Category: X Reader

Requested by: RaccoonFerret21

------------------------------

August 28

21:25, UTC-4

Puerto La Cruz, Venezuela

It rained. Again.

Everyone rejoiced when the first drops fell towards the end of May, resolving the dry spell that had suffocated the area the year before. From that month forward, there was an abundance of rain showers, as if to make up for the lack thereof earlier. For a city next to the ocean, the previous drought was annoyingly ironic. Storms were now drawn to your town, a new one brewing as the one before it snuffed out.

You missed the sun. Puddle-jumping was getting old.

You tilt your face towards the sky slightly, staring into the surprisingly bright off-white canvas. The light begins to irritate your eyes, and you feel gentle stings in either. Two crystalline drops slip out of your cataracts, running down your face. Their paths parallel those of the misty droplets clinging to your skin, the only difference being their fading heat.

Rubbing your eyes, you peer at your surroundings. You are alone on the beach trails, though the rhythmic hubbub of the city rings softly in your ears.

You've set a good fifty feet between yourself and the shoreline. As much as the wild oceans intrigue you, you're wary of being pulled into the undertow.

The sea is a dark gray today, the sullen, distorted reflection of the turbulent sky overhead.

The strength of the rain picks up and the light drizzle morphs into flashing sheets that prick your bare skin. Your H/C hair is soaked through, a shade darker than when dry. It plasters to the back of your neck, acting as a sponge for the water. A tiny droplet dribbles from the tip of your nose, landing on your cupid's bow. It follows the gentle curve of your lips, slowly treading down your chin and falling away.

You stop walking for a moment, shuddering as the rain drenches you completely, soaking through your light jacket. The rain collides with the beachfront, wetting every surface it makes contact with. When it touches the sea, it becomes a part of the vast waters, molding with the burgeoning waves.

Your nose twitches, and your body senses the swelling itch a nanosecond before you sneeze.

I need to get inside, somewhere, You mutter internally, burying your nose into the crook of your elbow in time for a second sneeze.

Your health has always been highly susceptible to weather changes. You know you should head somewhere warm, safe, and dry, but home is not an option. And you are in no mood for trekking all the way back to the strips of shops lining the public beaches.

Better to brace the cold.

The shoreline had crept near without you noticing. It washed over your feet, lapping at more and more dry land with every wave. The ice-cold water soaked through your sneakers, now squelching with every step forward.

You inhale deeply, allowing the thick, briny scent of the sea to wash over. Aside from the distinct salty scent of the sea, you've always wondered if water had a smell. It didn't smell like anything else you knew of. That was for sure. Yet the only words she could link to the sensation was fresh. Clean. But then again, the freshness could've been the smell of pure nothingness, and it was the air that possessed its own scent and---

Achoo!

You sneeze again, your previous trail of thought now forgotten. You sigh, breathing through your mouth as your nose begins to clog. You swear that you can taste the salt through the air.

You begin to contemplate returning to the toxic mess that is now your home when a flash of red against the dreary sky snags your attention. You can't quite make out what it is, only a generally triangular shape rapidly plunging towards the ground.

A hang-glider? As the dot draws closer, you make out the form of a woman in red piloting desperately towards the beach.

Is she wearing a coat? And a hat? Planning a grand entrance? Probably foreign. American. Ugh.

She must have gone for a ride and got caught during the storm, you decide, quickening your pace to reach her. Your curiosity turns to concern as the angle of her steep-descent points to the ocean. No longer hesitating, you break into a run towards the red silhouette.

The hang glider meets the choppy waters far from shore. For five agonizing seconds, every trace of red is swallowed by the murky sea. You wade into the water knee-deep, catching sight of the damaged cloth.

"Hello?" Your screams are lost against the storm, but you wait for a response anyway. The woman does not emerge from the waves.

Your heartbeat skyrockets, threatening to catapult out of your chest. You don't realize that you're diving in at first, but when your skin shatters through the water's surface, you are forced to keep going.

The pleasant cobalt color pasted onto tourist websites and brochures is nowhere to be seen, only a steadily darkening ink-like-color.

Fighting through the momentary state of shock your body reverted to, you rise from the waves and inhale deeply. Your limbs work against the current with strong, powerful strokes, your head twisting this way and that to avoid a mouth full of water. Thank god for your mother forcing you to join the swim team in your adolescence.

The sea sprays your face with mist, the salty droplets finding your eyes and impairing your vision. You blink furiously, trying to hold on to your blurring sense of sight as tears form. Without your eyes to reference for a guide, you push forward, blind in the water.

The precise fluidity of your strokes begins to waver as your muscles scream in pain. You strain them anyway, daring to open your eyes to grasp a sense of direction and finding none. You swim blind for what seemed like hours, though it could've only been minutes, your hand finally brushing against plastic and metal.

You open your left eye to find a tattered piece of the hang glider caressing your hand with every pump of the waves. You swirl around in the water desperately, trying to make out any sign of the woman.

She isn't there. You ignore the dread knotting in your stomach and force your body under. Your muscles ache as you strain them for power. Absolute terror runs through your body. You are swathed in frigid darkness that is nothing like swimming beneath the serene blue surface of the sea you've grown up playing in. Your treacherous mind conjures hundreds of monsters that could be lurking below, waiting for you to get close enough. A gnarled, scale claw reaching out and pulling you into the liquid abyss.

The ambient sound thrumming in your ears is deceptive. If you there had been any light to guide you, it would have been calming. Without being able to see, the noise only intensified your wariness.

Achoo!

Your sneeze forces you to open your mouth and the water enters. Your throat burns with the salt, and you resist the urge to breathe.

You spread your limbs out in hopes of brushing against the woman's hand, flailing around in the water helplessly. Your lungs begin to burn, begging for oxygen. You shelve their cries in the back of your mind, in one last attempt to find the woman. Your limbs begin to stop functioning and your senses start to numb.

You can't go on any longer. You have no sense of direction, no clue of how deep you are. The blackness doesn't point to an up or a down, and you feel yourself succumbing to it.

This is it. You tell yourself. This is your own fault. Now you're both going to die.

You whisper a sorry you'll never be able to say to your sister. Water enters your mouth and an air bubble escapes your lips. Gradually, it floats away from you. Towards open air! That must be it! Using the last of your energy, you make one desperate thrust towards the surface.

With a cry, you emerge from the water, your arm catching on to the broken hang glider just in time. You gulp air greedily, allowing your limbs to rest with the support of the material. The waves send you bobbing in the current, and a sliver of sunlight glimmers on the water's surface.

Rain is still hammering downward, feeding the raging waters. With a resigned sigh, you suck in air one last time before going under. This time, you hold on to the hang glider. You kick around in the water and--

The woman!

She was there all along, albeit unconscious, but had had the sense to hold onto the equipment. Otherwise, she would have now belonged to the deep.

If you hadn't come after her, the waves would have pulled her away.

You edge your way around the flying apparatus to reach her, relief flooding your senses. The darkness doesn't allow you to make out her features, but you can feel a tumble of hair now stuck to her bone-chilled form.

"Hey," You try to say, the voice that comes out, hoarse, ragged, and severely out of breath. "Hey, Wake up. Wake up!"

The woman does not respond, but the rise-and-fall of her chest lets you know she is still alive.

No longer having to fight the current, you relax, clutching the other's body close. You decide to let the sea pull you back to shore when mother nature unleashes her fury yet again. As if nearly drowning wasn't enough.

The flash of white forked from one cloud to another, brilliant against the dark sky. A ring of thunder crackled a mere second too late.

Lightning striking the sea is a rarity. The voice of your ninth-year chemistry teacher echoes inside your head. But when it does, the discharge spreads much farther due to the water's salinity.

Oh god.

We're

going to be

electrocuted.

The realization sends your mind into a frenzy, adrenaline flowing through your veins once again. The shoreline seems closer and more appealing than ever. With the memory of the lightning clear in your mind, you push off the hang glider, using the momentum to your advantage.

You push forward despite your sneezes. You're nearly there, you tell yourself. Swimming this far had already been an unthinkable feat. But to swim back? With worn out muscles and another's added bodyweight?

The odds are not in my favor today, you muse, recalling a random line from an American movie you couldn't quite remember the name of.

You push every thought out of your head, focusing on two simple words.

Almost There.

You're almost there.

CraaaAck!

Hints of white from behind appear in the corners of your vision. You pray to god that strike was cloud to cloud.

The distance between the two of you and the shore closes as your mind begins to pull away from reality.

Just when you are in danger of giving up, your limbs no longer moving and suspended in the water, your foot brushes a sandy bottom.

You let your limbs sag and stand, finding the water to your chest. You trudge the rest of the way, dragging on like a member of the undead. You pull the unconscious woman along, careful to keep her head above the water.

You crawl out of the sea and let the woman fall to the sandy beach with a soft thud.

Collapsing onto the sand, you moan in relief, your muscles throbbing fervently. You run your fingers back and forth through the wet granules of sand, relishing the feeling of dirt caking under your fingernails. You smear the dirt onto your face and even contemplate making a sand angel.

The limp silhouette of the woman can be made out by the last bits of sunlight. You hold your breath, trying to listen for her small groans for breath.

Silence.

Your limbs freeze.

She-she was breathing fine before! Well, not fine, but, the air was going in and out, and you saw her lungs expanding--

Not real--not real---not---

Achoo!

you wipe your nose hastily, returning to the woman.

What were you going to do? Ripping off her coat and the upper part of her black bodysuit, you pressed three fingers onto her wet throat, a weak pulse thumping beneath your touch. You pressed your ear to her chest, again, making out the heartbeat without feeling the motion of air intake.

A harsh groan escaped her lips, and the woman began to twitch, thrashing around. You could just make out the whites of her eyes as they opened into small slits.

She began to gasp hungrily, trying to swallow as much air as possible, not finding success.

Wh-what---how? Was she---did that mean she was alive? What to do.. ..What were you supposed to do?

And that's when it hit you.

Tenth year. The first aid course.

She had fallen into respiratory arrest. Her airway was blocked and she needed oxygen, stat.

You pushed her head back, planting your palm on her forehead and pinching her nose bridge shut. The woman began to weakly writhe against your grasp, not understanding what you were doing. Shoving a hand over her lips, you gulped a mouthful of air, meeting her mouth with yours and releasing, repeating the process over and over, thumping her chest in the intervals between.

Suddenly she gasped, flinging into sitting position, and steadying her erratic breaths. The woman shivered, and it was then you realized that the rain had worsened even further.

Slowly, you helped her to a small cave within a rock formation just wide enough for two people to sit in. Not knowing what to say, you wrapped your arms around her tall, lithe form, drawing her close, patting her back, and using her coat as a covering.

"Usually, I don't accept kisses until the second date."

Achoo!

You wiped your nose and blinked, not sure if you were imagining something. "Did you say something?" You responded in accented English, your voice thick and heavy with enunciations on certain sounds. You weren't Venezuelan by blood, but you'd lived here your entire life and had picked up the vocal trends.

The woman laughed, the sound weak and dry, her response that followed a hoarse whisper."You heard me."

"Well, I would not consider this a normal date," You replied sheepishly, glad the shadows obscured the blush blooming within your cheeks.

"That's definitely true." She murmured, pain entering her voice. "Thank you. From the bottom of my heart. You saved my life."

You realize your arms are still wrapped around her. Gently, you release the woman, sitting opposite to her. "A-are you okay? How you feel?"

"Like I was p-put through hell and b-back."

"You--you breathing. . .right? Um--In--Injuries?"

"A little stuffed, but getting better. And nothing, really. J-just my head feeling foggy and c-cold."

You cursed under your breath, a wave of panic wrapping around you. "How you say? Hypothermia? I th-think you. . .You need doct---"

"NO!" The woman snapped, launching upwards. Almost immediately, she crumpled back to the ground. "No. No Doctors. I can't--No Hospital."

"B---"

"No! No Doctors! You don't understand!" Despite her bedraggled state, there was a fervor in her tone that took you aback.

Startled, you nodded, fumbling over your English, the knowledge suddenly forgotten with the gravity of the situation sinking in once again. "O-kay. Okay. No doctor. B-but, what. . .what do I. . . . ? Your home. . .is there place....to take you?"

"Yes. p-please. P-Punta Palma hotel, s-suite 707. If you...d-don't mind..." The woman replied in perfect Argentinian accented Castilian Spanish as if sensing your discomfort with the English language. The gesture tamed some of your nerves, though your dialect happened to be Andalusian.

Achoo!

"Sounds like you need a tissue." The woman laughed weakly.

"Do you have one?" You ask with sarcasm.

"No."

Once again, the rain picked up, halting the response forming in your throat. It pours out in sheets, hammering at one side of your body and not allowing your vision to detect anything past a ten-foot radius. There was no way the two of you could walk the mile it took to reach the city.

You sigh, careful to keep Venezuelan slang out of your Spanish so she can understand. "We have to wait out the storm for a while. Is-is that okay?"

The woman nodded. "And, uh, what--what would be the name of my savior?"

"Y/N." You murmur.

At this, she smiles. "I'm. . .I'm Carmen."

"Carmen. . ." You echo. How fitting. The lady in red. Carmen.

You flinch when she scoots near you, closing the space between your bodies and snuggling in. Though she's cold to the touch, it feels...right, somehow. After a moment, you loosen your limbs and relax into Carmen's side. After all, she needed to stay warm. This was....to help her out. You kept that thought in mind as you drifted off to sleep, your limbs throbbing from the evening's exertion.

. . . .

When you woke up, the rain had died down. Though the clouds were still gray, the violet-blue of the evening sky was peeking through exposed portions between them. To your surprise, your arm was draped over Carmen's mid-section, the other resting in her hair. Slowly, carefully, you pulled away, scooting to the mouth of the cave as blood rushed to your cheeks.

A moan escaped Carmen's lips, now left with a reddish tint. Her eyes struggled to open as she lifted her body into a sitting position.

The light from the remnants of the sunset falls into the cave and you get your first good look at her.

Carmen's skin is a smooth caramel brown, apart from seemingly fresh bruises and scratches, and is warmed by the rays of light. The only exceptions are her palms, the skin pink and shriveled from her time in the water. You can't tell if her hair, stuck all over her limp figure, is a maroon or dark brown. A strand sticks to her nose, which ends in a gentle, slim slope right before her small, bee-stung lips.

Thick eyebrows knit together over a pair of downturned eyes, both screwed shut. She finally managed to open them, revealing inquisitive irises of gray taking on the barest bluish hue. Orange pools at their edges, as well as a hint of white--from the sunset and clouds that begin to move over the sliver of sun.

"Hello." You try awkwardly, wincing yet again at the sound of your voice on English.

"Hi." She replies with a tired yet teasing smile, not trying to hide it as her gaze lazily slides over you. Carmen's eyes return to meet yours and her lips swivel into a smirk, amusement within her expression.

Looking away, you blush, and say in wonderful, familiar Espanol, glad that she understands the language. "Uh-Uhm, we can probably go now. It's safe. I think."

She nods, her legs wobbling as she tries to stand. After a few tremors, her legs buckle, and she falls forward. You catch her, holding her closer than you should before steadying the woman.

"Th-thanks."

"Your welcome." You reply in English.

With your help, she finds balance and begins to walk next to you. The two of you leave the opening of the cave, taking a moment to peer at the ocean before continuing along.

"My glider." Carmen muses wistfully. "It's gone, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid so."

She sighs. "It. . .carried me through some hard times. I guess. . .I guess it's time for something new."

She doesn't elaborate on her vague statement, and you don't ask. At least not directly. "So--why were you hang-gliding in the middle of a storm?"