andy-15-07

[andy-15-07]

Would you do Pedro Pascal x f!reader

In noon, your body was having cramps that you have your period and you’re gonna lay in couch. Pedro wasn’t at home yet but he’ll visit his family quite bit. You’re gonna text him and he looks at your text that he might be worried about you. After few moments ago, he brought heating pad, pads and all stuff he brought to make you feel better. He went to you that you’re in bedroom, laying and rest. He looks at her and her hand and kiss her hand. You woke up as Pedro was home. You two comfort that you tell him what happened. *fluffiness*

(Hope you will write it, thanks and have a good day)

Resting in Your Embrace

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 2716 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The noon light filtered softly through the curtains as you lay curled on the couch, the familiar ache of cramps radiating through your lower abdomen. It was one of those days when your body felt like it was waging its own quiet war, and every pulse of pain reminded you just how delicate you were. You had planned to rest, to simply let the discomfort wash over you while you drifted between wakefulness and sleep, but as the minutes passed, you realized you needed a little more than just silence to help soothe the storm inside.

With a hesitant sigh, you reached for your phone and typed out a quick message to Pedro, knowing that his caring presence had a way of making even the toughest days seem brighter. “Hey, I’m really not feeling great today. The cramps are pretty bad, and I’m just lying here trying to catch my breath. Could really use a little help.” You pressed send before you could second-guess yourself, already feeling a bit lighter from having reached out.

Almost immediately, your phone buzzed with his reply—a string of words that carried the weight of his concern. “Hey love, I’m on my way. Stay put, I’ve got everything you need,” read the message, and it was as if his care was already wrapping around you like a soft blanket. Even though Pedro had been out visiting family earlier, he always managed to carve out time for you. His thoughtfulness had become one of your anchors, and at that moment, you knew relief was just around the corner.

Time seemed to stretch as you waited, each minute marked by the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall. You closed your eyes, attempting to sink into a gentle rest despite the persistent ache. The room was peaceful—the soft hum of a distant radio mingled with the occasional whisper of the breeze through the open window. In that stillness, you could almost forget the pain for a few precious moments.

Then, the sound of the door unlocking stirred you from your light doze. You barely had time to register the gentle footsteps before Pedro stepped into the room, a small bag clutched in his hand and a tender smile lighting up his face. “Hey, beautiful,” he greeted softly, his voice a soothing melody that calmed your racing heart. “I brought you a heating pad, some pads, and a few other little things to help you feel better.” His eyes, warm with care, searched yours as he set his bag down by the door.

A small smile tugged at your lips despite the pain. “You always know just what to do,” you murmured, your voice tinged with both gratitude and lingering discomfort. Pedro didn’t waste a moment—he moved closer, his presence radiating a quiet assurance that made you feel safe. He knelt beside you on the bed, gently taking your hand in his. With deliberate tenderness, he pressed his lips to your hand in a slow, caring kiss that sent a ripple of comfort through your entire being.

“I hate seeing you like this,” Pedro whispered, his thumb softly caressing your skin as if to erase every pang of pain. “I just want you to feel okay. Is there anything else you need?” His eyes held yours with a depth of empathy that made you feel understood in a way that went beyond words.

You managed a small laugh, despite the lingering discomfort. “Just having you here is more than enough right now,” you replied, your voice a blend of vulnerability and affection. “Honestly, sometimes it feels like my body is betraying me, but when you’re here, it doesn’t seem so bad.”

Pedro’s smile widened, and he squeezed your hand reassuringly. “Remember last winter when you got sick and refused to let anyone take care of you? You were stubborn, but I knew you needed help. I’m not letting you fight this alone, okay?” His tone was both teasing and serious, a reminder that while you could be fiercely independent, even the strongest needed a little help sometimes.

As he moved around the room, setting up the heating pad near you and placing the other supplies on a bedside table, the air between you filled with a comforting intimacy. “Do you want me to get you some tea? Maybe something soothing like chamomile?” Pedro asked, his eyes sparkling with concern as he looked up at you.

“That would be perfect,” you replied, shifting slightly to let him adjust your pillow. “I could really use something warm to drink.”

He rose briefly to head to the small kitchenette, and as you listened to the soft clinks of cups and the gentle hum of the kettle, you couldn’t help but reflect on how much these simple gestures meant. It wasn’t just the physical relief that warmed you—it was the emotional care, the silent promise that Pedro would always be there, ready to mend the small fractures of your day.

A few minutes later, Pedro returned with a steaming mug of tea and a second mug for himself. He settled on the edge of the bed, offering you the warm cup with a gentle smile. “Here you go, love. Drink up—it’s just for you.” His hand brushed against yours again, and you felt a surge of gratitude that was almost overwhelming.

Taking a careful sip, you let the warmth of the tea seep into your bones, momentarily easing the tension in your muscles. “Thank you, Pedro,” you said softly. “You have no idea how much this means to me right now.”

He chuckled lightly and reached over, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I do, actually. I know how these days can get, and I want you to know that I’m here, no matter what. You’re never alone in this, okay?” His tone was sincere, leaving no doubt about his commitment to your well-being.

You nestled into his embrace, the gentle rise and fall of his chest a steady comfort against the turmoil in your body. “It’s just… sometimes it feels like my body is a battlefield, and I’m caught in the crossfire,” you admitted, your voice small and a bit hesitant. “But when you’re here, it feels like the fighting stops, if only for a little while.”

Pedro’s eyes softened, and he brushed a stray lock of hair from your face. “Then let’s call it a truce for today,” he said quietly. “You rest, and I’ll be your peace. We can talk about anything you like, or we can just sit in silence. Whatever you need.” His words were a balm, soothing the raw edges of your discomfort.

For a long while, you sat in that gentle quiet, the only sounds being the soft murmur of your shared breathing and the occasional clink of porcelain as Pedro refilled your tea. Every so often, he’d lean in to whisper something—a memory of a shared laugh, a promise of tomorrow’s adventures, or simply a reminder that you were cherished. The dialogue flowed naturally, interspersed with moments of silence that were as comforting as the words themselves.

“Remember the time we got lost on that hiking trip?” Pedro asked suddenly, his eyes alight with a playful glimmer. “You insisted you knew the way, and we ended up wandering around for hours before we finally found our way back. I thought you’d be so mad, but you ended up laughing about it the whole time.”

You smiled at the memory, the pain momentarily forgotten in the warmth of nostalgia. “I do remember,” you replied. “You were so patient with me, even when I insisted on taking the ‘scenic’ route. I guess I was just determined to prove a point, even if it meant getting us lost.”

His laughter was soft and genuine as he shook his head. “I wouldn’t trade those moments for anything. It’s those little misadventures that remind me how much I love you—even when you’re stubbornly heading in the wrong direction.”

You looked up at him, eyes glistening with affection and relief. “It’s funny,” you said, “how even on days like this—when I’m not feeling my best—you manage to make everything seem so… warm. Like even the bad days have a silver lining because you’re in them.”

Pedro’s gaze was tender as he squeezed your hand. “That’s because you’re my silver lining,” he murmured. “Every day with you, no matter how rough, is a day I wouldn’t trade. I’m here to help carry the weight when it feels like too much.”

The afternoon drifted by in a blend of heartfelt conversation and gentle care. You found yourself confiding in Pedro about the little things—the inexplicable moods, the memories of past aches, and even the moments when you felt overwhelmed by life’s relentless pace. His responses were patient and kind, his questions thoughtful, ensuring you never felt rushed or alone in your experience.

At one point, as you both sat quietly with the soft hum of the heating pad in the background, Pedro spoke up again. “Do you remember when we first met?” he asked, his tone reflective. “I was so captivated by your energy, your ability to light up a room even on the darkest days. And now, even when you’re down, that light never fades for me.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart swell with emotion. “I remember,” you whispered. “I was so nervous, and yet you made everything feel so… safe. It’s like you saw right through me and knew exactly what I needed without even a word.”

He leaned closer, his eyes searching yours. “I’ve always believed that understanding comes from the little details,” Pedro said softly. “A touch, a look, the way you laugh. And today, even when you’re hurting, I see that same beauty. It’s in every sigh, every whispered word. I just wish I could take away your pain entirely.”

A tender silence settled between you, filled only by the rhythmic sound of the heating pad and the quiet whispers of your shared solace. You knew that the discomfort wasn’t going to vanish in an instant, but in that moment, you also knew that you had someone who would weather every storm alongside you.

After a while, your eyelids began to grow heavy once more, the fatigue mingling with the pain until it led you into a light, much-needed sleep. As you drifted off, you could feel Pedro’s hand still holding yours, a constant reminder that you were not alone—even in your most vulnerable moments.

Hours later, as the soft glow of early evening began to replace the harsh noon light, you slowly awoke to find Pedro still by your side. He had arranged a little makeshift haven in your bedroom—a quiet corner filled with extra pillows, a cozy blanket draped over you, and the gentle hum of a playlist that you both loved playing softly in the background. Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his worried yet relieved gaze.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and soothing as he brushed a kiss against your forehead. “How are you feeling now?”

You managed a small, tired smile. “Better… I think the rest helped a lot. And having you here made it all a little less painful.” You paused, the memories of the day’s discomfort mingling with the warmth of his care. “Thank you, Pedro. For everything.”

He shifted closer, settling beside you on the bed. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you,” he replied earnestly. “I know it might sound cliché, but seeing you in pain just isn’t something I can ignore. You’re my heart, and I’ll always be here to help mend it when it hurts.”

You reached up to stroke his cheek, your voice soft as you explained, “It’s strange. I was so overwhelmed by the pain and frustration earlier, and yet in those moments, all I could think about was how lucky I am to have you. You came right when I needed you, even when you were busy with your family, even when you had other things to do. It means more to me than I can say.”

Pedro’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears as he squeezed your hand. “I promise I’ll always make time for you,” he said quietly. “Your well-being is the most important thing in my world. And if there’s ever a day when you need me—whether it’s a minor inconvenience or something more serious—I’ll be there in a heartbeat.”

The sincerity in his words was overwhelming, and you found yourself smiling through your lingering discomfort. “I know that now,” you whispered. “It’s like every little act of kindness you do reminds me that even the toughest days can have moments of incredible softness. I feel safe with you, Pedro.”

He chuckled softly, a sound that blended perfectly with the background melody of your shared quiet time. “Safe and loved—that’s what you deserve every day. And if it takes a bit of extra effort, then I’ll gladly put in that effort.” His tone was light, yet every word carried the weight of genuine devotion.

For a long while, the two of you lay there in comfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional exchange of soft words. Pedro asked about the little things that had been on your mind, and you in turn asked him about his day, his family, and the small joys he had encountered along the way. The conversation meandered through memories of laughter, shared dreams for the future, and even a few playful debates about which movie to watch next—each word and smile weaving the fabric of a day that began with pain but ended in the gentle embrace of care.

“Do you remember that silly argument we had over which pizza topping was best?” Pedro suddenly recalled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I still stand by my claim that pineapple has no place on a pizza.”

You laughed, the sound mingling with the soft background music. “Oh, I remember,” you replied, your tone light. “And yet, somehow, you made a convincing case that even the strangest combinations can be amazing. Much like you.”

Pedro’s smile deepened, and he leaned in, his hand finding yours once more. “I’m just glad that even on days like today, we can find moments to laugh and to remember that life isn’t all about pain—it’s about the moments of joy we share, however small.”

The afternoon slipped into early evening, and as the light softened further, you found comfort not only in the physical care Pedro had provided but in the deep emotional connection that grew with every word exchanged. It was a day marked by vulnerability and tenderness, a day where pain was met with compassion, and where every whispered word built a bridge over the troubled moments.

Finally, as the night crept in and the room grew dim, you rested your head on Pedro’s shoulder. “Thank you for staying with me today,” you murmured, your voice barely audible. “I don’t know how I would get through these days without you.”

He kissed the top of your head gently. “You never have to face anything alone,” he promised. “Every part of me is here with you—through the good, the bad, and every moment in between.” His voice was steady and filled with an unwavering commitment that resonated deep within you.

In that quiet room, under the soft glow of a bedside lamp, you both savored the stillness—a silence filled with understanding, love, and the comforting knowledge that no matter how hard the day might be, there was always someone there to help carry the load. And as you drifted back into a peaceful sleep, you knew that this day, with all its aches and tender dialogues, was yet another reminder of the quiet strength of your bond, the unspoken promise that you would always have each other’s hearts to lean on.

It wasn’t just a day marked by cramps and physical discomfort—it was a day defined by the gentle rhythms of care, of conversations that wove through memories and hopes, and of a love that made even the hardest moments seem beautifully bearable. And as you dreamed that night, the image of Pedro’s caring smile and the warmth of his hand in yours lingered, a bright beacon of tenderness in the quiet darkness.

[andy-15-07]

Hello, I was thinking about a part 3 maybe, Pedro Pascal x F!Reader CIA agent, them going out on a 4th date going to a Pascal family party Pedro introducing his family, him all in love and silly.

I don't know who started these requests, but I confess I found it interesting.

Secret Hearts and Stardust Part 3

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 629 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2

Pedro was grinning like a fool before they even arrived at the party.

It was their fourth date—technically. Y/N teased him about it, saying it barely counted since they had already spent so much time together, but Pedro insisted. This was the fourth official date, and he had something special planned.

Tonight, she was meeting his family. Not just his sister, Lux, or his closest relatives. No, this was a full-blown Pascal family gathering—loud, chaotic, and filled with food, music, and more cousins than she could keep track of.

As they walked toward the house, Y/N could feel the warmth before even stepping inside. The smell of empanadas and asado drifted through the air, mingling with laughter and rapid Spanish conversations.

Pedro, ever the romantic, squeezed her hand. “You ready for this, mi amor?” His voice was a mix of excitement and nerves.

Y/N smirked. “I’ve interrogated war criminals, tracked international arms dealers, and survived field ops. I think I can handle meeting your family.”

Pedro groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “I hate when you say badass things like that and make me fall even harder.”

She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t hide the way her lips twitched into a smile. “Then let’s go before you embarrass yourself further.”

As soon as they stepped inside, a chorus of voices greeted them.

“Pedro!”

“Finally!”

“Is this her?”

His cousins swarmed in, all talking at once, some hugging him, others patting him on the back before their attention shifted to her. Lux was the first to break through, wrapping Y/N in a hug.

“I’ve been dying to meet you properly,” Lux said, pulling back with a bright smile. “Pedro hasn’t shut up about you.”

Pedro groaned. “Okay, wow, let’s not overwhelm her immediately.”

Y/N chuckled, squeezing Lux’s hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, too. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Pedro’s father was next, giving her a warm but firm handshake before pulling her into a brief hug. “Bienvenida, mija,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Any woman who can keep up with my son’s nonsense is welcome here.”

She smirked. “It’s a full-time job.”

Pedro placed a hand on his heart, looking wounded. “You wound me.”

The evening continued in a blur of laughter and conversation. His aunts fussed over him, his uncles teased him, and his cousins kept sneaking glances at Y/N, clearly analyzing the woman who had managed to steal Pedro’s heart.

Somewhere between sipping a glass of wine and answering questions about her work in the most vague, non-classified way possible, she caught Pedro watching her.

He was leaning against the wall, a soft smile playing on his lips, his brown eyes filled with something warm and unwavering.

She raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Pedro pushed off the wall, closing the distance between them in a few strides. “Nothing,” he murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Just thinking about how much I love seeing you here.”

Y/N’s heart stuttered. She knew Pedro was affectionate, that he wasn’t shy about expressing his feelings, but the sincerity in his voice made something tighten in her chest.

She reached up, resting a hand against his cheek. “I love being here,” she admitted softly. “With you.”

His smile widened before he pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. “Good, because they already love you.”

She glanced over his shoulder, catching Lux giving her a thumbs-up while one of his aunts whispered excitedly to another. She laughed. “I can tell.”

Pedro grinned. “And I love you.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d said it, but it still sent warmth flooding through her.

“I love you too, Pedro.”

And as the night went on, surrounded by his family’s warmth and joy, she realized just how much she meant it.

[andy-15-07]

Secret in the Forest

pairing:Alexei Vronsky x f!reader

summary:In a hidden summer forest, a couple escapes to a private picnic where whispered secrets blossom into an intimate celebration of desire and passion

word count: 2050| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Aaron Taylor Johnson Masterlist

It was a sultry summer afternoon, and the forest beckoned with its promise of solitude and untamed beauty. The heat of the day mingled with the scent of wildflowers and the soft rustling of leaves, creating an atmosphere that was both intimate and liberating. Alexei, ever the dashing gentleman with an undercurrent of quiet passion, had planned a private escape—a picnic in a hidden glade deep within the forest—just for him and Y/N.

For weeks, they had dreamed of escaping the constraints of society, of leaving behind the weight of duty and expectation for a day devoted solely to each other. As they walked hand in hand along a winding, sun-dappled path, playful banter and soft laughter filled the space between them.

“Y/N, this place feels like our very own paradise,” Alexei said in his low, resonant tone as his eyes wandered over the gentle sway of the trees and the glittering light that played upon the forest floor.

Y/N’s smile deepened as they squeezed his hand. “It’s as if the whole world has paused just for us. Every whisper of the wind, every sunbeam, speaks of our love.”

Their conversation wove between shared memories and secret dreams. Soon, they reached a small clearing where a soft blanket lay spread beneath an ancient oak, its wide branches offering a cool refuge from the summer heat. A wicker basket, overflowing with fresh fruit, artisanal cheese, and a chilled bottle of champagne, rested invitingly nearby.

“Come, sit with me here,” Alexei beckoned, his eyes darkening with desire as he drew Y/N close.

They settled together on the blanket, the summer warmth wrapping around them like a gentle embrace. Over bites of sweet fruit and sips of champagne, their dialogue deepened, growing more intimate with each passing moment.

“I’ve always felt that nature reveals the truths of our souls,” Y/N remarked, fingers lightly brushing aside a stray lock of hair. “Out here, every sound and every ray of light feels honest—raw and real.”

Alexei’s gaze was intense and tender. “Indeed, it is as if every rustle of the leaves, every chirp of a bird, sings a hymn to our hidden desires. Here, in nature’s embrace, I can speak my heart without fear.”

The air between them charged with a promise of more than sweet words, and soon, the glances they exchanged became laden with unspoken longing. Y/N’s hand slid to caress the strong line of Alexei’s jaw, while his hand gently traced the delicate curve of Y/N’s neck.

“I’ve dreamed of moments like this,” Y/N murmured, their voice trembling with anticipation. “Where nothing exists except the intensity of our desire.”

Alexei leaned in close, his warm breath caressing Y/N’s ear. “Then let us not waste another moment, my love. Let us surrender to the passion that has always bound us.”

In that moment, words became unnecessary as their lips met in a kiss that was both tender and insistent—a prelude to the fire that was to consume them. With a shared, unspoken agreement, they rose from the blanket and moved deeper into the forest, seeking a more secluded spot beneath a cluster of ancient trees. The forest, as if blessing their union, seemed to hold its breath around them.

Amid a carpet of soft moss and delicate wildflowers, Alexei and Y/N began an exploration of each other that was as fervent as it was gentle. Their whispered dialogue mingled with the natural chorus of the forest, each sound accentuating the raw intimacy of their encounter.

“Every inch of you is poetry,” Alexei murmured as his lips traced the sensitive skin along Y/N’s collarbone. “I want to memorize every curve, every sigh that escapes you.”

Y/N’s soft moan was a clear reply. “And I want nothing more than to feel you, to be enveloped in every part of you, Alexei. Let us lose ourselves in this moment.”

Their kisses grew more urgent, igniting a blaze of passion. Hands explored freely, shedding clothing like the layers of restraint they had long carried. Sun-warmed skin shone in the dappled light as every caress became a promise—every touch a vow. The rustling of leaves and distant birdcalls bore witness to the burgeoning fire between them.

“I need you,” Y/N breathed, voice thick with desire. “I want to feel every part of you, to let go completely in this sanctuary of nature.”

Alexei’s eyes gleamed with a mixture of tenderness and raw need. “Then come to me, my love,” he said, drawing Y/N into a searing kiss that deepened with each passing second.

Beneath the protective canopy of trees, their clothes gradually pooled on the soft ground, leaving them vulnerable and wholly exposed to one another. The sensation of cool forest air against their heated skin, the gentle caress of the breeze, and the intoxicating scent of wildflowers set the stage for a union that was both explicit and profoundly tender.

Alexei’s hands, calloused yet gentle, traced intricate patterns along Y/N’s back, sending shivers of delight racing through every fiber. “You are exquisite,” he whispered, his voice a mixture of awe and passion. “Every touch, every kiss awakens something deep within me.”

A soft cry escaped Y/N as they arched into his touch. “I feel it, Alexei. Your touch, your kiss—it overwhelms me in the most beautiful way. I want to surrender to you completely.”

Their dialogue was interlaced with the symphony of nature—the rustle of leaves, the distant murmur of a stream, and the soft whisper of the wind through the branches. Every word they exchanged was a brushstroke in the masterpiece of their intimacy, each tender confession adding depth to the landscape of their love.

Guiding Y/N gently onto a natural bed of moss and fallen leaves, Alexei spoke in a low, husky whisper, “Let me love you as nature loves the earth—with a passion that is wild, unbridled, and eternal.”

Y/N’s eyes shone with unshed tears of joy and desire. “Yes, Alexei. Take me, show me the full extent of your love. I want to feel every heartbeat, every breath as we become one.”

Their union began slowly, a measured dance of passion and tenderness. Every kiss was a promise; every caress, a silent ode to their love. As their bodies intertwined, the explicit nature of their lovemaking unfolded like a secret language—one written in the language of desire and devotion.

Their movements were deliberate and intoxicating. Alexei’s lips traveled along Y/N’s skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, while Y/N’s soft, yearning sighs punctuated the rhythm of their intimacy. The explicit details of their shared passion were woven into the gentle murmur of the forest, each rustling leaf and distant birdcall echoing the cadence of their lovemaking.

“Every moment with you is a revelation,” Y/N whispered between soft, heated kisses, their eyes locked on Alexei’s. “I want to explore every hidden part of you, to learn the language of your touch.”

Alexei’s deep, resonant murmur answered, “You are my desire, my sanctuary. With every kiss, every tender touch, I feel our worlds merging into one—a wild, endless dance of passion and devotion.”

Their lovemaking, raw and explicit, became a dance of both fire and tenderness. The explicit expressions of desire—the whispered instructions, the heated exchanges, the soft moans—were as natural as the murmuring of the summer wind. Each movement, each rhythmic motion, was an act of love that transcended the physical and delved deep into the realm of the soul.

As they reached the apex of their shared ecstasy, their voices blended in a harmonious chorus—a duet of love and longing that seemed to echo through the forest. In those final, heart-stopping moments, their dialogue was a litany of devotion, each word a promise to cherish the intimacy they had discovered.

“I feel as if time has ceased,” Y/N murmured as they lay entwined, the aftershocks of their passion still reverberating softly. “Every kiss, every caress has bound us closer, creating a tapestry of love that I never want to end.”

Alexei’s fingers brushed tenderly along Y/N’s cheek as he replied, “In this moment, nothing exists except our love. You are my heart, my soul, and every beat of my being sings for you.”

As the fever of their passion began to ebb, they lingered in the afterglow��voices soft and full of wonder as they recounted the beauty of their union. The forest, alive with the sounds of nature’s nocturne, cradled them in a cocoon of serenity and promise.

In the quiet that followed, their dialogue turned reflective. “Promise me,” Y/N said, their voice husky with emotion, “that we will always seek moments like this—times when we can lose ourselves in the beauty of our love and the freedom of our desires.”

Alexei pressed a gentle kiss to Y/N’s brow. “I promise, my love. As long as the summer sun warms the earth and the forest continues to whisper its secrets, I will always find my way back to you.”

The forest bore silent witness to their vows, the gentle murmur of leaves and the distant call of night creatures blending into a symphony that celebrated their union. Every whispered word and soft caress became a testament to a love that was as wild and enduring as nature itself.

As midnight approached and the world outside their secluded haven receded into the background, Alexei and Y/N remained entwined in a tender embrace. Their conversation flowed effortlessly from playful teasing about earlier moments to profound reflections on the future—a future that shimmered with the promise of unyielding passion and eternal devotion.

“Do you remember,” Alexei mused softly, “when we first met and every word felt tentative, as if we were afraid of breaking the spell? I never could have imagined that our love would lead us to a day like this—a day where every touch was a revelation and every whispered word a vow of forever.”

Y/N’s laughter, light and musical, filled the space between them. “I remember, and I cherish every memory that has led us here. Today, every moment was a celebration of the passion we share, a passion that burns brighter than the summer sun.”

As the first hints of dawn began to paint the horizon in soft shades of pink and lavender, the lovers lay together, still wrapped in each other’s warmth. Their conversation softened into quiet musings about dreams yet to be realized, hopes for tomorrow, and the enduring promise of the love that had so completely claimed their hearts.

“Someday, when we are far older,” Y/N whispered, “we will look back on this day—the memory of our passionate union in this secret forest—and know that it was the moment our souls truly met.”

Alexei’s eyes shone with tender certainty as he caressed Y/N’s hand. “And until that day comes, we will carry this memory with us, cherishing it as a beacon of hope and a reminder that love, in all its wild, unrestrained glory, is eternal.”

In that sacred morning light, the explicit, passionate memories of their union lingered like a cherished secret—a promise that, no matter where life’s winding paths might lead, the fire they had kindled in the summer forest would forever burn in their hearts.

As the sun rose higher, casting golden rays over dew-dappled grass and ancient trees, the lovers gathered their belongings with tender reluctance, knowing that the outside world awaited. Yet, even as they stepped away from their secluded haven, every step was imbued with the echoes of their shared passion, every heartbeat a reminder of the summer day when their souls danced together in the heart of the forest.

Their parting from that secret glade was not an end but rather a pause—a gentle promise that they would return to this hidden sanctuary whenever the world grew too loud or the weight of duty too heavy. For in the quiet, intimate embrace of nature, Alexei and Y/N had discovered a truth as enduring as the forest itself: that love, when embraced fully and without restraint, is the most beautiful and liberating force of all.

And so, with hearts full of memories and minds alive with dreams of endless summers, they walked back hand in hand—two souls forever changed by a day of whispered promises, tender confessions, and an explicit, all-consuming passion that would echo through the seasons of their lives.

[andy-15-07]

Would you want to write a Paul Mescal x Reader fix about that gladiator work out video?

Training the Gladiator

PAIRING:Paul Mescal x reader

WORD COUNT: 430 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Paul Mescal Masterlis

The gym smelled like sweat and determination, the air thick with the rhythmic clang of weights and the occasional sharp exhale of effort. Paul was in the center of it all, wrapped hands gripping a thick battle rope, muscles taut with strain as he slammed it against the floor in punishing waves.

You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching him with a mixture of admiration and amusement. "You do know they had no battle ropes in Ancient Rome, right?"

Paul didn’t pause, though a smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth. "They also didn’t have protein shakes, but I’m not giving those up either."

You let out a short laugh, stepping further inside. "Fair point."

The trainer barked out another set, and Paul transitioned seamlessly, grabbing a sandbag and hoisting it over his shoulder with a grunt. His tank top clung to his sweat-dampened torso, the defined lines of his arms flexing with every movement.

"You know, watching you suffer is actually quite entertaining," you teased, perching on a nearby bench.

Paul shot you a mock glare, dropping the sandbag with a heavy thud. "Oh yeah? Care to give it a go, then?"

You grinned, but before you could answer, his trainer called it. "Alright, that’s enough for today. Good work, Paul."

Paul exhaled sharply, rolling out his shoulders before grabbing a towel and swiping it over his face. As the trainer walked off, he turned to you, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Alright, tough girl. Let’s see if you can handle a fraction of what I just did."

You scoffed. "Paul, I’m not the one preparing to be a gladiator."

"Oh, so you admit you’d be hopeless in the Colosseum?" he teased, stepping closer.

You squinted at him. "I’d be fine. I’d just charm my way out of a fight."

Paul chuckled, tossing his towel onto a bench. "That wouldn’t work against me."

"Oh? And why not?" you challenged, tilting your head.

His lips quirked up as he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Because I’m not easily charmed."

You raised a brow, the air between you charged with something neither of you acknowledged outright. Instead, you rolled your eyes and patted his sweaty shoulder. "C’mon, gladiator. Let’s get you home before you pass out."

He let you lead him out, but not before muttering, just loud enough for you to hear, "I still think you wouldn’t last five minutes in the arena."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Guess you’ll just have to train me, then."

And from the way his grin widened, you knew he absolutely would.

[andy-15-07]

You would do Pedro Pascal x Latin singer f!Reader but specifically Brazilian, but she is very famous worldwide and Pedro is a fan of hers, Pedro is invited to participate in her new videoclip about Latinos, then they get to know each other better and date.

Latino Heat

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 875| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Pedro Pascal had always been a fan of Y/N. Not just of her music—the infectious beats, the sultry, powerful vocals that made people dance no matter where they were—but of her presence. She was electric, larger than life, and yet so effortlessly down-to-earth in every interview he had seen of her. So when he got the invitation to be in her new music video, a project celebrating Latinos worldwide, he couldn’t say no.

He arrived on set in Rio de Janeiro, the warm Brazilian sun casting golden hues over everything. The set was alive with music, dancers in bright outfits moving to the beat, and the smell of fresh fruit and street food lingering in the air. It was intoxicating.

Then he saw her.

Y/N was standing near the monitors, laughing with one of the directors. She was stunning—long, wavy hair cascading down her back, her golden-brown skin glowing under the light. She wore a cropped top with vibrant colors, paired with a flowing skirt that danced with every movement she made.

As if sensing his gaze, she turned, and their eyes met. For a second, Pedro forgot where he was.

Then she smiled. "Pedro!"

God, that smile could bring a man to his knees.

He cleared his throat, walking toward her. "Y/N. It’s an honor. I’ve been a fan of yours for a long time."

She tilted her head, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, I know. I saw that interview where you said you had a crush on me."

Pedro let out a deep chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Busted."

She grinned, reaching out to playfully touch his arm. "I thought it was sweet. And now here you are, about to be part of one of my music videos. Dreams do come true, huh?"

He smirked. "Guess I’m living proof."

The director called for everyone’s attention, explaining the next scene. The video was a celebration of Latin culture, showcasing different aspects of it through dance, music, and storytelling. Pedro’s role was simple—he was to be Y/N’s love interest, following her through the bustling streets of Rio, caught up in the passion and energy of the music.

The first take was electric.

Pedro wasn’t an experienced dancer, but Y/N guided him through it, her hands in his, their bodies moving in sync. The chemistry was undeniable—each glance, each touch lingering just a second longer than necessary. Between takes, they laughed, teasing each other.

"You’re not bad, Pascal," she teased after one particularly intense take where he had to spin her into his arms.

He raised a brow. "Not bad? That was my best work."

She laughed, leaning in just a little. "I might need another take to be sure."

By the time they wrapped filming, the sun had set, casting an orange glow over the city. Pedro found himself standing beside her on a balcony overlooking the ocean, the distant sound of samba music filling the air.

"So," she mused, sipping from her caipirinha. "Was it everything you imagined?"

Pedro turned to her, his gaze soft. "More."

She smiled, setting her drink down. "Good. Because I was hoping we could do this again. Maybe off-camera?"

His breath caught for a second before he grinned. "Are you asking me out, Y/N?"

She shrugged, playful as ever. "Depends. Are you saying yes?"

Pedro chuckled, stepping closer. "I’d be an idiot not to."

And just like that, it started—not just the music video, not just the flirtation, but something real, something that felt inevitable from the moment their eyes met.

Pedro had been a fan of hers for years. But now? Now he was hers.

The next few weeks flew by in a blur of secret meetings, stolen kisses, and late-night conversations under Rio’s starry skies. What had started as an undeniable spark on set had quickly grown into something deeper.

Pedro found himself drawn to Y/N in ways he hadn’t expected. She was fierce, passionate, and effortlessly kind. The way she laughed, the way she spoke about her music, about her culture—it captivated him. And somehow, despite her fame and the spotlight always on her, she made him feel like he was the only person in the world when she looked at him.

"Tell me something," Pedro asked one night as they lay on the beach, the waves lapping at the shore nearby. "Do you ever get tired of it? The fame, the pressure?"

She exhaled, turning to look at him. "Sometimes. But then I remember why I do it. Music is who I am, and if I can bring joy, if I can make people feel seen, then it’s worth it."

He brushed a strand of hair from her face. "You’re incredible, you know that?"

She smiled, a little softer this time. "I think you might be biased."

He smirked. "Maybe. But it’s still true."

She leaned in then, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I like you, Pedro. More than I expected to."

His heart stuttered for a second before he pulled her closer. "Good. Because I’m falling for you, Y/N."

Under the moonlit sky, with the distant hum of music and the ocean surrounding them, Pedro realized something—this wasn’t just a fleeting romance. It was the beginning of something real.

[andy-15-07]

can you please writee pedro or any of his characters having a tickle fight with reader fluff fluff 💙

 Tickle Fight

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Word Count: 645 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The air in Javier's apartment was warm, thick with the scent of old leather and cigarette smoke, the soft hum of a fan cutting through the silence. It was late, and the two of you had spent the night tangled on the couch, watching some old Western that neither of you were really paying attention to. His arm was draped lazily over your stomach, his fingers tracing light patterns along the fabric of your shirt.

"You look tired," you murmured, running a hand through his hair. His eyes were half-lidded, and he let out a slow exhale through his nose.

"Long day," he admitted, voice husky with exhaustion. "Murphy wouldn't shut up about some report. Thought my head was gonna explode."

You grinned, shifting slightly beneath him. "Poor baby. Should I write him a strongly worded letter?"

Javier huffed out a chuckle, the corners of his mouth twitching. "That'd scare him more than the cartel."

The weight of the day still clung to him, his usual tension evident in the furrow of his brow, the stiffness in his shoulders. You wanted to help, to pull him out of his head, even if only for a little while.

Your fingers trailed down his side absentmindedly, and you felt the tiniest jolt in his frame. It was barely there, but you caught it. Your lips curled into a slow, mischievous smile.

"Javi," you whispered, testing the waters, your fingers ghosting over his ribs again.

"Don't," he warned, a sudden sharpness in his tone that only made you more determined.

"Don't what?" You feigned innocence, your hand moving with more intent, fingertips dancing lightly over the fabric of his shirt.

Javier twitched, trying to shift away, but you were quicker. Before he could escape, you dug your fingers in, right at his ribs, and he practically jolted off the couch.

"Damn it—Y/N!" he barked, trying to grab your wrists, but you were laughing too hard to stop.

"Oh my God—Javi Peña is ticklish?" you gasped, eyes wide with delight. "This is the best day of my life."

"I am not—" He gritted his teeth, trying to maintain his dignity, but his body betrayed him, another suppressed laugh breaking through as you doubled down on your attack.

"Oh, this is gold. Why didn’t I know this before?" You straddled his waist, using your advantage to keep him pinned as your fingers worked mercilessly along his sides. Javier was struggling now, squirming beneath you as laughter—actual, unrestrained laughter—spilled from his lips.

"Y/N—fuck—stop—" He wheezed between laughs, his hands grabbing your wrists in a desperate attempt to fight back.

"Say you surrender," you taunted, grinning down at him.

"Never," he growled, even as his body betrayed him again, his laugh breaking through his resolve.

You leaned in closer, your nose nearly brushing his. "Then you leave me no choice."

His eyes darkened for a fraction of a second before you resumed your tickling, and in an unexpected twist, he managed to flip you over in one swift motion, trapping your wrists against the cushions.

"You play dirty, cariño," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

"Me?" You huffed, wiggling beneath him. "You were the one hiding this vital information from me."

Javier smirked, releasing one of your hands just so he could trail his fingers down your side in retaliation, and suddenly it was you who was thrashing against the couch.

"Oh, now look who's laughing," he teased, his deep chuckle sending warmth straight through you.

"Javi!" You shrieked, laughing uncontrollably, trying to push him away.

He finally relented, pressing a kiss to your forehead before pulling you back into his arms, his fingers lazily tracing circles along your spine.

"You're lucky I love you," you muttered into his chest, still catching your breath.

His lips curled into a smile against your hair. "I know, cariño. Believe me, I know."

[andy-15-07]

A Dance of Eternal Promises

pairing:Alexei Vronsky x f!reader

summary:During preparations for a grand ball, Alexei and his beloved celebrate enduring love, whispered dreams, and hopeful new life.

word count: 2264 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Aaron Taylor Johnson Masterlist

Alexei Vronsky and you woke early on that gentle morning, the sunlight barely brushing the ornate windowpanes of your shared home. Today was not merely any day—it was the day of the grand ball, and with it came the celebration of both your union and the soon-to-be arrival of your first child. In the hushed light of dawn, while the city still slept, the two of you found yourselves immersed in the soft rituals of preparation, each moment an ode to the love that had grown between you.

You sat before a carved antique vanity, your delicate hands moving with quiet precision as you arranged your hair. Resting gently on your lap was the unmistakable reminder of the life blossoming within you—a small, vibrant promise of the future. The room, adorned with roses and pastel draperies, filled with the scent of freshly cut peonies and the gentle murmur of your whispered hopes.

Alexei, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit that spoke of refined elegance, approached with a smile that brightened his usually composed demeanor. “My love,” he said softly, his hand reaching to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, “you are more radiant than the morning light itself.”

Your eyes met his in the mirror, and a tender warmth spread through you. “Thank you, my dearest Alexei. Tonight, as we step into the ball, I want every eye to see the glow of our joy—of the life we are about to share.” Your voice carried both excitement and the weight of dreams fulfilled.

With measured care, he pulled you into a gentle embrace. “Every step we take tonight will be a step toward the future we build together. I long to dance with you, to lose myself in the music and the quiet promise that every heartbeat holds.”

The conversation flowed as naturally as the gentle breeze that stirred the lace curtains. You spoke of the anticipation of dancing beneath the soft glow of chandeliers, recalling memories of your first dance—when the world fell away and it was just the two of you, your hearts keeping perfect time. “Do you remember,” you began, your voice tinged with nostalgia, “when we first danced together, and it felt as though every note of the orchestra was written just for us?”

Alexei’s eyes sparkled with recollection. “How could I ever forget? It was as if the stars had aligned solely to bring our souls together. Every graceful turn we shared that night was a promise of the life we would lead—a life filled with passion, hope, and the constant wonder of love.”

As you both moved about your preparations, the room resonated with gentle laughter and whispered dreams. You carefully fastened a delicate brooch to your gown—a deep burgundy silk dress that hugged your form elegantly, its color reminiscent of the passionate hues of a sunset. “I have thought about tonight all week,” you confessed, adjusting the fabric with loving care. “I want our dance to tell the story of our journey, the struggles and triumphs, and now, the joy of a new beginning.”

Alexei stepped closer, his hand warm on your shoulder. “And I want every step we take on that dance floor to be a testament to our unyielding devotion. Our child will inherit a legacy of love, strength, and the beauty of shared dreams.” His voice, low and earnest, mingled with the soft strains of a distant piano.

You paused, a soft smile curving your lips as you glanced down at your belly. “Sometimes, I find myself imagining our child watching us now, wondering how we became so intertwined in each other’s hearts. It feels as if every moment, every glance, has led us to this crescendo of life.”

Alexei’s gaze softened. “Indeed, my love. Every heartbeat, every whispered word, every shared secret has woven the tapestry of our lives. Tonight, as we join the swirling throng at the ball, I want you to know that in every conversation, every dance, I see our past, our present, and the endless promise of our future.”

The hours ticked by as the two of you moved seamlessly between moments of quiet reflection and bursts of playful banter. At one point, while you adjusted a stray hem of your dress, you teased, “I wonder if our child will inherit my flair for mischief or your impeccable sense of style.”

Alexei chuckled, his laughter warm and rich. “Perhaps a little of both, my dear. I imagine our little one will have my adventurous spirit and your gentle grace—a perfect blend of both our souls.” His eyes crinkled with mirth as he continued, “And who knows? Maybe our child will be the one to steal the show at the next ball.”

The room around you was alive with the quiet symphony of domestic bliss—the soft clinking of fine china as breakfast was set out on a nearby table, the rustle of silk as you moved about, and the ever-present undercurrent of shared hope. Each object in the room seemed imbued with meaning, a silent witness to the love story unfolding with every whispered word and tender glance.

Before long, the time came to step out into the bustling world beyond your door. The grand staircase of your home, polished to a mirror-like shine, welcomed you both as you descended with measured grace. Every step echoed with the promise of the night ahead, a night where you would become the center of a celebration not just of opulence and artifice, but of a love that had been nurtured in the quiet moments between chaos and calm.

Outside, the world was vibrant with life. Carriages glided along cobblestone streets, and the chatter of passersby formed a lively counterpoint to the inner sanctum of your shared joy. Alexei, ever the gentleman, extended his hand to you. “Shall we, my love?” he asked, his tone both gentle and insistent, as if urging you to embrace the magic of the evening.

“Always,” you replied, your voice filled with quiet resolve and anticipation. “Let the night be a canvas for our dreams, a stage upon which our love is the performance of a lifetime.”

Walking together to the ball, your dialogue was a continuous exchange of memories, hopes, and plans. “Do you recall the first time we met at a similar celebration?” you inquired, eyes sparkling with the recollection of a long-ago summer night. “The way your smile lit up the room, making it seem as if everything had suddenly fallen into place?”

Alexei’s response was immediate and heartfelt. “I remember every detail. Your laugh was the melody that captured my heart. Even amidst the chatter and clinking glasses, it was as if only your voice reached me, pulling me toward you.” His tone held a note of reverence as he added, “Every dance, every glance since has been a reaffirmation of the bond we share.”

At the grand entrance of the ball, beneath glittering chandeliers and the admiring gaze of elegantly dressed guests, your conversation deepened. “Look at how everyone stops to admire us,” you whispered, a blend of amusement and quiet pride in your tone.

Alexei’s eyes never left yours. “They see only a glimpse of our story, but in that glimpse, they witness the passion and hope that define us. Tonight, the ball is not simply a celebration of society—it is a celebration of us, and of the future that awaits.”

Inside the ballroom, the ambiance was enchanting—a sea of dancing couples, lively music, and the soft murmur of delighted conversations. Yet even amidst this splendor, your dialogue remained intimate. While waltzing in a secluded corner of the floor, you said, “I sometimes worry that the splendor of this night might make me forget the simpler, quieter moments that truly matter.”

Alexei’s reply was immediate, his tone both reassuring and filled with adoration. “Never, my dear. For even in the brilliance of these lights and the grandeur of this setting, it is the simple truth of our love that shines brightest. Every shared smile, every whispered word, every heartbeat in sync with mine—it is all a reminder that true beauty lies in the authenticity of our connection.”

The dance continued, and with each turn and each gentle step, your conversation wove seamlessly between playful teasing and profound declarations of love. “Do you think,” you asked softly, “that one day, when our child is old enough, they will listen to our stories and understand the magic of a night like this?”

Alexei’s smile was both mysterious and tender. “I believe they will, my love. They will learn that our life has been a series of moments—a dance of passion and hope, of challenges met with courage and triumphs celebrated with joy. And in every step we take, they will see the unbreakable bond that has carried us through every storm.”

In the midst of the waltz, a dear friend approached, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Alexei, your love for her is as inspiring as the legends of old,” she said, her voice lilting in admiration. “Tell me, what is it that makes your union so extraordinary?”

Alexei’s eyes softened as he replied, “It is in the quiet moments, when the world fades away, and it is just the two of us—our hearts speaking in a language older than words. Our love is not simply a dance of appearances; it is a quiet, enduring melody that will guide us and our child through all of life’s seasons.”

Another guest, caught up in the enchantment of the night, added, “And now, with the promise of a new life soon to join your dance, it is as if the universe itself is rejoicing in your happiness.”

You smiled at these kind words, your heart swelling with gratitude. “Our child will be born into a world filled with love, laughter, and the beauty of shared dreams,” you said, your voice a soft murmur that resonated with every listener. “I want them to know that no matter where life takes us, our love will always be the guiding star.”

As the evening unfolded, every conversation, every shared laugh, and every whispered promise further enriched the tapestry of your lives. The ball became a living, breathing testament to the love you both nurtured—a love that had weathered storms and now shone as brightly as the chandeliers above.

At one point during a quiet interlude by a window draped with silver curtains, you paused to reflect. “Sometimes I wonder,” you said softly, “if all the beauty of this night is enough to capture the magnitude of our love. It seems so vast, so deep—how do we even begin to measure it?”

Alexei’s gaze was tender as he took your hand in his. “We do not measure love in grand gestures or opulent settings,” he said gently. “Love is found in the quiet moments—a shared glance, a soft touch, the way your eyes light up when you smile. Tonight, every moment is a note in the symphony of our lives. And no matter how grand the ball or how sparkling the chandeliers, it is our hearts that truly illuminate this night.”

In that moment, your words merged with his, forming a melody of hope and assurance that lingered long after the music had faded. You both knew that while the ball was a celebration of the present, it was also a promise—a promise of a future where every shared dance, every quiet conversation, and every new heartbeat would add to the enduring story of your love.

Later, as the final dance drew near and the crowd began to thin, you found a secluded corner where the gentle murmur of the evening gave way to a peaceful quiet. Here, with the soft glow of moonlight filtering through tall, arched windows, you continued your heartfelt dialogue. “I want you to promise me something,” you said, your voice husky with emotion. “Promise that no matter what comes, we will always hold on to this feeling—this unyielding joy, the simple truth of our love.”

Alexei pressed his forehead gently against yours, his voice a tender vow. “I promise, my beloved. Every day, every dance, every breath we share will be a reminder of the promise we made—to cherish one another, to hold our dreams close, and to nurture the love that has always been our guiding light.”

And so, as the night slipped quietly into the early whispers of dawn, Alexei Vronsky and you remained entwined in a timeless dance—a conversation of hearts, an endless dialogue of hope and commitment. The ball, with all its splendor and elegance, was but a backdrop to the real celebration: the celebration of your union, your shared dreams, and the promise of a new life soon to join your eternal dance.

In the gentle silence that followed, as the last notes of the music faded into the cool night air, you both knew that the beauty of this night would linger long in your hearts. It was a night of whispered confessions, of dreams shared between glances, and of promises made beneath the watchful eyes of the stars. A night that encapsulated the very essence of your love—timeless, unyielding, and infinitely beautiful.

With one final embrace and a quiet kiss that sealed every unspoken vow, you stepped out into the future, hand in hand, ready to greet the promise of tomorrow. The dance of your lives, rich with the laughter of the past and the hope of the future, continued onward—a brilliant, ceaseless melody echoing in every heartbeat, every shared word, every soft whisper of love.

[andy-15-07]

could you maybe write pedro pascal x reader having a big fight and pedro snapping at her and idk something like that angst

Shattered Echoes

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 3030 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

You never imagined that a quiet evening at home could shatter the fragile peace you’d spent weeks trying to build. The living room is dimly lit by a single floor lamp, its soft glow failing to warm the chill in the air. The clock ticks monotonously, marking each second of the silence that has grown too loud to bear. Tonight, the tension is palpable—an invisible weight pressing down on you as you await Pedro’s return.

The door creaks open. Pedro steps inside, his gaze flickering around the room before settling on you. His usually warm eyes seem distant, troubled. You stand up slowly, heart pounding, bracing yourself for the inevitable confrontation.

“Pedro,” you begin, voice trembling just enough to betray your inner turmoil, “we need to talk.”

He sighs, the sound heavy with exhaustion and regret. “We do, don’t we?” he replies, his tone flat, almost defeated. The air between you vibrates with unspoken accusations and past hurts.

You cross your arms, trying to maintain composure. “I’ve been feeling… neglected. Like I’m just an afterthought in your life. Every time you get busy or, worse, when you shut me out—I just feel worthless.”

His eyes narrow slightly as he steps closer. “Neglected? Worthless?” he echoes, his voice rising. “Is that really how you see it?”

“Yes!” you shout, unable to hold back the flood of emotions any longer. “I see you coming home late, not answering my calls, and then expecting everything to be okay when you walk through that door. I’m here, Pedro. I’m right here, and I deserve more than half-hearted apologies and silence.”

Pedro’s hands clench at his sides. “You think I don’t struggle with this too?” he snaps, his tone laced with anger and hurt. “I’m doing everything I can—every day is a battle I never wanted to fight.”

The raw intensity in his voice stuns you for a moment. “A battle? Since when is loving someone a battle? Since when do we have to fight for every scrap of attention?”

His face reddens as he takes a step forward, the space between you charged with explosive energy. “Maybe it’s because you keep pushing me away!” he roars, his eyes glistening with tears of frustration. “Every time I try to get close, you’re already building a wall.”

You feel your heart shatter a little more with each word. “I’m not pushing you away, Pedro,” you plead, your voice cracking under the weight of your pain. “I’m trying to understand why you’re not here when I need you. I’m trying to understand why you let your demons take over our moments.”

Pedro’s laugh is bitter, almost mocking. “My demons? What about yours?” he fires back. “You hold onto every slight, every misstep. You let anger and resentment fester until you’re drowning in it. I can’t always be your savior, your crutch.”

The room feels too small now, the walls closing in as memories of countless silent dinners and missed conversations flash before your eyes. “So now it’s all my fault?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. “Every time I’ve felt hurt, you’ve dismissed it as overreacting, as if my feelings aren’t valid?”

“Don’t you dare,” Pedro snaps, his eyes flashing dangerously. “My life isn’t some fairy tale where everything is perfect. I have my own scars, my own regrets. I’m trying—damn it, I’m trying to do the best I can.”

The anger in his voice is raw and jagged, each word a desperate attempt to explain, to justify. “Then explain why you can’t even talk to me without snapping? Explain why every conversation turns into this war zone?” you demand, your voice trembling with a mix of fury and sorrow.

Pedro paces back and forth, running a hand through his hair as if trying to untangle the mess inside his head. “Maybe if you didn’t always dredge up the past, we wouldn’t be here!” he exclaims, his voice rising with every syllable. “You’re always reminding me of every mistake, every time I wasn’t enough. And maybe if you could just let me breathe, I wouldn’t feel suffocated by your expectations!”

Your eyes brim with tears, and for a moment, the hurt is too much to bear. “Is that what you really think?” you ask, your voice trembling. “That I’m just a burden? That every time I reach out, I’m the reason you can’t breathe?”

Pedro stops pacing, his shoulders sagging as the anger fades into sorrow. “I never meant for you to feel that way,” he says softly, though the damage lingers in every syllable. “I just… I’m scared. Scared of not living up to what you need, scared of failing you.”

“Failing me?” you echo, bitterness creeping into your tone. “Pedro, I’ve never asked you to be perfect. I only asked you to be present, to be honest with me.”

He turns to face you, eyes filled with a cocktail of regret and longing. “Honesty is hard when you’re broken, y/n,” he whispers. “I thought I could protect you from the worst parts of me, but I see now that maybe that wasn’t the right choice.”

Silence falls heavy between you, each of you grappling with your own demons in the quiet of the room. The only sound is your shallow breathing and the soft hum of distant traffic outside the window. You search his face, desperate for any sign of the man you fell in love with—the man who was kind, loving, and fiercely protective.

“Pedro, I’m not asking for a miracle,” you finally say, your voice low and laden with sorrow. “I just want to know that you’re here. That we’re fighting together, not against each other.”

For a moment, his eyes soften, and the anger seems to dissipate like smoke. “I’m trying, y/n,” he murmurs, reaching out to take your hand. “Every day, I’m trying to be the person you deserve. But sometimes… sometimes I feel like I’m failing, like I’m not enough.”

Your heart aches at his words. “You are enough,” you whisper, squeezing his hand in a silent plea for reassurance. “I love you, Pedro. But I need you to love me too—fully, even when things aren’t perfect.”

He withdraws his hand abruptly, his eyes hardening once more. “Love isn’t always perfect,” he snaps, voice laced with a bitterness that cuts deep. “It’s messy and painful and sometimes, no matter how hard you try, it just falls apart.”

“You say that like you’re giving up,” you counter, shock and disbelief mingling with anger. “After everything we’ve been through, after all the times you’ve promised to work on us…”

Pedro’s gaze drops to the floor, his silence speaking volumes. “Maybe I have,” he admits quietly. “Maybe I’m just not capable of being what you need.”

A lump forms in your throat as tears well up, blurring your vision. “So that’s it?” you ask, voice trembling. “You’re just going to walk away, leaving me here to pick up the pieces?”

He looks up, eyes red-rimmed and full of regret. “I don’t know if I can be the person you deserve, y/n,” he confesses, each word a dagger to your heart. “I thought I could hide behind my charm, my reputation, but it’s all crumbling. I’m tired of fighting this battle inside me.”

The raw vulnerability in his confession leaves you momentarily speechless. For a long time, neither of you speaks, the silence filled with shared pain and unanswered questions. Finally, you manage to choke out, “Then why fight at all? Why hold on when you’re so sure it’s broken?”

Pedro’s jaw tightens, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Because every time I see you, I remember who I used to be,” he says hoarsely. “I remember the man who believed in second chances, in love that conquers all. And I can’t let that go, even if I’m failing every step of the way.”

You take a tentative step towards him, the urge to comfort mingling with the need to be heard. “Pedro, I know it’s hard,” you say softly. “I know we both have our demons, but we can fight them together. I’m not asking for perfection—just for honesty. For us to try, even when it hurts.”

He laughs bitterly, a sound filled with despair. “Try? How many times have we tried, y/n? How many times have I promised you things I couldn’t deliver?”

The intensity in his voice makes your heart sink. “I don’t care about the promises,” you reply, tears spilling over. “I care about you. I care about us. But I can’t keep doing this, Pedro—the constant fights, the endless arguments. It’s tearing me apart.”

Pedro’s eyes flash with anger and sorrow all at once. “Maybe if you stopped dredging up every little mistake,” he retorts, his voice rising once more, “we wouldn’t be here, screaming at each other in the dark!”

That stings, and you recoil as if struck. “I dredge up mistakes because they hurt, Pedro,” you whisper, voice raw with vulnerability. “They hurt because I care. Every argument, every tear, it’s because I’m still here, still trying to hold on to what we had.”

He turns away, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Maybe what we had is gone,” he mutters, barely audible. “Maybe we’re better off apart.”

The words hang in the air like a death sentence. You stare at him, heart pounding, unable to comprehend how quickly everything can change. “No,” you say firmly, though your voice trembles. “We’re not giving up. Not yet.”

Pedro stops pacing, his back still turned to you as he takes a moment to steady himself. “I’m tired, y/n,” he admits, voice softening. “Tired of fighting, tired of feeling like I’m constantly disappointing you. I’m so damn tired.”

The admission is a blow, and you feel your own exhaustion mirror his. “I’m tired too,” you confess, stepping closer until you’re nearly touching him. “Tired of the arguments, tired of the silence, tired of feeling alone even when you’re right here.”

For a long moment, neither of you speaks, the silence filled with the shared weight of your burdens. Then Pedro’s voice, ragged and soft, breaks through the quiet. “Maybe we need a break,” he whispers, as if the words themselves are a reluctant concession.

Your heart clenches at his words, a mixture of relief and heartbreak. “A break?” you echo, disbelief lacing your tone. “Is that really what you want?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes as he replies, “I don’t know what I want anymore, y/n. All I know is that I can’t keep hurting you, and I can’t keep hurting myself. Maybe we need time to figure out who we are without this constant fight.”

The thought of a break sends a shock through you. “But what if we lose each other?” you ask, voice barely a whisper. “What if this break becomes the end?”

Pedro turns to face you, his eyes searching yours with a mixture of pain and hope. “Then maybe it’s better than staying in a relationship that’s slowly killing us,” he says, though his tone is uncertain. “I don’t want to lose you, but I’m scared that if we keep going like this, we’ll both end up broken beyond repair.”

Your mind races, torn between the desperate need to hold on and the gnawing fear that maybe the fight has already done irreparable damage. “I’m scared too,” you admit, voice raw with emotion. “But maybe… maybe we can find a way to heal. Together.”

Pedro’s eyes shimmer with unshed tears as he searches your face, trying to find a glimmer of the love that once bound you. “I want to believe that,” he says quietly. “But right now, I feel like I’m drowning in everything—the guilt, the anger, the regret.”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself against the tidal wave of emotions. “Then let’s start by talking. Really talking. No more snapping, no more shouting—just honest conversation about what hurts and what we need to heal.”

He hesitates, his eyes flickering with vulnerability before a hint of determination takes root. “I’m willing to try,” he concedes, voice barely audible. “I want to try, for both of us.”

A tentative smile plays on your lips as you reach out, gently placing your hand on his. “Then let’s start now,” you whisper, your voice steady despite the pain. “Let’s figure out how to be there for each other, without tearing each other apart.”

Pedro nods slowly, taking a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, y/n,” he murmurs, the words heavy with remorse. “I’m sorry for the times I’ve let my anger get the better of me, for the moments I made you feel less than what you truly are.”

Your eyes well up again, the raw sincerity in his apology stirring something deep inside. “I’m sorry too,” you say softly. “I’m sorry for not understanding your pain, for pushing too hard when you needed space. I just… I miss you, Pedro. I miss the us that we used to be.”

For a long moment, the two of you stand there, the silence between you now laden with both sorrow and the fragile promise of a new beginning. Outside, the city moves on obliviously, but in this small, dimly lit room, time seems to pause—a suspended moment where healing might just be possible.

Pedro takes a deep breath, and for the first time that night, his voice is gentle rather than sharp. “Maybe we need to start with something small,” he suggests. “A conversation without accusations, without judgment. Just… talking about how we feel.”

You nod, feeling a spark of hope ignite within you. “I’d like that,” you reply, squeezing his hand gently. “Let’s try to remember why we fell in love in the first place.”

He manages a small smile, though the pain in his eyes remains. “I remember,” he says quietly. “I remember the way you used to light up the room with your laughter, the way you’d look at me as if I was the only person in the world. I remember how it felt to be loved by you.”

“And I remember how you made me feel safe,” you add, your voice soft with reminiscence. “Like no matter what happened, everything would be okay as long as we had each other.”

There’s a long pause as both of you cling to those memories, the echoes of happier times mingling with the scars of tonight’s argument. “Maybe,” Pedro says slowly, “we can find a way back to that. Not by pretending nothing is wrong, but by acknowledging our mistakes and learning from them.”

Your heart swells with cautious optimism. “I want that too,” you say, determination threading through your words. “But it’s going to take time, and we have to be patient with each other.”

Pedro steps closer, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of hope and resignation. “I’m willing to try,” he repeats. “I don’t want to lose you, y/n. I’m tired of fighting for the sake of fighting. I want to fight for us—to fight to be better.”

A tear slips down your cheek, and you brush it away gently. “Then let’s do it together,” you reply. “No more walls, no more anger. Just us, learning how to heal.”

In that moment, as the remnants of the fight slowly fade into the background, you both understand that the road ahead will be long and fraught with challenges. But for now, there is a spark—a fragile, tentative promise that love, even in its most broken form, can be rebuilt with honesty, forgiveness, and a willingness to fight for what truly matters.

Pedro’s voice is soft as he speaks again, each word measured. “I know I have a lot to fix, a lot of ways I’ve hurt you. And I know I have to confront my own demons if we’re ever going to have a chance at happiness.”

You nod, feeling the weight of his admission settle between you. “And I have my own demons,” you confess, your voice trembling with sincerity. “But maybe, together, we can exorcise them. We can start by listening—really listening—to each other.”

He reaches out, taking both your hands in his. “I promise to try harder,” he vows, eyes earnest. “To be more present, to talk when I’m hurting instead of shutting down. I promise to be honest about my feelings—even when it scares me.”

You squeeze his hands in response, tears mingling with hope. “And I promise to be more understanding,” you say, voice firm despite the lingering pain. “To give you the space you need, and to communicate without letting my own fears dictate every word.”

For a long while, you stand there, hands entwined in a silent pact—a promise to rebuild what has been broken, to navigate the treacherous waters of love and anger with newfound empathy and trust. The night is still dark outside, but in this small moment of shared vulnerability, there’s a glimmer of light that hints at the possibility of healing.

Though the wounds are fresh and the memories of tonight’s fight still sting, you both know that this conversation is only the beginning. The journey ahead is uncertain, and there will be times when anger resurfaces, when the ghosts of the past threaten to tear you apart again. But as long as you have this moment—this raw, unfiltered honesty—you have a chance to find your way back to each other.

Pedro finally speaks again, his voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with a resolve that steadies you both. “Let’s promise each other one thing,” he says. “That no matter how hard it gets, we won’t give up on us.”

You meet his gaze, feeling the weight of his words and the sincerity behind them. “I promise,” you reply, your voice resolute despite the lingering ache. “We’ll keep fighting—not against each other, but for each other.”

And as the night slowly gives way to the soft glow of dawn, you hold onto that promise. In the quiet aftermath of shattered echoes, there is a fragile hope—a belief that even in the midst of conflict and despair, love can be reborn through honesty, forgiveness, and the willingness to try again.

[andy-15-07]

Would you do Pedro Pascal x Racer!f!reader

Pedro was invited to go to SNL 50 anniversary. You on other hand, working as racer. You two secretly dating that chemistry got pretty good luckily. You got text from Pedro, He wants you to be his plus one date. You two couldn’t help it. Few moments later, he came to red carpet himself. Then you arrive, your dress was match as his like brown, very stunning and elegant. Pedro couldn’t help look at you. He was proud and very demure. You two pose like matching brown. He gives you great compliments about your dress and came to him. *fluffiness*

(Hope you will write it, thanks and have a good day mwah)

The Actor and the Racer

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 2423| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The buzz of my phone jolted me from a quiet moment in the pit lane just as the afternoon sun dipped low over the racetrack. I glanced down and saw Pedro’s name flashing on the screen—a message that instantly sent my heart into overdrive. “Hey, love,” it read, “I’ve got an invitation to SNL’s 50th Anniversary. I can’t imagine going without you. Will you be my plus one?” In that split second, the roar of engines and the smell of burning rubber faded into the background. I grinned at the thought of this unexpected but thrilling twist, my fingers flying over the screen as I texted back, “Absolutely. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

That evening, as I prepared for the event in my modest yet meticulously chosen dressing room, I couldn’t help but marvel at the serendipity of it all. My dress—a rich, elegant brown gown—was carefully selected to match Pedro’s style, a subtle nod to the intimate language we’d developed over secret rendezvous and shared smiles. Every detail had been chosen with us in mind: the earthy tone symbolized both the strength of our connection and the quiet, unassuming beauty that underpinned our lives far from the glare of public scrutiny.

Stepping out onto the red carpet felt surreal. The flashbulbs of cameras lit up the night as I made my way through a sea of elegant guests. My pulse quickened with anticipation, each step echoing with the promise of a night that was as much a celebration of love as it was of a milestone event. And there, at the beginning of the carpet, stood Pedro—tall, impeccably dressed in a tailored brown suit that spoke of classic style with a modern twist. His dark hair was perfectly in place, and the moment our eyes met, his smile widened into something both demure and undeniably proud.

“You look absolutely stunning,” he said, his voice low and warm as he reached out to gently take my hand. I felt a rush of electricity at his touch, and I couldn’t help but respond, “Thank you, Pedro. I wanted us to match tonight—it feels like our secret signature.” His laugh was soft and genuine. “Well, mission accomplished,” he murmured, and together we struck a pose that caught the attention of every camera. The flashes created a sparkling mosaic around us, yet all I could focus on was the way his eyes lit up as they roamed over my dress, filled with adoration and a hint of mischief.

As we strolled down the carpet, our conversation flowed effortlessly between playful banter and whispered memories. “Do you remember that charity race where we first met?” Pedro asked, a nostalgic lilt in his tone. I laughed, the sound mingling with the ambient hum of the event. “How could I forget? I nearly ran you off the track, and you swooped in to save the day. I still owe you one for that.” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “Oh, you owe me plenty. I’m keeping score,” he teased, and we shared a laugh that felt like a secret known only to us.

The crowd around us seemed to fade away as we delved into memories of our first encounter—an almost disastrous collision turned serendipitous meeting. “I was so convinced I’d lost control, but then you were there, calm and collected,” I recalled, smiling at the recollection. “And you, with your fearless driving, reminded me that life is about taking risks,” Pedro replied. “Every lap, every twist of fate—it all led to this moment,” I added softly, and for a brief instant, our voices were the only sounds in a world otherwise filled with flashing lights and murmurs of celebrity.

Approaching the entrance of the venue, we were immediately swarmed by enthusiastic reporters and well-dressed guests. A bright-eyed interviewer stepped forward, microphone in hand. “Pedro, you look amazing tonight. And who might this stunning lady be?” she asked, her tone both curious and admiring. Pedro squeezed my hand lightly and replied, “This is someone who races through life with as much passion off the track as she does on it. Simply put, she’s extraordinary.” I felt a flush of pride at his words, and when the interviewer pressed further about how we met, Pedro’s smile deepened. “It was a bit of chaos at a charity race—a near miss that turned into a perfect collision of hearts,” he said, and the crowd chuckled along with us, caught up in the warmth of our shared story.

Inside the venue, the elegant decor and the hum of excited chatter created a cocoon of celebration around us. We joined a group of guests at a private table, where the conversation quickly shifted from casual introductions to more intimate exchanges. Over clinking glasses of wine, Pedro leaned in and said quietly, “You know, sometimes I feel like life is just one long, unpredictable race. But every lap with you makes every twist and turn worth it.” I met his gaze, touched by the sincerity in his eyes. “I feel the same. The adrenaline of the track pales in comparison to the joy of being with you,” I replied.

Our table soon became the stage for a lively dialogue. A fellow guest, noticing our ease, asked with a playful grin, “What’s the secret to balancing high-speed races with the glitz of Hollywood events?” Pedro’s eyes danced as he replied, “It’s about knowing when to speed up and when to slow down. With her by my side, I always know when it’s time to hit the brakes and enjoy the ride.” I couldn’t resist adding, “And knowing when to shift gears to match the pace of life.” Laughter erupted around the table, and even amidst the clamor of voices and laughter, our words seemed to create a little bubble of intimacy.

Between sips of wine and bursts of shared laughter, our conversation took on moments of vulnerability. “Sometimes, I worry about how much we have to hide from the world,” Pedro admitted softly, his tone suddenly reflective. “The public sees us as a racer and a famous actor, but they don’t know the quiet moments—the late-night talks, the stolen glances that say everything without a word.” I reached out, touching his hand lightly. “Our secret may be hidden from the world, but it’s loud in our hearts. And that’s all that matters.” His eyes softened, and for a moment, the noise of the room receded into a gentle hum that underscored the truth in his words.

The evening unfolded in a series of delightful exchanges and heartfelt moments. At one point, as we walked along a quieter corridor away from the main event, Pedro stopped to look at me with a serious expression. “I have to ask,” he said, “how do you do it? How do you manage to be both this fearless racer and such a tender soul?” I paused, considering the question before answering with a gentle smile. “I think it’s because I know that after every race, there’s a moment of calm waiting for me—like the moments we share. It’s knowing that no matter how wild the ride, there’s always a soft place to land.” Pedro’s hand tightened around mine as he replied, “You are my safe haven, my constant in this whirlwind life.” His words felt like a promise, a vow that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would always find solace in each other.

At one point during the night, our conversation turned playful as we recounted the details of some of our most memorable misadventures. “Remember that time when your engine was about to give out, and I insisted we take a ‘strategic pit stop’ just to cool down?” Pedro laughed, recalling the chaotic moment with a mixture of amusement and admiration. I joined in the laughter. “How could I forget? I was convinced I was about to crash, and you were there, quipping that a good pit stop is like a good conversation—a chance to regroup and come back stronger.” Pedro grinned and added, “And you, my love, are the most thrilling conversation I’ve ever had.” The playful exchange drew smiles from those around us, but it was the sincerity behind our banter that made every word resonate.

Later, as the night deepened and we found ourselves in a quieter corner of the venue, the energy shifted to a more reflective tone. We stepped out onto a private balcony that overlooked the shimmering city below—a perfect backdrop for a conversation that felt as infinite as the stars above. Pedro leaned on the railing, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “Do you ever think about what the future holds for us?” he asked softly. I moved closer, my hand finding his in the cool night air. “I do,” I admitted, “and I see us continuing this race together—taking every twist and turn as a challenge we overcome hand in hand.” His eyes met mine, filled with a quiet certainty. “No matter how many laps we run, I promise that I’ll always be here, cheering for you, celebrating every victory, and comforting you through every defeat.” I felt my heart swell with gratitude and love. “And I’ll be there, every step of the way, ready to face whatever comes next,” I promised.

In the gentle quiet of that balcony, our dialogue became a tapestry of dreams, fears, and the hope that only true love can inspire. “You know,” Pedro said after a long pause, “I sometimes imagine our lives as one endless race. There will be obstacles, unforeseen detours, and moments when the finish line seems out of reach. But with you, every lap feels like a win.” I squeezed his hand, feeling the warmth of his truth. “And every victory, no matter how small, reminds me that our journey is worth every moment of risk.” His smile was both playful and sincere as he whispered, “Thank you for being my co-pilot in this crazy ride.”

Before we rejoined the festivities inside, a final playful exchange ensued as we paused to take one last photo together under the soft glow of the event’s exit lights. Pedro nudged me lightly. “I still can’t believe that my favorite racer is out here stealing the spotlight with me,” he teased. I laughed and replied, “Well, you know what they say—if you can’t outrun them, match them.” His eyes crinkled with amusement as he said, “I suppose matching is what we do best.” Our laughter mingled with the ambient sounds of the departing crowd, a secret melody that carried the promise of many more shared adventures.

The drive home was a quiet, reflective journey away from the dazzling chaos of the red carpet and the limelight of SNL. In the intimate hum of the car’s engine and the soft strains of our favorite song playing in the background, Pedro reached over and brushed a stray lock of hair from my face. “Every day with you,” he said in a low, earnest tone, “is like a victory lap in a race I never want to end.” I looked at him, my eyes full of unspoken gratitude, and replied, “And every lap with you reminds me just how lucky I am to have found someone who makes life feel so exhilarating, even when the world expects us to be just a racer and an actor.”

There was a long, comfortable silence as we both savored the beauty of that moment—the gentle reassurance that despite the whirlwind of public life, our private moments were our true victory. Pedro’s thumb caressed the back of my hand as he mused, “I can’t wait for our next race, for every twist and turn that life throws at us. With you by my side, I know we can handle anything.” I smiled, the simple truth in his words echoing in my heart. “And I promise to be your lucky charm, your partner on and off the track, every single day.”

In the soft glow of the early morning, as city lights blurred past and the horizon hinted at a new day, I felt a deep contentment. Our conversation had been a perfect blend of humor, nostalgia, and heartfelt promises—a testament to a love that was both fierce and tender, wild and beautifully unguarded. Every word we’d exchanged that night, every laugh and every whispered hope, had woven itself into the fabric of our shared story. It was a story that would continue to unfold lap after lap, through races won and challenges met, in a journey that was as unpredictable as it was deeply cherished.

I knew then, as I drifted into the quiet promise of sleep later that night, that our lives were intertwined in a way that transcended the superficial expectations of fame and the fleeting nature of public adoration. We were two souls racing side by side through life—each twist, each turn, every unexpected detour serving only to draw us closer together. And as the soft hum of the engine merged with the gentle cadence of our laughter, I realized that the real magic wasn’t in the red carpet moments or the glamorous events, but in the countless, unspoken promises we made in between: the secret smiles, the whispered confidences, and the tender touch of a hand that said, “I’m here, always.”

That night at SNL’s 50th Anniversary wasn’t just another glamorous event. It was a celebration of our shared journey—a race that had started with a chance encounter and blossomed into a love that defied expectations. And as we navigated the winding road ahead, filled with the unknown and the exhilarating, I held on to the truth that every lap, every finish line, was a step towards a future where our hearts would always beat as one.

In the quiet moments of the dawn, as the city slowly woke up to a new day, I whispered to myself, “Here’s to every lap we run together, to every victory that fills our hearts, and to a love that races on against all odds.” And somewhere in the soft light of morning, I knew Pedro felt the same—a promise that no matter where life’s unpredictable track led us, we would always find our way back to each other, hand in hand, heart to heart.

The journey wasn’t about winning every race or finishing first—it was about sharing every moment, every laugh, every heartfelt conversation that made our souls sing. And in that unspoken understanding, our love story continued—vivid, relentless, and as breathtaking as the open road at sunrise.

[andy-15-07]

Hello, I loved that you answered my request, it was simply amazing, can you do a part 2? After the second meeting, Pedro is invited by the CIA to do a study for their new spy movie, following F!Reader's routine and is excited to be able to see what her work is like, Pedro calls his sister Javiera and his brother Nicolas to accompany him. SN would be like a boss like Joe from the Operation Liones series.

Secret Hearts and Stardust Part 2

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 2784 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist | Secret Hearts and Stardust Part 1

The next morning, the sky was a wash of pale blue and gentle gold as I made my way to the secure entrance of the CIA facility—a place I’d always considered my second home. Today, however, there was a palpable excitement in the air, one that wasn’t solely from the adrenaline of our clandestine work. Pedro had messaged me early that morning, bubbling with anticipation: “Today’s the day I get to see your world. I’m ready for all of it.” I couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.

I arrived a few minutes early, and before I could take a breath, I heard a familiar, warm laugh behind me. “Y/N, I’m not used to my dates being this punctual,” Pedro teased as he stepped into view, wearing a casual yet stylish jacket that perfectly contrasted with his signature effortless charm. His eyes sparkled as he offered a conspiratorial wink. “I even brought reinforcements,” he added, lowering his voice as his phone buzzed in his hand. I glanced at his screen and saw that his sister Javiera and brother Nicolas had just confirmed their attendance. Pedro’s family had always been part of his life’s fabric, and today, they were joining us on an adventure that blurred the line between his celebrity world and my hidden reality.

As we walked through the hushed corridors of the CIA headquarters, I explained snippets of my daily routine—a mixture of high-stakes operations and behind-the-scenes planning. “So, this is where the magic happens,” I said, gesturing to a room where operatives huddled over monitors and confidential files. “Every day is a puzzle. You never know which piece might change the whole picture.” Pedro’s eyes lit up with genuine curiosity. “It’s like being in one of your spy movies, isn’t it? Except the stakes are all too real.”

We reached a secure conference room where I was to meet with our enigmatic supervisor—Agent SN. He was a man whose presence was as formidable as it was reassuring. With graying hair neatly combed back, a hint of a scar tracing his jawline, and eyes that had witnessed decades of covert operations, SN reminded me of a seasoned film director with a penchant for unyielding discipline. “Agent Navarro, or should I say, boss?” I greeted him with a respectful nod as I led Pedro into the room.

SN’s gaze shifted from me to Pedro, and his expression softened ever so slightly behind layers of stoic professionalism. “Mr. Pascal,” he said in a deep, measured tone, “welcome. I’ve heard quite a bit about you. Today, you’re not just a guest—you’re here to study our craft. We’re working on a new project, a spy movie that aims to capture the authenticity of our operations.” His words carried a mix of gravitas and unexpected levity, as if he were both director and mentor in this clandestine production.

Pedro grinned broadly. “I’ve always believed that the best performances come from understanding the craft up close. I’m honored to be part of this study.” His voice was warm and sincere, yet there was a playful undertone as he exchanged a glance with me. I could tell he was excited to see the world I navigated every day.

“Very well,” SN said, leaning forward slightly. “You’ll shadow our team for the day. We start with a briefing at 0900 hours. Pay close attention. In our line of work, every detail counts.” He paused and then added with a subtle smirk, “And try not to get too starstruck, Mr. Pascal. This isn’t Hollywood.” The remark drew laughter from both Pedro and me, breaking some of the formality of the moment.

Just as we were about to leave the conference room, Pedro’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen and answered, “Hey, Javiera—yes, we’re about to dive into the real spy business. Nicolas, get ready, because this is going to be epic!” His tone was light and inviting, and soon, through a lively speakerphone connection, I heard the familiar voices of his siblings.

“Pedro, you better not embarrass us in front of the CIA operatives,” Javiera chimed in, her voice playful yet teasing. “I’m packing my camera. I want behind-the-scenes shots for our next family reunion slideshow!” Nicolas’s deep, jovial laugh followed. “And remember, if they offer you a role as the suave secret agent, you have to sign on as the director’s right-hand man!” Pedro laughed and replied, “Oh, you two are incorrigible. But trust me, today is about seeing the truth behind the glamor. I’ll report back with all the secrets I can find!”

We made our way to the briefing room where a large digital display flickered to life with maps, strategic data, and mission updates. Around us, agents discussed operational details with a focused intensity that contrasted sharply with Pedro’s light-hearted banter with his siblings on the phone. I introduced him to a few colleagues, ensuring that the blend of celebrity curiosity and professional integrity was maintained.

During a lull in the briefing, Pedro leaned over and whispered, “I still can’t believe I’m here. It’s like watching a live movie set, except every line could be a matter of national security.” I smiled in response, “I know. And trust me, the real magic happens when you’re in the thick of it.” His eyes met mine, and for a moment, the seriousness of our worlds merged into an unspoken understanding—a mutual respect for the challenges each of us faced.

After the briefing, I led Pedro on a tour through various sections of our operation. We passed through the tech hub, where agents monitored surveillance feeds and intercepted communications. Pedro’s inquisitive nature was on full display as he peppered everyone with questions.

“Who’s in charge of this operation?” he asked an agent at a control panel. “Agent Romero,” the agent replied curtly. “Focus on the task, Mr. Pascal.” Pedro chuckled. “Right, I’ll try not to distract the world-saving team too much.” His comment elicited smiles from a few nearby agents, and I couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride that he was making our world seem both thrilling and accessible.

We then arrived at a makeshift training area where operatives were engaged in simulated field exercises. The sounds of hushed commands and controlled chaos filled the space. I paused beside Pedro, saying, “This is where we hone our instincts. Every exercise is designed to push us beyond our limits.” Pedro’s expression was a mix of awe and amusement. “So, you’re telling me that I’m about to witness real-life action scenes? I must say, I’m both nervous and excited.” I laughed softly. “Nervous is good—it means you’re alive in this moment.”

As we moved on, I noticed Pedro’s phone buzzing again. This time, he answered with a grin, “Hey, Nicolas, any updates from the ‘big boss’ side?” His voice carried a teasing lilt, and through the speakerphone came a gruff yet affectionate voice, unmistakably that of their older brother. “Pedro, focus! SN wants a full report by the end of the day. And remember, no improvisation on the record.” Nicolas’s tone was half admonishing, half supportive. Pedro replied, “Yes, boss—I mean, Nicolas. I’ll behave.” Laughter ensued, and I realized that behind every public figure, there were layers of family dynamics that made these moments all the more human.

The tour culminated in a quiet observation room where SN invited Pedro to sit in on a strategic planning session. The room was quiet, with only the soft hum of computers and a few whispered exchanges between agents. SN turned to Pedro, his eyes serious now. “Mr. Pascal, I understand you’re here to observe, but I must insist you remember that this is not a set. Every decision made here impacts lives. I trust you’ll treat this experience with the utmost respect.” Pedro nodded solemnly, the weight of his words sinking in. “I promise, Agent SN. I’m here to learn, not to perform.” His sincerity earned a nod of approval from SN, who then added, “Good. Keep that in mind.”

The session was interrupted only briefly for a moment of humor when Javiera’s voice piped in from the phone, “Pedro, if you’re too enthralled by the serious business, remember there’s a lunch break soon. You wouldn’t want to miss my famous CIA cafeteria chili, would you?” Pedro couldn’t help but chuckle. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Javiera. Nicolas, you’re on chili duty!” Nicolas’s laughter echoed through the line as he joked, “I’ll bring extra napkins—don’t want the CIA to get stained by a superstar’s dinner!”

Lunch was an informal affair—a communal table where agents, operatives, and now our unexpected guest shared stories and laughter. As I sat next to Pedro, he leaned over and said, “I’ve always wondered, Y/N, how do you balance the intensity of your work with a normal life? It all seems so... cinematic.” I took a bite of my salad before replying, “It isn’t always cinematic. Sometimes it’s mundane, and sometimes it’s heart-pounding. But there’s beauty in every moment, whether it’s a quiet coffee or a high-stakes operation. And today, I’m glad you’re here to see it all.” Pedro’s eyes softened as he said, “I feel privileged, really. It’s like I’m watching the real-life making of a masterpiece.” His words made me reflect on the hidden poetry of my daily grind—a world that few ever got to see.

After lunch, we returned to the operational center. I could sense that Pedro was absorbing everything like a sponge. At one point, he asked one of the field agents, “What’s the most challenging part of your job?” The agent, a seasoned operative with a calm demeanor, replied, “Trusting your instincts in a world built on deception. And sometimes, knowing when to let go of the persona and just be human.” Pedro nodded thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on the agent as if he were trying to capture the essence of that simple truth. “That’s something I’ve been trying to learn too,” he admitted softly.

As the day wore on, we found ourselves in a small debriefing room. SN had gathered a few senior agents to review the morning’s operations. I stood slightly apart, not wanting to interfere, while Pedro observed intently. The conversation was laden with technical details and strategy, yet there was an undercurrent of camaraderie. One of the agents remarked, “In our line of work, every small victory is a story in itself. It’s not just about the missions, but about the people who live them.” Pedro leaned over to me and whispered, “I think that’s what makes you so fascinating—your life is a series of untold stories.” I offered him a small smile, touched by his perceptiveness.

At one point, Nicolas joined us in the room, his presence immediately lightening the mood. “So, Pedro, have you taken any notes for your spy movie study?” he teased. Pedro laughed and replied, “Oh, you know me—I’m turning every moment into a scene. But I promise I’m not here to steal secrets, just to understand them.” Nicolas shook his head in mock disapproval, “Just make sure you don’t spill any classified details in your Oscar acceptance speech!” Laughter filled the room, the tension easing for a brief, delightful moment.

The day wound down with a final debrief where SN addressed everyone with a tone that mixed both encouragement and sternness. “Today, you witnessed the raw, unfiltered reality of our work. It’s not glamorous, but it is necessary. And sometimes, in the midst of chaos, you find beauty. Mr. Pascal, thank you for your respectful curiosity.” Pedro’s eyes met mine, and I saw a glimmer of genuine admiration in them. “Thank you, Agent SN. I have learned more today than I ever imagined,” he said earnestly. SN’s response was a curt nod, “Remember, it’s the truth that often inspires the best art.”

After the debrief, Pedro excused himself to step outside for a moment. I found him by the entrance, leaning against the cool wall, his expression contemplative. “What did you think?” I asked softly. He smiled, a rare, open smile that seemed to carry the weight of his experiences. “It’s surreal, Y/N. I’ve seen behind the curtain of a world I once thought was only for movies. I mean, look at you—you’re not just an agent. You’re a storyteller in disguise, weaving reality into something extraordinary.” I laughed lightly, “I never thought of it that way. Sometimes the everyday is the most compelling story of all.” Pedro’s phone buzzed again, and he answered, “Javiera, Nicolas, we’re wrapping up. How was the chili?” His tone was playful as he relayed our day’s adventures to his siblings, their banter echoing down the corridor like a joyful reminder of home. In that moment, I realized that our worlds—so different on the surface—were bound by a shared human desire to connect, to understand, and to create meaning out of chaos.

As dusk began to settle over the facility, SN called us into one last room—a quiet lounge bathed in soft lamplight. “Before you leave,” he said, addressing Pedro directly, “I want you to remember this: in every field, whether it’s espionage or cinema, authenticity is your most powerful asset. Don’t lose sight of that.” Pedro’s eyes shone with gratitude as he replied, “I won’t, Agent SN. Today was eye-opening, and I promise to carry that truth with me in everything I do.” I could see the sincerity in his voice, the blend of awe and determination that made him more than just a celebrity; he was a man eager to learn, to adapt, and to embrace the complexities of a world far removed from the scripted lines of film.

Walking back to the parking area with Pedro, we were joined once more by his siblings. Javiera teased, “So, did you pick up any secret agent tricks, Pedro?” He grinned, “Maybe a few. But honestly, today reminded me that every hero—no matter how glamorous—has a story of struggle, hope, and sometimes even a little chaos.” Nicolas added, “And don’t forget the importance of a good family lunch. That chili is legendary.” Pedro laughed, “I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

Standing beside his car, I felt the pull of our shared experiences. “Today was… different,” I said quietly, almost to myself. Pedro turned to me, his gaze earnest. “Different in the best way possible. I got to see the real you, Y/N—the woman who juggles secrets and courage every day, who finds beauty in the unscripted, and who makes every moment count.” I reached for his hand, our fingers intertwining in a silent promise of understanding and respect. “Thank you for today, Pedro. For stepping into my world and seeing the truth behind the glamour.” He smiled, that same mischievous glint in his eyes. “And thank you for letting me in. I’ve learned that sometimes the most extraordinary stories come from the most unexpected encounters.”

As we said our goodbyes and I watched Pedro drive away with Javiera and Nicolas riding along, I felt a deep sense of fulfillment. The day had been a remarkable blend of adrenaline, insight, and heartfelt connection—a day where two worlds collided, not in chaos, but in a harmonious exchange of truth and passion.

Later that night, as I sat alone in the quiet of my apartment, I replayed the day’s events in my mind—the subtle smiles, the candid dialogues, and the laughter that had echoed in the halls of the CIA. I realized that while my world was filled with secrets and shadows, moments like these shone a light on the beauty of authenticity. And somewhere out there, Pedro was doing the same, his heart enriched by the simple, profound truth that beneath every role we play, we’re all just human beings seeking connection.

The next morning, a text from Pedro arrived: “Last night, I couldn’t stop thinking about today. Thank you for sharing your world with me, Y/N. Let’s continue this journey together—one day, one secret at a time.” I smiled, my heart warm with the promise of future adventures and the unspoken understanding that what we shared was something rare and genuine.

In that quiet moment, I knew that our journey was only beginning. The lines between duty and desire, between shadow and light, were blurring into something new—a narrative written not by scripts, but by the spontaneous, heartfelt dialogue of two souls daring to embrace the unpredictable, beautiful chaos of life.

And so, as the sun rose again over the city, I felt ready to face whatever came next, knowing that in every conversation, every shared secret, and every moment of laughter, we were crafting a story that was uniquely ours—one that transcended roles, blurred boundaries, and celebrated the very essence of being alive.

[andy-15-07]

It's SNL night tonight!! How 'bout reader sitting in the audience with his family supporting Pedro on SNL

His Biggest Fan

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 628 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The energy in the SNL studio was electric, the kind of buzz that only came with a live show night. Y/N sat in the audience, surrounded by Pedro’s family, his sister and cousins chatting animatedly while they waited for the show to begin. The excitement was palpable, and Y/N couldn’t help but grin as she took it all in. Pedro had been nervous all week, rehearsing skits and perfecting his monologue, but she knew he would be incredible.

His sister nudged her playfully. "You ready to see your man kill it tonight?"

Y/N laughed, feeling warmth spread through her chest. "Absolutely. He’s been practicing his lines in the mirror like a lunatic. I caught him doing different voices at breakfast."

They all chuckled, knowing exactly how seriously Pedro took his work. The lights dimmed slightly, signaling the show was about to start, and the iconic opening music filled the studio. The crowd erupted in cheers as the announcer boomed, "Live from New York, it’s Saturday Night!"

When Pedro finally walked onto the stage for his monologue, looking effortlessly charming in a perfectly tailored suit, Y/N felt a swell of pride. He smiled at the audience, a mixture of excitement and nerves in his eyes.

"Wow," he started, looking around the studio. "This is insane. I can’t believe I’m here… hosting SNL!"

The audience roared with applause, and Pedro chuckled, running a hand through his hair. Y/N could tell he was settling into his rhythm. He glanced toward where they were seated, his eyes locking with hers for the briefest moment, a small, almost imperceptible wink sent in her direction.

His monologue was a perfect mix of humor and sincerity, poking fun at himself, his roles, and even his newfound internet heartthrob status. The crowd ate it up, laughing and cheering at every punchline. Y/N found herself laughing the loudest, feeling a surge of affection for him.

As the show progressed, Pedro nailed every skit, seamlessly blending into the absurd world of SNL. Whether he was playing a medieval warrior in an over-the-top soap opera parody or an exhausted dad in a grocery store meltdown skit, his comedic timing was flawless. Between takes, Y/N would glance at his family, all of them beaming with pride.

During a quick break, Pedro’s sister leaned in. "He’s having the time of his life. You can see it."

Y/N nodded, watching him from afar as he laughed with the cast members, the stress of the week melting away. "He really is."

The highlight of the night came during the last skit—a surprise cameo that had the audience screaming. As the final applause rang through the studio, Pedro bowed dramatically, his wide smile visible even from where Y/N sat.

When the show wrapped, the cast and crew took their bows, and Pedro made his way over to them, still buzzing with adrenaline.

"You were amazing!" Y/N said as she wrapped her arms around him, feeling his chest rise and fall with exhilaration.

Pedro squeezed her tightly. "Did you see me almost break in that last skit? I swear, I was seconds away from losing it."

His sister laughed. "We saw, and we loved it. You killed it tonight."

Pedro let out a breath of relief, his smile softening as he looked at Y/N. "You think so?"

She cupped his face gently. "I know so."

He leaned in, pressing a quick, grateful kiss to her lips before pulling back with a grin. "Alright, let’s go celebrate. I need food, drinks, and at least five hours of sleep."

As they left the studio together, Y/N tucked herself under his arm, the warmth of the night’s success surrounding them. There was no better feeling than seeing someone she loved shine, and tonight, Pedro had done just that.

[andy-15-07]

Hii! I would love to see a fic where Paul Mescal and the reader are snowed in their apartment in London and it’s just cute and cozy!

Snowed In with You

PAIRING:Paul Mescal x reader

WORD COUNT: 810 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Paul Mescal Masterlis

The snow outside their London apartment had been falling steadily since the early hours of the morning, blanketing the city in a thick, soft white. Y/N stood by the window, her fingers curled around a steaming mug of tea, watching the world turn into a winter wonderland.

"We’re officially snowed in," Paul announced as he walked back into the living room, flopping onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. He stretched out, clad in sweatpants and one of his thick jumpers, looking every bit as cozy as the atmosphere around them.

Y/N turned, a smirk playing on her lips. "And this is a problem because…?"

Paul grinned. "It means I have no choice but to spend the entire day annoying you."

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the amusement in them. "You do that every day anyway."

"True," he admitted, reaching out his hand. "Come here, let me keep you warm."

She obliged, padding across the wooden floors before settling against him on the couch, tucking herself under his arm. He pressed a kiss to her temple, his stubble scratching lightly against her skin. "This is nice," he murmured, his voice a soft hum of contentment.

Y/N smiled, snuggling deeper into his side. "It really is."

They spent the next hour lazily wrapped up in a blanket, flipping through films on the telly, neither of them able to agree on what to watch. "Rom-com," Y/N suggested, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Paul groaned. "We watched one last night."

"And your point?"

"Something with a bit more action? Maybe a thriller?"

She scoffed. "We’re snowed in, Paul. I need cozy, not heart-pounding."

He sighed dramatically but reached for the remote. "Fine. But you owe me."

"Owe you what?"

He smirked. "I’ll think of something."

They settled on Notting Hill, much to Y/N’s delight, and halfway through the film, Paul had given up pretending to protest. His fingers traced lazy circles on her arm as they watched, the warmth of their little cocoon making the outside world seem like a distant place.

When the credits rolled, Paul stretched, pulling her even closer. "Alright, I have an idea."

"Uh-oh."

"Oi," he nudged her side. "Trust me. It’s a good one."

Y/N raised a skeptical brow but let him pull her to her feet. "Are we making a snowman?"

"Nope."

"Sledding down the stairs?"

He chuckled. "Tempting, but no. We are making the best hot chocolate in the world."

She grinned. "With whipped cream and marshmallows?"

"Obviously."

They moved into the kitchen, working together to heat the milk and melt the chocolate. Paul insisted on adding a pinch of cinnamon, claiming it was his "secret ingredient." Y/N scoffed but let him have his moment.

As the hot chocolate steamed in their mugs, they clinked them together in a silent toast before taking a sip. Y/N let out a happy sigh. "Okay, fine. You were right."

Paul smirked. "I always am."

She lightly kicked his shin, making him laugh. "Careful, love. I’m fragile."

They carried their mugs back to the couch, curling up once more. Outside, the snow continued to fall, thick and endless, but inside, everything was warm, soft, and perfect.

Paul looked at her, eyes shining with something impossibly fond. "You know, if we’re stuck here forever, I wouldn’t mind."

Y/N smiled, reaching up to cup his cheek. "Me neither."

The afternoon passed in a haze of soft touches and quiet laughter. They built a blanket fort in the living room, draping fairy lights around the edges to give it a golden glow. Paul crawled inside first, patting the space next to him. "Come on, love, it’s got everything—cushions, warmth, and most importantly, me."

Y/N laughed but crawled in beside him, settling between his legs and resting her head on his chest. "This might be the best snow day ever."

Paul hummed in agreement, running his fingers through her hair. "Told you I had good ideas."

They lay there for a while, wrapped up in their little world, until Paul suddenly whispered, "You hungry?"

Y/N turned her head to look up at him. "Always."

"Alright," he said, reluctantly pulling himself up. "Stay put. I’ll make us something."

She watched as he disappeared into the kitchen, hearing the familiar sounds of cupboards opening and the clatter of pans. Minutes later, he returned with grilled cheese sandwiches and another round of hot chocolate.

They ate inside their blanket fort, giggling between bites. "I think we should do this every time it snows," Y/N said, nudging his knee.

Paul grinned. "Deal. But next time, I get to pick the movie."

She pretended to consider. "Fine, but only if you keep making me hot chocolate."

"Done."

As the snowstorm raged on outside, inside their little cocoon of warmth, everything felt perfect. And for that day, at least, the rest of the world didn’t matter.

[andy-15-07]

Hi! Could you write something like... Aaron is sick, but he does not want to go to the doctor and reader is his girl and she so worried about him that he finally agrees to go to the doc? So they go and the doc checks him and she is there with him? Thanks!

When Love Heals

pairing: Aaron Taylor Johnson x female!reader

word count:2483 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Aaron Taylor Johnson Masterlist

You wake early to the sound of soft coughs echoing through your apartment. As you tiptoe into the living room, you find Aaron Taylor-Johnson curled up on the couch beneath a pile of blankets. His usually bright eyes are heavy with exhaustion, and his face carries a pale, worn look that makes your heart clench. Despite his ever-confident demeanor on screen and off, you know that something isn’t right this time.

“Aaron?” you murmur, stepping closer. “Babe, are you okay?”

He glances at you with a half-hearted smile. “I’m fine, y/n. Just a little under the weather. Nothing to worry about.”

But you know him better than that. You’ve seen that stubborn spark in his eyes before—a spark that refuses to admit vulnerability. “This isn’t just a little cold,” you say softly, reaching out to brush his hair from his forehead. “You’re burning up, and your throat sounds rough.”

Aaron waves you off, his voice gruff with reluctance. “I’m not a kid, you know. I can handle a few sniffles. I’m sure it’ll pass by morning.”

You knead your brows together in concern. “Please, Aaron. I know you hate doctors, but I’m really worried about you. Let me take your temperature.”

He sighs dramatically, trying to mask his discomfort with a playful roll of his eyes. “Oh, come on, y/n. I’m not falling apart. It’s just… I’m feeling a bit off, alright?”

“Feeling off isn’t enough when you’re running a fever like this,” you insist, your tone firm yet tender. “I’m not letting you ignore this. You need to see a doctor, even if it’s just a check-up.”

Aaron hesitates, his pride warring with your genuine concern. “I don’t need a doctor. I’ll just rest and sleep it off,” he protests.

You step closer, placing your hands on his shoulders. “I know you’re strong, but even the strongest people need help sometimes. I can’t stand watching you suffer, and you mean too much to me to let you do this alone.”

His eyes meet yours, softening under the weight of your earnest worry. “Alright, alright,” he concedes, a slight smirk tugging at his lips despite his exhaustion. “I’ll go… for you.”

Relief floods through you as you help him gather his things and bundle him up in his favorite sweater. “Thank you,” you whisper, both a command and a plea. “I promise it won’t be too bad.”

A short while later, you’re driving side by side in the car, the quiet hum of the engine underscoring the seriousness of the situation. Aaron leans his head against the window, his eyes clouded with fatigue, while you steal worried glances at him from the rearview mirror.

“Do you think the doctor will be able to help?” he asks softly, almost as if he’s surprised by his own concern.

“Of course,” you reply, your hand reaching out to give his arm a reassuring squeeze. “Dr. Simmons is the best. She’ll know exactly what to do.”

Before long, you pull up to the clinic—a modest, welcoming building with bright windows and a gentle buzz of activity. Inside, a friendly nurse greets you both with a warm smile. “Good morning! What brings you in today?” she asks, her tone light yet attentive.

Aaron grumbles, “I’m just not feeling too hot, I guess.” He shrugs, trying to mask the obvious discomfort.

You interject, “He’s been running a fever since yesterday and hasn’t stopped coughing. I’m really worried about him.”

The nurse’s smile softens as she leads you into a small examination room. “Let’s take a look at you, Aaron,” she says kindly. “We’ll check your temperature and see how you’re doing.”

Aaron sits on the exam table, his reluctance evident in every movement. You stand by his side, holding his hand tightly as a silent promise of support. Soon, Dr. Simmons enters—a woman whose warm eyes and calm demeanor immediately put both of you at ease.

“Hello, Aaron,” she greets him, her tone both professional and compassionate. “I hear you’re not feeling well.”

He gives a small nod, mumbling, “Yeah, just a bit off.” But you see the unease in his eyes, and it makes you grip his hand a little tighter.

Dr. Simmons smiles gently. “Let me take your temperature and listen to your breathing. Can you tell me exactly how you’re feeling?”

Aaron shifts uncomfortably. “I feel… tired. My throat’s a bit sore, and I’ve been coughing a lot.”

She begins her examination, her movements precise yet gentle. “How long have you been experiencing these symptoms?” she asks as she checks his pulse.

“Since yesterday. I figured I’d sleep it off,” he replies, his voice trailing off.

Dr. Simmons raises an eyebrow slightly. “Sometimes, sleeping it off isn’t enough. You’re running a significant fever, and your breathing sounds a bit labored. I’d like to run a few tests—nothing too invasive, just some blood work and maybe a chest X-ray to rule out any complications.”

Aaron’s face twists in mild protest. “Tests? I’m not sure I need all that. I just want to go home and rest.”

She leans forward, her eyes kind yet firm. “Aaron, it’s important we get a full picture of what’s going on. I want you to be sure that nothing serious is developing. Trust me, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

You see him hesitate, the familiar stubborn streak battling with the reality of his symptoms. Finally, he sighs, a resigned smile appearing. “Alright, doctor. Let’s do the tests.”

Dr. Simmons nods, scribbling some notes on her clipboard. “Excellent decision. In the meantime, I recommend you take plenty of fluids, get lots of rest, and I’m prescribing some medication to help manage your fever and cough. Once we get the test results, we can talk about the next steps.”

Aaron looks at you, his eyes searching for reassurance. “I guess… I guess I should have listened to you, huh?”

You chuckle softly, brushing a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “I’m always right, aren’t I?” you tease, though your tone is laced with genuine care.

He grins weakly. “Maybe a little. Thanks for pushing me, y/n.”

Throughout the next half hour, you remain by his side in the waiting area. The nurse occasionally peeks in to update you both on the progress of the tests, and each time, your heart lifts a bit at the relief in Aaron’s expression. Despite his initial reluctance, he starts to relax under your comforting presence and Dr. Simmons’ professional care.

After the tests, you’re called back into the examination room. Dr. Simmons enters with a reassuring smile. “Aaron, your tests came back, and it appears you have a viral infection. It’s nothing too serious, but you do need to take it easy for a few days. Here’s a prescription for some antiviral medication and instructions for rest and hydration.”

Aaron exhales deeply, relief evident in his eyes. “So, I get a forced break from everything?”

You laugh, your voice bright with relief. “Yes, and you’re not allowed to argue about it.”

Aaron shoots you a playful look. “I promise to be the most compliant patient ever—if only to keep you happy.”

Dr. Simmons chuckles softly. “It’s important to take care of yourself. And remember, if you experience any worsening of your symptoms, don’t hesitate to call or come back in.”

He nods, “Understood. I’ll follow your advice.”

Before leaving, you both thank Dr. Simmons profusely. Outside, the crisp air feels invigorating after the clinical confines of the examination room. You help Aaron into the car, and as you drive home, the conversation turns light and affectionate.

“How are you really feeling, though?” you ask as you glance at him in the rearview mirror.

He smiles softly. “Much better, now that I know it’s nothing serious. And I have you by my side. I guess I’m lucky, even if I can be a bit of a stubborn mule sometimes.”

You lean forward, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Just promise me you’ll take care of yourself from now on. I need you healthy—not just for me, but for you.”

Aaron’s eyes glisten with sincerity. “I promise, y/n. Today, you made me see that even the strongest guys need a little help sometimes.”

Once home, you set about creating a cozy recovery zone for him. The living room transforms into a haven of blankets, soft pillows, and gentle lighting. You bring him a steaming cup of herbal tea and a bowl of his favorite soup, the aroma filling the room with warmth and comfort.

“Here,” you say, handing him the mug. “This should help soothe your throat.”

He accepts it gratefully, taking a careful sip before setting it down. “You really are amazing,” he murmurs, his voice thick with gratitude.

You smile, brushing his hair aside. “I just want you to feel better. Nothing makes me happier than seeing you healthy and happy.”

He laughs softly. “I guess this is my wake-up call. I need to listen to you—and my body—a lot more.”

You nudge him playfully. “Well, I’m here to remind you, every single day.”

The rest of the day is filled with gentle banter and quiet moments of connection. You watch over him as he naps on the couch, periodically checking his temperature and administering his medicine. During a lull, Aaron opens his eyes and looks at you.

“Hey, y/n?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes?” you reply, sitting down beside him.

“Thank you for not giving up on me, even when I’m being difficult.” His eyes search yours for understanding.

You place your hand over his, “I’ll always be here for you, no matter what. That’s what love is all about.”

He grins weakly. “So, you’re saying I’m lucky to have you as my personal nurse?”

You laugh, “Absolutely. And don’t you forget it.”

Later that evening, as you both settle down to watch a movie on the couch, the room bathed in the soft glow of a lamp, Aaron wraps his arm around you. “I never thought I’d be this grateful for a doctor’s visit,” he confesses after a few moments of comfortable silence.

You nudge him gently, “Maybe you’ll learn to appreciate my insistence on taking care of you.”

He chuckles. “You always do, even when I’m a stubborn mess. I’m sorry for not wanting to go in the first place.”

You rest your head on his shoulder. “There’s no need to apologize. I know you don’t like feeling vulnerable. But sometimes, it’s okay to let someone care for you.”

Aaron sighs contentedly. “I guess you’re right. And I’m starting to realize that listening to you isn’t just nagging—it’s love.”

Your heart swells at his words. “Exactly. I just want you to be safe and healthy.”

As the movie ends and the credits roll, you both remain on the couch, the silence comfortable and full of unspoken promises. Aaron turns to you, his eyes earnest. “I promise to take this seriously, to listen to my body—and to you—more often. I don’t want to put myself at risk, not when I have you by my side.”

You smile softly, “I’m glad to hear that. Our future is too important to risk on stubborn pride.”

He draws you into a tender kiss, a silent promise that he’ll try harder, not just for himself, but for the both of you. “I love you, y/n,” he murmurs.

“I love you too, Aaron,” you reply, your voice filled with warmth and relief.

The following morning, sunlight streams through the window, casting gentle patterns on the floor. You wake to find Aaron still resting, looking much more at ease than the day before. You prepare a light breakfast—fresh fruit, toast, and a cup of his favorite coffee—ensuring that he starts the day feeling cared for and cherished.

When he finally stirs, his first words are soft and sincere. “Good morning, beautiful. I feel so much better today.”

You smile as you serve him his breakfast. “That’s wonderful to hear. I made sure to include extra vitamin C—my special recipe for recovery.”

He laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “You really are the best, y/n. I promise I’ll do everything I can to stay on top of this.”

As you eat together, the conversation drifts to plans for the future. “When you’re fully recovered,” Aaron suggests between bites, “maybe we could plan that road trip you’ve been dreaming about. Just the two of us, a little escape from everything.”

Your eyes light up with excitement. “That sounds amazing. A perfect getaway to recharge and explore.”

He nods enthusiastically, “It’s a deal. But for now, I need to focus on getting better. I’m definitely not skipping any of the medicine or my rest.”

You tease him lightly, “No more playing the tough guy, right? I need you healthy.”

Aaron grins. “I know, I know. I’ll be the most compliant patient ever—if it means I get to have you by my side every step of the way.”

The day unfolds with a series of quiet, heartfelt moments—each conversation, every shared laugh, and gentle touch reinforcing the deep bond between you. As the afternoon wanes, Aaron seems more like his usual self—his energy returning slowly, his jokes coming back, and the stubbornness tempered with a newfound appreciation for your care.

Before the evening settles in, you both sit on the couch once more, this time wrapped in a comfortable silence that speaks volumes. Aaron turns to you, his gaze soft and sincere. “You know, I’m really grateful you made me come to the doctor today. I realized that being healthy isn’t about being tough—it’s about knowing when to lean on someone you love.”

You smile, brushing your fingertips against his cheek. “I’m just happy to see you feeling better. And remember, it’s okay to be vulnerable sometimes. It makes room for love and care, and that’s what keeps us strong.”

He squeezes your hand gently. “I’ll never forget that today. I promise to take better care of myself—and to listen to you, even when I’m feeling stubborn.”

As the night comes to a close, you share a quiet, lingering kiss—a promise of a brighter, healthier tomorrow and the unwavering strength of the love you share. In that moment, you know that every push, every insistence, and every small act of care has been worth it.

Drifting off to sleep in each other’s arms, you both understand that love isn’t just about the grand gestures, but the everyday moments of concern and care. It’s about being there when the world feels heavy, about turning even a doctor’s visit into a shared adventure, and most importantly, about healing together.

And as you both close your eyes that night, you silently vow that no matter what challenges may come, you’ll always have each other—because in love, every little effort counts, and every caring gesture is a step toward a healthier, happier life.

[andy-15-07]

I would love to see a Paul Mescal fix where the reader is wearing bunny slippers and he thinks it’s just the cutest!

Bunny Slippers

PAIRING:Paul Mescal x reader

WORD COUNT: 1642 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Paul Mescal Masterlist

Y/N had always believed that comfort was the ultimate style, and on lazy weekend mornings, nothing screamed “cozy” louder than a pair of pastel pink bunny slippers. Today was no different. Wrapped in an oversized sweater and those undeniably cute bunny slippers, Y/N was curled up on the couch with a cup of tea and a favorite book when the doorbell rang.

Rolling their eyes in mild annoyance at the interruption, Y/N shuffled over to the door in fuzzy slippers, expecting a package or a neighbor’s delivery. Instead, standing on the doorstep was Paul Mescal—radiant as ever, with a playful glint in his eye and a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

“Hey,” Paul greeted softly, his gaze immediately falling to Y/N’s feet. “I have to say… those are the cutest bunny slippers I’ve ever seen.”

A blush crept over Y/N’s cheeks as they hesitated for a moment before replying, “Oh, really? I figured they were kind of ridiculous.”

Paul’s laughter was warm and genuine as he stepped inside. “Ridiculous in the best possible way,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “You have a knack for making even the simplest things adorable.”

Y/N closed the door behind him, a hint of playfulness in their tone. “Well, if you’re going to be impressed by my footwear, you might as well stay for a while. I’m making coffee.”

As Y/N headed to the kitchen, Paul’s eyes followed them appreciatively. He took in the relaxed ambiance of the apartment—polaroids of adventures past, bookshelves filled with memories, and the soft hum of a lazy day. He couldn’t help but be charmed by every little detail.

In the kitchen, as Y/N prepared coffee, Paul leaned casually against the counter. “I have to ask,” he said with a grin, “what inspired these bunny slippers? Are they a secret nod to your fun side?”

Y/N chuckled, stirring milk into the coffee. “I guess they just remind me not to take life too seriously,” they admitted. “Sometimes, you need a little whimsy to get through the day.”

Paul’s eyes softened, and he moved closer. “I love that about you,” he said earnestly. “Your ability to find joy in the small things—it’s contagious.”

Handing Paul a steaming mug of coffee, Y/N added with a teasing smile, “Well, if you think these slippers are adorable, just wait until you see my collection of quirky socks.”

Paul laughed, accepting the mug. “Now I’m intrigued. Maybe you’ll give me a tour later?” His tone was playful but hinted at genuine curiosity.

Sitting down at the small kitchen table, they both sipped their coffee in a comfortable silence that was soon broken by Paul’s soft inquiry. “So, how’s your day been so far?” he asked, leaning forward with genuine interest.

Y/N settled into the conversation easily. “It’s been nice—lazy, even. I was planning to read and just enjoy a slow morning. And you? What brings you here?”

Paul’s smile grew. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by. Plus, I couldn’t resist the chance to see you in… well, bunny slippers.” His eyes danced with humor and affection.

Y/N laughed, the sound light and musical. “You’re terrible,” they teased. “But I appreciate the compliment.”

As the morning unfolded, the conversation flowed effortlessly. They talked about favorite books, upcoming projects, and the little oddities that made their lives uniquely theirs. The dialogue was punctuated by playful banter and moments of quiet understanding.

Later, while Y/N rearranged some magazines in the living room, Paul couldn’t resist a closer look. “You know,” he said, his voice low and affectionate, “I never imagined I’d be so taken with someone’s choice in bunny slippers.”

Y/N paused, turning to face him with a grin. “Really now? I thought you were more impressed by witty banter and deep conversations.”

Paul moved closer, lowering his voice. “Both, actually. But these… these little details—they make you, you. And that’s irresistible.”

There was a pause as the warmth in the room deepened. Y/N’s cheeks flushed again as they reached out to adjust the pillow behind Paul, who was now seated comfortably on the sofa. “I’m glad you dropped by,” Y/N said softly, their eyes searching his. “I really needed this break from the usual hustle.”

Paul’s gaze softened. “I’m always happy to be here,” he replied, his tone sincere. “Sometimes, it’s the simplest moments—like sharing coffee in bunny slippers—that feel the most meaningful.”

A comfortable silence enveloped them as they sat side by side. Paul’s eyes drifted to Y/N’s feet, admiring the playful accessory. “I have a confession,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “I find those slippers absolutely adorable. They’re a reminder that you don’t have to be perfect to be amazing.”

Y/N smiled, touched by his words. “Thank you, Paul. That means a lot coming from you.” They looked down at their feet and then back at him with a teasing glimmer in their eye. “Maybe I’ll wear them more often if it makes you happy.”

Paul laughed softly, reaching out to gently squeeze Y/N’s hand. “Trust me, I’d be thrilled to see you in them any day of the week.”

The lighthearted conversation soon shifted into a deeper discussion about life’s little quirks and the beauty of embracing one’s true self. Paul recalled a story from his childhood about how his mother used to let him wear outrageous socks on purpose—an act of defiance against conformity that taught him early on the joy of individuality.

“Sometimes,” he said, his tone reflective, “it’s those little rebellions that make life so much more interesting. Like your bunny slippers—they’re a statement that you’re not afraid to be a little silly.”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with understanding. “Exactly,” they replied. “There’s so much pressure to always be serious and put together. But if you can laugh at yourself, or even at something as trivial as a pair of bunny slippers, it makes everything lighter.”

Paul nodded thoughtfully. “You know, I think we need more people in this world who are brave enough to be themselves—quirks and all.”

Their conversation meandered from personal stories to future dreams, each shared detail strengthening the bond that had been quietly forming between them. The dialogue was rich, layered with humor, vulnerability, and the kind of intimacy that came from truly seeing one another.

After a while, Y/N stood up and stretched. “I’m going to head to the balcony for a bit,” they announced. “Care for a stroll?”

Paul grinned. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” They moved together to the balcony, stepping out into the gentle afternoon light. The city buzzed softly below, a backdrop to their intimate moment of escape.

As they leaned on the balcony railing, watching the world move at its own pace, Paul turned to Y/N. “You know,” he began with a playful tone, “I’m still thinking about those bunny slippers.”

Y/N laughed, the sound mingling with the distant city hum. “Oh really? And what about them?”

Paul’s gaze was sincere as he replied, “They’re a small reminder that sometimes, it’s the little things that bring the most joy. And when I see you in them, it just makes everything feel right.”

Touched by his words, Y/N took a deep breath. “I’m glad you think so,” they said softly. “I think it’s important to celebrate our quirks, the things that make us who we are.”

Paul’s smile was gentle. “Absolutely. And I’m starting to realize that every quirky detail about you—your laugh, your unique style, even your bunny slippers—draws me in a little more.”

The air between them crackled with unspoken affection as they lingered on the balcony. It wasn’t just about the slippers—it was about the honesty, the openness, and the delight they found in each other’s company. Their conversation dipped into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by soft sighs and the occasional laugh from shared memories.

Breaking the silence, Y/N shifted their gaze to Paul. “You know,” they began, a playful smirk tugging at their lips, “I might just wear these every day if it means I get compliments like this.”

Paul chuckled, his eyes never leaving theirs. “Then I’ll be waiting eagerly for each new pair,” he teased. “Who knows what other adorable surprises you have hidden away?”

Y/N laughed, their earlier reservations completely melting away in the warmth of his humor. “Maybe I do,” they replied coyly. “But you’ll have to wait and see.”

The afternoon slowly gave way to the soft hues of evening. As dusk settled, Paul and Y/N found themselves still immersed in conversation—a mixture of silly stories, thoughtful reflections, and the gentle rhythm of shared silences. It was a day defined by the beauty of small moments, each one building on the last to create something unexpectedly profound.

Finally, as the first stars began to twinkle overhead, Paul stood and reached for Y/N’s hand. “Today was amazing,” he said, his voice quiet yet full of emotion. “I love that I got to see all these little parts of you—the way you laugh, the things you love, and yes, even your bunny slippers.”

Y/N squeezed his hand in response. “I’m glad you came by, Paul. I don’t think I’ve laughed this much in a long time.”

He smiled, drawing them close. “I can’t promise every day will be as spontaneous or adorable as today,” he said softly, “but I do promise to always cherish these moments.”

With a final shared smile and a lingering hug, they parted ways for the night, each carrying the warmth of their connection like a secret treasure. For Y/N, it was a reminder that sometimes, the simplest gestures—a pair of bunny slippers, a kind word, a shared laugh—could light up even the gloomiest of days. And for Paul, it was proof that love often arrived in the form of delightful, unexpected quirks that made life all the more enchanting.

[andy-15-07]

I would love to see a Paul Mescal fix where the reader meets his friends for the first time or the reader and Paul meet at a bar and flirt!

Under the Neon Lights

PAIRING:Paul Mescal x reader

WORD COUNT: 1899 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Paul Mescal Masterlist

I wasn’t usually one to frequent trendy bars in the city, but tonight felt different. A mix of excitement and nervous anticipation bubbled inside me as I stepped out into the cool evening air. I had agreed to meet Paul at a bar he’d discovered—a place with vintage neon signs, plush couches, and the kind of relaxed vibe that made you feel like anything was possible.

A few minutes later, I found him waiting outside, leaning casually against the entrance. His smile was warm, his eyes lighting up the moment they met mine.

“Hey, Y/N,” Paul greeted, his tone easy and inviting. “You made it.”

“Of course,” I replied, trying to hide the flutter in my stomach. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

He pulled me into a gentle hug before leading me inside. The bar was bustling yet intimate. Soft indie music played in the background, blending perfectly with the low hum of conversations. As we settled into a comfortable booth, I noticed that Paul wasn’t alone for long.

“Y/N, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” he said with a playful glint in his eye. “My friends. They’re a bit of a motley crew, but I promise, they’re the best.”

Before I could respond, a lively voice called out from the nearby table. “Paul, you finally brought the famous Y/N into our little circle!” A tall, charismatic man with a shock of dark hair and an easy laugh approached, extending a hand.

“Guys, this is Y/N,” Paul introduced smoothly, “Y/N, meet Callum, my partner-in-crime.”

Callum grinned broadly. “I’ve heard so much about you. Paul’s been practically bragging all week!”

I laughed, shaking his hand. “I hope he’s been telling you all the good parts.”

From the other side of the table, a petite woman with bright eyes and a mischievous smile chimed in. “And I’m Ruby,” she said, offering a friendly hug. “If you ever need a partner for late-night adventures or someone to share ridiculous stories with, I’m your girl.”

Paul squeezed my hand. “They’re my people, Y/N. They’ve seen every side of me—even the embarrassing ones.” His tone was affectionate and protective, and I couldn’t help but feel even more drawn to him.

We ordered drinks, and soon the table was abuzz with conversation. Between laughter and shared anecdotes, I found myself seamlessly woven into the fabric of their camaraderie. The dialogues flowed as easily as the cocktails.

“So, Y/N,” Callum began, leaning in with a teasing smile, “what’s your story? How did you and our charming Paul meet?”

I glanced at Paul, who gave me an encouraging nod. “Well, it all started at a little café downtown…” I began, recounting the story of our first encounter. Every detail was punctuated with smiles and knowing glances from Paul, as if reliving the memory was as thrilling for him as it was for me.

Ruby interrupted playfully, “I’m not surprised he fell for you. Paul has a way of noticing the extraordinary in people.”

Paul chuckled. “Guilty as charged,” he said. Then, with a conspiratorial wink, he added, “And I must say, Y/N, you’ve added a sparkle to my nights that I didn’t even know was missing.”

I felt my cheeks warm, and I leaned in slightly. “I think you might just have a few more surprises up your sleeve.”

The banter was effortless. As the evening wore on, our conversation turned to everything from our favorite films to our most embarrassing moments. At one point, Callum brought up the subject of Paul’s notorious taste in music.

“Honestly, Paul,” Callum teased, “who else can rock out to 80s synth-pop while quoting poetry?”

Paul laughed, shaking his head. “Hey, I like to think there’s an art to blending genres. And Y/N here, I’m sure you have a hidden talent for turning any moment into a masterpiece.”

I grinned. “Maybe I do. Maybe I’ll have to show you sometime.”

The playful glances and flirtatious tones between Paul and me didn’t go unnoticed. Ruby leaned in with a knowing smile. “You two,” she said, glancing between us, “have that look—the kind that says there’s more than just friendship here.”

Paul’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “What can I say? I’ve got impeccable taste,” he replied, his voice low and suggestive.

The energy shifted subtly. The conversation slowed as everyone savored the tension between us. Callum clapped his hands together and declared, “Alright, romance is clearly in the air tonight. How about we round off this epic evening with a little game? Something to get the sparks flying even more.”

Everyone leaned in as Callum explained the idea: a round of “Truth or Dare,” with the twist that each question or challenge had to be fun and, occasionally, a bit risqué. I exchanged a glance with Paul, excitement dancing in my eyes.

“Alright,” I said, my tone playful, “I’m game. But only if Paul promises not to make me do something too outrageous.”

Paul chuckled, his hand brushing against mine. “No promises,” he teased. “I can’t resist a good dare.”

Ruby was the first to go. “Truth or dare, Y/N?”

I raised an eyebrow, smiling. “Truth.”

She grinned. “What’s the most spontaneous thing you’ve ever done?”

I thought for a moment, then recounted a memory of a midnight road trip with friends—a moment of pure, reckless freedom that ended with laughter echoing under starlit skies. The table listened intently, and even Paul leaned forward, clearly interested.

“Nice,” Callum said appreciatively. “Your turn, Paul. Truth or dare?”

Paul’s eyes flicked mischievously to me. “I think I’ll go with dare,” he declared.

A moment of playful silence passed before Ruby piped up, “Alright, I dare you to serenade Y/N right here, right now.”

The table burst into laughter, and I blushed furiously. Paul grinned, then leaned in close as if to confide a secret. “Oh, you’re in for it now,” he murmured, and then cleared his throat dramatically.

With the confidence of a seasoned performer, Paul launched into a playful, improvised song—a medley of cheeky lyrics and tender compliments that had the whole bar laughing and clapping along. I couldn’t help but be charmed by the way his eyes locked with mine as he sang, each word dripping with affection and a hint of mischief.

After the laughter subsided, the game continued. One by one, truths were revealed and dares completed, each moment drawing us closer together. The room seemed to hum with the energy of shared secrets and light-hearted challenges.

Eventually, the game tapered off, leaving us with a comfortable buzz of lingering excitement. Paul leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I think that was just the beginning of tonight’s adventures.”

I smiled, my voice low and inviting. “I couldn’t agree more.”

As the night wore on, the conversation shifted to more intimate topics. We moved away from the noisy main room to a quieter corner of the bar, where the soft glow of vintage lamps set the stage for a deeper connection. Paul’s friends excused themselves for a bit, giving us the space to enjoy a moment just for the two of us.

“So,” Paul began, his tone gentle yet teasing, “what’s the wildest thing you’ve ever done on a dare?”

I laughed softly. “Well, if we’re comparing notes, I might just have a story or two that could rival your serenade earlier.”

He grinned. “I’m all ears,” he said, his eyes dancing with curiosity.

I recounted a story from a summer spent traveling, the thrill of spontaneity, the adrenaline of a midnight swim in a forbidden lake—all shared with a smirk and a playful sparkle in my eye. Paul listened intently, occasionally interjecting with teasing remarks or sincere admiration for my boldness.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he said after I finished, his hand reaching out to gently touch my cheek. “Your sense of adventure, your spirit—it’s so captivating.”

I felt a warmth spread through me at his words. “I think I’m captivated by you too,” I replied softly.

The conversation meandered naturally, touching on dreams, passions, and the little things that made life beautiful. At one point, Paul confessed, “I’ve never felt this at ease with anyone before. It’s like I can be myself, and you—your presence just makes everything feel right.”

I looked into his eyes, finding sincerity there that made my heart skip a beat. “I feel the same way,” I admitted. “It’s as if meeting you was meant to be.”

Our conversation was punctuated by lingering glances and soft smiles, each word building a bridge between us. The world outside the bar faded away, leaving just the two of us in our own intimate universe. And though the night had been filled with laughter, playful dares, and the vibrant energy of friends, it was these quiet, honest moments that resonated the most.

As the clock inched closer to midnight, Paul suggested we take a walk. “There’s a little park just down the street,” he said. “I thought it might be nice to get some fresh air and maybe steal a kiss under the stars.”

Hand in hand, we stepped out into the cool night. The city lights shimmered in the distance as we strolled along the quiet streets, our conversation now soft and reflective. I marveled at how easy it felt to talk to him—about everything and nothing at all.

“So,” Paul said after a comfortable silence, “what do you think of my friends?”

I smiled, squeezing his hand gently. “They’re wonderful—and you were right. There’s something magical about being around people who know you so well. I can see why you treasure them.”

He laughed softly. “They’re a quirky bunch, but they keep me grounded. And I’m glad you got to meet them. I’d love for you to be a part of this chaos.”

I paused, my heart full. “I’d love that too, Paul. Tonight has been incredible, and I have a feeling it’s just the start of something amazing.”

He stopped walking and turned to face me, his eyes earnest. “Y/N, meeting you has added a new light to my life. I’ve never felt this kind of connection before. It’s like every conversation, every laugh, every little dare brings us closer. I want to keep discovering all the layers of you.”

I felt a surge of emotion and replied softly, “I feel the same way. With you, everything feels so vibrant and full of possibility.”

The night ended with us sharing a tender, lingering kiss beneath the glow of a streetlamp—a promise of more adventures to come, both with his circle of friends and with the undeniable bond that was forming between us.

In the days that followed, I often found myself replaying that magical evening in my mind. The laughter, the unexpected dares, and most of all, the moments of raw honesty between Paul and me. Every time I saw a neon sign or heard an 80s synth-pop tune, I’d smile, reminded of that night when the universe aligned perfectly—bringing together a group of amazing people and a connection that felt destined to grow.

Whether it was the spontaneous banter over cocktails, the heartfelt truths shared in a quieter corner, or the playful flirtation that left us both breathless, that night was a testament to the beauty of stepping out of your comfort zone. And for me, it was the beginning of a chapter I knew I’d cherish for a lifetime.

[andy-15-07]

Hello, could you do a Pedro Pascal x fReader curvy CIA agent, they meet for the first time and go on a date, Pedro after the date goes home and says he found his soulmate and has a silly smile, exuding happiness

Secret Hearts and Stardust

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 2854 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The evening was unusually warm as you stepped out of your sleek, black sedan and into the softly lit ambiance of The Gilded Lily—a chic little restaurant known for its intimate vibe and artfully curated jazz background. You, a curvy CIA agent who’d spent years blending into shadows and decoding secrets, were now about to step into a light you rarely allowed yourself: vulnerability. Tonight was different. Tonight, you had a date with none other than Pedro Pascal.

Standing near the entrance, your heart pounded a curious rhythm as you smoothed down the fabric of your form-fitting emerald dress. The dress hugged every curve of your body, a gentle yet assertive declaration of self-love and confidence, a far cry from the utilitarian uniforms of your everyday covert life. As you scanned the room, your eyes landed on him: Pedro, leaning casually against a polished mahogany bar, his dark eyes scanning the room until they rested warmly on you. A slight, self-assured smile played on his lips as he stepped forward.

“Good evening,” he said in that familiar, mellifluous tone that had captivated audiences around the world. “I’m Pedro.” His voice carried an effortless charm, and even in the bustling atmosphere, it seemed to wrap around you like a protective cloak.

“Hello, Pedro. I’m Y/N,” you replied, offering a handshake that quickly evolved into a brief, knowing smile. “I must admit, I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight.”

Pedro’s laughter was light and genuine. “Neither was I, but sometimes the most delightful surprises are the ones we don’t plan for.” His eyes crinkled with amusement as he gestured to a quiet booth in the corner, its warm lighting promising an oasis of conversation away from the clamor of the restaurant.

As you both settled into the booth, the conversation began with the casual ease of old friends reuniting after a long separation. Over a shared appetizer of truffle fries and a glass of crisp Sauvignon Blanc, you discovered how Pedro’s day had been spent balancing film shoots with unexpected moments of hilarity, while you recounted a day filled with high-stakes meetings and covert operations that were as challenging as they were unyielding.

“So, you work in… a field that requires a lot of discretion?” Pedro inquired, leaning in as if he were about to unravel an intriguing mystery.

You smiled wryly. “Discretion is an understatement. I’m in the intelligence community—a CIA agent, if you can believe it. I spend my days untangling webs of secrets and navigating through a maze of lies.” Your tone was light, yet behind your eyes lay the depth of experiences that few could imagine.

His eyebrows lifted in genuine interest. “That sounds like something straight out of a spy novel. I can only imagine the stories you must have.”

You chuckled softly. “Stories? I suppose I have a few, but not all of them are meant for dinner conversations. The life I lead is often hidden behind layers of duty and codes. But tonight, I’m glad to share some of the lighter moments. After all, everyone deserves a break.”

Pedro’s eyes sparkled as he leaned back, clearly fascinated. “Well, tonight you’re giving me a glimpse into a world I’d never experience otherwise. And trust me, I’m all for experiencing the unexpected.”

The conversation flowed naturally, punctuated by moments of laughter, reflective silences, and the occasional shared anecdote. Pedro recounted tales from his travels on set, the odd mishap with a prop that turned into an impromptu comedy skit, and the time he had to improvise during a tense scene. You, in turn, found yourself sharing snippets of your life that were seldom told—the thrill of chasing leads in distant lands, the camaraderie of working with a team that trusted you with their lives, and even the surreal feeling of living two different lives: one defined by duty and the other by moments of genuine connection.

“Do you ever wish you could just… step away from it all?” Pedro asked quietly, his gaze earnest as he took a sip of his wine.

For a moment, you considered the question. “Every single day,” you admitted, “but then I remember that it’s not the work, it’s the mission—the idea that I’m making a difference in some small way. Still, nights like these remind me that there’s more to life than secrets and strategies.”

Pedro nodded, his expression softening. “I get that. Sometimes, being in the spotlight isn’t all it’s cracked up to be either. You’re always playing a part, always expected to be something or someone. But tonight, I want to just be with you—no pretenses, no roles. Just two people sharing a moment.”

As the evening deepened, so did your connection. The restaurant’s gentle hum faded into the background as your conversation ventured into more personal territories. You spoke about your childhood dreams and how life had taken unexpected turns, while Pedro confessed his own struggles with living up to the image the world expected of him. There was a sense of relief in laying aside the masks you both wore every day.

“Tell me,” Pedro said with a teasing glint in his eye, “what’s something about you that no one would guess?”

You paused, considering the layers of your life. “Well,” you began, leaning in conspiratorially, “I can infiltrate some of the most secure facilities in the world, but I still sometimes struggle to assemble IKEA furniture without losing my mind.”

His laughter filled the booth, warm and infectious. “Now that, I would love to see. I can only imagine the epic battle of man versus Allen wrench.”

Between bites of dessert—an exquisite molten chocolate cake—and sips of a decadent port wine, the evening turned into a series of joyful revelations and shared confidences. Pedro’s charm wasn’t just in his celebrity aura but in the genuine curiosity he had about the world and the people in it. You found yourself opening up in ways you hadn’t anticipated, shedding a layer of guarded professionalism to reveal the person behind the badge.

“You know,” Pedro said, his tone shifting to something more contemplative as he looked into your eyes, “life is full of unexpected encounters. I’m beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, I’m in the middle of one of those surprises right now.”

A gentle blush warmed your cheeks. “I’m glad you think so. It’s rare to find someone who can see past the surface, to appreciate the complexities beneath.”

He smiled, a soft, silly smile that hinted at a profound joy. “I have a confession to make.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice to a near-whisper that somehow made the words feel even more intimate. “Tonight has been unlike any other date I’ve ever been on. I know it sounds crazy, but I think... I think I’ve found my soulmate.”

The words hung in the air, a delicate promise wrapped in sincerity. For a moment, you were silent, the weight of his confession mingling with the joy of the evening. It wasn’t a grand gesture or a dramatic declaration—it was a quiet, honest admission that resonated deep within you.

“Pedro…” you began, searching his eyes for a trace of jest, “that’s a big statement for a first date.”

He chuckled, a light, self-deprecating sound that belied the intensity of his feelings. “I know, I know. It might seem impulsive, but I can’t shake this feeling. There’s something about you—something real—that makes all the chaos of my life seem worth it. I’ve met a lot of people, played many parts, but with you, it’s like I can finally drop the act.”

The sincerity in his voice was undeniable. In that moment, all the complexities of your secretive world and his public persona seemed to converge into one perfect truth: that connection, genuine and unexpected, had the power to transform everything.

After dinner, you both took a slow walk along the moonlit boulevard that lined the river. The city lights danced on the water, casting shifting patterns of gold and silver. The conversation continued effortlessly—this time, quieter, more reflective. Pedro shared a memory of his grandmother’s advice about always following one’s heart, while you recalled a rare moment of vulnerability from a past mission that had left an indelible mark on your soul.

“Do you ever worry that we’re just... too different?” you asked softly as you paused at a quiet overlook, the city sprawling before you like a living tapestry.

Pedro considered your words, his gaze drifting to the horizon before returning to meet yours. “I think it’s our differences that make this so exciting. I come from a world of bright lights and constant scrutiny, while you navigate the shadows with a grace I can hardly imagine. But maybe that’s exactly what we need—a balance, a merging of two disparate worlds.”

You smiled, feeling the tension in your chest ease as the thought sank in. “A balance,” you echoed. “I like that.”

There was a gentle pause, the only sound the distant hum of the city and the soft rustling of leaves in the night breeze. Pedro reached out, his hand brushing against yours in a tender gesture. “I’m not saying everything will be perfect. Life never is. But what I do know is that I want to explore this connection—every unpredictable, exhilarating moment of it.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you squeezed his hand in silent agreement. “Then let’s take it one step at a time. No expectations, just us figuring it out as we go.”

As the night wound down, you found yourself back at the restaurant’s entrance, reluctant to part ways but knowing that the evening was far too special to end on a hurried goodbye. Pedro walked you to your car, the warmth of his hand lingering on yours a promise of more to come.

“You know,” he said as you reached your vehicle, “tonight has been nothing short of magical. I can’t remember the last time I felt this... alive.”

You paused, meeting his gaze. “I feel the same, Pedro. Thank you for a truly unforgettable evening.”

After a final lingering look and a gentle kiss on your cheek, you climbed into your car, the gentle hum of the engine mingling with the soft afterglow of your shared moments. Meanwhile, Pedro lingered by the doorway, watching until you were safely out of sight. With a small, silly smile that betrayed his inner joy, he muttered to himself, “I’ve found my soulmate.” The words, simple yet profound, echoed in the quiet of the night as he slowly walked away, each step buoyed by the newfound happiness that filled him.

Later that night, as Pedro finally reached the solitude of his apartment, he couldn’t help but replay the evening’s events in his mind. Standing in front of his mirror, he caught his own reflection—a man whose eyes shone with a mix of wonder and certainty. “I’ve found my soulmate,” he repeated softly, a playful grin tugging at his lips. The admission was not just a fleeting thought but a declaration that resonated deeply within him—a truth that had emerged from the shared vulnerability of an evening spent connecting beyond the masks and roles they both carried.

The next morning, Pedro’s phone buzzed with messages from friends congratulating him on the mysterious and captivating woman he’d met. With every notification, his heart swelled a little more, and as he sipped his morning coffee, he couldn’t help but smile at the memory of your laughter, the way your eyes had lit up when you spoke about chasing justice in a world of secrets, and how you had, in that moment, allowed him a glimpse into your soul.

Meanwhile, as the day unfolded for you, you found yourself reflecting on the previous night with a mix of awe and cautious hope. Life in the intelligence community rarely allowed for such moments of unabashed honesty. You recalled Pedro’s words, his vulnerable confession echoing in your thoughts, and wondered how a man so steeped in the glitz of fame could see the raw, unguarded parts of you that you usually kept hidden. Yet, somehow, in that brief interlude, the distance between two very different worlds had dissolved into nothing more than a shared human experience.

During a quiet break in your hectic day, you picked up your phone and sent a simple message to Pedro: “Last night was incredible. I hope we can do it again soon.” His response was almost immediate: “Absolutely. I can’t wait to see you again, Y/N” There was something so comforting in that exchange—a promise that, despite the chaos of your respective lives, there was now a space where both of you could be completely authentic.

That evening, as you prepared to wind down, you found yourself replaying the night’s memories in your mind. The gentle cadence of Pedro’s voice, the twinkle in his eyes when he spoke about following one’s heart, and the quiet strength in his declaration—it was all so unexpected and so real. In your line of work, trust was hard-earned and vulnerability was often a liability. But with him, it felt like a risk worth taking, a rare chance at genuine connection.

Across town, Pedro settled into his couch, a contented smile still curving his lips as he scrolled through photos from past events and snippets of fan messages. Yet none of them compared to the authenticity of last night. “I’m not one to believe in soulmates,” he mused aloud to his reflection in the darkened room, “but maybe I should start reconsidering.” His mind drifted back to the way your laughter had filled the quiet corners of that intimate booth, the subtle way you had looked at him as if you were reading between the lines of his carefully crafted persona. The memory was enough to make him feel like a young man again, full of dreams and possibilities.

It wasn’t long before Pedro picked up his phone once more to send a quick, playful text to a close friend who had always known his heart better than anyone else. “I think I met someone who might just be the real deal. I’ve found my soulmate, and I can’t wipe this silly grin off my face.” The response was immediate—a mix of teasing banter and heartfelt congratulations that warmed him even more.

Over the next few days, both of you found subtle ways to integrate these newfound feelings into your everyday lives. In the midst of strategic briefings and covert assignments, your thoughts would stray to that magical evening, to Pedro’s honest words and the undeniable spark that lingered in the air long after the night had ended. And Pedro, in the midst of film shoots and press interviews, found himself waiting eagerly for the next time he’d get to see you—curious to discover more about the woman who had so effortlessly disarmed him.

One lazy afternoon, as you sat in a quiet corner of a bustling café—your temporary refuge from the relentless pace of your work—a familiar notification popped up on your phone. It was a message from Pedro: “How about dinner tomorrow night? I’d love to hear more about your adventures in the field…and share a few more of mine.” You couldn’t help but smile as you typed your reply, feeling that same spark of anticipation that had made you step out of your comfort zone just a few nights before.

“Tomorrow sounds perfect,” you replied. “I have a few stories that might just rival your tales from behind the scenes. See you then, Pedro.”

That simple exchange carried with it the promise of new beginnings—a chance to weave together the disparate threads of two lives that had found each other in the most unlikely of ways. And while the world around you continued to spin with the weight of secrets and staged performances, there was now a corner of your heart that belonged solely to the memory of a date that had redefined what it meant to be truly seen.

In the end, it wasn’t just the allure of Pedro Pascal’s celebrity or the thrill of stepping out of your usual guarded persona that made that night unforgettable. It was the authenticity of a moment when two people allowed themselves to be vulnerable, honest, and open to the possibility of something extraordinary. A moment when a curvy CIA agent and a celebrated actor discovered that beneath all the layers of duty and public image, there lay a simple, undeniable truth: that sometimes, in the most unexpected encounters, you find the person who makes all the risks and uncertainties of life seem utterly worthwhile.

And so, as you closed your eyes that night, memories of shared laughter, whispered secrets, and promises of tomorrow gently lulled you into a peaceful sleep. Somewhere in the city, Pedro did the same, his silly smile a constant reminder of the joy that had unexpectedly blossomed between you. In the delicate interplay of shadows and light, in the blending of two very different worlds, you both had discovered something rare—a spark of soul-deep connection that would forever alter the course of your lives.

[andy-15-07]

hi! would you write a cute valentines date night (paulmescalxreader) maybe some smut?

A Valentine’s Night to Remember

PAIRING:Paul Mescal x reader

WORD COUNT: 1891| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Paul Mescal Masterlist

warning:smut

Valentine’s Day had always held a special kind of magic for me, but tonight was different—tonight I was finally with Paul. I’d spent the entire day with my heart racing, imagining every moment we’d share. When I arrived at the little bistro where we’d planned to meet, I saw him waiting outside, his warm smile and intense eyes sending shivers down my spine.

“Hey, beautiful,” he greeted as I approached. His deep voice, laced with desire, made my heart skip a beat. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “And I’ve been counting down the minutes until I could see you,” I replied, my voice soft with anticipation.

Inside the restaurant, the atmosphere was perfect—candles flickered on each table, roses were scattered across the room, and soft music played in the background. We were led to a secluded table where the intimacy of our surroundings set the tone for the night ahead. Over dinner, conversation flowed as naturally as the wine. Paul’s witty banter mixed with thoughtful insights made me feel like the only person in the room.

“You make everything brighter just by being here,” he said at one point, his hand gently squeezing mine across the table. His words warmed me, making the soft glow of the candlelight seem even more magical.

I laughed softly. “I love that about you—you see beauty in every little detail. It’s intoxicating.”

Between courses, our dialogue dipped into whispers of secret dreams and promises of future adventures. Every time his eyes locked with mine, I felt a magnetic pull that promised a night of unforgettable passion.

After dinner, we left the restaurant and strolled through the quiet, moonlit streets. The city, bathed in a gentle glow from streetlights and shop windows, felt like it were ours alone. Paul pulled me close, and I could feel the steady beat of his heart as he whispered, “I can’t keep my hands off you tonight.”

His words sent a thrill through me. “Then show me,” I murmured, letting the invitation linger between us.

Before I knew it, we were kissing passionately under the starry sky—a kiss that was both tender and fierce, igniting every nerve in my body. I felt his strong arms around me as we walked toward his apartment, the night charged with a palpable anticipation.

Inside his place, the ambiance was as inviting as his smile. Soft music, the glow of scented candles, and the luxurious yet intimate surroundings promised an evening where nothing would be left unsaid or unexplored. Paul’s eyes burned with desire as he pulled me close. “You look absolutely irresistible tonight,” he murmured, his fingers trailing lightly over my arm.

“Show me how much you want me,” I teased, my voice a playful mix of challenge and longing.

His response was immediate—a deep, passionate kiss that left no room for doubt. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he breathed against my ear. “I want to make you feel things you’ve never even dreamed of.”

Slowly, he began to undress me, each piece of clothing removed with deliberate, sensual care. I shivered as he admired every curve, every inch of my skin. “God, you are stunning,” he whispered, his voice thick with awe. “Every part of you drives me wild.”

My own hands eagerly explored his toned, warm skin. “Paul, you’re driving me crazy,” I confessed, my words punctuated by soft moans as his kisses traveled down my neck.

Our conversation became a symphony of whispered desires and explicit promises as we moved to the plush bed. “I want to hear you say my name like you’re lost in pleasure,” he growled, his lips hot against my skin.

“Paul… please, don’t stop,” I gasped, every word drenched in raw need. His reply was a husky murmur: “I want to devour every inch of you, make you mine tonight.”

And so, we lost ourselves in each other. Our bodies intertwined in a dance as old as time—each touch, every whispered dirty talk, an affirmation of the intense connection between us. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good,” I moaned as his hand traced the delicate line of my collarbone. “I want to taste every part of you,” he replied, his voice a blend of hunger and adoration.

Our lovemaking was a blend of tender caresses and fierce passion. Every kiss was a promise; every gasp and sigh, a declaration. “I need you,” I repeated over and over as he skillfully ignited every nerve ending with his touch. “I want you, Paul, all of you,” I begged, feeling as if my body could only express my desire through every soft, urgent word.

Paul’s voice was a constant, seductive murmur in my ear as he navigated the curves of my body. “I want you to feel everything, to be completely and utterly yours,” he whispered, his tone both commanding and loving. With every stroke and every caress, the intensity built, our dialogue punctuated by exclamations of delight and husky affirmations of desire.

“God, yes,” he groaned, his eyes dark with passion as he pulled me even closer. “Tell me you need me like I need you.”

“I need you so badly, Paul,” I replied, my voice trembling with raw emotion. “Please, take me. I want to feel you, to be lost in you.”

Between heated kisses and soft, exploratory touches, our dirty talk grew bolder. “Fuck, you make me so wet,” I whispered, barely able to contain my arousal. “I love the way you touch me, the way you make me feel like I’m the only person in the world.”

Paul’s response was equally intense. “I want to hear you scream my name,” he urged, his voice a throaty promise. “Every moan, every whispered word—let me know just how much you crave me.”

The room filled with the sound of our mingled breaths and whispered confessions, every spoken word a thread in the tapestry of our intimacy. Our connection was electric—a balance of tender vulnerability and unrestrained lust. As the night deepened, so did our passion, our bodies moving in a rhythm that was both primal and poetic.

Time seemed to stand still as we reached the peak of our desire. Every touch, every whispered word was an invitation to new heights of ecstasy. “Yes, Paul… don’t stop,” I pleaded, my voice echoing the overwhelming intensity of our shared moment. His eyes locked with mine, and in that look was the promise of endless nights just like this.

Afterwards, as we lay entwined in the soft glow of candlelight, our skin still humming from the passion, Paul’s whisper broke the quiet. “That was incredible… but tonight is just the beginning,” he murmured, his fingers gently stroking my hair.

I smiled, a tender warmth filling me. “I can’t wait for every moment we have ahead of us,” I replied, tracing lazy circles on his chest. Our conversation softened into gentle whispers as we recounted our favorite moments and shared dreams for the future. “Every second with you feels like a dream I never want to wake from,” he said softly.

As the night gave way to the first light of dawn, we lingered in the cocoon of our afterglow. I pressed a tender kiss to his forehead, murmuring, “Until our next incredible night.” Even as the city outside began to stir, the memory of our passion lingered—each whispered promise and every shared laugh a reminder that love like this was rare and beautiful.

Later that day, as I went about my routine, I couldn’t help but replay every moment in my mind. The sensation of his hands on my skin, the intoxicating sound of his voice, the way he whispered my name as if it were the sweetest melody—it was all etched into me. A playful text later read, “Still thinking about last night… You sure know how to make me weak in the knees.” His immediate reply was both teasing and tantalizing: “I plan on reminding you, again and again. Just wait, babe. Tonight, I’ll be back to claim every inch of you.”

As evening fell again, I found myself excitedly preparing for another round of passion. Dressed in something that made me feel both seductive and confident, I awaited his arrival. When he finally appeared, the spark in his eyes promised another night of adventure. Over dinner, our conversation danced between playful banter and quiet, intense confessions.

“You know, I haven’t stopped thinking about how you looked last night,” Paul said, reaching across the table to caress my hand. “The way you glowed in the candlelight—it was mesmerizing.”

I laughed softly, cheeks warming. “You made quite an impression on me too, Paul. I can’t get over the way you touched me… the way you made me feel like every part of me was desired.”

With a mischievous glint, he leaned in close. “Maybe tonight, I’ll make those fantasies a reality.”

Later, we found ourselves on a private rooftop, the city stretching out beneath us like a glittering tapestry. Wrapped in a shared blanket and a bottle of wine, our conversation turned intimate and personal. “Do you remember our first meeting?” he asked, eyes searching mine.

“Every detail,” I replied, the memory of that moment only deepening the connection I felt with him. “Since then, every moment has only made me love you more.”

The cool night air contrasted with the heat between us as he whispered, “I want to hear you say it—tell me you need me tonight.” I looked into his eyes and, voice husky with longing, answered, “I need you, Paul. I need you more than anything.”

That declaration was all it took. His lips found mine in a kiss that was both tender and all-consuming, sealing the promise of our passion once more. The rooftop became our private stage, the city lights below a silent witness to the language of our desire. Every whispered, explicit word, every gentle moan was a testament to the depth of our connection.

“Fuck, you feel so incredible,” Paul murmured as his hands explored my body with a mastery that left me breathless. “I want to hear you scream my name like it’s the sweetest sound in the world.”

And so, in the quiet of that rooftop haven, we surrendered to the intensity of our love. Our dialogue—raw, honest, and dripping with desire—was a celebration of everything we were and everything we promised each other in the heat of the night.

As the night slowly gave way to the promise of dawn, I pressed close to him and whispered, “Every moment with you is unforgettable, Paul.” He smiled, eyes soft with emotion. “Every moment is just a taste of what’s to come,” he replied, pressing his forehead gently against mine.

That Valentine’s night was more than passion—it was the start of a beautiful, unending journey. In every whispered word and every shared caress, I felt our souls intertwine, building a foundation of love that would carry us into countless tomorrows.

I left him that morning with a heart full of promises and a mind awash in the memories of our incredible night. As the city awoke and I faced a new day, I knew that no matter what the future held, I would always carry with me the magic, the lust, and the undeniable love of that unforgettable Valentine’s night.