#Brown Bramble | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

morallyinept · 30 days

Text

Adrift With You - A Frankie Morales Series - Chapter 12

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: 6.8k

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: Frankie and Jude continue life on the island and are met with an unexpected devastation. Mentions of smut & injury. There is mention of a miscarriage in this chapter. It's not massively detailed, but is emotional. I'll highlight a trigger warning in case you'd like to skip over the parts where it's mentioned. Please protect your peace if you need to. 🖤

Some external, helpful links if you need them: UK | USA

Enjoy! 🖤

Chapter 11

She finds Frankie standing on the beach with his hand shielding his eyes under the visor of his cap, staring upwards.

“¿Qué estás mirando?” (What are you looking at?) Jude asks him in Spanish, and he looks down at her and smiles approvingly.

“Tu español está mejorando mucho." (Your Spanish is coming along quite well.)

“Well, I have a good teacher,” Jude smiles, running her hand inside his and nuzzling into his arm.

She inhales the scent of him - a scent uniquely his own, born from days spent under the scorching sun and nights beneath the star-studded sky. It’s an earthy, almost primal aroma, mingled with the subtle undertones of sweat and the salty tang of the ocean.

“Up there. There are some berries up on the ridge. I think I can get to ��em.” He points to the ridge and under the ledge there are some wiry brambles with clusters of dark berries swaying in the breeze.

“No, Frankie. That’s fucking suicide, what if you slip?” Jude says with a frown and trying not to focus on her stomach rumbling heavily in the process.

“I won’t. I need you to help me.” He smiles as he starts walking up the hill and she follows behind him trying to protest.

“A few fucking berries, that could turn out to be poisonous by the way, isn’t worth risking your life.” Her argument has a solid point, but equally she isn't throwing her weight into it to try and stop him. She simply hasn’t the energy to fight him on this.

She doesn’t have the energy for anything anymore.

She tries to push the discomfort to the back of her mind, focusing instead on the task at hand, anything to distract herself from the empty feeling in her belly. A dull ache settles in the pit of her stomach, growing more pronounced with each passing moment. It’s a hollow, biting sensation, like a relentless tide that threatens to consume her from within.

She can almost feel her body pleading for sustenance, craving the nourishment that seems perpetually out of reach. With a resigned sigh, Jude wraps her arms around herself, as if trying to ward off the hunger pains that seem to grip her with increasing intensity and follows behind him.

“And if they aren’t, then it’s worth the risk.” Frankie turns, walking backwards up the steep hill and grins down at her.

His hair has become longer, shaggier; sticking out in long, floppy curls under his cap, tousled by the salty breeze and the relentless sun. Strands of chestnut brown cascade down past his ears, framing his weather-beaten face in a wild, untamed mane.

Jude shakes her head and tries not to smile back at the crazy idiot. She knows he’s right; it is worth it to see, but doesn’t mean she has to agree with his stupid-ass plan.

“If you fall I’m gonna be so pissed.” She mutters with a tiny, renegade smirk escaping from the corner of her mouth as she puffs up the steep hill.

Up on the ridge, Frankie kicks off his worn flip-flops and crouches down on the ledge, leaning forward on his hands and knees and peering over the edge.

It isn’t a vastly high drop, but still high enough that if he did fall onto the rocks below; he’d suffer a bad injury - a broken bone or two at the very least. And if he does hit his head? Well... he tries not to think about it.

He casts his eyes directly under the ledge and can see various rocks and anchor points jutting out of it to which he can steady himself on. Yeah, he can do this. Vamos, hijo de puta. (Let’s go, motherfucker.)

“Okay. I’m gonna lower myself down and hang onto the ledge. I need you here in case I lose my grip. You can pull me back up, alright?” Frankie explains to her, turning around on his hands and knees and shuffling backwards until he feels his feet hanging freely over it. The breeze whips between his toes.

“You say it as if it’s easy to pull a six foot-odd man back up again.” Jude sighs, kneeling down and following close to him; her face almost right in his as he inches backwards further.

“It is easy.” He smirks. “Besides, I’m five-eleven.” He stops and steals a quick kiss; his head protruding out of his neck like a turtle from its shell.

Before he can back away, Jude pulls his face back and kisses him harder.

“I’ll be okay, I promise.” He assures her through a gaspy moan.

"Yeah. I've got you." Jude confirms.

Frankie tucks stands of renegade curls away under his cap so he can see better, and shuffles further and lowers himself down off the ledge slowly. He’s holding himself up with both his arms on the ledge supporting his body weight.

“Whoa, look at those big balls you got there,” Jude remarks with an animated face holding wide eyes at his confidence. She’s poised with her hands around his right arm, ready to grab a tight hold on to him if he says.

“They saved my life in a car crash once,” he grins sardonically up at her, squinting in the sunlight, as he steadies himself on the ridge ledge; his legs swinging below him like a pendulum to try and balance on anything he can reach with his toes.

He feels a protrusion from the ledge and rests the ball of his foot on it, curling his toes around to get a good grip.

“Did you have to do this kind of aerobatics in the Army?” She asks.

“Not quite.” He grins. He can see the bramble tossing about as the wind toys with it; those berries looking purple and juicy up this close to them. “I think I can reach it.”

“Please be fucking careful!” Jude warns, holding all the tension in her gut as she sees him reach out to the brambles with his left arm, seeming like it goes on forever like Stretch Armstrong.

“I got it.” Frankie confirms, and the weakening muscle in his arm that’s still on the ledge flexes as his fingers dig into the ground to steady himself from slipping.

Jude places her hand under his armpit and pulls as he hoists himself upwards onto the ledge scuttling forward.

He wipes his knees down from the dust and pebbles that coated them and holds the branch out to her.

“Do you think they’re edible?” She asks, peering at the berries curiously.

“Only one way to find out.” Frankie pulls a few of the purple berries off the branch and hands them to her before taking some for himself.

“The worst outcome is that we’ll get the shits and then die,” he smirks as he pops a couple in his mouth without hesitating or thinking too much about it.

“Meh. Just another day in paradise,” Jude muses, chewing as the berries explode; their tangy juice coating the inside her mouth.

They strip the bramble of all the berries in a mere few minutes and Frankie tosses it over the ledge again as they make their way down the hill back towards the beach.

Luckily, they didn’t get the shits or die. But equally the berries were not enough to keep their hunger at bay for very long.

TRIGGER WARNING

A week or so later, Frankie wakes up to find that Jude isn’t in the bed with him.

A little screech alerts him to Egon’s presence, who has since braved the courage to actually venture fully into the shack, and occasionally shit all over it too, much to Frankie’s annoyance.

It’s kinda cute though when the monkey allows Jude to pet him and even climbs on her shoulder as she walks across the beach before he’ll jump off and scarper away to wherever it is he hides on the island.

Frankie sits up, feeling the room turn on a slant and shakes his head waiting for the dizzy spell to subside. Closing his eyes, Frankie takes slow, deep breaths, willing the dizziness to pass. He can hear the distant crash of waves and the rustle of trees on the breeze, but they seem to come from a far-off place, disconnected from his spinning reality.

After a few moments, the sensation begins to subside, leaving him feeling drained and exhausted. Opening his eyes, he blinks away the lingering disorientation, trying to shake off the remnants of the dizzy spell that has momentarily overwhelmed him.

There are many dizzy spells as of late.

Egon screeches again, like his own personal alarm clock that seems unrelenting, and Frankie gives him the finger lazily.

“I’m up, buddy.” He groans, and Egon just stares at him with eyes round and bulbous.

Frankie calls out to Jude through a yawn, but isn’t met with a response; his eyes instead are drawn to the t-shirt discarded on the floor that has a red stain on it.

He can feel his heartbeat accelerate inside his chest as he swings his legs out of the cushion bed and dashes out the shack.

“Jude?” He calls out her name again and heads forward in large, panicked strides across the sand. He spots her down by the water’s edge.

Frankie rushes over to her and finds her clutching her stomach; blood trickling on the sand underneath her.

“Hey, hey...” He soothes, pulling her close noticing she’s crying hysterically. “Hey, what happened? Are you okay?” Frankie asks, stroking her back and noting how much blood is glistening up at him like scattered rubies over the sand.

“I-I think I lost it...” Jude snivels through incoherent sobs and wails.

He looks at her with widening eyes. “Lost what?” Her eyes bore into him and it drops. “Shit, you were pregnant?”

Jude shakes her head, “I-I didn’t know... I haven’t had a period for a-a long time now; I-I thought it would be okay. I’m so sorry.” She sobs.

“Come here,” Frankie pulls her back into his chest cradling her. “Sssh. Está bien, hermosa. Estás bien. You haven’t done anything wrong, okay?” (It’s okay, beautiful. You’re okay.)

She cries harder into his shoulder; crying in pain, exhaustion and disbelief that she was even carrying life inside her to even begin with. Her periods had stopped months ago, the drastic weight loss being the culprit no doubt, and despite their sex being unprotected - I mean it’s not as if you can just nip to the island pharmacy for some protection, right? - she’d been lucky that they hadn’t had a mishap prior to this.

Neither of them had really considered it; a slight invincibility when they lost themselves inside their passion, which only now birthed a terrible consequence to their recklessness.

The harrowing sound of her wails is all he can hear, echoing around him as though it’s being blasted out of the sky onto his head to crush him. He’s winded, frozen temporarily as the sudden dawning on what has happened, comes out of nowhere unforeseen, and yet is devastating nonetheless.

As the waves crashed gently against the shore during the night, a sense of unease had settled over Jude, an inexplicable feeling of discomfort that seemed to gnaw at her from within. At first, she brushed it off as nothing more than the natural anxieties that came with their precarious situation on the island. More hunger pains, perhaps?

But as the hours passed, the sensation grew stronger, a persistent whisper of dread that refused to be ignored. Her hand instinctively drifted to her stomach as the cramps twisted and burned. With a sinking heart, Jude realised what was happening.

Tears welled in her eyes as the truth sank in - a truth too painful to acknowledge, too devastating to comprehend. In that moment, time seemed to stand still as Jude grappled with the enormity of the loss.

The grief was a physical weight, pressing down on her chest, making it difficult to breathe. Quietly leaving the shack so as not to wake or worry Frankie, she sank to her knees, the sand cool and gritty beneath her fingers, as she surrendered to the overwhelming tide of emotion that consumed her.

Through the haze of tears, she felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her, offering comfort and solace in the face of their shared sorrow.

And as Frankie holds her close now, murmuring words of reassurance, Jude clings to him with all her strength, drawing strength from his presence in their darkest hour.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, c’mon. I got you, hermosa.” Frankie soothes standing, his voice cracking.

He scoops her up in his arms, carrying her as she clings onto him, and wades into the sea with her until the water covers them both. He swirls it around over and in between her thighs, gently washing away the blood with his hands and kissing her forehead continually as she silently sobs and hiccups onto his bony shoulder.

He just holds her in the water in his arms, feeling how light she feels and trying not to let the tears slip out of his own eyes - but ultimately he loses that battle. He throws down everything and waves the white flag in defeat.

A little whimper slips out of him through chapped lips he squeezes together to try to prevent it, and his eyes fill with water, turning red.

Frankie looks up at the sky as those stinging tears make tracks down his eyes, and curses whoever or whatever it is that is up there for doing this to her - for doing this to them.

Maldito cabrón… (You fucking bastard.)

TRIGGER WARNING (EMOTIONAL DISTRESS AFTERMATH)

Days later, Frankie is up on the lookout on the ridge that he’d constructed a while back.

It’s a simple amalgamation of branches that he’d weaved together, tying with vines to create a little shady igloo on the edge of the ridge so they had some shelter up on high.

Occasionally, Jude would come up and sit with him, but she got more and more tired making the journey up the steep hill until she stopped coming altogether.

He’d made a flag with the ugliest floral shirt of the bunch, and erected it on a thick, sturdy branch and it flapped about in the breeze. A passing boat or plane would surely notice it due to its lurid orange colour, but he’s given up any hope of it being spotted at all as the months wore on, fighting the pull inside of him to just tear it all down.

The branch igloo up on the ridge has become his thinking spot as of late, a place to escape to when it all gets a bit much.

And it’s getting a bit much now.

From up here he can see the shack, the rocky beachfront and the gloomy, empty horizon. He’ll glance down now and again to see Jude wander out the shack and disappear into the wooded area to return a few minutes later - sometimes with Egon on her shoulder - taking toilet breaks to relieve herself in the dugout he’d built for them.

Although the term “built” is used loosely; it’s basically a deep hole they can shit and piss in and bury it, which is far enough away that it won’t stink out the shack too much if it happens to be caught on a sea breeze.

It’s been a few days since Jude had lost whatever it was she was carrying inside of her; lost a part of him that he’d planted inside her when they were intimate with one another.

Historically, Frankie hadn’t thought much about becoming a father; his life spiralling out of control was too busy to accommodate parental responsibilities back in the real world.

Carla had mentioned it a few times, probably a last ditch attempt to cling onto whatever remaining shreds there was of their tattered relationship that she could, but he was always reluctant - a baby would just mess with his shit and he didn’t have time for it.

He didn’t have time for anyone in the end. He was selfish in that regard.

But it feels different now, like the decision has been snatched from him somehow, and that feeling sloshes unsettled inside of his empty stomach. A sense of restlessness stirs within Frankie, his hands subtly tremoring again as he looks down at them.

The familiar pull of darkness tugging at him, tempting him with the promise of sweet oblivion, of escaping the pain and sorrow that threatens to completely overwhelm him.

As Frankie squeezes his hands into fists, his mind engulfed in a storm of grief and despair, a familiar yearning shreds at his insides. The seductive call of stupefaction, giddy highs and surges he longs to feel filtering through his veins as he inhales.

He can hear it, whispering enticingly in the recess of his mind, promising temporary respite from the agony of their loss.

He longs to lose himself in the numbing embrace of white, chalky powder again, to drown it all out. But even as the desire burns fiercely within him, Frankie knows that there are no drugs to be found on the isolated island.

A bitter irony settles over him as he grapples with the cruel reality of his situation. In the past, drugs had been his refuge, his escape from the harsh realities of life. Peace in a small plastic packet as he lays his head in its lap for a while.

But now, stranded on this desolate shore, there’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide from the raw, unfiltered emotions that assail him.

He’d held Jude inside of his arms for hours after that; kept seeing the blood each time he closed his eyes, and it stung in places where he didn’t think it would sting. It felt like the walls of his chest were caving in and collapsing on top of his organs as they began suffocating him relentlessly - he couldn’t breathe.

She cried in pain, and hardly spoke for a while as he did his best to comfort her; rubbing her tummy with his giant hand to soothe the cramps; to be there holding on tightly until she fell asleep, then slipping outside to let his own emotions come flooding out.

He had to be her fortress; he could be a crumbling castle on his own.

Frankie is exhausted, he’s sitting on the ground with his knees drawn up to his chest wearing a jacket that smells of must and sea water, keeping his own body warm against the breeze that seems sharper up on the ridge, like knives cutting into his skin.

He spots grey clouds on the horizon and wills them closer, to pour on his head and drown him - and fill the water bottles in the process.

He doesn’t have to wait very long, they’re soon above his head and the rain is unrelenting - heavy and soaking into him. He opens his mouth, his head tilted back and lets it fill with water until it’s full and he swallows it down, repeating the process a few times, until he summons the will to trudge back down to the beach and check on the bottles.

A monotonous zombie, keeping on for keeping ons sake. It’s either that or he’ll break completely, fall off that ledge fully, but he knows he can’t leave Jude; he has to be strong for her, even if he has no strength left anymore.

It rains non-stop for a couple of days; the most rain in succession they’ve experienced on the island thus far. They take the opportunity to drink as much as they can to stay hydrated and refill the bottles again and put the caps back on.

Jude smiles faintly at him as he crouches over the sand pulling out the bottles as they fill up and he watches her whilst she sits on the rocks completely soaked through, wondering if she’ll ever be okay again.

Wondering if he’ll ever be okay again.

Frankie wants to reach inside of her and pull out all of the hurt she’s being sucked into; a turbulent whirlpool as is he. He wants to protect her, to pull her into his arms and tell her everything is okay, but instead he’s rendered still looking at her lithe, bony frame as she wastes away in front of him, and he’s powerless to stop it.

He’s let her down; he knows that somewhere inside of him, he’s done her a great injustice. He isn’t able to save her like he hoped he could. Those first few days on the island of living in sweet denial about being rescued was a blessing in some ways.

He’ll give anything to go back to that point and relive it - get a do over and tackle things differently. Wave a magic wand and make it all go away. Lay down with her in the sand and assure her that when they both wake up again, they’ll be home, safe - away from here.

Frankie sighs out as she stands up and approaches him; the shorts she wears dangling low on her hips and she holds them up as she walks.

Jude pushes a bottle of water into his hands and urges him to drink more. He does as she asks, complying for her and relishing the feel of her hand stroking inside the tendrils of curls that are now way past his ears. He pulls gently on her braid, wisps of it flying about in the breeze.

“How you doing, Rapunzel?” Frankie asks her, gently.

She runs her fingers through his greased scalp after taking off his cap and putting it on her head whilst she combs through his locks, untangling them.

Jude kisses his forehead with her dry lips, then his nose as he wraps his arms around the back of her thighs and hoists her into his lap as he sits in the damp sand, resting his chin on her head.

“I’m okay,” she says to him.

“You’ve been quiet,” Frankie explains gently. “How’s the cramps?” He rubs her tummy; his large palm almost covering it and massaging soothing circles over it.

His breath hitches, remembering there was once a tiny part of him growing in there.

“Gone. The bleeding stopped too.” She looks away, and he turns her chin back towards him.

“Don’t hide from me,” he pleads to her and kisses her lips softly.

“I’m not. I promise. How are you doing?” Jude asks him.

“Copacetic.” He shrugs. “I’m dealing.”

She nods and relaxes her head backwards onto his bony clavicle.

“Maybe we should...” Frankie begins, not wanting to find the words, because it’ll be the death of him. “Maybe we should stop.”

She looks at him, registering what he’s getting at and it renders her mute, a sharp laceration slashing at her heart.

“We should stop having sex,” he clarifies, unable to look her in the eye. Unable to take his hands off of her for they stay wrapped around her.

She drops her gaze too.

The current is a little choppy and they listen to the sounds of the waves rolling in and out until the night sky approaches. They’re soaked through from the rain and shivering a little as they make their way back to the shack and dry off.

Frankie holds Jude inside of his arms, kissing over her cheeks and jaw. He catches her eyes staring up at him and he rests his head on his elbow, looking back down at her as she strokes the back of his neck affectionately.

He closes his eyes, just relishing the feel of her touch as her fingertips make infectious circles, twisting the hair at the nape of his neck around them and occasionally scratching his skin in a haunting way.

“What are you thinking about?” Jude asks him, absorbing all the weary features of his overgrown face.

The slight heart-shaped patch that she can trace along his jaw, still remains hairfree, despite the rugged growth of his beard.

Frankie opens his eyes, his pupils growing and adjusting to the dim light again; two dark pools of tar set inside the fantastical obsidian and gold kaleidoscopes of his irises.

“I was thinking about how good it feels when you touch me.” Frankie replies, with a dipped smile dying a horrific death across his mouth.

“Like this?” Jude asks, as her scratching around the back of his head intensifies; her nails raking across his skull and he shivers closing his eyes.

“Yeah, like that.” He sighs out in a contented relief; her touch melting everything away, his body surrendering like she has him under a deep, entrancing spell.

He’ll do anything for her, be anything for her - just as long as she never stops touching him.

She lifts her head slightly and meets his lips, kissing onto him and tasting him. He kisses her back, his arm swooping under her and crushing her against his chest.

“I can’t bear it,” she whispers.

“What?” He asks, as he brushes his sharp nose against hers.

“The thought of you not wanting to touch me again.”

Groaning, he tenses up and closes his eyes. “I want to. Of course I want to. I just don’t-”

“It wasn’t your fault either, Frankie.” She runs her hand through his hair again, gathering it at the back of his neck in a short pony. Unruly curls fall around his face, and he’s never looked more beautiful to her then right now.

Jude reaches down gently and feels how hard he is in his shorts; the reaction from all that scalp massaging and intensity that blooms between them when they’re affectionate - it kills him.

Frankie breathes out, his resistance waning fast, his body succumbing to that weakness that weighs heavily on him all the fucking time.

She kisses him; a silent whimper absorbing into his skin like ink, spreading through him as he kisses her back with just as much courage as she has.

But he resists. “I don’t wanna hurt you,” Frankie whispers, his hand flat against her stomach and his eyes filling with mounting sorrow.

But he wants to cave; cave into her selfishly as she receives him with just as much yearning, crushing them both like a tidal wave smashing their bodies and ripping them to shreds.

“You could never hurt me,” Jude replies confidently.

“I know, I just… we should wait,” he sighs out as she nestles against him, resting her head on his shoulder as he holds her close. “I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

Jude smiles as he cradles her and she can hear his heartbeat. “You’re something else, Fish.”

He scoffs. “Hardly.”

They lay like that until Frankie can hear the shift in Jude’s breathing, laboured and heavier as she’s asleep.

They don’t last long in their abstinence. Giving in a few days later as Frankie can’t bear the temptation of surrendering on his knees as Jude smiles at him.

That's all it takes - a glimmer of genuine affection towards him that melts away his resolve down to his bones like sulfuric acid.

They don't speak verbally, but their communication is loud and understood entirely; their language of wanton moans and breaths filtering through their skin into their senses and bloodstream. Inhaling one another in and tasting all the warm energy they create together, passing it back and forth between their bodies and souls alike.

Sex is a hunger, sex is energy; sex is love. Sex is the way a man gives love to a woman in that moment, giving his body and mind to her in equal measure and she absorbs it, absorbs him; understanding the manual of him and his moving parts. Even if some of them have been broken before.

The spark between them is no longer a mere spark, it’s a raging fire spreading out of control and burning up everything in its path. They feel it, they feel it now; united in their grief and healing one another through touch and gasps.

Frankie presses his forehead to Jude’s, breathing in deep as he feels her tighten around his cock, feels her need for him in more ways than words can ever say.

His thumb strokes the side of her face in complete awe and he kisses her deeply, falling deeper into the starry abyss of her. And he never wants to be pulled out.

Unable to quell that want, that need and that pain; purging it into one another and recycling it into an intense desire that neither of them has ever felt before.

She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen as she comes; her body glowing, blinding him until his eyeballs dissolve into the hollows of his skull. The notes of her whines tattooed under the layers of his skin.

And that, my friends, is what it feels like to make love.

The constant rain has reduced the fire to nothing but a pit of sludgy ash, and the mud cement that Frankie had made when he first constructed the shack, almost a year ago now, is starting to melt.

He notices the shack looking a little on the slant as he wakes up one morning and can see water trickling in through the wooden planks.

The ocean waves are more ferocious as the days wear on and whilst he re-coats the outside of the shack in the mud sludge again when a lull in the rain comes, the feisty current makes it impossible to fish in the bay.

Jude takes to thoroughly scouting the wood for any sign of food after the school of fish has dwindled alarmingly, with Egon attached to her shoulder and occasionally getting his tiny foot tangled in her knotty braid.

“You must be eating something,” she says to the fuzzy haired critter, side-eyeing him. “There’s been no fish for you to steal for a while.”

Egon simply screeches and scuttles across her other shoulder before dashing up into the trees and disappearing. She stops, looking up and watching him go; swinging on the vines, and then something catches her eye.

Jude steps back and spots lots of pods hanging off some branches above her in the canopy; covered by the tree leaves as they drape. They aren’t obvious to spot with the naked eye. If it wasn’t for Egon, she would’ve never noticed and carried on completely unaware.

“You little shit,” she calls to the monkey shaking her head in disbelief.

There’s no way she can simply reach up and pick them, they’re too high. Jude looks about and approaches a tree that looks easy enough to climb to her immediate left, and starts to steady her footing as she reaches up to the branches elevating herself.

Jude takes her time; climbing trees is easy enough for kids without a sense of danger, but as an adult stranded miles from any medical care, she knows she has to be sensible about this.

She climbs further up, testing to see if the branches can support her weight before fully hoisting herself up on them. She reaches forward and pulls a branch closer to her, hearing Egon screeching further up in the treetops.

“Yep. I’m stealing your food now, buddy. See how you like it, huh?” Jude chuckles to herself. He still continues to protest much to her mirth.

“You’re lucky we didn’t eat you, okay?” She scolds the monkey as he appears on the other tree adjacent to her, shaking a branch and some of the pods fall to the ground.

She reaches for some and plucks them, examining them in her hand. They’re knobbly and bumpy to the touch, like peapods but only more bulbous and slightly bigger.

She cracks the outer pod shell open with her nails and inside is a gummy sap.

The flesh inside has a similar consistency to a cherry, and as she sniffs it, it smells incredibly saccharine. She pops some in her mouth, wincing at how tartly sweet it is and there’s a pip that she spits out as her teeth crunch against it.

Jude reaches up for some more, swallowing. “No wonder you wanted to keep these to yourself.” She remarks glancing over at Egon who’s chewing through his own pod greedily.

She shakes her head smiling, and reaches forward for more, but then promptly loses her footing and falls forward out of the tree.

Frankie steps back and smears his fingers over the fresh layer of sludgy mud cement, patting it down smoothly.

He wipes the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead, squinting in the dim light to inspect the job he’s almost completed.

He looks up at the sky and can see it hasn’t changed from that heavy grey hue all day, and hopes the rain will hold off until the cement dries at least.

He hears something in the distance as he rounds the front of the shack, mixing the mud with his hand again and stops, listening out furtively.

He hears it again - it’s his name being called in the distance.

“FRANKIE!”

He drops the cement tin and scoots out towards the tree line, stopping to listen every few seconds.

He calls out for her, wiping his muddy hand down his shorts. She calls back, her voice getting louder as he follows it through the trees.

“Jude?”

“Frankie!”

“Jude?”

“Marco.”

He smirks. “Polo. Where are you?” Frankie calls out again, scanning the bushes for any movement.

“I’m over here!” Jude lifts her hand up as high as she can and winces, gasping out in incredible pain as she moves.

She hears rustling and then Frankie appears through the shrubs. He rushes to her when he sees her in a crumpled heap on the ground.

She’d lain there for a few moments after the fall, trying to determine whether she was still alive or not; the thudding of her heart, the adrenaline rush making her breath uncatchable in her throat. The fuzzing in her ears and the feel from the soft pads of her fingertips scraping against the ground as she tried to push herself upright, seemed like the only senses she could focus on.

But then she’d felt a sudden stabbing rush through her left arm and into her shoulder and collarbone, and collapsed upon herself once more as the pressure was too much.

“What the fuck happened?” Frankie reaches forward, and as soon as he touches her arm she screams out at him.

“No! No! Don’t touch it!” Jude wails in an eerie screech.

“Shit, what did you do?”

“I fell out of the tree, I think it’s broken.” She groans as she tries and fails to sit up again.

Frankie looks up at the tree above her. “What were you doing up there?”

“Egon.”

“Oh, so you’re copying the fuckin' monkey now?” Frankie smirks at her incredulously.

“No, he has a food source up there, look.” She opens her right hand and he takes the pods out of it that she’s still holding on to.

“What are they?” He brings it up to his nose and sniffs it.

“I think it’s tamarind.” Jude breathes out heavily like a woman going into labour, puffing through deep, intense breaths.

“Tamarind?” He questions.

“Yeah. Taste it, it’s really sweet.” She says.

He cracks open the pod and smells the sticky gum on his fingers, sucking them and putting a piece inside his mouth.

“Fuck. That's pretty sweet,” he winces at first before spitting out the pip.

“Yeah.”

“Alright Tarzan. Let’s get you up, slowly.” Frankie swallows and reaches for her other arm and pulls her up gently as he hooks his arm around her waist.

“If I’m Tarzan, that means you’re Jane.” Jude chuckles as she grits her teeth.

“I’ll rock it.” He remarks.

The pain in her arm overwhelms everything, and for a moment it feels as though it’s been fully ripped off her body and is still on the ground somewhere else.

He pushes her arm into her chest for protection, realising from her shrieks as she cries out in pain that it’s either definitely broken or dislocated at least. He’ll see to that later; right now he has to get her out of here, get her somewhere safe and calm her down.

“I got you.” Frankie slings her other arm around his neck as he supports her upright and begins to drag her away on her jellified feet back in the direction of the shack.

“At least we have something to eat again, for now...” Jude says as he sits her on the cushion bed.

“Yeah, although you should’ve waited for me; what if you’d hit your head or something?” Frankie scolds as he picks out a shirt from the case and unfolds it.

“I didn’t, I’m okay.”

“Only just,” he remarks with a frown. “Can you take your t-shirt off?”

“If you can help me, sure.”

He nods and kneels down in front of her helping her to slip her undamaged arm out of the sleeve and then over her head; she has the bikini top on underneath and he glances at the bones of her ribcage visible under her skin as they protrude outward.

His eyes find hers and they’re swimming in a concerned sadness, as though it pains him more than he lets on to see her suffering like this.

He tries to mask his angst-like expression as best as he can, but she can see right through it.

Jude feels his fingers probe them, running across the ridges slightly. She looks back down at her arm and he doesn’t mention her rib cage verbally. He doesn’t need to; they’re both fully aware of their starving quandary.

Slowly, Frankie moves the t-shirt down her other arm and she cries out at the slightest movements. “I know. Easy, baby.”

He looks over her shoulder and arm and can’t see any obvious signs of a bone sticking out. He inspects her back and runs his fingers lightly over her skin.

“Okay, tell me when it hurts.” He says.

“What are you... OWWW, FUCK!!” She yells out as his fingers press in just under her shoulder joint and he feels a softness where there shouldn’t be.

He presses in the same spot on her other shoulder and feels bone instead.

“I think you popped your shoulder out.” Frankie confirms.

“You think or you know, Doctor Morales?” Jude asks him through a sharp frown and watery eyes.

He digs his thumbs into her right shoulder that’s fine, and feels around feeling for where the joint is, like a map he’ll remember for the other shoulder.

“I can try and pop it back in for you.”

“What if you trap a nerve, shouldn’t we just leave it?” She protests with panicked eyes.

Frankie shakes his head. “If you wanna walk around with a dislocated shoulder for the rest of your life, be my guest.” He remarks with a huff. “I’ve done this before.”

“When?”

“On duty. One of the guys in my unit fell down a blast hole, and we had to fix it. No med help in the middle of the desert.” He shrugs casually.

She sighs out. “Okay... let’s do it.”

“It’s gonna hurt.”

“It already fucking hurts!” Jude snaps at him.

Frankie pulls her wrist down from her chest slowly and holds her hand, stroking his thumb over the knuckles before squeezing it.

“On the count of three,” Frankie places his left hand around her wrist and the other one further up her damaged arm.

She squeezes her eyes shut and takes a deep breath in, grinding her teeth together.

“Uno.” Frankie counts in Spanish. He tightens his grip around her arm and she whimpers, bracing herself.

"Oh fuck."

“Dos.” He shunts her arm upwards and twists in a quick succession, and Jude screams out so loudly that it sounds like she’s being murdered.

“Tres!” Frankie finishes casually as he lets go of her arm.

“FUCK!” Jude blinks through tears that begin to blind her.

“I think I got it, I heard it pop in.” Frankie reaches for the shirt and ties a tourniquet around her shoulder to support it and then kisses her head gently.

“Oh God...” She says, leaning forward and feeling woozy.

“You okay?”

“No, I think I’m gonna puke.” She coughs and breathes out slowly, willing herself to get through the searing pain that radiates down her arm and into her fingertips. She can feel herself heave, but nothing comes up.

“Slowly, just breathe.” Frankie says, rubbing her back.

Jude sits upright, breathing in and swallowing again. She tastes bile as Frankie hands her a bottle of water. She sips from it slowly and breathes out. "Oh God."

“Better?” Frankie asks her with concerned eyes.

“Not in the slightest. Jesus, that’s fucking kills.”

He smiles gently and reaches forward, kissing her head. “You’ll be okay. Just don’t climb any more trees.”

“Yes, Jane.” She mocks as he smirks at her.

To be continued...

SERIES MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

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 🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: I'm no longer adding tags due to some of them not working correctly. Please ensure you're following me and turn on notifications so you don't miss a chapter instead. If you'd like to be removed form the tag list, please let me know.

Tagging everyone who asked to be tagged/commented on/re-blogged my initial teaser & prologue:

@suzdin @missladym1981 @magpiepills @millennial-teenybopper @legendary-pink-dot @msjarvis @tightjeansjavi @burntheedges @inept-the-magnificent @casa-boiardi @sin-djarin @rhoorl @disassociation-daydreams @quinnnfabrgay @chronically-ghosted @fuckyeahdindjarin @chiriwritesstuff @copperhalfcent @bluestar22x @5oh5 @gobaaby-blog-blog @myloveistoolittle @pastawench @maggiemayhemnj @secretelephanttattoo @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @thethirstwivesclub @seratuyo @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @toomanytookas @survivingandenduring @lizzie-cakes @sawymredfox @iloveenya @elegantduckturtle @covetyou @undercoverpena @connectioneverywhere @trulybetty @nerdieforpedro @thisneozonerecs @fckyeapedrothots99 @goodwithcheese @anavatazes @doughmonkey @lilmizmoz @76bookworm76

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #pedro pascal characters #frankie morales x ofc #frankie morales x you #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales triple frontier #adrift with you series #tw miscarriage #jett's writing

123 notes · View notes