❧ A dark reimagining of Arcane season 2, exploring Viktor's self-hatred, his desperate love for Jayce, and the twisted ways trauma destroys your mind and the people you love.
❧ rating: E
❧ chapter 1/? || words: 2,482
❧ fic link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73717241
❧ event: @jayvikbigbang
I am incredibly lucky to have been partnered with the amazing and wonderful @alyssamariag for this one. your art captured so much of the agony and desperation of these two emotionally damaged beans. your love and passion for the little words I wrote mean truly everything to me. thank you for the feels, the friendship, and the love. I'm so excited we get to share this with the world at long last!! 🖤
See this is why we put @alwayslurkinginthebackground in charge of Pedrotober on tumblr. Not a peep from me all month ToT I'm so bad at crossposting!, sorry gang I'll get to uploading all my pieces soon!
I am so excited to be participating in another year of Pedrotober, which, for those just joining us, is a daily art challenge that takes place in October, similar to Inktober, but all about Pedro Pascal. It was created in 2022 by @Morguedesign on Instagram and has been hosted by @norththelemon and @alyssamariag since 2024. All mediums are welcome to participate in this challenge! Anything from drink recipes to writing, to of course, digital or traditional art in any style and medium (except AI).
Entries deemed to have used AI in its creation will not be featured and will not be counted towards the challenge.
For the Google doc version of the prompt list and all info about Pedrotober, click HERE!
How do I participate?
Whatever your art form, create your piece, whether daily or weekly, following along with the prompt list, and upload to your socials!
Late uploads and reposts of older artwork are COMPLETELY WELCOME! We encourage sleep and sanity over a complete challenge. If you upload later than the prompt date, we will do our best to still feature you.
Use the hashtags #Pedrotober and #Pedrotober2025 so we can find you in-feed in addition to tagging @norththelemon and @alyssamariag here or on Insta, or @alwayslurkinginthebackground here on tumblr as well!
Are you a Writer?
While Pedrotober mainly takes place on Instagram, we have a growing community of writers on Tumblr. This year, I am THRILLED to be working as a point-person for this group!
I will be here all month long writing short drabbles daily, and as we go on I’ll be making a anthology of all our work, so feel free to tag me if you’d like to be included! I have a few other tricks up my sleeve for Pedrotober too, including prompts and inspo, and I can’t wait to to share it all with you!
If you have any questions, please feel free to reach out to our fearless co-hosts, @alyssamariag and @norththelemon, or shoot me a message!
✨ PEDROTOBER 2025 PROMPTS ✨ In our best Mariah Carey voices, iiiiit’s tiiiiime! 🎶 Pedrotober is officially back another year - we’re so excited to share these prompts with you 🥹
Pedro had another huge, amazing year this year and it was both tough and fun to try and capture it all in 31 days. This is our favorite time of the year - to spend a whole month long making art celebrating Pedro with friends, and we CAN’T WAIT to see what you make! 💜
ALL MEDIUMS WELCOME! And please no AI entries. If we suspect your entry uses AI, we will not be featuring in our stories.
As always, if you can’t join us for the whole month, check out just the Weekly Prompts - color coded and separated on slide 2.
For these prompts, the idea is — feel free to do the color, the prompt/event attached to it, OR smash the two together! We wanted to give everyone extra freedom to create this year, as well as honor what @morguedesign did in 2023 with the colors.
This entire post is available in our bios as a google doc for easy referencing during the challenge.
🌟 NEW THIS YEAR — if you’re a writer, please check out @alwayslurkinginthebackground, who will be kind of our “point-person” for our writers on Tumblr this year! Please tag Elise in your stories for extra community and writing inspo during Pedrotober 💜📝
And finally, as always, YES — you will get stickers from Alyssa and North at the end for participating! 👀
Huge thank you again @morguedesign for creating our favorite tradition, and for letting @norththelemon and @alyssamariag to host. Pedrotober forever 💜💜
A Jayce I drew on his birthday to celebrate the occasion (July 8th). Happy belated, Jayce!
Sometimes I like drawing simply in my kidlit style and sometimes I have the urge to bust out a semi realistic portrait to see if I still can. Pretty happy with how my lighting skills are improving!
Total time 2hrs 37 mins and 2,181 brushstrokes inside Procreate.
I dedicate this one to @faretheeoscar because your friendship, your love for Jayvik and becoming obsessed with Arcane alongside you have been the true highlights of my 2025 so far.
Pairing: Frankie Morales x Santiago Garcia x reader
Rating: Just G for General Fluff here!
Word Count: 725
a/n: I've had this thought kind of stuck in my head since the picture of Oscar and Pedro dropped, and then Joel Miller wore glasses, and then this happened for Raindro Blue. Enjoy this bit of FishPope and honestly be ready bc I feel these two in my bones so I'm sure they'll be back soon.
"I just don't think I need them," Frankie complains for what must be the thousandth time, his hands rubbing at his eyes. You're sitting across from him at the table, but your gaze meets Santi's from where he's leaning against the counter.
It had been a struggle to get even to this point, glasses in hand but not yet perched on the bridge of his nose. He's been insistent that he didn't need them, fighting until the last minute when his superiors insisted that if he ever wanted to fly again, it was going to be after the addition of correctional lenses, but you understand why it's hard. Santi does, too.
It's just another reminder that he's getting older when someone else isn't.
You tried to tell him that it wasn't. After all, you got your glasses when you were just a kid, so it wasn't like it actually had anything to do with how old he is, but that wasn't really the root of the problem and you all knew it. Santi had done his best to point out that he could just get contacts instead, but that hadn't helped either. If anything, it made the situation worse.
"Frankie, please," you whisper, voice straining. "The doctor wouldn't prescribe something you don't need and plus," you point out, leaning your head on your hand, "you asked me to turn the volume up on the TV last week because you couldn't read the captions."
It was meant to be funny, but he doesn't laugh, his eyes still closed, and another glance at Santi tells you that perhaps this time it isn't your battle to fight. It was like that, sometimes, with any of the four who returned largely unscathed from Columbia, but especially between Santi and Frankie. An invisible connection that had bonded them in ways you'd never really be able to understand.
There's the scrape of a chair as the younger man sits, his hands immediately reaching for Frankie's. He tucks them neatly between his, so much like the way Frankie holds yours that you wonder if that's where he picked it up. "Fish, you know..." Santi starts, but he's quickly cut off.
"I'm not wearing them," he insists, pulling away abruptly. He moves to the living room, his glasses abandoned on the table.
You let Santi go first, massaging your temple before you follow. Frankie's already on the couch, his head in his hands, and his friend moves toward him immediately. You, however, step in a different direction, your feet carrying you toward the stairs. There's a part of you that wants to give them privacy, but there's also the tether that binds you to him, the one that has you concerned enough this time that you want to keep your gaze on him. The same worry that you've felt so many times throughout your relationship and one so similar to a feeling you know Santiago shares. It's enough for you to compromise, settling yourself on the steps with your arms wrapped around your knees as you watch.
"Francisco," Santi whispers as he sits beside him, "listen to me. We can't just stop living because he's gone."
Your boyfriend doesn't say anything, but you know he's listening by the way his head droops just a bit further down, his palms pressed against his eyes. You want more than anything to hold him right now, to wipe away the tears that are likely threatening to fall, but then you see Santi move again, his hands firm on Frankie's shoulders as he draws him into his arms.
It's slow and it's intentional, the way Santi settles against Frankie's head, pressing a kiss to his forehead as your boyfriend presses against his chest. He curls into him until there's barely a breath between their bodies, and your heart flutters at the sight because it's beautiful, really, the way they cling to one another.
You mentally take a picture before quietly finding your way upstairs, your soul suddenly settled with the knowledge that he's okay. That Santiago will take care of him the way he always has.
And when Frankie appears in the kitchen the next morning with his glasses on, it's all you can do to press a kiss to his cheek and send a text to Santiago.
Thanks for all the love on this one y'all <3 I want to leave it up so all the nice things everyone said about these two can stay
My fault for not being active at all on here lately but thank you for doing the right thing and crediting me, @julesonrecord next time just don't reupload my art <3 thank you
Day Ten of Pedrotober: Fav Tee/Candids
Pedrotober hosted by @norththelemon and @alyssamariag. View the full prompt list HERE and view my entire Pedrotober drabble catalog HERE.
Pairing: Mr. Ben x f!reader
Rating: I'd say G except there's no G in National Treasure. But it's still rated G anyway.
Word Count: 1001
a/n: I took a little liberty with this one and am mostly calling back to my favorite Pedro post of all time. It cracks me up every time I think about it. This one is set in the same universe as "The Competition" and also mentions everyone's favorite rival science teacher, Noah!
Do you think some people have killed themselves over nausea?
You can't help the glance you make at the text that's lit up your phone, even as your students watch you with a suspicious gaze. They know something is up. They always did, but you still do your best to ignore your phone until the bell. But when it lights up again, and then repeatedly after that, one of the teenagers in front of you raises their hand.
"Are you going to check that?"
"Yeah," another student quickly chimes in, followed by a murmuring from the rest of the class, "is Mr. Ben okay?"
The urge to let out a deep sigh overwhelms you. These kids. Ever since your relationship went public, they took every opportunity to goad both of you. "Mr. Ben is fine," you insist. "Now, let's get back to Hamlet."
A groan fills the classroom.
"We know Mr. Ben is sick," someone calls out.
"Yeah, he has to be!"
Your quietest student in the front row even speaks up. "We just want to know if he's okay."
Your eyebrows shoot up and you take in the genuine expressions gazing at you. They weren't just asking because of the fan cams or whatever sort of complex they attributed to the staff of your high school. They were asking because of actual concern.
Something breaks in you, and you finally retreat to your desk to read through the copious texts he's sent over the last ten minutes. He'd been under the weather when you left him this morning, and you knew it was serious because your boyfriend never called out of work, but as you scroll through the messages you wonder if you should've stayed home with him.
Do you think some people have killed themselves over nausea?
Can you please get some pedialite on the way home?
Can you remind Noah that he's not to mess with the cabinet in the back???????
I hate being sick
Also some bananas. they're good for this kind of thing
I think
You reminded Noah, right?
"What did he say?" a student asks, and when you look up their eyes are still trained on you.
"He's just asking me to pick up some Pedialite on the way home," you explain, which isn't a lie. You know they're waiting for more when they stare at you with eager expressions. "And some bananas," you add as though that will satisfy their curiosity.
Another hand goes up and you point toward them. "Mr. Ben is going to be okay though, right?"
You smile softly, looking around at the students that, at the end of the day, you both adore. "Yes, Mr. Ben will be just fine," you assure them as the phone in your hand lights up again.
Babe I'm dying
You shuffle the bags in your hands as you unlock the front door, about to call for your boyfriend when you realize he's sprawled out on the couch, sound asleep. His hair sticks up every which way and he looks a bit more pale than you'd like, but he's alive. Your students would be thrilled.
Once the bags are discarded on the kitchen counter, you tiptoe your way back to the living room, mindful of the trashcan he's placed next to him. It's empty. A good sign, at least. "Hey honey," you whisper, the back of your fingers pressing up against his forehead. Still warm, but not burning like this morning.
Ben groans, shifting into a ball as he clutches his stomach. It's obvious he's still not feeling well, and you frown as you watch him, wishing there was something else you could do. "Did you get the Pedialite?" he asks quietly.
"Yeah," you return softly. "And the bananas and some rice and crackers and chicken noodle soup." He only hums in response. "What are you doing out here?"
He cracks his eyes open to look at you. "Didn't feel like laying in bed anymore. Wanted to watch National Treasure."
You laugh as you continue to run your fingers through his hair in what you hope is a calming motion. You learned early in your relationship that National Treasure was one of his comfort movies. "You could've watched in the bedroom, you know." He's silent, so you continue. "Did you just watch the first one?"
"Saved the second for when you got home."
"Ah," you soothe, "well why don't we get you back in bed and we can watch it together then?" It takes a moment, but he slowly sits up, glancing at the trash can once before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "You gonna make it, babe?" you ask with a hand on his shoulder.
Ben looks at you, "I don't know. The jury's still out." He does look a little pale as you help him back to bed, but once he's tucked under the quilt with you beside him, he seems a bit better. His head is resting against your chest, one of his hands tracing circles on your hip, as his second favorite comfort movie plays on the TV.
"The kids were really worried about you today," you tell him as Nicholas Cage appears on screen. "I think they were genuinely concerned."
"Well yeah, if I died who are they going to make fan cams of?"
Laughter rumbles through both of you as you hold him a little tighter. "Guess they'd just have to move onto Noah."
His grip tightens. "You did tell him to stay away from my cabinet, right?"
"Oh, was I supposed to?" you tease, but when he pulls back to look at you with pure concern, you're quick to guide him back to your chest, smoothing his curls as you do. "Yes, honey, I told him not to look in your secret wall competition cabinet."
His weight settles back against you as he sighs, still uneasy. "You didn't look in it either, right?"
Day Nine of Pedrotober: Fink the Fox
Pedrotober hosted by @norththelemon and @alyssamariag. View the full prompt list HERE and view my entire Pedrotober drabble catalog HERE.
Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader
Rating: G for Goslings are the cutest. Mention of minor character death (parent).
Word Count: 690
a/n: This was actually the very FIRST idea I had for this entire challenge, and it was the one that convinced me to do it. If you haven't seen The Wild Robot yet, please head to your local theater to see it the way it's meant to be seen and support Pedro and the entire cast and crew of this incredibly stunning film! You won't regret it! (But also, bring tissues).
"No! Fink! Stop it!"
The sound of the young girl's plea floats up the hill and through the open window, which gives you a clear view of where Frankie and his daughter are sprawled out on the grass.
The sound of her laughter is a welcome one. She's been distant in the months she's been with you, which is unsurprising considering the circumstances. Frankie had been very open about the reality that he had a daughter. He'd told you on your first date, and you could see the sadness in his eyes when he explained that she lived on the other side of the country. You saw her as often as you could, but when her mother suddenly passed away, leaving her in his custody, your lives changed overnight.
Losing a parent at such a young age was difficult. You knew the pain all too well, having lost your own mother at around the same age. You hadn't understood at the time, and neither did she when she suddenly came to live with the two of you. Not fully. But something had clicked when you'd taken her to see The Wild Robot a few weeks earlier.
First, she'd begged for a trip to the pool, where your husband held her as she paddled around in the water learning to "swim." Then it was the surprising request for grass for dinner. You'd convinced her spinach was close enough and watched in awe as she happily munched on the greens. The house would be filled with energy each night when Frankie carried her in his arms, racing around the house as she pretended to fly, and you'd lean against the doorway of her bedroom each night listening to him read her the book.
And today, it seems, she's eager to enlist her real father as the fox who reluctantly becomes one in the film.
Their voices carry to you as you step out into the backyard. "You can't eat me!" Ana squeals as Frankie tickles her mercilessly.
"Why not?" he teases, fingers flying over her stomach. "Foxes eat goslings. I'm a fox. I do foxy things." It's not an uncommon sight for them to be rolling around in the dirt, but you can't help but laugh at the way his hat has been lost somewhere in the grass, leaving behind messy curls that do, in fact, make him look a little more like the fox he's meant to portray.
"No!" she yells, giggling continuously as she tries to push him off. She must catch a glimpse of you because then she's calling out again. "Roz! Help!"
You raise your eyebrows, pointing a finger at your chest as you mouth me back at her as you slowly walk toward them. You shake your head when she again cries out for help. "I can't possibly be Roz, but maybe Fink should remember that there's a truce in this backyard."
Frankie halts his assault and Ana wiggles free. He wears the same expression as a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar or, rather, a fox caught with a goose egg that isn't his. His daughter is still breathing heavily when she marches up to you. "You are Roz," she informs you. "You have to be..."
Ana trails off, putting the thought together in her head while the two of you remain silent, holding your breath as you wait.
"Because..." she repeats, "Because I'm Brightbill." Then she points at Frankie, "and Fink is Brightbill's Dad." Then she turns to you, her small hand now pointing in your direction, "and Roz is Brightbill's Mom."
She says it as though it's the simplest thing, but when Frankie's gaze meets yours, you both know that it's anything but simple.
"So yes," Ana continues confidently, unaware of the emotion now coursing through you, "you're Roz. Because you're my Mom."
You kneel down to her level, collapsing against the soft ground as you reach your arms out for her to fall into and you hold her tightly. When you look up at Frankie through tear-filled eyes, there's warmth radiating from his gaze.
Day 8 of Pedrotober: Corona
Pedrotober hosted by @norththelemon and @alyssamariag. View the full prompt list HERE and view my entire Pedrotober drabble catalog HERE.
Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader
Rating: THIS IS FOR EVERYONE WHO BELIEVES IN LOVE. The briefest of mentions of unwanted advances in a bar setting.
Word Count: 2268
a/n: This is for @alyssamariag and she knows it. I legitimately blacked out writing this one and somehow it's now here.
"You'll find someone eventually, sweetie," your mom reminds you for what feels like the millionth time. "You just have to put yourself out there."
It's exhausting, really, these weekly phone calls where you're reminded time and time again that your brother is getting married. Five years younger and he was beating you to the alter the same way every one of your friends has. But he was lucky. He met his future wife in college when they sat next to one another in class. An organic meet cute that spawned into a flourishing relationship.
Meanwhile, your college boyfriend cheated on you the first chance he got.
"I have to go, Mom," you cut her off as Frankie walks through the front door. He gives you a knowing look when he realizes you're on the phone, moving through your house like he lives there. And these days, he basically does.
As the only single members of your friend group, you spend your time together while the others spend theirs with their partners. It was, at times, perhaps a little concerning how co-dependent the two of you were becoming, but seeing Frankie each evening was much better than the alternative of being alone.
And it wasn't like the two of you hadn't tried to find partners. You'd just never been in the right place at the right time. Frankie was fresh out of a long-term relationship when you met him, and starting a flight school had kept him far too busy for far too long. For you, moving across the country hadn't helped much. You'd had to start fresh. New city, new job, new home, new friends, all built from the ground up. Where the move had done little for your love life, it had brought you a sense of accomplishment, a wealth of new experiences, and, most importantly, your boys.
Which, you suppose, was a bit of good fortune. The way you just happened to walk into the same bar on the same night that they were already seated around a table celebrating Benny's latest win. The way your coworker ditched you early on, leaving you alone at the bar nursing a once-cold bottle of Corona. The way all four of them had jumped to your defense when a man tried to slip his arm around your waist.
But even they had found people to share their lives with while you and Frankie sat on the sidelines, doing your due diligence by downloading dating apps. You even dragged him along to a speed dating event that Santi had signed you up for, but the world wasn't what it once was. You couldn't just attend a cooking class and expect to meet your soulmate while roasting a turkey. And if you did manage to secure your significant other one side dish at a time, it was still because of luck.
"Your Mom again?" Frankie asks when you step into your kitchen, already feeling the urge to rant boiling in your veins.
You nod. "She's on me again. Reminding me that my biological clock is ticking and that I have to get serious about this before she's too old to play with her grandchildren."
Frankie scoffs, "You don't want kids though."
"That's what I keep telling her, but I don't know that it'll ever stick in your brain," you bite out as you help him unbag the Chinese food he's brought you for dinner. "But," you continue, conceding a bit, "she is also kind of right."
He pauses, staring at you with wide eyes until the heat permeating through the thin cardboard of the box of rice he's holding threatens to burn his fingers. He sets it on the counter with a wince and turns to you. "Don't tell me you're letting her get in your head."
You shrug, avoiding his gaze as you grab plates. "I don't know." You exhale heavily as you set the dishes down next to him, turning to lean back against the counter. "I just wish I could skip this whole dating thing and get to the happy ending part. It's just unfair, you know? How we're supposed to put ourselves out there on these apps when all anyone is looking for there is a good fuck. And if you don't rely on the apps, you're not trying hard enough. And if none of that worked, it's entirely up to fate to put you in the right place at the right time."
There's a beat of silence before he responds, his voice dripping with understanding. "I know what you mean." Of course, he does. Of anyone, he's the only one that does.
"It's like playing the lottery and losing every time," you sigh again, scooping rice onto one of the dishes. "Maybe I should just have Benny set me up on that blind date he keeps talking about or something."
"Are you sure you want to do that?"
You hand him his own plate of food. "It's better than not trying, isn't it?"
Frankie says nothing.
If you were serious about the blind date, I have someone I could set you up with. Better than Benny's guy.
His text feels like it comes out of nowhere. You're on your way home from work when you see it pop up on your car's notification system, and you swear you feel your stomach drop a little at the suggestion. You'd mostly been kidding when you said it, overwhelmed by the lecture you'd just been given by your mother, and there's something about Frankie making the offer that doesn't sit right with you. Sitll, you're curious.
Who is it? You text back once you've put the car in park, grabbing your phone as you head inside.
He replies instantly, doesn't that defeat the point of a blind date??
You roll your eyes and call him instead and he picks up on the second ring. "It does not defeat the purpose," you explain, "I just want to know what I'm getting into before I say yes."
Your best friend chuckles on the other end of the line. "It's just someone I work with. Nice guy, recently out of a relationship, tall," Frankie explains, well aware of your type.
"Is he a scruffy-looking nerfherder, too?" you ask, quoting The Empire Strikes Back. You'd once told him that that was your type. Harrison Ford saving Carrie Fisher from an icy planet.
"Maybe."
You ponder your options for a moment. You'd never actually texted Benny about the idea, but having it come out of left field on Frankie's part feels a little like a sign. Maybe this is the stroke of luck you need. A random introduction that would lead to a fairytale romance.
"I'll do it," you tell him, "on one condition. I get to set you up with someone, too."
Frankie's quiet, and you wish you could see his face right now because you can picture the panic you know is written on it. But you aren't about to find your true love and leave him in the dust. "Who is it?" he asks, imitating your earlier questioning.
"A friend from work," you reply sarcastically, even if it isn't a lie. "You'll like her. She's smart, a little quiet, and brunette."
"I really think you'll like her," you explain to Frankie as the two of you walk through the grocery store, a weekly trip you take together. "She works in finance, she actually knows something about how to fix a car, and she loves to travel." He nods along, pushing the cart as you grab things from both of your lists. "But what about my prince charming?" you inquire, setting a box of Cap'n Crunch in the basket. For all you've told him about his date, he's told you very little.
"He...." Frankie pauses for a second, "...he's..."
You tilt your head. "You're really selling him here, Morales."
He shrugs, "What am I supposed to say? He's the most attractive man I've ever met? You'll definitely be satisfied by him? I'm sure he has a big..."
A mother passing by with her daughter in the cart coughs before he can finish the sentence and you struggle to hold in a laugh as he apologizes. The two of you move further down the aisle, "Okay, maybe not that, but what's he like as a person? What does he do for fun?"
Frankie sucks in a breath. "He likes a lot of the same things I do, I guess. He's...nurturing?"
Your eyebrows raise as you lead him down another aisle. "Nurturing?"
"Yeah," he grunts softly. "Nurturing. Like, he's loyal. Cares about the people in his life. The kind of person that will take care of you when you're sick or watch that dumb Tom Hanks movie you love so much."
"You've Got Mail," you supply, causing him to roll his eyes before continuing, but it's obvious that he chooses his next words carefully.
"He's the kind of person who will be there for you even when it's two in the morning and you're up because it's storming. I guess he can be a little stubborn, but it's usually just because he cares too much." He pauses, and you open your mouth to respond, but then he keeps going and you can do nothing but listen, transfixed. "Loves movies and has his pilot's license like me. Quiet sometimes, but he can be a little mischievous, too. It's all in good fun, though. It just means he loves you."
You've stopped next to the pasta and are staring at him, eyes wide. "Is that all?"
He nods. "That good enough for you?"
"Yeah, that's good."
Your date comes faster than you anticipated. Frankie has you set up at a local bar to meet with his coworker, although per your agreement, you didn't even know his name. He'd be sitting, Frankie explained, at a table near the back and would be drinking a Corona. When you insisted that you needed more information, he asked if you'd prefer a rose in a book, but you'd simply hit his arm and grudgingly agreed to his plan.
His date, meanwhile, was set for the following evening. Your coworker hadn't stopped talking about it all week, excited about the prospect of meeting someone new. For someone who was usually quiet, she was obnoxiously loud when it came to Frankie, and you couldn't help but wince every time she brought him up. It wasn't that you were jealous, because you weren't. You and Frankie were never meant to be more than friends, and that was lucky enough.
So why didn't it feel that way?
As you check your makeup in the rearview mirror, you debate driving back home. It would be easy to leave. Easy to call Frankie on the way and tell him you didn't feel a spark and ask if he'd pick up a pizza and come over for a movie night. Cancel the whole thing and go back to your simple single life.
Your phone lights up on the passenger seat with a text from Frankie, as if he's heard your thoughts somehow. Have fun tonight.
Well, now you have to go inside. And maybe this wouldn't work out. Maybe Frankie was wrong and this guy wasn't for you, but you have to go for him. Because your best friend put in the time and effort to set you up with someone he genuinely thought you would like. And you trust his judgement wholeheartedly.
With one last breath, you step from your car, finding your confidence in your heels as you make your way toward the same bar you'd met the boys at all those years ago. It's crowded inside, more so than usual, and you have to apologize a few times as you weave your way through the mass of people. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest and your stomach feels like throwing up might be a preferable activity right now, but you press on until you can see someone sitting at a table near the back.
You try to make out his features through the dim light, but he's turned away from you. You know it's him though because the light above his table illuminates the Corona he's holding with one hand. When the song changes on the radio, Harry Nilsson's Somewhere Over the Rainbow playing through the speakers, you realize you've been standing there for too long.
That, actually, you don't want to go through with this.
What you want is to go home. You want to call Frankie. You want to curl up in his arms. You want...
"Frankie," you breathe out because he's there in front of you as he turns. Like you've summoned him.
He leaves the Corona on the table as he stands and takes a step toward you. He says nothing as he invades your space. You feel like crying, and maybe you are because he tells you not to, wiping the tears from your cheeks with his thumb.
"I wanted it to be you," you say softly, quoting Meg Ryan because, you realize, this is what it feels like to be lucky. "How did you..."
Frankie smiles. "You didn't think I'd actually let you end up with someone else, did you?"
"No," you tell him tearfully, "you're too stubborn for that." It's easy to melt into his embrace as he draws you closer. "And mischievous," you add, repeating what he told you at the grocery store, "but I guess that just means he loves me."
Day Seven of Pedrotober: Ezra
Pedrotober hosted by @norththelemon and @alyssamariag.View the full prompt list HERE and view my entire Pedrotober drabble catalog HERE.
Pairing: Ezra x reader (not gender specific)
Rating: G for I can't get the way this man Grunts out of my head. Truly, though, it's just angst.
Word Count: 369
a/n: I won't lie - Ezra isn't my guy. SciFi isn't my thing. But angst? That I can do.
Ten.
"You have to go." His words rip through you like a knife and you hesitate, turning back to look at him.
Nine.
You want to plead. Beg him to come with you into the small capsule that you both know is only designed for one.
Eight.
"We'll figure it out, Ezra," you try to reassure him. "I'll come back. I'll find a ship and I'll come back."
Seven.
"I know you will." He says it like he believes it, even though the lie sits between you until it becomes stale. The fact that you have a chance to escape now is just dumb luck, and dumb luck rarely repeats itself.
Six.
He presses you further into the capsule, his body crowding you into the cramped space. He buckles the straps across your chest, the beep of the timer ticking beside your head.
Five.
His helmet presses against yours, just for a second. It's not close enough. It never would be.
Four.
You want to scream as he moves toward the door. You madly grab at his hand, tangling your fingers together at the last second. To touch him for just a moment longer even through the layers that separate your fingertips.
Three.
His eyes betray his emotions and you see the desire to hold you back. To keep you here, with him, on this godforsaken planet simply because you make it better. You make his entire existence better. You can see all the reasons he wants to keep you, which are also all the reasons he has to let you go.
Two.
You tell yourself he'll find his way back to you. He's resourceful, he's kept you both alive all this time. You want to believe that you'll spend another night in his arms, be allowed to love him the way he deserves to be loved. That you'll get the chance to give him the life you both dreamed of. That he'll find a way, even if you can't.
One.
"I love you," you whisper as he pulls away and shuts the door, closing you off as the engines rumble. The crash had taken everything from you. But it hadn't taken him. And yet, you'd lost him anyway.
