreasing airflow wouldn’t allow for you to think about it in depth.

“rafe, stop.” you repeat yourself. another hand reaches up to fight against his, nails scratching at the skin as they try to pull him off. the feeling had long passed being uncomfortable, and was encroaching on unbearable. “what’re you doing?” 

“what's wrong, baby…can’t breathe?” your boyfriend’s eyes furrowed with a look of faux concern, but you felt him stop holding back. he allowed the full weight of his strength onto you, biceps flexing as the tips of his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your throat. “huh?”

unable to answer verbally, you hummed quietly as you desperately tugged at him. despite your incessant squirming, that doesn’t deter him from returning his lips to yours. the kiss was sloppy, you were too focused on fighting for what little breath you had to return it fully, but rafe didn’t seem to care.  

he suckled at your bottom lip before nipping it with the sharpness of his teeth. he laved his tongue against yours, all but fucking your mouth the wet muscle. the sound of his soft, dark laughter reached your ears after he heard you whine against him. you were beginning to become lightheaded the longer rafe’s hand compressed your trachea mercilessly. 

he was allowing just enough room for you to not pass out from lack of air, but the finger against your jugular veins was preventing oxygen from reaching your brain.

leaving you with a few sporadic, wet pecks, he pulled away only slightly to observe your less than lively state. his lips were glistening with moisture, and you could feel spit dribbling down your own chin from your inability to swallow the saliva that had been gathering in your mouth. the blond’s face went stoic again and pulled you back to him, lips just barely brushing against yours.

“you see how i just had your life in my hands? how scared you felt knowing that i could’ve just crushed your throat if i wanted to?” the grip over your neck had finally loosened and you did your best to not pant against his face as your breathing steadied itself. 

you remained silent but rafe watched you expectantly, clearly awaiting an actual response and not the stupid, wide-eyed expression you carried. you nodded at him weakly, stray tears sliding down your face as you blinked your eyes clear of them.

“i’m not joking.” he whispered against your parted lips, eyes low and jaw clenching for just a second before speaking again. “i will fuck you up, and i mean that.”

#rafe cameron #dark!rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #outer banks #drew starkey #rafe cameron x kook!reader #rafe cameron x oc #obx fanfiction #obx1 #obx2 #obx3 #rafe imagine #rafe outer banks #cleoluvrr fics

[hotwings0203]

“Those are some big words,” he purrs in your ear as he sidles around your body, stalking your immobile figure. “You sure you know what they mean sweetheart?”

“If the words restraining order are too big for you, then you’re an even bigger dumbass than I thought,” you snarl, yet unable to stop your fingers from clutching your drink tighter.

You knew you shouldn’t have came to the house party, but when you both have overlapping mutual friends then it’s either sucking up for a night or living as a hermit.

And you’d rather eat hot rocks than let him know his presence scares you

So you succumb to entertaining him for the meantime, the latter option being to run away screaming while simultaneously committing social suicide. He’s too sly, too under-the-radar to actually evoke some suspicion on everyone else’s behalf. His innuendos, downright lewd videos of him jacking off over your stolen jacket, and constant involvement in any social gathering you’re at are telltale signs that he never got over your initial rejection. You can’t even call it out now because you know you’d be labeled as a hypocrite for leading him on and not being as curt as you should’ve been.

But you can’t really be blamed, not when he has everyone wrapped around his ring-laden fingers.

He chuckles at your bite, and leans in from behind you to coo in your ear.

“You sound nervous, baby. Try saying that again with your full chest, go on, I’ll give you another chance to make me feel like you believe what you’re saying.”

His deep voice is low and raspy with barely-concealed lust, and you realize with a jolt of despair why he chose to come up to you towards the end of the party instead of addressing you in the beginning.

Almost everyone here is drunk, the aftermath of the party evident with loose bodies sprawled around the couches or wobbling over to attempt beer-pong for the umpteenth time.

“F-fuck off,” you try to sound confident and cool but your voice betrays you and comes out as a whine, or worse, a plea. You wince as he simpers at your pathetic state.

He can sense you tense up as he slings an arm around your shoulders and neck casually, and goes for the kill.

“Fuck off?” He mimics the way your voice breaks in a high-pitched obnoxious tone, and tightens his arms over your chest, squeezing your soft bits with more pressure.

You want to move, to push his offensive grip off but the truth is you’re terrified. If you piss him off, no one can come to your help. You’re alone with him in a sea of intoxicated bodies, but you don’t exactly want to roll over and show him your stomach.

“Yeah, I’ll fuck alright,” he snickers at himself, rocking his hips into you.

“But let’s get one thing straight. The only reason we’re not fucking is because I dont want to fuck right now.”

He leans impossibly closer, eliciting a barely-concealed whine from you as his long tongue brushes over your earlobe.

“I wanna play.”

#yeah I’m not back from hiatus lol this is just smthn I need to get out of my drafts #but I see all y’all in my inbox and trust me I miss y’all too #this is painfully mid but whatev #yandere #mha #bnha #tw: dubcon #yandere hawks #yandere bakugo #yandere shigaraki #yandere imagines #mha yandere

[morallyinept]

Adrift With You - A Frankie Morales Series - Chapter 14

Summary: Heading away on a work re-location, Frankie embarks on a flight, but unbeknownst to him, his life is about to change forever. For starters, he will need to fight for it; harder than he's ever fought for anything else before.

Marooned on an isolated island in the middle of the ocean, still recovering from an addiction, his chances of survival are bleak; but he’s not alone on the island, and soon he’s running towards a different kind of life - a life with fellow survivor, Jude, fighting right beside him every step of the way.

And if they can both survive the island together, they can survive anything, right?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OFC Jude

Chapter word count: 7k

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

☝🏻See Series Masterlist for full smut warnings & triggers in this story. Chapters that contain smut or triggers will be highlighted in the chapter notes below. 👇🏻

Chapter notes: In the aftermath of the tsunami, Frankie and Jude are haunted by dreams, and struggle to determine what is real and what isn't. Very, very brief mentions of suicidal thoughts, and mentions of drug taking.

Song sung in the chapter is:

Enjoy! 🖤

Chapter 13

As Frankie slowly regains consciousness, he finds himself enveloped in a disorienting haze - a fog of confusion that clouds his mind and dulls his senses.

The sterile scent of antiseptic assaults his nostrils, and the rhythmic beeping fills the air; a cacophony of sound that seems to echo in his ears, its rhythm erratic and unsettling.

His head throbs with a relentless ache, every pulse sending a sharp stab of pain shooting through his skull. His mouth feels dry and parched, as if he hasn't had a sip of water in days, and a bitter taste lingers on his tongue - a reminder of the poison he’s willingly ingested.

Every movement is an effort, every breath a struggle against the weight of exhaustion that presses down upon him. His body feels heavy and sluggish, as if it’s weighed down by invisible chains, tethering him to the hospital bed with a cruel inevitability.

And then there’s the sensation of the IV line - a thin, plastic tube that snakes its way into his arm, delivering a steady stream of vital fluids and medication into his bloodstream. The sensation is strange and disconcerting, a constant reminder of his own frailty, his own mortality.

He can feel the cool touch of the saline solution as it courses through his veins, a lifeline tethering him to the world of the living, anchoring him to the present moment.

With a groan, Frankie attempts to sit up, only to be met with a wave of dizziness that sends him reeling back onto the hospital bed. Blinking against the harsh glare of fluorescent lights, he struggles to piece together the events that have led him to this place - a place of sterile white walls and solemn faces and plastic name tags who speak in foreign medical terms; a place that feels worlds away from the place he once called home.

And then, like a bolt of lightning striking through the fog of his memories, it all comes flooding back - the overpowering rush of euphoria, the reckless abandon of his actions, the acetous taste of regret that lingers on his swollen tongue.

He’d overdosed on the coke, lost in a haze of self-destructive impulses and desperate cravings, until the world had faded to black and he’d slipped into unconsciousness.

His eyes adjust to the dim light of the hospital room, and he surveys his surroundings with a growing sense of unease. The other bed beside him lays empty and untouched, the sheets neatly folded back as if waiting for someone who’ll never come.

The silence that fills the room is deafening, a hollow echo of the emptiness that gnaws at Frankie's insides. 

Something doesn’t feel right. He shouldn’t be here. 

For a moment, he lays there in stunned silence, grappling with the enormity of his solitude. His mind replaying the moments leading up to this candid awakening - moments filled with reckless abandon, self-destructive choices, and a blind refusal to acknowledge the consequences.

He’d driven them all away with his addiction, with his lies, with his inability to see beyond his own needs. And now, when he needed them the most, he found himself abandoned, left to face the consequences of his actions alone. 

To wake up, alone. 

Frankie feels the sting of tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, a silent testament to the pain that grips his soul tightly in gnarled claws. He’s pushed everyone away, burned bridges with those who had once stood by his side, and now he’s paying the price for his folly.

As the reality of his situation sinks in, Frankie feels a cold knot of fear tighten in the pit of his stomach - a sinking realisation of the depths to which he’s fallen, the consequences of his actions laid bare before him in stark relief.

He’s come so close to losing everything - his life, his sanity, his chances at redemption - and yet, somehow, he’s been given a second chance as he feels that familiar shake in his fingers tingling.

The heavy silence of the hospital room is suddenly pierced by the sound of the door swinging open. His heart skips a beat as he turns his gaze towards the entrance, uncertainty flickering in his eyes.

And there, standing in the doorway, is Benny - the steadfast friend who has never quite given up on him, even when Frankie's given up on himself.

A small smile tugs at the corners of Frankie's lips as Benny strides into the room, a personality as big as his boots, holding steaming coffee cups in his hands.

"Hey, Fish," Benny greets him, his voice warm and familiar. "Figured you could use some of this to chase away the cobwebs."

Frankie nods gratefully as Benny places a cup on the bedside table, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. He watches as Benny winks with a knowing smile.

And then, as if on cue, the door opens once more, and Frankie's heart skips another beat as Will and Carla enter the room.

There’s a moment of hesitation, a brief flicker of uncertainty in their eyes, before they approach Frankie's bedside with tentative smiles.

"Hey, buddy," Will greets, his voice tinged with concern. "How you holding up?"

Frankie meets Will's frosty gaze with a mixture of gratitude and relief.

"I'm... I'm okay," Frankie replies, his voice hoarse with emotion.

As Carla steps into view, her gaze immediately falls upon Frankie, but she can't bring herself to meet his eyes. Instead, she keeps her focus fixed on the floor, her hands nervously fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, the tinkling of her bracelets like familiar music in his head.

Frankie can sense Carla's discomfort, the tension radiating off her in waves. He wants to reach out to her, to offer her some measure of comfort, but he hesitates, unsure of how to break through the barrier that seems to have sprung up between them. 

It’s clear from the tightness in her expression that she’s anything but okay with him right now. She’s struggling - struggling to come to terms with everything that’s happened, struggling to face the reality of Frankie's addiction, struggling to find the words to express the turmoil raging inside her.

The anger. The love. The hatred. The helplessness. 

Frankie watches as Carla takes a hesitant step closer to his bedside, her eyes still fixed on the floor. He can see the conflict etched in her features - the desire to reach out, to offer support, warring with the fear of saying the wrong thing, of making things worse somehow.

And yet, despite this comforting picture, something feels off. Something’s askew, not quite right. A weird sense of Déjà-vu almost. It’s like trying to grasp at smoke - elusive and ephemeral, slipping through his fingers just when he thinks he has it within his grasp.

The disquiet within him grows stronger, a nagging voice at the back of his mind urging him to question, to probe deeper into the recesses of his memory. Prickles on his skin making him shudder.

But try as he might, Frankie can't quite put his finger on what’s wrong - only that something is amiss with this scene.

“Frankie?” Benny asks. “You alright, man?”

Frankie swallows and looks up at his friend, and that’s when he sees it. See’s odd movement in the IV bag out the corner of his eye.

There are fishes in the bag, swimming around. 

“W-what-” Frankie stammers.

His attention is pulled by the sudden screeching, and he turns his head to see a monkey sitting casually on Carla’s shoulder as she speaks with Will. A tiny monkey with big, yellow eyes staring back at him. 

“What’s h-happening?” Frankie queries, feeling dizzy. Like he’s being tossed about on an unsteady bed that feels like it’s floating. “¿Qué está pasando?” (What’s happening?)

Water is trickling down the walls, steady tracks that grow in width and speed. 

Frankie's voice echoes through the building furore, but his friends seem oblivious to the rising floodwaters around them. They continue to move about the room with casual nonchalance, as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening.

That their feet aren't sloshing around circling waves of water flooding in from under the door and through the windows now. 

“Fuck!” Frankie hollers as he scrambles out of the bed.

As the water continues to rise, inch by inch, Frankie feels a sense of desperation clawing at his chest. He knows he has to get out, has to escape before it’s too late and he drowns.

But as he struggles to find solid ground amidst the swirling currents, a sense of futility washes over him - a sinking feeling that he’s trapped, that there’s no way out. He looks down at the deflated lifejacket now around his torso, his fingers frantically pulling on the useless cords. 

“No, no, no…”

The walls seem to blur and warp around him, and a strange sensation sweeps through his body, like the ground shifting beneath his feet. Panic surges through Frankie's veins as he looks around frantically, searching for some semblance of solidity in the shifting, swirling chaos.

The water rises steadily higher with each passing moment, until it reaches his knees, then his waist.

“Benny!" Frankie calls out, his voice swallowed up by the roar of the water. “Will! Carla!” 

But his friends are nowhere to be found, lost amidst the churning currents that threaten to engulf him.

As the water rises higher and higher, panic gives way to a sense of resignation - a grim acceptance of his fate. He knows he’s dreaming, knows that none of this is real, but that knowledge offers little comfort in the face of the impending deluge.

He’s not waking up. 

And then, just as Frankie feels himself on the brink of being swallowed whole by the raging waters, a voice cuts through - a voice that is familiar and comforting, like a beacon of light in the darkness.

A voice that he knows only too well rushing into his ears around the water as he sinks beneath the surface. 

“FRANKIE!”

A tsunami can last anything from a few minutes to several hours. 

The energy of a tsunami runs through the entire depth of the ocean. It only becomes deadly when the ocean floor becomes shallow enough, and all that energy compresses into a smaller amount of water.

The deeper the water, the faster the tsunami, travelling up to speeds of five hundred miles per hour, and taking mere minutes to reach land. 

Once it reaches the land, the raw energy of thousands of tons of water destroys everyone and everything in its path in mere seconds. It’s a myth that you can outrun a tsunami of that magnitude - you simply can’t. It will engulf you before you even comprehend the thought in your mind of running.

The survival rates of a tsunami can vary depending on several factors such as the magnitude of the tsunami, the distance from the coastline, the elevation of the land, and individual preparedness and response. Generally, survival rates are quite low in areas directly impacted by a large and powerful tsunami, particularly if people are caught off guard and unable to evacuate to higher ground in time. And even if you can, your chances are still dubious.

You just gotta hope that luck is on your side. 

Jude’s tumbling through the water, swallowing more of it as the deadly moments wear on; the lifejacket seemingly useless as she keeps being pulled under as she’s swept along with the ferocious current.

She surfaces momentarily to yell out for Frankie, before she’s dragged under again. 

“Frankie!” She screams, more water pouring down her throat making her choke and gag.

She kicks her legs, her lungs on fire as she surfaces again, blinded by the inflation of the life jacket as she tumbles like she’s in a spin cycle in a washing machine. 

She glances at her wrist as she surfaces again; part of the ripped shirt is still wrapped around it, but Frankie isn’t on the end of it anymore. 

“FRANKIE! FRANKIE!!” She screams out in the water, the waves continuing to crush her head on a relentless repeat.

She splashes around frantically searching for any sign of him in the choppy current as it pulls her along. 

“FRANKIE! WHERE ARE YOU?!” She cries out again, a choked sob overcoming her but refusing to admit defeat - he has to be here, he has to have survived this just like she’s doing.

They survive together, that’s the deal. 

“FRANKIE!”

But then his lifejacket didn’t inflate. What if he’d been knocked out as his head had smashed into a rock under the water? What if he’s already dead?

“NO!” Jude cries out, swimming as hard as she can as the waves try to pull her under again.

“NO! NO! FRANKIE!” She screams again until her throat is raw. “FRANKIE! FRANKIE!”

With each passing moment, the waves seem to grow taller, more relentless in their assault, threatening to engulf her completely. She fights against the current with all her strength, but it’s like trying to hold back a tidal wave with her bare hands.

As she struggles to stay afloat, her mind races with a thousand fears and uncertainties. What if he can't hear her over the deafening roar of the waves? What if he’s hurt, trapped somewhere beneath the surface? What if...

She can hear choking and yelling, and turns in the water to see Frankie swimming towards her.

He disappears under a wave as it rolls on top of him and she takes a deep breath as the wave crushes her head only seconds after. She resurfaces just as Frankie reaches her and she clings onto him as he splutters and chokes. 

“Thank God! Fuck!” Jude exclaims, thrashing amidst the frothy chaos, her body battered by the relentless force of the sea.

Without hesitation, Frankie reaches out, his strong arms encircling her trembling form as they ride the waves together. For a fleeting moment, time seems to stand still as they cling to each other amidst the fury of the ocean.

The water crashes around them, the salty spray stinging their eyes and coating them with a thin film of mist.

“Hold on to me!” He makes a weird gurgling noise as he tries to speak and coughs. “Holy fuckin’ shit!” Frankie cries out in disbelief as he paws at her and her hands grab a tight hold of his t-shirt.

He looks like a drowned rat, his hair and beard covering him and sticking to his skin with the saturation. There’s no sign of his trusty, familiar cap. 

Frankie coughs again as water splashes over his face as they ride the waves of the tsunami, desperately clinging onto one another as they tumble and swirl with the ocean’s aftershocks. 

Jude grips so hard onto him that her hands will ache for days afterwards, but she’s determined not to let him go this time. 

It’s hard to tell how exactly long they’re in the water for.

The sun has moved across the other side of the sky as they bob there on the waves as the remnants of the tsunami begins to fade out on the ocean.

Thankfully, the tsunami wasn’t all powerful or engulfing enough that it’d taken their lives, but it was still incredibly damaging. 

Exhausted, Frankie rests his head against the front of Jude’s inflated lifejacket with his eyes closed. But he’s still holding tightly around her waist as they float in the water, aching all over from their battered bodies. 

“Look, over there!” She says to him, rousing him, and he lifts his head when they spot the island in the distance. 

“Can you swim that far?” Frankie asks her.

“Yeah. We did it before, we can do it again, right?”

He nods. “Take it slow. Don’t burn out.”

They swim together against the current slowly; their limbs searing and getting pushed back with the waves every now and again as they continue to surge.

It seems like they aren’t making much in the way of progress, stopping occasionally to catch their breath and check the other is okay to carry on, but the island seems to grow closer, until eventually they can stand on the ocean floor again and stagger up the shore to the sandbank. 

They both collapse on the sand; Frankie falling onto his back gasping for air like he’s having an asthma attack. Jude falls onto her knees, battling to get the life jacket off and dry heaving as she coughs up copious amounts of sea water until she eventually pukes it all out. 

“Are... you... okay?” Frankie gasps in between each word as he hears her upchuck relentlessly.

She looks up at the beach, front wiping her mouth when she’s done spitting out, and is dismayed at what she sees. 

“Oh God...” Jude’s voice breaks.

In the aftermath of the tsunami, the once eerily quiet island lay battered and broken, a landscape transformed by the merciless force of nature.

Trees lay uprooted and strewn about like discarded matchsticks, their branches stripped bare and twisted into grotesque shapes by the ferocious waves. Debris littered the sandy shore, a grim testament to the havoc that had been wrought upon the island in a matter of moments. 

A scene of utter devastation that seems to stretch out as far as the eye can see. The once pristine, rocky beach is now marred by the impacting detritus.

It’s gone - all of it. The shack, the fire pit, the solar stills, just... gone. Nothing but a sparsely flooded and barren landscape greeting them, and not much else.

Jude staggers up the soggy sandbank wandering aimlessly in shock and disbelief. Face blank and eyes wide in disbelief. Body trembling from exhaustion and adrenaline as it confuses her nerves.

Frankie calls after her, rolling over onto his front and taking in the overpowering sight of destruction presented before him.

“Fuck.”

He drags himself to his unsteady feet and follows behind her in a stunned silence as he casts his weary eyes about the place. Their movements are slow and unsteady, as if they're moving through a fog, each step weighed down by the crushing weight of the destruction around them.

Every sound - the crash of waves, the creak of splintered wood - amplified, assaulting their senses with a relentless barrage of stimuli.

Jude stops when she spots something near the cave mouth as they begin to pass it. 

“Oh no,” she whimpers, and drops to her knees when she reaches it. “No, please no-”

She picks it up and cradles it to her chest, her hands trembling as she strokes his cold, sodden fur. Frankie approaches, and she looks up at him with silent tears streaming down her face.

“Egon...” Jude blubs through choked wails, as she holds the little, lifeless monkey inside of her arms; his once wide, yellow eyes closed forever in a drowned sleep. 

Frankie drops to his knees beside her and despite his will, he can’t help but shed some tears for the little critter who, as Jude had said before, he actually loved more than he let on. 

People of faith will often be heard saying ‘God is testing me,’ when things ultimately get tough in their lives.

Like a bearded man, wearing Birkenstocks, relaxing on a cloud and sipping from a G&T, is observing your plight and revelling in it, chuckling haughtily like watching an episode of a trashy talk show. 

God is clearly a sadist after everything he’s put them through, and as she watches Frankie scooping the pile of sand back into the hole he’d dug with his shovel-like hands for Egon’s grave, Jude can’t help but feel a deep sense of harbouring resentment for her maker right now. 

Frankie rubs his hands against the thigh of his damp shorts and looks up at her as she stares down at the sandy grave.

“Do you think we should say something?” He asked her, scratching at the back of his head and squinting.

“There isn’t anything left to say.” Jude mutters and strides off, sitting on the sandy shore and staring out at the ocean. 

It’s calmed considerably; the oncoming dusk making the horizon glow pink in the distance. 

Frankie plonks himself beside her after a few minutes of staring at the monkey’s resting place; returned to the earth in the cycle of life, a festering ouroboros of gut-wrenching despair swilling inside of him, alongside copious amounts of sea water.

Hugging his knees and holding onto his wrists as he looks out at the horizon too. He breathes out a deep weary sigh and sniffs in deep.

“I’m sorry,” Jude says to him after a few moments.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, hermosa,” Frankie turns to her.

“Yes I do. I’m sorry for berating you so much about having hope all those times. You were right not to. There is no hope for us. We’re going to die, just like Egon.” She speaks like a robot, devoid of any emotion whatsoever, and it rattles his bones to see her talk like this, to see that she’s just done.

“Stop it,” he warns, pulling her towards him, but she resists, pulling her arms back away, but he grips onto them, grappling with her.

“No-”

“Hey, stop it!” Frankie yells, and pulls her in close as she wanes and falls against him without any more fight left in her.

“We’re going to die!” Jude wails into him and sobs as he holds her tight, almost like he’s a boa and is constricting the life out of her.

She writhes and her shoulders heave as she cries for what feels like eternity. Her sobs louder and more haunting and all Frankie can do is hold her in his arms and never let her go. 

But his arms feel weak, no longer the strong barriers they once were to protect her anymore. 

He doesn’t say anything to her; offers her no reassuring lies of comfort because there’s no point. She’s finally accepted it now like he had; they were going to die.

 And it kills him all over again.

There’s nothing to pick through or scavenge. 

It’s almost as if they’re just going through the motions to stay busy and not to actually drown themselves willingly in the water to end all the pain and suffering they’ve endured. 

How much suffering can two people withstand before it finally breaks them? When is that breaking point, the crux of no return? When do you take that step and what is it that will finally give you that unwavering courage to turn your back and fall off the ledge?

Beaten, crushed... starving; on the brink of death and looking into its inviting, comforting jaws as it reaches out to you and convinces you in a soothing lullaby that everything will be okay, and you start to believe it for a while. That life on the other side will be better than this - anything will be better than this. The allure calls to you like a Siren song and it gets harder not to become bewitched by it and resist. 

They don’t speak much, in fact at all. Jude simply watches Frankie get up from the sand where they’ve slept all night from their exhaustion, and observe as he starts hunting for things - anything that he can find and strike gold on.

Knowing it’s pointless, she stands up anyway, robotically copying his every move, searching for any stray bottles or clothes and not really understanding why she’s doing it. Searching for anything at all that can prolong their survival, even just for the tiniest bit.

But of course it’s fruitless - the tsunami has washed it all away. 

Frankie reaches the tree line, surveying the damage of the wooded area that's halved in size, and he can no longer see the fuselage anymore that was previously stuffed into the bank on this side of the bay. There’s a singular piece of wood from the shack, split and broken as it floats in a muddy pool by some snapped tree trunks.

He glances up at the ridge and there’s no trace of the branch igloo and he sighs, deflated and beginning to hear that deathly Siren song tinkling inside his ears. 

Jude wanders around aimlessly; frying under the heat and constantly pulling up her jeans that are falling down when she takes a few steps forward. Her legs have that dark shadow of hair growth and she hates the fact that she hasn’t been able to shave them for some time now.

She hates the fact that her stomach seems on a constant, never ending rumble. She hates that she can’t just lie down face first in the water and just go. She hates that she can’t do it because of him.

She hates that Frankie won’t simply let her die. 

As she wanders along the shoreline, her eyes scanning the debris scattered by the waves, she spots a familiar sight - a baseball cap, swirling amidst the calming foam and froth of the ocean.

With a quickening of her heart, she wades into the shallows, the cool water lapping at her ankles as she reaches out to retrieve the cap, trembling with disbelief, she can't help but feel a surge of astonishment.

As her fingers close around the familiar fabric, fingers gliding over the sewn-on patch of the Standard Heating Oil logo, she chuckles out in disbelief. This simple piece of fabric, battered and worn by the elements, had made it back to him somehow. And she’s glad to see it - Frankie isn’t quite Frankie without his cap. 

They meet back on the beach a little while later and slump themselves in the sand defeated with heavy thuds, hungry and tired and irritable beyond all reason. That kind of heaviness that swamps your head and crushes it until your brain splurges out of your ears. 

Jude hands him the cap and he’s just as astonished, if not relieved to see it, as she is. But she doesn’t say anything to Frankie as she watches him put it back on his head under a scraggly mess of overgrown curls. And Frankie doesn’t say anything to Jude after offering her a limp smile.

She lays back and rolls over on the sand, facing away from him; willing the sand and rocks to turn into quicksand and just swallow her into the suffocating dark. 

They stand on the ridge, the sun on high and the breeze blowing through her braid.

He’s always so fascinated with those stray wisps of hair that will escape it, no matter how tightly he ties it for her. They’ll flock to her face and cling to her cheek, pelting her with never-ending kisses affectionately.

Frankie’s sitting amongst the half constructed branch igloo; sticks scattered all around him that he’s whittling with the switchblade, and Jude’s looking over the ledge of the ridge and humming a faint tune that’s barely audible, wandering back and forth as she stretches her legs. 

His hands are tight and raw, blister with the effort exhumed, but he continues on with the job nonetheless, numbing out to the aches and splinters. As Frankie stretches, cracking his back, he hears her hum out again. 

“Sing it for me.” Frankie prompts her, and Jude turns to catch his smirk with glowy cheeks. “Go on, hermosa.”

Jude takes a breath with a grin and sings.

“In the end. As my soul's laid to rest, what is left of my body? Or am I just a shell?” 

She starts moving her head, swaying it side to side as her shoulders begin to follow. She can hear the music inside her head as though they have her playlist right here blasting out on the rocks beside them; the beat of the drums counting her in and the strum of the guitars plucking through the riffs and melodies.

Frankie stops whittling, resting the stick in his lap squinting up at her with a smirk stretching his pink, dry lips. 

“And I have fought. And with flesh and blood, I commanded an army. Through it all, I have given my heart for a moment of glory...”

He laughs as she rocks her hips with vigour and then punches her fist up in the air. 

“In the end. As you fade into the night-”

“Woah-oh-oh-oh!” Frankie yells out singing along to the tune.

“Oh fuck, you know it?” Jude exclaims, smiling in happy delight at him. 

Frankie nods. “Keep singing,” he encourages. 

“Who will tell the story of your life? And who will remember your last goodbye?”

“Woah-oh-oh-ohhhh!” Frankie hollers again as he stands up, taking her hand and twirling her around whilst she laughs again, her eyes crinkling and throwing her head back.

“Cause it's the end and I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid to die.” Jude sings.

“CAUSE IT’S THE END, AND I’M NOT AFRAID - I’M NOT AFRAID TO DIE!”

They both fist punch the air over the ledge as they sing the final words out loud together, echoing all down the ridge across the island.

It’s a memory that splinters him. That was the happiest he’d seen her since they’d landed upon this dreadful island. Carefree and joyous, a wild jackal roaming unrestrained and free. 

It was in that moment right there, as they’d both looked at one another with their fists in the air and turned them into the finger; giving the middle finger to the island that had bullied them for so long, through breathy smiles and wondrous awe, that Frankie realised he loved her. He fucking loved her.

I fuckin’ love you!

He’d suspected it for a while leading up to it, those sickly butterflies whenever she was near becoming more apparent. The thrumming of his heartbeat when she touched and kissed him; those early premonitions when you just know and feel giddiness from the high of meeting someone who’s so in tune to your frequency.

But that was the moment right there when it registered deep inside of the layers of his heart and winded him. Terrified, elated; utterly sound in the knowledge of the sincere truth as it flowed through his blood and over his bones.

Convinced he wouldn’t possibly feel this way again about someone, fearful that it could turn into that awful situation again where he could be selfish and push her away. But Frankie was so desperate to learn from his past mistakes, to not repeat them and be better - be better for her. 

That’s love, right? Wanting to be the best you can be for someone?

Frankie-

I fuckin’ love you!

No. No-no-no!

BRAAACE!

I fuckin’ love you!

Frankie glances over at Jude lying in the sand away from him, her back to him and slipping further and further out of his reach. 

‘Cause it’s the end and I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid to die!

Frankie turns towards the sea, and after he’s had enough of that horrific view staring back at him, he presses the heels of his palms into his eyes to stop the tears from slipping out of them again. 

The droning noise wakes her, along with the muffled sounds of shouting. Like her head is under the water and hearing it pummel her eardrums as someone is yelling above the surface. 

She sits up in the sand squinting and can see Frankie at the shoreline, waving frantically. Her eyes soon look past him to the small speedboat hurtling towards the shore. 

Jude flies up on her legs, any sense of sleep rolling right off of her as she watches Frankie’s animated face astonished, and looking back at her, as his hands continue to signal to the boat. 

The little boat with the inexorable humming noise like a swarm of hornets approaches the shore closer. Out in the distance she can see a larger boat, a little like a liner. Its grey shadow is stark on the blue horizon - a cancerous smear on a perfectly undisturbed cobalt backdrop. 

It’s all lies... wake up, you’re dreaming.

Frankie begins to swim out towards the boat and Jude pads towards the shore in complete disbelief, her heartbeat kicking it up a gear as Frankie gets closer and closer to it.

The boat skids to a halt on the surface and she watches as the person inside heaves Frankie into the boat with his arm, and Frankie points back towards the shore with flailing fingers. 

Wake up! It’s a dream!

Panic overcomes her, Jude can see Frankie waving to her, and she freezes, watching as the boat turns in the waves and holds her breath. 

No, come back! 

Circling, the boat speeds towards the shore again and the spray hits her in the face as she wanders out to it, her feet sloshing through the water, stunned and hyperventilating a little. 

Oh God! Wake up! Please, wake up!

Frankie hops out of the boat alongside the person, who turns out to be two separate people, in blue and white lifejackets. Frankie reaches out to Jude, saying words that she can’t hear or understand, almost as if he’s jabbering away in excited, fast Spanish and she can’t decipher or recognise any of the sounds as they flow from his labrose lips.

She feels him pulling her into the boat and a foiled blanket is wrapped over her shoulders, a bottle of water placed into her numb hands. 

“Wake up…” Jude mutters from trembling lips. "Wake up, wake up..."

More incomprehensible gibberish is exchanged between Frankie and the men, and she glances over her shoulder at the sight of the island suddenly shrinking away forever in the distance, reaching a gnarly hand out to her that can’t quite keep up.

Come back, Jude. Don't leave me.

It’s like an out of body experience; she’s floating and watching it happen. She pinches her arm and feels the pain ebb into her skin.

Wake up!

Frankie turns her chin towards him and presses his forehead against hers, breathing out as he pulls the blanket over her wet shoulders further. 

“We made it, hermosa.”

She remembers hearing him say it to her, but the words don’t sink in; slowly being squeezed one at a time into her ear canal making the slow journey towards her brain that’s a messy pan of sloppy scrambled eggs.

“You guys, alright?” Comes a loud voice over the sound of the engine. “You get stranded after the tsunami, your boat capsize?” 

Frankie and Jude look up simultaneously at the speaker holding onto the side of the boat whilst the other one steers it. 

Frankie shakes his head. “No, we’ve been out here f-for over a year.” He speaks up through a deep hoarse voice that’s scarred from the sea water he’s swallowed in his desperate swim towards the speedboat.

“What do you mean out here?” The man asks.

“Our plane crashed, and we-”

“Fuck, you guys were on flight eight-sixteen?” The man questions taking off his sunglasses; the concern and astonishment palpable on his face. He has frosty blue eyes that instantly remind Frankie of Will’s.

“Y-you know about that?” Frankie asks with a widening mouth.

The man nods. “Sure, the whole damn world knows about it. They didn’t find any survivors. Looked everywhere.”

“You didn’t look hard enough!” Jude suddenly shouts at him over the sound of the engine, her voice tight from being throat punched back into reality.

This isn’t a dream. She doesn’t need to wake up. She can feel the vibrations of the boat on the waves as it bounces over them. She can see the island shrinking, feel the wind in her hair. 

Frankie clutches onto her as the man dips his head in sympathy, unable to meet her stunned gaze. 

“We were always here...” She trails off, looking back out at the island in wonderment. 

Come back, Jude. Don't leave me. Come back.

“You guys are gonna be alright. You’re safe and we’ll get you home.” The man confirms putting his sunglasses back on. He reaches for the boat’s radio and speaks into the receiver, his voice swallowed up by the humming of the boat. 

Jude clings onto Frankie and looks up at him, with eyes as watery as the ocean.

“Is this really happening?” She asks him, searching his eyes for the moment she’ll wake up from this terrible, reoccurring dream she’s doomed to live through on repeat forever. 

We’re never going to get off this island. It can't be this easy.

Frankie nods with a bewildered smile through his bushy whiskers, the wind from the speed of the boat rippling through the curls behind his ears as he holds onto the cap, a giant palm flat on his head.  

Jude clutches onto his wet t-shirt and rests her head against his chest hearing his heart beating as loud and as fast as hers is, even over the sound of the speedboat. 

The larger ship in the distance is a US Navy vessel; called out in the wake of the tsunami to look for survivors, and to scout the ocean for capsized boats or people who had gotten into deep water. 

Once on the ship’s main dock, a plethora of uniformed personnel busy themselves as Frankie and Jude are ushered towards the main control room.

She clocks a helicopter on the landing pad and shudders, recalling the countless times her mind had convinced her in her sleep that Frankie was leaving her on one, shrinking in the sky.

The captain of the ship greets them both with a caramel tan stark against a crisp white shirt, regarding them with some kind of disbelief when the rescue officers explain they originate from the doomed flight that had disappeared well over a year ago. 

“Are you American?” The captain asks them both and Frankie nods. 

“We’ll call the consulate. Get you some representation to help you back home.”

“Where are we, captain?” Frankie asks, and he looks back at him with a bemused expression. 

“The SS Pendrinhas; US Navy.”

“No, I mean, where are we in the ocean? The island?” Frankie clarifies.

“You’re approximately one thousand and forty-three miles off the coast of The Prince Edward Islands. We’re in the Indian Ocean, sir.” The captain explains. 

“We are?” Frankie asks him, turning white as a ghost. 

“Yes,” the captain nods. “The island you were on is one of many scattered islands that are vastly unpopulated, surrounding the main Prince Edward Islands. You couldn’t see other peninsula points?”

Frankie shakes his head. “There was a-a ridge, but we couldn’t see any other land from that.”

“Damn. So near, yet so far,” the captain concludes with a frown, but it doesn’t offer any comfort at all. “We’ll take you down to the med bay, get you some dry clothes. It’ll be a couple hours before we reach the mainland. You look like you could do with a coffee.” The captain claps Frankie on the side of the shoulder and he winces. “Maybe something a bit stronger, huh?”

They’re both escorted down into the ship’s hull towards the med bay, passing officers stop to glance at their dishevelled appearance occasionally like they’re a rare exhibit in a museum.

Once inside the bay, another officer gathers some papers on a clipboard and proceeds to run through a list of questions, firing them off like ammo. 

“Can you... Can you leave us for a few minutes?” Frankie says to the officer, noting the painfully vacant expression on Jude’s face. A thousand yard stare he recognises only too well. 

The officer nods, looking somewhat relieved. “Sure. Take as long as you need.”

“What day is it?” Jude asks the officer, who stops and looks at her with a strained smile. 

“It’s the nineteenth of July, ma’am.”

“And the time?” Frankie follows up. 

The officer pulls back his sleeve and checks his watch. “Twenty-seven past six in the evening, sir.”

Once the grunt leaves, Frankie approaches Jude and puts his hands on her shoulders. 

“Look at me,” Frankie persuades “I’m right here, find my eyes…” and her eyes slowly find him. “We made it, we’re off the island. We’re alive, hermosa.”

It takes a few moments, a couple of beats for the words to really sink in. We made it, we’re alive. 

We’re alive.

Jude slumps forward into his arms, like she’s lost all her air and she sobs in abject relief. She feels him emit a small chuckle as he breathes out at his own realisation; his hands massaging her back up and down in deep circles soothing her, but they’re shaking. 

“We really got off the island?” She asks him, absolutely astonished and wiping at her eyes that are so dry and sore. 

Frankie pulls back looking down at her with a relieved smile; he smooths away the tear tracks from her face with his thumbs and kisses her gently on the forehead. 

“We did. I love you,” he whispers to her. 

Jude looks into his intense brown eyes, and remembers him shouting at her that he loved her right before the tsunami swallowed them up. She realises she hasn’t said it back.

But the look in his eyes right now assure her that saying the words out loud doesn't matter - he knows that she loves him back unconditionally.

When you spend that amount of time with someone - in that kind of situation - fighting for your life on a continuous basis, not only do you learn about your own resilience, but that of the person with you. You begin to depend on one another, work as a team; look out for each other’s well being, because understandably, if you can prolong their survival, you undoubtedly prolong your own. 

But not only that, you become company for that other person, a means of distraction and escape from your plight, even if it’s just temporary. Lost in the sounds of her melodic laugh, or the way in which his muddy eyes regard you as you speak.

You begin to care for that person, worry for them and soon enough, you become attached in so many ways. An intense bond that no-one else can ever understand, and it can never be severed, even if you were to part ways - forever bonded in your strife and survival.

And eventually, you grow to love them; to depend on them to the point that you can’t function through a single moment without them, and it kills you to be apart from them for even the briefest of moments. You fall in love with them.

Jude pushes her forehead against his, breathing out, and Frankie feels her breath warm his face and insides in equal measure. 

“I love you so, so much, Frankie.” Jude hiccups, holding onto him tightly. “Te quiero, te quiero.”

To be continued...

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Thank you for taking the time to read my story; it really means so much to me. I'd love to know your thoughts, and I'd really appreciate a re-blog so others can enjoy this story too. Thank you so much 🖤

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[stormhearty]

Pairings: Former Rhysand x Reader, Feysand, Tarquin x Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Triggers: mentions of depression, relapse, attempts at suicide

Summary: It has been two decades since you left Night Court, leaving the life you had always known. It had been five years since you were in Dawn Court, slowly healing with the help of its High Lord. Now, you had resided in Summer Court, Tarquin by your side through your healing process. But when a mating bond snaps between the two of you when your health turns for the worse, how would you process something that you never thought would happen in your immortal life? And when you decide to confront your former family, would you forgive them for their past discretions? The story of the aftermath of your broken heart of glass.

Note: From this request! Thank you so much for wanting a second part to “Breaking Like Glass”!! I love that everyone enjoyed that fic’s immense angst, so I will gladly give you guys the fluff, romance, and healing the reader needs. And I do hope this isn’t cheesy. I struggled a bit on writing this, whether to debate to make it angsty, but I feel like, it has enough of the balance. Please do enjoy!

Breaking Like Glass | Masterlist

“You know, my stardust, you don't have to do this… We can have our mating ceremony with our family. We don't have to invite Night Court…”

You let out a thoughtful hum as you lounged in one of the lounging chairs in Tarquin’s office, book in hand. You placed a finger on your page before looking over your shoulder at the High Lord of Summer, who looked at you with concern etched on his beautiful features.

After centuries of being with Rhysand, you had always thought that you would be content in not finding your mate. You had thought, and wished, that you would have eternity with the High Lord of Night Court. However, with the fiasco two decades ago, all you wanted to do was heal — fix your broken heart and mind from your torture from Under the Mountain, to fix your broken soul from being ripped apart by your family. You did not want to fall in love — you didn’t want to give your taped-up heart to someone and be worried about having it torn apart again.

You had safe-guarded your heart behind high, metal walls with a fog of darkness to protect it — to protect you from breaking all over again, and losing yourself once more.

But what you had never dreamed of was a mating bond to snap.

And you never thought it would be with another High Lord.

The very moment you had stepped into Summer soil, Tarquin had been nothing but kind and gentle, helping you through your decade of healing. He allowed you to take your time — he allowed you to wallow, he allowed you to be silent, he allowed you to grieve, something that you never were able to do while you were in Valeris. He allowed you to cry in anguish, he allowed you to cry in pain — he allowed the forty-nine years of suffering to seep out of your aching body. And he was silently there, beside you, watching over you… to ensure you were safe and well cared for while you did.

And that was all you could have wished for while you were healing. You didn’t need words, you didn’t need condolences… Tarquin allowed you to heal in the way that your heart and mind needed.

All the while Tarquin healed your broken soul that came upon the betrayal from Night Court, you would be sent back to Dawn Court to mend your mind and body from the tortures of the Attor. The two High Lords worked in tandem with one another… all for you. Both Tarquin and Thesan realized your worth, both realized your importance and believed it was worth their power and time to heal you.

It had been five years since you came from Dawn Court when the mating bond snapped between you and Tarquin.

It was when your nightmares had resurrected themselves from the grave, haunting you thoroughly to the point you had relapsed back from your progress.

You had screamed and clawed against everything that had neared you, your eyes frantic at the absolute fear and dread of returning to that moment in your life — the pain of the Attor and betrayal of your husband, that still lurked in the darkness of your fear. You had hurt yourself, multiple times during that relapse — skin broken with knives, daggers, broken glass — anything that your hands got to… hoping for the pain to seep out of your skin.

But Tarquin was there through all of that — grabbing and hiding everything that you could try to hurt yourself with. He fought tooth and nail to get to you, whispering sweet nothings — that you were worth it, you were worth the pain and anguish, that you were worth everything. And that you would get through the pain — and that he’d be right beside you through it.

You couldn’t feel it, the glow of the mating bond between the two of you — for you were too shrouded in your fear to notice.

All the while, Tarquin felt every emotion you had felt — the despair, the anguish, the pain that wracked your body. He fought back all the tears as he held you against him, pouring as much care and love through the newly found bond.

The relapse had taken an immense hit on your health — you were sick for weeks on end, going in and out of consciousness barely able to make out who had been taking care of you.

When you had been well enough, you had learned that Tarquin, himself, had been the one to care for you during your illness. And you, though you shouldn’t have been, was surprised at that fact. The High Lord of Summer Court took time away from his busy schedule to tend to you. He had owed you nothing… and yet he had taken time to care for you.

“Why did you do that…?” you had asked, storming into his office, pausing mid-step when you had seen Thesan and the Captain in the room. It seemed that you had interrupted an important meeting between the two High Lords — possibly about your condition.

Tarquin looked at you for a moment, a gentle sigh escaping his lips as he looked at Thesan and gave him an apologetic nod of his head. Thesan glanced between the two of you before standing up from his seat on the plush couch and heading your way. The High Lord of Dawn smiled at you, leaning down to press a kiss onto the crown of your head, “Hello, my child… be nice to him…”

The request was confusing to you as you allowed the High Lord and Captain to step out of the room, the click of the door resonating behind you — leaving you and Tarquin alone in that grand room. The atmosphere grew awkward and you couldn’t help but bite your lower lip, you glanced everywhere besides the High Lord, and you heard him let out a chuckle.

You frowned, glaring at him slightly before watching him stand up and walk towards you, reaching out a hand for you to hold, “We have much to talk about, (Y/N)…” he murmured.

You stared at his hand, sighing softly before reaching over to place you had on top of his. His had always radiated warmth that you seemed to want to grasp onto often — it was warm and inviting, much like the summer sun he had ruled over. You followed him further into his office, walking past his desk and onto the large balcony overviewing his Court. There was a large settee that Tarquin led you to, sitting you down before he sat next to you, leaving a gap between both of you.

“Now… What was it you were saying, (Y/N)? About why I did that?” he questioned, turquoise hues staring at the massive land of his Court, allowing the summer breeze to greet the two of you.

Relaxing against the settee, you remained quiet for a few moments, eyes fluttering close at the breeze that tickled your skin. When you opened your eyes once more and turned your attention to the High Lord, you were slightly startled when you noticed he was staring at you — something in his eyes sparkling that you were unsure of… or slightly denied.

“…Why did you take care of me when I was ill?” you asked him, not bothering to beat around the bush, “You didn’t owe me anything, this… arrangement between us is only until I get better and can move on from my nightmares—”

“When did I say that this… arrangement is only until you get better?” he interrupted you with a raised brow, “I did not say anything like that. I am allowing you to stay until you want to leave… I’m giving you the choice to stay and to heal the way you need, unlike your time in Night Court. And, I took care of you because I wanted to, (Y/N). I couldn’t let you hurt yourself like you did, to be so haunted by your nightmares every waking second… I couldn’t let you suffer the way Rhysand let you for all those months…”

You flinched at the name of your former husband. It still ached — no matter how long it had been, it still ached hearing his name. Usually, Tarquin and Thesan avoided saying his name around you, both afraid of a possible relapse. You let out a shaky breath, as your eyes stared at something beyond him, a distant stare — feeling yourself move out of your body, a sensation that had started to become normal for you ever since you were in Dawn Court.

Feeling Tarquin’s warmth again, you blinked twice before focusing on him again a small smile tugged on your lips, and shook your head, “…I’m fine…” you whispered, head tilting down to look at your intertwined hands. You took deep breaths, something that Thesan had taught you after your moments of distance.

Tug, tug… you felt something in your chest. Your head tilted in confusion until you felt it again — tug, tug… You lifted your head and looked at the High Lord once more. You saw a twinkle in those turquoise hues, a hopeful look hidden within those depths.

“…What…” you muttered in disbelief, and you felt another tug in your chest.

“You felt it, did you not, (Y/N)?” Tarquin questioned, leaning forward slightly, warm hands gently gripping yours — as if preventing you from running away.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded your head, too scared for any words to escape you.

How could a mating bond happen? After everything that happened to you, your mind and body were broken, being held together by pieces of tape held together by Tarquin and Thesan — you could barely hold yourself together. Your healing process for the past fifteen years was slow, and there were many times when you believed you would never be okay again. How can someone like you be mated to another High Lord? How can someone as broken as you be another leader of a Court?

Thoughts of insecurities passed through your mind, unknowingly sending them down the newly formed bond. You were startled out of your thought by Tarquin’s hand gently caressing your cheek, forcing you to look at him.

“You do not have to accept the mating bond, as of yet, (Y/N)… I will wait, you can heal. Just know that I accept you, even if you are broken and torn. You still have years of healing to do, but I will be by your side — always.”

Tears ran down your cheeks as he shifted closer, pressing his hands on your cheeks to wipe them away. All you can do is nod. Allowing the love and warmth of the bond to slowly heal you.

It had been another five years since then. A little over two decades after you left Night Court to accept the bond. For five years, Tarquin had courted you, cared for you… loved you the way you needed. He did not force anything onto you and allowed you to fall in love with him in such a natural way that it felt second nature to you.

“…(Y/N)…” your mate called out to you, snapping out of your trance.

You blinked and refocused on the present, eyes focusing on Tarquin who had moved from his spot at his desk to you, hands rubbing your shoulders. Tilting your head back, you gave him a smile, reaching up with your free hand to reach up to run your fingers against his cheek as he looked down at you.

“No… I would like to invite them. I think… I need closure from my time there. And…” there was hesitance in your voice at the next words, “I do miss them. I lived with them for centuries, and all of a sudden I cut them off my life for a good reason… there are times when I missed them.”

Tarquin hummed understandingly as he squeezed your shoulders, “Understandable. We will invite them… But I worry—-”

“—- I won’t relapse. I promise…” you moved from your lounging position to sitting up, shifting so you were on your knees, at eye level with him. You felt him wrap his arm around your waist so you were steady as your hands placed themselves on his biceps, playing around with the fabric of his outfit, “I’m better — well, as best I can be — but I know you’ll be there… I will be fine.”

There was reluctance in his features, those turquoise hues trying to find any lie in your words before he gave you a nod.

“I concede…” he murmured and you couldn’t help but chuckle at the hesitancy in his words. Pressing a gentle kiss on the High Lord’s cheek, murmuring a thank you before moving back to your position on the lounge chair, picking up your book once more.

You looked back up to just miss the shake of his head, before he wrapped a hand around your neck, tilting your head up so he could lean down to press a kiss on your lips, “After our mating ceremony, I wish for you to initiate our kisses, my stardust…”

Feeling the warmth of your cheeks you stared up at him, “If that is the wish of my High Lord, then it shall happen…”

He let out a low chuckle before pressing another kiss on your lips, your book forgotten on your lap.

The ceremony venue was extravagant, to say the least — Tarquin, as well as Thesan from what you had gathered, pulled all the stops. The throne room of Summer Court was flourishing with flowers and the summer sun radiating down through all the large windows.

You were a nervous mess sitting in your room. It was still several hours before the ceremony, that you weren’t too nervous for; it was the fact that you were going to meet your old family once more.

The Captain of Dawn, your dear friend, had informed you that the Inner Circle just arrived at the outskirts of Summer Court. And that set off your nerves completely.

You had requested, when you had sent the letter to Night Court, to meet with them before your ceremony — to officially close the wounds between all of you.

And so when a knock startled you out of your worries, you turned around in your chair from your vanity where you were getting ready. Watching those doors open to reveal your old family.

There stood Rhysand, in his Night Court attire along with Feyre, who was at his side. There was a pang in your chest, the pain of their betrayal somehow festering its way back into your heart. But it was slowly soothed out by the warmth of the mating bond that Tarquin seemed to have sent your way. The doors closed behind the Inner Circle, and you noticed the Captain of Dawn stationed at the door.

Thesan’s lover is quite a busybody isn’t he…? You had sent down the bond to your mate. And all you felt was Tarquin’s chuckle as you focused back on the now.

You slowly stood up, a small smile on your features before you watched from the corner of your eye Mor heading to a sprint and giving you the biggest hug.

“… I’m so sorry, (Y/N)…” she apologized, the words repeating on her lips as she squeezed you, burying her head into your neck.

Tears pricked the edge of your eyes as your arms wrapped around her and you buried your head to the crook of her neck, letting the blond curls tickle your face.

“… Mor…” you whined her name.

A sob wracked through the blonde’s body, “I’m just glad you’re okay. That you’re better…” she whispered before pulling back and staring at you, “I’m glad you found your mate. I’m glad that he’s making you happy — that you deserve happiness — after all the shit you went through and everything we had put you under…”

You smiled at her as you felt her cup your cheeks, nodding your head, “… — Thank you, Mor. I’m glad to see you again, truly. I missed you so much…”

A smile tugged on Mor’s features, “We will see each other more… if you let us.”

You nodded your head as she stepped away, allowing the rest of the Inner Court to greet you — hugging you and whispering their utmost apologies and congratulations.

Cassian had lifted you into his arms, something he used to do often when you were his Lady still, giving you a spin, “You will always be my Lady, (Y/N)…” he whispered into your ears, pressing a kiss against your cheek before literally handing you off to Azriel.

A giggle escaped your lips as you hugged the Spymaster as he pressed a kiss on your opposite cheek, “We will forever live with the regret of losing you…” Azriel hummed out, “We had and always will love you… But I wish for nothing but happiness for you…”

Your heart flourished at the words of your former family — the words that you had wished to hear two decades ago — slowly piecing your heart and soul back together. You had known, while you were healing, that they had always cared for you and that never meant to put so much pressure on you, unknowing of your nightmares and struggles after being Under the Mountain.

When you were settled back onto your feet, you turned to face Rhysand. The tension between the two of you was still high and you fought back all the urge to just run away from this confrontation between the two of you. You gave him a small smile before focusing your attention on Feyre who stepped up, reaching out to hold your hands.

“I am truly sorry…” she whispered, leaning forward to press her forehead against yours.

You understood why Rhysand fell in love with Feyre. You had heard of the great deeds she had done for Night Court, for Prythian… she was something you could never have been next to Rhysand. The true High Lady of Night Court.

And somehow, you were okay with it.

Shaking your head, you looked at the High Lady, “…You were just following the feeling of the mating bond. Like I said that night, I cannot fault you for choosing your mate. I cannot fault you for following the tug… I — I would like to extend my congratulations —-”

Feyre shook her head, brows knitting at your words, “Do not, please. I will not accept that not when I have unknowingly broken you along with the rest of your family. ”

You looked at her, nodding your head as you felt her step back and the familiar scent and presence of your former husband taking her place. You lifted your eyes to look into violet ones — ones that sparkled with regret, ones that you were in love with for so long.

Even if it was two decades that passed, you felt like you were still in sync with him, knowing what he wanted. Turning onto your heels, you made your way to one of the furthest balconies, Rhysand following your steps. The large window doors closed behind you, leaving both of you in a pocket of privacy away from prying ears. You could see, from the corner of your eye, the Captain making his way closer to the doors and all you could do was hold a hand up — signaling that you were fine and safe.

Turning back around, you focused on Rhysand who’s eyes were solely on you. Stepping past him, you made your way to the railing, pressing your hands on the warm marble, as you basked in the summer sun.

“(Y/N)…” Rhysand whispered one that was so quiet that the wind barely was able to carry it to your sensitive ears.

“I… I cannot forgive you, Rhysand…” you declared, eyes still closed as you let the warmth of your new home wash over you, to comfort you as you confront your past, “I cannot and do not fault you for choosing her. I can see why you had fallen for her — she’s beautiful, both inside and out. But I cannot forgive you for it. You had broken me so much, that there were many times during my healing that I wondered why I wasn’t enough for you to choose me. Wondering what I have done to make you choose someone else other than your wife who stood next to you for centuries.”

You could hear the shaky breath that Rhysand exhaled as you felt him stand next to you on the balcony.

You couldn’t look at him, every fiber in your body shaking to break again if you looked at him. You needed to be strong — for yourself and for the people around you who worried immensely for your health.

“I know… I know you would never forgive me, (Y/N). I have accepted that truth… I just wish things ended differently, you know? I wanted to let you know, that there was not a moment in our centuries together as husband and wife that I wished you were my mate… that there was not a moment that I did not love you…”

A broken laugh escaped your lips as you opened your eyes and looked up at him once more, seeing those unshed tears in violet hues.

“… And there was not a time where I wished you were my mate… But it seems that Mother had a different path for both of us. One that led us away from each other.”

You reached up, with shaky hands, and attempted to touch him; however, your body paused, and with furrowed brows, you dropped your hand back onto your side. You could see Rhysand’s body slouched slightly as if missing your touch. A forced smile tugged onto your lips as you stepped back, creating a significant distance between the two of you, “… I hope you enjoy the ceremony, Rhysand…”

He knew when he was dismissed and he smiled at you before stepping out of the balcony. You watched with longing and pain as he and the Inner Court stepped out of your room.

“… Probably it wasn’t such a good idea to have the two of you alone together…” The Captain commented, stepping onto the balcony, worry in his tone.

“I’m fine… just give me a moment…” you whispered, pressing a hand against your chest, to calm down your heart. You slouched against the railing for a few minutes, feeling the bond in your chest to help your racing heart.

“…Do you need me—-”

“No… I don’t need Tarquin or Thesan right now. They’re in their own state of panic already…”

The Captain let out a chuckle, “That is true… They have set their mind to ensure that this ceremony would be perfect…”

After calming your heart, you straightened up and gave the Captain a light smirk, “…Busybodies the lot of them…” You stepped back into your room, allowing yourself to fix yourself up before the ceremony, the Captain following your trail.

You stood on the dias of the throne room, Tarquin by your side as the priestess started the ceremony. Your gown was a lovely mixture of blue, much like the oceans that crashed below the castle. The priestess’ words had gone deaf in your ears as all you could do was stare up at the High Lord of Summer, love and affection in your features as well as through the bond.

When the priestess had asked for the two of you to exchange vows, Tarquin looked at you with the same look as you did to him, a soft smile on his features.

“Never in my life, I would have thought to find my mate. I had thought that I would rule my Court without a High Lady by my side. But that fateful day I had whisked you away from Thesan and Dawn Court, all I had wished was for you to be mine.

“My stardust…” the nickname always made your heart skip in your chest, “I had fallen in love with you… despite your broken soul and heart. I was honored that you had trusted me enough to help mend your soul from the nightmares that haunted you, and that still haunt you till this day. But I couldn’t let you know of my affections, not when you had set yourself into healing. So I waited, waited for years and when that mating bond snapped, I knew I couldn’t hold out for much longer. I needed you in my arms, I needed to have your eyes set on me — rather than looking into your past. And when you had your relapse… I had to let you know. I had to let you know that you have someone, your mate, to be with you every step of your healing process.”

You felt tears trickle down your cheeks as Tarquin wiped them away, “You deserve this bond after everything that you have been through… the Mother has gifted you this bond. And I am honored to be at the end of that string.”

A sob escaped your lips and you couldn’t even find the words for your own vows. All you could mutter to him as he pressed his forehead against yours, “Thank you… I love you, I thank you, and I am also honored and blessed by the Cauldron to have you as my mate. Thank you for mending my heart. I am glad to give it to you, and not worry about it breaking…”

You watched through a tearful gaze, Tarquin giving you a radiant smile before leaning down to press a kiss on your lips, “And I would never break it… not your heart that is precious like gemstones…”

You laughed as applause reached your ears, leaning up once more to kiss your mate.

Your heart was safe — mended together once more — and you knew it would never break again.

Tagging list: @cleverzonkwombatsludge @abysshaven @prythianpages @leahoneil @rachelnicolee

#acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fic #acotar angst #acotar fanfic #rhys acotar #tarquin acotar #rhysand x reader #acotar fluff #tarquin x reader #( .one shot : breaking like glass ) #( .inbox request : mended hearts and minds )

[stop-talking]

So I'm stuck on this shithole island, and I can't even have a smoke? (pt. 4)

Derek Danforth x fem reader

Word count: 2.9k

Tags: 18+, Derek x fem reader, no use of y/n, angst, lots of fluff, enemies, enemies to lovers, fluff, (very) slowburn, sass, banter, misogynistic undertones, (Derek is a prick), suggestive themes, mentions of drug use, withdrawals, rehab, masturbating, caught masturbating, overall mature themes.

slight trigger warning for thoughts of death?? (except Derek isn't really suicidal he's just a drama queen)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

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It's been nearly twelve hours since you accidentally walked in on Derek doing the unspeakable, and you're still kicking yourself for it.

In an attempt to make it up to him, you'd spent the morning making a nice breakfast. Unfortunately, it's almost noon now, and he hasn't left his room.

No way in hell are you going to go knocking on his door. Not after last night. The image of him finishing into his own hand while making eye contact with you is still burned into your brain. Fuck, he ended up covered in cum. And that stupid fucking face he made...

Oh god, think of something else. ANYTHING else.

You turn your attention to the breakfast you'd prepared for the two of you. The cold breakfast. Sighing, you scrape the eggs and bacon into a container for later.

Why did you even open the damn door? Obviously he was jerking off. Horny bastard. Of course, when you'd heard the whimpers and moans coming from his room, you'd assumed he wasn't feeling well.

Which was a valid assumption to make, right?? I mean, he sounded absolutely pitiful, what were you supposed to think? You swore up and down he even called out your name once or twice, but fuck, you didn't want to think about the implications of that.

And so, after knocking and saying his name a few times, you had decided to just go for it. How were you supposed to know he was doing... that??

"It's not my fault." You grumble to yourself, blindly shoving the leftovers into the fridge and trying to shrug it off.

Then again, even if the initial situation wasn't your fault, you still owed him an apology. You'd absolutely been staring. Gawking, even. It probably took a good five seconds before you'd come to your senses and slammed the door, but five seconds was enough for him to... oh god. Stop thinking about it.

You try physically shaking your head to dismiss the perverted images plaguing your mind. It works... sort of. As you make your way up the stairs to his bedroom, your stomach knots with guilt.

Just about anything sounds more appealing than knocking on his door right now. Unfortunately, that's what you're about to do.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Derek's plans for the day only include one thing, really. Rotting in bed and wishing he was dead.

He figures if he locks himself in his room long enough, the three weeks will eventually pass without him having to show his face to you ever again.

Or he'd die first. With the way he felt right now, that would honestly be fine too.

He groans into a pillow, desperate to hear something than the pounding in his head. He's been trembling all morning, a sign he really needed a fix.

The guilt has been eating away at him almost as much as his stupid withdrawals. He replays the scene from last night over in his head for the millionth time, internally screaming at himself for not covering up. Or locking the damn door.

He knows there's nothing he could have done to change what happened. The timing was just too... perfect. Looking at your pretty face while he came was literally a dream come true.

The aftermath, unfortunately, was a nightmare.

There's no way you don't hate him now. Or at least feel completely disgusted. After all, you'd slammed the door and left him.

So this is his fate. Rot in bed until he wastes away. It's all he deserves, really, for being such a fucking pervert.

"Derek? You still alive?"

He nearly falls off the bed in his scramble to make himself look presentable.

"...Yeah." He eventually croaks out, trying to smooth his curls with one hand and pull the blanket over himself with the other.

"Can I come in?"

Derek begrudgingly agrees, sitting up against the headboard in an attempt to look less pathetic.

You slowly swing the door open, looking visibly relieved when he isn't... exposed. Like last time.

Before he can even think about what he's saying, the words roll off his tongue.

"I'm sorry." You both say at the same time.

Wait, that doesn't make sense. What do YOU have to be sorry for? He's the one that fucked up. Derek's brow furrows as you take a seat on the edge of his bed.

"I- I mean it." He stutters. "I really didn't... didn't mean for you to see that."

He avoids your gaze, turning away as you place a hand on his leg. Well, on the comforter covering his legs, but close enough.

"I know." You seem equally uncomfortable, silently looking around and examining his bedroom. And it is HIS room, decorated to suit his tastes. Unlike the other guest rooms in the house, which are all decorated in shades of pastels and beach-themed paraphernalia.

He squirms a bit, starting to get self-conscious of his own design choices. The dark wood furniture with gold accents stand out against the emerald green walls. Under usual circumstances, he'd feel proud of the expensive atmosphere. Right now... It all felt gaudy.

"I love all the animal print." You say, eyeing a pelt hanging on the wall above his dresser.

Derek winces. Yeah, okay, maybe it was a bit much.

"I picked out these decorations, like, 5 years ago. Cut me some slack." He grumbles, crossing his arms and giving you a pouty look.

"It looks nice." You smile, scooting a little closer to him on the bed, your hand trailing further up his covered legs.

"Don't lie."

"..."

"Okay, It looks like you gave a redneck with no prior knowledge of interior design an unlimited budget and a kilo of cocaine, then set him loose and told him to go crazy."

Damn. He'd be pissed at that if you didn't look so... warm. Even with the harsh words, he could tell you were only teasing.

"To be fair, I probably was on cocaine when I picked all this shit out." Derek snorts, gesturing around to the clashing animal prints, gold-rimmed mirrors and paintings, and wood accent pieces.

That little comment seems to make you waver. Shit. Bad joke?

"Not anymore." He tries to assure you, putting his hand on top of yours. You still haven't moved it from his thigh. "I haven't had anything like that since I got here, and it sucks. I feel like shit."

He slumps slightly against the headboard, letting his put-together act fall. Not like it was a very good act, anyways.

"I believe you, just... I feel bad. I'm sorry for last night."

Derek winces as the topic gets turned back to last night's activities. You didn't even have anything to apologize for, as far as he was concerned. He'd let you watch him cum any day. Make a show of it, if that's what you wanted.

Fuck. Stop thinking about it.

Derek struggles to listen as you ramble, instead staring into your pretty eyes and overthinking the way his hand is still on top of yours. You're saying something about how he shouldn't stay in bed all day, how he needs to keep a routine or he'll end up in a slump.

"...so can we just forget about what happened and move on? I don't think I can stand 17 more days of awkwardness." You finish, giving him a pleading look.

Forget about what happened? Derek's heart sinks into his stomach. He doesn't want to forget. Even though he hates himself for it, he loves what happened last night. He'd re-live it over and over again if he could, minus the part where you freak out and slam the door.

"Derek?" You ask again, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Oh. Yeah. Forget about it, please." His face heats up and he finally takes his hand back from yours, nervously running it through his hair instead. He might not what to forget about what happened, but he sure as hell wanted you to forget about it.

"Done." You give him a relieved smile and hop off his bed. "Alright, I'm gonna wait for you downstairs. Come meet me soon or I'll drag you down myself."

Derek does as asked, going through the motions of his normal morning routine. That didn't go as bad as it could have, all things considered.

At least you don't hate him.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

When Derek eventually trudges downstairs, you already have lunch heated up for him. Or... breakfast? It doesn't really matter.

He refuses to eat at first. Stubborn man. He says he feels nauseous, but how does he expect to get better with no food in his stomach?

After practically forcing him to eat, you settle down on the couch with him and try to decide on a movie.

"We are not watching another stupid action movie." You grumble, snuggling up in one corner of the couch while Derek takes a seat on the other end.

"Well I'm not watching some cheesy chick flick."

"Then what do you want to watch?"

Derek shrugs.

"Oh my god, Danforth. Just pick. Comedy or Horror?"

"Comedy."

"Okay, Adam Sandler or Jim Carrey?"

He pauses for a bit, furrowing his brow in a way that you might find adorable if he wasn't being so damn difficult.

"Sandler."

"Okay then, we're watching Billy Madison." You turn your attention back to the television and smile to yourself as you search for the movie.

"I don't think I've seen that one." He starts to shift in his seat as the movie starts, looking restless. What's his problem?

"Do you want to...?" You look over at him, trailing off and patting your lap.

He nods, and immediately lies down on his side, cheek against your thigh.

"Thanks." He mumbles, looking more relaxed by the second as he makes himself comfortable on your lap.

"Mhm." You hum, turning your attention back to the movie.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn't take long for him to start getting restless again. You pretend not to notice the way he occasionally glances up at you, keeping your gaze fixed on the television.

His hand finds yours, slowly tugging it towards his head. You take the hint and run your fingers through his hair, chuckling at how needy he's being.

"Don't laugh." He groans, leaning his head back slightly and melting into your touch. "It feels nice. And I've been feeling like death."

"You'd better not die on me, Danforth. No one would come to pick me up for another two weeks, and I don't think your corpse would fit in the freezer."

"You could chop me up." He offers, shifting so that he's lying on his back, looking up at you with his head across your thighs.

God, that smug look on his face. Why did the bastard have to be so cute?

"Okay, this is getting morbid. Shut up and watch the movie." You do your best to scold him, but it's hard to keep up the façade while gently carding your fingers through his hair.

"Make me."

Without hesitation, you slap your free hand over his mouth. His eyes widen for a moment, the smug look replaced with... something else.

Muffled noises come from his mouth as he attempts to speak through your hand, but you just laugh and continue petting him.

That is, until you feel his tongue on your hand.

"You're lucky you look so pitiful, Danforth, or I'd push you off the couch." You grumble, wiping your hand off on his shirt as he smirks up at you.

"Pitiful?" He scoffs, shoving your hand away from his chest.

"Yeah, sad and pitiful. You're a mess." You taunt him a bit, but your words are just as soft as the gentle touches you've been giving him.

Derek straightens best he can while lying your lap. "I'm not pitiful." He grumbles. "Stop pitying me."

His little act gets another chuckle out of you.

"It'll be easier if you stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"With those puppy eyes."

Derek's brow furrows, and he frowns up at you while you tug at his curls.

"I have puppy eyes?"

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Derek spends the rest of a movie in a blissed-out state on your lap. Physically, his body is a wreck. He feels weak, shaky, and all-around ill.

But emotionally? He's giddy. The way you've been treating him lately... there's no way you don't like him.

Fuck, no, don't jump to conclusions. Just ask. Yeah. Simple.

As the credits roll, Derek finally works up the courage to speak up.

"Why do you put up with me?" He asks, shifting to look up at you while his head rests against your thigh.

You pause mid-way through stroking his hair, and Derek is scared you might be able to hear how fast his heart is beating. He can sure hear it, at least.

"What do you mean, love?" You finally respond, untangling your fingers from his curls and setting your hand aside.

That makes him groan out loud. See? Exactly that sort of thing. Always calling him love. It drives him crazy.

"You're just so damn nice to me." He sighs, tossing his head back slightly and closing his eyes.

"Oh? Should I be mean?"

"Maybe." He lets out an amused huff, but there's a twinge of bitterness in his voice. It isn't really a joke. You're just too nice. He doesn't deserve it.

You seem to pick up on his shift in attitude, because you start running your fingers through his hair again.

"It's my job to take care of you, you know. At least for the next... 17 days or so."

Right. Your job. Derek can't help but sigh. He finally finds someone who seems to be interested in him for reasons that aren't monetary... but only because his mother is literally paying them.

"Oh, don't be like that." You scold him, and start to nudge him off your lap.

Derek takes the hint, sitting up. Before he can stew over your words further, he feels you pulling him into an embrace.

The angle is slightly awkward, with his back against your chest and his head resting on your shoulder, but he appreciates it nonetheless.

"Stop... you're gonna make me soft." He grumbles, but makes absolutely no effort to stop your arms from wrapping around him. He melts back into your touch, eyes fluttering closed.

From this close, he can smell your perfume. He's caught a whiff of it a few times before, usually when you get up close and personal with him in the kitchen. It's a soft, sweet, floral scent. Extremely different than the expensive, in-your-face scents of most women in his social circle. He's started associating the smell with comfort.

"Maybe that's my plan." You muse, giving him a tight squeeze before finally letting him go.

If only you knew just how well it's working.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

"Stop! You're getting sand everywhere!" You swat at Derek as he accidentally kicks sand onto the blanket you've spent nearly ten minutes arranging.

"It's a beach, sweetheart. There's gonna be sand." He scoffs, but carefully brushes off his legs before returning them to the large quilt.

After dinner, you'd realized you accidentally let him go an entire day without going outside. So, you'd dragged him out to go stargazing with nothing more than a blanket and a couple of flashlights.

"There's a difference between lying on top of it and being buried in it." You elbow him as he gets just a little bit too close. There's plenty of room for you to both stretch out, why does he have to be so clingy?

"I'm cold." He whines, grabbing at your arm.

"I told you to bring a jacket."

"I didn't think you were serious?! What kind of a beach is cold?"

You roll your eyes at him. It's not even cold, honestly. Just a bit brisk. There's a soft breeze coming from the ocean, smelling slightly of salt.

"Just cover up with the blanket."

"It's covered in sand."

"And who's fault is that?"

"..."

"Please?"

You finally turn to look at him, and you can feel yourself giving in almost immediately. God damn it. There's no way this man didn't know he had puppy eyes. Fuckin' manipulator.

"Fine. C'mere."

Derek scoots closer and you throw an arm around him, letting him rest his head on you.

You both lay like that for a while, staring up at the sky and listening to the soft crashing of the waves.

The moon is full tonight, illuminating the seemingly endless sand and water. There's a forest made of palms and ferns off to the side, and the leaves all ripple in the breeze.

"It's really pretty." Derek finally sighs, eyes still looking skyward.

"I know. You can actually see all the stars out here. In the city it's harder... light pollution or something." You shrug, making his head bob slightly as it rests on your shoulder.

Derek just hums in agreement. Poor thing. He looks exhausted, even though he slept until midday.

"Hey, don't fall asleep on me now. Not sure I could carry you back."

"I won't... promise..." He yawns and scoots a little closer, his arm reaching over and wrapping around your waist.

You should probably push him off, but damnit... he just looks so peaceful.

You rest your free arm on his, keeping him glued to you. It feels nice, all of it. His warmth, the cool breeze, the sound of the ocean, the twinkling stars... fuck. He's really growing on you.

Derek doesn't keep his promise, falling asleep in minutes.

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Author's note: This chapter took FOREVER!! There were just so many different directions I could have taken the story from the last chapter. Hope y'all enjoyed the one I ended up with!! It was mostly fluff, I know... but Derek is just so cute. I can't help it.

Thanks so much for being patient, and for all the kind comments & asks!!! Feel free to send in literally anything, I don't get many messages in my inbox.

Part 5

#josh hutcherson #jhutch #derek danforth #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson x you #the beekeeper #derek danforth x you #joshhutcherson #x reader fic #fem reader #female reader #no use of y/n