Kiwi girl who loves reading. Can't write to save herself. active imagination. defo over 18.
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What in the blazes it's this amazing thing. And where is more?

The boyfriend act ✦ series masterlist
Summary: All you wanted was to get to Austin, but instead of your brother, it’s Frankie —Santi’s best friend, the one you can barely stand— who shows up in Dallas. He’s just doing your brother a favor, but the trip takes an unexpected turn when a stop puts you face to face with your ex — the guy who broke your heart three months ago and is now about to get married.
Out of pride, you blurt out a lie: Frankie is your boyfriend. Surprised but willing to play along, he agrees, with one condition — you must accompany him to his mother’s birthday. His plan? Dodge his family’s meddling and their endless matchmaking schemes.
Rating: EXPLICIT (+18) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!
Paiting: Frankie Morales x F!reader
WC: 105k (oops)
✦ fic content ✦
PART ONE: "The one with the proposal"
PART TWO: "The one with the purring traitor"
PART THREE: "The one with the birthday party"
PART FOUR: "The one with bruises and blue excuses"
PART FIVE: "The one with the Red lights"
PART SIX: "The one with the late night talk"
PART SEVEN: "The one with the unexpected visit"
PART EIGHT: "The one with Dante and Beatrice"
PART NINE I: "The one with the wedding"
PART NINE II: "The one with the wedding"
PART TEN: "The one with the skydiving"
PART ELEVEN: "The one with the things we shouldn’t talk about"
More parts to be announced!
EXTRAS:
The Boyfriend Act timeline
beautiful divider by @saradika-graphics <3
#happy new year#frankie morales#frankie morales x you#frankie morales fanfiction#frankie catfish morales#frankie morales x reader#francisco morales x reader#francisco catfish morales#francisco morales#francisco morales x you#francisco morales smut#francisco morales fanfiction#frankie morales smut#frankie morales fic#triple frontier#pedro pascal fandom#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal smut#enemies to lovers#smut#friends to lovers#fake dating#fake relationship#capuccinodoll#the boyfriend act
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🥰 so cute. Lovev it
Brandy by the Fireplace
7.8K / Frankie Morales x City Girl!reader

Summary: When your best friend's boyfriend invites her up to the cabin he owns with his Delta Force buddies, she asks you to come along.
Warnings: None! Fluff! Insecurity and anxiety on reader's part, but Frankie makes it better (anxiety/comfort. My anxious girlies (gn) who think everyone hates them when they definitely don't? This one's for you 🥹). Nicknames because it's me. Oh, and Tom's alive?
A/N 1: Written and very late for @auteurdelabre's Trope Off Challenge - the trope here is Fish out of water because, well you know🤭🤭 Can be considered a Triple Frontier AU, or set before the events of the movie. Though I'm not sure I'm 100% satisfied with this and the word count got away from me, I still think it's cute and very seasonal - I hope others do too!
A/N 2: As I understand it, the cottage v. cabin lexiconic difference is a Canadian thing. When people think of cottage country, it's primarily the luxury getaway experience in the Muskokas. Super fancy! Celebrities cottage there (the Beckhams, Cindy Crawford) and the properties are huge lakefront estates. While in Western Canada, people primarily have cabins - they're more rugged, remote. In no way am I saying that cottages are better than cabins! They are just different - both enjoyable and picturesque in their own way. But you gotta know what you're in for, cause of packing and stuff... 😅😅
Trailer / CABIN dividers by @saradika-graphics 😘😘
This was such an effing mistake.
You sniffle as you sit cross-legged on the simple threadbare sheets covering the thin mattress that you’ve called bed for the last two nights. You’re holding your favourite fleece sweater in your hands, looking at the scorch marks where flareups from tonight’s bonfire had jumped from the pit and burned multiple holes - the black charred spots on the fabric blurring as your tears finally spill over.
I shouldn’t have come.
A ruined sweater in and of itself wasn’t the end of world. But a ruined sweater here? Tonight? It’s just the freaking cherry on top of the already disastrous sundae that was this weeklong vacation so far.
And you don’t have anyone to blame but yourself.
When your best friend Jenny begged you to come with her to her boyfriend’s cabin for a week, you had readily agreed. You love Benny and he and Jenny are so adorable, if not a bit too overly mushy and cheesy (“We’re the better Bennifer! Woo - Benny and Jenny!!”). He and his old army buddies had gone in together on a cabin on a lake about seven hours out of the city at the suggestion of their Veterans Affairs therapist – something about working the land and finding serenity in nature to help them overcome some of the harder things they’ve seen over their time in service.
It apparently did wonders for them. Both Benny and his older brother, Will, who you had met a few times, were easy going and kind men - maybe a little rough and tumble with each other sometimes, but you didn’t see it as anything more than filial comradery and brotherly love. Jenny assured you that Benny’s other friends, Santi, Tom and Frankie were all cut from the same cloth.
Benny had invited Jenny up to the cabin for the boys’ annual Autumn weeklong trip – taking advantage of any remaining mild weather from the end of summer to clean and close up the cabin for the Fall and Winter. All the boys would be there and Tom’s sisters had been invited as well – Jenny begged you to come for support and of course you had said yes.
Sure, you’re a city girl through and through, but this wouldn’t be your first cottaging experience. You fondly recall the summers and Thanksgivings you had been invited to your college roommate’s family cottage in the Muskokas: crystalline waters and lush greenery bordered the beautifully landscaped acreage upon which your still close friend’s family’s 9 bedroom-9 bath modern estate resided. Summer days were wiled away on the built-in dock lounging and reading, and the cooler temperature evenings were spent inside by one of the several contemporary fireplaces, sipping on cocktails and nibbling on charcuterie. It was always such a treat to go - you haven’t visited in ages, but a similar getaway right now sounds like heaven.
Your first clue that perhaps this might not be the Muskoka cottage country experience you imagined, is when the last leg of your seven-hour journey in Benny’s truck was over a 30-minute dirt road so twisty and uneven that you started to feel a little nauseous.
When you got out of the truck, you realized the true folly of your assumptions about where you were going to be staying this week. The property could best be described as rustic and very "nature forward", the only evidence of landscaping being the dirt worn paths that led to the different cabins. Instead of one main house, there is a Main Cabin – consisting of a living room area, place to eat, kitchen and the compound’s one bathroom. All guests stay in individual cabins, isolated and spaced out at various points on the large property. Each so far apart and separated by the lush, dense forest, you don't even know where they all are: Upper Cabin (Benny and Jenny), Delta Cabin (Santi), Bunk Cabin (Frankie), Screened-In Veranda Cabin (You), New Cabin (Tom’s Sisters), Outhouse Cabin (no one), Grizzly Cabin (Will and Tom).
You’re not opposed to roughing it a little, but by the error of your own expectations, you’ve come thoroughly unprepared for your week’s stay. For one thing, your cabin (as the name would suggest), along with all the others, has no windows - only screens. Perfect for the hot summers, but with Fall coming early this year, the clothes you packed aren’t warm enough to shield you against the chill that blows over your bed each night. For another, you find yourself sharing space with more critters that you were expecting, and not the adorable furry types either.
The frog that came out of the one toilet made you almost consider using the outhouse up by the parking lot (almost). And when you were washing your face that first night, the realization that the running tap was the only thing that was keeping the cricket from jumping out of the sink, forced you to stifle a scream that left your throat hoarse. There are all together more bugs indoors than you had expected (since you had expected windows).
It's definitely more rustic that you’re used to, but you really do try to make the best of it. The last thing you want is to appear rude or snobbish about the decidedly non-luxurious state of your accommodations. Sure, it isn’t the glamourous cottage experience you had expected, but it’s still incredibly beautiful and serene here. Moreover, you know that every cabin and amenity on the property was built by Benny and his friends and has served incredible therapeutic purpose for each of them. You would never want to diminish that by somehow implying that the cottage isn’t… cottaging; this place serves a much more important purpose than impressing the likes of city girls guests like you.
You also don’t forget that the entire reason you’re here is to support Jenny. Make sure she and Benny have fun. And they are! Inseparable, giddy, googly-eyed fun. No way are you going to ruin her perfectly good time by letting her worry about you, not when this is the first healthy relationship she’s had in years.
And honestly, everyone is so, so nice. Benny and Will’s Delta Force teammates are as good humoured and sweet as they are. There’s Santiago (or Santi), the unofficial leader of the crew – his hooded brown eyes look like they could tell a hundred stories, but he keeps your group entertained with the loudest and most fantastic ones, always framing his stories so that they rib at least one of his buddies. Tom, the eldest of the friends, is more serious – the type who might exude an intimidating gravitas if you were to meet him alone, but next to the verbose energy of Benny and Santi and under the watchful eye of his sisters, he seems to relax, smiling pleasantly and genuinely while in the comforting presence of his friends. Will, who is just as boyishly handsome as his brother, you already know to be as easy going and funny - though maybe a little less goofy than Benny. Despite what Jenny had slyly insinuated to you before you left, you don’t think Will has any interest in you – and with Tom’s gorgeous and outgoing sisters both vying for his attention, the circumstances aren't right to try and see if there’s anything to Jenny's (and possibly Benny’s?) matchmaking.
The last member of the friend group is Frankie, who the guys sometimes inexplicably call ‘Catfish’ – he was noticeably reserved at first, though you soon realize that he’s just as funny and generous as the others. Frankie's steely and calm countenance seems borne out of necessity, likely from the many years of service where his competence and levelheadedness were needed to keep the other four in check, alive. You notice that he often sits a little further back from the group, most likely out of habit, literally watching their backs; he’s quieter and less rowdy, but never fails to join in his friends’ laughter – it’s obvious to you that he loves his brothers in arms. Once or twice, you think you feel Franke's deep, soulful eyes pointed in your direction, but when you try to meet his gaze, those same eyes disappear beneath the brim of his worn Standard Oil cap that never seems to leave his head. You think you probably imagine it.
Everyone is so much fun to be around, super nice and completely welcoming of you.
They just… don’t really need you here. Well, that seems presumptuous! Rather, there doesn’t seem to be a place for you here the same way there is for everyone else.
It was evident from the first day when the boys pulled a small catamaran out of the boathouse and attempted to try (again, from what you’re told) to put it together and get it out on the water. Every person was asked to help pull on the trampoline netting – when it was evident that your limited strength and poor (manicured) grip on the netting wasn’t actually doing anything except making you an extra body in the way, you were relegated to standing on the side, holding a spray can of lubricant and waiting to spray it on the track if someone needed. No one ever did. The trampoline never got installed, and you can’t help but think it was partially because you hadn’t been able to provide the additional muscle needed.
During the day, everyone seems to engage in some type of cabin maintenance work from an unseen to-do list: painting screens, sanding down the canoe, pulling up old raspberry bushes, fixing doors and hinges in various cabins, retiling the one shower and installing a new sliding glass door, replacing the hot water pump’s aging parts, reinforcing the mesh around the young fruit trees to deter deer, repairing the older slats on the dock, removing the beaver dam under the dock, and so on and so forth.
All things you have absolutely no qualifications to help with and would likely hinder someone who did if you tried.
Jenny wasn’t terribly handy either, but she tagged along with Benny on all his chores and he didn’t mind patiently explaining and helping her help him with his tasks - the two of them giggling and in love as they winterized the boat shed.
Everyone else seems to know their daily assignments and go about their hard and dirty labour, leaving you alone to… do nothing? It felt rude to sit out on the lawn and relax while others did work around you. And even inside there's not much you can do; Tom’s sisters had brought up food for the first few meals and when you asked them if you could help, they insisted that they had it in hand and told you to “go have fun”. You chastise yourself for having not asked more questions about what you and Jenny could have brought and if you and her could have signed up to cook your share of meals.
You hide out in the Main Cabin or in your own for most of the day, reading and feeling guilty - coming down periodically to chat with people but feeling like you’re distracting them from their duties.
Even after dinner when you volunteered to help do the dishes and clean-up, you were cheerfully shooed away by Santi after you couldn’t find where to put back the cutlery, then the glasses, then the lids to the pots (which were inexplicably kept separate from the pots themselves) – you’re sure there’s a system, you just don’t know what it is.
Maybe it would be different if you knew everyone better, but this is the first time you’re meeting everyone except Benny and Will. You don’t know any of the guys particularly well but you do know that this cabin is their special place – you don’t want be a bother or ruin anyone’s good time.
To you, it's clear that you’re not carrying your weight here - the last thing you want to be is a nuisance as well. You don’t fit in and you definitely don’t belong.
Tonight has finally felt a little more comfortable. After a full day of work for everyone (else) and a belly bursting dinner, the boys set up a bonfire and everyone got together to roast marshmallows and make s'mores. In addition to looking forward to the melty treats, you were secretly glad for the warmth of the fire in the chilly evening air. Beers were cracked, marshmallows burnt, and the stories the boys told had your sides aching from so much laughter you’re sure you’ll still feel it in the morning. But as the fire was dying, the conversation turned to what everyone’s up to tomorrow, you once again have nothing to say that's comparable to the tasks and chores listed by the others. When Tom comments that there are still so many things to do in order to properly winterize the cabins and that it’ll be a wonder if it all gets done, you look down at your feet - face burning from the guilt and shame of being unable to contribute when help is indeed needed. You’re sure everyone is thinking that you’re just a freeloader from the city, or worse, lazy and unwilling to put in some work. Suddenly the last few bites of the s'more in your hand don’t look as appetizing anymore.
You excuse yourself from the group and quickly get ready for bed before heading up to your cabin for the night. Once settled in, that’s when you discover that your sweater is full of newly burnt holes and you lose it.
Luckily, the cabins are all fairly far apart so no one can hear your crying, but your gratitude for the isolation and quiet of the cabins is short-lived; as it's been every night, the silence of the woods in the dark is deafening. So used to the ambient noise of the city, you find that every snap of a branch or hoot of an owl slices through the night and rings out as loud as a gunshot. You lay in bed like each night before, unable to get comfortable or calm and falling asleep only when exhaustion overtakes you.
The next morning, you wake to the sound of chirping birds and the brightness of the morning sun punctuated by the shouts and loud chatter from down near the water where people are already starting their daily chores. Another wave of guilt and anxiety sets in as you feel like you’ve had an undeserved lie-in - resting while everyone else got up early to do work.
On your way down to the Main Cabin, you see and wave good morning to Frankie who’s transporting relatively heavy chunks of wood tucked under his beefy arms. You don’t ask if you can help – how could you? Each stump he carries looks like it could topple you over even if you managed to lift one.
When you get down to the lawn, you catch Will and Tom’s sisters as they head up to one of the cabins with paint cans and brushes and Will cheerily calls to you, “Saved you some breakfast!” His completely innocent and kind pronouncement sends your already tightly strung heart into another spiral and you try not to tear up as you call back your thanks.
You eat by yourself from the plates left out for you and feel a little better when you can at least wash them and leave them in the drying rack. Pouring yourself the coffee that’s left in the cannister, you grimace at it’s lukewarmness, but you don’t know where the grounds are kept or even how to operate the ancient stovetop coffee maker to make more, so you make do and drink it sort of sadly as you return to the dining table and open your book.
It's here where Frankie finds you a few hours after you saw him last.
He asks kindly after your book before saying he’s going to make a fresh pot of coffee and offers to top you off; when you get up to help – he tells you he’s got it before disappearing into the kitchen. Slightly discouraged, you sit back down; unless you spy on Frankie, there’s no way for you to learn how to make the coffee here - and you’re just debating if you should do just that when he pokes his head back in, “Do you want me to show you how to make the coffee?”
Eagerly, you nod and hurry to join him in the kitchen, making note of where the fresh coffee grounds are stored and listening attentively as Frankie patiently shows you how to work the vintage contraption that Santi rescued from a yard sale. He smiles at your willing face, wondering why you’re so fascinated by something as mundane as their overly complicated coffee maker, but when you thank him, voice almost quivering with overly emotional gratitude, Frankie’s sure there’s more to it than he’s understanding.
He's been watching you, Benny’s girlfriend pretty friend, over the last two days and can't quite figure you out. It’s clear that you’re not used to roughing it in these types of conditions, but you don’t complain or make fun – though there is a tinge of melancholy and anxiety to the gentleness of your expressions that he does understand all too well. You seem sweet and friendly, and Benny certainly speaks warmly of you – but for some reason, you don’t seem entirely comfortable and Frankie wouldn’t be the Army strategist he is if he didn’t notice. Or a very good host.
“Do you want to go for a row while the coffee drips?”
“A row?” You look up, confused.
“Yeah, in the row boat. Come on – this old thing takes forever. We could probably get a good way to the middle of the lake and head back before it’s done,” nods Frankie, encouragingly.
This is the first time since the disastrous catamaran trampoline that anyone has asked you to do anything with them during the day, and you’re surprised by how touched you are by the simple gesture. Unable to find the words to express how appreciative you feel, you simply nod.
Frankie pushes the old tin boat that you saw him sealing and painting on the beach yesterday partway into the water, helping you in first before pushing the boat all the way in then jumping in himself, two big wooden oars under his arm. He sits across from you, locks the oars into the oarlocks and starts rowing; his powerful arms rotating the paddles with ease, slicing them through the clear, calm water and gently gliding the boat across the lake.
The two of you sit in silence for a bit, and you look over the side of the boat in wonder as the sand bed below slowly disappears and the water gets darker and deeper. Sighing, you contently breathe in the fresh, crisp Fall air and enjoy the picturesque view of the far off shores and mountains before settling your gaze on the handsome man in front of you. The ripples and flex of Frankie’s bulging muscles under his shirt as he expertly rows are near mesmerizing, every hypnotic stroke powerful and purposeful.
“You’re not having fun, are you?”
You look up, ashamed. You've been trying so hard to hide that you're not 100% comfortable being here, it's embarrassing to get confirmation that you've failed in this regard. Even if the others could tell you weren’t having fun, you hope you haven’t come off as an ungrateful guest or made any of your hosts feel bad. You’re about to say so and apologize, but something about the way Frankie’s looking at you, kind and soft and not at all judgmental or accusatory, gives you pause. It’s like he’s genuinely extending an opportunity for you to let go of what you’ve been bottling up since you got here – maybe that’s why he brought you out to the middle of the lake? Frankie's sincere eyes bore into your own and his gentle demeanor invites you to let down your guard; deflating, you burst into tears, “I’m not!! I’m so sorry, Frankie!!”
Hurriedly, you try to compensate, “Goodness, please don’t think I’m complaining – it’s so beautiful and peaceful here, and Benny told me how much effort you guys have put into this place! Honestly, your care and hard work really shows – everything is so nice. It’s just really, really different from the one other cottage experience I’ve had – so I didn’t even pack right. And I thought there would be a lot more relaxing and lazing around – I really don't know what to do with myself here.”
“Where did you cottage before?”
“The Muskokas?”
Frankie lets out such a loud, belly-shaking laugh that shakes the whole boat; you actually hold onto the sides afraid you might tip over, but find yourself beaming at having drawn out this melodic sound from the normally stoic man.
“Well, City Girl, no wonder this place was a shock to you! The Muskokas is a very particular cottaging experience – real pretty and real glamourous. But the rest of us? What we have aren’t even cottages. They’re cabins. This is cabin country,” he laughs good naturedly.
“Right - cabins!” you grin.
“Sorry to disappoint you, City Girl.”
“No, no! Please don’t think that - I’m not disappointed at all! I just came in with the wrong expectations, that’s all. That’s all on me, Frankie. Really, the cabin is lovely – I was just expecting a more… cashmere sweaters and brandy snifters around the fireplace kind of a vibe.” You hope Frankie won’t take your joke the wrong way.
Luckily, Frankie gives you another easy smile, one that reveals an adorable dimple in his right cheek you haven’t had a chance to notice before, “Yeah, we’re more of a bats in the ceiling, on-going maintenance kind of vibe.”
At this, your face falls and your own shortcomings to contribute when everyone else is working so hard claws at your chest painfully.
Frankie immediately clocks the change in your demeanor, “Hey, pretty girl, it’s okay.”
You look up at him with tears in your eyes, too distressed to notice the new nickname, “No it’s not, Frankie. You’re right – everyone is chipping in, helping out to keep this place beautiful and running smoothly, except me. I’m not used to this kind work, so I don’t really know what needs to get done… and even if I did… I mean you saw with the catamaran? I’m not strong or skilled enough to do any of it. I thought I could help out with some of the indoor stuff, like cooking and cleaning up, but I don’t know where anything is and everyone is so busy, I feel like such a nuisance bothering them even more in order to show me. So… I don’t know what I’m doing here – it doesn’t feel right to be sitting around and reading like I’m some kind of pampered houseguest while everyone around me is working, but I also don’t think I can add value anywhere. I just don’t think I belong out here with you guys. And I thought I was at least hiding it well, but it's obviously noticeable how much I don’t fit in because you rowed me out here to confront me about it. I’m sorry to be so much trouble, Frankie.”
You take a deep breath after your long speech and look down at your lap, more embarrassed than ever.
Frankie leans over from his seat, causing the boat to rock slightly and tilts your face up to his with two of his thick fingers, “You’re no trouble at all, pretty girl. It’s okay if this place is too rustic for ya. It’s really rustic… and that’s by design.” He smiles reassuringly, keen to comfort you, “I know Benny told you that this cabin is sort of therapy for us guys? We saw some... less-than-ideal things on a lot of our missions. All our missions, actually. The VA counsellors suggested that we try and work through having seen so much that’s been broken, and maybe even having done some of the breaking ourselves, by getting a project where we come together as a team to focus on improving and building. It’s meant to need constant ongoing maintenance and have a never-ending list of chores so we can put our energy into building up instead of what we used to do… tearing down. For the most part, the cabin has been good for us – working with our hands, being responsible for something that isn’t life or death, working towards a common goal where we can be together and enjoy each other’s company in a setting that’s not… exploding.”
Frankie chuckles at his little joke so not to scare you off with the intensity of the topic. He’s relieved to see that your expression is one of sympathy and understanding, your eyes warm and gentle. He thinks your eyes are beautiful, deep, kind – he might easily get lost in them if he didn’t remember that he’s supposed to be comforting you, “It really is meant for the five of us to be putting in the work, but I know what you’re saying, it’s not a great feeling to be left out, even if you know no one’s doing it on purpose. I’m sorry – we should be better hosts. You’re our guest.”
You start to shake your head in protest at this, but Frankie stops you when he picks up the oars and dips them back in the water to start rowing again, “Tell you what, it’s my turn to make lunch today - why don’t you come and help me. I’ll show you where we keep everything so you’ll know in case you ever want to… help out in the kitchen again. I promise you can ask me any questions you want and it won’t bother me at all.”
Perking up at Frankie’s generous offer, you nod happily, “Okay! Thank you, Frankie – that’s really sweet of you.” It’s probably the first truly joyful smile you’ve smiled since you got here and Frankie thinks you look radiant.
The two of you glide slowly across the still lake in comfortable silence, Frankie purposefully not putting too much power into his oar strokes. Trying to discreetly wipe your cheeks, you feel their warmth as you spy on the handsome man across from you through your tear dotted lashes. You feel so safe and cared for - your heart grateful that Frankie noticed you were out of sorts despite having only met you a few days ago and was considerate enough to ask after you.
His teasing voice cuts through your thoughts, “Is there anything else, City Girl?”
“Hmmmmm?”
“Is there anything else that's been bothering you while you’re out here?”
You bite your lip and shake your head; Frankie has been so kind, you don’t want to push it and appear to complain.
“Come on, I know there is. Go on, pretty girl.”
Pretty girl – there’s that term of endearment again. This time when you hear it, your heart swells and your face flushes – and maybe your thighs press together a little, too. To try and cover up your reaction, you spill your last embarrassing grievance, “Ummmm… it’s kind of spooky at night.”
Frankie booms another side-splitting, deep rumble of a laugh and you instantly feel better, “It’s just sooooo quiet and everyone is so far from one another. I guess I’m used to background city noises and the feeling of people being around. It's been a bit unsettling laying in the dark in silence, hearing every little twig snap.” You cover your eyes, “Plus I packed so poorly for the trip because I thought it was going to be a… cottage. I definitely didn’t bring warm enough clothes. I brought a TON of self-care stuff though – maybe I should try layering some face masks.” It feels so good to be able to lightheartedly make fun of yourself again.
Frankie laughs with you, then looks thoughtful, “Ok, ok, the chilliness I think I can help you out with. The spookiness… got to circle back to that.”
“Thanks, Frankie.” You mean it sincerely. Even having been able to talk to him about your unease makes you dread the upcoming night a lot less.
Back at the beach, Frankie hops out of the boat and reaches in to help you out - when your fingers touch his, a little spark lingers and your heartbeat picks up a bit. Hand in hand, the two of you walk back to the Main Cabin together, not letting go until you enter the kitchen.
---
After Frankie patiently shows you the pantry, the freezers, and where all the kitchen items are, he makes sure you have a passing familiarity with everything before the two of you make wraps for everyone. You find him to be endearingly funny, terribly sweet, and a wonderful conversationalist – Frankie tells you about his work and adventures as a charter pilot, and listens intently as you answer his questions about your work and life in the city. You almost regret calling everyone in for lunch, but the feeling of being able to offer people something after their morning of hard work has brightened your spirits significantly - it feels like a tremendous weight has been lifted off your shoulders.
You don’t know that the obvious change in your countenance fills Frankie with pride and joy, nor do you see the way he gazes at you with fondness as you cheerfully hand out the wraps or when you jump up after lunch is over and hurry to clear the table.
The next day, you’re returning from a solo walk along the trail that runs behind the cabins on the bay, when you come upon an unfamiliar noise as you approach the boys’ property.
It sounds like a loud and sharp sudden crack accompanied by a low manly grunt, then followed by a couple of softer thuds. The echoing combination repeats it self at slightly varying intervals and gets progressively louder until you come upon its source.
From behind a large Spruce tree, you see that it’s Frankie chopping wood.
Frankie repeatedly brings his axe down on the log pieces he’s set up on the chopping block with precision and power. His sweat soaked shirt is stretched taut across his broad back, the damp fabric doing nothing but accentuate the thick muscles that flex and contract with every burly movement.
Though Frankie’s breathing is heavy, you can tell he isn’t even close to being winded - his strength and rugged athleticism evident by the way he relentlessly labours on, splitting log after log.
Every subsequent swing of the axe captivates you further; a wetness pools in your mouth that you have to force yourself to swallow, lest it spill over and you get caught drooling.
"Wanna give me a hand, City Girl?"
Shit.
Emerging from behind what you now realize looks like a hiding spot, you give Frankie a sheepish smile, “Oh, ummm… you look like you have it pretty well handled. Not sure if I could even make a dent in one of those logs.”
Frankie takes off his signature cap and uses the back of the same hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead - he chuckles and his eyes twinkle, “Could you help me gather and stack the wood I split onto that rack over there? And bring me new logs to chop from that other pile there?”
You nod enthusiastically. Frankie’s making work for you and you’re so thankful and excited to help.
For the next hour, you run around gathering the firewood that Frankie splinters and set him up with fresh logs. When you apologize that it takes you so long to carry the larger rounds to him, he tells you not to worry – it gives him a chance to catch his breath and take a much-needed rest. You don’t tell Frankie that he doesn’t look like he needs any rest at all – your own quickened breaths have very little to do with physical exertion and more to do with ogling Frankie’s broad and brawny frame, and the way the entirety of his strapping body is thrown into each axe swing, every muscle engaged, tensed. It’s similar to the way he looked when he effortlessly rowed the two of you in the tin boat across the lake, but like… a hundred times more burly.
You try to distract yourself from openly drooling at Frankie’s sweat soaked torso by expertly arranging the firewood on the rack so that it fits perfectly together like a Tetris puzzle. When the last piece has been placed on top, Frankie marvels that the firewood storage has never looked more organized and with one hand still holding on to his axe, he takes your soft hand in his other and leads you down to lunch.
Over the next couple of days, you notice that Frankie goes out of his way to make sure you’re not alone or hiding out in any of the cabins.
He takes you out in Benny’s truck to run in-town errands like picking up additional groceries or getting gas for the boat. These trips are always filled with fun and easy conversation and end with a treat at the ice cream shop on the main road. Frankie teases you on how you always flit from freezer to freezer, determined to try a flavour you’ve never had, and you groan at how he sticks to his tried-and-true mint chocolate chip.
You’re getting bolder at offering to do the indoor, more domestic tasks and chores that you know you have the skills to handle like making meals and cleaning up; more often than not, without you asking, Frankie will join you in the kitchen. Even though you tell him to relax and that he deserves rest after his physical exertions of the day, Frankie stays and hangs out - casually drying dishes, tasting your sauces, leaning his massive figure against the counter and discreetly pointing to various cabinets and drawers when you forget where things go.
Frankie makes you laugh with his quippy jokes and clever little observations, and he makes your cheeks warm with his subtle and sweet flirting. But mostly, he makes you feel so included, relaxed and accepted – his kindness at having taken you under his wing and giving priority to your comfort and enjoyment at the cabin makes your heart positively sing.
Since the day he took you out on the rowboat, Frankie has come to visit you in the Screened-In Veranda cabin every night. The first night, it’s to bring you extra blankets and one of his thick hoodies – all of it you accept gratefully; he also brings a pack of playing cards and the two of you play Big Two until you can barely keep your eyes open. Making sure you're bundled up in his hoodie, Frankie leaves you to sleep under a comically thick stack of blankets and happily swathed in his manly musk.
The next night, he brings you an old worn box of Rummy-O, explaining that he and the boys try to buy old games from garage sales to bring up to the cabin, even ones they’ve never played before. You’ve never played either, and for the next few nights, you and Frankie spread the tiles over your bedspread and become Rummy-O experts, stopping only when you’re too tired to keep playing - then and only then does Frankie leave you before traipsing back to his own cabin.
Embarrassingly, it takes you until tonight to figure out what he's up to.
“I know what you’re doing,” you grin in the dimly lit cabin as Frankie dons a Korean face mask and lets you give him a cuticle oil treatment.
“I’m getting pampered,” Frankie murmurs from where he lays, careful not to move his face lest the sheet mask slips.
“You’ve been keeping me company every night until I get sleepy so I don’t have to lie here in the dark and be scared,” you look at him warmly, in awe of this tender-hearted man’s goodness.
You see one eye open in the eye hole cut-out of the mask and the corners of the one for the mouth tug up a little, “Has it been working?”
“Yes and thank you. And I think your hoodie and the blankets you brought really helped too – the nights feels way cozier now.”
“Good. I’m glad. Now do you have anything that’s going to help with these bags under my eyes?”
You cackle, sure that the sound of your and Frankie’s joint laughter must carry clear across the lake.
It’s the last night at the cabin and the whole group is out tonight for another bonfire. You’re nice and snug in Frankie’s hoodie, giggling with Jenny, who you feel like you’ve barely seen this whole week – she fills you in on all eight hundred of the adorable things Benny has done for her this week and you’re over the moon seeing her so completely in love. The entire group is in great spirits, toasting to another successful season at the cottage, all the shared memories, new and old stories to tell, and the delicious food eaten over this week. Your dinners for the latter half of the week are praised, and when you bury your face in the oversized sleeves of Frankie's hoodie in embarrassment, you feel his strong arm curl proudly around your shoulders and you positively kvell.
The drinks flow liberally tonight with no one needing to wake up early and the only chore on anyone’s list being packing. About halfway through tonight’s bonfire, Frankie slips away from the group; everyone is too caught up in their own conversations to notice it, but you immediately miss having his comforting presence close by. You’re just about to ask Jenny for the tea on why Tom’s sisters seemed to be giving Will the cold shoulder when you hear Frankie’s dulcet baritone low in your ear, “Hey, City Girl, can I show you something?”
Getting up, you leave the others at the bonfire and follow Frankie back into the Main Cabin. He ushers you towards the main living room and when you enter, the sight that greets you stops you in your tracks with a gasp. The darkened room is lit bright and warm from the fire that Frankie’s laid in the fireplace, the flames crackling slow and calm – he must have been stoking it for a while. In front of the glowing fire is a little carpeted area with cushions arranged purposefully to create a makeshift sitting area. In the middle sits two brandy snifters filled with an amber gold liquid.
“Frankie, what’s all this?” you exclaim, eyes bright as you turn to look at the handsome, affectionate man who brought you here.
Gesturing for you to sit down in front of the gently roaring fire and handing you one of the glasses as you settle in, Franke shyly explains, “Wasn’t able to swing any cashmere sweaters, but I wanted to give you your brandy by the fireplace cottage experience.”
Rendered speechless by how cute and thoughtful Frankie is - all you can do is give him a doe-eyed look of awe as you sip the liquor he managed to procure. For you.
“Thank you, Frankie. This is perfect. But if I’m being honest, I’ve quite warmed up to the cabin experience,” you tease.
“Good,” the tenor of Frankie’s voice is warm with the undercurrent of what’s not yet been spoken out loud.
As you both enjoy your fireside libations, you joke and flirt, keeping the conversation light - somehow tip-toeing around what’s happening between the two of you. Your bodies, though, pay your shyness no mind, inching closer and closer until you’re practically in Frankie’s lap. The conversation grows quieter as words are replaced by looks of longing and want until all you seem to be doing is studying the dark and rough lines of Frankie’s face, the plushness of his lips, the adorable heart shaped patch in his facial scruff.
With one final sip of brandy, the soothing burn of the liquor down your throat gives you that final push of liquid courage and you drop your gaze from Frankie’s soft chocolate brown eyes down to his waiting mouth. Not so innocently, you lick you lips at the sight.
Then Frankie is on you, crashing his lips to yours – the empty snifters rolling away on the carpet as you pour yourself into his mouth, open wide and inviting. This first kiss is nothing short of sensual and desperate, the feelings that have been simmering over the past week boiling over until you’re both a mess of tongues, moans and clashing teeth.
“Oh Frankie,” your soft whimpers a welcomed song to his ears, Frankie returns your sentiments by licking behind your teeth, exploring and stroking into your receptive mouth with a fiery passion. His hands maneuver you to straddle him so that he can better feel you, roaming your back until one hand comes to a rest at the nape of your neck, the other under one of the pert globes of your ass, using them as leverage to press you flush against his chest.
As your hands go to run through Frankie’s soft waves, you knock his favourite cap onto the ground and you giggle loudly when it lands near the now forgotten brandy snifters with a little thud. Frankie feels himself harden at the melodic sound.
You make out like teenagers, tongues dancing and teeth nibbling until you both run out of air and have no choice to break apart, panting.
“Been wanting to do that since I saw you your first day here, City Girl,” admits Frankie, eyes tender and sincere as he rests his forehead against yours.
Leaning in to lightly peck his lips, you’re surprised but can’t help teasing, “What took you so long, Morales?”
Frankie chuckles, though his eyes flash with a bolt of insecurity, “Wasn’t sure you would want to. Benny said something about how he wanted to try and set you up with Will.”
Your face scrunches up with astonishment - so Jenny wasn’t just being facetious! But you quickly cup Frankie’s face and run your thumbs reassuringly through his adorable scruff, “I don’t know anything about that. But what I do know is that I can’t resist a kind hearted, handsome man who goes out of his way to take care of me, never judges me and makes me feel comfortable without pushing me to be someone I’m not. You, Frankie – I can’t imagine wanting anyone but you to kiss me.”
Taking this as the invitation it is, Frankie slots his mouth over yours once more. This second kiss is slower, deeper, and full of promise. You sigh as Frankie’s tongue slides over yours in a slow and intimate waltz and his lips find yours again and again and again.
“Querida,” he murmurs, “when we get back to the city, can I take you out to dinner?”
Grinning at having earned yourself another nickname, you tuck yourself into the nook under Frankie’s chin and press one, two, three soft kisses to his neck while nodding, “I’d love that, Frankie.”
The next morning you wake up well rested, with a strong arm banded over your body and Frankie’s hard chest pressed up against your back. Slipping slowly back to consciousness, you can’t help but smile as the memories of the previous night come flooding back. Frankie came back up to your cabin with you and stayed to keep you company as he had the previous nights, but instead of games or spa treatments, he kept you awake with the hard and soft kisses of his expert mouth and innocent touches that by the end of the night, didn’t feel quite so innocent anymore. Lips swollen after hours of making out, Frankie had tucked in with you under the covers and held you close, lulling you to sleep with evenness of his breathing and the soothing rise and fall of his chest. Rolling over, you find Frankie already slowly blinking awake, “Good morning, City Girl. Did you sleep okay?”
You nod into his shoulder, “Slept perfect, Frankie. Coziest night here with my own personal furnace.”
Frankie chuckles, “I like waking up with you like this, pretty girl. Like seeing you wearing my clothes, too.”
Shyly, you gaze into Frankie’s eyes, heart beating faster at his look of adoration, “I like it too, Frankie. Waking up with you, wearing your clothes.”
After some tender and sweet kisses under the covers, the two of you manage to get out of bed so you can pack and get ready for the trip home.
Right before he closes the door to the Screened-In Veranda Cabin, Frankie turns around, “Wanna ride with me on the way back, City Girl?”
“Sure! What about Santi and Will?” You can’t help but get excited about the prospect of a long road trip with Frankie.
“They can go with Benny. Or Tom. Well at least Santi can ride with Tom. Don’t think Tom’s sisters will let Will into Tom’s truck,” Frankie looks genuinely amused and you once again spot that cute dimple make an appearance in his right cheek.
“Omigod! I meant to ask Jenny about that – what happened??”
Frankie throws you a heart-stopping wink, one that nearly sends your knees buckling, “Tell you on the way home, querida.”
---
A few hours later, everyone’s packed bags are stowed in their respective cars, the cabins locked, boats put away for the winter, and sheets and laundry stripped to go back to the city to be cleaned.
“Ready to go, City Girl?” grins Frankie, “Bet you can’t wait to get home.”
Buckling your seatbelt and looking fondly at the sweet man who made sure you felt seen and cared for this week, you say, almost wistfully, “It’s not that bad here.”
Pressing a tender kiss to your lips, Frankie nuzzles your nose affectionately with his before putting the car in reverse. Steering the wheel one-handedly with his other big paw cupping the back of your headrest, he winks, “Cottage country ain’t got nothing on cabin country, am I right, querida?”
You giggle as he straightens out the car and take the hand that Frankie’s holds out to you over the centre console, “Only the cashmere sweaters, but other than that, nothing.”
Frankie brings your hand up to his lips, placing a sweet kiss to your knuckles as he starts down the windy dirt road in the direction of the city, “An easy fix for next time, City Girl.”
Biting your lip to keep from smiling too much, you nod happily in agreement. Next time.
#tropeoff2024#frankie morales#frankie morales fic#frankie morales fanfiction#frankie morales x f!reader#frankie morales x you#frankie morales x reader#pedro pascal characters fanfiction#pedro pascal characters
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Oh so very good
Breathe | Series Masterlist
All gifs used with permission and made by the wonderful @uuuhshiny
Will 'Ironhead' Miller x female reader
Series Summary: After the Publix incident and breakup with his fiancé, Will begins to find peace and healing when he least expected it, but navigating falling in love again while living with PTSD doesn't come without its hurdles. Can building trust and a healthy relationship prove to outweigh all the demons he faces and finally allow Will to live the life he never thought he deserved?
Series Warnings: Rated E, 18+ only. Swearing. Various sexual activities. Traumas associated with PTSD (violence, nightmares). Please see each individual chapter for detailed warnings.
Part 1 - You've seen Will at the gym many times before, and he you, and today you finally share a moment, discovering your assumptions about him are right.
Part 2 - Will's dreaded grocery run turns out better than expected, and things dial up a notch when he invites you to watch Benny's fight later that night.
Part 3 - You're back at the gym attempting to distract yourself from thinking of Will, your conversation from the night before weighing on your mind, but it turns out Captain Miller has even less restraint when it comes to you than he thought he did.
Part 4 - You stay for an eventful night with Will, helping him through an anxiety attack brought on by a nightmare, all while learning more about each other and taking advantage of his amplified energy and restlessness.
Part 5 - More days of bliss continue for you and Will, including a proper date where lustful feelings are balanced with hesitations, and another nightmare brings things crashing down.
Part 6 - Will starts to distance himself from you to the point of being unable to mend things and tension rises between the Miller brothers over his actions.
Part 7 - Unanswered questions amp up every emotion that time does nothing to lessen, and so much uncertainty raises the concern if everything will turn out okay or if moving on is the only answer.
Part 8 - You and Will finally discuss how to navigate your relationship, and after establishing a comfortable rhythm again, something causes a disruption to test you once more.
Part 9 - Will's feelings come to light in the aftermath of your run-in with Cam, and after more rifts between the two Miller brothers, your relationship progresses to the next step.
Part 10 - Comfortable domestication sets into your routines after Will officially moves in with you, and a quick stop at the grocery store on the way home from the gym earns Will another reputation at Publix.
Part 11 - Will does something he never thought he would again, and after someone from his recent past seeks him out, things fall into place and call for celebration.
Part 12
#will miller#triple frontier#charlie hunnam#will miller x female reader#will miller x reader#will miller smut#will 'ironhead' miller#william 'ironhead' miller#william miller#charlie hunnam characters
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The saga comes to a beautiful end.
Adrift With You - A Frankie Morales Series - Chapter 24 - Finale
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: 11.6k
SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MORALES 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: Well, we made it. The end of the story. Thank you so much to everyone who has read this story, it means more to me than you'll ever know.
Frankie and Jude return to the island. Smut and mentions of drug addiction.
Enjoy! 🖤
After the crash…
They twinkle at him, like little pinpricks of light on an endless velvet canvas.
Millions of stars, embedded in the deep black above. Frankie lies on his back, exhausted, thirsty and gazing up at the sky, mesmerised by the vastness of it all. Pitch black. Lonely.
The night wraps around him, thick and impenetrable, broken only by the distant glow of the stars. It’s deathly silent out here, in the vastness of the ocean, its depth unfathomable. Not a single wave disturbs the surface. The gentle rise and fall of his body, the only movement for miles. It’s silent - no wind, no crashing waves. It’s just him and the eerie, yawning silence.
His toes, his fingers - they’re numb, yet it doesn’t register. Not entirely. Maybe he’s been numb for longer than he realises. Maybe it’s been days, months, years. He’s numbed out everything, surrendering to the cold, to the quiet. Everything is quiet now. And there’s nothing there inside. Nothing that gnaws at him, that claws at his insides like it did before.
This is a release, a surrender. Acquiesced to the acceptance of his fate. The heaviness he’s carried for so long, the weight of the guilt, the shame - it’s all faded now. For the first time in a long time, he’s just… completely numb.
There’s a strange kind of comfort in it. Some people might call it peace, but Frankie knows better. This isn’t peace; it’s the absence of everything. The absence of hope, fear, love, hate. He’s floating in a void, spread on the wreckage as he floats towards the unknown, and he’s come to terms with it. He’s accepted that this is where it ends - out here, alone under the indifferent stars, the world moving on without him.
Es como debe ser. (It’s how it’s supposed to be)
He remembers moments in the middle, hovering beyond the dark - jumbled, fleeting, impossible to hold onto but searing in their intensity. Faces. Disconnected, blurry, some that he recognizes, others he’s tried so hard to forget. They flash in front of him like a movie reel he hasn’t asked to watch. Despair. Blood. Choking gasps in the night. Gunfire. So much gunfire that the sound of it feels etched into his bones, even now.
The sharp smell of burning metal. Sand in his eyes, rough and biting, blinding him as he crouches low, praying for cover that never comes fast enough. Then shrapnel. The sudden, gut-wrenching sting in his hip. He can still feel the jagged edge of the metal tearing through him, the way it knocked the wind out of him. The pain was sharp, but brief - then everything went numb. Just like now.
Helicopter blades thudding overhead, stirring the sand, whipping it into his face. Chaos all around him. Men shouting. Some falling. Some never getting back up. The blades whir and chop at the air, pulling him up, yanking him away from the blood-soaked ground below, from the lives left behind.
Then, the quiet. The terrifying quiet. The sterile smell of linoleum floors, the harsh fluorescent lights burning his eyes. The beeping of machines tracking time he’s lost somewhere between survival and hell. Acidic vomit burning the back of his throat, emptying his stomach and his ass in the middle of the night as pain twisted inside him, making everything worse.
There was no one around in those moments. Just the hum of machines and the taste of bile, his body betraying him. The clack of crutches, a tattoo needle buzzing and inking numbers into his skin. 9. 28. 39. 87. 208. 674. 9 physical scars. 28 stitches. 39 confirmed kills. 87 civilians. 208 days spent on the front line in the desert heat. 674 bullets.
Then there was displacement. Floundering. The fuckin’ VA. Santi. An offer. Mountains, jagged and unforgiving, standing like silent witnesses to everything he couldn’t quite reconcile. He remembers the mules, stubborn and plodding, their hooves clattering against the rocky paths, and Tom - God, Tom. Bloodied and broken. His eyes blinkered out, wide with shock, disbelief, and something worse. Something that Frankie couldn’t forget, no matter how hard he tried. Tom’s blood smeared on Frankie’s hands, thick and warm. The weight of him in his arms as they all tried to drag him out, the pressure of time running out. He’d watched it drain away, slip through their fingers like sand. It had all happened so fast, but also in slow, excruciating moments, each one etched deep into the folds of Frankie’s mind.
And then, after everything, there’s that cup. The goddamn polystyrene cup of shitty coffee. The first sip had been bitter, the second almost metallic. Cold by the time it touched his chapped, quivering lips, but he didn’t care. It was something to focus on, something to hold onto when everything else felt like it was slipping away. He sat there, staring into the murky brown liquid, wondering how the hell something as trivial as bad coffee could feel like it was crushing him. How it was the end of the goddamn world. That cup was the weight of everything wrong, condensed into one miserable sip. It was nothing, but in that moment, it was everything. The endless cycle of waiting, the monotony, the limbo between action and memory, between survival and meaning.
He would see that cup again. It would haunt him. The same cheap, flimsy material cradled in his hands at the community centre during the program. His fingers shaking as he gripped it too tightly, knuckles white as he tried to hold on to something - anything - that made sense. He’d worn that piss-poor coffee more than he drank it, splashed it across his shirt when the tremors hit, when the weight of withdrawal, of trauma, of needing to tumble into oblivion overwhelmed him.
That scalding burn across his skin felt like a punishment, a reminder that he couldn’t even hold onto a cup of coffee without fucking it up.
Deceptiveness had followed him like a shadow. The lies he’d told himself, the denial that had wrapped itself around him, suffocating. Benny’s sad eyes. Will’s stern words. Carla’s terrified tears. The desperation to fall - implausible, irrational, but so tempting. To just let go. Give in. Why fight it anymore? But he hadn’t. Not fully. Not yet. Frankie had clawed his way through the program, shaky hands and all, trying to grasp at something more than just the cold, bitter taste of defeat.
A couch to sleep on. A job. An opportunity to start over. Then, a plane. Boarding a plane without thinking, without knowing if he was running from something or trying to find something that he couldn’t yet name around his teeth and gums. The memories blur here, too. Faces in the crowd. The rumble of the turbines. The press of strangers around him. Hurtling. Drowning. Burning. He was burning.
But now none of that matters. None of it registers.
Just the stars. Distant, and impossibly far away. They’re so pretty, he thinks. He can hear a voice, it registers somewhere inside his ears. Distant, low. Singing.
“Estrellita, ¿dónde estás? Me pregunto qué serás. En el cielo y en el mar, un diamante de verdad. Estrellita, ¿dónde estás? Me pregunto qué serás.” (Little star, where are you? I wonder what you are. In the sky and in the sea, a true diamond. Little star, where are you? I wonder what you are.)
It sings over and over again, the voice. Until Frankie tunes it in and realises it’s him singing. A rhyme from his childhood somewhere. Perhaps his mother sang it to him, or the children in his class. Low and breathy, he sings it over and over.
He reaches up, pruny wet fingers stretching toward the black heavens, like maybe, just maybe, he could pull one of those stars down. Feel its warmth, its brightness in his hands. Hold it against his chest to stop him shivering. But his fingers swipe at empty air, never coming close to the light. Just grasping at nothingness.
That’s the part that gets to him - the futility of it all. The stars are there, just out of reach, so close and yet so far. Just like everything else he’s ever wanted.
His chest rises and falls, slow and steady, as if his body hasn’t caught on to the fact that he’s given up. That he’s done. He’s always been the fighter, the one who claws his way out of the smoking wreckage. But now, in this moment, he’s not fighting anymore. He’s just... here. Floating, breathing, - existing, with nothing left to lose.
And the stars - those goddamn fuckin’ stars - just keep on twinkling, as if they don’t care one bit. As if the world will keep turning, the tides will keep rising and falling, long after he’s gone. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the way it was always supposed to be.
Estrellita, ¿dónde estás? (Little star, where are you?)
Jude feels the sharp sting of the wind whipping through her hair, sending strands flying wildly around her face as the speedboat cuts through the churning water.
The acrid taste from this morning still lingers around her teeth, a bitter reminder of the nerves she’d purged into the toilet just hours before.
As the boat surges forward, the salty spray of the ocean mingles with the adrenaline coursing through her veins. The hazy horizon looms ahead, a distant promise wrapped in the shadows of the island, and with every wave they crest, her heart races in sync with the engine’s roar.
She grips the sides of the boat, bracing herself against the chaos around her, trying to find solace in the rhythm of the journey. Despite the unease sloshing around in her stomach, there’s a spark of anticipation mingled with the fear - a sense that she’s on the brink of something transformative.
The rhythmic thrum of the motor pulses beneath her boots, and each wave the boat leaps over sends a jolt through her body, a constant reminder that there’s no turning back now.
The island looms ahead, a distant, malignant shadow at first, but growing with every passing second, its jagged silhouette stretching higher against the bruised sky.
Home. That’s the first thought that pierces through the swirling tumult of her mind, a fragile anchor amid the storm of topsy-turvy emotions. Memories flood back - each wave crashing against the boat seems to carry a piece of her past, both beautiful and haunting.
The ghosts of those fervent memories swirl like the swell, haunting the back of her skull like distant echoes she’s tried to exorcise herself of. They’re memories that have been mostly silenced, buried beneath the passion she and Frankie share for one another - the moments of warmth and holistic love that have acted as a bandage against the bleeding wounds of the past. But the past, relentless and spiteful, has a way of creeping back into the present.
And sometimes, when Jude least expects it, those memories rear their ugly heads to scream.
Approaching the island of their own volition this time feels different, almost foreign. There’s no sheer panic twisting in their guts, no wild thrashing against the waves, no desperate struggle just to stay afloat. They weren't clawing their way towards the shore in terror anymore, driven by the primal need to survive, to escape the drowning pull of the sea.
This time, they’re in control. The island isn’t resisting; it’s welcoming them into its maw, patient and knowing, as if it had always anticipated their return. The jagged edges soften in the fading light, becoming the tracks of the ridge they once traversed wearily, and the waves seem to whisper encouragement, urging them closer.
Every vociferous moment they’d endured here now feels like part of a larger shift, woven together with threads of hope and resilience, even though they’ve been worn down and frayed. The island stands poised to embrace them, ready to unveil its secrets and help them confront the shadows of their past.
The steady hum of the boat’s engine beneath them is meant to be reassuring, a sign of their strength, their decision to face the place they had once feared. But now, as the coastline grows clearer, the peaks becoming more distinct, that quiet confidence begins to waver a little.
Jude clutches onto Frankie’s arm, her fingers wrapping around his bicep as the boat jolts against the churning waves. He looks down at her with soft, crinkled eyes peeping out from beneath the bowed shadow of his cap, a tight smile playing on his lips.
His other hand on the throttle, the boat speeds forward, cutting through the waves with purpose, but the sound of the engine is no longer enough to drown out the screaming inside her head. It’s louder now - those ghosts of terror and trauma only half-forgotten. The island has a pull, an aura that seems to make the past come alive again, as if everything they’ve endured is waiting just beneath the surface, eager to devour them the moment they step foot on the shore.
But now, perhaps more than ever, that same screaming fear threatens to rise from the depths, louder than the roar of the boat, louder than the crash of the waves. Sharp and biting, waiting for the right moment to take hold.
The familiar, bitter tang of salt clings to the air, mixing with the foam of the sea, and as Jude’s gaze remains fixed on the island, she can’t shake the creeping feeling that it’s coming for them all over again. The memories of what had happened there - what they’d survived - rises unbidden to the surface, breaking through.
The thought of returning feels like stepping back into a nightmare, like willingly walking into the jaws of a creature that had already tasted the blood of their fear. The closer they draw, the more its sharp, jagged rocks seem to transform into teeth, and the tangled mass of the trees creeping down the cliff side becomes its dripping, ravenous tongue.
The boat slows as it nears the rocky shoreline, the rumble of the engine fading into a low murmur. Frankie twists the key and pulls it from the ignition, but instead of moving, he remains still as a statue, his gaze fixed on the land before them.
The sudden quiet falls over them, leaving only the soft lap of waves against the hull. He turns towards Jude, his eyes locking onto hers, and for a moment, the looming weight of the island seems to shrink away.
Frankie’s mesmeric, a vision of sun-kissed warmth and effortless strength draped in a floral shirt that billows softly around his paunch. It’s taken a good two years since the rescue for him to fill out again, a welcome sight of fat in his cheeks and thighs. The relentless Floridian sun has blessed him with a permanent golden tan that makes his skin glow, his bronzed arms flexing lightly as he rests them on the side of the boat.
His thick, pink lips curve into a familiar smile, one that sits just beneath his fuzzy moustache, which seems to catch and reflect the sunlight in the wiry greys. There’s something magnetic in his expression, a reassurance that makes Jude’s heart stutter, even in the face of all they’re about to confront.
It must be a trick, he’s not real. Not hers. How can he be? He’s so fucking glorious. The thought flickers like a candle in the dark - an ember of doubt that refuses to extinguish. He’s too perfect, too bright against the backdrop of her past. Glorious, indeed, but how can someone like him love someone like her? But as he turns to her, eyes sparkling with the glimmer of the ocean in them, she feels the weight of those doubts begin to drown.
He’s always been real, always been her salvation. Maybe love, in its messy, unpredictable way, has found a way to wrap around them both, binding their broken pieces together.
Jude smiles faintly back, the warmth in his gaze contagious. As she does, she reaches up to gather the loose strands of her hair, which have escaped from the braid that had once been neat that morning. And of course, it wasn’t just any braid - it was the one he’d tied for her in the stillness, before they set out on this journey - just like he had hundreds of times before, here on this very island.
She can still feel the ghost of his touch dancing across her scalp, the way his long, thick fingers had expertly woven through her hair as she stood before the mirror, watching their reflection in the hotel room. His presence behind her had been the grounding force she craved, his hands slow and deliberate as if each twist of the braid was a ritual to calm her nerves. She’d giggled as his tongue had poked out like it always did when he concentrated on the steps of the weave.
“Que?” (What?) He’d queried as she chuckled.
“Nothing.” Jude had smirked, and he yanked softly on her hair as he blushed.
She’d felt his breath on her neck then, the warmth of his lips as they brushed against her skin. He’d kissed her there, over and over, lingering in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Between each kiss, his voice had been soft, full of gentle concern as he asked her how she was feeling about it all. Coaxing answers out of her between shoulder shrugs and softly irritable sighs.
And in that moment, as his lips pressed against her skin and his hands worked through her hair with such tenderness, she’d felt a fleeting sense of peace. His touch, his presence, had made her feel like maybe, they could face whatever waited for them on the island this time.
Now, as she looks back at Frankie, the memory of the morning still lingers, like a protective barrier against the dread that threatens to tear its way in. Frankie has a way of making her feel safe, even when the world around them feels anything but. He’s her anchor, her protector, her calm in the storm, and as they stand there in the gentle sway of the boat, with the island looming just a few sloshy steps away in the water, she knows she needs that strength now more than ever.
Strength. It’s a strange feeling, something summoned from a place within you that sometimes feels elusive, out of reach - as if it might vanish at any moment once you manage to defy all odds and clasp it. Frankie knows he’s had to claw it out with his bare hands at times, calling for it to come and scoop him up off the floor during the darkest moments of his life, battling the addiction that haunts him through various dips in his timeline.
But that bony mass he pulled from the soil of his soul has taken a shapely form now. It smiles at him with soft, loving eyes, cradling him in a way that feels both grounding and unreal. This newfound strength whispers affirmations into his ear, a gentle reminder that he is worthy of love, of connection, of a future free from the chains that tighten around his ankles sometimes.
And it has a name: Jude.
As he looks into her eyes, he realises that she’s not just a reflection of his strength; she’s the very source of it. And he is hers, too.
The thought of going back to the island gnaws at both of them, a weight they carry in the lines of their weary expressions. It’s the kind of fear that’s settled deep in their bones, made sharper by the knowledge of what they’ve already survived.
Going back isn’t just about facing the island - it’s about confronting everything it symbolises. Facing the strewn corpses of their demons, scattered and half-buried on the shoreline, lingering like wispy apparitions. They’d fought them before, had stared into the jaws of their darkest fears and somehow emerged on the other side. But slaying your demons is only half the battle.
It’s the aftermath, the return, that stirs this quiet dread from its slumber. The process of looking at the mangled fuselage of your past, the remnants of what has nearly destroyed you, and deciding to finally let it all go.
There’s a kind of holistic healing in that, a finality that comes with walking through the graveyard of your old wounds. But it also means revisiting the pain, embracing it, however briefly, before burying it for good.
Jude knows that’s what this journey is meant to be, the thought of it consuming her insides for so long. It’s supposed to be closure, to reach the last chapter and put the book down for good. A way to reclaim the place that had once threatened to consume them and turn it into something else. Something they could move beyond.
Yet, the anxiety lingers. The thought of standing face-to-face with those demons again - even as lifeless shadows of what they’d once been - feels like reopening a scar that has barely healed on the back of her calf.
Would they be strong enough to bury it all this time? To let it go, finally?
She glances at Frankie, and in his eyes, she sees the same question haunting him. The same quiet fear. But there’s also determination there - an unspoken vow between them. Whatever demons remain here, they’ll face them together.
And once the dirt is packed down and the ghosts silenced of their lamenting wails, they’ll leave this place behind. Forever.
Three days ago…
Being back in South Africa after the plane touches down stirs all sorts of emotions, each one hitting Jude in slow drowning waves, impossible to ignore.
Blood thrumming in her ears, every tense knot searing as they tangle tighter. A lump lodging in her throat, a weight she can’t swallow. That sickly feeling has followed her here, intensifying in the weeks leading up to the trip, turning her stomach into a constant churning pit of anxiety. Frequenting the bathroom at home in the early dawn, she purges the contents of her stomach relentlessly, her mind racing with memories that feel both distant and too close.
Glancing at her clammy reflection in the bathroom mirror, water dripping from her chin, she can’t shake the gnawing tension that digs deeper with each passing day. The eyes staring back at her look haunted, purple shadows underlined by the sleepless nights spent wrestling with what is to come.
Frankie’s concern is felt circling her back, a large palm of warmth and reassurance and suggesting they postpone the trip if she’s sick.
“No, I’ll be fine,” she assures him, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. The minty taste of toothpaste lingers on her tongue for the third time this morning, and she leans in to give him a quick kiss, hoping the gesture will convey her determination.
But even as she says the words, the tightness in her chest hints at the truth she’s struggling to face.
The flight is tense. After surviving a plane crash, choosing to fly again feels like stepping onto a precipice. Your body can’t relax, no matter how hard you try to tell it to. Each vibration of the aircraft sends adrenaline coursing through her veins, every bump a reminder of the past.
Jude’s heart races with each announcement over the intercom, every slight tilt of the plane amplifying her anxiety. She grips the armrests, her knuckles white, and even the smell of recycled air becomes a trigger, a memory of fear lurking just beneath the surface.
And Frankie isn’t faring any better with beads of sweat rolling down his temples and eyes focused like a darting laser beam. His breathing is shallow, hands trembling slightly as he tries to recall the layout of a helicopter's dashboard in his mind. Dials, sequences, switches - everything feels distant, a haze of fragmented memories.
"Come on, focus," he mutters to himself through gritted teeth, fighting to stay calm. He forces himself to remember those moments in the cockpit, back when it was all second nature. Back when he was in control.
As the wheels finally meet the tarmac with a dull thud, a flood of memories, both bittersweet and unresolved, wash over Jude. The familiar scent of the earth, the dry heat of the breeze that drifts through the cabin as they disembark, even the sound of distant voices speaking in a blend of languages - it all stirs something deep inside her, like an old, festering wound being exposed to air.
The landscape beyond the airport is both comforting and strange, a mixture of the known and the unfamiliar, like seeing an old friend after years of separation and realising how much has changed. Maybe it’s because she’s changed so much since she’d last been here.
Or maybe it’s the weight of everything that’s happened between then and now - the choices, the mistakes, the ghosts she’d hoped to outrun.
Frankie takes her hand as they move through the busy airport, his fingers knotting around hers, grounding and protective. She hadn’t even noticed at first, so caught up in the swirl of emotions that came with being back in Cape Town. The steady flow of people, the hum of conversations, the flash of luggage wheels skittering across the floor - it all blurs into the background as they navigate their way towards the exit. But his grip is firm, a constant in the rush of everything else.
It isn’t until they’re settled in the back of the Uber, the city slipping past them through the tinted windows, that she realises he hasn’t stopped crushing her bones.
The first night in the hotel, neither of them sleeps. They lay tangled around each other, their limbs heavy and damp with the lingering heat of the day, their bodies pressed close, seeking comfort in the humid night air. The air conditioning unit hums softly, but it can’t quite chase away the sticky feeling that hangs in the room like a lead weight.
Jude’s head rests against Frankie’s chest, feeling the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing. His arms wrap around her, his fingers absently tracing small circles on her back. They hadn’t spoken much since turning out the lights, but words weren't needed. There’s a silent understanding between them, a shared unease that neither can quite put into words.
Jude shifts slightly, her legs intertwining with his, her bare skin pressing against the warmth of his thigh. Every so often, she feels the twitch of his muscles, the way his body tenses and then relaxes again, as if he, too, is wrestling with his thoughts.
They hadn’t needed to talk about it - they both knew why sleep evaded them.
The daunting silence is interrupted by Frankie’s phone pinging a while later. He reaches blindly for it, a croaky voice answering.
“Hey… yeah, yeah I'm good. You alright?”
Jude rolls over as he sits up, listening to him speak on the phone for a few minutes before he comes back to bed, encasing her in his arms again.
“Everything alright?” She yawns.
“Yeah. That was, uh… Dieter,” Frankie mumbles into her shoulder, his breath warm against her skin.
“Dieter? What did he want at this hour?” she asks, intrigued.
“He doesn’t know we’re out here,” he chuckles. “But he wants to help with the Veteran therapy program. S'why he called.”
Jude baulks. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Frankie replies, almost sounding surprised.
She considers it. “That’s… unexpected.”
“Right? He’s been struggling, I think, and maybe this could help him find some purpose.” Frankie says, his fingers brushing through her hair, a soothing motion that calms the tension that still lingers between them. “I’m glad he finally called.”
Jude nods slowly, weighing the implications. “It’s a big step for him.”
“Yeah,” Frankie agrees, his expression thoughtful.
“It’ll be good for you, too,” Jude confirms, turning in the bed to face him. His profile is highlighted by the sliver of light streaming through the gap in the curtain, casting soft shadows across his features. “I’m so proud of you.”
"Cállate-" (Shut up) he says, playfully putting his hand over her mouth, but she laughs and pushes it away.
“No, I’m serious,” Jude insists, her gaze steady and earnest. “You did this - the book, the film, the program... All of it. You’ve turned your pain into something that helps others.”
Frankie shifts slightly, the weight of her words settling in. “It’s just… I didn’t expect any of this,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “Sometimes, I feel like I'm an imposter, like any moment they’ll realise I’m just faking it.”
Jude shakes her head, her eyes warm and unwavering. “You’re not faking anything. You’re brave, Frankie. The bravest person I’ve ever known.”
“Wrong,” he says, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “You’re far braver than I am.”
“Me?” she asks, a hint of disbelief lacing her voice. “What have I done that’s so brave?”
“You survived.” He says, kissing her nose.
“I had you by my side,” she replies. “It’s easy to be brave when you’re not alone.”
He tilts her chin gently, forcing her to meet his gaze. “But it’s still your strength that drives you. And you inspire me, Jude. You always have. From the moment we met on that damn island, you pushed me to be better, to confront my own fuckin’ fears. I wouldn't have survived that island without you.”
She kisses him, tears falling down her cheeks. “I love you, Frankie.” She whimpers into his mouth.
They were escorted by a larger vessel to the coastlines of the Prince Edward Islands and to take a smaller speedboat to the island themselves the following morning.
The ship slows as they pass the rim of the major islands leaving them far behind until they can no longer see them, and the crew makes quick work of lowering the smaller speedboat into the choppy waves below. This final leg of the journey is theirs alone - a solitary approach to a place that feels almost otherworldly in its isolation.
Jude stands at the edge of the dock, staring out at the rugged terrain that looms in the distance, her chest tightening with a mix of anticipation and dread. The wind whips at her face, sharp and salty, as the crew signals for them to board the smaller boat.
She watches Frankie step into it first.
“You sure you know how to drive this thing? It’s not a helicopter,” Jude teases with a smirk as Frankie helps her step into the rocking speedboat.
The moment her feet touches the floor of the boat, she feels the surge of adrenaline again in her veins and that sickly feeling scratches at the back of her throat.
Shit. They’re really doing this.
Frankie grins crookedly, the wind catching his wispy chocolate curls beneath the cap he always wears, come rain or shine, making them billow and dance in the breeze.
“I think I’ll manage,” he says with an easy shrug. “If I can get us off the ground, I can definitely get us to shore.”
Jude chuckles, steadying herself against the swaying motion of the waves. “You’ve never actually taken us off the ground, Captain Morales. I’m still waiting to be impressed by those so-called flight skills of yours.”
Frankie pauses, feigning offence, his lips curling into a playful smirk. “Hm. Well, we’ll change that when we get back home,” he shoots back, voice low and teasing, stepping closer until he’s right in front of her. “Promise.”
Before Jude can respond, he reaches out, pulling her towards him in one smooth motion. The world seems to still for a moment as his lips meet hers, soft and warm, cutting through the cold, briny air that swirls around them.
She melts into the kiss, her hands instinctively finding their way to his broad chest, the rhythm of the waves almost in sync with the steady beat of his heart beneath her fingertips.
The kiss is brief, heady, but it’s enough to ground her in the here and now, to push back the unease that’s been lingering ever since they set eyes on the distant silhouette of the island. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against hers for a beat, the warmth of his breath mingling with her own.
His eyes are deep and serious now, as if silently reminding her that no matter what waits for them on the island, they’re still together. And that means something. It means everything.
“You ready, hermosa?” he whispers, his voice low and steady, cutting through the rising sound of the engine and the slap of the waves against the boat.
“Yeah,” she replies, though her voice quivers slightly, betraying the uncertainty that dances just beneath her bravado.
Frankie smiles, that same infectious grin that had first drawn her to him, and she feels a spark of courage ignite within her. “We’ve got this,” he says, almost as if he can read her thoughts. “Just remember, whatever fuckin’ happens, we face it together.”
“Don’t jinx it.” She groans, his chuckle ringing in her ears despite the anxious tone of it.
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, the familiar salt of the ocean air fills her lungs. With Frankie beside her, the unknown feels a little less daunting. She can do this.
He makes it look easy as the boat speeds through the waves, cutting through the frothy surf with a confidence that’s both impressive and reassuring. Frankie’s large hands grip the steer, guiding the small vessel steadily toward the island. The engine roars beneath them, a powerful heartbeat that matches the thrumming in her chest.
As they race forward, she can’t help but admire how natural he looks in this role, his focus unwavering as he pilots them, his expression a mix of concentration and buzz. Another side of him she’s yet to discover, to unravel around her fingertips as she opens him up.
“Almost there,” Frankie calls out, breaking the silence that has settled around them. The thrill in his voice is infectious, pulling her back into the moment.
Jude’s breath hitches in her throat as the island comes into a clearer view, its rugged cliffs rising majestically from the turbulent sea. Waves crash violently against the shore, sending up sprays of white foam that sparkle in the sunlight, and for a moment, she feels a shiver of recognition wash over her.
Welcome back, Jude. I’ve missed you.
The first step out of the boat feels surreal, as if she’s stepping into a dream.
Jude’s booted foot meets the rocky shoreline with a soft thud, the ground beneath her both solid and unsteady under the water, a reminder of the world she’s re-entering. The air is thick with the scent of salt and earth and something else maudlin.
She hesitates, a rush of memories flooding her mind, each one more vivid than the last. The island has a way of pulling at her heartstrings, a mix of nostalgia and anxiety weaving together in an intricate dance and she’s never sure who’s leading the tempo.
It’s a place of both beauty and pain, and now, standing on the cusp of it, she feels like she’s been thrust back into a chapter of her life she’s tried to desperately close, but to no avail.
“Jude?” Frankie’s voice breaks through her reverie, gentle yet firm. He stands close, jeans drenched from the shins down as he lingers with her in the water, one hand outstretched as if sensing the swirl of emotions within her.
She takes a deep breath, letting the air fill her lungs. With a nod, she steps forward, the pebbles shifting under her as she moves. Each step feels monumental, as if she’s walking into a new reality, one that’s both familiar and foreign.
The island rises around her, wild and untamed, the dense greenery framing the rocky cliffs that loom above. She can hear the whisper of the wind through the leaves, a soft invitation that both excites and unsettles her.
The island seems to be in exactly the same condition as it was post-tsunami when they’d left unexpectedly, its wild beauty both haunting and familiar, albeit a little more overgrown. Thick vines and clusters of vibrant greenery have reclaimed parts of the beach, damp clumps of sand rise over her hiking boots like little peaks with every step.
Jude’s heart races as she takes it all in, the landscape imprinted in her memory, yet somehow transformed by time and nature’s resilience.
“Wow…” The word slips from her lips as she looks around, her breath catching at the sight.
“Yeah,” Frankie agrees with a sagged breath.
They walk slowly in hand along the beachfront, the soft crunch of sand beneath their feet echoing the countless times they’ve done this before, when the world felt simpler and the island was just a backdrop for their survival.
As they stroll, the past feels tangible, like gossamer spirits weaving in and out of sight. She can almost see them - versions of themselves from those long-ago days. Crawling up the bank coughing up seawater. Frankie, with his playful grin, lighting the fire while she busies herself with the solar stills. Building the shack. Watching the stars.
The island held a piece of them, and it always would. Every rustle of leaves and whisper of the wind seems to carry the echoes of their laughter, their shared secrets, and deep pain.
“Look at this place,” Frankie says softly, squeezing her hand tighter as they pause to take in the view.
The horizon of the ocean stretches endlessly before them, waves crashing rhythmically against the shore, a constant reminder of time’s passage.
Jude holds onto her Nikon, the weight of it hanging around her neck, the strap bumping gently against her stomach as she walks alongside Frankie in quiet awe. A camera has always been her companion, a way to capture the world around her, and now it feels especially significant, a bridge to both memory and reality.
Jude raises the camera, framing a shot of the horizon, the sunlight glinting off the water’s surface like shards of glass. It feels sacred, a snapshot of both the present and the past merging into one. She presses the shutter, the click resonating in the air, and a sense of calm washes over her.
“It’s just like I remember,” she murmurs, lowering the camera to her chest. The island holds their story in every crevice, every shadow cast by the remaining trees swaying gently in the breeze.
“Yeah,” Frankie replies, his voice tight, as though he’s been strangled.
He pauses, letting the weight of the moment wash over him. Jude watches as he stops to run his fingers over the jagged tips of the rocks, tracing their familiar contours with a reverence that speaks volumes.
“You used to sit right here,” he says wistfully, and she nods, recalling those hours spent searching, hoping, for a rescue. "I hated it. How sad you were."
He stands there for a few moments, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his jeans, taking it all in - the vibrant greens creeping up towards the ridge, the salty tang of the ocean air, the rhythmic crash of waves that had been their soundtrack during countless days trapped here.
His expression shifts, a mix of nostalgia and reflection etched across his features. “Feels like we never fuckin' left,” Frankie breathes, his gaze drifting toward the horizon, where the sea meets the sky in a seamless blend of grey and blues.
His eyes trace the waves to the sand and he sees red tinges in it until he blinks it all away.
Jude steps closer, sensing the intensity of his emotions. “You okay?”
He turns to her, blinking fast around glassy eyes, his arms finding their familiar home around her waist. He presses a kiss to her lips around a frown. “Yeah,” he nods slowly, though doubt lingers in his gaze. “Just... it’s a lot to take in.”
She studies him, her fingers tracing the fuzzy lines of his jaw, grounding him, watching as his lips press more kisses to the tips.
“It’s strange, isn’t it? All this... it feels both weirdly comforting and haunting at the same time,” Jude hums out softly, her eyes scanning the landscape that’s shaped so much of who they are.
Frankie nods and sighs. “It’s like this harsh reminder of everything we went through together. The good and the bad.” He turns to her, his expression softening. “But it’s also a chance for something new, right?”
“I think so,” Jude agrees.
Frankie squeezes her waist a little tighter, his warmth enveloping her.
“Look,” Jude nods over his shoulder.
She spots the cave mouth, a shadowy gash in the rocky beach that tugs at her memory. It was here they’d hunkered down those first few days, the world outside a relentless torrent of uncertainty and fear, while they watched the droplets race down the cave walls, waiting for their water bottle in the sand to fill so they could quench their thirst.
Jude smiles, her mind drifting back to the moment they ventured deeper into the cave, the thrill of exploration tinged with fear when she’d slipped into the hole. Darkness had enveloped her, and panic surged until she’d felt Frankie’s steady grip on her hand, pulling her back towards him.
I’ve got you, he’d whispered, his voice a sanctuary of reassurance that calmed her racing heart. He’d never let go.
As they start to explore, they pass the place where the fire pit had once been dug out - a small indent in the sand is all that remains, swept away by the tsunami. A wave of warmth washes over her as she remembers those nights spent lying together beside it, the flickering flames casting dancing shadows while they’d shared stories, laughter, and absurd dreams of cheeseburgers.
They’d incubated their affection here right in this spot, not knowing that love would blossom from the seeds of those conversations, spreading like wildfire in their hearts.
Frankie squeezes her hand as they approach the tree line, and they pause for a moment, gazing out toward the bay in the distance on the other side. The rocks protrude from the water, reminders of the island’s wild beauty.
“Remember when I stepped on that fuckin’ urchin?” Frankie breaks the awed silence, a grin spreading across his face.
Jude snickers, the sound bubbling up without restraint. “Yep, I do.”
“It’s not funny,” he retorts, though he can’t help the playful glint in his eyes. “Hurt like hell.”
“It was a little funny though,” she replies, stepping over dried-out vines and fallen tree branches, laughter still dancing in her voice. The memory plays out vividly in her mind: Frankie hopping on one foot, trying to shake off the pain while she struggled to stifle her giggles.
“Okay, maybe a little,” he concedes, shaking his head with mock exasperation. “You broke your shoulder playing fuckin’ Tarzan. Remember that?” He reminds her playfully.
“I had my Jane to save me.” Jude grins, her heart lighter as they walk on, their chuckles mingling with the whispers of the wind.
The island is alive around them, resonating with the echoes of their past, and she feels an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the memories they’d created here together. Those moments of sunshine that broke through the dark ominous shadows.
“It feels really surreal,” she admits, glancing up at him, her eyes sparkling with affection. “Like we’ve come full circle, you know?”
Frankie nods, his expression warm and earnest. “Yeah, we’re not just surviving anymore.”
They walk through the trees, the soft crunch of leaves beneath their feet giving way to the gentle lap of waves as they near the bay. Jude stops, drawn by the breathtaking view before her. The water sparkling under the sun, a brilliant shade of turquoise that seems almost otherworldly.
She lifts her camera, framing the scene as she captures the vibrant colours and the way the light dances on the surface. She can see Frankie fishing in her mind, stabbing at the water with the wooden spears he carved.
As she focuses on the shot, she glances over to find Frankie shedding his clothes, boots tossed aside in a careless pile.
“What are you doing?”
“Going for a swim,” he smirks. “You coming?”
“Watch out for urchins…” She retorts, and he simply flips her off.
He wades into the crystal-clear water, his chuckles ringing out as the ocean embraces him, warm and inviting against his skin. It feels different now, a comforting caress rather than the sharp chill he remembers from his first day on the island when he washed up.
Jude can’t help but smile as he entices her in, her heart swelling at the sight of him bobbing on the surface as he swims leisurely in the water. She snaps a few more pictures, capturing the way the sunlight glints off his wet skin, the carefree abandon in his movements as he splashes through the shallows.
After a few moments, she sets the camera down, letting it rest beside his discarded clothes. With a deep breath, she joins him, the cool water wrapping around her bare legs as she wades in fully naked to join him. It feels exhilarating, refreshing, and liberating all at once.
“Hey!” Frankie calls out, splashing her playfully. She laughs, the sound bubbling up as she retaliates, sending droplets flying in his direction.
“Can you believe we’re actually back?” She asks eventually as she clutches onto him as they look behind them at the island. "Like, we're really here."
Frankie shakes his head, his curls slicked back and dripping around his ears. “Feels weird,” he replies, his gaze earnest as it meets hers.
“It’s still really peaceful,” she continues. Jude thinks about all the times she’d wished for the sight of another boat, the distant promise of rescue, and yet now, here in the same spot where they used to spear fish, it feels strange to entertain the idea that the boat is waiting for them on the other side of the island to take them away at any moment.
They’re free now, free to choose when - or if - they’ll leave this place.
Frankie seems to sense her contemplative mood and leans closer, placing a soft kiss on her cheek. His mouth lingers against her salty skin, the warmth of his breath sending a rush of comfort through her. In that moment, the world around them fades, leaving just the two of them, wrapped in the cocoon of their shared history, the ocean keeping them afloat together.
They stay together in the water for a little while longer, feeling the hot sun scorch their backs and heads.
Eventually, they exchange knowing glances, and with a shared smile, they wade back to the shore, retrieving their clothes from the sand. Jude feels a warmth spread through her as they dress, the intimacy of the moment mingling with the bright, unfiltered light of the afternoon.
“What did you expect?” she asks him, tugging at the hem of her top.
“I dunno,” Frankie replies, buttoning up his shirt with a thoughtful expression. “You?”
She shrugs, searching for the right words. How do you explain confronting your darkest fears only to be met with something else entirely?
“I guess I thought it would be more... heavy,” she admits. “Like a weight that wouldn’t fully lift off my chest. But it has a little. It’s odd. I kinda feel like I can breathe a little better.”
“It feels like... freedom?” Frankie asks, a small smile breaking across his face.
“Yeah,” she smiles at him. “We’re free.”
They wade through the overgrown bushes, pushing drooping leaves out of their faces as they navigate the familiar yet wild terrain. The air is thick with the scent of earth and salt, memories intertwining with the rustling of leaves.
Frankie glances over his shoulder at her intermittently, flashing that enigmatic grin.
“What?” She smirks.
“I see what you’re doing. You keep staring at my culo.” (Ass)
“It’s a mighty fine culo.” Jude concludes, bending down to pick up some fallen tamarind pods, her fingers brushing against the rough canopy ground. She places one in Frankie’s large palm.
“I really don’t fuckin’ miss these.” He gripes.
“Me either.” she says, wrinkling her nose.
But they crack the pods open anyway, and the tangy-sweet goop inside bursts forth, flavour that ignites their mirth. They exchange glances, remembering the saccharine taste that’s so reminiscent of their time on the island, through frowns and disgust.
“Yeah, it still tastes like sugary shit.” He spits it out, running his tongue around his teeth.
Frankie kicks around the leaves, playfully stirring up memories from the damp soil as Jude walks on ahead. Suddenly, he stops and cocks his head to the side, a look of disbelief washing over his face.
"Por que coño..." (What the hell)
He crouches down, brushing the leaves aside with careful curiosity, and calls for her. Jude turns, her curiosity piqued.
As she approaches, Frankie holds up an unexpected treasure in his hands, his expression a mixture of wonder and disbelief. Jude gasps, her eyes widening with amazement as he reveals the hanging shell mobile he’d crafted for their old shack. Most of the shells are still intact, their chalky colours dulled by time and mud, yet still beautiful, with their old shoelaces woven through them.
“Oh my God!” she exclaims, a wide, bewildered smile spreading across her face.
“I can’t believe it’s still here,” Frankie says in awe, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he’s afraid to shatter the magic of the moment.
“We’re definitely taking this back home with us,” Jude declares, her fingers delicately running over the ribbed hardness of one of the shells.
Frankie nods, his smile radiant. “A piece of the island we can keep forever,” he agrees.
“I already got my piece,” Jude says, raising her eyebrows playfully.
“Oh yeah?” he questions, a wry smirk forming on his lips.
“Yeah, stupid... you,” she replies, her voice teasing, yet heartfelt.
“You’re stupid. Dame un beso, hermosa.” (Give me a kiss, beautiful) Snickering, Frankie pulls her in for a kiss, his warmth enveloping her as he tucks a loose strand of her braid behind her ear.
She places her hands on his chest, fingers delicately tracing the floral patterns of his shirt lapels, tugging gently as that wanton need blooms within her. Frankie’s eyes shimmer in the sunlight, a spark of need and affection dancing in their depths.
His lips, an impossibly vibrant fuchsia, curves into a slick smile that makes her heart race.
“You wanna marry me, Jude?” he asks gently, his voice low and earnest as his hooked nose brushes against her.
“What?” Her smile falters into a puzzled frown, the words processing slowly in her mind. Confusion washes over her, and she takes a step back, trying to grasp the weight of his question.
Frankie reaches into his jeans pocket, pulling out a loose ring that catches the light just right, sparkling iridescently. Dropping down on one knee, he looks up at Jude with a mix of hope and playful seriousness. Jude gasps, her hand flying to cover her mouth.
“I thought it was apt that I ask you to be my wife here, seeing as this is where we met after all,” Frankie says with a casual shrug, as if proposing amid the trees and the crashing waves is the most natural thing in the world.
“It’s the place where we almost died, too,” she quips, a sardonic smile breaking through her shock.
He smirks back as he winks at her. “Almost.”
“Frankie…” she begins, shaking her head in disbelief, laughter bubbling just beneath the surface.
“So, you wanna marry me or what?” he asks again, his grin erupting into full view, revealing that charming dimple.
“I suppose so,” Jude replies, trying to stifle a laugh, her heart racing at the absurdity and sweetness of the moment.
“You suppose so?” he echoes, feigning disappointment, those pink lips pouting in mock disapproval. “Dios mio…” (Dear God)
“I’ll marry you one condition, Catfish,” Jude says, raising an eyebrow, the playful glint in her eyes matching his.
“Name it,” he replies, standing and leaning closer, his curiosity piqued.
“You never, ever cook me white fish and tamarind. You got that?” she giggles, recalling the culinary disaster that they endured on the daily.
Taking her hands in his, sincerity returns to his gaze. “I can fuckin' guarantee you that!” he declares, his laughter mingling with hers, filling the air with an infectious joy.
Frankie kisses her, a tender spark igniting between them, the world around them fading away as he slips the ring onto her finger. She steals a quick glance at its frosty glitter, a dazzling reminder of their love, and a smile spreads across her face - pure delight shimmering in her eyes.
“Do you like it?” he asks, his voice soft with anticipation as Jude looks down lovingly at the ring, the sunlight catching its simple, yet elegant facets and making it sparkle.
“It’s perfect,” she breathes, a smile spreading across her face. “I can’t believe you thought of this.”
Frankie’s eyes light up with relief and happiness, a weight lifting from his shoulders. “I wanted it to be really special. And I guess this place is just… ours.”
“It is.” Jude smiles, warmth blooming in her chest. “But there’s someone else here with us this time.”
“What do you mean?” His brow furrows slightly, curiosity piqued.
With a playful grin, she pats her stomach, the gesture light yet filled with serious significance. Jude watches as Frankie’s eyes widen, his smile climbing higher up his face, a mix of disbelief and awe spreading across his features.
“You mean, you’re -”
“Yeah! I’m pregnant!” She giggles.
The realisation washes over him, and for a moment, he stands frozen, taking in the enormity of what she’s just shared. Then, a radiant smile breaks across his face, illuminating his features.
“Are you fuckin’ serious?” Frankie all but shrieks, a bewildered chuckle escaping his lips as his hands move instinctively to cradle her belly, as if he’s trying to protect the tiny life growing inside her.
“I just found out a few days ago, before we flew out,” she confirms, laughter bubbling up in her throat as Frankie’s excitement radiates from him. “It’s why I’ve been so sick lately.”
As the joy spreads across Frankie’s face, she recalls the appointment with vivid clarity. The cold, clinical scent of the doctor’s office hung in the air, mingling with her own trepidation. She had sat on the examination table, heart racing, palms clammy against the sterile paper. The innate fear had gripped her - the terror of losing this fragile life, barely the size of a seed nestled within her.
A late period had sent her into a spiral of worry, accompanied by waves of nausea that left her feeling disoriented and drained. Yet, when the doctor smiled at her, it felt like a lifeline. "Your body is healthier now," she had assured her, her voice steady and comforting. In that moment, Jude had felt an overwhelming mix of emotions - fear, excitement, love. It was a new chapter, one filled with uncertainty yet shimmering with promise.
“Wait, is it safe? I-” His brow furrows again with concern, the protective instinct kicking in.
“Frankie, we’re okay. We’re gonna be okay.” Her thumbs brush softly against his cheekbones, grounding him in the moment. She can feel the tension in his jaw begin to ease, his breathing steadying as he locks eyes with her. “Just breathe,” she adds, her voice steady and calm.
The warmth of her palms seem to melt away the shadows of doubt lurking in his mind. He leans into her touch, a flicker of relief igniting in his eyes.
Frankie lets out a whoop of joy, lifting her into his arms and spinning her around in a circle. The world around them seems to blur, the trees and the ocean becoming a vibrant backdrop to their news. “This is incredible!” he exclaims.
As he sets her back down, they stand close, their foreheads touching, hearts racing in sync. “I fuckin’ love you.” He breathes.
“I love you.”
He pushes her gently up against the sturdy trunk of the tree to the left of them, the rough bark grounding her in the moment. Their lips meet in a deep kiss, electric and passionate. Frankie hums into her mouth, the sound reverberating between them, stirring an urgency that’s been building in him since the proposal.
As Jude caresses the back of his head, her fingers tangle in his curls at his nape; she can’t help but trace the familiar pattern of scratches that drive him wild. He leans into her touch, melting, a shiver running down his spine as he surrenders to the sensation, surrenders to her - his eyes fluttering closed as if he’s seeing stars.
“Fuck, you kill me,” he groans.
Their kiss mutates, growing limbs that begin to grapple for one another; groping and feeling around for hard and wet parts. Jude runs her hand up and down his length, feeling him stiffen and whimper into her mouth as he cups her ass and kneads the cheeks tightly making her whine.
She hears him growl as she gropes him over his jeans. She fumbles for his zipper and pulls out his hard, excitable cock, leaking profusely into her palm already.
“Shit...” Frankie gasps into her mouth. He’s always so hard for her.
“I want you, one last time here,” Jude pants into his face as she shimmies down her shorts and steps out of them.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Fuck me, Frankie."
“Shit, look at you.” Frankie husks as she stands naked from the waist down and waiting for him. Teasing him, she guides the swollen head through her drenched folds.
“God, I love teasing myself with your cock.” She groans into his mouth.
“You and me both,” he grunts. “Just slide it against you like that…”
“Like this?”
“Mmm, yeah.” He gasps. “Fuck, get it all nice and wet.”
He licks the salt off her neck, teeth nipping it to the flesh there. Nose buried into her skin, pressing deep as he snuffles through heady groans. Fingers grazing against the tight pebbles of her nipples stiffening through her top. He can’t stand it, every swipe of his head close to that slick, puckering hole - that’s enough teasing.
He picks her up again, slipping into her sopping cunt deeply as she grips the branch above her head and cries out for him as he bottoms out. He feels it when he enters her, that little shunt against him and the way her fingers gnarl around his skin. His name paints her tongue, taste buds drowning in vivid colour.
“Oh fuck, Frankie!” Her eyes bore into his, breathing hard into his face as she clenches around him. Pussy tight, but dripping all over the thickness of him.
He grins slackly, eyes wide and mouth beaming as though he can’t believe he’s making her feel this good, shuddering on the end of his cock already. And he can feel all of it, the clenching and fluttering as she falls apart.
He whimpers, a ragged cry crushed by a choked croak, “fuck…” as he feels her come after only a few deep thrusts.
And once more he’s lost; lost inside of her. Unable and unwilling to ever depart his weary vessel from her, forever enveloped and drowning in the ocean of her eyes. His Jude, breaking and chanting his name, over and over.
Life is just one deep breath after another, one tear wiped away after another, an endless cycle of repetitiveness. And then it throws you a curveball that you never see coming, right?
Frankie had stumbled upon her amid the most horrific carnage, where chaos reigned and despair lingered in the air like a heavy fog. There she stood, carrying the shards of her broken heart in her back pocket, fragments that threatened to spill out at any moment.
Yet, despite the pain and terror etched across her beautiful face, Jude was strong - resilient. Together, they found solace on that ridge, defiantly flipping the island off as they sang at the top of their lungs, their voices mingling with the wind. They had no idea then that he would be the one to fish those shards from her pocket, to painstakingly piece them back together with braided vines and mud cement, each fragment a testament to their journey.
Francisco Morales simply boarded a plane, strapped himself in, and braced for impact. Yet, against all odds, he drifted here, clinging to a godforsaken piece of wing debris that had somehow kept him alive. It was that very piece of metal that had brought him to her - to the moment when Jude had emerged from the cave mouth, stopping dead in her tracks, her terrified yet determined eyes locking onto him.
“Oh my God!” she had exclaimed, a mix of disbelief and wonder lighting up her face.
“Thank fuck!” Frankie had replied, his shoulders sagging in sweet relief, the weight of despair lifting just a fraction.
“Shit, were you on the plane, too?” Jude had asked, her eyes wide and heart racing. Another survivor!
He nodded slowly, still dazed, as if the reality of it all was too much to process. “Yeah...” He bent over, hands on his wobbly knees, catching his breath while swaying slightly.
Jude had stepped forward, her instincts kicking in as she spotted the water bottle half-buried in the sand. “Here, drink it all,” she’d offered, urgency in her voice.
Frankie took the bottle from her with a big, shaky hand, and she watched as he swallowed the water in two desperate gulps.
“Thanks,” he’d gasped, a wave of gratitude washing over him. She gently took the bottle back and placed it back in the sand, her eyes never leaving his.
He wobbled on his feet, and she clutched onto him, supporting his weight before he could fully topple over. He was ghastly pale, battered, and a vision of fragility.
“Come on, you can make it. Lean on me,” she’d encouraged, determination flooding her voice as she helped him navigate toward the mouth of the cave, where the shadows lingered and the distant rumble of thunder echoed ominously overhead.
And he had leaned on her. And she had leaned on him. Together, they stepped into the unknown, their fates intertwined in that harrowing moment, each finding solace in the other amid the chaos of their desperate lives.
And even though he didn’t know it at the time - didn’t realise that the long, arduous journey would lead him right here, to this moment - he felt it.
He understands now the weight of every trial he’s ever faced, the way each heartbreak and moment of despair has shaped him.
He had to endure the pain, had to drown over and over again, but in doing so, he found the strength to grow and learn. Each setback became a stepping stone, a lesson carved into his soul. He had to suffer and break to truly appreciate what it meant to survive this place, to find solace in her presence.
This was the journey, the final destination. He could disembark safely now, knowing every trial, every twist of fate, had guided him to her. In her, he found not just a reason to live, but the very essence of his survival. Their shared struggles revealed the quiet beauty of resilience and love, showing him that nothing was without purpose. Every detour, every hardship, had been leading to this, and he wouldn't trade a single step of their tumultuous path for the world.
Everything happens for a reason, my friends.
Frankie grips onto her ass as he bucks harder into her, panting, with sweat running down his back under his floral shirt.
“Come for me, Jude!” he growls, his voice rough, raw, and dripping with urgency as his lips hover dangerously close to her skin.
The muscles in his neck strain, cords bulging as he holds himself on the precipice, teetering between control and surrender. His jaw tightens, teeth clenching, as though he's fighting off the inevitable, holding back just long enough for her to meet him there.
She watches him, utterly captivated by his transformation - a man who is always so quietly composed, now unravelling, laid bare in his vulnerability. There’s something devastatingly beautiful about him like this, need carved into every tense line of his body. The way his eyes darken, desperate and wild.
He’s magnificent in the approach of his own annihilation, the edges of his control fraying like a tether about to snap. She feels his body tighten against hers, a silent plea woven into the command he’s just growled into her ear.
Jude can feel the rough bark of the tree pressing against her skin as she reaches her peak, crying out Frankie’s name. It reverberates through the air, a haunting echo that will linger across the island long after they’ve departed.
As they unravel together, he spills into her, a rush of warmth that binds them even closer. They cling to one another, their bodies still entwined, laughter bubbling up between pelting kisses that never stop.
They return to the shoreline after, their steps soft on the sand, pausing to visit Egon’s grave - a simple marker surrounded by the remnants of the island’s beauty. Jude kneels down, laying a delicate purple flower she’s picked from the underbrush, a silent tribute to the bond they'd shared with the little monkey.
As she stands, she looks at Frankie. He smiles at her, revealing a warm, genuine grin that seems to light up the fading day. He takes her hand once more.
"¿Nos vamos a casa, hermosa?" (Shall we go home, beautiful?) he asks gently, his voice soothing against the backdrop of the crashing waves.
“Can we watch the sunset?” Jude counters, a hint of longing in her eyes.
Frankie nods, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Anything for you.”
She pulls her iPhone out of her pocket, fingers dancing over the screen as she clicks open her Spotify playlist. They settle into the same spot they’d claimed countless times before on the rocks, staring out at the blank, vacant horizon beneath the slowly darkening sky. The stifling heat swirls around them like an embrace, a reminder of the island's climate.
As Jude presses play, the guitar melodies flow from the phone's speaker, weaving into the warm air around them. She nestles back into Frankie’s arms, feeling the strength of him envelop her, his presence always a steady anchor amid the changing tides.
Frankie rests his chin on her head, his large, protective hands wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer. He pats her belly affectionately, his beard tickling the top of her ear. Together, they watch the sun sink lower, casting a golden glow over the water, its reflection shimmering like liquid gold.
The ocean, with its chaotic beauty, begins to devour the sun in a breathtaking, fiery descent. The horizon blurs between shades of crimson and orange, and the water reflects the fading light like molten glass.
As they sit together, surrounded by the gentle strumming of music and the lap of the waves, a calmness settles between them.
"Adios," Frankie says softly as the sun waves back at them. (Goodbye)
But this moment isn’t just a goodbye; it’s a celebration. A tribute to everything they’ve survived together - the struggles, the pain, the love, the growth - and an acknowledgment of the unknown that still lies ahead. The island, which once held them both captive, now offers them a final parting gift: release.
They watch, Frankie’s arms wrapped tightly around Jude, as the sun is finally swallowed by the chaos of the ocean. One last time.
"Hold on to the thread, the currents will shift. Glide me towards you, know something's left. And we're all allowed to dream of the next. Oh, oh the next, time we touch. You don't have to stray, the oceans away.
"Waves roll in my thoughts. Hold tight the ring. The sea will rise. Please stand by the shore. Oh, oh, oh, I will be. I will be there once more..." Oceans - Pearl Jam
A word from the author:
I want to just take a moment to thank you, dear reader, for embarking on this harrowing journey of survival and endurance alongside me.
Your presence has been a source of strength as I’ve navigated the treacherous waters of uncertainty, and tried to make sense of jumbled thoughts scrawled on a notebook on an island hidden away from civilisation.
I’m just a man - a man who, before all this, often found himself lost, adrift in a sea of questions about his purpose. Each day felt like wandering through a fog, with no clear path ahead and no compass to guide me. I grappled with feelings of inadequacy and confusion, wondering what role I was meant to play in this vast, chaotic world.
But as I faced the trials and tribulations that life hurled my way, I discovered something profound. I learned that resilience isn’t just about enduring hardship; it’s about finding meaning in the struggle, about rising from the ashes and reclaiming one’s narrative.
I found my way home.
This tale isn’t just mine; it’s a testament to the human spirit and our shared capacity for hope, healing, and transformation. Through every challenge, I found clarity. I began to understand that my story - our story, Jude’s and mine - was being written with every heartbeat, every choice, and every moment of courage.
I realised that even in darkness, we can forge connections that illuminate our paths forward.
So, thank you for being a part of our journey. Together, we’ve unearthed not only survival, and the strength behind it, but a deeper understanding of what it means to truly live and love.
Yours, Francisco Morales.
The End.
SERIES MASTERLIST
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 🖤
SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST
Tagging those that were tagged previously on this story, I may have missed some of you due to my old comments with tags in being removed when I deactivated, so apologies if I've missed you off. If you want to be removed that's cool too.
@suzdin @missladym1981 @millennial-teenybopper @msjarvis
@burntheedges @inept-the-magnificent @casa-boiardi @sin-djarin @jessthebaker
@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
@jolapeno @connectioneverywhere @trulybetty @nerdieforpedro @thisneozonerecs
@sir-thisisadndserver @anavatazes @doughmonkey @lilmizmoz @sukitruqui
@76bookworm76 @weho2kcmo @tanzthompson
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#frankie morales#francisco catfish morales#frankie morales x ofc#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x you#triple frontier fic#adrift with you series#jett's writing#Spotify
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It's nearly done people! Take the time to enjoy the ups and downs.
Adrift With You - A Frankie Morales Series - Chapter 23
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: 11.1k
SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MORALES 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: Penultimate chapter! Frankie and Jude embrace the premiere of the film and settle into life beyond it. A face from Frankie's past returns. Contains smut/mentions of drugs & addiction.
Enjoy! 🖤
Somewhere in the Andes Mountains...
They feel it in their bones, a deep, biting cold that no amount of gear can ever fully shield against.
The windchill at this altitude rips through every layer, sinking into their flesh like icy talons. Each gust feels like it’s slicing into them, making even the simplest movement a test of endurance. And yet, despite the discomfort, it’s worth it - if but for the stars.
Up here in the Andes mountains, far above the reach of the nearest city lights and noise, the sky is an ocean of endless pinpricks, galaxies swirling together in luminous clouds. The sight is ethereal, almost surreal, as if they’ve left the world below and entered a different one entirely. A perfect view in a place that should be a dream.
But the mission... that was idiotic from the start. Frankie knew it the moment they agreed to it. It wasn't just the danger that made him uneasy. The planning was hasty, the intel flawed, and their resources limited. Everything about it felt off, but they pushed forward anyway - driven by some mix of loyalty, desperation, and maybe even a little greed.
As he sits in the dark, surrounded by his brothers, the stars don't seem so mesmerising anymore. Tom’s abrupt death made sure of that. A knot tightens in Frankie’s chest, and he glances over to the far corner of their open camp, where Tom’s body lies wrapped up in a tarp. There’s a stillness to the figure that gnaws at his nerves. A reminder of their failure. The body is bundled carefully, as if the wrapping could offer some semblance of dignity to the man they couldn’t save.
He shudders, the smile and easy laughter he’d been sharing just moments ago faltering.
The others notice the change too. Will and Benny had been laughing about the burning cash, their chuckles echoing across the barren expanse, but now their mirth is thinning. The weight of their loss creeps back in, pushing the levity aside. Their chortling slows, fading into uncomfortable silence. Even Santi, who's been mid-sentence, has his voice die out on his tongue.
The group is left in the stillness, the sound of the wind howling through the rocks, the only noise between them.
For a moment, no one says anything. There’s nothing to say. They all feel it - the absurdity of this mission, the crushing weight of their friend’s death, the isolation of this godforsaken place. Each man sits in his own thoughts, haunted by the what-ifs, by the image of Tom's last moments, by the fear that they might not make it either.
Frankie takes off his trusty cap and runs a hand through his tangled hair, exhaling slowly, his breath a cloud of mist in the frigid air. They shouldn’t be here. They never should’ve been here.
This moment, right here, will be Frankie's full undoing - even if he doesn't realise it yet.
It’s a memory that always sears itself into Frankie’s mind, burning deep, refusing to fade no matter how much he tries to bury it.
The last time they were all together - whole. A unit. A brotherhood forged in the fires of battle, a band of wounded soldiers carrying their own invisible scars, each with nightmares trailing behind them like shadows they could never outrun.
But together, they were something more. Together, they were unstoppable, or at least they liked to believe that. Frankie believed it for so long.
He remembers the way they laughed that night, gathered around the fire after yet another operation that left them battered and bruised, but alive. Back then, the danger was something they embraced. It was a challenge, an enemy they could see, fight, and conquer. It was better than the demons that lurked in the corners of their minds - better than the guilt, the grief, the regrets that haunted them when they were alone.
The firelight flickered on their faces, illuminating the exhaustion etched into their features, but also the sense of camaraderie that had kept them going all these years. They were a unit, a close knitted bunch.
And then they weren’t.
In the aftermath of Colombia, the unit disbanded, not with some grand declaration, but in the quiet, unspoken way that things fall apart. Slowly.
One by one, they drifted, like pieces of a puzzle scattered and left incomplete. And Frankie knows he’s responsible for that - he pushed them away and replaced their strength with solace and coke.
The tight-knit bond they once shared unravelled, leaving each of them floundering alone. Frankie could feel it happening, but he was powerless to stop it.
Maybe if you ask him he might even admit he didn’t want to stop it, not back then.
The weekend barbecues at Will’s place, once a ritual, fizzled out. Those gatherings had been their way of holding on, a lifeline to a sense of normalcy after everything they'd been through in Delta Force. Will’s backyard, with its worn-out grill and the sound of laughter that echoed off the fences, had felt like a sanctuary in some ways. A place where, for a few hours, they could pretend things were simple and they weren’t haunted by demons.
But as time passed, the gaps between those weekends grew longer. The texts and calls to coordinate became fewer until they stopped altogether. No one said it, but they all felt it - the distance.
Benny's fights, the ones that had once given Frankie a sense of purpose after the military, dwindled too. Maybe it was the injuries piling up, the way in which he stopped trying to defend himself, or maybe it was something deeper - a weariness that came from fighting battles no one could see.
Benny stopped talking about them as much, stopped sharing those post-fight stories with the same rampant energy. Eventually, his calls became less frequent too. Frankie would check his phone sometimes, see Benny’s name pop up, but it was never for long. It was like Benny was slowly retreating into himself, just like the rest of them.
And Santi - Santi had gone the furthest, both literally and figuratively. He’d moved halfway across the world, chasing something none of them could quite understand. Maybe it was peace. Maybe it was those pretty brown eyes. Maybe it was running from the past. Either way, Santi became just an unspoken name on Frankie’s tongue.
Frankie would stare at his contact sometimes, thumb hovering over the call button, but he could never quite muster the courage to press it. What would he even say? What could he say that Santi didn’t already know?
They’d all been through hell, and Santi was no exception, but now it felt like they were living in different worlds, no longer speaking the same language. He had no idea how much Frankie needed him in his darkest moments.
How he needed all of them.
Will had tried so hard to dig him out of that hole that Frankie was stubbornly trying to plant himself into. But the fight was gone, and Will's disappointment hurt the most. Benny was the one who’d stuck by him, even though he felt he was a burden - he knew it, even if Benny never said he was. He’d picked Frankie up off the manky bathroom floors and washed his puke-stained clothes dutifully. Offered him a roof over his head when he’d lost everything.
Well, you already know Frankie's story inside out now. The struggle with addiction, the spiral that started slow and then became an avalanche. Anything to dull the edges of reality, to quiet the noise in his head.
It was a familiar story for men like him, the ones who’d seen too much, felt too much, and had no idea how to carry it. He’d tried to fight it at first, the slow, creeping darkness that clouded his mind, but the weight of everything became too much. The guilt. The regret. Tom’s face. The mission that shattered them. It all came crashing down, and before long, so did he. It was all too easy to block it out and pretend he was alright.
And just when you think one man has been through enough, then there was the plane crash.
The chaos, the panic, the deafening roar of metal tearing through the sky, and the sickening drop that made his heart feel like it would rip right out of his chest.
Frankie could still hear it sometimes, the sound of the engines sputtering, the sharp, terrified gasps from those around him, the helpless feeling as they hurtled toward the ground. He could still smell his own skin burning.
Survival wasn’t a given - it was a damn fucking miracle. When the wreckage settled, twisted and burning as it sank into the depths of the ocean, all that remained was desperation. Desperation to stay alive, to find food, shelter, and to hold on to whatever threads of hope remained.
Frankie had been through hell before, but this - this was something else. It was survival stripped down to its rawest form. The hunger, the thirst, the fear gnawing at him, always there, lurking beneath the surface. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and the desperation thickened, clinging to every breath.
But there was Jude, right with him riding through it all.
Jude had been there from the beginning, the only one who survived the crash alongside him. There were moments when he wasn’t sure they’d make it. There were moments when he didn’t care if they did.
He’ll never forget her face as he staggered up the beach towards the cave, that moment when their bewildered, terrified faces first met.
Come on, you can make it. Lean on me, it's alright.
In those early days, she was as lost and scared as he was, but something in her shifted. Slowly, she became a grounding force, a steady presence that Frankie clung to in the dark, scary nights. He did lean on her.
He didn’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, she became the love of his life. That island became their world, its harsh landscape a constant battle, its beauty both a blessing and a curse.
You can make it. And he did.
Now, he looks at her sleeping beside him, the night around them as deep and endless as his thoughts as he replays his life over and over to how exactly it is that he’s got here.
It’s been nine hundred and seventy-six days since Frankie and Jude were rescued from the island.
Two years, seven months, and thirty days. Nearly three full years of freedom from that place, yet the weight of those days still clings to them both, like saltwater dried into their skin.
Time hasn’t washed away the memories the way he’d hoped it would. The island is always there, lurking at the edges of his mind, as real as it was when they were stranded on it, as raw as the moment they were pulled from its binding grasp.
Sometimes, it feels like the rescue was just another chapter in their survival, not the end. Sure, they’re no longer fighting for their next meal or waiting for the sea to swallow them whole, but the battles didn’t stop once they were free.
It’s been two years, seven months, and thirty days, and Frankie still wakes up most nights with the sound of crashing waves echoing in his ears, his mind reaching back to the island, to that relentless fight to stay alive.
Jude’s been coping in her own way. She always was the stronger one, or at least better at hiding her cracks. But Frankie sees it - the way she sometimes trembles when she thinks no one’s looking, or how she zones out, lost in some haunting reverie of those days, and it takes her moment to allow herself to come back.
There’s a quiet understanding between them. They’ve been through too much together not to recognize the ghosts each of them carries.
It’s strange how life has moved on around them, how the world kept turning while they were stuck on that patch of land, isolated from everything. People talk to them now as if they’re survivors, like they should be grateful, and they are - grateful to be alive, to have been given another chance.
But there’s something no one ever tells you about surviving - it doesn’t always feel like freedom.
Jude’s longing for closure from the island is a visceral ache that settles deep within him, a gnawing desire that Frankie feels in his bones. Despite the terror and isolation that once defined their time there, there’s a part of him that craves it still too - a paradox of yearning for something so fraught with fear and hardship. But this yearning is often swept aside, buried under the frenzy of their current life.
The whirlwind of book tours, press interviews, and public appearances has become a relentless tide, pulling him away from the memories of the island. The excitement and exhaustion of the media circus keep him busy, leaving little room for reflection or nostalgia.
Yet, even amidst the chaos, there are quiet moments when his mind drifts back to the island. It’s always there, calling to him.
The deep connection he felt with Jude, the raw experiences they shared, and the simplicity of survival weigh heavily on his heart. It’s an undeniable pull, even as he builds a new life - constructing a home with Jude and raising his son. The new life he’s creating is filled with love, hope, and a sense of stability that contrasts sharply with the island's stark isolation.
The desire to return, though complex and tinged with both longing and dread, is a part of him. It’s a reminder of how deeply the island has imprinted on his soul.
Nine hundred and seventy-six days later, and Frankie still wonders if they’ll ever really leave that island behind.
She shifts beside him, her body turning under the weight of sleep as he sits fully upright in the plush bed. The soft, cloudy cotton sheets are draped around her, cocooning her in warmth, but even in sleep, she senses him - his restlessness.
Her hand reaches for him in the dark, fingers brushing lightly against his arm. A touch that feels familiar, grounding.
“Can’t sleep?” Jude murmurs softly, her voice thick with it, but laced with concern.
Her eyes don’t open, but she knows he’s awake, sitting there in the dark with his thoughts swirling, like they often do. It’s been happening more lately, the sleepless nights, the moments where the past creeps up on him, refusing to let go.
Frankie exhales slowly, trying not to let the weight of his unease touch her. She deserves rest - more than anyone, she deserves peace. He runs a hand through his mussed curls and glances down at her. She’s still half-asleep, her words drifting like the quiet hum of the night, but she’s here with him, tethered to him, just as she’s always been.
“Yeah,” he whispers, his voice low and rough. “Just… thinking.”
It’s a weak explanation, one he’s given too many times. Jude knows it’s more than just that - thinking is what he calls it, but they both know it’s the island, the memories, the crash, all of it woven into the silence of the night.
Jude shifts again, pulling herself a little closer, the warmth of her body pressing against his side.
“I’m here,” she says softly, and though it’s simple, it’s enough. It always has been. The reassurance of her presence, the way she grounds him when his mind drifts too far.
He lets out another breath, this one a bit easier, leaning back against the headboard as her hand remains on his arm, an anchor in the darkness. He can feel the pull of the past, the ghosts that linger in his mind, but with Jude there, some of that weight lifts.
“You thinking about tomorrow?” She asks through a mumbled yawn, her voice barely breaking the quiet of the room.
“Yeah,” he whispers, staring into the dark.
Tomorrow is a huge day. The premiere of the book-turned-film that will show the world, in moving pictures, the weight of their survival.
It’s been hanging over him for months now, the thought of their story being put on display for everyone to see. The island, the rescue, the desperation - it’s all there, laid bare on the big screen, captured by someone else’s lens. What they lived through - what they barely escaped - is now a narrative for others to consume, to analyse, and maybe even to judge.
He’s been dreading it, if he’s honest with himself. Some regret and hesitation. Some pen scribbled notes in a notebook on the island is now a multi-million production. There’s something unnerving about the idea of people watching those thoughts he had unfold, feeling the tension, the fear, the hopelessness, but from the safety of a theatre seat.
How can they understand? How can anyone, unless they’ve been through it?
Frankie glances down at Jude, who has pulled herself closer to him now, her breath soft and even against his side. She mouths a kiss on his belly as he strokes through her hair and pulls her closer. She’d seemed like she handled it better than he had - the book, the film, the attention.
But even Jude has her moments, her hesitations. Ongoing therapy has made it easier to process, to pull apart and sort into rational piles, but Frankie can tell she feels it too, the strange vulnerability that comes with having their story out there for the world to pick apart.
Tomorrow, they'll have to smile for the cameras once more, answer the same questions from journalists, and sit in that dark theatre while strangers watch the most terrifying chapters of their lives unfold on screen.
He can already hear the questions: What was it like? How did you survive? And the ones that dig deeper, Do you feel different? How has it changed you?
He knows Jude will be strong. She always is in the end. But Frankie’s not sure how he’ll react, sitting there as their worst moments are transformed into art.
“Do you think…” he starts, then trails off, unsure if he should even voice the thought, “… do you think we’ll feel any better after it’s out there? After it’s all said and done?”
Jude stirs beside him, her fingers stroking through the wiry hairs around his belly button. She takes a moment before answering, her words slow and thoughtful.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” She yawns softly, but there’s clarity in her voice now, despite her drowsiness. “But it’s our story. No one else’s. That won’t change.”
Frankie nods, even though she can’t see him in the dark. She’s right. The film - it’s not the whole truth, not the way they lived it, breathed it, but it’s a version of it. And no matter how many people watch it, or dissect it, what they experienced is something that is only theirs to keep.
Frankie turns his head down to look at her shadow nestled against him, barely visible in the faint glow from the lights of LA outside. Her words settle over him, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond, just lets them sink in.
“The book, the film… you did that,” she continues, her fingers stroking his hip, a gentle reminder that she’s here, that they’re here.
“We did that,” he corrects, his voice firm but tender. There’s no way he can take the credit alone.
The book may have his name printed on it, but Jude was there for every word, every memory dredged up from those dark corners, every hard conversation they had to have.
He couldn’t have done it without her, and he knows it.
He hears her smile before he feels it - a small, contented sound that escapes her lips just before she playfully pinches the fat of his hip. “You always do that,” she teases, her voice laced with amusement. “You can’t just take a compliment, can you?”
Frankie chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Not when it’s only half the truth.”
Jude shifts beside him, resting her head more comfortably on his chest, her hair spilling over his arm.
“Fine,” she says with mock exasperation, “we did that. But I’m still proud of you.”
He smiles down at her, his heart lighter now, her words like a soothing balm to the restless, prickly thoughts that have kept him awake.
There’s something about Jude’s pride in him that means more than anything the world might say tomorrow. It’s a reminder that they survived not just physically, but emotionally, together. They built something out of the wreckage, something that means more than just a story on the big screen.
“I’m proud of you, too,” Frankie says quietly, his hand brushing a strand of hair from her face. “For everything.” He means it - for the way she kept them both grounded when the world around them fell apart, for how she never stopped believing in him.
For how she’s still here, after everything.
“I fuckin’ love you.” He chokes softly.
Jude hums in response, already drifting back to sleep, her breathing slowing once more.
Tomorrow may be big, but for now, in the quiet, it's just them, together, as they’ve always been.
The screaming is deafening.
It crashes over them in waves, the crowd's energy electric and overwhelming, a far cry from the isolation they once knew.
The sound ramps up to a fever pitch as Dieter Bravo and Natalie Skelton - the stars who’ve embodied their story on screen - pose together on the red carpet.
They radiate confidence, dazzling under the relentless barrage of camera flashes, their smiles wide and practised. It's a spectacle, perfectly orchestrated, and the crowd eats it up.
Names are being called from all directions, voices blending into a chaotic roar, demanding attention, each shout louder than the last.
“Dieter! Natalie! Over here! Turn this way! Smile for us!”
The instructions come fast and snappy, as if the celebrities are puppets on strings, bending to the demands of the media. Dieter flashes his signature crooked grin, effortlessly charming, while Natalie strikes a poised, elegant pose, her arm looped through his, a thigh revealed from the daring slit in her dress.
They’re a vision - beautiful, untouchable, and far removed from the reality of the story they’re here to represent.
Frankie and Jude linger on the periphery, shivering under the onslaught. The cold of the evening seems to seep into their bones, though Frankie knows it’s not just the chill in the air - it’s the flashes, the noise, the overwhelming sensation that none of this is real. They’re out of place here, swallowed up by the spectacle, almost forgotten in the shadow of the stars playing them.
Frankie’s pulse quickens, his skin prickling from the sensory overload. The red carpet stretches out before them, a world they don’t belong to. It feels surreal, watching these actors pose and smile for cameras up close.
The Hollywood version of their nightmare playing out like it’s something glamorous. The cameras want the stars, not the real people behind the story, and Frankie feels a pang of something - resentment, maybe, or just a deep sense of disconnection.
Jude’s hand slips into his, her fingers cold but steady. He glances down at her and sees the tension in her face, her smile tight. She feels it too - the strangeness of it all. The way their reality has been spun into something glossy and cinematic, packaged for consumption.
This isn’t their world. It’s Dieter’s and Natalie’s, a world of lights, make-up, and rehearsed lines. The survival, the desperation - it’s all been moulded into a script. Neat. Manageable. A pretty, satin bow on top.
But nothing about those days had been neat or pretty.
Frankie squeezes her hand, grounding himself, and she squeezes back, a silent understanding passing between them. They’ve made it through worse than this. They’ll make it through tonight too, even if it feels like they’re watching their lives from a distance, transformed into something they barely recognize.
"Te ves preciosa." (You look beautiful) Frankie murmurs against her temple as he presses a reassuring kiss there.
She glances down at the modest, deep plum dress that spills over her toes and back up at him, dressed impeccably in a dark charcoal suit and tie ensemble that emphasizes his broadness in the best possible way.
“You look pretty good yourself, Captain Morales,” Jude retorts with a sizzling grin.
Frankie chuckles softly, the tips of his ears flushing a gorgeous shade of pink as she squeezes his hand.
As the cameras continue to flash, Frankie catches a glimpse of Dieter laughing exuberantly, his arm slung around Natalie, the two of them soaking in the attention. The crowd screams louder. And all Frankie can think is how different it feels when it’s your own screams echoing in your ears, when it’s your own survival hanging in the balance.
Sarah stands behind them, their support in this choppy sea of flashing lights and screaming fans. Her presence is a steadying force as she ushers them forward with a reassuring hand on their backs. Her calm demeanour contrasts sharply with the frenzied atmosphere, a reminder that despite the spectacle, they’re not alone in this.
Frankie and Jude take their tentative steps towards the centre of the storm, towards Dieter and Natalie, who stand waiting for them with open arms.
The actors, dressed in glamorous attire, exude the kind of polished charm that’s expected on such a high-profile night. They greet Frankie and Jude with broad smiles, arms outstretched, as if inviting them into a world that’s both alien and oddly familiar. Dieter’s grin is bright, his handshake firm, while Natalie’s embrace is warm, a practised show of empathy that’s meant to connect the real with the imagined.
And the cameras catch the whole debacle.
Frankie meets Dieter’s glazed over gaze and sees the actor’s attempt at sincerity, a gesture that’s both genuine and performative. There’s a moment of connection, but it’s tinged with the recognition that this is a performance, a presentation for the cameras and the crowd. It’s an odd mix of respect and artifice.
Natalie’s hug is a little longer, a bit more genuine, and Frankie feels the strain of her attempt to bridge the gap between their shared experiences and the world of make-believe. She pulls back, looking into Jude’s eyes with an understanding that seems to go deeper than the surface of the event. Jude returns the look, her smile softening as she acknowledges the effort, the gesture.
“Frankie! Jude! Over here! Dieter, Natalie - look this way!”
The shouts come from all directions, blending together into a cacophony of excitement and expectation.
Frankie and Jude, flanked by Dieter and Natalie, manage to muster their smiles as they pose for the ever-encroaching lenses and Frankie wonders how on earth Dieter can go through this every day. They shift slightly, adjusting to the angles the photographers want, trying to blend their genuine emotions with the performative nature of the event, all the while deafened by the sound of their thudding heartbeats.
In moments, the photos will be online - on social media, entertainment websites, the glossy pages of magazines. The world will see the four of them together, frozen in a moment that’s both significant and transient.
They’re moved on as they make their way into the theatre and search for Sarah with furtive eyes.
The darkness of the theatre swallows them whole, a deep, enveloping blackness that contrasts sharply with the blinding lights of the red carpet.
Jude shifts in her seat, feeling the dryness in her throat intensify. She shivers and swallows hard, trying to ease the tightness that seems to constrict her voice and her nerves.
“You okay?” Frankie queries.
“I will be when this is over.” Jude mumbles back to him.
"Me too." Frankie’s hand tightens around hers; his grip firm, a silent gesture of solidarity as the opening credits begin to roll on the massive screen in front of them.
The words appear bold and dramatic, setting the stage for the unfolding story that is their own, a story they’ve only heard about in pieces, never seen completed in its directed, edited and produced entirety:
BASED ON TRUE EVENTS
They sit there in the dark, the frenetic hum of the audience around swallowed in a distant murmur. The anticipation in the theatre is palpable, but for Frankie and Jude, the excitement is tinged with a thick layer of apprehension. The moment they’d imagined, the culmination of so many months of preparation and anticipation, is now upon them, and the reality of it feels overwhelming.
The opening scenes flash across the screen, and as they watch, Jude can’t help but notice every little detail that feels both familiar and foreign.
Frankie physically jolts in his seat when the plane crashes into the ocean. Jude winces as she watches the Natalie version of herself swimming for her life.
Jude glances at Frankie, her eyes catching the flicker of the screen lighting his aquiline profile in the dimness. There’s a mixture of determination and fear in his expression. He’s here, supporting her as she supports him, and yet neither of them can shake the feeling of suffocating unease.
They watch in silence as the film unfolds, each scene striking a chord of eerie familiarity. Dieter, in his role, runs his hand through the curls he grew out beneath a replica of Frankie’s familiar baseball cap. The gesture is so specific, so perfectly mimicking the way Frankie does it, that it feels almost intrusive.
Natalie wanders through a tree-spackled scene, a monkey perched casually on her shoulder as she talks to it, a detail that might seem whimsical if it weren’t so close to the truth of their experiences with Egon. The way the monkey interacts with her, the way she navigates through the dense foliage, mirrors the surreal, disjointed reality of their own time on the island.
Frankie shifts in his seat, his grip on Jude’s hand bone-crushing as he watches the film’s portrayal of their life.
Jude’s gaze remains fixed on the screen, her face a mask of controlled emotion. She tries to steady herself, to handle the scenes with the composure she’s worked so hard to maintain.
But as the film progresses, a particular scene approaches - one she’s been dreading.
When it finally appears, her composure falters. The film depicts Dieter, in character, holding Natalie in his arms, her legs stained with trickling blood. He walks with her into the ocean, a desperate attempt to cleanse her, to wash away the physical remnants of their harrowing loss.
The portrayal is so intense, so hauntingly familiar, that it becomes almost too much for Jude to bear.
Her breath catches in her throat as the scene unfolds. The raw, anguished expression on Dieter’s bearded face - his character's silent desperation - mirrors the depth of emotion Jude had lived through. It’s as though the film has tapped into the very core of her fears and presented them on screen with brutal honesty.
Unable to handle the sight, Jude physically turns away. She squeezes her eyes shut and buries her face against Frankie’s shoulder, seeking solace in the familiar comfort of his presence. Her body tenses, her shoulders shaking slightly as she fights to hold back tears.
He leans in, whispering softly, “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
Jude clings to him, drawing strength from his words and presence. She takes deep, shuddering breaths, trying to calm herself as the scene continues to play out in front of them.
Eventually, as the final credits roll, the theatre erupts into applause. The clapping starts and grows into a thunderous standing ovation. The sound of cheers fills the room, creating a wave of energy that washes over Frankie and Jude.
Frankie looks around at the sea of standing figures, their faces illuminated by the soft light of the credits. He feels a mix of disorientation and pride. The film has moved people, touched them deeply, and he understands why. Yet, there’s a part of him that still feels detached.
“We made it,” Jude says softly, her voice steady but filled with quiet relief. “It’s over.”
“We made it, hermosa.” Frankie nods, kissing over her knuckles.
The afterparty stretches on into the night, a glittering spectacle of industry moguls, actors, and veteran professionals mingling in a private bar that’s been transformed into a high-profile celebration.
The space is filled with the clinking of glasses, the hum of conversation, and the soft strains of music that blend into a backdrop of endless chatter.
Sarah, ever the consummate professional, moves through the crowd with effortless grace, introducing Frankie and Jude to a constant stream of people. She navigates them through the blur of faces - each one more notable than the last, each conversation a mix of congratulatory remarks and industry small talk that makes no sense to them.
The names and titles fuzz together, and despite Sarah’s best efforts, the social whirl becomes overwhelming.
Frankie and Jude exchange weary glances as they make their way through the crowd. The enthusiasm and energy that has propelled them through the evening now feels like a distant memory. They put on their best smiles, nodding and shaking hands, but the veneer of politeness is wearing thin.
Jude’s smile is strained, her eyes betraying the exhaustion that she’s trying to mask. Frankie mirrors her sentiment, his attempts at engaging in conversation growing more mechanical. They both feel the pull of fatigue, the desire to retreat from the glittering façade of the event and return to the quiet comfort of their hotel room before they can go home for good.
As they make the decision to leave, Frankie veers off towards the men’s bathroom, seeking a brief moment of solitude amidst the chaos and to relieve the heaviness in his bladder he’s been trying to ignore all night.
The bathroom offers a quiet escape, a brief sanctuary from the clamour of the afterparty. He closes the door behind him and takes a few deep breaths, letting the relative calm of the space help to steady his nerves and collect his thoughts.
Frankie stands at the azure mosaic sink bowls, staring at his reflection in the giant mirror above. The sight that greets him is one of fatigue and weariness. Despite the efforts of the groomers, dark circles still engulf his eyes, a stark testament to the sleepless nights and the weight of his experiences.
He’s acutely aware that this world of glitz and glamour isn’t made for him. He’s a disgraced ex-pilot, his past tainted by mistakes and failures, with an addiction constantly lurking in the shadows of his consciousness.
His reflection shows more than just a tired man; it reveals someone who’s been battered by life, bearing scars both physical and mental.
The opulent decor of the bathroom does little to soothe Frankie’s frayed nerves. The shiny surfaces and gold fixtures, while luxurious, feel cold and impersonal to him at this moment. His thoughts remain tangled from the evening's whirlwind of events, a chaotic blur of flashing cameras, superficial conversations, and the screech of a world that feels increasingly foreign.
He longs for the simplicity and comfort of his life with Jude, where the noise and pretence of the evening are replaced by the warmth and authenticity of their shared space.
The thought of climbing into bed with Jude, feeling her warm body wrapped around him, offers a sense of heightened relief.
As he washes his hands, lost in thought, he hears a loud sniffing sound coming from behind one of the bathroom’s cubicle doors. The sound is distinct and unmistakable - one that Frankie recognizes all too well.
He pauses, heart racing, his fingers still wet, and watches as the cubicle door creaks open. Out steps Dieter Bravo, his face flushed and his eyes red. He’s frantically wiping at his nose as though something itches it profusely as he clears his throat a few times.
“Hey, man,” Dieter croaks casually with a crooked smirk. He claps Frankie on the back.
In the light, Frankie notices the residue of white powder clinging to Dieter’s fuzzy upper lip, barely perceptible but acutely unmistakable.
Dieter, distracted by his reflection and trying to maintain his composure, doesn’t seem to realise the powder is still there. Either that or he doesn't care.
The sight tugs at Frankie’s gut, a telltale sign of a familiar escape - a substance all too familiar to him. His fingers pulse erratically, throbbing almost painfully as he balls them into fists.
He hesitates for a moment, weighing whether to say something or to let it be. He knows how delicate these situations can be, how easily a conversation about such matters can turn awkward or confrontational. But seeing Dieter’s vulnerable state makes Frankie’s heart ache. He can’t let him walk out of here like this.
“Dieter,” Frankie murmurs softly, catching his attention before he can slip away. “I-”
Before Frankie can finish, Dieter interrupts with a sudden, unanticipated gesture. “Oh fuck, man. Sorry, do you want some?” He asks, extending a small baggie towards Frankie.
Frankie’s entire axis tilts at the unexpected offer. His eyes widen slightly, and he takes a step back, a mix of surprise and discomfort flashing across his face.
The situation is now palpably awkward, and Dieter’s nonchalant demeanour does little to ease the tension. The floor becomes a ledge, a deep chasm opening up beneath his wobbly legs and Frankie teeters, dangerously close to the edge, as his vision tunnels at the baggie.
“Uh, no,” Frankie responds quickly, shaking his head and feeling himself drenched in sweat all of a sudden.
Dieter looks momentarily taken aback, a hint of embarrassment creeping into his darting eyes before the penny drops. He retracts the baggie, stuffing it into his breast pocket quickly. “Right. Sorry, sorry. I forgot… shit, I’m an ass.”
Frankie shakes his head, trying to maintain his composure despite the disquiet brewing inside him. “You, uh… you missed a spot,” he says, swallowing dryly and trying not to focus on Dieter’s pocket.
He gestures towards Dieter’s upper lip, where the trace of the powder remains.
Dieter's face flushes as he quickly wipes at his lip, “Fuck,” his demeanour full of humming frustration. “I really didn’t mean to- ” he trails off, clearly flustered.
Frankie offers a reassuring smile, though his own emotions are a tangled mess. “It’s okay. Just wanted to make sure you’re alright?”
Dieter nods, a blankness crossing his face. “Yeah, I’ll be... fine. Just, uh, needed it to get through tonight, you know?”
He washes his hands in the sink and inspects himself in the mirror. Frankie can’t help but wonder about him. Despite the outward appearance, Dieter is clearly spiralling through his own sobriety, his struggles visible in the same way that Frankie’s own battles are often apparent to him.
It’s almost as though Frankie can hear Eddie’s words clanging loudly in his ears right now:
Recovery isn’t a straight line, Frank.
It’s a harsh reality that Frankie knows deeply, and seeing it in someone else, especially someone who appears to have everything, is a sobering reminder of the fragility of human resilience.
Addiction isn't choosy. The familiar signs of it, the emotional turmoil, and the exhaustion are unmistakably marked on Dieter, in the same ways Frankie realises it's on him.
He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. “I get it,” Frankie says, his tone sincere.
“I suppose you do.” Dieter replies, eyeing him carefully, a softened edge around his furtive eyes.
“Sometimes it helps to talk to someone who gets it.” Frankie winces at how he fuckin’ sounds just like Eddie now. I'd call that growth, Francisco.
Dieter nods, a silent acknowledgment of the understanding rippling between them. He pauses at the sink for a moment, cracking the rings on his fingers against the bowl.
“Fucking wild night, right? They reckon I could be up for an Oscar after this!”
Frankie sighs, undoing the top button of his shirt that now feels like it’s strangling him. “That's great.”
“How do you do it?” Dieter asks seriously, peering at him through the mirror.
“Do what?” Frankie asks.
“Survive.” Dieter says with a serious face. “How do you fucking survive?”
Frankie takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of the question settle heavily on his shoulders, and he knows Dieter isn't talking about the island. There's something else in there, in the actor's wild, darting eyes that shakes Frankie to his core.
“You find something to survive for,” Frankie says, his voice steady but filled with a quiet intensity.
Dieter absorbs the response, his eyes searching Frankie’s face, looking for reassurance or perhaps a hint of clarity. Frankie’s words hang in the air, a stark and earnest attempt to convey a truth that he’s come to understand through his own trials.
There’s a flicker of contemplation in Dieter’s gaze, a sense of something desperately trying to claw its way out.
“Hm.” Dieter sniffs again, clearing his throat before he dries his hands with a paper towel, attempting to regain his composure.
As Dieter turns to leave, Frankie reaches out, gently pulling on his suede covered elbow. “You have my number, Dieter. If you ever need to talk, you can call me.”
Dieter meets Frankie’s eyes, gratitude and a hint of relief evident in his watery gaze. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he replies, his voice choked.
Then, as quickly as that vulnerability appears, it vanishes. Dieter swiftly pulls out a pair of Ray Bans from his jacket pocket, slipping them on with practised ease.
The transformation is almost instantaneous - his previously raw expression is now masked by the cool, detached cover of the sunglasses. He offers Frankie a bright, almost forced grin.
The door swings shut behind the enigma that is Dieter Bravo, and Frankie is left alone in the suffocating quiet of the bathroom.
His breath comes in uneven bursts as he sinks to his knees on the tiled floor and rests his cheek against the coolness of it.
There are moments, like the tide receding, where the pain lessens and the familiar beats of life - or normalcy - work their way in, seeking to seal over the cracks.
Jude immerses herself in a routine that brings her a semblance of stability. Afternoons are spent in her studio, a sanctuary of creativity where she tinkers with camera equipment, types out adverts for her photography business, and loses herself in the meticulous process of editing.
Her work often veers from the professional to capturing Frankie in the quiet moments of their life together.
She photographs him gazing out the window at the coastline as he sips his coffee, the serene expression on his face a stark contrast to the storms of their past. She captures his laughter, the crinkles around his eyes forming deep trenches of joy that she finds solace in exploring in macro detail through her lens.
She’s hung the photograph of the old couple she captured in Paris together, the one where the man is wiping the mouth of his wife, and it fills her with relief that she and Frankie have the chance to age together like that.
Life is comfortable now, more so than they ever imagined back when they were struggling to even source the basics on the island. With the financial security they've gained - thanks to the substantial settlement from the airline, ongoing book sales, and residuals from the film - they probably have more money than they know what to do with.
Jude doesn't need to work; she could easily enjoy the fruits of their strange success and the stability it brings. But she chooses to stay engaged, driven by a desire to nurture her creative passions and contribute meaningfully.
She clicks over the current edit she’s working on with a satisfied smile, reaching for her tea.
The photograph before her shows Frankie seated within a circle of people, his hands animatedly expressing his conversation. It’s a candid moment of connection and engagement, capturing his genuine presence and empathy.
This particular photo is intended for the website of his new venture - a therapy service aimed at war veterans who have been displaced in society and are seeking help to rebuild their lives.
It’s a shared venture with Eddie and the investment in this project is more than just a financial decision; it’s a profound commitment to giving back to the community that has long been close to Frankie’s heart.
The therapy service is a way to channel some of the resources they've acquired into supporting those who, like Frankie once did, struggle to find their place and purpose after service to their country.
It’s still new, still filled with its own set of challenges, but it represents a fresh start for both of them. The veteran therapy service, while promising, requires continuous effort and adaptation.
Frankie and Jude are both learning how to balance their personal and professional lives, integrating their past experiences into their current realities as well as juggle their own healing.
Frankie’s son spends a significant amount of time with them, bringing a new vibrancy to their home. The walls are now adorned with photographs of him, colourful drawings of dinosaurs on tje fridge, and scattered toys that they try not to trip over. The house resonates with the joyful echoes of giggles and the soothing rhythms of naptime.
A ping on Jude's laptop draws her attention back to her screen, and she smiles as she reads the confirmation of the delivery e-mail for the cake. Planning Frankie’s birthday surprise has required a blend of creativity and stealth on her part.
The surprise has been a labour of love, involving meticulous organisation and a touch of deceptive ingenuity to keep it a secret from him. In just two days it’ll pay off and she can’t wait to see his face.
Her phone buzzes beside her and she glances down at it to read the message.
Flight booked. See you soon.
She taps out the response:
The offer still stands, you’re welcome to stay with us.
Another reply comes through:
I might take you up on that.
Two days later, with the help of her parents who have flown down from New York - and Carla, who Jude quite likes spending some regular girl time with - Jude transforms the backyard into a vibrant and festive space.
String lights twinkle overhead, balloons are hung in clusters, and a colourful array of banners flutter in the Floridian breeze. The table is adorned with carefully chosen drinks, and a delicious spread of food awaits.
Frankie, meanwhile, is blissfully unaware of the surprise awaiting him. He’s spending the afternoon at the park with his son, enjoying a day of laughter, ice-cream and play without a hint of an idea about what’s being covertly prepared at home.
As Frankie steps out into the garden with his son in his arms, he’s momentarily disoriented, his surroundings a blur of unexpected excitement.
He freezes as a mighty cheer erupts and "Happy Birthday" is hollered loudly across the lawn.
"Fuck," he mutters, completely perplexed.
He sees Benny and Carla, beaming and cheering, Eddie and a few of the veterans from the therapy service raising glasses of sparkling apple juice in celebration. Will and his partner are clapping, their faces lit up with joy.
But it’s the sight of an unexpected figure standing beside Jude that makes his legs almost buckle.
"Me alegra verte, hermano," (It’s good to see you, brother) Santi says warmly, as he grins and steps forward.
Frankie’s heart skips a beat at the sight of his lifelong friend, the one he thought he’d never see again.
Santi pulls Frankie into a tight hug, and Frankie chokes out as he’s enveloped by the embrace.
“You still wear this stupid thing?” Santi jokes as he flicks the snap of Frankie’s cap - a gift from Santi himself from their early days in service together.
“Yeah…”
He watches as Santi takes his son from him and spins around playfully with him as he greets him in Spanish. With tears welling in his eyes, Frankie looks across the lawn to find Jude’s gaze.
He mouths “You did this?” at her, his voice caught in his throat. Jude, her own eyes glistening with tears of happiness, nods and chuckles.
Frankie’s heart swells as he mouths back “I love you,” the words full of gratitude and affection, knowing that this surprise, this reunion of his friends, means more to him than he’ll ever be able to articulate.
Frankie knows that one afternoon of merriment and catching up with old friends - those who were once the very lifeblood of his existence - won’t magically heal all wounds.
He understands that despite the heartfelt conversations, declarations of love, and apologies exchanged well into the night, the past is an ugly thing, marked by remorse and regret.
Healing will take time, effort, and patience.
Yet, to his surprise, the warmth and reciprocation from his friends offer a glimmer of hope. As he sits among the garden chairs around the table, the soft glow of the lights twinkling overhead, Frankie finds himself enveloped in a deep, genuine smile.
It’s a smile so thoroughly embedded on his face that he’s certain his jaw will ache for fuckin' days.
Frankie watches with a deep sense of contentment as the evening unfolds. Carla takes Frankie JR home after he eventually falls asleep against Frankie’s chest. Benny’s hooting laughter rings out, loud and infectious, filling the garden with an energy that seems to chase away the shadows of the past.
The stiffness and reservation that once characterised Will gradually melts away, revealing the familiar warmth in his eyes that Frankie’s missed so much.
Santi, ever the master of humour, slips in jokes and quips with effortless ease, as if the years apart had never happened, even before the island.
His presence here feels like a missing piece finally falling into place, and his lighthearted remarks bring a sense of normalcy that Frankie has longed for. The way Santi reconnects with everyone, making them feel at ease, underscores the strength of their bond and the simplicity of their friendship.
As the night grows later, the garden slowly empties, leaving just Frankie and Santi engaged in animated conversation.
Santi regales him of his life in Australia, and listens intently when it’s Frankie’s turn to get real. Frankie's words come out haltingly, filled with the weight of what he's been through, and he doesn't hold back - any of it.
Santi absorbs it all, his brow furrowed as he listens. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there, lo siento.” (I’m sorry.)
Frankie opens his mouth, instinctively replying, “Está bien-” (It’s okay.)
But Santi cuts him off, his voice firm yet soft. “No, it’s not, Fish. You know it and I know it. Fuck. After Colombia… that was it for me. Nothing left, you know?”
Frankie nods slowly, the words sinking in. He gets it. He really does. There are no easy answers, no quick fixes. Just the weight of what’s been lost and the quiet understanding between them that some wounds never fully heal.
“I saw the crash… on TV. News everywhere. Benny called me.” Santi’s voice wavers just slightly, the weight of those memories pressing down on him.
“Yeah?” Frankie asks, his own voice quiet, trying to mask the pain that still lingers.
“Fuck yeah,” Santi continues, shaking his head as if trying to clear the image. “I came back for the funeral. Your funeral, man.”
His words trail off as his eyes glisten with unshed tears, and for a moment, the tough exterior Santi always wore seems to crumble. The rawness of that time, the ache of loss, it’s all there in his face.
Frankie watches him for a moment, feeling that familiar pull in his chest. Without thinking, he places his hand on Santi’s shoulder. Santi grips it tightly, his fingers digging into Frankie’s arm like a lifeline.
“It killed me to know you were gone,” Santi admits, his voice thick.
Frankie feels a lump form in his throat, his own eyes stinging. He squeezes Santi’s shoulder back.
Santi shakes his head, blinking away the tears that threaten to spill over. He takes a shaky breath, looking down for a moment before meeting Frankie’s eyes again.
“I couldn’t. I couldn’t be that person anymore.” His voice is hoarse, like he’s admitting something he’s barely been able to say out loud, even to himself. “It felt like the end of everything. And then… when I thought I’d lost you too, I didn’t know how to come back. And then Benny fucking called again and said you were alive, and I just-”
“I get it,” Frankie says, his voice steady, though the emotion behind it is anything but. “I do.”
He looks into Santi’s eyes, searching for something, maybe confirmation that they’re both still standing, still alive, despite everything they’ve been through.
“I should’ve called you. I should’ve done something. I should've asked for help.”
Santi shakes his head again, his grip loosening slightly but still firm. “We’re here now. That’s what matters. We’re here.”
For a moment, they sit in the quiet of the backyard. The soft glow of the garden lights casts shadows around them, flickering like old memories. But in this moment, it feels like the beginning of something new. Something that might not erase the past in its entirety, but could maybe, just maybe, help them heal from it.
Frankie lets out a slow breath, his hand still on Santi’s shoulder, and with a small, tired smile, he says, “You never really lose family, do you?”
Santi, his eyes still wet, gives him a faint smile in return. “No, Frankie. You don’t.”
Their laughter and stories carry into the night, bridging the gap that years of separation had created. Eventually, they decide to retire inside, and Santi, struggling with the jetlag, heads to the spare room with promises of spending more time with Frankie during his visit.
Meanwhile, Jude is inside the kitchen, clearing away the last of the dishes and leftovers. It’s a quiet contrast to the earlier excitement, and as she moves about, she feels a pair of arms snake around her waist, pulling her tight against a warm, familiar body.
She stills, her heart warming as Frankie nuzzles against her neck, breathing her in.
“Hey, you.” She murmurs contentedly.
“Hola hermosa.” (Hello beautiful.) Frankie replies softly, his voice a gentle graze against her ear.
The quiet of the night beats around them, a subtle hum as they stand together in the kitchen swaying gently. Jude leans into Frankie’s hold, her heart swelling with affection as she feels the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back.
“Happy Birthday.” Jude whispers.
Frankie chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against her neck. “Technically, that was yesterday,” he replies with a gentle snort, his words light-hearted but sincere. “But thank you.” He turns her in his arms to face him, and holds her closer. “Really. I can’t believe you did all this,” Frankie says, still stunned by the magnitude of the surprise and the depth of Jude’s effort.
Jude smiles softly, her eyes reflecting the gentle light of the kitchen. She pulls back slightly to meet his gaze, her expression warm and filled with nothing but heart eyes. “I wanted to make it special,” she replies. “But it was really hard to keep it a secret.”
Frankie snickers, a genuine, amused smile spreading across his face. He takes her hand and presses his mouth to it. “I love you so fuckin’ much.”
Jude looks at him with a playful glint in her eyes, her lips curling into a teasing smile. “Oh yeah?” She muses, her tone light and inviting.
“Yeah,” Frankie nods with dreamy eyes. His hands paw at her ass squeezing it as she giggles. “Gonna take you upstairs right now and show you how much.”
“Mm, sounds good.” She smiles as she kisses him, slipping her tongue gently inside his mouth.
They barely make it up the stairs, their laughter and gasps echoing off the walls as they tug at each other’s clothes. Their movements are a blend of urgency and playful clumsiness, crashing into walls and nearly losing their balance as they navigate the narrow staircase.
Winded with the force, Jude crashes onto the bed as Frankie yanks her jeans off, spreading her thighs as his mouth trails a warm, eager path up the inside of them.
Frankie tugs at the delicate lace of her panties, the fabric giving way under his fingers. His tongue finds her, slipping between her drenched folds with a skilled, determined focus.
“Fuck, Frankie!” Jude wails, her voice a mix of pleasure and urgency as he sucks on the throbbing, sensitive bud of her clit, humming around it delight. Her fingers knock off his cap, and tug desperately at his sweaty curls, lost in the overwhelming sensation of his heady licks.
He reaches up, his hand grasping and squeezing her breast. As Jude grinds against his mouth, the rhythm of her movements intensifies, driving her closer to the edge. The peak of pleasure builds, as if it's about to catapult her into the stars.
She shakes and gasps as she reaches the cusp, her pleasure cascading as she comes, her release pouring into his mouth.
“I can’t tell you how much I’ve fuckin' wanted you all day,” he murmurs into her slick folds.
“Get up here and have me then,” she smirks.
Frankie quickly unclasps his belt, dropping his jeans to the floor. The dark patch of his arousal leaking into his grey boxers catches her eye, and she licks her lips. Pumping his cock eagerly with one hand, he tugs them down with the other.
Jude, still catching her breath, reaches for him, her movements eager and guided by a mix of desire and need. “Do you remember that first time, in the shack?” She pants as he crawls over her.
“How could I forget, it was my birthday then too,” he grins.
She giggles, nodding.
“Best damn present I ever got… fuck.”
Frankie hisses as he notches his head at her entrance, that thin band of skin quivering as it stretches just barely over the tip of his head, threatening to suck him in at any moment.
The gentle strokes of his thumb across her clit make her contract around him, and they can both barely stand it. Both on the cusp of giving in, yet both determined to chase this moment of delicious anticipation for as long as they can.
“You feel that?” Frankie croons, teasing his lips across Jude’s.
She licks over them tasting him, her chin grazing against his silky, greying scruff.
“I can feel it,” she gasps as he breaks through ever so slowly. “Fuck, feels so good.”
Eyes closing, lips pressed to his palm she whines as he sinks fully in. His cock throbs painfully as her cunt closes tighter around him.
“Always so wet for me.” He grunts as he bottoms out in one deep glide.
“God you feel so good inside me, Frankie.” Jude whimpers into his mouth.
“Yeah?”
“Mm, yeah. I love it.”
“I love you.”
“I love you!” She groans.
He snaps his hips with a rhythmic intensity, each thrust deep and deliberate. Jude responds by locking her ankles around the base of his back, pulling him closer.
Frankie, driven by the heat of the moment, pins her hands above her head with his own, his grip firm yet tender. As he continues to move deeply within her, he peppers kisses along her neck and breasts, his lips trailing a hot, searing path of affection and desire.
“Come for me,” he pants against her clammy skin, his voice thick with need. “Come for me, Jude.” His breath is warm and urgent against her.
With Frankie’s pleas, Jude’s body reacts instinctively, a wave of tension and release washing over her. Her muscles tighten, squeezing and contracting around him, each pulse drawing him further into the depths of her.
The sensation is electric, her climax like a wildfire spreading, consuming both of them in its heat. Her body grips him, every ripple coaxing him inexorably toward his own release.
Frankie’s breath hitches, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as he feels her unravel around him, the force of her pleasure sending him tumbling. It’s a moment of raw connection, where time seems to fold in on itself, the world outside their bedroom ceasing to exist.
In that instant, nothing matters but the feeling of being with her, inside her, lost in her. The pressure builds, a sensation so overwhelming it feels like freefalling through the sky, untethered but not afraid. He's not afraid anymore.
His body responds to hers, helpless against the intensity of their shared rhythm. He thrusts deeper, his need to be as close to her as physically possible driving him forward. Frankie feels her warmth, her gushing, her softness enveloping him completely as he pushes himself into the very mantle of her being.
His climax follows swiftly, his release spilling warm and plentiful into her as they both shudder in the aftermath, locked in a moment that feels both primal and transcendent.
This, right here - this moment - is home.
Not the four walls they share now, not the routine of their days, but this unspoken bond of survival, forged in fire, in blood, and in the wilderness that tested them to their core.
The island is always with them - carved into their bones, living under their skin. It wasn’t just the setting of their greatest fears, but the reason they exist here now, together, in each other’s arms. The island stripped them bare, peeled away the layers until all that was left was this raw, undeniable truth: that they survived because of each other.
The unspoken, unbreakable bond between them. It’s the feeling of ultimate surrender, of losing yourself so fully in another person that it feels like touching the universe itself.
His forehead rests against hers, their breaths mingling in the quiet come down, the frantic pace slowing to a gentle stillness.
Out there, surrounded by the relentless ocean, they discovered something sacred. It was the place where they were forced to confront everything - pain, loss, fear - and yet, from that desolation, they found each other. The island, in all its terror, became a mirror, showing them who they truly were.
And now, in this bed, wrapped around one another, they’re still on that island in some way. It lives in the spaces between their breaths, in the way their bodies move in sync, as natural as the tides.
When he fucks deeper into her, it’s like pushing back against all the forces that tried to break them down. When she moans his name, it’s not just in pleasure, but in affirmation of their survival, of the life they built together from the wreckage.
He presses a soft kiss to her lips. It’s more than just physical; it’s the emotional and spiritual connection that grounds them, a place of safety where they can be vulnerable, open, and real. In these fleeting seconds, Frankie knows with a certainty that this is where he belongs.
With Jude, he’s found the home he’s always been searching for - not in the walls of any building, but in her touch, her breath, and the way she lets him fall apart in her arms without judgement or fear.
Frankie smiles into her face. “This is where we’re meant to be,” he whispers, and in the silence, Jude knows exactly what he means.
The island was the test - but this? This is the fuckin' reward.
Jude nestles closer against him, savouring the warmth and intimacy. Frankie gently sprinkles kisses over her head.
“I have something for you,” he murmurs suddenly, his voice teasing with a playful glint.
She feels him leak out of her, sitting up in bed. Curious, Jude watches as he pads naked to the dresser, his broad, bronzed back silvery in the night's shadows.
She raises an eyebrow, half-amused.
“It’s not my birthday, you know,” she reminds him with a lazy smile.
“I know,” he calls over his shoulder, rummaging through a drawer, the muscles in his back rippling under his skin.
He returns to bed, something hidden in his hand, his expression smug and satisfied. He sits beside her, handing her a simple envelope.
Jude takes it, curiosity piqued, her eyes dancing between the envelope and his face, trying to gauge what he’s up to.
“What is it?” she asks, her fingers already sliding over the seal. She reaches for the bedside lamp, its soft glow spilling across the room as she tears it open.
“Open it and find out,” he replies with a playful roll of his eyes, settling back into the sheets beside her, clearly pleased with himself.
He's all sweaty brown curls and dark chocolate eyes, and she has to take a moment to just kiss him and savour how gorgeous he looks, how flushed and healthy.
"Go on, hermosa. Open it." He smirks around her pecks.
As Jude pulls out the contents, her breath catches in her throat.
A pair of airline tickets to Cape Town fall into her lap, but it’s the second paper that makes her heart skip a beat - a booking confirmation for a boat rental out to the Prince Edward Islands.
Her eyes widen, flicking from the paper to Frankie, whose face now holds a soft, reassuring smile.
Her fingers tighten around the tickets as a rush of emotion floods her chest. The island - the place that had once been the embodiment of their worst fears, their deepest pain. The place that broke them down to nothing, but somehow, it also became the foundation for everything they now are. Their love, their bond, their resilience. It’s more than just a destination; it’s a piece of them, an inescapable part of their story.
Frankie watches her closely. He knows what this means. He knows the weight of it. It’s not just about revisiting the past, but about reclaiming it - about confronting the ghosts that still linger, the trauma that lives beneath the surface.
As she looks at him, the memory of that place stirs within her, but there’s no fear now. Only a quiet understanding that their story is not complete without it. She nods, her smile faint but filled with something deeper - acceptance, peace.
“I’m making good on my promise, Jude.” Frankie whispers as she looks at him. “It’s time to go back to the island.”
“Are you sure?” She asks with deep eyes.
“I’m sure,” he says, his hand resting on hers, fingers knitting together. “We survived that place, and now, we’ll take it back. Together.”
To be continued...
SERIES MASTERLIST | CHAPTER 24
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 🖤
SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST
Tagging those that were tagged previously on this story, I may have missed some of you due to my old comments with tags in being removed when I deactivated, so apologies if I've missed you off. If you want to be removed that's cool too.
@suzdin @missladym1981 @millennial-teenybopper @msjarvis
@burntheedges @inept-the-magnificent @casa-boiardi @sin-djarin @jessthebaker
@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
@jolapeno @connectioneverywhere @trulybetty @nerdieforpedro @thisneozonerecs
@sir-thisisadndserver @anavatazes @doughmonkey @lilmizmoz @sukitruqui
@76bookworm76 @weho2kcmo @tanzthompson
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#frankie morales#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x ofc#frankie morales x you#francisco catfish morales#triple frontier fic#adrift with you series#jett's writing
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So freaking good.
The Stars Re-Align, part 1
Frankie Morales x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst
Rating: M for Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 12.1k Warnings: Reader is given an age and a grown daughter. Starts out as Santiago x reader. Cursing, food/alcohol, meddlesome friends, mentions of military service (obviously), glancing mention of Tom's death, past drug use, off-page abusive relationship, panic attacks, complicated relationships, family drama. Summary: When your daughter and your boyfriend talk you into having a birthday party, you are not prepared for all of the surprises that come your way. Notes: A little love triangle and 'one that got away' vibe for your Feral Frankie Friday!
“Rachel!” Calling from the kitchen is an old, unbreakable habit by now, but dinner is almost ready and you know your daughter is in the living room studying. She has plans with her boyfriend tonight which means she’s getting her reading out of the way, and you’re proud of her for having such good habits and steady resolve. It’s not at all what you were like at her age, and you’ve worked hard to make sure that she has opportunities that you never could have. Being a young single mom was rough, but every second you have with your little-girl-turned-young-woman is worth it. “Supper’s ready, honey. Find your bookmark!”
“Sure thing!” There’s no point in reminding you that her book is a digital copy, no bookmark needed, but she dutifully saves the spot and closes her laptop. “It smells good.” She compliments, walking into the kitchen and over to the fridge to bust out the bottle of wine that had become a habit with dinner since high school. Nothing fancy, just a cheap sangria, but it was a ritual that both mom and daughter enjoyed. “Are you going out with Santiago tonight?” She asks as she gets down the glasses to pour.
“He might come over to watch a movie since you’re going out.” Your two-month-old relationship isn’t deeply committed or deeply anything yet, really, but you like him. He’s attentive, handsome, and funny, and deeply — okay there’s one deeply — good in bed. “Do you want the good parmesan, or the shaker can? We have both.” Spaghetti with onions, peppers, and sausage isn’t necessarily gourmet, but it’s a family staple. Something your dad used to make you when you were growing up in New York City and you have made for your daughter her whole life afterwards.
“Good parmesan.” She hums. “Let’s be fancy tonight.” Bringing the glasses over to the small kitchen table, she moves on to set out the silverware. A chore when she was younger, it’s now just become habit when you eat together. ‘Working together as a team’ is how you always phrased it and it’s something she loves about her relationship with you now. You’re a team. “I’m going to stay at Ben’s tonight, so you and Santiago can have wild sex.”
“Be safe.” She’s twenty-four, so you’re not going to quibble about her sleeping over with her boyfriend, but you do give her a meaningful look when you set down the plates on the table. “Don’t make me a grandmother and I won’t make you a sister.”
Rachel laughs, it’s the same statement you have been using since she was first dating boys after puberty. “But Mom!” She pouts playfully. “I really want a baby sister!”
“Think I’m getting a little too old for that option, honey,” you huff, but laugh anyway. “Ask Santa for one at Christmas.”
She grins at you, bringing over the basket of breadsticks that are an Olive Garden copycat. Plain frozen ones that you brush with butter and garlic salt. So many of the meals you have together are mocks of the restaurant meals she had wanted when she was younger and you couldn’t afford. As an adult, it’s humbling to see the lengths you went to in order to make her happy.
“You’re coming back tomorrow, though, right?” Though you typically aren’t one to make a big deal out of such things, Santiago had offhandedly mentioned to your daughter a few weeks ago that it was a shame you weren’t doing anything for your birthday and Rachel had jumped on board with talking you into a party. The backyard barbecue will be small, but a chance to meet your boyfriend’s friends and have a few of your own friends from work come over. “It was half your idea, after all.”
“Yeah, I’m going to be there.” She promises. “Oh, is it okay if I bring Ben?” She asks. “He’s got another party to go to if not, but he said he would rather spend time with me.”
“Yes, you can bring Ben.” He’s a few years older than Rachel and has had a very different life experience, but you like Ben Miller. He’s doing his best to make an honest way in the world and he treats Rachel with love and respect. And probably in ways that you want to know absolutely nothing about. “There’s going to be plenty of food. Santiago and I are managing that end.”
She snorts and shakes her head. “Of course you are cooking for your own party.” She huffs.
“Get sassy with me and I’ll send every stitch of leftovers home with other people,” you threaten, though it’s hollow and comes with laughter.
“Not like you won’t make enough to still bring home food.” She shoots back with a grin. If there was ever a party, you always made too much food. It might be pasta salad, but you and she would be eating it for a solid week after everyone had gone home.
“Nothing fancy,” you assure her even though you know she’s right. “Burgers and dogs. And veggie burgers for the few people that skip red meat. All the accoutrements. Santiago is in charge of the grill, which he’s very happy about. And I’m making that cheese dip you like along with my guac. Salsa is coming out of a jar despite protests.”
“Let Ben bring the salsa.” She volunteers immediately with a grin. “He’s got some recipe he got from friends he used to serve with.” She explains. “He was going to make it for their party but we can hijack it and bring it to yours.”
“Deal.” That’s one more thing off your checklist and you’re fine with that. “And the cake is coming from an actual bakery, not a supermarket. I do listen to your protests most of the time.”
“The buttercream is far superior.” She huffs happily and lifts her glass when you are both sitting down at the table. “To a wonderful birthday weekend.” She offers. “One you never forget.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” You tap your glass against hers and smile. “Forty-two feels like it will be a good one.”
******
“We have the cake, the burgers are all ready to throw on the grill. Fish is bringing the baked beans, Ironhead is bringing the potato salad and you said Rach’s boyfriend is going to bring the salsa?” He arches a brow in concern. “What do you know about this guy? Is it good salsa? Because I’m going to be offended if it’s Pace.”
“I was told he has a recipe from somebody he served with.” The Pace is in its jars in the cupboard where Santiago can’t be offended by it, and you slip past him to look at your checklist taped to the cupboards one more time. “Coleslaw is made, cheese dip is made, and you filled up the outside fridge last night so that’s all set. I think we’re okay. The last thing is the guac and that only makes a few minutes.”
Santiago slides behind you and wraps his arms around your stomach and hums. “So we have time to go back to the bedroom?” He asks playfully, even if he would haul you back there if you said yes.
“Only if you’re planning on disappointing me,” you tease, knowing he never has and never would. Not on purpose. Still, you twist to kiss away the pout that has certainly formed there. “People are going to be here any minute.”
“We could always tell them to go the fuck away.” He laughs as he suggests it and then the doorbell peels out right afterwards. “That’ll be Ironhead.” He predicts. “Will’s always early.”
“Is that his real name? Will?” You call back when Santiago goes to open the door. You can make guacamole with your eyes closed due to the fact that you’ve had this recipe longer than your daughter has been alive, and you go to the fridge to get the ingredients.
“Yeah!” He calls back over his shoulder before he opens the door to find his friend on the doorstep. The smiles are genuine, almost guilty considering the shit they’ve gone through for the past five months since South America. Grief and sorrow have pulled at them, but it also has finally started to let them live again. “You made it!”
“Of course I did. You didn’t think I’d miss out on seeing your ass do something domestic, did you?” Will ‘Ironhead’ Miller slaps Pope’s shoulder. “Nice place she’s got. You tried to move in yet?”
Pope chuckles quietly and shrugs. “Maybe in another month.” He jokes. “Gotta get in good with the kid first.”
“Right, the kid.” With another friendly slap, Will Miller steps inside the house. It’s well-appointed, clean, and obviously loved. “She coming today?” He thinks so, but he can’t remember. Although a barbecue and pool party seems like a kid thing. But somehow Will remembers the kid not being kid. Teenager? He can’t remember now.
“She spent the night with her boyfriend, but she’ll be here.” Pope nods. “Although she’s already said she won’t call me daddy but I can take her for ice cream.”
“Nobody ought to be calling you ‘Daddy’,” Ironhead huffs.
Santiago laughs and shrugs. “You’re right.” He admits, knowing that he’s not father material. One of the reasons you were an attractive option was that your kid was grown. He didn’t have to play daddy, although from what he’s understood, the dad was your first love and was too immature to stick around. “Benny didn’t ride with you?”
“His girlfriend’s got a family thing today.” Will shrugs slightly, but honestly he’s impressed. His kid brother is crazy about this girl. It’s six months in and he’s starting to use some very committed language — which is fucking thrilling to Will as it signals Benny finally starting to grow up where sex and relationships are concerned. “He’s gonna come by later.”
“That’s good. I want him to come and have a few beers. Fish should be here shortly.” Pope will be happy to see everyone, it’s better than just checking in and having a beer. This will be a good time to really catch up. “How’s things with Marie?” He asks Will softly, knowing that Frank has been a little closed mouth about things between him and his lady. South America hadn’t been great for their relationship, although no one really likes her, she’s the one who was dabbling in drugs and got Fish hooked on coke.
“She was throwing some fit last night about Fish being out with another woman.” Which is obviously bullshit. Frankie would never step out on the mother of his child. But living in the apartment next to Frankie and Marie means he overhears plenty of bullshit. “All he was doing was asking if she wanted to come today. So who knows what kind of mood he’ll show up in.”
“Shit.” Pope sighs and shakes his head as he escorts Will though the living room and towards the kitchen where you are. “He needs to just bite the bullet and leave her.”
“We all know that. But it’s Fish. Too loyal for his own fucking good.” Will hadn’t been expecting to see anyone standing in the kitchen, let alone you, and he clears his throat. “Um—sorry, ma’am. Soldier’s habit,” he apologizes.
“It’s fine,” you promise him, actually laughing at the sheer display of manners. “I survived my daughter’s teenage years. You want to know who swears more than soldiers? Teenage girls.”
It’s been a long goddamn time since Will has been around teenage girls, but he just nods politely and offers his hand. “Will Miller.” He introduces himself. “Santiago has talked you up to be some kind of Wonder Woman, and it looks like he was underestimating your worth.”
"That's very kind of you, Will." You take his hand and introduce yourself easily enough, reflecting momentarily that Santiago has pretty friends. Blonde and blue-eyed isn't your type, but good looking is good looking. "Would you mind helping us get the last few things outside? And the pool is open, I hope Santiago told everyone."
“Absolutely, ma’am.” Like any good solider, Will is going to follow orders and he immediately picks up the heavier items to carry outside. “You have a beautiful home.”
"Thank you." It's something you worked hard for, and you continue to work hard for every day. Everything in your life has been to make sure your daughter is healthy, happy, and well taken care of. It was a lucky break that you got a well-paying job in your field to boot. "And you don't have to call me ma'am. Though I appreciate the manners."
“We need to give her a nickname before Taz does.” Will snorts.
"Taz?" You haven't heard that name before, and it piques your interest as Santiago helps you set things out on the table on the deck.
Will chuckles. “Youngest in our team.” He explains. “Short for Tasmanian Devil. Brother’s like a whirlwind of stirring up shit.”
"Got it." The Army nickname thing had taken you a second to get used to, but you're on board now. It's a brotherhood thing, and you like that Santiago has such a tightknit group of friends still. It's not something you've really had much of in your life, so you're glad to see when it happens for people you care about it. "Well, I told Santiago, but whenever your friends get here just let them into the backyard. The bathroom is off the living room, but everything else worth getting at is outside."
“Yes ma’am.” He smirks slightly when he says that again before disappearing out of the sliding glass doors.
"Are all your friends polite and helpful?" You glance back at the man you've been seeing for the last few months and crack a smile. "I'm glad you invited them. It's about time we started to meet each other's friends."
“Until they are assholes.” He jokes, giving you a bittersweet smile. “We lost a friend half a year ago and it seems like we’ve had a hard time getting back in the routine. Thought this might be the little jolt we needed.”
"Then we'll make sure it's a fantastic day." He hasn't confided too much about his years in the service or about where he was before moving back to Florida a few months ago, but this is probably a large part of the reason why. Either way, you slip your arms around him for a comforting hug. It's the least you can do, when he's gone through something terrible and is willing to open about it a little.
“It’s your day.” He protests, turning and kissing your lips. “It’s supposed to be good for you, not me. We will have a few drinks, have a few laughs and then…” He waggles his brows. “Well kick everyone out and I’ll make you cum until you pass out.”
The hum that forms in the back of your throat is as pleased as it is dirty, and you kiss him once more before your doorbell rings again. "I'll get it," you nudge his nose with yours and step back, albeit reluctantly. "Go hang out with your friend."
People trickle in little by little. Friends from work, mostly, and the one mom from Rachel's school days that you stayed friends with despite Rachel and her son never actually having been friends. Eventually the text comes through from your daughter that she's a few minutes away and that makes you smile brighter than just about anything else today.
Pope pulls out his phone and texts Frankie, wondering when he’s coming – or if he’s going to come at all. He is worried about him, knowing that he’s under a lot of pressure. Marie blames him for losing his license and then going down to South America for two weeks when it was only supposed to be one. He couldn’t even tell her what happened and that was causing issues.
Had to wait for the babysitter. On my way now. Says the text that comes through a few minutes later, but there is a temporary distraction from waiting for Catfish: Rachel's car pulls up and parks outside the house, expelling both your daughter and her boyfriend onto the front lawn.
“Come on, Ben.” Rachel grabs his hand and rushes him towards the door. They are running behind because of the pre-party activities he had talked her into and while she’s not regretting that in the least, she wants to get inside and wish you happy birthday.
“Sounds like everybody’s out back, baby,” he steers her toward the fence surrounding the backyard instead of the front door, but when that brings him closer to the actual driveway of his girlfriend’s house he frowns — deeply — in confusion. He shouldn’t recognize the two vehicles sitting behind Rachel’s car and her mother’s, but there they are: Pope’s slick vintage Corvette right next to Will’s jacked up picked up truck. There’s no denying the two vehicles, he’s seen them together far too often. “The hell?” Benny breathes, but Rachel doesn’t hear him. She’s too excited to see her mom and moving them through the gate before he can hang back to do a double take at the cars.
“Mom!” Pope looks up at soon as he hears a familiar happy cry but then he’s immediately frowning. Watching as Ben Miller moves through the fence gate with Rachel. “What the fuck?”
“I told you she was bringing her boyfriend, didn’t I?” Santiago’s level of confusion is confusing in its own right, but you ignore it in favor of meeting your daughter at the edge of the porch to give her a massive hug. “Hey sweet pea!”
It helps that Benny looks just as stunned as Pope does, Will stopping short when he sees his younger brother and doesn’t hesitate to call out. “You made it!” He huffs out and shaking his head at his brother’s fickleness. “Girlfriend’s family already kick you out?”
“Nooo…” Benny blinks against the sunlight, having left his sunglasses in his truck. “You’re at the wrong party, assholes.”
The ball busting smirk immediately slides off of Will’s face, due to the knowledge that there is no way they could be at the wrong party. “Benny…” He glances at a stunned Pope and sighs heavily. “We’re at the right party.”
It only takes about a second more, but by the time Benny breathes “Ohhh shit.” He’s also cackling with laughter. “Are you telling me—” The younger Miller brother looks around and drops his voice for the sake of not embarrassing the girl he adores. “Are you telling me Pope is banging my girl’s mom?”
Will snorts and shakes his head. “Looks like.” He agrees quietly. “Hell of a birthday surprise.” He hopes that it won’t change your daughter’s mind on dating him, Rachel has been fantastic for Ben.
“Fuck….” Pope snickers quietly, shaking his head at the irony. He should probably go spell this out for you so you don’t take it the wrong way. No one knew. Even after hearing about Benny’s girlfriend for months, only Will and Fish had met her so far.
Rachel pulls back and gives you a beaming smile. “Happy Birthday Mom.” She hums, winking at you. “Santiago spend the night last night since I was with Ben?” She’s not been paying attention to the guys, too focused on you.
“We fell asleep watching our second movie.” It’s mostly true — true enough that you can play it off as innocent because you did technically nod off during the second movie — but the empty bowl of popcorn and wine glasses in the living room had waited until this morning to be cleared away once you hauled each other off to bed. “Did Ben have a fight last night or did you guys just go out?”
“No fight.” She shakes her head. “Next weekend, so we just got to go out. Although he wants to know if you would like to come to the fight.” You’ve met Benny and she thinks you like him, but she wants you to get to know him better. Which is why she had suggested they go to your party today instead of his friends’.
“If you want me to.” You don’t feel too excited to watch your daughter’s boyfriend get beat up, but you do want to get to know him better. Rach is so obviously head over heels for him.
“It’s up to you.” She smiles and looks back at Ben, curious to find Will here. “Um— what’s his brother doing here?”
“Whose brother?” Turning to follow her eyes, your head tilts slightly in interest. Santiago and Will are deep in conversation with Benny already. “That’s one of Santiago’s friends. Will.”
“Mom…” Rachel’s eyes widen slightly. “That’s Will Miller…Benny’s older brother.”
“That…” You swallow, slowly registering the situation as you watch the men interact. “That makes things interesting…” You’re dating a man who served with your daughter’s boyfriend…this is going to get complicated…
“Oh god.” Rachel bites her lip as Benny and Pope quickly break away and come over to the two of you. “So…”
“So, this is interesting.” You repeat the phrase almost disbelieving.
“Kind of a funny coincidence, huh?” Benny wraps his arms around Rachel and plants a kiss in her hair.
“I didn’t know.” Rachel promises you with a small shake of her head. “Shit, Ben. I can’t believe I didn’t know it.”
“I think I know why.” You observe, clearing your throat and accepting the comfort of Santiago’s arm around your waist as you look up (and up) at Ben. “I’m going to guess that your nickname while you were serving together was Taz?”
“Yeah.” Benny nods and looks back between all the other men. “Oh fuck, we’ve been just using our nicknames and they didn’t know.” He groans. "I'm sorry baby." He turns to Rachel with an apologetic look. "Pope was talking about his new girl and spending as much time as possible with her, so he missed the last fight you were at."
“It’s a little unconventional,” you admit, wondering what Santiago thinks of all this. “But not terrible, right?” As close in age as you and Rachel are, it wouldn’t be the first time you have had mutual friends. Just the first time you were ever dating mutual friends.
"He's a good guy." Pope assures you, like it's the first time you've met Benny. "And we can kick his ass if needed."
Benny snorts and rolls his eyes. "You wish, old man."
“Rach?” Your fingers run through her loose curls gently and you give her a questioning look. While this isn’t the day you want to have — after all, you do like Santiago — it’s ultimately up to her. Everything is and always has been in your life, and you made that decision for a reason.
"I don't think that you need to stop seeing Santiago just because he knows Ben." She rationalizes. "I think it's fine, what do you think?"
“Just as long as you’re comfortable with it.” That goes for the men involved, too. But they don’t seem to mind beyond being apologetic.
Rachel snorts and shrugs. "Just as long as they don't share sex stories." She giggles and shoots Santiago a smirk. "And we won't either."
“I was not planning on it, sweet pea.” You might be close, but that’s a step too far even for you. “Never ever.”
Agreeing completely, she walks up to Pope and gives him a hug. "So if you make my mom cry, I'll have my boyfriend beat you up." She teases.
“Got it.” She’s a grown woman, but he can’t resist the urge to mess with her thick hair, watching her face wrinkle in disapproval before she moves back to Benny, who smooths the familiar curls with care. “Now we just need Catfish to get here and we’ll have everybody.”
"I'm here!" A hand appears over the fence before he opens it, hat pulled low, and he grunts when he picks up the cooler full of ice and beer that he had stopped and picked up on the way. "Sorry I'm late."
“Fish!” Benny kisses the side of Rachel’s head before peeling off to grab the cooler from him and take it to the porch so his friend can catch his breath. He doesn’t see the tick in the tilt of your head or the way your eyes widen just a second later.
'Fish', or Francisco Morales, looks up and smirks at Benny when he grabs the cooler. Thankful, although he wouldn't make too much of a fuss about it. Getting older sucked and he's still feeling the effects of that workout he helped the other man do just two days ago when his normal sparring partner was sick. "'Bout time you made yourself useful." He huffs playfully and looking towards Pope to wave. Freezing with his arm halfway up in greeting when he sees someone that he had never expected to see before – you.
The way you shrink into yourself immediately is instinct. As much shock as anything else. But within seconds you’re stepping forward to block Rachel from view and shakily a demand an explanation. “What the shit is going on?” You hiss, though you’re not exactly sure who you’re talking to, you just don’t want to make a scene in front of your coworkers. They consider you to be such a calm, collected woman.
Frowning, Pope turns towards you, reaching out to touch your arm and stepping closer to you. "Babe— what's wrong? What are you talking about?" He follows your gaze back to Fish and he grunts in confusion. "Fish? He's another teammate. One of my best friends."
“Fuck.” Deflating on the spot, you feel like you could just collapse where you stand but that wouldn’t help the situation any. “We—we, um—know each other,” you explain quietly. “But it’s been a long time.”
Feeling like he's been kicked in the chest by one of those fucking mules, Frankie stumbles forward and murmurs your name softly. "I— what are you doing here?" He asks, frowning slightly.
“This is my house.” You wonder if Santiago even explained where he was inviting him, or if you have a nickname to their group just like they all do to each other. “I wouldn’t expect you to still remember my birthday.”
All the blood drains from his face and it falls into a wounded look. Realizing that you have to be Pope's girl. "I— remembered." He murmurs quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Seven billion people in the world. Figured someone else would have the same day too." It's almost a kick in the teeth, that comment of yours. Considering he had a fight with Marie because he had said your name this morning when he was talking to himself after waking up. You were the reason he had fought, again, with the mother of his child and she had pitched a fit and left. Making him wait on a babysitter so he could come to this party. To find out that it was for you. He's so fucking lucky that Marie isn't here. He clears his throat roughly and bites his lip. "Happy birthday, gatita." He uses the nickname from a million years ago and steps back. "I should go."
A press of overwhelming guilt and the instinct to stop him makes you reach out, grabbing his arm before you can stop yourself. “No. You shouldn’t.” You admit, even though it hurts.
"No," He shakes his head and gives you a wry smile. "I should." He sighs softly and looks over at Pope. "This is your girl, huh?" He asks, confusing the other man even more. "Keep her and take care of her." He tells him. "You'll regret it if you don't." He reaches for your hand and pries it off his arm gently, squeezing it before letting it go.
“Where’s Fish going?” Benny returns from the deck just a second too late, but just in time to watch Frankie leave again and see the bewildered looks on his friends’ faces.
"I don't fucking know." The entire day has been one big bag of surprises and Pope doesn't particularly like surprises. He turns towards you for some kind of explanation, although the nickname gatita sounds familiar, like Fish has mentioned it before. "You know Frank?"
“We grew up together.” It’s the best you can hiccup out before you take off like a shot, following Frankie through the gate. “Frankie!” He’s already down at the street, but he pauses when you call his name and it gives you time to catch up.
Waiting for you as you rush towards him, Frankie takes off his Standard Oil hat and scratches his hair. Struck by how nostalgic the moment is, waiting for you to catch up to him so many times once upon a lifetime ago. “Look, I’m sorry.” He sighs when you are closer. “I didn’t know, okay? I’m going.”
“I think you should stay.” Not as fit as you once were, you puff a little and put your arms around your waist. “We, uh—for Santiago, if nothing else. You’re his friend and I—I’m somebody you used to know.” And there is so, so much to tell him…
The idea that you might want him there makes him pause and he frowns slightly as he stares at you for a moment. “Only if you’re sure.” He still hesitates. “It’s your birthday after all.”
“It is.” And you’re not sure. You’re really not. But since he’s reappearing in your life almost twenty-five years later, the lump in your throat is winning over logic.
“Last time I saw you was on your birthday.” Frankie frowns, wondering how he could have been such a shit head back then. “Seems like the circle is complete.”
“Eighteen was a long time ago.” It was right before he left for boot camp, and you’d been pushing him to commit to you before he left. A stupid thing to do at such a young age. You know that now. But you were so stupid in love with him back then and there was so much going on.
“Yes it was.” He can admit that, biting his lip and shuffling slightly. “And I was an asshole.” He had broken his own damn heart, even if he hadn’t known it at the time.
“I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard.” Squeezing your eyes shut makes you feel like your heart is going to burst, but the universe has decided that it’s time to finally time to come clean. “I was scared. And I’m sorry.”
“I was stupid.” Frankie has so many regrets from that time of his life, just compounded over the years and he almost steps closer to you, but he doesn’t. He can’t, he doesn’t have that right anymore. “I proved you right. I didn’t come back.” The argument is still confusing in his memory, just as much as it had confused him then. You had pushed to get married before he left and he had wanted to wait. It had become a sticking point and in his stubbornness, he had broken up with you.
“You didn’t come back and you didn’t have a cell phone…and then your parents moved.” With their only child moved on, Frankie’s father had accepted a transfer upstate from the Standard Heating & Oil Co that both of your fathers worked for. “I had—I had no way to talk to you. To—to tell you—” Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, surprising you since you thought you had cried every last tear you had over Frankie Morales.
“Tell me?” Frankie frowns and he does step closer, hating to see tears in your eyes again on a birthday. Especially because they seem to be because of him again. “Tell me what, gatita?”
“Fair warning.” Wiping at the corners of your eyes, you can’t quite look him in his even when you straighten out again. “You’ll hate me. And you probably should, at this point.”
“I don’t think I could hate you.” Frankie admits quietly, unable to even imagine a world where he would.
“You might.” Wiping your hands down your face and breathing out a deep, frustrated groan, you look up again to see the eyes of the boy who was your first everything looking back at you, and you crumble. “I didn’t have any way to contact you,” you repeat again, knowing you could and should have tried harder anyway. “And I was scared of losing you because — because I was pregnant.”
The way his brows pull down is instantaneous and he immediately puts his hands on his hips and twists around as he absorbs your news. “You— you were pregnant?” He chokes out, looking back at you with a wounded expression. “I— what? No? What— pregnant?”
“That’s…that’s why I was pushing you so hard to propose.” You admit, eyes cast down at the ground.
“You didn’t say a word.” Frankie shakes his head. “Why— why didn’t you tell me? If I had known—”
“I thought if I told you that you’d only run away from me faster.” Which, at eighteen years old, had seemed like pretty sound logic to you. “By the time I was scared enough to just want you there regardless, it was too late. You were…you were gone.”
“By the time—” he shakes his head, eyes wide and he swallows harshly. “What happened? Don’t— I— what are you saying?”
"I'm saying that you have a daughter." A fact which sticks in your throat now like you had tried to swallow a pinecone. "Who is smart, and kind, and headstrong, and stubborn as hell. But she's doing so well for herself that a lot of that stubbornness just slides right by."
Frankie blanks out for a minute, staring at you before he turns away. Grappling with his emotions as he bends over and tries to take a breath, groaning slightly in disbelief. “No.” He shakes his head, turning back to you. “No! Don’t tell me that!”
"I'm sorry." It isn't worth much, as apologies go, but you kneel down beside him on the grass and wonder if he'll be mad enough to strike out if you put a hand on his back. "I really am. You should have known a long time ago."
“Twenty-four,” he chokes out. “You are telling me I have a twenty-four year old daughter?” His face screws up in the regret and tears. “Please tell me you’re fucking joking.”
"I had no way to tell you." It's a lame excuse, or at least it feels lame, and you do rest your hand on his back but it's so gentle you don't even know if he can feel it.
“Oh fuck….fuck, fuck, fuck…..” Frankie moans, closing his eyes and his fists bunch against his thighs. “I-I-I— don’t— I can’t –”
"Frankie?" His breathing sounds panicked, and you soothe one hand in circles around his back. "Breathe, okay? Just breathe. Everything's okay. She—she's grown. She's raised. No one is asking you to do anything."
“I—I missed it.” He manages. “I missed everything.” Closing his eyes as he realizes that his trajectory of his life would have been vastly different if he had known.
Oh. It's the opposite. The exact opposite. He's not panicked that you're going to expect him to stay, like you thought he was. He's upset that he missed Rachel's childhood. "There's...there's still the whole rest of her life ahead."
“I— I should have been there.” He drops his head down even more. “Fuck— you must hate me. She must hate me.”
"It's my fault you didn't know. Why would I hate you?" As much as it has ever hurt to lose him, you've never actually hated him. Just missed him. Which isn't the same although they can be confused for each other. "And Rachel— Frankie, she knows the truth. That we were young and lost touch."
“Rachel.” He shakes his head, focusing on her name and it’s so goddamn familiar. “Her name is Rachel?”
"My aunt Rachel died right before she was born," you explain, wondering if he even remembers meeting your mother's sister a million and a half times at different family functions while you were together. He was always invited for every holiday.
“God.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head, hating that he had been such a fucking idiot back then. “I’m so sorry.” He whispers.
"I am, too." More sorry than you can possibly say, but what else can you do at this point but try to move forward?
“So I managed to ruin another birthday of yours.” He pushes aside the grief and sorrow that is threatening to overwhelm him and locks it down. Compartmentalize, shutting down, it’s what he knows best. He can freak out about this later when he’s left.
"It's not ruined." It's awkward, and it's uncomfortable, and you're not really sure what to do now. But it's not ruined. "It's—it's not—I don't know what today is, but it's..." you sigh heavily and stand up again. "I don't know, Frankie. If you want to leave that's up to you. But our lives cross now, and I know...I know Rachel would want to meet you."
“Oh god. Is she— is she there? Here?” He asks, shaking his head. “Can I meet her?”
"If I wasn't going to let you meet her, I would have just kept my mouth shut about the whole thing," you needle him gently. Just wishing he could or would do as much as crack a smile. It seems desperately needed.
The huff, the quarter of a smile is almost involuntary. Almost in disbelief and he looks over at you with a heavy stare. “I want to meet her.” He tells you quietly. “If I had known, things would have been so different for us, gatita.”
"No use crying over spilled milk, I think." Twenty-four years of regret is a lot to process, but you nod in acknowledgement. Just a small motion of thanks that he is at least saying out loud what you suspected.
“Fuck.” He huffs again and uncurls his hands to wipe them on his jeans. “I’m nervous.”
"Telling you not to be seems cruel," you huff, though you're not sure what else to say. "No one planned this. No one saw this coming. It will be as much of a shock to her as it is to you. As—as it was to me to see you."
“Forty-two.” He shakes his head and looks back over at you in awe. “You don’t look a day over fucking eighteen.” It might be a small embellishment, but you look amazing and so much like the girl he has loved for so long.
"You're not so bad yourself." Santiago may be on the other side of that fence, but a part of your heart has always and will always belong to scrawny Frankie Morales from Brooklyn. Even if he isn't scrawny anymore – which is a thing you can't help but notice.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, centering himself before he nods. “We should go back.” He murmurs.
"I promise she's not scary." Although you'll understand when it is a complete shock to her. And to the others. "Just...let me tell her first? I ran after you so fast that I didn't explain to anyone else yet."
Both of you stand up and he scrubs his hands on his jeans again. “Sure, sure.” He agrees, knowing that it could be sort of a shock, even if she’s known about him her whole life.
"Remember to breathe," you advise him with a wry chuckle, even though it's good advice for you too.
“When I remember how.” Frankie snorts, slightly pacing in place as he glances towards the back yard gate.
"Come on." Nodding toward the yard, you take a step in that direction to see if it will spur him on. The urge to offer him your hand is misplaced, and you have to quell it by putting your hands in your jeans pockets. "We've kept them waiting long enough."
Frankie exhales roughly and trails along behind you, wanting you to take the lead. He has to tell you about Luna at some point, but he will do that after he meets the daughter he never knew he had.
“Sorry about that.” Once you’re on the other side of the gate again, you see Rachel standing in the midst of Santiago, Benny, and Will all looking concerned. “That was…unexpected? Shall we say?”
“Mom?” Rachel moves closer to you and frowns as her eyes slide back to where Frankie is hanging back. “Why are you upset with Fish?” She asks softly, looking back at the other three men and then back at you. “You said you knew him? When? I don’t remember you dating him.” Your dates had been few and far between, even rarer that she had met them, but she would have remembered someone called Catfish.
“I’m not upset, sweet pea. I’m just surprised.” It’s a lie, but a prudent one. You are upset, and it’s because your little slice of peace has been disturbed. But no one did that on purpose, so you’ll just have to live with it. “Why don’t we—we should talk about this inside.”
“No. Here. Now.” She has inherited her stubbornness both you and Frankie. And she’s eyeing the man she had met a few months ago and hung out with suspiciously. He looks like he’s about to be sick and she’s not above taking a baseball bat to his knees if needed, whether or not she had liked him before.
“Rach, I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” you murmur, looking around the backyard. Most people are milling about and a few are in the pool, but they obviously all know something is up.
Rachel stares at you for a minute and then she shoots Frankie a glare because you look so upset before she turns around and marches towards the house.
“You guys, too,” you decide, figuring it’s probably best to get all of this over with. Santiago is dating you, Benny is dating Rachel, and Will is bound to find everything out soon enough.
There’s not a lot of hope for him with the glare shot his way, so Frankie hangs back for a moment. Reconciling the fact that Rachel is the girl that Benny has been dating. His daughter is dating his friend. His friend who has been bragging about his girl to him. And their sex life. He’s going to throw up or punch Ben in the mouth.
Once everyone is inside, you check to make sure the bathroom is empty and close the sliding doors tightly. Everyone outside can wait. This is far more important. “Everything is okay,” you start, making sure that right off the bat Rachel knows you aren’t mad and Santiago understands you don’t hate his best friend. His best friend. Fuck. “It was just—as surprising as it was to find out Santiago and Ben are friends…this is an even bigger surprise.”
Frankie leans on the side of the wall, staring at the tip of his boot as he tries to wait for you to tell Rachel. He can’t blurt it out, she’s your kid. Not his— not really. He hasn’t done a goddamn thing to help raise her, but he has to admire the job you’ve done.
"The thing is, Rach." Blowing out a breath, you reach out for your daughter's hand and just pray she won't hate you. "You wouldn't remember when I dated Frankie. Because it was before you were born."
“Hermano.” Pope’s eyes widen and the nickname clicks. He knew he had heard it before. “Gatita? This is—” he whistles quietly. “Mierda.”
When Rachel still looks confused, you breathe deeply and try your best not to shake. Or to chicken out. "There are a lot of blanks to fill in along the way, but...sweet pea...Frankie is—" Oh god, you're going to throw up. You're absolutely going to throw up. "He's your father."
You could hear a pin drop, or a mouse fart, the room is so quiet. Every head snapping towards Frankie in judgement and he doesn’t pay them any attention, focusing on the one person right now that matters. His daughter.
"I don't understand." Rachel stands bog still, clutching your hand with eyes as wide as saucers as she looks frantically between you and Frankie. She had liked this man. He is a good friend to Ben. But now she doesn't know what to think.
“Your mom and I were high school sweethearts.” Frankie isn’t sure what you might have told her, but he’s going to tell her what he knows to be true. “More like middle school, but you know?” He shrugs. “I didn’t know she was pregnant.” He promises. “I swear I didn’t know.”
Will sighs from the other side of the room. “Oh shit.”
"Everything I ever told you about him was the truth." You had worked hard to always be fair to Frankie when you were raising Rachel, even if it led to never telling her very much about him unless she asked. "He didn't know, and I had no way of telling him. It's been...it's been twenty-five years since we even spoke to each other. So you can understand why I was surprised to see him walk in today."
“And he’s friends with your boyfriend and mine.” There’s a note of disbelief in her voice that Frankie doesn’t blame her for.
“We were on the same team for years.” Frankie explains. “I was their pilot.”
“That’s why we lost touch,” you remind your daughter gently. “He left for boot camp.” Considering Ben isn’t the first Army boy that Rachel has dated, you have always sort of had a suspicion that she was subconsciously searching for her dad in these men. It just never occurred to you that it would actually work.
She looks at him, almost accusatory in her gaze. “Why did you never come back?” She demands. “If you loved her, why did you just walk away?”
That makes Frankie wince, and he shoves his hands in his pockets again. “Have you ever done something dumb and been too goddamn proud to admit you were wrong?” He asks quietly, and Pope, despite his own feelings about the entire situation, won’t let Frankie’s daughter twist in the wind.
“He used to talk about his gatita.” He interjects. “Regretting not making up with her and wishing he could get in contact with her.”
“It was harder back then, honey.” The gentle reminder is important, because Rachel might not have grown up in a world of luxury but she’s definitely never known a world without cell phones or social media. “When I told your grandparents that you were coming, we moved. It was just a little further outside the city, but the place was bigger and the neighborhood was safer. Your grandma found a better job and— and with neither of our families still in Brooklyn, we couldn’t have found each other. Even if your dad had come back looking for me, or tried to call our old apartment? We wouldn’t have been there.” At least she hasn’t ripped her hand out of yours yet. You’re considering that a good thing “We were kids, and we made mistakes. Very big ones. But you know he didn’t leave because he didn’t love you.”
“I would have never.” He promises, his voice thick with emotions. He shakes his head and frowns slightly. He doesn’t know why he didn’t realize who she was to him now that he knows. She looks just like a perfect combination of you and him, with your nose, thank God. But her ears curl just like his.
“Oh god…” In trying to process everything, Rachel glances up and looks at Frankie’s hat again, groaning to herself and wiping one hand at the bottom of her neck just like he does — but neither of them ever noticed the simile gesture. “I always just thought the hat was a funny coincidence,” she admits with a huff.
“My hat?” He takes it off and scrubs his hair quickly before putting it back on his head. “Had it since I was a kid.”
The Miller brothers look confused, and you offer them a wilted smile with your explanation. "Both of our fathers, Rach's grandfathers...they both worked for Standard for forever. That's how Frankie and I met."
“Oh shit.” Benny frowns slightly and moves over to Rachel’s side, squeezing her hip supportively.
"I know this is a lot." It's a lot for everyone, but you're mostly just talking to Rachel. Your whole adult life has been lived for your baby girl and now emotions are unraveling at light speed. "But nothing has to change. You're a grown woman, sweet pea. And whatever relationship you want with your Dad is up to you."
“I’ve spent time with him.” She admits quietly. “After a fight of Benny’s.” She looks back at Frankie and bites her lip. “But I’d like to get to know him as my dad.”
"I know this just got sprung on everybody," you murmur again. The fact is that right now you have a yard full of people and all you want to do is disappear under your comforter and pretend it isn't happening. "But...life throws you curveballs, right?"
“Yeah.” Frankie huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and feeling like his entire world has turned on its head. Wishing like hell he could snort a line but he promised himself he wouldn’t touch that shit again.
"We should give you guys some privacy." When Will finally speaks up, it's to motion to his brother and to Pope that maybe they should step outside. There are a lot of emotions creating tension in this room and they're not going to be made easier by having an audience.
Pope shuffles slightly, wanting to stay, but he also needs to think about this entire thing. The situation is blowing up and he doesn’t want to make things worse.
"Maybe you could throw the burgers on the grill? And we'll be out in a few minutes?" He had offered to be in charge of the grill today but that was before everything had gone to hell and now you have no idea what he's thinking. "And I promise we'll talk through everything, too."
“Of course.” He nods and doesn’t lean in to kiss you like he might have just a few minutes before walking in this house. Feeling almost guilty for the entire situation right now.
That missing kiss is enough to tell you that everything has changed. Santiago has never shied away from affection or from public displays, and this is exactly the time that a partner might have offered that kind of comfort. Whatever you end up talking to him about later, you're now prepared for him to end things. But you can't fault him for that. You had a baby with his best friend – even if you didn't know each other then.
“Baby?” Benny looks at Rachel, checking with her before he leaves.
"It's okay," she promises him, going up on her toes to kiss the corner of his mouth. "I'll find you when we come back out." And she's going to find a White Claw or six in the garage fridge, too. Fuck.
“Okay.” He shoots Frankie a worried look, not liking the despair on his friend’s face and shuffles to the door.
"I figured it might be easiest to just tell them the facts up front and then let all of us talk," you tell them both, now wondering if that was the right move at all.
“Yeah.” Frankie nods, understanding why you did it, but he looks over at Rachel with regret and waits for her to say something.
"Do you, actually...do you mind if I talk to Frankie—" Rachel hums awkwardly over it, before reconsidering. "If I talk to my father alone for a few minutes?" She sort of feels like they're ganging up on him, and while she has questions and she's sure that you do, too...hers are going to be very different from yours.
“I don’t mind.” Frankie glances back over at you for approval.
"I should go make the rounds outside." As much as you don't want to, it is your party and they are your guests out there. Most of whom noticed that something odd has happened even if they don't know what. Still, you nod and lean over to hug your daughter. "Come back out when you’re ready. Ben looked like he'll worry until you do."
“I will.” She promises and Frankie catches your eye as you glance over at him.
“Thanks.” He murmurs, thanking you for the opportunity to talk to Rachel. He knows you could have been very different with this entire thing. Blowing out a breath when you walk out and shut the door, he looks back at his grown daughter. “So hit me with it.” He tells her.
For a second Rachel is dumbfounded. She just stands and stares at him, but then her shoulders slump and she shrugs and she blows out a long sigh. “I guess I know the real reason my middle name is Francine,” she poses, shaking her head. “Mom said it was because The Nanny is her favourite show and I completely fucking believe that because she worships Fran Drescher, but I’m willing to bet that’s one of only like six lies she’s ever told me in my whole life and it’s actually because of you.”
“Francisco Alberto Morales.” He introduces himself to her quietly, nodding and trying not to be humbled by the fact that you gave your daughter a version of his name. Something to connect the two of you.
“And you guys were…you were together for a long time?” She knows the story. She’s heard it from you over and over again. But something in her feels like she needs to hear it confirmed from him.
“Seventh grade until her 18th birthday.” He frowns at the way that makes him sound, how callous it could be construed. He has just walked away after so long.
“And she wanted to get married.” Rachel prompts, needing these landmarks of the story confirmed for her.
“We had a plan.” He shuffles slightly and looks around the neat and well decorated home. You’ve done well for yourself and it shows. “I was going to get through boot camp and my ‘A’ school while she started college and then when I got to my first duty station, she would transfer to a school nearby.” His shoulders round when he remembers that last fight, the missing piece now clicked into place and with maturity, he can see that you had been terrified, not overbearing. “Her birthday, she blind-sided me with getting married.”
“She wanted to skip forward and get married first, and you didn’t agree.” She can see it from both sides, now. As an adult it makes sense why an eighteen-year-old planning his life would think his girlfriend was just trying to trap him — or even that she wanted the wedding more than she wanted him. “But…you never got married at all? Even after Mom?”
“No.” Marie isn’t married to him, he couldn’t do that even if he had been inclined to. She was still technically married to some guy in her past, or so she claimed. “But….”
“Oh god, don’t say Marie.” Rachel bursts out, talking before she can even think. “She’s awful, and I’m not the only one who thinks so. I didn’t feel like I had a right to say anything before but I totally do now and she’s abusive and terrible, and I will absolutely help you leave her if you need help. I’ll babysit Luna anytime and — oh my god Luna is my sister—”
Frankie shuffles and looks down at his feet. Marie hadn’t been at her best the first time that Rachel had come to the bar after the fight. She had been pissed off because his hearing had been postponed again and he wasn’t closer to getting his pilot’s license back.
“Look, if you’re happy, it’s whatever.” Rachel shuffles, not realizing she’s moving the same way as Frankie, and shrugs. She senses she’s hit a nerve. “I’ll still help with Luna whenever you need. I—I always wanted a baby sister…”
“She’s not bad.” Frankie had dealt with her for a long time and it seemed harder to leave than it was to stay. “That was a bad night.”
“If you say so.” She doesn’t believe him, but the very first day she meets her father isn’t the day to push too hard.
He doesn’t know what to say, so he looks around the house again. “Did you and your mom struggle?” He asks quietly.
“My grandparents helped.” The short answer is yes, but she doesn’t want to make him feel guilty. “We lived with them when I was little, then we moved down here when I was about thirteen. Mom got a job with Disney.”
Frankie nods, frowning slightly. He has his retirement and his Thrift Savings Plan from the military, which he will hopefully be able to not use once he gets his license back. He’s not in the best position to offer any kind of help, but he will. “You’re in school, right?” He asks.
“I’m getting my masters at UCF.” Rachel nods again. “I still live with Mom. Here, I mean. She didn’t make me leave or anything when I started college.”
She’s dedicated. Frankie knows that college, especially graduate programs, are expensive. “That’s good.” He bites his lip and wonders if the offer would offend her. “I have my G.I. Bill.” He mentions. “I can gift it to a spouse – which I don’t have.” He shrugs. “Or a child.”
It's a very sweet offer, but that doesn't really surprise her. She already knows Frankie is a sweet guy. "Save it for Luna," she tells him. "I have great scholarships, and that way she'll be able to look forward to school without worrying about student loans."
It’s feels like a rejection, even though he knows it’s not. He nods and clears his throat. “That’s good.” He has an odd sense of pride for her achievements, even though he had done nothing to contribute.
"What do you want to know about me?" There's probably plenty, but now Rachel feels a bit self-conscious. She's at least heard stories about him. All he knows about her is whatever Ben has told him.
“Everything.” The word tumbles out before he can stop himself and he looks embarrassed. “I— I want to know everything.”
"Everything is a lot," she laughs, but understands. She wants to know everything about him too. She's wondered about her father forever. "What if...what if we did some father/daughter stuff? I could come over and spend time with you and Luna or we could grab a drink sometimes? Just...exist together. And all the get to know you stuff will come in time?"
“Yeah.” He nods eagerly and smiles at her, his eyes crinkling and his face lighting up at the idea. “I like that. Any time. Any time at all.”
“Okay.” She’s feeling bone tired by all of this so she can only imagine how you and Frankie feel, but as Rachel moves over to the notepad on the far table to write her number down for him, she purses her lips slightly and tilts her head. Her thinking face. “Don’t…please don’t be too hard on Mom?” She asks, holding the slip of paper out to him a second later. “She doesn’t ever say it, but I know she’s missed you. And she worked so hard to raise me alone, she just…she deserves the world.”
“I’m not mad at your mother, querida.” He promises, taking the paper and looking down at it before he folds it up carefully and tucks it into his pocket. “I’m mad at myself.” He explains. “Too goddamn proud to admit I was wrong, and I apparently missed out on a hell of a life.” He looks up at her with pride. “And a hell of a daughter.”
“Well shucks, Paw,” she laughs, obviously very touched by the sentiment. “I guess we both have a bunch to catch up on. But we can do that.”
He snorts and huffs out a grin. “By the way, I’m going to punch your boyfriend in the mouth.” He warns Rachel. “So don’t go screaming at me when it happens.”
“Benny?” She makes an audible huffing sound. “What did he do?”
“You’ll find out.” He won’t say now, but he shrugs. “He deserves it, and he’ll know it.”
“Seems weird, but okay.” Men do weird things sometimes. She’s not so young that she doesn’t know that.
He chuckles and sweeps his head off his head again. “You look like your mother when you wrinkle your nose.”
“It’s funny.” She wrinkles her nose again but consciously, wondering if she really does look like you that way. “She always said I had your smile. And your ears.”
Frankie reaches out and brushes her curls back behind her ears and smiles. “You do have my ears.” He admits.
“Is it weird? She asks, stifling a laugh. “To realize that?”
“Surreal.” He admits with a sigh. “I don’t know what to think. I went from being too old to have a six-month-old, to being the dad to a grown ass woman.”
“I was teasing Mom about wanting a little sister last night,” Rachel admits with a groan at the irony. “Shows me right.”
Frankie smirks slightly and shrugs. “Isn’t life sometimes a kick in the teeth?”
******
“What a Fucking kick in the teeth.” Will pushes out a sigh in the backyard, cracking open the beer he grabbed from the cooler Fish brought.
“Yeah.” Pope frowns at the grill, pushing the perfectly aligned burgers with the spatula. “Who would have thought?”
"What are you gonna do?" It's not as though Pope has had a lot of time to think, but Will knows him long enough to know that the wheels are already spinning. They have all heard Fish talk about his gatita, and now that they know who she is? It at least warrants a reaction.
Pope glances over at Will before he looks back at the grill, his movements a little stiffer than just a moment before. “What can I do?” He asks rhetorically. “She was his first.”
"Just because she was his first doesn't mean that he has to be her last," Benny offers, not quite sure what else to say. They all know that Pope had been starting to fall for you, even if it had never been said. Now he is very obviously pulling back.
"No, but she would want him to be." He admits quietly. "She had told me about her first love. She didn't tell me his name." He says pointedly when Benny opens his mouth to ask the obvious question. "But she told me enough to know that she's still in love with him. And we know that Frankie never got over her."
"So it's not about stepping back," Will observes, sipping his beer in the hot Florida sun. "It's about letting them be together."
Closing the grill, Pope sighs, hands on his hips as he looks around the backyard and comes to his decision. "Don't you think Fish deserves to be happy?" He asks quietly.
"Of course he does." The idea that Will might think otherwise practically makes him clutch his proverbial pearls.
"And fuck knows we want Marie gone," Benny huffs under his breath.
"His gatita is the one to make both of those wishes come true." He's sure of it and he will bow out like a gentleman. It's the least he can do since the last half year of hell in his personal life is partially his responsibility. He had pushed Fish to come to South America. Pope looks back at both of the other men. "Want to help me fix Fish's life?"
Benny is the first to smirk, clapping his hands together and rubbing them dramatically. "You gonna pull a binder out of your ass or are we talking this one through?"
"First, I'm going to get really drunk and pretend like I'm not falling on a sword." Pope snorts, snatching the beer out of Will's hand and taking a drink. "Then, we're gonna figure out how to get Fish custody of Luna." He tells them quietly. "That little girl is the reason he's still with Marie."
"We just need proof that she's the one with the drug problem." Will mumbles, not wanting to say those words too loud. "And we need his hearing to go through so he can get his damn license back."
"Yeah." He sighs and points at Will. "Can you talk to your ex?" Pope asks, knowing it's a big favor. "She's still working in the DA's office, right? Maybe she can help us? Or know someone who can?" Being a paralegal isn't the same as being an assistant DA, but she knows people.
"I'll see if she can at least point me in the right direction," Will nods in agreement, knowing that as uncomfortable as talking to his ex-fiancée will be, it's definitely the right course of action. "She always like Fish. It shouldn't be too hard to get her to give an e-mail or phone number of who can help."
“Marie isn’t going be happy learning about Rachel.” Pope glances at Benny. “You know that.”
"She's going to be furious." Ben agrees, wiping his hand through his hair and blowing out a raspberry. "She's gonna think Fish kept it from her on purpose."
“Poor bastard looked like he was about to fall over.” Pope sighs. “I hate this.”
"We're gonna make it work," Benny promises him. "Sorry you got shoved into the middle of it, though."
“It’s okay.” It wasn’t and it actually really hurt that he was going to have to end things with you and pretend that he’s just friends with you, but his brother is worth it.
"Better to find out now than a year from now," Will offers, knowing it isn't a whole lot of comfort. But at least it's honest.
“Yeah.” You walk out of the house and he immediately turns to watch you. “Better now.” Santi murmurs, his heart aching.
******
Most people leave around dinner time, splintering off to nighttime plans or to go home to their families. Santiago, Frankie, and the Miller brothers stayed long enough to help you clean up and Rachel is loading the dishwasher when you realize Santiago has gone temporarily missing. On a hunch, you go down the hall to your bedroom and frown to see him there, tucking things back into his duffel bag.
"Decided not the stay the night?"
He hates that you caught him and he stands tall after shoving in a t-shirt and tamping down the guilty feeling. “It’s been a…surprising day.” He tells you. “Figured it might be better to change the plan for tonight.”
"Just for tonight?" You have a feeling you know the answer, but you want it out in the open. No questions or doubts.
His eyes slide away from you and for a moment, he falters. Wondering if this is the wrong thing to do. “No.” He admits, walking over to you and cupping your cheeks in his hand. “I am— was— falling in love with you.” He won’t lie to you. “But you’ve been in love with Frank for far longer than you’ve loved me.”
It's enormously frustrating for him to be both presumptuous and right. The last thing you want is to admit it, especially as tears press at the back of your eyes, and so a protest comes out of your mouth instead. "He's with someone else," you point out, knowing that someone mentioned it earlier. One of the Miller brothers, you think. "He's—he's—it's so complicated, Santi."
“I know it is.” His brow pinches together and he leans forward to kiss your forehead. “And if it’s too complicated, I won’t let you twist in the wind.” He promises. “But you deserve to find out if your love for him is still there.”
"This isn't how I saw today ending." Overwhelmed and next to tears was definitely not on the docket, but you're not going to beg him to stay. That's not the kind of girl you are anymore. You haven't been in a long time. "What a shitty birthday."
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” Pope closes his own eyes and leans his forehead against yours. “I can stay if you want.” He offers in a whisper, feeling guilty all over as his resolve crumbles.
"You'd feel guilty if you did." He's a good man, that's why. It's part of what you liked so much about him when you met, and part of what's grown on you. "Like you were betraying Frankie."
“I would still stay.” He promises.
"You'd feel guilty and then you'd start to resent me." The defense mechanism of crossing your arms over your chest might guard you in spirit, but it doesn't stop you from feeling like utter dogshit in this moment. "Just...know that this isn't how I wanted things to go between us. That's all."
“I know.” He murmurs softly, the slight smile on his lips ironic. “I know, baby. I didn’t want this either.” He admits. “But I’m still going to be here for you. That won’t change.”
“Could I just ask you one favor before you go?” All things considered, it’s very minor and sort of the least you could possibly ask.
“Anything.” Pope would do anything for you, he’s proving that, but he wouldn’t deny you simple request if it’s in his power to take care of it.
“I don’t know if you’re going to see them at all tonight or not but just…don’t tell Rachel yet? She’s going to spend the night with Ben again and I know her. She’ll come straight home to be with me instead. I don’t want to ruin her night.”
He chuckles softly, aware of what that says about you as a mom. “You are a good woman.” He murmurs, leaning in kissing your forehead again. “I won’t say anything to her.”
“I’ll tell her tomorrow.” You promise him. It’s not that you want to hide things from her — it’s that you know she’ll act rashly out of loyalty to you if she finds out tonight. She might even break up with Ben, which is the last thing she actually wants or that you want for her.
“When you tell her is up to you.” He would never think that he should have an input on your relationship with Rachel or when you tell her. “Whenever you are comfortable.”
“Well…” A shrug and a half sigh are the best you can do, not really sure of what else to say. Maybe you’ll get on Pet Finder tonight and look for a cat. Or three.
“Oh…” Pope reaches into his bag and pulls out your gift. “I didn’t want to give this to you in front of everyone.” He tells you quietly. “But this is for you.”
“You didn’t have to.” Especially now. Especially with everything that’s happened today. But you still smile weakly and accept the bag. Yup. It’s gonna be me and three cranky, elderly cats. That’s my future. “I—um, thank you. It’s…very sweet of you. You’re a very sweet person.”
“No, I’m not.” Pope snorts as he steps back. “But you are worth the effort.”
Impulsively, it does make you want to ask why he’s leaving, then. But you know the answer. You know this is about you and Frankie having a past and that nothing is going to change Santiago’s loyalty to his best friend. What’s even more annoying is that you like that about him, it hits harder and hurts more. All you can say without letting the emotions through the floodgates is just to excuse yourself to grab the book of his that you borrowed because it’s downstairs in the living room.
Staring at the door, Pope sighs and pulls his phone out of his pocket to text Will. Deciding that he needs a drink after the emotional rollercoaster of the day.
______
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Wow! How good! Excited to see how they go!
Adrift With You - A Frankie Morales Series - Chapter 21
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 | FRANKIE MORALES 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 have some life changing decisions to make. Smut contained in this chapter.
Enjoy! 🖤
Frankie sits at the small, scarred kitchen table, its surface worn from years of use.
The notebook lays open before him, its pages filled with the raw, jagged scrawl of someone driven by an unrelenting need to capture every thought before it slips away.
He’s hunched over, his broad shoulders curved inward, as if trying to shield the words from the rest of the world, to keep them safe within the confines of the notebook. His hand moves furiously, the pen scratching across the paper in an almost frantic rhythm, each word a desperate attempt to make sense of the chaos swirling in his mind.
The lines are uneven, some sentences trailing off into scribbles where his thoughts have outrun his ability to articulate them. It’s as if he’s afraid that if he pauses, even for a moment, the flood of memories and emotions will overwhelm him, leaving him adrift in the torrent.
The apartment around him is still, the only sounds are the faint whirr of the ceiling fan overhead and the occasional creak of the wooden floor beneath his feet. The fan’s steady rotation is a soft, mechanical heartbeat, a stark contrast to the erratic pulse of anxiety thumping in Frankie’s chest.
He barely notices Benny as he walks in, carrying a box of beers. Benny pauses in the doorway, watching Frankie with a curious look on his face. It isn’t often that he sees Frankie like this - so completely lost in something that the rest of the world seems to disappear completely. In fact, Benny hasn’t seen this look in Frankie’s eyes since their days serving together, when the mission consumed them both, leaving no room for anything else.
Benny leans against the doorframe, reaching into the box and popping the cap off one of the bottles, taking a swig.
“Hey, man,” Benny says, breaking the silence. “You planning to write the next Great American Novel or something?”
Frankie glances up, startled, then relaxes when he sees Benny standing there. He sits back in his chair, running a hand through his messy curls. “Nah,” he says with tired eyes, chuckling. “Just… trying to get all this fuckin’ stuff outta my head, you know?”
Benny moves closer, peering over Frankie’s shoulder at the notebook. “What stuff? You writing about the island?”
Frankie hesitates, then nods. “Yeah. Figured it might help me process it all. And maybe… I dunno, maybe it’s worth sharing. People keep asking us for interviews, but I can’t stand the idea of talking to some reporter who’s just looking for a sensational story, you know?”
"Yeah. Fuck 'em." Benny pulls out a chair and sits down across from him, pushing one of the beers across the table.
He watches Frankie with raised eyebrows, waiting for him to take it. But instead of reaching for the beer, Frankie pushes it back, the clink of glass against wood echoing between them like a small but significant gunshot. Benny’s brow furrows in surprise, maybe even concern.
“No?” Benny asks, his voice tinged with an edge of disbelief.
This isn’t like Frankie. A drink, especially shared between them, has always been a gesture of solidarity, a way to loosen the tight knots of tension that have become a constant in their lives.
But Frankie just shakes his head, his eyes steady and serious as they meet Benny’s. “Gotta stop it all,” he says, his voice quiet but firm.
There’s a finality in his words, a resolve that’s been slowly building within him, now finally surfacing. He nods, as if to emphasise the point. “All of it.”
Benny stares at him for a moment, trying to read between the lines, to understand the weight behind those words. It isn’t just about the beer - he knows that much. This is about something deeper, something that has been gnawing at Frankie for longer than either of them care to admit. It’s taken its toll, and now, Frankie’s drawing a line.
It’s more than just stopping the drinking, the drugs. It’s about stopping the spiral, the endless cycle of running from the past, drowning it and pretending the pain doesn’t exist. Frankie’s done with all that. He’s ready to face it, to face everything, even if it means giving up something that has always been there to dull the edges of his addiction.
He has things in his life now that are worth so much more than that.
Benny smiles as he takes the beer back. He notices the Craigslist ads circled in pen next to Frankie, each one advertising apartments scattered across Pensacola. Benny narrows his eyes, the realisation sinking in. "You moving out?"
Frankie nods, his expression a mixture of resolve and uncertainty. "Looking. Jude and I... we should probably get our own place. I’m cramping your bachelor style." He smirks.
Benny raises an eyebrow, the question hanging between them. "She gonna move down here?"
"I think so, I hope so…" Frankie replies, though his voice holds a note of hesitation. His mind drifts back to the conversation they’d had just a few days before, back in New York.
The memory is vivid, the kind that leaves a warm ache in the chest, wrapped in the comfort of her limbs as he planted slow, lingering kisses across her collarbone.
The afternoon had been a lazy haze of sun-dappled sheets and heady sex, the kind of moment where time seemed to stretch out, where the terrifying world outside their small cocoon faded into irrelevance.
But beneath the tenderness, the warmth, there had been something else - an undercurrent of unspoken fears, of truths that couldn’t be ignored. Their conversations, usually so easy and free-flowing, had taken a deeper turn since coming home, raw and honest in a way that left both of them vulnerable.
They’d talked about the future, about what it would mean for her to move here, to leave behind everything she knew so Frankie could be a devoted dad to his son. Jude had said she’d try, that she wanted to be with him no matter what, but Frankie could sense the weight of what she wasn’t saying - the things she was still wrestling with inside.
Frankie knew she was willing to make the effort, to take that leap with him, but he couldn’t ignore the reservation he’d heard in her voice. It wasn’t doubt, not exactly, but a deep awareness of the sacrifices involved. She was torn, just as he was, between the life she had and the life she wanted with him.
He didn’t have all the answers, but he knew one thing: they’d figure it out together.
He looks back at Benny, who’s watching him carefully, waiting for more. But there’s nothing else to say, not right now. Frankie gives a small shrug, as if to say, This is it, this is where we are. The uncertainty, the hope, the fear - they’re all part of the package of being human. But as long as they’re willing to face it together, he figures they have a fighting chance.
“So, what? You’re gonna write a book then?” Benny asks.
Frankie takes a deep breath, staring at the pages in front of him. “I dunno if it’s any good, but… it feels right. Like this is how I need to tell our story, you know?”
“What does Jude say?”
“She read it. She’s okay with it.”
Benny nods thoughtfully, then grins. “Well, if you’re serious about it, I might actually know someone who can help.”
Frankie raises an eyebrow, sceptical. “Yeah? Who the fuck do you know in publishing?”
Benny smirks and takes another swig of his beer. “Remember when I told you I met that girl at that wedding back in Charleston?”
Frankie chuckles. “Yeah, you wouldn’t shut up about her. What was her name? Lisa? Laura-something?”
“Lila,” Benny corrects with a grin. “She’s a literary agent based in New York now, I think. Moved out there with some slick asshole. But we’ve kept in touch. I mean, nothing serious, but we’ve texted here and there. Nudes…” He grins and Frankie rolls his eyes. “I bet she’d at least give your stuff a look.”
Frankie blinks, surprised. “You’re telling me you fuckin’ send dick pics to a literary agent, and didn’t think to mention it until now?”
Benny laughs. “Hey, man, it’s not like I was planning on writing a book. I ain’t got the smarts for that shit. But you? You’ve got something real to say.”
Real. Yeah. It was all too real. Not just in the way a nightmare might feel real as it wraps its cold fingers around your mind in the dead of night, but in a way that sears itself into the very core of your being. The kind of real that doesn’t just leave a mark; it engraves itself into your bones with the permanence of a tattoo etched in acid.
It’s the kind of real that burns, that strips away the layers of disbelief until all that’s left is exposed, sinewy truth, no matter how much you wish you could shield your eyes from it.
The images, the sounds, the smells - they’re vivid to the point of madness, etched into Frankie’s mind with the intensity of a cattle brand. No matter how much time passes, they remain, like scars that refuse to fade. And even if he could somehow translate the horror into words, weaving them into a cohesive string of sentences on a page, he knows it will never truly capture what it was like to live through it.
For others, his words might conjure up fleeting images, echoes of the experience that will drift away as soon as the book is closed or the conversation ends. But for him - and for Jude - it’s different. It’s something that digs deep into their flesh, into the fabric of their souls, where it will fester and grow, never letting them forget.
Words are tools, blunt and imperfect. They can paint a picture, sure, but they can’t convey the full weight of reality. They can’t capture the way it feels to have your very essence shaped and reshaped by an experience so intense that it leaves you fundamentally changed, altered forever.
No, words won’t do it justice - they never will. Some things are beyond the reach of language, too profound, too visceral to be contained by mere syllables. And this… this is one of those things.
“I can hit her up, see if she’s interested.” Benny suggests, breaking Frankie’s chain of odious thought.
Frankie stares at him for a moment, processing this unexpected development. “You’d really do that?”
“Of course, man,” Benny claps him on the shoulder. “We’ve been through worse together. If you wanna tell your story, I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
“You sure it ain't the nudes?” He remarks with a wry grin.
“I mean,” Benny shrugs “they’re fuckin’ excellent nudes.”
Frankie looks down at the notebook again, its pages filled with broken, sharp fragments of his past, the weight of the last year pressing heavily against his chest. The ink on the paper seems to blur as his mind swirls with doubt and uncertainty. With courage and fear.
The stories he’s poured out onto these pages - of survival, of love, of pain - are more than just words. They’re the most intimate pieces of him, pieces a small part of him isn’t sure is ready to share with the world. And another part of him, slightly louder than the rest, shouts fuck it.
“Alright,” Frankie sighs, nodding slowly. “Let’s give it a shot. Call her.”
A few days later, Frankie finds himself standing in front of a towering glass building, its sleek facade reflecting the chaos of New York City back at him.
He feels a little out of place among the fast-moving crowd that buzzes around him, the city's relentless energy a stark contrast to the quiet island life that still lingers in his tired bones.
As he stands on the bustling sidewalk, watching the endless stream of people and cars surging past, he feels that familiar unease creeping up on him. The city’s pulse is electric, intoxicating even, but it’s also overwhelming.
New York has always been too fast, too loud, a place that swallows you whole if you aren’t careful. He wonders how Jude has managed it here all her life. He’s never felt at ease here, even when commuting between here and Florida for work, too many distractions, temptations… the constant noise, the crowds, the relentless pace - it all leaves him feeling on edge, teetering on the brink of something he can’t quite control.
He can’t help but think of the quiet of the island, where the only sounds were the wind in the trees and the waves lapping against the shore. Here, in New York, it’s like every nerve in his body is being overstimulated, the noise and energy making it hard to think, hard to breathe. He squeezes his hands into fists, quelling the familiar tremble inside his fingers.
He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He can’t afford to let the city get to him - not today. There’s too much riding on this. He adjusts the strap of his worn backpack, feeling the reassuring weight of the notebook inside, and he can’t shake the feeling that the city is watching him, waiting for him to slip up, to fall back into old habits he’s fought so hard to leave behind.
Steeling himself, Frankie pushes through the revolving doors into the lobby. The air is cool, a sharp contrast to the late, swampy summer heat outside, and the noise of the city seems to vanish behind him. His desert boots echo on the polished marble floors as he approaches the reception desk.
“I’m here to see Lila Harrington,” Frankie gruffs to the receptionist, trying to keep his voice steady.
It comes out rougher than he intends, betraying the nerves that have been building since he stepped into the towering building. He hasn’t felt this kind of tension gnawing at him since his first mission with Delta Force, the weight of the unknown pressing down on him with every second.
Frankie shifts on his feet, his heart thudding in his chest. He isn’t sure why he’s so on edge. He’s faced life-or-death situations without flinching, but the idea of sitting down in an office, handing over his story to a stranger, makes his palms sweat.
This is different. This is personal in a way that combat never has been.
The receptionist gives him a polite smile and nods. “Take the elevator to the 22nd floor.”
Frankie mutters a quick thanks and makes his way to the elevators, trying to ignore the knots tightening in his stomach. When the doors slide open, he steps inside and hits the button for the 22nd floor, feeling the subtle lurch as the elevator ascends.
He hates feeling this way - like he’s out of his element. Give him a life-or-death situation any day; at least that’s familiar. This, though? It’s terrifying. It brings back too many memories of helplessness. Too many memories where he was weak and succumbed.
When the doors open, he steps out into a sleek, modern office space. The receptionist behind the desk here smiles when she sees him.
“Mr Morales?” she asks, standing up. “I’m Lila’s assistant. She’s just finishing up a meeting, but she’ll be with you shortly. Would you like some coffee or water while you wait?”
“No, I’m good, thanks," Frankie replies, though his throat is coarsely dry.
He walks over to a seating area near the floor-to-ceiling windows and sinks into one of the plush chairs like a lead weight. The city is spread out below him in a sprawling maze of steel and concrete, a web of streets and skyscrapers bathed in the pale light of early afternoon. and for a moment, he loses himself in the view.
New York looks different from up here - distant and almost peaceful. The chaos of the streets seem to recede into a background hum, the incessant beeping of taxis and the blur of pedestrians reduced to mere patterns in a grand, urban mosaic.
“Francisco Morales?”
He looks up to see a tall, slender woman approaching him with a warm smile and an outstretched hand. Her dark hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and she wears a sharp, tailored suit. But there’s an ease to her movements, a casual confidence that makes her seem approachable despite the corporate attire.
“I’m Lila Harrington,” she smiles, shaking his hand. “Benny’s told me a lot about you. Come on back to my office, and we can talk.”
Frankie follows her down a short hallway into a spacious office lined with bookshelves. The windows here offer an even more expansive view of the city, and the desk is neat but not overly formal.
Lila gestures to a chair across from her desk, and Frankie sits down, feeling his heart rate quicken and trying to ignore the fact that Benny probably has her nudes in his phone gallery.
She takes a seat behind her desk and smiles again. “So, I hear you’ve been writing. Benny says it’s about your time on the island?”
Frankie nods, reaching into his backpack and pulling out the thick notebook. He places it on the desk between them, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the worn cover and frayed edges. This isn’t some polished manuscript typed out neatly - it’s raw, just like their experience had been.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice a little rough. “It’s about… everything. The crash, surviving on the island, the things we went through. I’m not a writer, but I needed to get it out, you know?”
Lila nods, her eyes softening as she looks at him. “You’d be surprised how many people start off thinking that. But the best stories often come from the people who’ve lived through something, not just those who can craft pretty sentences.”
She picks up the notebook, flipping through a few of the pages. Frankie watches her closely, trying to gauge her reaction, but her expression remains neutral.
After a moment, she looks up at him through dark lined eyes. “This isn’t about being perfect, Francisco-”
“Frankie, please." He interjects.
She smiles. “Frankie. This is about telling the truth, and from what I’ve heard, you’ve got one hell of a story to tell. I’ll take this and give it a read. If it’s as powerful as I think it is, we can start talking about what comes next - editing, publishing, the whole process.”
Frankie feels a mix of relief and anxiety flood through him in equal measure. “You really think there’s something here?”
Lila leans back in her chair, her eyes thoughtful. “I do. The public has been hungry for your story ever since the news broke, but it’s not just about the survival - it’s about what happens after. How do people come back from something like that? How do they find their way in the world again? That’s what readers will connect with. That's why your story will sell.”
Frankie exhales slowly, feeling some of the tension leave his body. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot,” he admits. “It’s not easy. Jude… she’s still struggling. And me, I’m trying to figure out how to be a dad now, on top of everything else.”
Lila smiles again, a touch of empathy in her eyes. “It’s a journey, for sure. But I think you’ve got something here that could help a lot of people understand that journey. Maybe even relate in their own way. I’ll be in touch soon after I’ve read through it. A few days. And don’t worry, we’ll make sure you’re comfortable with every step of the process if you choose to proceed.”
Frankie nods, a small weight lifting off his shoulders. He isn’t entirely sure what he’d expected from this meeting, but Lila’s calm, professional demeanour has certainly helped put him at ease.
Maybe this isn’t such a crazy idea after all. Maybe it can work and they’ll finally be able to heal.
“Thanks,” he says, standing up. “I appreciate you taking the time to have a look.”
“Of course,” Lila says, rising to shake his hand again. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Frankie. And don’t worry - Benny vouched for you. That goes a long way in this business.”
Frankie chuckles, shaking her hand. “Yeah, Benny’s good people.”
As he leaves the office and steps back into the busy New York streets, he feels something he hasn’t in a long time. Maybe this book could be more than just therapy. Maybe it could be a new beginning.
And for the first time since he’s left the island, that thought doesn’t scare Frankie.
The soft hum of the city filters in through the partially opened window as Frankie lays in bed beside Jude.
The sheets are tangled around their legs, and the dim glow of a street lamp outside casts a warm hue over the room. Frankie lays on his back, his arm draped over Jude as she rests her head on his clammy chest. The rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing seems to sync with the subtle cadence of her fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin.
Jude’s touch is gentle, almost meditative, as her fingertips skim over the contours of Frankie’s chest, over the ridges of his scar on his hip, her movements slow and unhurried.
She’s silent, her eyes closed, lost in the tranquillity of their shared silence. Frankie, too, is absorbed in the calm of the moment, the soft hum of the city providing a rhythmic backdrop to the peace he feels lying beside her.
He glances down at Jude, his heart swelling with a mix of emotions - love, uncertainty, and a profound sense of connection. The challenges of their recent life feel distant in this quiet space, overshadowed by the comfort of their closeness. Even the stresses of his meeting this afternoon with Lila Harrington seem to fade into insignificance, replaced by the soothing presence of Jude and the warmth of the dim room.
Neither of them have spoken for a while, content to just be in each other's presence after gasping around kisses and grunts as their bodies writhed together. After everything they’ve been through - everything they’re still going through - these quiet moments feel sacred.
“You okay?” Frankie murmurs, breaking the silence as he gently brushes a strand of hair from Jude’s face. His voice is low, almost a whisper, as if he doesn’t want to disturb the fragile serenity of their moment.
Jude shifts slightly, her eyes fluttering open. She looks up at him, her gaze soft and contemplative. “Yeah,” she says quietly, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Just needed this. You.”
Jude nestles closer, her head resting more comfortably against his chest. The warmth of her body, the steady rhythm of her breathing, seems to dissolve the stress and uncertainty that has been clinging to him.
For a moment, everything else - the meeting, the manuscript, the looming decisions - fades into the background, leaving only the quietness they share.
He closes his eyes, savouring the calm that envelopes them. If he focuses, it’s like they’re laying on the seat cushion bed in the shack, back on the island. Frankie can almost feel the coarse texture of the cushions beneath them, inhales the faint scent of salt and sea air lingering in his memory.
He tightens his hold on her, feeling her warmth seep into him, and allows himself to drift. She’s there, his anchor, his way back if it should mutate.
“Lila. She’s gonna read the draft. Says there’s something there.” Frankie murmurs softly.
Jude’s silent for a moment, her eyes searching his face. “And how do you feel about that?”
“I don’t know,” Frankie admits. “Part of me feels… relieved, I guess. Like, maybe this could be something. But another part of me is fuckin’ scared as hell.”
Jude shifts again, resting her chin on the plate of chest so she can look directly into his eyes. “It’s a big deal, Frankie. What we went through… it’s not just a story to sell. It’s our lives. I understand why you want to tell it, but… do you think we’re really ready for that kind of exposure?”
Frankie meets her gaze, his hand still stroking through her hair. “Do you? I know you said you're okay with it, but tell me honestly - are we doing the right thing?”
She searches deep for something, anything to reassure him. “I don’t know.”
“I just… I’ve been carrying this around for so long. We both have. And when I started writing, it felt like I could finally breathe again. Like maybe, if I put it out there, I could make sense of it all. But I meant what I said, I don’t wanna do it if you’re really not okay with it.”
Jude’s eyes soften, and she presses a gentle kiss to his chest before lying her head back down. “Is this really just about me?”
He doesn’t answer but she knows. She always knows.
“I get it,” she whispers. “I feel the same way sometimes. Like… maybe if we can share it, it’ll hurt a little less. But I’m also scared too, Frankie. I’m scared of what people will say, what they’ll think. They don’t know what it was really like out there.”
Frankie pulls her closer. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for,” he says quietly. "I mean it."
Jude closes her eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. “I know, but I don’t want to hold you back either,” she says after a moment. “You’ve been through just as much as I have. And if telling this story helps you heal… then maybe it’s worth it.”
Frankie exhales slowly, feeling the weight of her words sink in.
“We’ll do this together,” he confirms, his voice firm but gentle. “Every step of the way. If it gets to be too much, we’ll stop. No matter what.”
Jude nods against his chest, comforted by the promise in his voice. She believes him. They’ve survived the unimaginable together, and they can get through this too.
“I trust you, Frankie,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “Just… promise me we won’t lose ourselves in it. Promise me we’ll still be us, no matter what.”
Frankie leans down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I promise,” he whispers back.
“Who would you want to play you?” Jude asks after a little while with a bit of whimsy to her voice.
Frankie looks down at her, a bit puzzled. “What?”
“Like, if they made it into a movie, who would you want to play you?” She repeats, her eyes sparkling with a playful glint.
Frankie chuckles. “I haven’t really thought about it, I don’t know who’d fit the bill. You?”
“Sandra Bullock.” She says without hesitation and then giggles.
Frankie bursts into a laugh, his earlier tension melting away in the face of her unexpected choice. “Sandra Bullock? Really?”
Jude giggles, nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah, she’s got that blend of toughness and warmth. Plus, she’s pretty great at playing characters who go through some serious shit and come out on top.”
“Yeah, she's a badass. She’d be perfect for you.” He smirks.
For a long time, they lay there in silence, holding each other close. The city outside continues to hum and buzz, but in Jude’s small childhood bedroom, all that matters is them. They’re still figuring things out - how to navigate this new world, how to heal from the scars left behind. But they have each other, and that’s enough.
Eventually, Jude’s breathing slows, and Frankie feels her body relax completely as she drifts off to sleep. He stays awake a little longer, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts still turning over the possibilities ahead. The book is a chance at something new, but it also means reopening wounds that haven’t fully healed, and probably never will, book or no book.
But as he looks down at Jude, peacefully resting in his arms, he knows one thing for sure: whatever comes next, they’ll face it together.
And that gives him the strength to keep moving forward.
A week later and the elevator doors slide open with a quiet ding.
Frankie and Jude both step out into the sleek office hallway. The space is as polished and modern as Frankie remembers, but today, with Jude at his side, the atmosphere feels charged with a new kind of tension.
Frankie gives Jude’s hand a gentle squeeze as they walk toward Lila Harrington’s office, the sound of their footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. Jude’s grip is tight, betraying the calm facade she’s trying to maintain.
Despite the playful banter they’ve shared about their potential movie counterparts, the reality of the situation is far more daunting for her. Jude’s mind is a swirl of apprehensions. The thought of her story being turned into a spectacle, scrutinised by the public and possibly misrepresented, terrifies her in ways she finds difficult to articulate.
She’s always been the quiet observer, the one who prefers to stay behind the camera lens, away from the glaring spotlight. Yet here she is, at the precipice of something much bigger than she’s ever imagined. And it's fucking terrifying.
She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself. The enormity of what lays ahead is hard to ignore. Yet, for Frankie’s sake, she’s determined to face it head-on. She owes him that much, and she wants to support him, to be part of this journey, even if it means stepping far outside her comfort zone.
Because that’s the power of love, right? Compromise, sacrifice? Togetherness?
“You good?” he asks her softly.
Jude nods, though her eyes tell a different story. “Yeah,” she whimpers.
Frankie kisses her temple. A moment later, Lila greets them with her usual warm smile. “Frankie, Jude. Great to see you. Come on in, let’s talk.”
As they step inside her office, Frankie’s breath catches slightly. Lila’s office is as sleek and polished as before, but this time, three other people are sitting around a small conference table by the window. They're impeccably dressed, their expressions professional but welcoming.
Lila leads them to the table and gestures for them to sit. “I want to introduce you to a few people who are really excited about your story,” she says as she takes a seat at the head of the table. “This is Sarah Williams, a public relations expert who specialises in book launches. Michael Feldman, a producer with some connections in Hollywood. And this is David Trenchman from Trenchman Legal.”
“A lawyer?” Frankie queries and David simply nods.
“I thought it best to invite David so he can advise on the legal side of things.” Lila explains. “Nothing to be worried about.”
Sarah, a poised woman with short, stylish hair and sharp eyes, leans forward with a smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I’ve been following your story since the news broke about the crash, and I have to say, it’s one of the most compelling survival stories I’ve ever come across.”
Jude swallows tightly as she surveys all of them carefully.
Michael, a slightly older man with silver hair and a relaxed demeanour, nods in agreement. “There’s a lot of interest in what you went through. Once this book gets out there, people are going to want to hear from you - interviews, talk shows, possibly even film adaptations.”
Jude’s grip on Frankie’s hand tightens. He can feel her pulse quickening, but he gives her a reassuring glance before turning back to the others.
“We appreciate the interest,” Frankie says carefully. “But we’re not sure how much of that we’re ready for. We’ve been through a lot, and this isn’t just a story to us. It’s our lives.”
Lila smiles, her voice gentle but firm. “I completely understand, Frankie. And that’s why we’re all here - to make sure this process, should you want to go through with it, is handled with care. But you should know, once this book is published, your lives will absolutely change. The media will want more from you. It won’t just be about what happened on the island; people will want to know how you’re doing now, what your lives look like post-rescue.”
Sarah nods. “You’ll need to be prepared for interviews, appearances, possibly even a book tour. It’s a lot, but we’ll be here to help manage everything, to guide you through it. My experience is with authors who publish real life accounts, traumas… you’ll be in good hands.”
Jude shifts uncomfortably in her chair, her eyes darting between Frankie and the others. “I’m not sure I can handle that kind of attention,” she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Lila leans toward Jude, her tone empathetic. “Jude, it’s perfectly natural to feel that way. What you went through was incredibly traumatic, and I imagine the idea of reliving it in front of cameras is daunting. But I want you to know that you’re in control here. We’ll only do what you’re both comfortable with. If you need time, we’ll take it slow.”
Michael chimes in, his voice calm and reassuring. “Hollywood can be overwhelming, I know. But the beauty of this process is that you get to tell your story on your terms. If you’re not comfortable with something, we won’t push it. But I will say this - your story has the potential to reach a lot of people, to inspire them. That’s why there’s so much interest.”
Frankie glances at Jude, seeing the anxiety etched in her face. He can tell she’s already on the verge of pulling back, of shutting down. He squeezes her hand again, then speaks up.
“Look, we’re not in this for any kind of fame. We didn’t survive a plane crash and over a year on a deserted island to become celebrities. We just wanna share our experience in a way that feels right for us. In a way that can heal us.”
Sarah smiles gently. “And that’s exactly what we want too. This isn’t about turning you into something you’re not. It’s about helping you share your story in a way that’s authentic to who you are. We can tailor everything to fit your comfort level.”
Jude swallows hard, her eyes drifting to the windows as she tries to steady herself. She inherently misses the island now more than ever - its simplicity, its isolation. It had been brutal, but it’d also been an escape from the chaos of the world.
Now, here she is, facing the possibility of being exposed to millions of people, all scrutinising her every move.
Frankie, sensing her turmoil, speaks again. “We don’t have to decide anything today?”
“Of course not.” Lila says. “Today is about giving you the facts. What you can expect if you decide to publish. You’re the ones in control of this. We’re just here to support you, however you need us to.”
Jude takes a deep breath, trying to let their words sink in. She isn’t sure if she can handle what could come of this, but she trusts Frankie. And as long as they’re in this together, she knows she can at least try.
“Alright,” Jude says finally, her voice stronger this time. “Let’s take it slow.”
“You sure?” Frankie says, his thumb running over her knuckles soothingly.
“Yeah. Let’s hear it, what will happen if we decide to do it?”
“Okay. Let’s talk about the financial side of things,” Lila begins. “Once the book is published, and depending on how it performs, you could be looking at a substantial income. There will be royalties, of course, and possibly a large advance if the initial interest is strong enough.”
Sarah, the publicist, nods in agreement. “We’re already seeing significant buzz in the media, which has increased since you came home, which could translate to strong sales if you decide to publish. That, combined with potential film rights, could mean a very lucrative deal for both of you.”
Money. Of course, it’s important - they’ve been scraping by for so long, and neither of them have fully returned to their old lives yet in terms of income and work. But the idea of profiting from their trauma feels strange to Jude. She glances at Frankie, who’s listening intently, jaw tight and eyes focused.
David, the lawyer, clears his throat. “In addition to the book and potential film deals, there’s another matter we should discuss - legal recourse against the airline.”
Jude’s eyes widen, and Frankie’s brow furrows in confusion. “Legal recourse?” Frankie asks.
David nods. “Yes. Given the circumstances of the crash, and the fact that you both endured such extreme hardship as a result, there may be grounds for a lawsuit against the airline or the manufacturers of the aircraft involved. It’s something worth considering, as it could result in significant compensation beyond what you’d earn from the book sales.”
Frankie and Jude exchange glances. Jude looks almost overwhelmed, while Frankie’s expression turns thoughtful. “We haven’t really thought about that,” Frankie admits. “We’ve been focused on just… getting back to normal. What would that even look like?”
David leans back in his chair, his tone calm and measured. “A lawsuit could take time, but in my experience it could be worth it in the long run. You’d need to work with a legal team that specialises in aviation accidents. They would investigate the causes of the crash, whether negligence was involved, and what kind of impact it had on your lives. You both have a compelling case, given what you endured. It would be in the airline's best interest to settle out of court and they probably would to avoid reputational damage, so there's a very strong likelihood that you wouldn’t need to go through a full courtroom process as such. It can just tick away in the background.”
Jude shifts again, feeling uneasy. “But… a lawsuit? Against the airline? Wouldn’t that drag everything out even more? Keep us tied to what happened?”
David nods sympathetically. “It’s a valid concern, Jude. Legal battles can be emotionally draining, and they can take years. But if the airline or manufacturers were at fault, you’re entitled to compensation for what you went through. It’s not just about the money - it’s about holding them accountable and to ensure this doesn’t happen again.”
Frankie’s expression turns serious. “We’re not after revenge, David. We just want to move on with our lives. Would a lawsuit even let us do that?”
David considers his words carefully. “It’s not about revenge, Frankie. It’s about ensuring that you’re taken care of in the long term. The trauma you’ve both endured doesn’t just go away because you’re home now, and there may be ongoing medical or psychological costs. Compensation could help with that. But ultimately, it’s your decision. I’m just advising you of your options and my team is willing to represent you.”
Sarah speaks, her tone compassionate. “And you don’t have to do everything yourself either in terms of the book. You’d have a full team behind you to help manage the media, keep things low-key if that’s what you need. The most important thing is that you both feel comfortable throughout any process you decide to embark on. You’ve been through a lot, we know that. You’d be surprised at how shielded you can be, if you want to.”
Jude takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She appreciates their reassurances, but the weight of everything still presses down on her. She glances at Frankie, who looks calm and focused, but she can see the concern in his eyes too. This is all happening so fast.
“I need time to think. We both do.” Jude says and Frankie looks at her, nodding.
“Yeah. Can we take some time to weigh it all up?”
Lila nods, her expression understanding. “Of course. Just know that if you decide to pursue legal action, the option is there. And if you decide against it, that’s fine too. This is about what’s best for you both.”
After some more conversation, Lila Harrington and her team lay out the various options in full detail. The meeting stretches on, filled with jargon and possibilities that seem to swirl around Frankie and Jude like a dense fog.
Each option presented comes with its own set of complexities and implications - media interviews, promotional tours, legal consultations, and the tantalising but daunting possibility of a film adaptation. All of this before the book has even been printed and distributed.
All before they've even said the singular, yet heavy word, yes.
Frankie and Jude sit patiently through it all, their faces reflecting a mix of confusion and fatigue. The glossy brochures, legal documents, and marketing plans spread out before them only seem to add to the weight of the decision-making process.
Lila leans forward, her expression professional but sympathetic. “I understand this is a lot to process. We’ve covered quite a few avenues for you to consider - each with its own potential benefits and challenges. But the rest is up to you now, we can only move forward if you want to.”
After some more conversation and options explained in full detail, both Frankie and Jude feel like they’re wading through a sludge of choice - too much choice. They leave with a promise to mull it over and Frankie assure he'll be in touch, no matter the decision.
Outside the smoggy air of New York doesn’t go down so easily. Scouting out a place to eat after hours of sitting in the office, Frankie and Jude wander inside an air conditioned burger restaurant, needing sustenance to fuel them through the decision making process.
It’s a lot. But nothing that a mound of chill fries can’t ease for a while anyway.
“So, what do you think after all that?” Frankie queries delicately as he tucks into the platter of minced meat, chilli sauce and zingy jalapeños all sloppily thrown onto a bed of crispy french fries.
It's far too much for someone adjusting to normal food portions again, but he's determined to savour as much of it as his stomach will allow. Jude takes a more measured approach, but she, too, relishes the simple pleasure of some good food after the stress of the meeting.
Jude chews thoughtfully, her eyes fixed on the fries. After a moment, she swallows and looks up, her expression a mix of contemplation and weariness.
“Honestly, it’s all a bit overwhelming. The options are so… vast. I didn’t expect it to feel like this.”
Frankie nods, his own expression reflecting the strain of the day. “Yeah, it’s a lot to take in.”
Jude sighs, picking up a fry and dipping it into the chilli. “I keep thinking about the impact all this will have on us, on our lives. It’s not just about the book anymore. It’s about how everything changes with these choices.”
Frankie takes a sip of his cola, considering her words. “It’s true. We want to share our story, but now it could become this whole… production. It’s hard to know what’s the right move.”
The conversation is punctuated by the clinking of cutlery and the occasional hum of background chatter from other patrons.
"God, these are so fuckin' good," Frankie moans as he shoves more into his mouth.
Jude smiles at Frankie, her eyes softening. “I think we need to focus on what feels right for us, not just what’s the most lucrative or the most glamorous. We need to remember why we've started this in the first place.”
“It’s never been about that.” He says, after swallowing
“I know,” Jude replies.
“But you can’t deny the money would help us… a lot.”
Jude nods. “Yeah. It really would.”
"Do you wanna go back to photography?"
"I haven't thought about it really. I miss it, I guess." She shrugs. "I need a new camera. Get all my contacts again."
"You could do it."
"What about you, you wanna fix helicopter parts still?"
"Maybe. I dunno. The book, the potential lawsuit… it could set us up for the future. We wouldn't have to work if we don't want to."
"Imagine that..." Jude smiles thinly.
Frankie wipes his fingers on a napkin. "Not just for us, but for my son, too. I could give him a good life, you know? One that's fuckin' better than mine."
Jude reaches across the table and takes his hand and squeezes his fingers gently.
"Maybe it means some exposure, but that doesn’t mean we’re selling out, right? Not if it's on our terms. We’re just trying to make something good come out of all this, right?" He concludes.
Jude nods. "Yeah."
They both fall silent for a moment, lost in their own thoughts as they continue to eat. The restaurant's ambient noise and the occasional clatter of dishes are the only sounds breaking the quiet. That is, until a voice cuts through their thoughtful haze.
“Jude!”
Jude’s eyes widen as she looks up, her face paling slightly. “Oh shit…” she grits under her breath, her gaze falling on Nate’s unmistakable figure.
“Is that who I think it is?” Frankie mutters through gritted teeth, not even turning around.
“Yeah.” Jude admits, shooting him a weary glance as Nate is brazenly making his way over to them.
“Great.” Frankie sighs.
Jude forces a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Nate. What are you doing here?”
"Why?" Jude queries, confused.
Nate shrugs nonchalantly, as if their previous history is just a minor footnote. And to him, it probably genuinely is.
“Just grabbing a bite. Saw you from across the counter and thought I’d say hi.”
Frankie’s grip on his fork tightens, his knuckles turning white. He watches Nate with a steely gaze, his irritation barely masked under the snap of his cap.
“Looks like you’re interrupting our dinner,” he says, his tone edged with coolness.
“Yeah, but she ain't an old friend though, is she? She’s the woman you fuckin’ cheated on, you piece of shit.”
Nate’s eyes flick briefly to Frankie, a hint of surprise crossing his face before he masks it with a forced friendly demeanour.
“Didn’t mean to intrude, buddy. Just wanted to catch up with an old friend here.”
Nate’s smile falters instantly. He opens his mouth to respond, but the words seem to catch in his throat. Before he can react, Jude’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and reproachful.
“Frankie!” Jude scolds.
Nate’s expression hardens, his facade of casual charm slipping for a moment. He takes a step back as Frankie rises out of his seat and Nate realises he has some height on him.
“Look, amigo-"
"Amigo?" Frankie baulks, looking incredulously at Jude who winces. "¿Este cabrón cree que somos amigos?" He mutters. (This bastard thinks we're friends?)
"-I didn’t mean to cause any trouble, man,” Nate says, his tone now defensive. “I just wanted to say hello-”
“Hello. Now fuck off.” Frankie warns sinisterly, his hand curling into a tight fist.
Jude takes a deep breath, her voice trembling slightly as she speaks to Nate. “Just go, Nate. I told you. I don’t wanna see you again.”
Nate gives a curt nod, his gaze lingering on Jude for a moment before he turns and walks away, completely out of the restaurant. The tension in the air seems to dissipate as he disappears from view.
Frankie sits down and picks up his fork again and looks at Jude who's eyeing him. “I’m not sorry. That guy is a fuckin'… pendejo.” (Asshole)
Frankie can’t help but smirk as he stabs at his fries with a bit more force than necessary. The anger has melted into something softer, his focus shifting back to the comfort of their shared moment.
Jude smiles. “I know.” She chuckles. "He literally shit himself when you stood up."
"I saw."
"It was kinda hot."
“You know I love you so much, right?” Jude smiles. She reaches out, intertwining her fingers with his, the simple touch grounding them both.
Frankie raises an eyebrow playfully, his smirk widening. “No,” he quips. “I think you need to explain it to me all over again.”
Jude’s grin broadens as she leans in, her eyes never leaving his. “Finish your fries and I’ll show you instead."
Before Frankie can reply, Jude leans closer and presses a gentle kiss to his fuzzy lips over the plate, the contact warm and sweet.
Frankie’s breath hitches slightly, his eyes closing as he loses himself in the hypnotism of her kiss.
“Fuck the damn fries,” he murmurs against her lips, his voice a low, and hungry.
He deepens the kiss, holding her face in his large hands, feeling the world around them fade away.
His hands roam with a reverent touch, each movement calculated to elicit the maximum response.
Frankie trails his fingers down her body, his touch growing more urgent. Jude’s breath hitches as explores the landscape of her with a delicate, probing intensity.
He listens to the soft whimpers that escape her lips, the way her body responds to his touch. He slides his fingers into her mouth with her guiding him, the sensation of her warm, soft lips against his skin sends a shiver through him, tongue lapping in between.
“Mírate, estás tan hermosa así, toda extendida para mí…” (Look at you, you're so beautiful like this, all spread out for me.) He murmurs low and husky.
She smiles around his fingers before he pulls them out, shiny in the dim light and stringed with her saliva. He reaches down and slides them inside her pussy that’s ready for him, wet and so fucking tight.
“Frankie,” she whines almost immediately as he pumps them inside her, brushing against the spot that makes her see stars amongst the clouds.
Jude runs her hand down his chest, her fingers tracing the taut muscles beneath his skin and rubbing gently against the soft paunch of his stomach. As she whimpers and bucks beneath him, Frankie’s fingers move with a dizzying rhythm.
His lengthy digits continue their intimate exploration, pushing her boundaries even as she’s already on the verge of being spent. The stressful day capped off with them both spent tangled up in each other. He's lost count of the amount of times they've both come.
He draws more and more of her out, each movement designed to deepen her pleasure and expose her to him, hollow her out for him to fill the space again.
Her eyes, fill with a mixture of awe and surrender, locked onto him. In them, Frankie sees the raw truth of her emotions, laid bare and unguarded. Her gaze is a silent plea and a confession, a mirror reflecting the profound connection they share. She’s always been his way home, his way out of the drowning. Cracking through his defences, revealing the depth of his own vulnerability, his awe - his love.
She’s not afraid to be lost with him, not when they’re alone together, cocooned away from the rest of the world. In their own private sanctuary, they create an island of their own, a place where they can simply exist without the constraints of outside expectations, like gravity holding him steady.
Frankie’s lips brush against Jude’s neck with a tender yet fervent touch. He traces a slow, deliberate path along her skin, his tongue flicking out to taste the salty warmth of her flesh. His breath hot against her neck, each exhale creating a shudder that travels down her spine.
As he licks the salt from her skin, his teeth nip playfully at the delicate curve of her neck, the gentle pressure causing her to gasp softly. His nose is buried into the softness of her skin, pressing deeply as he inhales the heady mix of her natural scent and the lingering trace of the island.
The scent is intoxicating, a unique blend that makes his senses reel with desire. With each inhale, he lets out a wanton groan that vibrates against her skin, his body responding instinctively to the closeness. His fingers, warm and trembling slightly, graze across the sensitive peaks of her nipples, fingertips skimming over the taut, pebbled flesh with deliberate slowness.
“I need you inside me,” Jude gasps, five little words that are his complete annihilation.
Frankie shifts, drawing her close with a fervent urgency as he aligns himself with her. As he pushes his cock into her soaked folds, the contact is electric, a visceral wave of pleasure coursing through both of them. Each inch that slides into her is met with a pelt of shared ecstasy, the tightness and heat sucking him deeper.
Frankie’s hips becomes urgent, his fingers pressing down gently into marrow. He continues to explore her neck, his lips and tongue creating a trail of fire that burns her up. Sucking and biting on her nipples as she squeals and pants.
The space between them shrinks into a tight bubble of unbreathable heat, their bodies aligning perfectly as if guided by an unspoken rhythm.
“Frankie,” she murmurs, her voice trembling.
“Mm,” he rumbles against her neck, his lips grazing her skin as he speaks. "Tell me, hermosa."
Jude gasps softly, her fingers gripping his shoulders. “Please… don’t stop.”
“Not planning to,” Frankie’s voice is a low, heavy whisper, his tongue growing more insistent as it flicks and teases. “Not until you come. Are you gonna for me?”
"Yeah, fuck!"
It smashes into her like waves, lifting her off her feet and tumbling into the water. It fills her every sense, his skin against hers, the gentle nip of his teeth, the caress of his fingers, the grind of his hips as he brushes deep inside her, creating a whirlwind that blurs the lines between desire and reality.
Her legs are tightening around his torso and he can feel the clenching around his cock nestled deeply in her saturated cunt. He’s making her lose her shit again and he can’t hold on anymore himself. It's pointless to fight it, she owns every part of him.
Giving into crazed fury, Frankie kisses her, scraping his teeth against her bottom lip. She hiccups against his mouth like she’s drunk - punch drunk on all of him. She's an addict, too.
Jude’s body tenses, then relaxes in a calm oasis of pleasure, her moans mingling with Frankie’s deep, satisfied groans as she clenches around him, tongues socketing in each other's mouths. Crushed against him in the safe haven in his strong arms, biting into his shoulder as he grunts.
His body is a corona - burning bright as the sun and the heat is just as engulfing as the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, down his back. She’s squeezing deliberately tight around him to make him push through that bit harder; to make it last that bit longer for him, both desperate to hang onto this moment, forever.
"Fuck, Jude," he groans, his voice rough and waning. "You’re driving me insane. I can’t hold back... I’m coming, shit.”
He pumps out inside of her, feeling her buck against him in that moment where her body milks him for all he has.
“I love you,” Jude whispers to him gently, kissing over his pink face with adoration.
She’s embedded in his every thought, surging through his veins and behind his closed eyelids at night. She’s his constant, the tide that drowns out everything else and pulls him under with its force.
“Mm, I love you,” Frankie murmurs, his voice heavy with exhaustion and satisfaction as he collapses on top of her, their bodies entangled in a warm, sated embrace. He stays that way, shrinking inside her, pooling and warm.
They lay there together, breaths steadying and limbs entwined, lost in a moment where time seems to stand still. He feels her scritch around his damp curls stuck to his nape and thinks about nothing else except that tingly feeling, until her voice rouses him back to shore.
“Frankie?”
“Mm,” he murmurs, his voice dreamy and distant, still half-lost in the afterglow, a place filled with bonfires, galaxies and furry little monkeys.
"Let's publish."
He turns his head up to find her eyes in the dim light. “You’re sure?”
The decision to publish the book feels like a significant step forward, a necessary one in some ways; it can offer security, even closure to some degree, but she knows there’s more to address. “But, there’s something else.”
Jude’s eyes are steady, unwavering. She nods slowly, the warmth of her conviction evident in the gentle firmness of her expression.
“I’m sure,” she confirms gently.
Jude takes a steadying breath, feeling the weight of her next words pressing on her. Like they have been for a while, slowly growing in weight and size. She's tried ignoring it, tried to extinguish it, but it's been fruitless. There's only one way to silence the tide completely.
Frankie, still lying beside her, sits upright with a look of curiosity and concern. He props himself up on his elbow, the other hand resting protectively on her stomach, his touch warm and reassuring.
“Tell me,” he urges, his voice soft yet filled with a hint of anticipation.
She reaches up, her fingers gently brushing the stray curls that have fallen into Frankie’s face, tucking them away behind his ears with a tender care.
Her voice is steady but laced with a quiet intensity. “We can publish, but on one condition.”
Frankie’s brow furrows slightly, his interest piqued. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, a mixture of curiosity and reassurance.
“Name it,” he says, eager to understand what’s on her mind. "You know I'll do anything for you, hermosa."
Jude takes another deep breath, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and apprehension.
“I want to go back to the island.”
To be continued...
SERIES MASTERLIST | CHAPTER 22
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 🖤
SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST
Tagging those that were tagged previously on this story, I may have missed some of you due to my old comments with tags in being removed when I deactivated, so apologies if I've missed you off. If you want to be removed that's cool too.
@suzdin @missladym1981 @millennial-teenybopper @msjarvis
@burntheedges @inept-the-magnificent @casa-boiardi @sin-djarin @jessthebaker
@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
@sir-thisisadndserver @anavatazes @doughmonkey @lilmizmoz @sukitruqui
@76bookworm76 @weho2kcmo @tanzthompson
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#frankie morales#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x ofc#francisco catfish morales#triple frontier fic#frankie morales x you#frankie morales triple frontier#adrift with you series#jett's writing
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Awesome! Read it.

Marrying your childhood friend once you've graduated from Vault Tech University at the height of the Sino-American War might be seen by some as crazy. But to the both of you, it's like sliding in the last piece of the puzzle.
Until Benny gets called away on a quick mission, leaving you back home and all alone on a day when not just your life, but the entire world's will be changed forever.
Overall rating: M for mature themes. 18+ only!
A Triple Frontier/Fallout crossover AU
Benny Miller x f!reader "Juni"
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
#fallout#benny miller#ben miller#benny miller x reader#benny miller x you#benny miller x f!reader#triple frontier#garrett hedlund#benjamin miller#benjamin benny miller#garrett hedlund x reader#garrett hedlund x you#garrett hedlund characters#garrett hedlund character fanfic#garrett hedlund character ff#garrett hedlund character fanfiction#fallout fanfiction#crossover au#fallout fanfic
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Been a hot minute since diving into a good Mandalorian fic. Found this one though, it's great!
Quarry (Series Master List)



Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x f!reader
Summary: Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. After all, Nevarro is swiftly moving away from its previous reputation as a Guild member’s paradise, and Din has more important concerns now, like finding a Jedi to train his mysterious foundling. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities.
Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want.
Set after Chapter 13: The Jedi but before Chapter 14: The Tragedy.
Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn romance, minimal descriptors of reader character, dual POV, canon-typical violence, sexual tension, light angst, mutual pining, SMUT (Each chapter will have specific warnings, please check them before reading!)
Status: Ongoing
Read on AO3
Main Story
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9 - Part 1
Chapter 9 - Part 2
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22 - NEW! 8/6/24
Oneshots
Coming soon...
#din djarin#the mandalorian#din djarin x reader#din djarin x you#din djarin x f!reader#din djarin fanfiction#the mandalorian fanfiction#pedro pascal#pedro pascal character fanfiction#din djarin smut#pedro pascal characters
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A Strange Duet Masterlist
Assassin!Din x Princess!Reader
Rating: M
Summary: You are a princess, next in line for Sorgan’s throne, and an assassin is sent to kill you. Not just any assassin, though: a Mandalorian. The best of the best. They never miss a mark.
Especially not Din Djarin.
The job? Do away with you before your coronation takes place. Child’s play to someone of his experience. He masquerades as a worker in the castle to try and get to you.
But then the most unexpected development occurs. One that threatens his mission, his nation, and his life.
The one thing that an assassin is never meant to do.
He starts to fall in love with his target.
Series Content: medieval-ish AU, assassin!Din, princess!reader, fluff, slow burn, sexual tension, falling in love, angst, mentions of injuries/scars, depictions of violence, usage of weapons, Din’s POV and reader’s POV, side character death (of OCs; no SW characters will die)
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Extras:
Playlist
#the mandalorian#fic masterlist#din djarin#din djarin x reader#assassin!din#princess!reader#a strange duet#my writing#masterlist
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Wickedly nice, get it in ya. Let's be fair, get him in me.
Under Covers Part One
Masterlist | Part Two
Pairing: Santiago Garcia x Reader Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Minors interacting with this work will be blocked. Warnings: Enemies to Lovers; cursing; angst; the next part of this fic will feature sexually explicit content
Notes: Set before the movie. Not beta-read cause…Never is! Neeever is. The second part of this is probably going up next week. It’ll be three parts at the max, but I’m aiming for two.
Summary: It had been some time since you’d seen Santiago Garcia, sure…But you recognized the moderate contempt that he’d regarded you with before receding, replaced by curiosity.
Seeing Santiago Garcia was suddenly a relief. It shouldn’t have been. You’d been dragged in among a group of sicarios and gun traffickers—you were in deep shit. But the sight of him, the flash in his eyes, the stony set of his jaw, told you that he recognized you. If you were in less trouble, you might’ve be flattered.
–
Santiago Garcia didn’t like you the first time you met.
Keep reading
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Yes.
Brown Eyes | A Mandalorian Imagine
Summary- Turns out, there’s so much more at stake than just life or death if you get injured
Length- short
Warnings- mostly fluff, mentions of injury
A/N- this just popped into my head so I of course had to write it out for you guys before I can sleep.
You’ve been lucky. Real lucky. All this time spent travelling with him and the kid and you haven’t gotten injured once. Which is even more lucky when you think about what your travelling companion does for a living. Or at least that’s what you think to yourself as you now sit hold up in the hull of the ship, your hand holding tightly to the blaster wound at your side.
It was your own fault really. He had told you multiple times to not do wander off or let the kid roam around outside the ship when he was on missions like this- but did you listen… No of course not. It’s not like anything had happened the last 15 times you had let him stretch his legs and get some fresh air and Din had been none the wiser.
He had also told you before that people were looking for him and the kid, which was another reason to lie low, but you didn’t think the situation was a shoot on sight kind of deal. You had both just been enjoying the meadow Din had landed in and the nearby tree line when the first shot had burned its way through the side of a tree. Then came another- and another. You felt one of the blasts burn across your side, but you couldn’t stop, couldn’t acknowledge it. You just had to get out of there.
You had tried to shoot back, scooping the kid up in your arms and running for your life back to the razor crest. The moment you were through the doors you had closed the hatch and placed the kid safely in his cradle, closing the top for extra protection as blaster fire began to hit the side of the ship.
You had frantically began to press buttons to get it up in the air and away from them. As you just about cleared the tree line, the crest half protesting from your hasty take off, another beep, the beep of the coms, sent a new wave of adrenaline through your body.
“What’s happening? Why have-“
You don’t let him finish asking his questions. “They found us. They found the kid.” You quickly informed him. Although you were trying to block it out, you knew from the strained way you were talking he’d know you’d been hurt.
“Is he safe? Is the kid safe? Are you both safe?” He quickly asked through the com link.
“Yes.” You said quickly back, if not a bit breathily, as you fought to steady the ship in the air and move it away from the meadow and the wooded area, instead heading towards a mountain ridge, hoping it would provide some cover.
“I’m sending co-ordinates,” he said- and you could hear the beeping of him typing in the location to send to the crest through the com, “meet me there.”
“Okay.” You said, gritting your teeth against the pain in your side.
The adrenaline coursing through your body had been just enough to see you to the rendezvous point, a large cavern on the far side of the mountains. You just had enough focus to land the crest inside, shutting the engines back down, before climbing back down into the hull to check on the baby. When you opened the cradle, you weren’t surprised at all to find him sleeping in it, the stress of the situation exhausting him. Knowing he was safe though filled you with relief.
Finally safe, knowing Din was on his way, allowed you to finally relax. The only problem was, without the adrenaline coursing through you, you were becoming more and more aware of the pain in your side. You lifted your hand to cradle it protectively as you hobbled to a bench along the outer wall and sat yourself down.
You sneered as you took it in, all blood and charred skin. It made you light headed. And that’s where you were now, eyes closed, head tilted back, resting against the wall. Deep breathing your way through the pain trying to think of anything else to pass the time while you waited for Din to return. He’d know how to deal with this.
You must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew you were being jostled awake, a frantic voice calling your name between curses. It felt like a fight to open your eyes. They were so dry and heavy.
“Come on baby, I need you to wake up. Stay with me now.”
You felt him prod at your side and you let out a small groan as your head lulled heavily to one side. You just wanted to go back to sleep. It didn’t hurt when you were asleep.
“Fuck.” He groaned, his voice ragged and desperate.
As you continued to fight to get your eyes open, your body seemingly working completely separately to your brain right now, you heard his heavy feet begin to charge around the small space searching for what- you did not know with your eyes closed.
You felt him return to you, his hand resting on your thigh and you assumed he was resting on his knees before you. Knowing this was something you definitely had to see to believe, you finally fought to open your eyes. But it was difficult, they kept trying to close again, your head rolling from side to side as you fought to stay conscious, fought to look at him on his knees before you.
You knew his fingers were fumbling with something and you sneered as his fingers jabbed at the wound again.
“Uuuhhh owwwww.” You complained.
“Fuck.” He said again. “I can’t fucking see shit.” He complained.
Your eyes grew heavy again and you more sensed him lean away from you than saw him, but the sudden hiss of compressed air coming from his helmet had them seemingly fly open and you watched him lift the helmet from his head.
“Din-“ you groaned, but he didn’t respond. You watched him as he reached again for the med pack, getting out a pair of scissors and cutting away at the fabric of your top around the wound. He then grabbed a bottle of clear liquid, wetting a pad with it, which he then wiped carefully around the wound. Your eyes squeezed tight and you hissed in pain.
“Hold still now baby, hold still, I’m nearly done.” He says. Your only thought though is when did he start calling you baby?
There’s a reprieve as his hands move away again and your breathing starts to come back into your control. There’s a rustling sound of a packet and you open your eyes again to watch through blurry eyes as he removed a bacta patch from its packaging. You close your eyes and rest your head back against the wall again as he carefully lines it up, before sticking it down over the top of the wound.
You must have fallen asleep again, because when you wake next, you’re lying down on a cot with bandages wrapped around your middle. As you shift, the blanket placed over you shifts, exposing your skin to the cold air. You surmise you are back in hyperspace.
You pull yourself from the bed groggily. Your side still feels tender but it’s nowhere near as bad as it was, the bacta patch clearly doing its job. You slowly begin to follow the sounds of the kid’s babbling up to the cockpit where he is sat resting on Din’s knee. He quickly goes quiet when he sees you.
Din turns himself in his chair to check what he already knows. He’s relieved to see how much better you’re looking already. There’s more colour to you skin and the fact you are moving around speaks volumes to your alertness and body’s responsiveness.
But when you lock eyes on him your brain can only think of one thing. “You took it off.” You say, your eyes blinking at the vague memory as you take in his once again helmeted form in front of you.
“Yes.” He says as if it is merely just a matter of fact.
“You have brown eyes.”
“Yes.” He says again bluntly, clearly not wanting to give these facts more attention than they need.
You frown. “You called me baby.”
He’s silent then. There’s a long pause between you both as he turns himself away from you. “You scared me.” He says as firmly as he can. “Don’t do that again.” He says more strongly, but it just makes you smile.
For the first time since you boarded his ship, it’s clear to you he is able to care for someone other than the kid. “I won’t tell any one.” You reassure him.
He’s quiet for a moment- and you worry he’s not going to say anything at all- when he finally says, “Good.”
A few seconds later you’re dropping out of hyperspace and it’s like the whole ordeal never happened in the first place.
#the mandolorian#mando x reader#din djarin x reader#din djarin#mandalorian imagine#pedro character imagines#pedro characters#Star Wars#reader insert fanfiction
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So sweet
My Pain Fits In The Palm Of Your Freezing Hand
Din Djarin x GN!Reader
Summary: When you and your Mandalorian companion are ambushed by a group of bandits, you hope that his stubborn nature will not make the task of treating his wounds any more difficult than it needs to be. But that is not the only obstacle. You also hope that the depth of your unrequited feelings for Din will not impact on your ability to care for him...
Word Count: 2.2k ✯ Rating: General ✯ Content Warnings: Canon typical violence briefly described, reader provides first-aid to minor, bloody injuries. ✯ Author's Note: A daydream about holding the stubborn tin can man's hand turned into whatever this is!! I've never written unrequited feelings for Din before but it made my heart ache in the best possible way. Hope you enjoyed!
✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯
Once the adrenaline of your latest brush with death subsides, your focus immediately pivots to caring for your Mandalorian companion. Although the heightened emotions leaving your body render you a trembling, shaky mess, your priority is to ensure his well-being. Maker knows he will never take care of himself.
As you approach the Razor Crest, you mentally scan yourself for painful areas. Casting your mind back towards the encounter as you try to recall anywhere you could have been hurt. After all, you will struggle to assist him if you are not healthy.
You recall that you had taken a couple of painful blows to the side during the skirmish, but your clumsy assailants had fortunately missed all of your vital organs. Aside from a pounding heart and dry mouth, you have mercifully made it through the ambush unscathed.
Satisfied that there are no immediate areas of concern to treat, you turn your attention towards Din. You cast your mind back over the altercation, towards any wounds he may have sustained. It is easier said than done, considering how many of them leapt out of nowhere and caught the two of you off-guard as you walked through the thick forest towards the ship.
You remember how many of them Din fought off with his bare hands. Well, through his gloves. Still, you know they will have provided scant protection, so you are keen to check them for injuries.
You momentarily struggle to remember what happened after Din had seen most of them off as you crouched behind a bush, hiding.
Then, you recall how one of your assailants had slashed at Din’s hands when he grabbed the remaining pair of them around the throat. It had been a frenzied attack, which momentarily worked as his grip loosened. Just when you had feared that all hope was lost and they were going to escape, Din brought his boot up to deliver a swift kick in the stomach to the slower of the duo, which sent them careening into each other.
Din had used many parts of his body, as well as all of his wits and expertise as a warrior to see your attackers off. He had done a formidable job, considering how much they had taken you by surprise.
Still, the state of his hands concern you.
You are pretty sure they sustained the most severe damage. Plus, as they are vitally important for everyday function, treating them takes priority.
It is settled... Din’s hands are the first area you will treat.
If he will let you, that is.
Your Mandalorian companion does not possess a reputation for being the easiest man in the galaxy to take care of... a willing patient, Din Djarin is not.
As the two of you ascend the ramp up to his beloved ship, you hope for both of your sakes that he makes this process as painless as possible.
“Din, sit down and let me get the medkit,” you order when you finally enter the familiar old ship's hull.
“Let me initiate the launch sequence first,” Din stubbornly responds.
“No,” you reply, shaking your head as you fold your arms, glaring at him.
“Fine,” Din mutters in annoyance.
It seems your sternness has done the trick.
Din perches atop a crate as you grab the medkit in preparation to treat his wounds. You hope he does not make it harder for you than necessary. Din has never made any secret that he is comfortable being fussed over. You are no stranger to the fact that he hates being taken care of like this, but if you do not tend to his wounds, you know he will never do so himself.
“Your gloves,” you nod towards the two-toned leather which covers his hands, “Take them off, Din.”
Din sighs and lifts his gloves beneath his helmet, seemingly biting at each finger to loosen them before repeating the process with his other hand. You feel like a voyeur and wonder whether you should turn your head and look away, as though his gloved hand disappearing beneath his helmet is somehow sacrilegious. Despite your inner turmoil, you cannot help but watch, unable to tear your gaze away until finally, he slides the gloves off and bares his flesh to you.
It is not the first time Din has removed his gloves in your presence, yet you still feel a thrill travelling across your body at the faintest sight of his skin.
For Din Djarin’s bare hands provide you with the tiniest peek at the man that lies beneath the cold, hard beskar. To catch a glimpse of the human side of the formidable warrior, the side of him you yearn to know entirely.
You remember how stunned you had been the first time he had removed his gloves in your presence while he was repairing a blaster several months ago.
You had been sitting elsewhere in the hull as he worked at the bench, tools spread out as he dutifully performed much-needed maintenance on one of his many beloved weapons.
A grunt of frustration indicated that the parts had been far too intricate to repair with his cumbersome gloves. So, he had pulled on each finger one by one, tugging them off. Seemingly uncaring about baring himself, even ever so slightly, in your presence.
You had tried your best not to look, but you had been unable to resist sneaking a glance at who he was underneath his armour. Although for the most part, you kept to yourselves, there was no lingering frostiness in your dynamic. You and Din were amicable, possibly even friends... if he could even have such a thing.
That day, you watched as his hands meticulously repaired his blaster. You noticed the smattering of dark hairs across the back of his hand, the surprisingly tanned skin and the calluses and scars which littered the back of his hand. It was a fascinating glimpse into the man who hid so much of himself from you, yet you still felt you knew enough about him to believe he was, deep down, a good man.
Your mind ran wild with so many questions. Was his skin a similar colour elsewhere on his body, or was it tanned because his hands were the only parts of him that saw the sun? Did the dark hairs on the back of his hand mean that the hair on his head–if he had any–was a similar colour?
They were questions you knew you would likely never get answers to. Nor did you expect to.
When Din had hired you to care for The Child and attend to maintenance on his ship, he had informed you of the rules regarding his armour and helmet. He would remove neither his helmet nor armour in your presence. You were never to question the reasons why or attempt to subvert this stipulation in any way.
That was why glimpsing a sliver of his skin had thrilled you. It had exposed the man you had been yearning to see in a way that was not a violation of his Creed.
Yet, when you see his hands this time the circumstances could not be more different. Neither could the emotions Din’s bare hands provoke in you.
Rather than feeling a thrill at the sight of his skin, now you cringe when you see the wounds that litter his flesh. His knuckles are split and bloodied, contusions that will surely colour shades of blue and black before eventually healing. There are also angry red gashes in all directions, a result of the bandit’s vibroblade making contact with his hands.
You steady yourself, mentally preparing for the gargantuan task of providing first aid to a stubborn Mandalorian. Din values all you do for him. You are certain of that fact, even if he does not often vocalise it. Still, having someone take care of him is an uncomfortable prospect for a man who has spent so long leading a solitary, nomadic existence.
When you finally take his calloused, yet soft, skin in your hand, Din sucks in a harsh breath at the sensation. The sound is amplified and crackles slightly through the vocoder. A reminder that, although he has bared some of himself, he is still mostly hidden from you. He feels like more machine than man sometimes.
You take a bacta wipe from your medkit, and the antiseptic’s sour smell lingers unpleasantly in the air. You hold Din’s hand still, as you carefully bring the wipe towards his skin, your brow furrowed in concentration.
“This is going to sting,” you murmur apologetically.
Din nods. You hear him inhale deeply as he braces for the first contact with the remedy. You prepare yourself to be as gentle as possible, not wanting to make the process needlessly painful for him.
At the first touch of the bacta wipe against his bronze skin, he jerks away from your touch, groaning slightly in pain at what you are sure is an uncomfortable, stinging sensation against his cuts.
“Hold still,” you sigh, flashing a disapproving glance in what you hope is the direction of Din’s eyes, hidden by his helmet.
“Sorry,” he huffs.
You cannot help how your lips curl upwards at the sight of him sulking. This hulking man, all broad shoulders and gleaming beskar, reduced to a wounded child. You wonder if he is pouting beneath his helmet.
Din flinches again when you resume your task, but this time, you do not chastise him. Instead, you are thankful that he is not making this any more difficult than it needs to be.
At least he has not told you he can look after himself.
Content with his behaviour, you diligently tend to Din’s wounds. You ensure each one is cleaned thoroughly with the bacta patch and then wrapped in a bandage. It will take a few days to heal, but he will have plenty of time as you hurtle through hyperspace towards Nevarro again. Unfortunately, it will mean he likely has to refrain from being the hands-on father you know he loves to be.
When your task is almost complete, you move to sit by his side on the crate. You need to steady your hands by placing your elbows against your thighs as you wrap a particularly nasty wound, which already streaks angry red tendrils across two knuckles.
Din groans again in pain, and you quickly reassure him, “Almost there,” you whisper encouragingly.
With the task finally completed, you cannot resist gently taking his hand in yours. Ostensibly, to check him for any wounds you have missed. In reality, it is borne out of a selfish desire to feel his skin against yours. Precious contact you had been yearning for since you first laid eyes upon his skin all those months ago.
If Din notices the way you subtly lace your fingers with his and hold his hand in your lap for a few moments longer than necessary, he does not say a thing. Only when you disentangle your fingers from his grip does he speak again.
When you move to stand up from the crate, he places his arm across your stomach to stop you. You look at him questioningly, wondering what is going on beneath that bucket of metal.
“Thank you,” Din finally whispers, voice thick with emotion.
You move to open your mouth, to respond. Before you can, Din’s deep voice cuts through the stillness.
“For everything… I…” Din pauses, sighs deeply, then continues, “I appreciate everything you do for me.”
You simply nod, too taken aback to speak. It is unlike Din to be sentimental or emotional, not with anyone other than Grogu. It is part of what makes him such a respected and feared hunter. Yet, here he is, confessing his appreciation for you. It causes hotness to creep up your neck and face, embarrassed by his earnestness. Desperate to respond, but not entirely trusting that you can keep it together.
“You’re worth it, Din,” you smile, daring to believe that this moment will change something for the two of you. You hope he will finally realise the depth of the feelings you hold for him; that you have always held for him.
As you take his hand in yours once again, you sit back on the crate. You take up a more comfortable position and daringly lean your head against his shoulder. The pauldron is bitingly cold beneath your cheek. But with how warm your skin suddenly feels at his words, it is an altogether welcome sensation.
Din noticeably inhales at your gesture, and you momentarily fear you have hurt his tender skin. Until he relaxes once again and squeezes your hand as best as he can considering his injuries, a reassuring gesture that soothes your worries.
As you sit there holding hands in the relative darkness of the hull, you imagine a shooting star passing somewhere far in the skies above.
You wish on it and dare to dream that, one day, Din Djarin will love you, too.
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#din djarin fic#din djarin fanfiction#din djarin#din djarin x reader#din djarin x you#the mandalorian x reader#mando x reader#mando x you#the mandalorian fanfiction#din djarin fluff#pedro pascal characters#my fics#pleasE LET ME HOLD HIS HAND AND TAKE CARE OF THIS STUBBORN MAN#JUST ONCE PLEASE I M BEGIGIN YO UU1!!
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Pretty dark but sexy like
The Thin Line Between Victory and Survival NSFW!
(Santiago "Pope" Garcia x f!soldier!reader)
Summary: Having been newly promoted, your first mission with Delta Force goes wrong and you have to deal with the consequences of going against Santiago's orders
w/c: 6.6k
Warnings: NSFW! war environment, slight knife play, masturbation (f!reader), oral (m!receiving), self-edging, orgasm denial, choking, dom!Santi, p in v, slight fluff at the end, think that's everything?
a/n: reader's callsign is 'Midge'. this takes place after the events of triple frontier but where the gang are still active members of Delta Force. I kinda imagined Santiago as Ghost from COD (cos daddy)
ENJOY!
***
“Frankie. Sit rep?”
“ETA 30 seconds. Sit tight.”
“Rog’.” Santi’s gravelly voice worms its way into your ear in harsh rumbles as you begin to take position at the edge of a sandy cliff, overwatching the vast desert valley ahead of you. His voice shakes the nerves inside you that are already on high alert. You remind yourself to turn down your comms when you can afford the chance. “Midge, how copy?”
You perk to attention at the sound of your nickname and respond accordingly. “Loud and clear, sir. In position. Eyes on Frankie.”
Towards the heart of the valley, Frankie’s distant figure calmly approaches the enemy-riddled farm under the cover of darkness and you watch with bated breath through a window of green. Directly ahead of you, even further away on the mirroring side of the valley is your superior Santiago “Pope” Garcia, providing overwatch just as you are. You can’t see him but you know he’s there, like a ghost lurking in the shadows. Even though you are just as concealed as he is, you have this disconcerting feeling that he’s very much capable of plucking you out, watching you.
You readjust yourself nervously.
It’s incredibly dark with nothing but the twinkling stars and Jupiter’s bright sparkle to keep anyone sane. Without the night vision goggles, you are a lost hope. They sit squarely on your nose, grinding the bone and encasing your eyes, and the sweat trickling down your neck is no home comfort either, but now is not the time to be complaining. You have a job to do.
Having been recently promoted for your sharp shooting and bright mind, you’re no longer an extra in someone else’s play, you’re the real deal now. You’re still taking orders no less, except now word doesn’t have to pass through at least three ranks above you like a game of Chinese Whispers before you receive the order.
Every mission is different but your response has always been the same: subdued nerves to begin, then before long, you’re in your element and the job gets done. However, this task in particular has your heart beating a little harder and you don’t sense it settling any time soon. The whole mission is unnerving. It’s just you, Frankie and Santiago, sent out into the middle of nowhere to retrieve controls for a weapon that’s been missing from the US government for three years. The very same that is currently being protected and fortified by an armada of Russian extremists. Every minute in between the initial briefing and your current breath has been spent quietly fretting about it.
This mission alone has introduced a lot of firsts for you; first time working with Delta Force rather than for, first time working off the grid, first time working in a squad with fewer than 5 comrades beside you, first time being completely and hopelessly outnumbered…
First time feeling extremely, extremely doubtful.
“Remember, this is a covert operation and completely off the grid so keep it quiet. Frankie, I want you in and out before they even get a whiff that you were ever there, and Midge--” you gulp, “keep Frankie alive.”
“Yes, sir.” You and Frankie’s voices ring through simultaneously. By now, Frankie has approached the back door of the barren barn, a large building that no doubt houses a number of enemies inside. Through your scope, you witness Frankie infiltrating the barn, his voice verbally confirming it seconds later. “I’m in. Going dark.”
“Copy that.”
The second you lose sight of him you take a hefty breath, letting it flood your lungs while the waiting game begins. From out here, there’s nothing you can do for him except warn him of any outside movements. As of right now, he’s on his own, doing what he does best.
“Stay sharp.”
You keep quiet on your side of comms, too paranoid to risk speaking unnecessarily. Instead, you keep your wits on what’s in front of you. There’s no movement, not even a breath of wind to shake the lonely tree that stands at the far end of the farm and it feels as though time has stood still. If it wasn’t for the mouse scuttling underneath your sniper stand, you would’ve thought so.
The little creature skips and hops over the rocks to your right, stopping every couple of seconds to clean the dust from its ears. Cute. You quirk a smile at the thought of something as simple as a mouse breaking the tension that’s riddling your bones. God knows you need it. Every fibre of your being is buzzing with uncertainty and the heavy nauseating feeling in your stomach is enough of a sign that something about this mission just isn’t right. Some would call it instinct, others would call it a load of rubbish, regardless, the feeling is there and you’re not willing to ignore it.
In all honesty, you would’ve carried out this mission entirely differently if you had the authority. But that’s the thing. You don’t. Outranked and out-experienced by the two men alongside you, you had no option but to play by their rules. Where you would’ve gone all-in, they chose to keep their cards close to their chests.
You never agreed with the idea that less is more. Not in the military.
Ten agonising minutes pass by. Nothing has been said and nothing warrants being said. Everything about you is screaming to point out the obvious; that something clearly isn’t going right. Frankie should’ve been out by now.
“I don’t like this. It’s too quiet. Nothing’s happening.”
Santiago instantly replies, a slight ring of chagrin evident in his tone. “Good. Means we haven’t been compromised.”
“Then why isn’t he out?”
“Patience, Midge. Keep focussed.”
You’re seconds away from overstepping boundaries and saying something you shouldn’t, but the moment you open your mouth, you spot a black vehicle off in the distance, quickly morphing into view as it speeds across the expanse of the valley with a plume of dust trailing behind it. It’s heading directly towards the farm.
“Be advised. Vehicle inbound coming in from the north. Pope, you see it?”
“Affirmative. Six Russians inside and likely armed. Do. Not. Engage. Frankie, get the hell on with it and get those controls.”
The vehicle approaches and screeches to a stop, the occupants immediately disperse from the vehicle with rifles in hand. Fear shoots through you, wide eyes pinned on the door Frankie entered through, desperate for it to open again and see Frankie escape but alas, no sign of him. “Come on, come on, come on…”
“Enemies heading towards the front entrance.”
“I’ve got a shot on two of them.”
“No. Stand down. Do not engage. They don’t know we’re here, we can’t draw attention to ourselves.” Pope’s voice rages through your earpiece again and you wince, both from his tone and volume.
“Why the fuck are we here then?”
“To prevent a ruckus from happening. If we engage, we’ll be the reason for it. Now shut up and keep your eyes peeled. Frankie, for Christ’s sake, you better have those controls.”
You listen intently for his voice, hoping that he’s succeeded and he’s on his way back, but when you hear a slight crackle, a groan and high-pitched frequency piercing through the comms, you assume the worst. Your heart stops dead in your chest when you hear a shot being fired, its echo carrying the weight of dread right to your position. “Fuck! Santi--”
“Frankie! Do you copy?”
Short, resounding booms resonate from the farm and you’re left with no doubt that Frankie’s position has been compromised, leaving his life and the controls to this weapon at stake. You can’t afford to lose both and you’re certain that Pope knows that too, so why isn’t he giving the order for backup?
“He needs help!”
“Stay put! I can’t risk losing two of you. This is Pope to Ironhead, how copy?”
You drown out William’s voice with worries of your own, constantly watching for signs of Frankie’s survival but to no avail, you find none. You knew this mission was never going to succeed. Your instinct was right. And based on that fact alone, what’s to stop you assuming that when your gut instinct is now telling you to go and extract Frankie and the controls yourself, it’s the right decision no matter what your orders are?
“Fuck this.” With haste, you pack up your equipment, whipping it over your shoulder with a new-found surge of adrenaline pumping through you. The hill you’re perched on isn’t tall, but it is steep, so as you run down the slope, your body falls faster than your legs can keep up. The howl of air blows past your ears and the clinking and clanking of your equipment rattles with each step. Even still with the cacophony of sounds, nothing can be louder than your boss’s rage.
“Midge! What the fuck are you doing? Get back to your position!”
You don’t bother responding because you’re too out of breath…and mostly because you’re shit scared. When you hear his voice again, you’re at the door Frankie entered through with a shaky hand holding your pistol and the other tightly gripping the handle.
“Midge, so help me God, if you take another step--”
“We can’t leave Frankie!”
“We don’t know if he’s still alive.”
“But we know the controls are in there, if we can’t get one, we’ll get the other.”
“NO! You get back here right fucking now!” The scratch of his growl descends down your body, making you curl your toes. Suddenly, a farm full of Russian extremists doesn’t seem to be your biggest threat…
“I’m going in.”
A grunted sigh crackles through the comms as Pope watches you push through the door into chaos.
“Just so you know, if you somehow survive this, I will kill you myself.”
~~~~
Miraculously, you did exactly that. You survived. Not only did you extract Frankie’s beaten body and save his life, you also retrieved the controls before they got away. You can’t deny that the odds were slim and it did nearly cost both of your lives, but at the expense of breaking a few rules and a few bones, you made it. And you won’t apologise for a single bit of it sitting here in an unused briefing room with Santiago.
The tale of twists and turns didn’t end when you and Frankie both made it out alive only hours ago, in fact, it continues with Santi; a man with chains around his heart, a shield around his mind and a look of steel donning his face. It is fair to say his reputation precedes him, especially since his comrade Redfly died years ago. Before you met him officially, you had only ever heard of his emotionless gaze, his inhuman self-restraint and deeply enigmatic personality, and you found it strange that no one told you what it was like to be around him. Until Frankie told you that how you felt being in a room with him could not be explained through words, it was something you had to experience for yourself.
Frankie was right. You had to be there to see that he was stronger, colder, smarter, more intimidating than anyone had let on. His presence wasn’t one to be easily swallowed. It was obvious that strangers couldn’t settle the unease they felt when he walked into the room; cautious eyes, bitten lips, fidgeting muscles. They succumbed to his eerie, silent domination very quickly. Quicker if those dark eyes were locked on you. They were seared into the back of your mind the moment they landed on you for the first time, remembering how you just couldn’t decipher the encrypted messages they hid. Whoever stated that the eyes were windows to the soul had clearly never met Santiago.
But tonight, that restraint is gone. He is positively seething. Outwardly, publicly, irrationally seething. In the dimly lit room, he stands menacingly in the corner where the light doesn’t quite reach, yet still you can see his knuckles tensing and untensing with each breath he takes. You don’t say a word, quietly picking at the forming scab on your knuckle, and in your head, you speak the words you don’t have the conviction to say out loud.
“Do you have any idea how fucking reckless you are?”
You slowly peer up to him, his words still processing as you narrow in on him. “Reckless? With all due respect, my actions saved a man’s life and finished the mission. What part of that is reckless?”
“The part where you didn’t follow my orders! You went rogue. Off plan. Completely out of line. If you don’t follow orders, you don’t know how it will end. I could’ve lost you both unnecessarily.”
“Could’ve,” you mutter.
He begins to loom closer, taking every word of yours like they’re a sour taste in his mouth. In muted tones, he whispers out to you. “What?”
“You said you could’ve lost us both. But you didn’t.” The words feel like liberation. It’s the first time you’ve ever behaved like this. It’s so uncharacteristic but you just feel so insulted by his lack of gratitude or appreciation that anger bubbles inside you, spitting out words that you know you shouldn't, turning you into someone you definitely aren’t. You are usually a rule follower, you are usually obedient, and you usually respect authority, but in the blinding light of anger, you just can’t surrender to Santiago’s discipline so easily.
“And you should’ve listened to me. But you didn’t. Nobody ever fucking listens to me and they end up dead because of it.”
“Just because Redfly did, doesn’t mean everyone else will too.”
Low blow, Midge.
Sensing immediate regret, you keep your eyes firmly pinned on your hands on the table in front of you. Like a dark rain cloud, you catch sight of his shadow engulfing your own. His stature and all-encompassing presence emerges behind you but you don’t dare move a single muscle. His hands curl around the back of the chair you’re sitting in, the pathetic plastic creaking under his fists. The brave front you’re putting on begins to yield to his growing temperament and the facade crumbles piece by piece.
Everyone in the unit had heard of what happened when a certain team of the Delta Force went rogue. The US Army had never let them live it down since.
He leans his head over your stiff shoulder and you can even feel the heat of his anger just glazing over the shell of your ear.
“Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.” Santiago spits every word with heavy articulation as if he’s etching the words into your brain. His laboured breathing is a concern, knowing that it’s a warning of the wrath that’s about to ensue. “Redfly didn’t follow my orders to stand down and it inevitably got him killed. And right now, the same might happen to you.”
With a sharp, unexpectant tug of your hair, your head whips back, swinging the chair with you until the overhead light burns into your eyes. Reflexes have your hands gripping the edge of the table until they turn white with tension, stopping yourself from tipping backwards. The sudden blade on your neck stops you moving forward.
“Do you remember what I said to you before you disobeyed me?”
You remember all too well. If you somehow survive this, I will kill you myself.
“You wouldn’t.”
Santiago presses the blade harder against your skin, unapologetic. “Wouldn’t I?”
You really don’t know whether to call his bluff but to stay on the safe side you remain silent. Until anything happens, you are both stuck staring into each other’s eyes, holding a resentment none of you are willing to let go of. Looking up at him, it’s obvious that he is teetering on the edge of breaking a few rules himself, allowing the sharp edge of the knife to roll across the expanse of your neck, bobbing as you swallow, until the sharp point rests precariously atop your pulse. But even he knows himself that he wouldn’t follow through with it, because as much as it pains him to admit it, your courageous actions, although downright stupid, did save Frankie’s life and secured the controls. And he fucking hates it. If there was anything he could do to scare the absolute shit out of you to stop you being so smug and defiant about it, he would do it in a heartbeat.
“Santiago,” you warn, just as the point of the knife starts to break through the thin layer of skin on your neck. You try to move your head but he still has his fist entangled through your roots.
The instant the little whine of his name broke from your lips, something snapped inside him. The desperation of it, it was too provocative for him to ignore and an electrical feeling pulsed from his chest and shot straight towards his dick. Having you in his tight clutches, essentially at his mercy, exacerbated the feeling and suddenly he could feel himself growing hard. Fuck, what was he doing?
It’s perverse of him to want to hear it again, to see those plump but bitten lips of yours say his name again in a plea for his forgiveness. He becomes so fixated on the idea that he gets carried away, pricking your skin with the knife, watching as your eyes widen and your body writhing beneath him.
“AHH! Pope--fuck--okay, okay, I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry, just…please let go of the knife.” There it was again, the slight twitch in his dick, one that makes him grow uncomfortable beneath his boxers.
It’s one thing for Pope to be angry, but when lust is thrown into the equation, there’s much less he can do to suppress it and with you still whimpering beneath him, it’s something he’s quickly realised.
He relieves the pressure of the knife just enough to alleviate the pain but not enough that you haven’t completely escaped its threat. He moves out of your sight, his head dropping lower until his lips are gracing across your ear. You hear nothing but his slow breathing, funnelling down your ear and you instantly shiver. You want to pull away from him but for some reason, you’re chemically drawn into him; his close proximity, the smell of him, the hold he has on you, it’s all so…dangerously alluring. Something changes and the air starts to grow hot.
“Y’know,” he purrs, “I can’t allow you stay on my team if you can’t listen to my orders--”
“No! No, I-I want to stay.”
“How do I know you won’t pull something stupid like this again, hm? You’re still a rookie, you’re not an addition to this team, no, what you are is a liability. Your actions today proved to me that you are just not capable.”
“I am. I was promoted for a reason.”
“Yeah? Prove it. Prove you’re capable and I might consider keeping you on my team.”
“How?”
“It’s simple,” he says, his lips trailing from your ear to skim across your cheek, just teasing with feather light touches. “Follow…my…orders. Do you understand?”
Your cheeks are burning, your lungs are heaving, everything about this screams ‘this is a risk you shouldn’t take’. But it’s hard to heed those words when Santiago’s grip of your hair loossens to soothing scalp scratches, when the tips of his lips and his nose brush over your burning cheek, inhaling the scent of you, when your gut is telling you to listen to how tempted your body is, how wanting it is for him.
Your thighs press together beneath the table.
“Yes.”
“Yes…what?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Better. Stand up.” You swing forward so fast that a violent rush of blood to your head almost makes you lose your balance, but Santiago keeps you up with a firm hold to your arm while he casually throws the knife onto the table. He perches himself in front of you to lean against the edge of the table, touching toe-to-toe and holds your gaze; bold, dark brown eyes that give nothing away about the inner workings of his mind. And it’s those same eyes that can read everything about you.
“Nervous, soldier?”
“No, sir.”
“Don’t lie.”
“A…A little, sir.”
“Good, you should be. Take off your top.”
With those words, you know, that whatever happens from this moment on, Santiago will not be following any official protocol but his own. You do as he says, now feeling the heat of the room touching your bare skin. Santiago admires the way your belt hugs around your waist, waiting for the moment his hands can do the same when he’s fucking you from behind. Your bra is standard, nothing sexy. It’s what he expects on a day you had been on a mission, but what his eyes catch is your nipples pebbling through the material, and the slight blood stain discolouring the straps from the shrapnel wound to your shoulder that he didn’t realise you had.
“At ease,” he commands. You act on instinct, bracing your hands behind your back with your legs standing shoulders-width apart. The instruction has been ingrained in you since the day you started your training. “You got hurt?”
“Minor wounds.”
“Wounds you wouldn’t have had if you had listened to me.”
Fluttering warmth spreads from your core the moment Santiago cups your breast, your nipple weaving through his fingers and caught in a tight pinch. When you don’t react, he peers up at you to engage in a wordless conversation that both are in tune with. Keep going? Yes. He brings his other hand up to mirror the other and this time he finally elicits a small, but audible sigh from you.
It’s been so long since you’ve had anyone like this, even longer for Santiago. His failures to locate his old contact Yovanna in Australia broke him and since then, he had sworn off getting close with anyone for fears of time repeating itself. As for you? You had yet to claim anyone as your own. Sure, you’ve had a few romances over the years but no one had ever satisfied you in the sick, slightly twisted way you were searching for. Up until now, you didn’t think there was a man out there who was interested in the same things you were. You didn’t think they existed.
Until you met Santiago. He is a thrill personified.
It was impossibly cruel that the world had dealt you this hand; to fantasise over the ways his gravelly voice could murmur the dirtiest, filthiest things to you, the ways his experienced hands could ruin with the slightest of touches. However, you always knew that professionalism and the dangers of your line of work would always take priority over your fantasies, and you forced yourself out of your fictional world to come face to face with the harsh reality of war. It was a miracle how you were able to survive this long without going absolutely feral, but now, with Santiago losing his patience too, you’re starting to think that you won’t last much longer.
“So fucking reckless,” he whispers, a reminder for both you and himself. His brow dips when his frustration rolls back in its tide, keeping that stone-cold expression hard on his face. It’s slightly different though. His parted lips, his vigorous movements, the slight pant to his breath. In your eyes, it all points towards desire more than frustration. “As your superior…” His voice is somehow quieter, but it’s heard all the same, “it’s my responsibility to punish you, to teach you a lesson about discipline. You need to learn that when I tell you to do something, you fucking do it. You understand?”
A bead of sweat rolls down the back of your neck fluidly, your hands itching to wipe it away but obedience locks them behind your back. Suddenly, he snaps forward, his hand coming to snatch your jaw and force you to look him in the eyes. The precision of his quick movements makes you flinch, trapping a breath in your lungs and he notices, lips curling momentarily.
“Yes, sir!”
Shivers follow wherever his other hand roams. He moulds out the shape of your waist and hips, squeezing tighter than your belt ever could. He begins to unbuckle your belt with little regard, popping the button of your trousers and bursting the zip to admire the way your trousers hang loosely from your hips. Everything inside you tenses at the sudden exposure.
Santiago begins toying with you, running his knuckles lightly over the edge of your underwear, dipping just the tip of his finger beneath the elastic rim, but retreats just as quickly. He follows the line of your navel, travelling up and up to trace small ghostly circles around your ribcage and it takes everything in you not to shudder. Your body can’t quite figure out how to tune into him, the stark contrast between the harsh grip he has on your jaw and the fluttering touches to your body has your mind going crazy and it’s mildly disorientating.
His thumb circles around your chin before resting upon your bottom lip, pulling it out into a pout for his eyes to fixate on. He has that expression on his face that you’ve seen before; determined and fully resolute. The features of a man with authority.
“That mouth…” he pants, “‘s gotten you into trouble today.” He draws you in until the tips of your noses clash and he’s a hair’s breadth away from kissing you. Instead…“I want to fuck it. Get on your knees, soldier.”
Your knees collide the cold surface of the ground almost instantly much to his pleasure. He wastes no time undoing his belt as efficiently as he did yours, and before too long the tip of his lengthy cock replaces where his thumb was just seconds before, wet with little beads of cum. Your hands reach out to guide him into your mouth but he snatches your wrist before you can commit.
“Nuh-uh, this one’s for you. If you have some semblance of discipline, you’ll cum only when I say.”
You nod, falsely, and promptly take him into your mouth with one hand at the base of his cock while the other slips beneath your underwear and swirls around your clit the way you know best. A strangled groan leaves his throat and you feel the vibrations of it with the way his cock twitches in your mouth. The same pleasure buzzes in you, spreading warmth from your stomach down to your cunt.
Despite having eventually found a rhythm that you can settle into, bobbing your head and taking as much of him as you can, you can’t find balance. Your multitasking skills have taken a hit because as soon as you feel the tight pinch of pleasure erupting from your clit, you know you can’t succumb to it and just like that, all your focus and effort turns to pleasuring him and the feeling dissipates. It’s torturous having to edge yourself, it’s not something you are particularly well-versed in.
“So good, so fucking good,” he praises. Santiago’s hands come to scrape through your hair and take control, causing you to move faster and suck him down even harder, so much that you have to plant your other hand against his thigh to regain balance, going against his orders. He notices and chastises you. “Get that fucking hand back where it should be.”
A moan gargles from your throat, a lack of patience wearing you thin. It doesn’t help that you’re incredibly turned on by the whole situation and you’re hesitant to touch yourself because of it, unsure how much more you can take before yet another one of Santi’s orders is disobeyed. So you take it slow, lazily circling around your bud just enough to keep you satiated while you occupy yourself with Santiago. Your mouth detaches from him with a pop, using those tear-stained eyes of yours to silently beg for his own release in exchange for your own but his head is thrown back and takes no notice, indulging in the way your tongue swirls around his tip. Just the sight of the vein popping from his neck is enough to send a rush of lust to mount up onto the orgasm that’s impatiently waiting. Fuck, you really need to cum.
What gets his attention is your needy little whine. A whine that warns you both that you’re on the precipice of cumming, that if you pressed any harder on your sensitive clit you would combust. Your thighs are almost rattling beneath you.
“Don’t you dare,” he warns in a low growl, thrusting into your wet mouth and straight to the back of your throat. “Don’t you disobey me.”
“I can’t hold on,” you splutter.
“You can and you will. Fuuuck…”
Decidedly, your hand comes to a halt because after all, this is about discipline, right? It’s all about being able to control yourself, to place your trust in him and listen to what he says hoping that it will all pay off.
You need to do something that would push him over the edge, do something that would completely shatter his world, never to be forgotten. You offer every trick in the book; swirling around your tongue around the head of his cock, sweeping it across the small slit to collect the small bead of cum, teasing him before taking him down your throat and gagging on him. He’s already so close, and you're already dripping onto your hand, and with one last final trick up your sleeve, you catch his eyes, sink yourself onto him until your nose bashes against skin, and fight through the gag. Teeth baring, you slowly, lightly, graze your teeth up his cock, ghosting over every vein that pulses, leaving behind the soothing aftercare of your soft lips. By your side, his thighs twitch and by the time you reach the head of his cock, an explosion happens.
Santiago leans forward, grappling onto your head as you drink down everything he gives you. His entire body tenses, trapping you into a headlock and just only for a couple of seconds do you feel yourself losing breath, but it doesn’t matter, because above you he’s panting heavily, enclosing his thighs around your head and holding onto you for dear life. It’s all the signs you need to know that you’ve done what you promised, you proved yourself.
“Fucking hell,” Santiago pants. His grip loosens around you and you suck down a large breath as he releases you. The instant your lips are free, he forces you to a stand and claims them, humming into them with hunger. He slips his tongue past your lips searching for a taste of himself on you with a delectable moan. It only takes him a couple of seconds of clawing at your waist before his hand slips beneath your underwear to feel the result of your constant edging; a wet cunt that’s pleading for relief. The slightest touch of his fingers has your hips buckling, you’re so close it hurts.
“So wet. So needy.”
“F-fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper. You want it, you need it, you can’t live without it, for god sake, please!
“Yeah?” You could hear the smirk in his voice. “On whose authority?”
“Santiago, please.”
“I told you this is about discipline and listening to orders--” his fingers drill into your clit with absolute precision and immediately takes control of your pleasure, luring it to the surface. “Did I say you could cum?”
“No, but--”
“Then you can’t. Have the discipline to stop it.”
“Fuck!” Just seconds away from orgasm, you drop to a crouch, his hand slipping from you in one fluid movement. So close, so fucking close.
Santiago maniacally chuckles above you. He has little sympathy for you hunched on the ground reeling into yourself, but what he does have though, is just a little pride. Pride that you listened, that you obeyed no matter how desperate you were to go against his word. Because, of course, in Santiago’s eyes, his word overrules everyone else’s. His word is gospel. What he says goes.
You don’t get to relish the pride he has for you because you are spiralling. Your shaking body can’t allow you to stand knowing that even the slightest friction of anything against your clit would set you off and you’ve done so well to abide by his rules, you wouldn’t want to ruin it.
Santiago’s hand comes to stroke the back of your head in a supportive manner to find that you’re burning up. It’s obvious that you need release and that resides with him.
“Stand up.”
“I…I don’t think I can.”
“Come on,” he demands, his tone a little harsher. “Stand up and put your hands on the table.”
Shaky legs raise you to your feet and you brace yourself against the hard wooden table, the cold surface just a slight relief to the fire raging through your body. Santiago teases down your trousers leaving your panties to feel the brush of his hips against your ass, giving you a large hint of what’s to come. Your stomach plummets at the thought of having to hang onto the precipice for any longer. You could cry at the thought, tears ready and waiting behind your eyes.
“Good girl,” he whispers seductively. “You’re so close, aren’t you? So desperate for release that just one--” he lightly brushes your clit through your underwear, “little--” he does it again and you judder, “touch will set you off.”
Jesus, you could cry. You could cry and cry and cry, and beg for forgiveness, yield and submit yourself completely to him for the one second of pure bliss you’re starving for. He’s reduced you to nothing but a licentious and needy beggar you don’t recognise.
“How much longer can you last?” He knows, but it pleases him to ask anyway.
“I’ll break if you touch me.”
“Perfect.”
Wicked hands and fast reflexes rip your drenched underwear from you and Santiago mercilessly drills his cock straight into you. The second you feel him fill you up, one hand comes to encircle your neck, closing off your oxygen while his fingers find your clit once again and with just a few devious laps around your clit, you explode. A blinding light flashes behind your eyes and your body becomes engulfed by a white-hot pain that ironically, freezes you to the spot. Santiago growls loudly behind you, feeling how your pussy clenches so tightly around him that he’s barely spared an inch to move, but his fingers don’t face the same challenge and are still effortlessly ruining you to the core. There’s a pathetic attempt from you to remove his hand but his persistence remains far superior.
Santiago relieves the pressure on your throat to hear you sing for him. You’re thankful the walls are thick enough to contain your cries.
The thing is, Santiago knew you were close, but what he didn’t anticipate was how close he was too, especially so soon after you sucked him dry. With how intensely your pussy milks him of everything he has, it takes less than a few forceful thrusts before he succumbs to his orgasm and collapses on top of you. It washes over him hard, electrocuting every nerve and filling every pore with sweat. Fuck, he thinks, haven’t felt this good in years.
Warmth envelopes you both, eyes fluttering to a close with the liberating feeling of release. Santiago, having just a little more sanity than you do, still has enough energy to lazily work his hips back and forth, fucking you so slowly and deeply, you think it might just trigger another explosion. Alas, he spares you the burden and finally comes to rest against you.
It feels like an eternity has passed by the time the heat dwindles and air returns to your lungs. During the quiet minutes that pass, euphoria eases into your muscles, massaging out the cramp and any discomfort of your desperate attempts to contain your orgasm. The soft, grounding kisses that Santiago leaves at the nape of your neck seem to have a similar effect and you hum contentedly.
“I mean it, by the way,” Santiago mutters behind you, still brushing his lips against your skin. “You really could’ve gotten yourself killed today.” His fingers trace down your shoulder, gently running across the bandage that covers your shrapnel wounds to reinforce his point.
You sigh. “I know.”
You feel him leave you, alleviating his weight and dressing himself. “Look at me.”
You’re just about able to turn yourself around, and with Santiago’s help, he dresses you too. Once decent, the very hands that ruined you come to clamp against your cheeks, far too delicate for what you had known them to be. “What you did today was out of line—”
This again. “But Frankie--”
“Frankie is a different story. His mission to infiltrate the barn and receive the controls meant that the chances of him dying was a lot higher than ours. And even though it’s a fucking bastard of a pill to swallow, it’s just one of those things that we all have to come to terms with. I went into this mission already prepared to accept the possibility of his death should anything go wrong. Yours I wasn’t willing to accept.”
“But I didn’t die.”
“You’re not getting it.” His words are spat through gritted teeth and something in you sinks at the disappointment. The only thing that seems to calm him down is the sensation of your forehead against his, proof that you are alive. “Frankie’s death would’ve hurt, yes, but like I said, I would’ve seen it coming. If you expect disappointment, you won’t get disappointed. But when you threw yourself into the firing line like that, you started playing a game of Russian Roulette. Neither of us knew whether you were going to live or die and I panicked. I was so scared, terrified even at the thought of losing you because I knew I would never be able to recover from it. Your death, your untimely, unprecedented death under my watch would’ve haunted me for the rest of my life. That’s the difference between you and Frankie. That’s the lesson you need to learn from this.”
Your eyebrows crunch together, feeling stupid for not coming to the realisation sooner. You feel embarrassed to admit that you had never thought of it like that.
A long silence fills the room because you’re not too sure how to put the feeling of heavy regret into words, none of them justifiable enough to convey even a hint of the remorse that you feel inside. The fact that you refuse to look Santiago in the eyes is proof enough to him that you’re aware of the mistake you made, and instead of looking for a response, he settles for your silence and simply brushes his thumb across the highs of your cheek.
“Just promise me you won’t do it again, no matter how immoral it seems, no matter whose life is at stake, please, if at all possible, keep yourself safe.”
“I promise.”
He brings his lips to yours, melting them together in a kiss as though it is his last. “Good,” he smiles lightly, sealing the lesson with a kiss to your forehead. “I…I might’ve gotten carried away trying to get that message to sink in.”
For the first time in a while, you smile. “It’s okay. I’ve definitely learned my lesson not to piss you off.”
“Hmm, keep your promise and stay alive long enough and you’ll find out what the reward is.”
#santiago garcia#santiago pope garcia#santiago pope garcia x reader#santiago garcia x you#santiago garcia x reader#santiago x you#santiago x reader#triple frontier#oscar isaac#oscar isaac characters#oscar isaac fic#oscar isaac x reader#oscar isaac x you#oscar isaac smut#santiago garcia smut#triple frontier fic#santiago garcia fanfiction#oscar isaac fanfiction#moon knight#the thin line betweem victory and survival
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2 down, more to come! Yay
chance encounters
WIP | ao3

character(s): Frankie "Catfish" Morales, Will "Ironhead" Miller, Santiago "Pope" Garcia, Benny Miller, fem!Reader
series summary: You've suddenly and tragically lost your best friend and can't handle the grief. Until four strangers give you a glimmer of hope that things will (and can) get better. (ultimately a story about working through grief with the help of our four boys from Triple Frontier)
series warnings: grief, mentions of death, violence (through the act of fighting - come on, it's an MMA story basically), fighting, minimal physical descriptions of reader (i will do my best to keep it as neutral as possible!), cursing and inappropriate language, mentions of PTSD and substance abuse, mma/kickboxing/muay thai jargon (each chapter will have its own separate and detailed warnings!), mutual pining (frankie and fem!reader)
a/n: I know I said I was going to take a hiatus from writing because of what this month means to me personally, but I've found that writing this story has actually helped me deal with my own grief... Also, I'd like to think I have moderate knowledge in the fighting game (started out training as a boxer and now I'm doing muay thai / kickboxing), so if something seems wrong, let me know! Anyway, this story is very special to me. I hope you enjoy it.
Part 1.
Part 2.
Part 3.
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal character#pedro pascal characters#oscar isaac#oscar isaac character#garrett hedlund#garrett hedlund character#charlie hunnam#charlie hunnam character#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal fanfic#triple frontier#triple frontier fanfic#triple frontier fanfiction#story: chance encounters
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Yay! Exciting times
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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#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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Barking up the Wrong Tree Masterlist - New Chapters Wednesday Nights PST
Series Summary/Description – Frankie is your neighbor and crush, but he’s not dating. It still breaks his heart while he watches you go through some awful dates of your own and struggle with your ex-husband. Why won’t you see that you deserve more?
Triggers/Warnings – 18 and over please – Light Abusive relationship, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, single parenting, mentions of recovering drug abuse, angst, sexual content, possible sexual content to come, will add warnings to chapters as needed. It’s important to include anything that’s remotely triggering.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#frankie morales#pedro pascal character fanfiction#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales fanfiction#frankie morales x you#francisco morales#triple frontier fic#frankie morales triple frontier#francisco catfish morales
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