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incognit0slut · 4 months

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Right Kind of Wrong (19)

She never thought she’d be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: Spencer finally takes her out on a date. Part Warning: 18+ explicit content (Public fingering) A/n: I did not forget this series, I've just been distracted I'm sorry!! I also apologize if there are any inaccuracies in some random facts, I am not as smart as him, I can only do a quick research from Google.

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18

"SO, HOW DO I LOOK?"

She spun in front of the mirror, showing off the dress she had picked out that afternoon on an impromptu shopping spree. The garment had looked stunning on the store mannequin, and now, in the soft glow of her bedroom, it was more appealing.

The spaghetti straps delicately framed her shoulders, and the lavender fabric accentuated her curves. The bottom of the dress, hovering just below her knees, gave a playful vibe with a teasing slit inching up her right thigh. And the neckline, with its very low plunge, offered a glimpse of her cleavage she couldn't help but wonder whether it was showing too much skin.

"Like you want to get laid," a playful voice called.

Her laughter echoed through the room as she turned to face her phone and realized the dress was hugging her ass quite snugly. "It's too much, isn't it?"

"Not at all," Sandy's voice echoed through the phone again. She glanced at the screen, seeing her friend's smiling face. "You look gorgeous."

She grinned, the reassurance from Sandy making her feel more at ease. "You think so?"

"Absolutely."

She reached for a sparkling necklace and dangling earrings, holding them to the camera. "Necklace or earrings?"

"Hmm." Sandy squinted at the screen, studying the options through the video call. "Go with the earrings. They'll add a touch of glamour without stealing the spotlight from the dress."

She nodded in agreement. "Earrings it is, then."

As she carefully slipped herself into the accessories, Sandy couldn't help but muse her thoughts. "I don't think I've ever seen you wear purple."

She cleared her throat awkwardly. "What do you mean? I've worn this color before."

"Your wardrobe either consists of black or gray. You had to go out shopping to buy this dress."

She laughed nervously, caught in the act of her predictable wardrobe choices. "Alright, fine." She pursed her lips together before letting out a sigh. "I may or may not have asked his friend what his favorite color is."

"You sly fox," Sandy laughed with a huge grin. "So you do want to get laid."

She blushed, adjusting the earrings. "I mean, if the occasion arises..."

"You've got this all planned out, huh?"

"Well, not exactly, more like... strategically considered?" She tilted her head and observed herself in the mirror again. "Does it make me look desperate?"

"Of course not," Sandy reassured. "It just shows you're putting in effort. Besides, confidence is attractive. You look hot."

She blushed at the compliment, but before she could respond, the distant hum of an engine reached her ears. Her eyes widened, and instinctively, she moved towards the window and noticed a car pulling into her driveway. It wasn't the usual sleek, black government vehicle; instead, the car looked like it had seen better days, although it held a vintage charm that caught her by surprise.

Then reality finally kicked in—he was here for a date, not because of his job. They were actually going out for a nice dinner he had prepared.

She suddenly felt sick.

"Sandy, he's here," she whispered, her voice betraying a touch of panic.

Somehow Sandy still managed to hear her voice from across the room. "You'll be fine! It's not like you haven't spent time with him before."

"Not when my life wasn't on the line." She was met with silence and walked over to her phone, picking it up to find Sandy's disapproving glare. She sheepishly smiled towards the screen. "Too soon?"

Sandy shook her head with a sigh. "Only you would joke about your near-death experience."

"Spencer told me it's a coping mechanism."

"You've joked about it to him as well?"

She nodded. "He's not a fan either." The sound of the doorbell ringing brought her back to the present. "I need to go."

"Wait!" Sandy's urgent voice echoed through the phone again. She watched as her friend's expression softened. "How are you feeling today?"

A warm smile graced her lips, moved by Sandy's ongoing concern. Ever since they reunited at the hospital, Sandy couldn't stop apologizing for what had happened, even when it wasn't her fault to begin with. Her friend consistently checked in on her well-being.

"I'm actually feeling pretty good. Nervous, but good."

Sandy nodded, her smile carrying reassurance. "Good. Now, go enjoy your date."

She reciprocated the sentiment with a blow of a kiss towards the camera. "I'll call you later," she promised before ending the call. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself, slipping her phone into her purse as she descended the stairs.

Spencer was waiting at the door when she opened it, all cleaned up and undeniably handsome. His well-fitted suit accentuated his strong shoulders, and the crisp white shirt beneath complemented the subtle purple tie he wore. The fabric of the suit, in a rich charcoal shade, seemed to bring out the warmth in his hazel eyes.

A nervous smile played on his lips, only enhancing his charm and giving him an endearing quality that made her heart skip a beat. His eyes, however, spoke volumes as they assessed her, taking in the way her dress hugged her curves. Spencer couldn't help but be mesmerized by the sight before him.

He was so mesmerized that without thinking, he stepped forward and wrapped an arm around her waist, catching her by surprise. In an instant, he leaned down, his lips meeting hers in an unexpected yet tender kiss. The warmth of the moment enveloped them, and for a brief instant, her worries seemed to fade away.

Her initial surprise transformed into a soft smile as she reciprocated the kiss, savoring the way lips moved against hers, and when he finally pulled away, he looked into her eyes with a mixture of admiration and affection.

"I couldn't resist," he admitted, his nervous smile now replaced by one of genuine warmth.

She couldn't help but smile, feeling a flutter of excitement in her chest. "I'm certainly not complaining."

As they exchanged smiles, she noticed a smudge of her lipstick on his lips. She burst into laughter, breaking the moment with a lighthearted touch.

"You've got a little something right here," she teased, reaching up to gently wipe off the lipstick with her thumb.

He simply gazed into her eyes with a sincere smile. "You look beautiful."

Blushing at the compliment, she smiled appreciatively. "Why thank you. You don't look too bad yourself," she replied with a playful glint in her eyes.

"Come on," Spencer urged, gently tugging her arm, and she willingly followed him after locking her door.

As they walked down her driveway, she felt Spencer's hand on her lower back, a gesture that added an extra layer of comfort to their connection. Unable to contain her surprise, she couldn't help but comment on the unexpected sight of his vehicle.

"I never pictured you as someone who owned a car," she commented, her tone teasing but filled with curiosity.

Spencer chuckled, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "It may not be as sleek as the government vehicle, but it gets the job done."

She laughed, finding his revelation endearing. "Well, I'm impressed. It suits you." Her eyes scanned the vintage-looking car. "It reminds me of you actually."

"What? Old and worn out?"

She shook her head, smiling. "No, not at all. I meant classic, with a certain charm."

His smile widened at her response. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Spencer graciously opened the car door for her, and she beamed appreciatively, slipping into the vintage car's comfortable interior. The soft glow of the dashboard highlighted the nostalgia-infused details of the vehicle, making it clear that Spencer had a penchant for classic styles beyond his usual government responsibilities.

As he closed her door, he circled to the driver's side, sliding behind the wheel. The engine hummed softly and as she watched him, she felt a certain warmth traveling through her body.

In the soft glow of the car's interior, she couldn't help but notice how attractive he looked. His features were highlighted by the dashboard lights, casting a subtle yet captivating glow. Before he could pull away from the driveway, a spontaneous impulse surged within her.

"Wait," she said, her voice breaking the quiet ambiance of the car. Without overthinking, she reached over and gently grabbed Spencer's arm, tugging him back for a moment.

He looked at her with concern. "What's wrong?"

She smiled, feeling a surge of boldness, and leaned over to him. She closed the distance between them, her lips meeting his in a more passionate kiss than before.

He responded with a mixture of surprise, yet his hand gently found its way to the back of her neck, deepening the kiss. His lips moved in sync with hers, and when she softly sighed in contentment, he pushed his tongue inside her mouth, tasting her ever so slightly as his other hand found its place on her thigh.

But when his hand inched under her dress, she laughed and gently pulled away. "I don't think we'll be eating anything if we continue this."

He looked at her sheepishly. "Right," he murmured, readjusting himself in the driver's seat. "Sorry."

With a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, she settled back into her seat, fastening her seatbelt. "So, where are you taking me, Handsome?"

His lips curved into a smile as he finally pulled away from her driveway. "It's a surprise," he said. "You'll see."

It wasn't really a surprise. Spencer had already mentioned wanting to visit this place and the big sign saying 'PLANETARIUM' at the entrance was already a dead giveaway.

However, the unusual quietness that enveloped the space caught her off guard. With only a handful of staff present, the vastness of the empty lobby echoed the click of her heels.

The atmosphere shifted when he gently urged her to close her eyes. Suspicion mixed with curiosity, she couldn't resist teasing him as she followed his instructions. "What do you not want me to see? I already know where we are."

A secure arm wrapped around her waist as Spencer guided her through the darkness. She could sense a grin in his voice as he replied, "Sure, but the location isn't exactly the surprise."

"What is then?" She asked. The echo of their footsteps persisted, creating a rhythm in the quiet space of the planetarium.

"The experience," he simply answered. "Keep your eyes closed a bit longer, we're almost there."

"This is kind of making me nervous," she admitted. "You're not going to kidnap and murder me secretly, are you?"

His steps faltered briefly before she let out a sigh, urging him to continue moving. "Sorry, that sounded way better in my head."

There was a heavy silence before he replied, "We should do something about you joking on that matter."

"It's called dark humor."

He softly hummed. "There's actually a psychological explanation for dark humor as a coping mechanism. It's a way for people to navigate and make light of challenging situations."

"You've mentioned this before."

"I know," he confirmed. "I just want to remind you that every time you think you're being morbidly funny you're using a well-established psychological defense mechanism."

"And what do I have to do with that information?"

"Well, for starters, you can appreciate your brain's attempt to keep things light." He gently squeezed her hip. "But maybe try to cut yourself some slack for the occasional dark joke."

She couldn't help but smile, even with her eyes still closed. The subtle squeeze on her hip added a reassuring warmth to his words. "I still don't get why your boss wants me to see the therapist you guys provided when I already have you."

Spencer chuckled and pulled her closer. "Because one, I'm not a licensed therapist. And two, my therapeutic techniques might involve a bit too much intimacy for the average counseling session."

She laughed. "You mean sex?"

"Sexual intercourse," he corrected, still not wanting to say the word, which she nudged her elbow into his side in response.

As their footsteps finally ceased, Spencer gently urged her to open her eyes. When she complied, her eyes widened in astonishment at the breathtaking sight before her—a vast array of galaxies projected onto the ceiling of the planetarium. The cosmic display painted the dark expanse with hues of celestial beauty, leaving her momentarily awestruck.

Yet, what surprised her even more was the scene at the center of the room. A table setting, elegantly arranged, caught her eye. The table was adorned with flickering candles, casting a soft glow on the carefully arranged dishes and the gleam of polished silverware.

She stood in awe. "Spencer, this is... incredible." Her eyes swept over to him. "You did all this?"

"Well, technically the staff prepared this." He guided her further into the room. "But I pulled some strings."

"Some strings? I think you pulled all the strings." She threw him a grateful smile as he pulled her chair, urging her to sit down. "This must cost a fortune."

"Don't worry about that," he assured her, settling in the seat opposite her. "I just want you to enjoy the night."

As she took her seat, the soft glow of candlelight accentuated the contours of his face. She felt a flutter in her chest, realizing she was falling even harder for him. It wasn't just the fancy setup; it was the thought behind it that got to her.

Fate truly had a peculiar way of guiding her to this present, bringing Spencer into her life. It was a bit surreal knowing that the worst things she'd been through somehow brought her to a moment like this.

Maybe, she pondered, there's a silver lining, a reminder that good things can sneak up when you least expect them. And now it was worth focusing on those good things.

So she savored his company, the easy flow of their conversation, the delicious meal he had prepared, and the soft music playing through the stereo. She also enjoyed being close to him moments later when they finished their dinner. The warmth of his presence felt comforting as they lounged in the viewing seats, gazing up at the scene above.

"Do you see the seven bright stars forming a distinct pattern?" he asked, gesturing toward a shimmering formation.

She followed his guidance and nodded. "They look like a tiny ladle or a dipper."

He smiled, appreciating her observation. "That's the Ursa Minor, also known as the Little Dipper. And the North Star, Polaris, is at the end of its handle."

"The North Star?" She repeated.

"It's a crucial navigational star. Sailors and travelers have used it for centuries to find their way. It remains relatively fixed in the northern sky, making it a reliable reference point."

"Hmm," she hummed. She then pointed to another set of stars. "What about that one?"

He followed her gaze and smiled.

"That's the Orion constellation," he said. "It's one of the most recognizable and has a lot of myths around it. In some cultures, it's a hunter chasing various prey across the sky."

"And what's the story behind that?"

He leaned in closer to her. "Well, in Greek mythology, Orion was a mighty hunter who fell in love with the Pleiades. However, fate had different plans, and he ended up among the stars, forever pursuing them."

Her gaze remained fixed on the celestial display, captivated by the tales woven into the stars. "So, he's like a romantic?"

Spencer chuckled. "In a way, yes. Myths often carry themes of love, tragedy, and destiny."

"Like human nature."

He nodded in agreement. "Like human nature."

There was a moment of silence before she turned to him. "How do you even know all of this?"

"We often travel outside the city and the skies are pretty clear in remote areas. Sometimes you can see a few constellations."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're telling me you're a secret astronomy enthusiast while solving crimes?"

A bashful smile played on his lips. "When I have the time," he admitted. "There's something fascinating about the stars. They offer a sense of perspective."

She smiled. "It's nice to know even a man of logic and facts finds magic in the sky."

His gaze softened. "Magic has its place in the world, even for a man of logic." He suddenly reached out to the back of her ear and retrieved a dollar bill out of thin air. "See? Magic."

She couldn't help but laugh as she took the bill from him and examined it, tracing the edges. "I remember you doing this trick the first time we met."

He leaned back, a contemplative look in his eyes. "It feels like a lifetime ago, doesn't it?"

"Considering everything that happened since then, yes," she replied. "You know, I never asked why you were at that bar in the first place."

A subtle blush painted on his cheeks. "I was... enjoying a drink." When she gave him a deadpanned look, he raised his eyebrows. "What? Do I not seem like the type to be hanging out alone at a bar?"

"You stood out like a sore thumb." She gave him back the dollar bill. "I remember you barely touching your beer."

Spencer sighed, taking the money and placing it back in his pocket. "I was supposed to hang out with the team, but they ditched me."

She arched an eyebrow. "They ditched you? Why?"

He shrugged. "Apparently something important came up."

"So they left you hanging at a bar?" When he nodded, she tilted her head in mock sympathy. "Well, it certainly worked in my favor."

He watched her, the flickering memory of that night flashing before him. The first time he kissed her, the taste of her lips, the sensation of holding her naked in his arms. Then his eyes raked down her collarbone, pausing slightly at the swell of her breasts before looking back up to meet her gaze.

"It worked in my favor too."

She noticed his gaze lingering, a subtle heat spreading across her cheeks. The air suddenly shifted as he leaned closer, creating an intimate space between them. There was a magnetic pull, and she felt her breath catch in anticipation. He gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lightly grazing her skin.

"Tell me what you remember that night," he said, a low timbre in his voice.

She felt the warmth of his breath against her ear and she met his gaze with a flush coloring her cheeks. "I remember seeing you sitting alone at the bar."

His reply, a mere whisper, reverberated dangerously low. "What else?"

"You came up to me and did that magic trick." A faint smile played on her lips as she reminisced. "I was amused, and we sat together."

His eyes lingered on her mouth. A subtle tension lingered in the air, each exchange building upon the last. "And then what happened?"

"We talked," she breathed, the word lingering in the air like a shared secret as he leaned closer. "We laughed." She felt his breath brushing against her lips.

"Then you kissed me," she confessed, and in the heartbeat that followed, he leaned in, his lips meeting hers gently. She let herself sink into his touch as he held her face, keeping her in place while he continued to taste her all over again.

His lips fit perfectly and she kissed him back as eager, letting his tongue glide into her mouth so effortlessly. She held onto him, slightly pulling him closer as if he wasn’t close enough even when he was practically pressing his body against hers.

When he slowly pulled away, she suppressed a moan. "Like this?" He asked.

"Like that," she murmured, the taste of him lingering on her lips as they shared the space between breaths.

The warmth of his lips traveled down her jaw, leaving a trail of soft, lingering kisses that brushed over her skin. "What else do you remember?"

His lips trailed further down, and she shivered. "We..." Her voice wavered, breath hitching, as his hand slid down her arm before his fingertips began to faintly stroke her skin, grazing over the hem of her skirt. "W-We went back to your place."

"Go on," he urged the words hanging in the air. She felt his fingers glide over her inner thigh, stopping abruptly as he reached the middle.

"You..." She let out a small, shaky sigh as he dragged his fingers up, stopping just before the rough pads of his fingers brushed over her panties softly. "...you touched me."

He began carefully moving his middle and forefinger in a gentle circular motion, rubbing her teasingly through her damp panties before, without warning, they were pushed aside, the hot pads of his fingers finally making direct contact with her clit.

"Was it like this?"

Her hand wrapped around his forearm, trying to stop herself from moaning aloud, her eyes fluttering closed as he began to play with her clit, his fingers skillful as he rubbed in small circular motions, his eyes fixed on her. She looked over at him, her mouth going slack as she felt the sensation in the pit of her stomach.

She didn't seem like herself, and although she didn't mind public displays of affection, she wouldn't let it go beyond a kiss. She wasn't the kind of person to be intimate in public, but here she was, letting him touch her when any of the staff could walk in. Heck, she wasn't sure he was the type of person who would do something like this.

His fingers moved from her clit, dragging down her slit and collecting her arousal, briefly plunging them inside and curling upward, pressing firmly against her walls. She looked down to see his fingers gently pumping in and out of her cunt. Her legs were so wide from him that her knee was practically resting against his thigh.

"Tell me," he whispered, "Did I touch you like this?"

Her chest began to heave, her hips unconsciously bucking against his hand as he worked over her casually. "Yes," she breathed out.

Soft whimpers escaped her as she bit her bottom lip, trying desperately to be as quiet as she could manage. The fire in her stomach burned hotter with each expert glide of his slick fingers. Her legs opened wider and wider for him which seemed to please him judging by how fast his fingers began to pump into her cunt.

A strained whimper filled his ears the moment he circled her clit with his thumb, the added stimulation did nothing to help her sanity, and moans began to spill from her lips, mouth parting in pure bliss.

"Spence," she whined, voice so unsteady and breathless, she couldn't control her volume anymore, desperate moans mixing with the sounds of her wetness dripping between her thighs.

"That's it," he encouraged, speeding up his fingers. "Let go for me."

The pressure of his fingers was making her impending orgasm loom dangerously close as her back arched from her seat, hand gripping around his wrist. Her eyes flew over to him as she reached her peak, body shivering and writhing as she pushed her hips down against his fingers, feeling them slide from her pussy before circling her clit in rapid motions.

With a final gasp, she lost all control, her mind growing numb, feeling him wildly as wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through her entire body. She cried out silently, calling his name over and over until she grew too weak while she desperately clung to him.

When he finally pulled away, she felt her arousal dripping down her legs. She stared at him wide-eyed as he fixed her panties back in place before brushing her dress over her legs. When she kept looking at him in a daze, he softly laughed and leaned down, brushing his lips over her cheek.

"Are you okay?"

"I..." she was gasping for air, a hand-tossed over her chest. "Did that actually happen?"

He chuckled, his warm breath tickling her ear. His fingers gently traced the outline of her jaw as her face flushed—lips delicately swollen, eyes glazed with a mixture of desire and surprise. The aftermath of her climax painted her cheeks in a captivating shade.

"Come on," he said, extending a hand and gently pulling her up.

"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice still carrying the traces of her orgasm. His gaze met hers with an intensity that spoke volumes, revealing an unspoken hunger that mirrored her own desires. His intention was clear.

"We're going home."

>> NEXT PART

a/n: it did not occur to me the possibility of CCTV cameras in a planetarium lmao please excuse me. Also, the plan is to write one last part and an epilogue to wrap it all up.

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morallyinept · 29 days

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Adrift With You - A Frankie Morales Series - Chapter 15

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: 9.3k

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: Was being rescued real or just a dream? Smut in this chapter. Mentions of death/addiction.

Enjoy! 🖤

Chapter 14

Captain Sandy Eccles and First Officer Mark Kowalczyk sit in the cockpit of their Airbus A380, preparing their journey from New York to Madagascar.

Sandy settles into his seat at the controls, papery fingers dancing across the instrument panel as he initiates the pre-flight checks. Mark, meanwhile, takes up a position beside him, double-checking each step of the process to ensure nothing is overlooked.

"Flight control surfaces checked," Sandy announces, his brisk voice calm and authoritative. "Elevator, ailerons, and rudder are all responding within normal parameters."

Mark nods in acknowledgment, his eyes scanning the various gauges and displays before him. "Hydraulic systems pressure within limits," he confirms, his tone focused and precise. "No anomalies detected in the engine indicators."

As they make their final preparations in the cockpit, a cheerful voice greets them from the doorway.

"Good morning, Captain, First Officer," says Emma, one of the senior cabin crew members, with a warm smile. "I thought you might like a pick-me-up before we start boarding."

In her hands, Emma holds a tray with steaming cups of coffee and a small basket of pastries.

Sandy’s face lights up with appreciation. "Emma, you're a lifesaver, doll," he exclaims, reaching for a cup of coffee. "Thank you so much."

He observes the coy looks exchanged between Mark and Emma who both seem to blush simultaneously and smile before she heads out and closes the cockpit door behind her.

“When are you going to quit making moon eyes and ask her out?” Sandy muses as he sips at his coffee.

Mark's cheeks flush even more pink as he shakes his head smiling. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yeah.” Sandy quips. "It's that obvious."

Mark chuckles as ground crew members bustle about below them, preparing the aircraft for boarding. Sandy and Mark take a moment to soak in the tranquil atmosphere and enjoy their breakfast.

The crew complete their final preparations for boarding, and Sandy and Mark continue their meticulous checks, verifying the functionality of crucial systems such as communications, navigation, and emergency equipment.

"Emergency exits are armed and cross-checked," Sandy announces, his gaze sweeping over the overhead panel. "Cabin pressure and oxygen systems confirmed operational."

Mark nods again in approval, his attention shifting to the weather radar display. "Weather radar functioning normally," he reports, his voice carrying a note of vigilance. "Keeping an eye on storm activity along our route. There’s a small swell over north-east Africa. Nothing to get too excited about."

With the pre-flight checks completed and the aircraft ready for departure, they find a brief lull in the hectic pre-departure activities to indulge in a conversation about their upcoming destination.

"Madagascar, huh?" Mark remarks, glancing at Sandy with a relieved smile. "Ever been there before?"

Sandy nods. “Several times. It never gets boring. You?”

“First time. Got a layover.”

“Has Emma got a layover too?”

Mark turns away trying to stifle a brewing grin.

“Mmm-hmm.” Sandy says, flicking controls with a smirk. “Enjoy it together. It’s paradise at this time of year. Stifling... with the heat.”

Several hours in and the flight has been smooth sailing as they cruise high above the Atlantic, but ahead looms a growing storm system, visible on the radar as a swirling mass of red and yellow.

And Sandy can see the darker clouds miles out in the distance.

He glances at Mark, his trusty co-pilot, and adjusts his headset over silver streaked hair. "Looks like we've got some weather ahead. Let's start planning a deviation. Those clouds are looking pretty gnarly."

Mark nods, his expression focused. "Agreed. We'll need to navigate around the storm to avoid the worst of it. The width is reported at one hundred and forty miles.”

“Hurricane?” Sandy queries.

“Possibly. I'll contact air traffic control for updated route instructions."

As Mark radioes air traffic control, Sandy studies the storm on the navigation display. He recognizes the signs of a significant cell but remains calm and focused, his confidence bolstered by his past experiences navigating similar weather systems.

"We'll need to deviate round to the south of the continent to skirt the edge of the storm. Once we're clear, we can resume our original course." Sandy says.

"Roger that," Mark replies, jotting down the revised route on his flight plan. "I'll inform the passengers about the deviation and reassure them that it's just a precaution."

Sandy nods as Mark speaks into the intercom.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your First Officer speaking. We've encountered some rough weather ahead, so we'll be deviating from our planned route to avoid the storm. This’ll tack on about an extra hour of flight time and we apologise in advance for the delay. Please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened, and we'll do our best to keep the ride as smooth as possible."

Back in the economy cabin, both Frankie and Jude, unknown strangers at this point, don't hear the announcement, both have their headphones in; Jude being blasted with rock anthems and Frankie absorbed into a film he isn’t all that interested in.

With the new route set, Sandy and Mark begin the process of adjusting the aircraft's heading to avoid the storm. As they descend to a lower altitude, the turbulence increases after a little while, causing the plane to jostle and sway.

Sandy grips the control yoke firmly, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "Storm’s got a damn wide berth. Hang on, Mark. It's going to be a bit bumpy."

"We've got this. Just a little further to go round." Mark reassures. "Nice and easy."

Despite their best efforts, the storm's intensity grows, and the turbulence becomes overwhelming. A powerful downdraft slams into the aircraft, causing it to lose altitude rapidly.

Alarms sound on the controls and Mark gasps realising a turbine has malfunctioned.

“Fuck.” Mark's heart races as he quickly scans the engine indicators. "Turbine two is showing abnormal readings," he reports, his voice tense. "Looks like it's malfunctioning due to the sudden change in airflow."

Sandy weighs their options. "We need to shut it down before it causes more damage. Initiate the emergency shutdown procedure for turbine two."

With a sense of urgency, Mark follows the established protocols, shutting down the malfunctioning turbine to prevent further complications. The aircraft shudders again as the remaining engines strain to compensate for the loss of power.

"Emergency checklist initiated," Mark confirms, his voice steady despite the chaos unfolding around them on the control panels. "Shit. It’s not working!”

"We're losing altitude!" Sandy shouts, struggling to regain control of the plane.

"Mayday. Mayday. Mayday-" Mark begins radioing into air traffic control.

A loud explosion is heard on the left side of the plane.

Sandy frantically adjusts the controls, trying to stabilise the aircraft with Mark. Despite their best efforts, the aircraft continues to falter, its descent becoming increasingly erratic.

"I can't hold her! We’re going down! Brace for impact!" Sandy bellows over the screech of the failing engines.

“Brace! Brace!” Mark yells into the radio, his shrill instruction echoing around the aircraft. The faint sounds of screaming can be heard from the cabin.

With a deafening roar, the plane strikes the surface of the ocean, its wings shattering upon impact and fuselage torn apart. Water floods into the cockpit as the aircraft begins to sink beneath the choppy waves.

Sandy is killed instantly upon the impact of nose diving, and Mark fights against the rising water, desperately trying to free himself from his seat. But it’s no use.

He drowns, unable to escape his fate, moments later.

After just over a year on the island; one year, one month and ten days to be precise, (or if you want to get real into the numbers to work it out, I’ll save you the trouble - it’s four hundred and five agonising days) with it just being the two of them, the hustle and bustle of people suddenly swarming around them can be too much to bear.

It’s a natural reaction, after spending copious amounts of time in a peaceful place with no noise except the soft conversation of the person beside you, that any loud noises or crowds will alarm you.

Jude watches Frankie for a brief moment, like all the hysteria around her has fizzed away and she’s studying him under a microscope. Watching how he becomes bewildered and a slight panic rises up inside of his wide brown eyes, taking them over, and then disappears as quickly as it comes.

And then he's alert once more, like he’s just woken up and knows where he is all over again, a sudden spark of remembrance breaking through the dark dementia-like cloud swirling inside his mind.

Frankie will be ghostly still until a small movement, a sudden jolt in his back like he’s hiccupped, will convince her he isn’t a robot sitting rigid on the chair next to her in the ship’s main control room as they wait to dock on the mainland.

They’re dry and dressed in ill-fitting Navy gear; grey sweatpants and sweaters that are a little too long in the arms and swamp their malnourished frames. It feels strange to have shoes back on her feet as Jude looks down at the plimsolls with laces tied in a neat, floppy bow at her ankles.

Frankie holds a warm cup of coffee inside of his right hand that he sips slowly; the other is firmly interlocked with her fingers inside her lap. The bitter aroma of it filters into his nose and it’s a scent he savours for a few moments, even if it tastes like watered down shit, waiting for the familiarity to register, before he sips it and licks the sharp residue off of his lips.

Jude reaches forward and wipes away a drip of coffee caught inside his bushy beard fibres, shining at her like a brown diamond, and smiles. She tugs on his beard gently.

“I’m going to miss this.”

“I’m fuckin’ not.” Frankie chuckles. “It’s coming off the first chance I get.”

She purses her lips and makes a sad face as he rolls his eyes, smirking as he drinks his coffee some more, bewildered that he’s drinking coffee again at all after drinking tasteless rain water for so long.

A swill of officers are on deck, chattering and the sounds of radio exchanges with tinny voices is heard somewhere in the distance, ebbing around them.

Frankie looks back and forth at Jude with an expression that is mostly unchanging during the journey back to land.

It begins to creep her out a little bit the more she sees it; making prickles rise on the back of her neck. He suddenly has a way of making her nervous for absolutely no reason at all each time she glances up at him hunched over the coffee cup unmoving and looking like he has no idea where he is again.

Through the rhythmic hum of the engines filling the air, she finds herself struggling to comprehend the reality of their situation herself. It all feels like a dream - a hazy, surreal blur of events that she can't quite wrap her mind around.

They've been rescued, she reminds herself, her heart pounding in her chest as she gazes out at the vast expanse of ocean stretching endlessly before them. After days - or was it weeks? - in the aftermath of the tsunami, they've finally been found, plucked from the brink of oblivion by the steady hand of fate.

But despite the overwhelming evidence of their salvation - the towering masts of the ship, the crisp uniforms of the crew bustling about their duties - Jude can't shake the lingering sense of disbelief that clings to her like a stubborn shadow.

It all seems too good to be true, too improbable to be real. She pinches her arm again and feels nothing but a terrifying numbness to it.

Wake up...

Frankie notices and glances down at her squeezing her skin between her nails.

“Hey,” he says, releasing her grip. “Jude. It’s really happening.”

His eyes draw her in, ground her feet to the soft vibrations of the ship cutting through the waves, drawing ever closer to the distant horizon where the promise of land awaits, she finds herself clinging to his hand tighter, her fingers white-knuckled with tension.

Each passing moment feels like a lifetime, each mile bringing them closer to a destination that still feels impossibly far away.

But then Frankie flinches again, like music blasting through earphones loudly into his ear canal unexpectedly as the captain approaches them.

“We’re almost there, not much longer now. We’ll escort you guys to the American embassy. I’ve had a chat with them about you. They’re going to help you get home.” He announces clearly.

“Thank you,” Jude replies, timidly, the sound of her own voice seeming too loud to her as her thoughts try to arrange themselves into some sort of comprehension.

“Where’s ‘there’?” Frankie questions the captain.

“South Africa, Cape Town, Sir.”

“I’ll be back. Drink some of this shitty coffee.” Frankie smiles at her, as he pushes the cup into her trembling fingers.

"I hate coffee..." She smiles, weakly.

"I know." Frankie squeezes Jude’s hand and then follows the captain.

Frankie hovers beside him looking out at the large windows in the vast control room.

“Captain. You said we were found amongst a group of islands?” Frankie asks him carefully.

“Yes Sir, the Prince Edward Islands.” He points to the satellite at two large, land-shaped clusters. “Those are the mainland islands, but we picked you up on a smaller rock scattered further out. There are lots of them. The islands have been previously used for penguin conservation. No-one inhabits them anymore though.”

“I think someone did at some point.” Frankie concludes.

“What do you mean?” The captain asks.

“There was evidence of someone being on that island long before us. There was a man-made structure built, like a shelter? We found a switchblade and rusted tin cans. And remains…”

The captain nods thoughtfully. “It could have been someone from the conservation team, or maybe someone like yourselves who got stranded for a while? Fishermen get stuck out here on a regular basis if the tide turns. But there haven’t been any reported people missing to my knowledge for years. We’re out here a lot, supporting the territories. We have our base at Port Elizabeth.”

Frankie thinks for a moment. “Your officer in the boat, he said he looked for us. I’m wondering how far off course the plane was when it crashed,” Frankie says, folding his arms around himself as he looks out the window at the empty sea presented before him.

The captain turns to him. “Most searches are conducted in and around the immediate area where the plane drops off of radar-”

“Yeah, I know. I-I used to fly. Army. Retired.” Frankie explains tentatively.

“Ranking?”

“Captain.”

The captain salutes at Frankie out of respect for an equal. “Your training kept you alive. Might’ve been a different story if you were just a regular civvie.”

As Frankie stands on the deck of the naval ship, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon, he can't help but reflect on the harrowing journey that brought them both to this moment.

Despite the overwhelming odds stacked against them, they had survived - against all logic, against all reason. And as he looks back on their time adrift at sea, trapped on the island, enduring the forceful brunt of the tsunami, he realises that the captain is right; it probably was his training in the army that had kept them both alive for so long.

In the face of danger, his instincts had kicked in, guiding Jude through the treacherous waters with a steely determination born from years of discipline and resilience.

Whether it was rationing their meagre supplies, building shelter, or weathering the brutal storms that swept across the ocean, he had drawn upon the skills honed during his time in the military to keep them safe, to keep them alive.

But it wasn't just his training that had seen them through - it was also the unwavering bond forged between them in the crucible of adversity. Together, they had faced the raging tempests and the relentless swells, standing side by side against the onslaught of the island’s fury.

And in those moments of darkness, it was their shared strength, their shared determination, that had sustained them when all hope seemed lost.

“Crews were out here, including us supporting them, scouting for wreckage for weeks. We found some, but of course you have to remember the ocean is vast; debris can travel in all sorts of directions on the current, and can travel at different speeds. It’s impossible to search the entire ocean for survivors, especially when we didn’t find any at all in the immediate vicinity where the plane went down.” The captain swallows and Frankie watches distantly as his Adam's apple bobs in his throat like a forlorn knot.

“I’m sorry that you guys weren’t found sooner, I really am. We were convinced everyone on that plane had perished, all the evidence we found suggested it. You guys drifted so far from the crash site, that it’s a pure miracle you survived.”

“A miracle.” Frankie snorts.

“What else could it be?” The captain queries.

Frankie doesn’t answer. Instead pondering it quietly to himself as he stares back out at the ocean as an officer approaches the captain diverting his attention.

Emotionally sterile and just gazing out at nothing; seeing nothing even though a dark land shaped mass is visible on the horizon now.

There's a surge of hope - a flicker of excitement igniting deep within his chest at the prospect of finally reaching solid ground after so long being lost.

But alongside the hope, there's also a twinge of apprehension - a nagging doubt curling into something fretful that whispers in the back of his mind, reminding him of all they've endured and the uncertain future that lies ahead.

Frankie looks down at his hands to find them shaking again. Fingers trembling with a mind of their own.

He squeezes them into tight fists, nails cutting into his palms, and willing himself to calm down.

When the ship docks, Frankie and Jude are escorted to a Navy vehicle and driven inwards from the coast towards central Cape Town.

Jude looks out the window, observing the colourful, loud world that has left them behind for so long. The dusty streets, the aromas from food stalls as they pass bustling markets making her stomach growl with the infusion of spices tickling her nose as they waft in through the windows of the car.

The yells and sounds of people crowded in the streets make her ears ache. The rumble of passing cars reverberates heavily through the air, their engines growling as they prowl the bustling streets. The screech of brakes and the blaring of horns add a discordant note to the air and she practically jumps out of her skin every time it happens.

She feels a gentle squeeze around her hand and looks across the seat at Frankie as he holds his arm out and she shifts closer to him, into the safe embrace of him, ever wearing that cautious gaze in his furtive eyes.

“Who are you going to call?” Jude asks him dreamily, as they both stare emptily at the scenery whizzing by them in a blur.

“Ghostbusters,” he remarks with a sardonic grin and then shrugs. “Fuck, I don’t even know…”

Despite being rescued, a pang of anxiety claws at his starving gut as he comes to a sobering realisation - he doesn't know any numbers off by heart to call anyone and let them know he's safe.

In the chaotic aftermath of their rescue, amidst the flurry of activity and the rush of emotions, he hasn't given much thought to the practicalities of reaching out to loved ones. Now, faced with the stark reality of his predicament, he feels a surge of panic rising within him. How will they know he's alive? How will they know he's safe?

Will anyone even care to know?

“You gonna call your mom?” He asks, swallowing down the bile.

“I bet she won’t believe it’s me really calling her.” Jude says with a weak smile birthing out on her face.

It seems an incredibly daunting thought; the anticipation to call and hear her voice is overwhelming, surreal even. Like it will never bloom into fruition because the pain of saying the words out loud - explaining where she’s been for the past four hundred and five days - is unbearable to even begin unravelling apart to make sense of for herself, let alone another hysterical person on the end of a phone line.

As the Naval car rumbles along the busy streets, inching its way towards the embassy, Frankie and Jude find themselves momentarily halted by traffic jamming up. The sounds of honking horns and distant chatter fill the air, mingling with the stifling heat of the evening.

In the midst of the commotion, a young African boy on a battered moped pulls up beside them, his eyes wide with curiosity as he peers in through the car window.

His dark skin is coated with a sheen of sweat, and his gaze, filled with a mixture of wonder and innocence, falls upon them both, taking in their appearances with a mixture of awe and confusion.

Frankie can feel the weight of the boy's curious stare, a silent observer to their dishevelled state - clothes too big, hair wind-tossed, faces etched with exhaustion and relief. Frankie meets the boy's face, struck by the depth of emotion reflected in those big, expressive eyes.

There's a silent exchange between them - a moment of connection that transcends language and culture, bridging the gap between their worlds with a simple glance.

For a brief moment, time seems to stand still as they lock eyes with each other, their worlds intersecting in this fleeting moment of shared humanity amidst the chaos of the city streets. There's something oddly poignant about the encounter, a silent acknowledgment of the fragility of life, the universality of human experience.

The boy doesn’t know about Frankie and Jude’s life-altering struggles, that they’ve been lost for so long, and yet he smiles at Frankie, offering a mouth full of chipped and wonky teeth.

But as quickly as it begins, the moment passes, the boy gives Frankie a shy smile before revving his engine and disappearing into the throng of vehicles.

His eyes, already weary from months of uncertainty and hardship, begin to sting with unshed tears, and a lump forms in Frankie’s throat as he struggles to contain the overwhelming swell of feeling.

In that brief exchange, something profound has shifted within him - a stirring of empathy and compassion that cuts through the layers of cynicism and weariness that has come to define his existence. It’s as if the innocence and wonder reflected in the boy's eyes has pierced straight through to his soul, awakening a dormant part of himself that he has long believed to be lost.

Blinking back the tears that threaten to spill over, Frankie turns away from the window, unable to shake the weight of the moment.

Jude reaches up and kisses his neck, feeling his beard tickling her cheek.

As the Naval car inches forward once more, carrying them ever closer to safety and sanctuary, Frankie finds himself grappling with a newfound sense of vulnerability, a rawness of emotion that he has long buried beneath layers of bravado and stoicism.

Frankie looks down at Jude nestled against his chest and kisses the top of her head.

The Navy officers escort them into the American Embassy in Cape Town; a large and formidable white building with heavy security and armoured vehicles. The American flag is flapping around in the breeze and Jude looks up at it, feeling a sense of familiarity and deep seated relief to view the stars and stripes waving back at her.

They’re escorted to the consulate main building where a representative for The States meets them and shakes their weary, calloused hands as he regards them over the rim of his thin spectacles carefully.

“Wow, you guys have really been through the ringer, ain’t ya?” He says with a Southern twang, motioning for them to sit and regarding their dishevelled, malnourished appearance with some appal. “I’m Jake. I’ll be assisting ya’ll whilst ya here with us.”

“How long will that be?” Frankie enquires, anxiously. He scratches at the back of his head, his cap still firmly planted on top of his scraggly curls that reach down to his shoulders.

“Hopefully not long at all. Take a seat, make yourselves comfy there.” Jake motions to the chairs again; watching as they sit on the edges tentatively like the chair will swallow them whole.

“What’s going to happen to us now?” Jude asks. “We just wanna go home.” She explains trying to stifle a swamping yawn.

The thought of finally returning home feels like an alien concept. It's a notion that seems both tantalisingly close and impossibly distant, like a dream she's afraid to fully grasp for fear of it slipping away.

“And we’re going to get ya back there for sure, ma’am. We need some details from ya so we can get ya some new passports and check a few things out. Now, I hear you’re ex-military, Sir?” Jake says, addressing Frankie directly.

Frankie nods and slumps back in the chair.

“Well, that works in your favour. We can get ‘em to help escort you guys home, through the back door as it were.”

Frankie smiles through tight lips as Jake clears his throat.

“Back door?” Jude queries, confused.

“Without much of a hubbub. You guys’ll make international news soon enough.”

The thought fills Frankie with a potent mix of anxiety and apprehension, as it does with Jude. The thought of their faces splashed across television screens, of their harrowing ordeal dissected and analysed by strangers, sends a shiver down Frankie's spine.

It's a stark reminder of the scrutiny and judgement that awaits them on the other side of this journey - a world that seems increasingly foreign and hostile with each passing moment.

“What happened to the plane?” Frankie braves. “Do you know why it came down?”

Jake pauses and clasps his hands together on his desk. “Yeah, I remember the story. Was mechanical failure from the storm. The engines failed I think, from what I remember. It was all over the news worldwide, social media and all that kind of stuff. I don’t really understand that Instagram thing myself, but they never found any survivors.” Jake explains.

He pulls out his iPhone, taps onto the screen then hands it to Frankie. It’s a Google search page of all the headlines and images from the crash.

Frankie scrolls through them with an unsteady finger. He stops when he sees a headline with his own face and name listed as one of Flight 816’s missing passengers. An old army photograph of him in his sandy combat gear, eyes squinting in the sun.

Frankie turns the phone screen to Jude and looks back at her with worrisome, dull peepers.

“Shit...” She mutters skimming the article. She hands the phone back to Jake and he puts it on the desk.

“We’re going to put ya guys in a hotel not too far from here, give you some comfort and ya’ll can get some rest. Before that we’re going to get ya checked over with a couple of doctors, make sure you’re healthy, that kinda thing.”

“Can we make some calls?” Jude asks him eagerly.

“Of course ya can. I’ve no doubt ya families will be keen to hear from ya. I imagine it will feel like a miracle to them, huh? To have ya back after all this time?”

Jude gulps as her fingers knot in her lap.

“Listen guys, I can’t imagine what y'all have been through. But we’re going to getcha home, we’re going to help ya as much as we can, okay?”

“Thank you, Jake.” Jude says to him, offering him only a glimmer of a small, worn out smile.

“Ya need anything, ya let me know.” Jake opens a file on his desk.

“A razor would be a great start.” Frankie clarifies.

Jude smiles at him and nods in agreement.

“Y’all will have everything ya need, don’t worry. Alrighty here, let’s start with ya full names, shall we?” Jake picks up a pen. He looks at Frankie and waits for him to answer.

“Catfish,” Jude replies rather deadpan.

“Hmm?” Jake asks, eyebrows raising.

She giggles, almost like a snort that hiccups out of her, and Jake looks at her slightly bemused.

She can’t help but laugh out louder until she can’t stop. Real gut rolling belly laughs that erupt out of her mouth and Frankie joins in too, snickering until eventually he can’t contain it and lets out a loud hawhawhaw that continues to roll out from him, until he clutches his stomach like he’s doubled over in that crazed laughing pain.

Jake observes them both bewildered. “Y’all wanna let me in on the joke?”

They both undergo a medical at the local hospital as soon as they wrap up the formalities with Jake, escorted by a representative from the consulate to translate for them where needed.

A lot of hustle and bustle through their exhausted state, when all they really want to do is to eat, sleep and call their loved ones.

The delay is starting to get to them as they exchange tired and impatient looks between themselves, gripping each other’s hands and squeezing when it starts to get overwhelming.

They’re separated temporarily as they’re examined; a feeling that neither of them want to get used to.

A palpable sense of unease settles over Frankie like a heavy shroud. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, he finds himself separated from the familiar presence of Jude - the one constant in an ever-shifting sea of uncertainty.

Frankie clocks Jude’s furtive, panicked gaze back at him as she’s ushered behind a curtain and feels the pang of anxiety hit her gut too, making her stomach all swirly like the ocean current that has tried - and failed - numerous times to drown them both.

With each passing moment, Frankie finds himself growing increasingly restless, the minutes stretching out into an agonising eternity as he waits anxiously for her return.

The sterile surroundings only serve to amplify his sense of isolation, the stark fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows that dance mockingly across the walls.

Frankie sits on the examination table in another bay as the doctor asks him about his general health and prods gently at his stomach and over his ribs. He listens to his heartbeat and takes a swab from his mouth.

In the other bay, a similar process ensues with a female doctor who takes blood, swabs and asks a barrage of personal questions to Jude.

“What have you been eating on the island? Have you been ill at all whilst there? When was your last period?”

“Period?”

Jude’s mind cast back to the blood trickling down her legs in the sand and the gut wrenching pull in her stomach reminds her of the unexpected loss all over again, like a wave smashing into her.

“Urm... I can’t really remember, maybe seven months or so, maybe less? I’m sorry, it’s all so…” She searches back in her mind against the blank void of time, unsure exactly when it was that she’d had her last one on the island.

It’s not really something you consider at first, bleeding monthly on a deserted island with no sanitation products to hand. But when it’d happened a few weeks or so into first being stranded there, the heavy belly cramps registering deep in her uterus, and discreetly keeping it from Frankie’s awareness, she’d used dark strips she’d torn off a t-shirt and rolled it up inside her panties. It felt like she was living in the dark ages before tampons even existed.

But out in the middle of nowhere Jude had to adapt and she hid the evidence well from him. Or at least if he did know, he was good not to mention it and add to her embarrassment.

But then she realised, that slow unsettling feeling creeping over her shoulders, one day on the shoreline washing out her hair, that she hadn’t had a period for some time after they’d started sleeping together.

Dawning on her then that they’d been pretty reckless, but when you’re in the throes of passion and wrapped up in one another, practicality flies out the window. But the months had worn on and there was no real repercussion from their love making, no signs of a pregnancy. No period, no risk of a baby right?

Evidently she was wrong.

“You’ve lost a lot of weight, it will affect your cycle for a while, but as you gain weight again it should return to normal. If it doesn't, your doctor back home can advise you further.” The doctor says.

“I urm... I-I think I had a miscarriage on the island.” Jude squeaks quietly, unable to look the doctor in the eye like she’s done something shameful.

She lowers her clipboard and touches her shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” she replies gently. ”If that’s the case, I’ll need to examine you, make sure there’s no lingering infection or anything, will that be okay?”

Jude nods and lays back on the gurney as the doctor pulls on some latex gloves.

In the other bay, the doctor places his cold stethoscope all over Frankie’s bony back, asking him to breathe in and out and hold his breath for as long as he can. He asks him about any injuries sustained, anything that worries him currently and how he’s feeling in his general state of mind.

Frankie shrugs. “I’ve been stuck on an island for over a year thinking I would die every day. I’m sure there’s a fuckin' adjustment period for that, right?”

The doctor doesn’t appreciate his sarcasm and doesn’t respond, instead writing out a prescription for vitamins and supplements.

“I had a fever... On the island, not too long ago, and a rash too.” Frankie mutters through a stifled yawn.

“What kind of fever?”

“I’m not sure. I was out for a few days. Hot, vomiting... Delirious, that kind of thing.”

“And the rash, was it all over your body or just concentrated?”

“All over I think. Red and angry."

“Were you bitten by a mosquito at all?” The doctor probes, regarding him.

Frankie shrugs again. “Not that I specifically remember. I was bitten by a lot of things out there.”

“We’ll take some blood, check it for anything that could be lingering in your bloodstream. You could have possibly had Dengue Fever. It's quite common out here with mosquito bites. But easily treatable if you have access to meds, which I appreciate you didn’t, of course... Couple that with your malnutrition and weak state, you’re lucky you didn’t catch anything worse. I’ll prescribe you some meds, make sure it’s all gone. Have you got any allergies? Any medication that you’re sensitive to?”

As Frankie absorbs the doctor's questions, he finds himself torn between conflicting impulses.

On one hand, there's a voice in the back of his mind urging him to speak up - to lay bare the truth about his past addiction and the struggles he's faced in order to ensure he receives the proper care and support he needs.

But alongside that voice, there's another - an insidious whisper of doubt that sows seeds of fear and uncertainty in his heart. What if they judge him? What if they see him not as a survivor, but as a liability - a broken soul in need of fixing?

The thought of laying bare his vulnerabilities to strangers fills him with a profound sense of unease, a fear of being labelled and stigmatised further for the demons he's battled in the past.

In the end, as the doctor's gaze meets his own, Frankie makes a choice - a leap of faith into the unknown. With a deep breath and a steady resolve, he opens his mouth to speak, ready to face whatever consequences may come with the truth.

"I... I have a history of addiction. Drugs. Cocaine."

The admission hangs heavy in the air, casting a palpable tension over the bay as the doctor's expression shifts, registering a mixture of surprise and concern.

Frankie can feel the weight of their scrutiny bearing down on him, but he refuses to look away, steeling himself against the fear that threatens to overwhelm him.

"I've been clean for... for a while now," he continues, the words coming more easily now that he's broken the silence. "But I thought you should know. In case... in case it's relevant to my treatment. I can’t have any meds that have any psychoactive effects.”

There's a beat of silence as the doctor absorbs his words, their gaze searching his face for any sign of deception or evasion. But Frankie meets his searching gaze head-on, his eyes clear and unwavering as he waits for his response.

Finally, the doctor nods, a gesture of acknowledgment tinged with understanding. "Thank you for being honest with me," he says, his voice gentle but firm.

Frankie watches as the doctor strikes through his previous writings on his pad. "Let's take some blood."

Frankie holds out his arm as the doctor pricks it with a needle.

“What happened to your neck?” The doctor asks, turning Frankie’s head gently so he can examine the scars that run across it.

“I was burned when the plane crashed...” Frankie surmises, his thoughts turning dark as he remembers the smell of his skin sizzling in the water.

“Hmm, looks like they’ve healed pretty well. They look like they were partial-thickness or second degree when it happened. Might be best to apply some topical cream to help with the fading. I’ll add it to your prescription.”

The doctor places the blood vial in a testing bag and gives Frankie a cotton ball to hold against the needle poke hole in his arm.

“Overall, I’d say you’re in pretty good shape, considering. The malnourishment is reversible, you need to simply eat. Foods that are rich in vitamins and high in energy, fortified foods and vegetables, that kind of thing. In moderation of course. I can’t stress this enough, but if you gorge you’ll make yourself really sick. Your stomach has shrunk significantly, so although you may feel famished, you need to fill up really slowly, okay?”

Frankie nods. “Sure.”

“Refeeding syndrome can be fatal, alright?” The doctor warns and Frankie is nodding so much it feels like his head might fall off his shoulders.

"Eat small and slow. Got it."

“I’d advise you to visit your dentist, your optometrist, and follow up with your own doctor too when back home. Check on your overall health with them regularly until things get back to normal with your body. Keep an eye on any changes to your skin too; you’ve been exposed to the sun for a long time without a barrier, so check on any moles or freckles you have regularly for any changes. They all look okay to me at the moment.”

“No problem.” Frankie replies; his foot tapping on the floor anxiously.

With a heavy sigh, Frankie clenches his fists in frustration, a surge of restless energy coursing through his veins. Every instinct screams at him to find a way back to Jude, to break free from the confines and monotony of the examination bay and seek out the one person who has become his lifeline in this tumultuous world.

In the other bay, Jude winces as the doctor takes an internal swab and bites down on her lip.

“You can sit up now.” The doctor says with a sincere smile. “On first inspection you look completely fine down there, but I’ll send this to the lab and we’ll know for sure. I can write you a prescription for some contraceptives if you’d like, it might help with regulating your periods during the transition back to your normal cycle. In the meantime, rest. Take it easy. You’ve been through a lot.”

The moment she says it, Jude starts to well up. The natural reaction you have when anyone shows you any kindness or sympathy at your plight.

The doctor hands her a box of tissues and she takes a few out, wiping her gritty eyes.

“It might be a good idea to seek some therapy, talk to someone about your ordeal. You’ll find your emotions will be up and down for a long time and that’s perfectly normal.”

Jude nods at the doctor blowing her nose. Emotions being up and down is a fucking understatement.

“Thank you,” she says to the doctor, and she’s all too eager to get out of the bay and be back with Frankie.

“How did it go?” Jude asks him through red eyes, and he pulls her in for a long, tight hug.

“Horrible.” Frankie replies stoically.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Absolute agony being away from you.” He says softly.

“It was.” Jude agrees.

“You ever heard of refeeding syndrome?”

“No.”

“We gotta eat real slow, even though I wanna devour a fuckin’ whole cow right now.”

Jude snickers.

“Did they take your blood?” Frankie asks.

Jude nods. “Pesky vampires,” she remarks through a smirk up at him.

"C'mon. Let's get out of here. I fuckin' hate hospitals." He says.

The hotel room isn’t that fancy.

Nothing over the top; conspicuous and modest, but more than anything it’s clean and smells fresh with a lemony scent lingering in the air around their nostrils.

The air conditioner is whirring out from under the window and the net curtains billow softly in the recycled air flow.

They wander into the small room and look around like they’ve just hit the jackpot.

There’s a double bed with clean, crisp sheets. Actual pillows and a night stand with a gloaming lamp. There’s a small flat screen mounted to the wall on the opposite side; an armchair and a closet with empty hangers.

Large windows offer a glimpse of the city skyline twinkling in the dark, a reminder of the world beyond their temporary sanctuary.

It's a moment they've both been longing for, a brief respite from the chaos and uncertainty that has consumed their lives all day.

For Frankie, the sight of the hotel room is a balm to his weary soul - a tangible reminder that they have finally reached safety after so many harrowing experiences.

He takes a moment to savour the simple pleasures of a comfortable bed and a hot shower, luxuries that he’s sorely missed during their time stuck on the island.

They both simultaneously breathe in and out and turn to smile at one another in that ambient relief.

Frankie puts down the carrier bag he’s holding, full of clean clothes that the embassy has provided, medicines and some personal items, such as coveted toiletries.

Jude is holding a similar bag for herself and has a key card for the room next door.

Frankie wanders over to the bathroom and there’s a large walk-in shower, sink and toilet with clean towels, mini soaps and a large mirror mounted on the wall above the sink and brightly illuminated.

He steps inside gingerly and regards himself in the mirror, just looking at the worn face staring back at him that he no longer recognises.

Taking off his trusty cap that reeks of the sea and sweat, his hair is wild and untamed, shaggy below his ears and curling into his shoulders.

His once patchy beard is full and busy with wiry hairs that seem more silver in some places. It's been over a year since he last saw his own reflection, and the sight before him is both jarring and surreal.

His usually plump lips are cracked with dryness and a faded purple rather than the heart coloured cerise they usually are naturally. His dark eyes, that have seen and been through so much, are now dull and faded when they used to be full of vibrant zing.

It’s possible, he thinks, that he’s aged significantly beyond his years. He most definitely has, deep inside of him somewhere.

Frankie regards his shrunken appearance, his collarbone so prominent as he removes his Naval sweater. His ribcage is explicitly noticeable and he winces at the state of his aching and tired body presented back to him.

“Shit...” Frankie sighs despondently.

Jude appears at the doorway, watching him regard himself as he runs his fingers through his beard and hair, examining every aspect of his gaunt appearance in the ghastly mirror.

She ventures into the bathroom next to him and dares herself to look at her own reflection, keeping her eyes to the floor like she’s avoiding a monster tailing her, until she feels Frankie put his hands on her shoulders behind her, anchoring her.

There’s nothing of her, the once supple curves of her body are now straight, flat lines with no definition or skin that glows with health and vitality.

Despite being tanned from months of relentless sun burn, her skin appears dull and lifeless. Hey eyes are sunken into the sockets of her skull and the bags under them just confirm wholly how tired she absolutely feels.

Her braid is hellishly tangled; her hair lifeless and no longer has the sleek bounce she remembers, filled with split ends.

“Oh my God,” she whimpers, utterly aghast at the state of herself.

“You’re still beautiful to me,” Frankie whispers, resting his chin on her shoulder and wrapping his arms around her stomach. “Todavía tan jodidamente hermosa.” (Still so fucking beautiful.)

They look at one another in the mirror, trying to accept the alien looking strangers who are staring back at them with horrified reflections.

“I’ll let you get washed up,” Jude begins, devastated as she heads towards the door, but he pulls her back by her wrist gently.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare, hermosa,” he says softly and pulls her in close to him.

Frankie kisses her, tilting her chin up and she stands on tip toes as he pulls her close. She giggles and wriggles away from his face as his beard tickles her lips.

“Yeah, we really need to cut this,” Jude says, fingering through his crispy beard.

Frankie steps away out of the bathroom for a few moments and brings the bag back in with him. He empties the contents of the toiletries onto the sink and finds some scissors and a razor, and holds them out to her.

“Will you make me the happiest man in the world and shave this fuckin’ thing off my face?” He asks her through a wry grin.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she chuckles.

Jude cuts large chunks of hair from his beard carefully, keeping as close to his skin as possible as he perches on the toilet with the seat down.

Opening his legs so she can stand in between, his hands sweep over her backside and squeeze occasionally.

"This is very distracting," she hums as he kneads and squeezes her flesh.

"I know," he surmises with a grin.

Once she’s cut enough off, she wets his face and covers his chin and neck in shaving foam and begins running the razor over his face gently.

“There you are,” Jude marvels as his taught skin is finally revealed from under the hair.

The same face she remembers from when he first appeared on the island, staggering up the sand bank towards her with wide, panicked eyes. “You want it all gone?”

He nods. “It’ll grow back soon enough.”

Frankie pulls down her sweats as she steps out of them and sits on his knee.

“How you holding up?” He asks as he feels the scrap of the blade over his skin.

Blinking, Jude nods. “I keep waiting for it to feel real.”

“Yeah.” He nods.

“This has to be a dream.” She sounds like she’s far away. “But… I’m not waking up.”

Frankie takes her hand and presses it against her chest. She can feel the steady throb of his heart under her finger tips.

“It’s real.” He confirms. "We're here."

Jude smooths away the remaining foam with her fingers when she’s done, revealing a smooth and pallid jaw line against the dark tan of his face, and he lunges forward and kisses her deeply.

Frankie stands up as she wraps her legs around his waist and he steps into the shower with her, peeling her out of her remaining clothes as they’re saturated under the warming stream.

The hot water feels incredible and they both gasp out in satisfaction as the jet sprays them down, laughing in relief and wonderment at such a simple thing as hot water after all this time of bathing in the murky sea.

“Oh my God!” Jude calls out, closing her eyes, feeling the heat on her skin, and Frankie throws his head back, letting the water drown him and soak his shaggy hair.

He shakes it about like a dog and she laughs as he chuckles, kissing her again.

He reaches for some shower gel and sniffs it in his hands before offering his palms out to her to smell it in return. It smells of herbs and bergamot; woody scents like the forest and the notes dance inside her nostrils long after it’s absorbed into her skin.

He runs his soapy hands all over her body, taking his time to clean and massage her, working the nodules at the back of her neck, swooping his hands under her arms to run them down her back and grab her ass with them, making her smile and groan out.

Frankie reaches for the razor and crouches down, tapping his thigh as she puts her foot on it.

Jude watches as he shaves away the hair from her legs gently, looking up at her with a smile pinched between his teeth as the water sprays against his back. He’s tender, running his hand over her freshly smooth skin and admiring her when he's done.

"So fuckin' beautiful," he says in wonder.

Jude reaches for his hair, scratching around the back of his neck fondly with the shampoo as he kisses just above her wet belly button.

On his knees, he hooks her leg over his shoulder and instantly licks up the seam of her pussy.

“Frankie!” She cries out, steadying herself against the tiles as her legs buckle unexpectedly.

“I got you,” he says, smirking up at her, his hands firmly holding her backside and thighs and keeping her upright.

She watches as his tongue slides against her, slipping into her folds and seeking out her clit. She groans when he latches onto it, sucking it between his lips as his hands slide around the front of her thighs and he pries her open with adept, soapy fingers.

Jude reaches down, gripping onto his shoulder, cradling his head closer as Frankie laps at her pussy like a man completely starved.

The water trickles down her stomach into his mouth from the stream above them. With each breath, Jude feels the tension building within her, coiling tightly like a spring ready to snap.

It's a sensation that courses through her veins, igniting a fire within her core that threatens to consume her. She can feel her heart racing, a steady drumbeat of anticipation that echoes in her ears as Frankie hums out in satisfaction, his skilled tongue rubbing around her clit deliciously.

“Yes, don’t stop…” Jude whines, tugging on his soaked hair, spirals of dark curls knotting around her knuckles.

He growls with the tension on his scalp, his fingers sliding up inside her as he laps at the succulent slit leaking sweetly onto his tongue as she builds.

And then, suddenly, it happens - a release of pent-up energy that surges through her with breathtaking intensity.

It's as if a dam has burst, flooding her senses with a rush of raw, dizzy emotion that leaves her trembling in its wake.

“Fuck! Frankie!” She cries out, tears welling behind her eyes.

As she closes her eyes and leans back against the cool tiles, she can feel the tension melting away from her body, replaced by a deep and abiding sense of relaxation.

It's as though every muscle in her body has finally surrendered to the gentle rhythm of the moment, a moment where it's her and Frankie and they’re safe and warm and loving on one another, allowing her to sink deeper into the embrace of tranquillity.

He stands up and kisses her with an intensity that makes her unsteady on her feet. She can taste herself on his lips and sucks at them with a feverish want.

“Jude,” he whines, closing his eyes as he feels her reach for his cock, hard and aching for her.

Frankie bites down on his lip as he watches her massaging it around the suds, squelching it through her fingers.

He breathes out against her pores as she pumps him slowly. She feels his fingers grip tighter around her ass cheeks.

“I’ll never get enough of you,” Frankie husks. “Ever.”

She smiles and kisses him, working his swelling cock inside of her grip.

“I need you.” Jude moans, pulling him tighter to her.

He picks her up and pushes her against the tiles as she wraps her legs around him, crying out as he sinks his cock inside of her.

He gasps out loudly as he connects with her again, sliding in and out slowly as she kisses his shoulder, his neck over the rippled burn scars, lips searching for his again, finding her home within him.

Home.

A word that has been tossed around so much today, carelessly that it loses all pronunciation on the tongue. A word that has felt so out of reach for so long.

Home, a place that used to exist in another world but now only exists right here, in this moment.

Home isn’t a place anymore. They have no homes to go to, not really. It isn’t the safety of bricks and mortar, and sturdy foundations rooted in the ground. It’s not an apartment full of useless bric-or-brac. Four walls and a roof that occasionally leaks.

No, home is Frankie. Here in his arms. Home is Jude. Here in her arms.

Their fingers intertwine and their gazes lock in a panting exchange. Frankie feels something shift within him.

It's as if a veil has been lifted, revealing a truth that has always been there, hidden in the depths of his heart. He looks at Jude, really looks at her, and sees not just the person that has been beside him, fighting with him all this time, but the very essence of home itself.

In her eyes, he finds a warmth that seeps into his bones, melting away the coldness that has plagued him for so long. In her smile, he finds a comfort that soothes his weary soul, reassuring him that everything will be okay.

“I love you, Frankie,” she gasps, tears in her eyes. “God, you feel amazing.” Jude whispers as he pants in her face, the hot mists from the shower steaming and swirling around them like gossamer ghosts bearing witness to their devout hunger.

“I love you… fuck! Jude, oh fuck, Jude!” Frankie grunts, as he fucks harder and deeper against the tiles of the shower before exploding deep inside of her with a loud, breathy groan as he gives her everything he has.

Finally, they’re home.

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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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal characters #frankie morales x ofc #frankie morales x you #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales angst #triple frontier fic #adrift with you series #jett's writing

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miniversse · 2 months

Text

⭑“race my heart”pt.1⭑

╰┈➤ OTHER PARTS

⭑ lee know x female reader

⭑ synopsis: lee know, your academic rival strikes your path again during a motorbike meet up, and the lines of hatred and love begin to blur. as the engines rev and the wind blows hard, these lines intertwine and you both spill the bottles of emotions you had for eachother.

⭑ content includes: (barely any) drinking, non-idol lee know, non-idol reader, enemies to lovers, readers friend, pet name (sweetheart)

⭑ minors dni

⭑——————————————————⭑

the sound of the roaring engines shook the bones in your body. you regret telling your friend you were into biker guys because here you are, sitting on a stack of tires, watching the cocky guys rev their motorbikes and force clearly uncomfortable girls on rides. “loosen up! here’s a beer” your friend approaches your way…

“yea, thanks” you take a large swig and continue observing the group of guys, hoping to maybe find someone that stood out to you.

“see that guy there? with the blonde hair? what do you think of him” your friend points at a man, grabbing at another girls ass and eyeing you disgustingly.

“girl what the fuck”

she lets out a loud laugh and jumps off the tower of wheels she sat on, dusting her pants and winking at you.

“i’m gonna go talk to him”

“good luck! he can drive your ass home too!” you scoffed at how gullible she was, falling for any guy that met one of her pity demands. in this case, he happened to be blonde and about 6 foot.

you began to get lightheaded and bored, so you walk off from the crowd to enjoy some silence on the dark sandy roads. as you move further, you identify another motorbike and a man squatting infront of it, inspecting something. the lights of the motorbike beamed his whole face, and you stopped dead in your tracks.

“l-lee know?” you were certain it was him, not even bothering to move any closer.

his head slowly moves to face the direction his name called, his eyes still on the motorbike.

“hm?” his eyes now move to face you, and his eyes widen. he gets up from his knees and he stands tall, in all his glory. he wore a tank top and black jeans with a puffy harley davidson jacket, helmet resting on the floor. you could’ve sworn your heart stopped.

lee know was your academic rival. during college you and him would battle head to head, always aiming to achieve perfect grades and grades better than his. the hatred never settled, and you both graduated with pure hatred for eachother. but as you grew older and started stalking his social life, the line between hatred and love blurred, and you began to see him in another light.

“what.. the hell are you doing here?” he exclaims

“my friend brought me over with her, in hopes i find my ‘dream man’ “ you gestured with air quotes.

“good luck, none of the guys would settle for someone who looks like you”

“huh, you haven’t changed in the slightest. i mean, we both graduated with the same grades and you still hate me?”

he turns to face his motorbike again, wiping the hood with his hand

“i didn’t want to hate you y/n and figure things out, but you really are a scumbag and there is no arguing that”

you’re taken aback, remembering all the times he tried sabotaging your exams and putting everything at risk to bring you lower.

“let me remind you of that one time you shoved the answer sheet in my exam papers and failed me.”

you see him grow a grin on his face, and your blood begins to boil.

“you’re just calling me a scumbag because i didn’t put up with your shit like every other person who wanted your sympathy”

“what do you want now, y/n”

you take a long breath, thinking about what you wanted. you wanted him to apologize, to get to know you now, to drive you to his place, to make love with you, to degrade you like he always did. you wanted a lot.

“you can drive me home since none of the guys ‘want me’ ”

“and what makes you think i want you? hm?”

“it’s the least you can do for that exam you made me fail. don’t get me started.”

he seemed to love everytime you mention it, because he grins uncontrollably and it makes you want to slap him across the face.

“fine then, but you’re waiting till i leave”

you let out an audible sigh and go back to where your friend is, or was. it seemed like he really drove her ass home.

you’re eyes got heavy while you laid on the sand, watching the clouds drive on the starry night. everyone had left with their pair, and you were left waiting for lee know to finish whatever he had going on. you would call a cab, but this meet up was in the middle of a desert and no cab was willing to off road at 1 in the morning. you check your phone to see if your friend had left you a message. and sure she had.

MY OTHER HALF- i knew lee know would be there 00:17

MY OTHER HALF- have fun girlfriend ;) 00:17

YOU- kys 01:03

you hear the faint noise of an engine and jolt up, ready to go home and process what happened today. he gets to a stop behind you and you lift yourself up, squinting at the intensity of his bright white lights. you awkwardly approach the back of his motorbike and climb on, resisting to place your hands around his waist.

“i’ve never done this before.”

“we’ll wrap your hands around me, so it doesn’t become your last”

he was always straight forward and rude, since the first day you met him. but he never spoke anything that could be argued, and you surely didn’t want to die in his arms.

you let your arms wrap around his stomach and distance your body from him, trying to keep things mundane till you would reach home.

“hold tight sweetheart”

⭑ TO BE CONTINUED

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master-of-the-railway · 4 months

Text

Imagining that Thomas, Bruno, Percy, and Diesel used to be TERRIFIED of Harold when they were babies because they literally did not leave the yard without an adult (and even then the adults rarely moved them) back then and so they got adjusted to existence and kinda just assumed rolling stock and humans were it, and then suddenly there is something BIG and LOUD and it can FLY and also talk??? They'd all have been terrified at first until Harold was properly introduced to them. After they adjusted to him and decided he wasn't scary anymore, they actually started to get excited when Harold flew by. He'd make stops now and then to meet up with the kids, found it cute how absolutely fascinated they were by him.

#ttte #all engines go #ttte aeg #ttte au #all engines go au #my au #Children of Sodor Au #I say them specifically bc Kana and Nia weren't on Sodor #and Carly was pretty used to seeing random machines come and go because the docks are such a busy place #Sandy...did not exist at this specific time jifdfsfdsiof

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daikenkki · 23 days

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#Thomas and Friends: All Engines Go!#Gordon #Troublesome Trucks #Carly #Sandy #Thomas

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babymetaldoll · 9 months

Text

"Embarrassed" (Spencer Reid x fem!bau reader)

Category: hardcore fluff, friends to lovers. Warnings: Cursing, Spencer being a little asshole, the BAU being nosy as usual. Summary: Spencer embarrassed himself in front of reader, and the annual FBI beach trip could be the perfect place to make things even more awkward between them. Requested: Nop A/N: I wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins Summer Challenge, hope you guys enjoy it. Prompts used: - He has a degree in engineering. How can he be defeated by a sandcastle? - I don't really like the beach... Sandy food, pink skin, limited and unengaging topography, but mostly drug-resistant bacteria spread by seagull feces. - It's like Hotch at the beach- - Next summer we are doing the Alaskan cruise. Masterlist

- “Explain to me again why I have to spend time with you during the weekend when we just spent eleven days working on a case in Oakland?”- Rossi asked as the entire BAU Team walked into a beautiful cabin by the sea, prepared especially for them.

- “Because we have to do the team training, along with all the paperwork it includes. But at least we have a nice view.”- Hotch explained, opening a window, staring at the deep blue ocean in front of them.

- “For once, I’m glad we have to do this stupid program.”- Morgan commented and took off his shirt. - “Sand, sun, and babes, that’s all I need to enjoy my weekend.”

- “We have to get ready for Strauss lecture.”- (Y/N) pointed out and tossed his shirt back- “Please, put this back on. I don’t wanna see your tits around the house.”

Spencer chuckled at those words and Morgan turned to him immediately.

- “What are you laughing about, pretty Ricky? Are there other tits you wanna see around the house?”- Morgan teased his friends, who turned blood red in a minute, coughed, and walked away, to hide in a room, slamming the door behind his back. (Y/N) raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms on her chest.

- “You love making him feel uncomfortable, don’t you?”

- “Come on! We all know he has the hots for you, little Mama. When are you going to do something about it?”

- “He is my friend, with a capital F.”

- “You could be doing the capital F if you stopped being so stubborn.”- Morgan replied and turned around. He knew he had crossed the line and didn’t want to give (Y/N) the chance to smack him for being nosy.

Yes, everybody knew Spencer was in love with (Y/N). It wasn’t really a secret after he blurted it out by accident on a supermarket mic during a case investigation in front of the whole team. The entire incident was way too embarrassing to even recall, and the BAU had pretended it never happened. Everybody except Morgan, of course. He loved teasing Spencer every chance he got. The whole episode had been messy, and though it had been a few weeks already, (Y/N) still didn’t have a chance to talk with Spencer about it, and he kept acting like it never happened. That weekend’s Team Training Program at the beach was the perfect chance to fix things between them.

If only Spencer dared talk to her first.

Around half an hour later, a very unhappy team walked out of their cabin, ready to deal with whichever activities Strauss and headquarters had planned for them. The FBI had rented an entire villa for the weekend, to host their annual team training program. Rossi hated the idea, Spencer hated the beach. Hotch hated the fact he was wasting time he could be spending with Jake. JJ hated missing Henry’s soccer game, Garcia hated having to work out so much, and Prentiss hated the fact she couldn’t just lay on a chair at the beach with a drink and just tan a little.

(Y/N) and Morgan were the only ones excited to be there. Morgan still thought he could get a girl, and (Y/N) just wanted to spend a little time with Spencer, and maybe ask him out on a date. After all, a weekend at the beach was the perfect scenario to finally talk about what happened and maybe do something about it.

- “Beach activities are a great way to bring a team together.”- Strauss announced as she walked in front of at least 50 FBI agents. All of them, BAU included, wore dark blue short sleeve shirts with the FBI logo, and grey shorts. Everybody except Rossi, of course. He stood among them smoking a cigar and wearing his everyday outfit.

- “All the team-building games you are about to go through, were designed to promote communication, cooperation, and creativity. They will help our agents build trust, learn to delegate tasks, and enhance problem-solving skills.”

- “Sounds like a boy scout’s speech”- Rossi whispered to Prentiss and she did her best not to chuckle. But of course, Strauss noticed and immediately raised an eyebrow in disapproval.

- “You’ve all been designated with a number, that’s your team. Please form your teams so we can start the first activity.”

(Y/N) sighed, already annoyed. She understood the idea of having to go through a team seminar to improve one’s relationship with their team, but having to know other agents and talk with strangers… wasn’t really into her plans.

- “Hey….”- Spencer whispered as he stood next to her in the middle of the beach, right next to a bunch of agents neither of them had met before.- “I… I think we are on the… same team.”- Reid managed to say, and continued staring at his feet in the sand.

- “That’s great!!”- (Y/N) replied, maybe a little bit too enthusiastically. - “We haven’t… it’s been… well, we haven’t had the chance to talk much lately.”- she knew why they hadn’t talked. It was weird. Still, neither of them had addressed the pink elephant in the room, he just nodded and didn’t say another word for a few minutes.

- “Did you put on sunscreen?”- she asked and Spencer turned to look at her with wide-opened eyes.

- “Ye... yes, yes, I did. I always do”- he stuttered and started rambling right away- “Did you know daily use of SPF 15 sunscreen can reduce your risk of developing squamous cell carcinoma by about 40 percent? and lower your melanoma risk by 50 percent.”

- “Yes, I try to put on sunscreen daily as well, but I usually forget.”- (Y/N) added ‘cos she needed to make that conversation last at least longer than a minute. It was ridiculous, Spencer not even being able to look her in the eyes only because he had accidentally said he loved her in front of a whole crime scene, Nebraska’s police force, and the whole BAU team. Even Garcia.

- “Anyway”- (Y/N) said when she noticed Spencer wasn’t saying anything - “Are you enjoying the trip?”

He stared at her and licked his lips - nearly giving her a heart attack - as he tried his best to find actual words to reply to that question.

- "I don't really like the beach…”- he finally mumbled- “Sandy food, pink skin, limited and unengaging topography, but mostly drug-resistant bacteria spread by seagull feces.”

- “Oh…”- (Y/N) sounded disappointed, and neither of them said another word. Their new team gathered around them, and the instructions for the first activity were delivered.

The first team training activity was a beach scavenger hunt. Hotch’s team won ‘cos he was the team leader and… well, he is the best leader in the FBI. Spencer and (Y/N) tried their best, but their group was having serious trouble focusing. Apparently, no one wanted to spend the day at the beach working.

The second team training activity was a beach obstacle course. Morgan’s team won, basically ‘cos most of the agents in his team were pure muscle. Spencer was incredibly embarrassed to even do the circuit, ‘cos he felt self-aware of every one of his moments and that everybody was looking at him. And he ended up tripping on his own feet. Just when he thought he couldn’t embarrass himself more, there he was, face into the sand, hearing the entire FBI laughing at him.

Rossi looked at Morgan and shook his head. The kid needed help. But how?

- “Are you ok?” (Y/N) whispered when Spencer reached her side and he just nodded. - “Your ankle, does it hurt?”- she was honestly worried, but he felt so humiliated he wanted to disappear. So he did, he didn’t even answer her question and walked away. Rossi looked at the scene from a distance and headed to (Y/N)’s side in a few minutes.

- “How is the beach treating you, bella?”

- “I’m hating every minute here so far”- she replied and followed Spencer with her eyes until he got lost between all the people. Rossi noticed, he knew what was torturing her and though they hadn’t ever talked about it, it was clear he had to help those kids.

- “Come on, ragazza. You know he is crazy for you. We all do. You just have to tell him how you feel.”

- “I’m trying, Coronel Cannelloni! but he doesn’t even talk to me. The few things he has mumbled today are the only things he has said to me since “the incident,” and I don’t know what to do!”

- “He is embarrassed.”- Rossi pointed out the obvious and completely ignored the nickname (Y/N) had called him. She usually called him different nicknames just for the fun of it.

- “Well I understand that, but if I already know he loves me…”

- “Embarrass yourself now.”- Rossi suggested and the young woman just stared at him in silence. - “I mean it. Meet him in the middle. You already know he loves you, what’s the worst that could happen?”

- “You know, something bad happens every time someone asks that, right?”- Rossi chuckled at those words and shook his head.

- “It can’t get worse than him stuttering every time he sees you.”

- “I’m sure it can.”

Morgan found Spencer standing against a wall, on the other side of the main building of the complex. His eyes were closed as well as his fists, that he kept hitting against the bricks, over and over again.

- “Hey kid.”

- “Please, not now.”- Derek didn’t say another word for a few minutes. He just stood next to his friends and waited for his tantrum to pass.

- “You know Reid, that woman there loves you. Why don’t…”- and at those words, Spencer just snapped and started yelling.

- “She doesn’t! I don’t know if you remember but I had a little incident the other day with a fucking mic in the middle of a supermarket and everybody heard me telling Garcia how in love I am with (Y/N) and she has acted like nothing happened ever since!”

- “Kid”- Morgan frowned and stood in front of Spencer, holding his arms, trying to calm him down and talk some sense into him. - “You’ve been giving her the cold shoulder every time she tries to talk to you. Don’t blame this on her!”

- “Cold shoulder?! Me? To her? When?”- Spencer chuckled sarcastically

- “Dude, a minute ago she was talking to you and you left her alone in the sand.”

Morgan was right, and Spencer knew it, but he wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of saying it. However, Morgan didn’t sugarcoat things either.

- “And let me tell you one more thing, I saw how the guys from National Security in your team were eying her, and you just left her alone with those assholes after being a jerk. It doesn’t look good. How are you gonna fix it, pretty Ricky?”

Spencer opened his mouth, followed by a long awkward silence.

- “Thought so.”- Morgan sighed, and tapped on his friend’s shoulder - “Come on, let’s go back, and try to talk to her like you did before the incident.”

- “Awkwardly and clueless?”- Spencer whispered, and Derek just chuckled.

- “Just be yourself.”

- “That’s lousy advice, I don’t know how to be anyone else.”- Reid frowned and looked at his friend, who was nearly losing his patience.

- “Just don’t be your asshole self.”

The third and last activity of the day was a sandcastle-building contest. And doing his best to overcome his embarrassment and nervousness, Spencer grabbed a plastic shovel and asked (Y/N) if she wanted to help him with a part of their team construction. His hands were nearly shaking as she kneeled next to him on the sand and started working on their team’s design.

- “How did it go with the kid?”- Rossi asked Morgan, as neither of them even tried to pretend to be into the activity.

- “He is in denial. He swears she doesn’t even like him. What did she say?”

- “The kid is ignoring her and she doesn’t know what to do. So I told her to embarrass herself as much as he embarrassed himself.”- Morgan turned to Rossi and raised an eyebrow behind his sunglasses - “What?”

- “Rossi, that's shitty advice. Next time try something like: “Kiss the goddamn fool!” or something like that! I mean, the kid is hopeless and if (Y/N) doesn’t do anything, they are never going to get together.”

- “Give them some credit, Morgan.”- Rossi regretted his words as soon as they left his lips. Spencer was so nervous as he tried to talk with (Y/N) he gesticulated too much and hit part of his castle, causing half of it to crumble down.

- “He has a degree in engineering. How can he be defeated by a sandcastle?”- Rossi whispered and Derek shook his head. The whole scene was embarrassing to watch.

- “And your great advice was “embarrass yourself.” Jesus! I’m gonna have to ask Garcia to hack the system and move them into the same room. This is painful to watch!”

- “Like Hotch at the beach”- Ross pointed out - “He is so sunburned and he keeps getting redder, no matter how much sunscreen he puts on.”

If you asked anyone at the FBI about how the first day of their annual Team Training Program went, they would say it had been a mess. Most agents were sunburned and exhausted after Strauss’ program. Only Morgan and Garcia still felt like going out for dinner and maybe hitting the club, hoping to have some fun that weekend.

Spencer was alone, sitting on the sand in front of the sea. The sun was setting and he just sat there, on his own, doing his best to clear his mind and come up with a plan. But instead, he had nothing but regret. He kept remembering his worst and most embarrassing moments of the day in front of (Y/N) over and over again. It was a bad movie he’d pay not to watch ever again.

- “There you are!” - Prentiss sat next to Spencer and sighed, staring at the scene in front of them.

- “This is beautiful.”- she whispered and Spencer merely nodded. - “Why aren’t you watching this with (Y/N)?”- instead of an answer, Reid just groaned and rested his forehead on his knees, closing his eyes.

- “I’m guessing you didn’t have a chance to talk today.”- Prentiss whispered, knowing very well what had happened. Not like Morgan and Rossi could keep a secret. - “Come on, Reid, you are a fucking genius! Grow a pair and get your shit together”

- “What am I supposed to do? Honestly, ‘cos I’ve tried, but I just… can’t fucking think when she is next to me.”

- “Then don’t think, just act!”- Prentiss nearly smacked Reid as she spoke.- “I don’t think I have to tell you again, she fucking loves you! Do something.”

- “She doesn’t…”- but before Reid could finish that sentence, he felt Emily’s hand against his head, hitting him.

- “Don’t! She loves you! Now stand up, move your skinny ass, and kiss her!”

Reid turned to his friend, still rubbing the spot she had hit, ‘cos it had been incredibly painful.

- “Are you… drunk?”

- “Come on! There is no way I’m surviving sober a weekend with all these agents.”- Prentiss answered and grabbed a tiny gin bottle from her pocket- “Need one?”

- “No, thanks.”

- “Fine… now go! She was having some dinner at our cabin.”

(Y/N) was about to start eating when Spencer got to the cabin. She sat on the terrace with a grilled sandwich and a glass of wine, holding a book. Reid looked at her from the other side of the house and took a deep breath before he continued walking.

- “You’ve got this.”- he whispered to himself - “You can do this.”

- “Hey Spencer!”- (Y/N) watched him approach and smiled so wide he even stopped breathing as he stared at her.

- “You are not doing this.” - he admitted as he sat down on the chair across from (Y/N) and cut her a little smile.

- “Did you eat?”- she asked and offered half her sandwich, but Spencer shook his head and smiled.

- “Thanks, I’m not hungry.”

- “Sure? It’s your favorite. Lots of cheese and zero veggies.”- (Y/N) teased and smiled at Spencer. He blushed and looked at his hands on the table, trying to find the words to finally say what he had to.

But he never found them, instead, they fell into a comfortable silence. (Y/N) finished her sandwich and Spencer read half of her book. The one he had gotten for her a few months earlier. Neither of them said a word, just looked at each other from time to time and smiled awkwardly.

- “So… I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”- (Y/N) finally said as she folded her paper napkin a million times, in a sad and pathetic attempt at making origami.

- “Wh… wha... what about?”- Spencer stuttered immediately. Not a good sign. (Y/N) looked at him and felt bad about how nervous he was. But he had to tell him, he deserved to know.

- “I have to tell you something, but I can’t tell you here. Can you come with me, please?”- the young agent stood up and offered Spencer her hand. He hesitated, not knowing what was happening. But she just smiled and he reached out and held her hand.

(Y/N) drove in silence for a few minutes. They didn’t go too far, Spencer asked a few times where they were going and what was so important that she couldn’t just tell him in the car, but she refused to say a word. Instead, she just smiled and shook her head.

- “Just wait a second.”

Spencer didn’t get it when she parked outside a small supermarket, he just followed her in silence and watched her walk straight to an aisle and then to customer service. Reid didn’t register anything, he just followed her with honest curiosity. Until he saw her grabbing the mic and locking eyes with him.

- “Spencer Walter Reid. I am so fucking in love with you.”- the few people that were shopping at the hour turned to look at her and the young agent simply giggled.

- “Wh… what?”- Spencer stuttered, feeling his red burning red.

- “I love you. I’ve been in love with you for so long.”- (Y/N) kept talking to the mic, until one of the girls in the staff walked up to her and nearly yelled she couldn’t do that. But she (Y/N) didn’t care if she got kicked out of the store. She just cared about Spencer, who kept staring at her in disbelief.

- “Come on dude! Kiss the girl”- some random guy said and slapped his arm, forcing him to react. But before he could do anything, (Y/N) grabbed his face and planted a kiss on his lips. Spencer wide opened his eyes as it happened, and watched her winking as she slipped her tongue between his lips, deepening the kiss.

- “You… do?”- Reid whispered as he gasped for hair when the kiss was over.

- “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you but you kept running away from me.”

- “I was so embarrassed after that happened I…”- but Spencer couldn’t continue speaking, (Y/N) started kissing him again, and some of the customers watching the scene even clapped.

- “What the hell is going on here?”- a sunburned Erin Strauss asked in shock, shoving a small cart with twenty bottles of aloe vera gel, but David Rossi just chuckled and stood next to her, staring at the scene.

- “Let the kids have tonight. You can make their life under the sun miserable tomorrow.”

- “By the way, next Summer, we're doing the Alaskan cruise.”- she added and started walking away- “Agents, tomorrow we’ll have a serious conversation.”- both Spencer and (Y/N) nearly jumped as they heard her voice when she passed by their side, but Rossi just winked at them.

- “Ok, now I’m embarrassed”- (Y/N) whispered and felt Spencer holding her hand. But she didn't really care if Strauss had seen them. It was all worth it when she stared at Spencer’s sweet smile as they walked out of that supermarket.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #mgg #babymetaldoll writes #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #fanfiction

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thewidowsghost · 5 months

Text

The Sky (Annabeth Chase x Jackson!Reader)

After hearing Annabeth gripe about her father for the last two years, (Y/n) had expected him to have devil horns and fangs. She had not expected him to be wearing an old-fashioned aviator’s cap and goggles. He looks so strange, with his eyes bugging out through the glasses, that she, her brother Percy, Thalia, and Zoe take a step back on the back porch.

“Hello,” he says in a friendly voice, “Are you delivering my airplanes?”

Thalia, Zoe, Percy, and (Y/n) look at each other warily.

“Um, no, sir,” Percy says.

“Drat,” he says. “I need three more Sopwith Camels.”

“Right,” (Y/n) says, though she has no idea what he’s talking about. “We’re, uh, friends,” - not exactly - “of Annabeth’s.”

“Annabeth?” he straightens, as if (Y/n) had just given him an electric shock. “Is she all right? Has something happened?”

None of the demigods answer, but their faces must’ve told him that something was very wrong. He takes off his cap and goggles. He has the same sandy-colored hair as Annabeth, and intense brown eyes. He’s handsome, for an older guy, but it looks as though he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, and his shirt is buttoned wrong, so one side of his collar sticks up higher than the other side.

“You’d better come in,” Dr. Chase says grimly.

The Chase’s house smells like fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies and jazz music is coming from the kitchen. It seems like a messy, happy kind of home – the kind of place that someone had lived in forever.

“Dad!” a little boy screams. “He’s taking apart my robots!”

“Bobby,” Dr. Chase calls absently, “don’t take apart your brother’s robots.”

“I’m Bobby,” the little boy protests. “He’s Matthew!”

“Mathew,” Dr. Chase calls, “don’t take apart your brother’s robots.”

“Okay, Dad!”

Dr. Chase turns to us. “We’ll go upstairs to my study. This way.”

“Honey?” a woman calls. Annabeth’s stepmother appears in the living room, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Who are our guests?” she asks.

“Oh,” Dr. Chase says. “This is . . .” He stares blankly at the demigods.

“Frederick,” she chides. “You forgot to ask them their names?”

The demigods introduce themselves a little uneasily, but Mrs. Chase seems nice to (Y/n). She asks if the demigods were hungry, and they admit that they were, and she lets them know she’d bring up some cookies, sandwiches, and sodas.

“Dear,” Dr. Chase says. “They came about Annabeth?”

(Y/n) half expects Mrs. Chase to turn into a raving lunatic at the mention of her stepdaughter, but she just purses her lips and looks concerned. “All right. Go on up to the study, and I’ll bring you some food.” Her gaze rests knowingly on (Y/n), and she smiles at the daughter of Poseidon. “Nice meeting you, (Y/n). I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Upstairs, they walk into Dr. Chase’s study, and a gasp of amazement escapes from (Y/n)’s lips.

The room is wall-to-wall books, but what really catches (Y/n)’s attention are the war models. There is a huge table with miniature tanks and soldiers fighting along a blue painted river, with hills and fake trees and stuff. Old-fashioned biplanes hang on strings from the ceiling, tilted at crazy angles like they were in the middle of a dogfight.

Dr. Chase smiles. "Yes. The Third Battle of Ypres. I'm writing a paper, you see, on the use of Sopwith Camels to strafe enemy lines. I believe they played a much greater role than they've been given credit for."

He plucks a biplane from its string and sweeps it across the battlefield, making airplane engine noises as he knocks down little German soldiers.

(Y/n) smiles slightly, looking up at her girlfriend’s father.

Zoe comes over and studies the battlefield. “The German lines were farther from the river.”

Dr. Chase stares at her. “How do you know that?”

"I was there," she says matter-of-factly. "Artemis wanted to show us how horrible war was, the way mortal men fight each other. And how foolish, too. The battle was a complete waste."

Dr. Chase opens his mouth in shock. “You –”

“She’s a Hunter, sir,” Thalia says. “But that’s not wy we’re here. We need –”

"You saw the Sopwith Camels?" Dr. Chase says. "How many were there? What formations did they fly?"

“Sir,” (Y/n) breaks in this time. “Annabeth, sh-she’s in danger.”

That gets his attention. He sets the biplane down.

“Of course,” he says. “Tell me everything.”

It isn’t easy, but they try. Meanwhile, the afternoon light is fading outside.

The demigods were running out of time.

When they'd finished, Dr. Chase collapses in his leather recliner. He laces his hands. "My poor brave Annabeth. We must hurry."

"Sir, we need transportation to Mount Tamalpais," Zoe says. "And we need it immediately."

"I'll drive you. Hmm. it would be faster to fly in my Camel, but it only seats two."

"Whoa, you have an actual biplane?" Percy asks.

"Down at Crissy Field," Dr. Chase says proudly. "That's the reason I had to move here. My sponsor is a private collector with some of the finest World War I relics in the world. He let me restore the Sopwith Camel—"

Sir," (Y/n) says. "Just a car would be great. And it might be better if we went without you. It's too dangerous."

Dr. Chase frowns uncomfortably. “Now wait a minute, young lady. Annabeth is my daughter. Dangerous or not, I . . . I can’t just –”

"Snacks," Mrs. Chase announces. She pushes through the door with a tray full of peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches and Cokes and cookies fresh out of the oven, the chocolate chips still gooey. Thalia and Percy inhale a few cookies while Zoe says, "I can drive, sir. I'm not as young as I look. I promise not to destroy your car."

Mrs. Chase knits her eyebrows. "What's this about?"

“Annabeth is in danger,” Dr. Chase says. “On Mount Tam. I would drive them . . . but apparently it’s no place for mortals.”

It sounds to (Y/n) like it was really hard for him to get that last part out.

(Y/n) waits for Mrs. Chase to say no, but to her surprise, Mrs. Chase just nods. “Then they’d better get going.”

“Right!” Dr. Chase jumps and starts patting his pockets. “My keys . . .”

His wife sighs. "Frederick, honestly. You'd lose your head if it weren't wrapped inside your aviator hat. The keys are hanging on the peg by the front door."

“Right!” Dr. Chase says.

Zoe and (Y/n) each grab a sandwich. “Thank you both,” Zoe says. “We should go. Now!”

The four hustle out the door and down the stairs, the Chases right behind them.

“(Y/n)” Mrs. Chase calls as they’re leaving, “tell Annabeth . . . tell her she still has a home here, will you? Remind her of that.”

(Y/n) takes one last look at the messy living room - Annabeth’s half brothers spilling LEGOs and arguing, and the smell of cookies filling the air. Not a bad place, she thinks.

“I’ll tell her,” (Y/n) replies, smiling slightly at her girlfriend’s stepmother.

They run out to the yellow Volkswagen convertible parked in the driveway. The sun is going down, and (Y/n) figures they have less than an hour to save Annabeth.

. . .

At the top of the mountain are ruins, blocks of black granite and marble as big as houses. Broken columns. Statues of bronze that look as though they’d been half melted.

“The ruins of Mount Othrys,” Thalia whispers in awe.

“Yes,” Zoe says. “It was not here before. This is bad.”

“What’s Mount Othrys?” Percy asks, feeling like a fool as usual.

“The mountain fortress of the Titans,” Zoe explains. “In the first war, Olympus and Othrys were the two rival capitals of the world. Othrys was –” she winces and holds her side.

“You’re hurt,” (Y/n) says, ignoring her own possibly cracked ribs. “Let me see.”

“No!” Zoe protests. “It is nothing. I was saying... in the first war, Othrys was blasted to pieces.”

“But . . . how is it here?”

Thalia looks around cautiously as they pick their way through the rubble, past blocks of marble and broken archways. "It moves in the same way that Olympus moves. It always exists on the edges of civilization. But the fact that it is here, on this mountain, is not good."

“Why?”

"This is Atlas's mountain," Zoe says. "Where he hold s—" She freezes. Her voice is ragged with despair. "Where he used to hold up the sky."

They had reached the summit of the mountain. A few yards ahead of them, gray clouds swirl in a heavy vortex, making a funnel cloud that almost touches the mountaintop, but instead rests on the shoulders of a twelve-year-old girl with auburn hair and a tattered silvery dress: Artemis, her legs bound to the rock with celestial bronze dreams. This is what (Y/n) had seen in her dream - though it hadn't been a cavern roof that Artemis was forced to hold.

It was the weight of the world.

"My lady!" Zoe rushes forward.

But Artemis says, "Stop! It is a trap. You must leave now." Her voice is strained, and she is drenched in sweat. (Y/n) had never seen a goddess in pain before, but the weight of the sky is clearly too much for Artemis.

Zoe is crying. She runs forward, despite Artemis’s protests, and tugs at the chains.

A booming voice speaks behind them: “Ah, how touching.”

They turn.

The General is staging there in his brown suit. At his side are Luke - and half a dozen dracaenae bearing the weight of the golden sarcophagus of Kronos.

Annabeth stands at Luke’s side - her hands cuffed behind her back, a gag in her mouth, and Luke is holding the point of his sword to her throat.

(Y/n) meets her girlfriend’s gaze, her sword, Tsunami, still in pen form in her hand, a thousand questions running through her head. There is one message Annabeth is sending her, however: RUN!

(Y/n)’s face hardens. “Luke,” (Y/n) snarls. “Let her go.”

Luke’s smile is pale and weak. “That is the General’s decision, (Y/n). But it’s good to see you again.”

(Y/n) spats at him.

The general chuckles. “So much for old friends. And you, Zoe. it’s been a long time. How’s my little traitor? I will enjoy killing you.”

“Do not respond,” Artemis groans. “Do not challenge him.”

“Wait a second,” Percy says. “You’re Atlas?”

The General glances at him. "So, even the stupidest of heroes can finally figure something out. Yes, I am Atlas, the general of the Titans and terror of the gods. Congratulations. I will kill you presently, as soon as I deal with this wretched girl."

“You’re not going to hurt anyone,” Percy says, and (Y/n) grunts her agreement. “We won’t let you.”

The General sneers. “You have no right to interfere, little heroes. This is a family matter.”

Percy frowns. “A family matter?”

“Yes,” Zoe says bleakly. “Atlas is my father.”

The terrible thing is: (Y/n) can see the resemblance. Atlas has the same regal expression as Zoe, the same cold proud look in his eyes that Zoe sometimes got when she was mad, though on him, it looks a thousand times more evil. The Titan was all the things (Y/n) had originally disliked about Zoe, with none of the good she’d come to appreciate in her friend.

"Let Artemis go," Zoe demands.

Atlas walks closer to the chained goddess. "Perhaps you'd like to take the sky for her, then? Be my guest."

Zoe opens her mouth to speak, but Artemis says, "No! Do not offer, Zoe! I forbid you."

Atlas smirks. He kneels next to Artemis and tries to touch her face, but the goddess bites at him, almost taking off his fingers.

"Hoo-hoo," Atlas chuckles. "You see, daughter? Lady Artemis likes her new job. I think I will have all the Olympians take turns carrying my burden, once Lord Kronos rules again, and this is the center of our palace. It will teach those weaklings some humility."

(Y/n) looks at Annabeth. She is desperately trying to tell (Y/n) something. She motions her head towards Luke. But all (Y/n) can do is stare at her. (Y/n) hadn't noticed before, but something about her had changed. Her beautiful blond hair was now streaked with gray - but that didn’t make Annabeth look less beautiful in (Y/n)’s eyes.

"From holding the sky," Thalia mutters, as if she'd (Y/n)’s mind. "The weight should've killed her."

"I don't understand," Percy says. "Why can't Artemis just let go of the sky?"

Atlas laughs. "How little you understand, young one. This is the point where the sky and the earth first met, where Ouranos and Gaia first brought forth their mighty children, the Titans. The sky still yearns to embrace the earth. Someone must hold it at bay, or else it would crush down upon this place, instantly flattening the mountain and everything within a hundred leagues. Once you have taken the burden, there is no escape." Atlas smiles. "Unless someone else takes it from you." He approaches the group, studying Thalia, (Y/n), and Percy. "So these are the best heroes of the age, eh? Not much of a challenge."

"Fight us," (Y/n) spits. "And let's see."

"Have the gods taught you nothing? An immortal does not fight a mere mortal directly. It is beneath our dignity. I will have Luke crush you instead."

"So you're another coward," (Y/n) snickers.

Atlas's eyes glow with hatred. With difficulty, he turns his attention to Thalia. "As for you, daughter of Zeus, it seems Luke was wrong about you."

"I wasn't wrong," Luke managed. He looked terribly weak, and he spoke every word as if it were painful. If (Y/n) didn't hate his guts so much, she almost would've felt sorry for him. "Thalia, you still can join us. Call the Ophiotaurus. It will come to you. Look!"

He waves his hand, and next to us a pool of water appears: a pond ringed in black marble, big enough for the Ophiotaurus. Percy can imagine Bessie in that pool. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more he was sure he could hear Bessie mooing.

Don't think about him! Suddenly Grover's voice is inside my mind—the empathy link. Percy could feel his emotions. He is on the verge of panic. I'm losing Bessie. Block the thoughts!

Percy tries to make his mind go blank. He tries to think about basketball players, skateboards, and the different kinds of candy in my mom's shop. Anything but Bessie.

"Thalia, call the Ophiotaurus," Luke persists. "And you will be more powerful than the gods."

"Luke . . ." Her voice is full of pain. "What happened to you?"

"Don't you remember all those times we talked? All those times we cursed the gods?

Our fathers have done nothing for us. They have no right to rule the world!"

Thalia shakes her head. "Free Annabeth. Let her go."

"If you join me," Luke promises, "it can be like old times. The three of us together. Fighting for a better world. Please, Thalia, if you don't agree . . ."His voice falters. "It's my last chance. He will use the other way if you don't agree. Please."

(Y/n) doesn’t know what he means, but the fear in his voice sounds real enough. She could believe that Luke was in danger.

His life depends on Thalia's joining his cause. And (Y/n) is afraid Thalia might believe it, too.

"Do not, Thalia," Zoe warns. "We must fight them."

Luke waves his hand again, and a fire appears. A bronze brazier, just like the one at

camp. A sacrificial flame.

"Thalia," (Y/n) mutters. "No."

Behind Luke, the golden sarcophagus begins to glow. As it did, (Y/n) sees images in the mist

all around us: black marble walls rising, the ruins becoming whole, a terrible and beautiful

palace rising around them, made of fear and shadow.

"We will raise Mount Othrys right here," Luke promises, in a voice so strained it is hardly his. "Once more, it will be stronger and greater than Olympus. Look, Thalia. We are not weak."

He points toward the ocean, and (Y/n)’s heart falls. Marching up the side of the mountain, from the beach where the Princess Andromeda was docked, is a great army. Dracaenae and

Laestrygonians, monsters and half-bloods, hellhounds, harpies, and other things (Y/n) can’t even name. The whole ship must've been emptied, because there are hundreds, many more than (Y/n) had seen on board last summer. And they are marching toward the mountain. In a few minutes, they would be there.

"This is only a taste of what is to come," Luke says "Soon we will be ready to storm Camp Half-Blood. And after that, Olympus itself. All we need is your help."

For a terrible moment, Thalia hesitates. She gazes at Luke, her eyes full of pain, as if the only thing she wants in the world is to believe him. Then she levels her spear. "You aren't Luke. I don't know you anymore."

"Yes, you do, Thalia," he pleads. "Please. Don't make me . . . Don't make him destroy you."

There is no time. If that army gets to the top of the hill, we would be overwhelmed. (Y/n) meets her girlfriend’s eyes again. Annabeth nods.

(Y/n) looks at Percy, Thalia, and Zoe, and she decides it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to die fighting with friends like this.

"Now," (Y/n) says, and together, they charge.

Thalia goes straight for Luke. The power of her shield is so great that his dragon- women bodyguards flee in a panic, dropping the golden coffin and leaving him alone. But despite his sickly appearance, Luke is still quick with his sword. He snarls like a wild animal and counterattacks. When his sword, Backbiter, met Thalia's shield, a ball of lightning erupted between them, frying the air with yellow tendrils of power.

As for (Y/n), she does the stupidest thing in her life - which is saying a lot. She attacks the Titan Lord Atlas.

He laughs as (Y/n) approaches, her sword Tsunami springing to life in her hands. A massive javelin appears in Atlas’s hands and his silk suit melts into full Greek battle armor. “Go on, then!”

“(Y/n)!” Zoe calls. “Beware!”

(Y/n) knows what Zoe is warning her about. Chiron had told her a long time ago: Immortals are constrained by ancient rules. But a hero can go anywhere, challenge anyone, as long as she has the nerve. Once (Y/n) attacked, however, Atlas would be free to attack back directly with all his might.

(Y/n) swings her sword, but Atlas knocks her aside with the shaft of his javelin. (Y/n) flies through the air, and slams into a black wall. It isn’t Mist anymore. The palace is rising, brick by brick. It’s becoming real.

“Fool!” Atlas screams gleefully, swatting aside one of Zoe’s arrows. “Did you think, simply because you could challenge that petty war god, that you could stand up to me?”

The mention of Ares sets a jolt through (Y/n), and, ignoring her throbbing ribs, she shakes off her daze and charges again.

The javelin’s point slashes towards (Y/n) like a scythe. She raises Tsunami, planning to cut off the Titan’s weapon at the shaft, but her arm feels like lead. Suddenly, the sword weighs a ton.

And then (Y/n) remembers Ares's warning, spoken on the beach in Los Angeles so long ago:

When you need it most, your sword will fail you.

Not now! (Y/n) pleads. But it is no good. She tries to dodge, but the javelin catches her in the chest and sends (Y/n) flying like a rag doll. (Y/n) slams into the ground, her head spinning. (Y/n) looks up and finds herself at the feet of Artemis, still straining under the weight of the sky.

“Run, girl,” she tells (Y/n). “You must run!”

Atlas is taking his time coming towards (Y/n). My sword is gone. It had skittered away over the edge of the cliff. It might reappear in her pocket—maybe in a few seconds—but it doesn’t matter. (Y/n) would be dead by then. Luke and Thalia are fighting like demons, lightning crackling around them. Percy is fighting the dracaenae, and Annabeth is on the ground, desperately struggling to free her hands.

“Die, little hero!” Atlas says. He raises his javelin to impale (Y/n).

“No!” Zoe yells, and volley of silver arrows sprout from the armpit chink in Atlas’s armor.

“ARGH!” he bellows and turns back towards his daughter.

(Y/n) reaches down and feels Tsunami back in her pocket. She couldn’t fight Atlas, even with a sword. And then a chill goes down her back. She remembers the words of the prophecy: The Titan’s curse must one withstand. (Y/n) couldn’t hope to beat Atlas, but there is someone who might stand a chance.

“The sky,” (Y/n) tells the goddess. “Give it to me.”

"No, girl," Artemis says. Her forehead is beaded with metallic sweat, like quicksilver. "You don't know what you're asking. It will crush you!"

"Annabeth took it!"

"She barely survived. She had the spirit of a true huntress. You will not last so long."

"I'll die anyway," (Y/n) replies. "Give me the weight of the sky!"

(Y/n) doesn’t wait for her answer. She takes out Tsunami and slashes through her chains. Then she steps next to her and braces herself on one knee—holding up her hands—and touches the cold, heavy clouds. For a moment, Artemis and (Y/n) bare the weight together. It was the heaviest thing she'd ever felt, as if (Y/n) was being crushed under a thousand trucks. She wanted to black out from the pain, but (Y/n) breathes deeply. I can do this.

Then Artemis slips out from under the burden, and (Y/n) holds it alone.

Every muscle in (Y/n)’s body turns to fire. Her bones feel like they’re melting. She wants to scream, but she doesn’t have the strength to open her mouth. She begins to sink, lower and lower to the ground, the sky’s weight crushing her.

(Y/n) concentrates on breathing. (Y/n) thinks about Bianca, who’d given her life so they could get to this moment. If she could do that, then (Y/n) could hold the sky.

(Y/n)’s vision turns fuzzy. Everything is tinged with red. She catches glimpses of the battle, but she isn’t sure if she is seeing anything clearly. There is Atlas in full battle armor, jabbing with his javelin, laughing insanely as he fights. And Artemis, a blur of silver. She has two wicked hunting knives, each as long as her arm, and she slashes wildly at the Titan, dodging and leaping with unbelievable grace. She seems to change form as she maneuvers. She is a tiger, a gazelle, a bear, a falcon. Or perhaps that was just (Y/n)’s fevered brain. Zoe shoots arrows at her father, aiming for the chinks in his armor. He roars in pain each time one finds its mark, but they affect him like bee stings. He just gets madder and keeps fighting.

Thalia and Luke go spear on sword, lighting still flashing around them. Thalia presses Luke back with the aura of her shield. Even he is not immune to it. He retreats, wincing and growing in frustration.

"Yield!" Thalia yells. "You never could beat me, Luke."

He bares his teeth. "Well see, my old friend."

Sweat pours down (Y/n)’s face. Her hands are slippery. Her shoulders would've screamed with agony if they could. (Y/n) feels like the vertebrae in her spine are being welded together by a blowtorch.

In her daze, (Y/n) can’t place Percy’s or Annabeth’s positions. She watches, however, as Artemis advances. The goddess was fast, but the Titan’s strength is impossible. His javelin slammed into the earth where Artemis had been a split second before, and a fissure opens in the rocks. He leaps over it and keeps pursuing her. The goddess was leading him back towards (Y/n).

Get ready, the goddess speaks in her mind.

(Y/n) is loosing the abulity to think through the pain in her ribs. Her responce is somthing like agggghh-owwwww.

“You fight well for a girl,” Atlas laughs. “But you are no match for me.”

He feints with teh tip of his javelin and Artemis dodges. (Y/n) sees the trick coming. Atlas’s javelin sweeps around and knocks Artemis’s legs off the ground. She falls, and Atlas brings up his javelin tip for the kill.

"No!" Zoe screams. She leaps between her father and Artemis and shoots an arrow straight into the Titan's forehead, where it lodges like a unicorn's horn. Atlas bellows in rage. He sweeps aside his daughter with the back of his hand, sending her flying into the black rocks.

(Y/n) wasnts to shout her name, or run to her friend’s aid, but she can’t speak or move. She couldn’t even see where Zoe had landed. Then Atlas turns on Artemis with a look of triumph in his face. Artemis seems to be wounded. And she doesn’t get up.

"The first blood in a new war," Atlas gloats. And he stabs downward.

As fast as thought, Artemis grabs his javelin shaft. It hits the earth right next to her and she pulls backward, using the javelin like a lever, kicking the Titan Lord and sending him flying over her, (Y/n) sees him coming down on top of her and she realizes what would happen. (Y/n) loosened her hold on the sky, and as Atlas slams into her, she doesn’t try to hold on. (Y/n) lets herself be pushed out of the way and she rolls.

The weight of the sky drops onto Atlas’s back, almost smashing him flat until he manages to get to his kness, strugging to get out from under the crushing weight of the sky. But it is too late.

"Noooooo!" He bellows so hard it shakes the mountain. "Not again!"

Atlas is trapped under his old burden. (Y/n) tried to stand and fell back again, dazed from pain. Her body feels like it was burning up.

Thalia backs Luke to the edge of a cliff, but still they fought on, next to the golden coffin. Thalia has tears in her eyes. Luke has a bloody slash across his chest and his pale face glistened with sweat.

He lunges at Thalia and she slams him with her shield. Luke's sword spins out of his

hands and clatters to the rocks. Thalia puts her spear point to his throat.

For a moment, there is silence.

“Well?” Luke asks. He tries to hide it, but (Y/n) can hear the fear in his voice.

Thalia trembles with fury.

Behind her, Annabeth comes scrambling, finally free from her bonds. Her face is bruised and streaked with dirt. "Don't kill him!"

"He's a traitor," Thalia says. "A traitor!"

In her daze, (Y/n) realizes that Artemis is no longer with her, and Percy had taken the goddess’s place at her side. The goddess had run off toward theblack rocks where Zoe had fallen.

"We'll bring Luke back," Annabeth pleads. "To Olympus. He . . . he'll be useful."

"Is that what you want, Thalia?" Luke sneers. "To go back to Olympus in triumph? To please your dad?"

Thalia hesitats, and Luke makes a desperate grab for her spear.

"No!" Annabeth shouts. But without thinking, Thalia kicks Luke away. He looses his balance, terror on his face, and then he falls.

"Luke!" Annabeth screams.

Percy helps (Y/n) as they rush to the cliff’s edge. Below them, the army from the Princess Andromeda had stopped in amazement. They are staring at Luke’s broken from from teh rocks. Despite how much (Y/n) hated him, she couldn’t stand to see it. She wants to belive the son of Hermes is still alive, but that is impossible. The fall is at least fifty feet, and he isn’t moving.

One of the giants looks up and growls, "Kill them!"

Thalia is stiff with grief, tears streaming down her cheeks. (Y/n) pulls her back as a wave of javelins sail over their heads. They run for the rocks, ignoring the curses and threats of Atlas as they pass.

"Artemis!" Percy yells.

The goddess looks up, her face almost as grief-stricken as Thalia's. Zoe lies in the goddess's arms. She is breathing. Her eyes are open. But still . . .

"The wound is poisoned," Artemis says.

"Atlas poisoned her?" Percy asks.

"No," the goddess says. "Not Atlas."

Artemis shows them the wound in Zoe’s side. (Y/n) had almost forgotten her scrape with Ladon the dragon. The bite is so much worse than Zoe had let on. (Y/n) can barely look at the wound. Zoe had charged into battle against her father with a horrible cut already sapping her strengh.

(Y/n) feels a hand lacing through her’s. She glances over to find Annabeth standing beside her.

“The stars,” Zoe murmurs. “I cannot see them.”

“Nectar and ambrosia,” Percy says. “Come one. We have to get her some.”

No one moves. Grief hangs in the air. Even Artemis is too shocked to stir. The demigods may have met their doom right there, but then (Y/n) hears a strang buzzing noise.

Just as the army of monsters come over the hill, a Sopwith Camel swoops down out of the sky.

“Get away from my daugther!” Dr. Chase calls down, and his machine guns burst to life, peppering the groud with bullet holes and startling the whole group of monsters into scattering.

“Dad?” yells Annabeth in disbelief.

“Run!” he calls back, his voice growing fainter as the biplane swoops by.

This shakes Artemis out of her grief. She stares up at teh antique plane, which is now coming back for another strafe.

"A brave man," Artemis says with grudging approval. "Come, We must get Zoe away from here." She raises her hunting horn to her lips, and its clear sound echoes down the valleys of Marin. Zoe's eyes are fluttering.

"Hang in there!" Percy tells her. "It'll be all right!"

The Sopwith Camel swoops down again. A few giants threw javelins, and one flew straight between the wings of the plane, but the machine guns blazed. I realized with amazement that somehow Dr. Chase must've gotten hold of celestial bronze to fashion his bullets. The first row of snake women wailed as the machine gun's volley blew them into sulfurous yellow powder.

"That's . . . my dad!" Annabeth says in amazement.

They don’t have time to admire his flying. The giants and snake women are already recovering from their surprise. Dr. Chase would be in trouble soon.

Just then, the moonlight brights, and a silver chariot appears from the sky, drawn by the most beautiful deer (Y/n) had ever seen. It lands right next to them.

"Get in," Artemis says.

Annabeth helps (Y/n) get Thalia on board, and Percy helps Artemis with Zoe. They wrap

Zoe in a blanket as Artemis pulls the reins and the chariot sped away from the mountain,

straight into the air.

"Like Santa Claus's sleigh," (Y/n) murmurs, still dazed with pain.

Artemis takes time to look back at her. "Indeed, young half-blood. And where do you think that legend came from?"

Seeing them safely away, Dr. Chase turns his biplane and follows like an honor guard. It must have been one of the strangest sights ever, even for the Bay Area: a silver flying chariot pulled by deer, escorted by a Sopwith Camel.

Behind them, the army of Kronos roars in anger as they gather on the summit of Mount Tamalpais, but the loudest sound is the voice of Atlas, bellowing curses against the gods as he struggles under the weight of the sky.

. . .

Annabeth and (Y/n) fly along side by side on the back of the pegasai.

“Your dad seems cool,” (Y/n) tells Annabeth.

It was too dark to see her girlfriend’s expression. She looks back, though California is far behind them now.

“I guess so,” Annabeth replies. “We’ve been arguing for so many years.”

“Mhmm,” (Y/n) hums. “You mentioned that.”

“You think I was lying about that?” It sounds like a challenge to (Y/n), but a pretty half-hearted one, like she is asking it of herself.

"I didn't say you were lying. It's just . . . he seems okay. Your stepmom, too. Maybe they've, uh, gotten cooler since you saw them last."

She hesitates. "They're still in San Francisco, Percy. I can't live so far from camp."

(Y/n) doesn’t want to ask her next question. She is scared to know the answer. But I asks it anyway. "So what are you going to do now?"

They fly over a town, an island of lights in the middle of the dark. It whisks by so fast they might've been in an airplane.

"I don't know," she admits. "But thank you for rescuing me."

"Hey, you’re my girlfriend. I would go through Tartarus to rescue you."

"You didn't believe I was dead?"

"Never."

She hesitates. "Neither is Luke, you know. I mean . . . he isn't dead."

(Y/n) stares at her. She doesn’t know if Annabeth is cracking under the stress or what. "Annabeth, that fall was pretty bad. There's no way —"

"He isn't dead," she insistas. "I know it. The same way you knew about me."

Word Count: 5630 Words

#annabeth chase x reader #annabeth chase x jackson reader #annabeth chase x female reader #annabeth chase x fem reader #percy jackson x sister reader

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