andy-15-07

[andy-15-07]

Hiiiii hru??? I saw your post that requests were still open (if not, please ignore this) but I would love something where Javier Peña or Joel Miller save reader from something? (From (being kidnapped by Pablo, or an accident, whatever) something with a lot of angst ahahah

Thanks in advance 🫂🥹

Under Fire and Shadows

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Word Count: 1246 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The hum of the ceiling fan barely cut through the oppressive heat of the Medellín afternoon. You leaned against the cool surface of the bar counter, a bead of sweat sliding down the back of your neck. It was supposed to be a simple job—slip in, pass along the intel, and slip out before anyone could ask too many questions. Yet, here you were, stuck in the lion’s den, your escape route compromised.

“You look like you’re ready to bolt,” the bartender said, his voice tinged with curiosity.

You forced a tight-lipped smile and took a sip of your drink. “Long day, that’s all.”

But your gut churned. You could feel the weight of their eyes on you. The cartel’s men, stationed strategically throughout the room, weren’t just watching the entrance anymore. They were watching you.

“You shouldn’t have come here.” His voice was calm, but the steel in his tone sent a chill down your spine. You didn’t have to look to know who it was. Javier Peña.

“What are you doing here?” you hissed, barely turning your head.

“Saving your ass, apparently.” He slid onto the stool next to you, his presence drawing the attention of the room like a magnet. Javier had a way of owning any space he walked into, and you hated him a little for it.

“I had it handled,” you snapped under your breath, though your clenched fists betrayed your nerves.

“Sure you did. That’s why half the room’s ready to pounce on you.” He signaled the bartender for a drink, his nonchalance making your frustration boil over.

“You’re going to get us both killed.”

“No, you were going to get yourself killed. I’m just here to make sure that doesn’t happen.” His voice dropped, his eyes locking onto yours. “Now, do you want my help or not?”

The sound of a chair scraping across the floor broke the tension. One of the cartel’s men was approaching, his hand resting too casually on the holster at his hip. Javier shifted, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp.

“Time to go,” he muttered, grabbing your wrist and pulling you off the stool.

“Peña, I swear—”

“Shut up and move.”

The two of you weaved through the crowd, Javier’s grip firm and unyielding. You could hear the murmurs behind you, the rustle of movement as more men followed. Your pulse raced as you stepped out into the blinding sunlight, the noise of the street momentarily disorienting.

“This way,” Javier said, pulling you into a narrow alley.

“What’s the plan?” you asked, your voice laced with panic.

“Plan?” He gave you a lopsided grin. “The plan is to not die.”

“Great plan,” you muttered.

The sound of footsteps echoed behind you, and you barely had time to react before Javier was shoving you against the wall, his body shielding yours. His hand came up, gun drawn, and you could feel his breath against your cheek.

“Stay quiet,” he whispered, his voice low and commanding.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as the footsteps grew louder. Javier’s body was tense, every muscle coiled like a spring. You wanted to argue, to tell him you could handle yourself, but the truth was, you were terrified.

The men passed by, their voices fading as they continued down the alley. Javier didn’t move until the silence settled like a weight around you.

“You okay?” he asked, stepping back.

“Yeah,” you said, though your voice betrayed you.

He studied you for a moment, his dark eyes searching yours. “You shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you shot back. “Not everyone has the luxury of calling the shots, Peña.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he took your hand and started leading you down the alley.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe,” he said, his tone leaving no room for debate.

The “safe place” turned out to be a dingy motel on the outskirts of town. Javier checked you in under a fake name, his hand never straying far from his weapon. Once inside, he locked the door and pulled the curtains shut.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you said, looking around the shabby room.

“What were you expecting? The Ritz?” He dropped onto the bed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s temporary. Just until things cool down.”

You crossed your arms, leaning against the door. “You didn’t have to follow me, you know.”

“Yeah, I did,” he said, his voice softening. “You think I’m just going to let you get yourself killed?”

“Why do you care?” The question came out sharper than you intended, and Javier flinched slightly.

“Because I do,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours. “I don’t need a reason.”

The room fell into a tense silence, the air between you thick with unspoken words. You wanted to yell at him, to tell him he had no right to interfere, but part of you was grateful. Grateful that he cared, even if you didn’t understand why.

“Get some rest,” he said finally, lying back on the bed. “We’re going to have a long day tomorrow.”

You didn’t argue. Instead, you sat down in the chair by the window, watching him as he closed his eyes. Despite the chaos of the day, there was something comforting about having him here. And as much as you hated to admit it, you felt safer with him by your side.

The next morning came too soon, the faint light of dawn filtering through the threadbare curtains. You had barely slept, every creak of the motel and distant sound on the street keeping you on edge. When you finally looked over, Javier was already awake, sitting up on the bed with his gun in hand, his eyes sharp.

“You’re up early,” you said, your voice hoarse.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he replied, not looking at you. “Too much to think about.”

You didn’t ask what was on his mind. Instead, you stood and stretched, the tension in your shoulders refusing to ease.

“We need to figure out our next move,” you said, crossing your arms. “I’m not sitting in this dump all day.”

Javier finally looked at you, his expression unreadable. “The cartel’s not going to stop looking for you. You know that, right?”

“I know,” you said, your voice firm. “But I’m not going to hide forever. There’s too much at stake.”

“You’re stubborn as hell,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Fine. But we do this my way.”

“Your way?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he said, standing and slipping his gun into its holster. “Because my way keeps us alive.”

You wanted to argue, but the determination in his eyes stopped you. Javier might be infuriating, but he knew what he was doing. And as much as you hated to admit it, you trusted him.

“Fine,” you said, grabbing your bag. “What’s the plan?”

“First, we get out of here,” he said, moving to the door. “Then, we make them think we’re going one way while we head another.”

“And after that?”

“We figure it out as we go,” he said with a smirk. “Now, let’s move.”

You followed him out into the morning light, the weight of the day ahead settling heavily on your shoulders. But for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel completely alone. And as much as you hated to admit it, that made all the difference.

[andy-15-07]

Aahh i saw you were accepting requests! And I was wondering if you could write Joel Miller just being smitten with fem reader and is constantly admiring her and everything she does

The Way You Move

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader

Word Count: 1625 | Requests are open! (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The crackle of a campfire was one of the few sounds filling the quiet evening, accompanied by the distant rustling of leaves in the breeze. Joel Miller sat on a log near the fire, eyes fixed on Y/N as she carefully unpacked her bag. Her hands moved with deliberate precision, pulling out supplies and setting them aside.

He wasn’t even aware he was staring until Ellie’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“Uh, Joel? You’ve been looking at her like she’s the last piece of cake at dinner.”

He shot her a glare, though his cheeks turned a subtle shade of pink. “Mind your own business, Ellie.”

“I’m just saying.” Ellie smirked, leaning back against her pack. “It’s kinda obvious.”

Joel’s gaze flickered back to Y/N. She was now humming softly to herself, the melody faint but soothing. The light of the fire played across her face, highlighting her features in a way that made Joel’s chest tighten. There was something about her presence that had always drawn him in—a quiet strength, a warmth that was rare in the world they lived in.

“You need help with that?” he asked, breaking the silence. His voice came out gruffer than he intended.

Y/N glanced up, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I’ve got it, but thanks.”

She always had it. That was the thing about her. Y/N had a way of handling things, of taking care of herself and others, that left Joel in awe. Yet, he couldn’t help but want to ease her load, even if just a little.

Ellie rolled her eyes. “You’re hopeless.”

“Go to sleep, kid,” Joel muttered, his focus still on Y/N.

The next morning, the group prepared to move on. Joel found himself walking a few paces behind Y/N, his eyes tracing the way she moved. There was an ease to her stride, even with the weight of her pack. She carried herself like someone who had seen the worst of the world but refused to let it break her.

“You’re quiet today,” Y/N said, glancing over her shoulder at him.

“Just keepin’ watch,” Joel replied, though he knew it wasn’t the whole truth.

She arched a brow, a teasing glint in her eyes. “You sure you’re not daydreaming?”

He huffed, looking away to hide the way her comment made his heart skip. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Y/N laughed, a sound that made the corners of Joel’s mouth twitch upward. It wasn’t often he heard genuine laughter anymore, and he couldn’t help but soak it in.

Later that day, they stopped by a river to rest and refill their water bottles. Y/N knelt by the edge, her reflection rippling in the water as she leaned closer. Joel’s eyes lingered on her, taking in the curve of her jaw, the way her hair framed her face. He shook his head, trying to pull himself together.

“You’re doin’ it again,” Ellie whispered, sidling up beside him.

“Doin’ what?”

“Staring at her like she hung the moon.” Ellie grinned. “You should just tell her, you know.”

Joel’s jaw tightened. “Ain’t that simple.”

“Why not?” Ellie pressed. “It’s not like she’s gonna laugh in your face. She likes you too, you know.”

Joel’s eyes snapped to Ellie, his heart skipping. “What makes you think that?”

Ellie shrugged, looking smug. “I’ve got eyes. And ears. She talks about you when you’re not around.”

Before Joel could respond, Y/N called out. “Joel, can you give me a hand?”

He was by her side in an instant, ignoring Ellie’s knowing smirk. “What do you need?”

Y/N held out a canteen. “Can you check the filter? I think it’s clogged.”

As he worked on the canteen, Y/N watched him, her expression soft. “You’re good at this,” she said.

“At what?”

“Taking care of people.”

Joel’s hands stilled for a moment. He glanced up, meeting her gaze. “Don’t know about that.”

“I do,” she said firmly.

For a moment, the world seemed to fade away. Joel felt like he could drown in the warmth of her eyes, in the quiet assurance of her words. He wanted to tell her how much she meant to him, how much he admired her strength and kindness, but the words caught in his throat.

Instead, he handed the canteen back to her. “There. Should be good now.”

“Thanks, Joel,” she said, her fingers brushing against his as she took it. The brief contact sent a jolt through him, and he had to remind himself to breathe.

That night, as they set up camp, Joel found himself sitting beside Y/N by the fire. Ellie had already gone to bed, leaving the two of them alone. The silence was comfortable, the kind that didn’t need to be filled.

“You ever think about what life would be like if things were different?” Y/N asked, her voice quiet.

Joel glanced at her, surprised by the question. “All the time.”

She nodded, staring into the flames. “Sometimes I think about the little things. Like going to a diner for breakfast or going to the movies.”

“What’d you watch?” he asked, curious.

She smiled. “Anything, really. I just liked the escape.”

Joel’s heart ached at the wistfulness in her tone. He wanted to give her those little things, to make her smile the way she deserved.

“If things were different,” he said slowly, “I think I’d…” He trailed off, unsure if he could say it.

Y/N turned to him, her expression open and encouraging. “What?”

He hesitated, then took a deep breath. “I think I’d want to take you to one of those diners. Maybe get you somethin’ sweet. You’d probably like that.”

Her smile widened, and for a moment, the world didn’t feel so broken. “I’d like that too, Joel.”

The next morning, they packed up camp and began their trek through the dense woods. Joel kept close to Y/N, his protective instincts on high as the foliage grew thicker. His eyes darted around, scanning for any sign of danger, but his thoughts kept drifting back to their conversation by the fire.

“Joel,” Y/N said softly, pulling him from his thoughts. She had stopped walking and was looking up at him, her expression unreadable. “Can we talk?”

His stomach flipped, but he nodded. “‘Course.”

She glanced back at Ellie, who was a few yards ahead and out of earshot, before stepping closer to Joel. “I just wanted to say… thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.

“For being you,” she said, her voice steady. “For always looking out for us. For looking out for me. It means more than I can say.”

Joel’s throat tightened. He wanted to tell her she didn’t need to thank him, that he’d do it a thousand times over without question, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he reached out, his hand hovering uncertainly before resting gently on her shoulder.

“You don’t have to thank me, Y/N,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I… I’d do anything for you.”

Her eyes softened, and she placed her hand over his. “I know, Joel. And I hope you know I’d do the same for you.”

For a moment, they stood there, the world around them fading into the background. Joel’s heart pounded in his chest, and he knew, deep down, that he couldn’t keep holding back. Not anymore.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “I… I care about you. More than I probably should.”

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t look away. “Joel…”

Before she could say more, Ellie’s voice rang out. “Hey! You two coming, or what?”

Joel and Y/N exchanged a look, a mixture of amusement and frustration passing between them.

“We’re coming,” Joel called back, his hand lingering on Y/N’s shoulder for a moment longer before he reluctantly let go.

As they started walking again, Y/N leaned closer to him, her voice low. “We’ll finish that conversation later.”

Joel’s lips twitched into a small smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”

And for the first time in a long while, he felt a glimmer of hope.

By mid-afternoon, the group reached an abandoned cabin nestled in a grove of trees. It was small but sturdy, with enough room for them to rest safely for the night. Joel inspected the perimeter while Y/N and Ellie worked on clearing the inside.

“Think this place is safe?” Ellie asked as Joel re-entered, brushing dirt from his hands.

“Safe enough,” Joel replied. “We’ll keep watch in shifts, just to be sure.”

Y/N nodded. “I’ll take the first shift.”

Joel frowned. “You’ve been on your feet all day. I’ll take it.”

She crossed her arms, a playful glint in her eye. “Are you always this stubborn?”

“When it comes to you?” he admitted, his voice low. “Yeah.”

Her expression softened, and she reached out to touch his arm. “Joel, you don’t have to carry everything on your own. Let me help.”

He looked at her, his defenses crumbling. “Alright,” he said reluctantly. “But wake me if there’s the slightest problem.”

“Deal,” she said with a smile.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and the first stars appeared, Joel sat by the window, pretending to read a map while stealing glances at Y/N. She was perched near the door, her posture relaxed but alert. The firelight danced across her face, and Joel felt that familiar ache in his chest.

“You should get some rest,” she said without looking at him.

“I’m fine,” he replied gruffly.

“Joel,” she said, turning to meet his gaze. “I’ll wake you if anything happens. Promise.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Alright. Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Joel.”

As he lay down, Joel couldn’t shake the feeling that, for the first time in a long while, things were beginning to fall into place.

[andy-15-07]

Would you do Joel miller x f!reader

You & Joel were very close. In woods, you seem to help Joel up for firewood. You are generous of him about how survive he is. In night time you felt something going on. Ellie help with you for tents. You are good with cooking for materials that you have. Joel help it out with you, so they have dinner together. Rest assured they are in tent with sleep bag. Ellie went to tent to sleep. As you two alone in firewood. They started same words as you say you go first. Joel really have feelings that you didn’t tell him. He knows that the way he looks at you. You simply think he cared for you. Sometimes you two scoop each other as they made eye contact on each other thinking about chemistry that is very close. They kissed so incredibly. Joel never let you go. You two chuckles for happiness that you two get to tent together and sleep

(Hope you will write it as much as you can, thanks and have a lovely day)

Whispers in the Woods

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader

Word Count: 1471 | Requests are open! (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The woods were eerily quiet as the three of you moved through the dense forest, the sunlight filtering down through the trees in fragmented shards, like beams of silver dancing on the forest floor. The sounds of nature felt distant, as if the world itself had fallen into a hushed reverence. The usual birdsong was absent, replaced only by the faint crunch of your boots on the underbrush and the occasional rustle of wind through the leaves. Joel, ever the stoic leader, moved with purpose, his broad frame cutting a path through the thick foliage, his hand resting on the shotgun slung over his shoulder, alert and calculating. Ellie, ever the restless one, kicked at the dirt path with a half-hearted scuff of her boot, occasionally muttering to herself as she moved. You kept close behind Joel, your senses on high alert, eyes scanning the surroundings for anything that might be useful. The hunt for firewood, herbs, or any hint of danger never ceased, no matter how familiar the forest might seem.

When Joel stopped abruptly, you nearly bumped into him, a sudden collision that snapped you out of your thoughts.

"Sorry," you muttered quickly, taking a half-step back to regain your footing.

Joel glanced over his shoulder, his expression as unreadable as ever, but his eyes softened just slightly. With a small nod, he spoke, his voice low and commanding, yet tinged with something less harsh. "We’ll set up camp here for the night."

Ellie, clearly eager to take a break, groaned dramatically, dropping her pack with a thud onto the ground. "Finally! My feet are killing me."

You couldn’t help but chuckle at her exaggeration, kneeling down to gather a handful of dry sticks for the fire. The forest around you seemed to breathe with a quiet anticipation, but Ellie’s complaining was a welcome distraction.

Joel’s deep voice broke through the silence, sharp yet calm. "I’ll handle the heavier stuff."

You straightened up, a small bundle of firewood in your arms, and shot him a playful look. "Don’t worry, Joel. I’ve got it."

But then you saw it—the familiar look, the one that said he wasn’t interested in arguing but wasn’t going to let you do all the work, either. With a resigned sigh, you handed over the firewood, offering him a teasing smile.

"All right, Mr. Macho. Don’t hurt yourself."

"I’ll be fine," he grunted, though the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly, betraying the humor he often kept hidden.

As the sun dipped low, casting a soft golden glow over the landscape, Ellie helped you set up the tents. The air was starting to cool, the first bite of night creeping into the world. But it wasn’t the chill that caused the unease—it was something else. A subtle shift in the air between you and Joel. Something unspoken, hanging in the quiet space between you both, like a thread waiting to snap.

"You’re really good at this, y'know," Ellie remarked as she secured one of the tent poles. Her words were sincere, almost in awe. "Like, survival stuff. Cooking, setting up camp... all of it."

You smiled at her compliment, giving her shoulder a light pat. "Thanks, kid. You’re not so bad yourself."

Ellie grinned in return, her eyes sparkling with mischief before she zipped up her tent. "If you need me, I’ll be in here—asleep."

"Got it. Sweet dreams, Ellie."

With the last of her energy spent, the night settled in, and you found yourself sitting beside Joel by the crackling fire. The flames cast warm, dancing shadows on the surrounding trees, the firelight flickering in your eyes. The silence between you was comfortable, but it felt heavy, laden with something unspoken, something both of you had been avoiding for so long. As Joel stirred the pot of stew, a subtle but deliberate motion, you could feel his gaze on you every now and then, his focus shifting from the fire to you, then back again.

"Smells good," Joel muttered, his voice low and rough.

"You helped," you replied with a small smile, watching him for a beat.

He shook his head, almost dismissively. "You’re the one that makes it taste decent."

A laugh bubbled up from your chest. "Guess we make a good team."

Joel didn’t respond right away. His gaze lingered on you, softening for just a second before he seemed to catch himself, looking away as if the moment had passed. The flickering firelight played across his face, casting shadows that only deepened the mystery in his eyes.

Ellie had long since retreated to her tent, the night settling around the three of you like a blanket, and you found yourself more aware of the quiet than usual. The stars above twinkled like distant promises, the world around you seemingly frozen in time. The crackle of the fire was the only sound.

Joel’s voice cut through the stillness, surprising you. "You’ve been quiet tonight."

You glanced up at him, your breath catching in your chest. "Just... thinking."

"‘Bout what?"

You hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to voice the thoughts that had been swirling around your mind for so long. Finally, you spoke, the words tumbling out with a mixture of vulnerability and admiration. "About how you’ve kept us alive this long. You’re... incredible at this, Joel. Surviving. Keeping Ellie safe. Keeping me safe."

Joel’s brows furrowed slightly, his usual gruff demeanor softening. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on the ground. "Ain’t just me. We’ve all pulled our weight. You especially."

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words, a quiet sense of pride that settled over you. "Thanks."

The air around you seemed to grow heavier, the night pressing in on both of you. A long silence stretched between you, filled only by the crackle of the fire. Then, his voice broke the quiet, softer now, almost hesitant. "You ever wonder why I look at you the way I do?"

Your heart skipped a beat at the question. You turned to face him fully, your pulse quickening as you searched his face for any hint of jest, any sign that this was just another joke. But there was none. He was serious.

"I thought... maybe you cared about me. As a friend."

Joel shook his head slightly, his lips curling into the faintest of smiles, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "It’s more than that, and you know it."

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest. The world seemed to stop for just a moment as you locked eyes with him. The space between you felt charged, as if the air itself was humming with the tension, with the weight of years of unspoken feelings and unsaid words. Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, you leaned forward. And so did he.

The kiss was tentative at first, unsure, as though both of you were testing the waters. But when you didn’t pull away, when you met him halfway, something shifted. His hand moved, gently cupping your cheek, deepening the kiss, and the world around you fell away. The kiss was more than just an exchange of lips—it was the culmination of everything that had been building between you both for so long. The years of shared hardships, the unspoken understanding, the trust and the care that had always been there, hidden beneath the surface.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, the weight of the moment hanging in the air like a delicate thread. There was no need for words; everything had been said in that brief, perfect kiss.

Joel chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to shake off the last of his tension. He reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. "Didn’t think I’d ever get the guts to do that."

You laughed quietly, resting your forehead against his in a rare, tender moment. "Better late than never."

The fire crackled on, its warm glow casting shadows around you as you sat side by side, closer than ever before. It felt like the world had shifted, like something essential had finally fallen into place. The night seemed softer now, the forest around you no longer so cold, no longer so dangerous.

Eventually, you both made your way to the tents, the quiet comfort of each other’s presence filling the space between you. For the first time in a long while, you felt truly safe—not just from the dangers of the world, but from the loneliness that had gnawed at you for so long.

And as you drifted off to sleep beside Joel, his warmth beside you and his steady breath in the darkness, you knew that no matter what the future held, you would never be alone again.

[andy-15-07]

Whispers in the Dark

PAIRING:Paul Mescal x reader

WORD COUNT: 1976

Paul Mescal Masterlist

The room was bathed in the warm, golden light of a bedside lamp, casting long, soft shadows on the walls. Paul sat on the edge of the bed, his white t-shirt clinging to his shoulders and chest. He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous smile playing on his lips. Y/n stood by the window, her arms crossed lightly, watching the city lights flicker in the distance. The hum of Dublin’s nightlife buzzed faintly below, but up here, in this small cocoon of a hotel room, it felt like they were the only two people in the world.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Paul said, his Irish accent lilting as he broke the silence. His tone was gentle, teasing, but there was an undercurrent of vulnerability that Y/n could hear plainly.

She turned to face him, her lips curving into a small smile. “Just... soaking it all in, I guess.”

He chuckled softly, running a hand through his messy curls. “It’s not every day you spend the night with an Irish lad, eh?”

“No,” she replied, her voice tinged with playful sarcasm. “Not every day.”

Paul patted the spot next to him on the bed. “Come here,” he murmured, his eyes warm and inviting.

Y/n hesitated for a moment, then crossed the room, her heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and nervousness. She sat beside him, her knee brushing against his. Paul reached out, his hand grazing her cheek as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You know,” he began, his voice low, “I’ve been thinking about this moment for a while.”

“Oh, have you now?” she teased, tilting her head slightly.

He nodded, a soft blush creeping up his neck. “I’ve wanted to make this special. You’re special, Y/n.”

Her breath hitched at his words, and she felt her cheeks grow warm. “Paul...” she began, but he cut her off with a gentle shake of his head.

“Let me finish,” he said, his hand now resting on hers. “I’ve been in relationships before, yeah? But nothing has felt like this. You make me feel like I can just... be myself. No pretenses, no masks.”

Y/n’s eyes softened, and she squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to try so hard, Paul. I like you for you. For the way you sing off-key when you’re cooking, the way you get passionate when you talk about football, and the way you’re always thinking about everyone else before yourself.”

Paul’s lips twitched into a grin. “Off-key? Really?”

She laughed, the sound light and melodic. “You’re not going to argue that point, are you?”

“Alright, fair,” he admitted, laughing along with her. The tension in the room seemed to dissolve, replaced by an easy comfort that came naturally to them.

They fell into a companionable silence, the only sound the faint murmur of traffic outside. Paul leaned back on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows as he looked at her. “You’re really something else, Y/n,” he said softly.

She turned to him, her expression serious now. “So are you, Paul. Don’t ever forget that.”

He sat up, leaning closer until their faces were just inches apart. “Can I kiss you?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Y/n’s heart raced, and she nodded, her voice caught in her throat. Paul closed the gap between them, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was both tender and electrifying. His hand cupped her cheek, and she melted into him, her fingers tangling in his curls.

Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in each other. When they finally pulled apart, both were breathless, their foreheads resting together.

“Was that alright?” Paul asked, a hint of shyness in his voice.

Y/n laughed softly, her thumb brushing against his cheek. “More than alright.”

He grinned, his dimples deepening. “Good. Because I’ve got plenty more where that came from.”

The night unfolded slowly, each moment steeped in intimacy and laughter. They talked about everything and nothing, sharing stories, dreams, and fears. Paul’s humor and warmth put Y/n at ease, and she found herself opening up in ways she never had before.

As the hours passed, they lay tangled together on the bed, their legs entwined. Paul traced lazy circles on her arm, his voice soft as he spoke.

“You know, Y/n, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this happy before. It’s like... everything makes sense when I’m with you.”

Her heart swelled at his words, and she pressed a kiss to his chest. “You make me happy too, Paul. Happier than I ever thought I could be.”

He tilted her chin up, his eyes searching hers. “Then let’s make a promise, yeah? To always be honest with each other, no matter what.”

She smiled, nodding. “I promise.”

Paul leaned down, capturing her lips in another kiss. This time, it was slower, more deliberate, as if they were trying to memorize the feel of each other. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them, wrapped in a bubble of love and trust.

His kiss deepened, his hands moving to cup her face, his thumbs gently stroking her cheeks. Y/n responded eagerly, her hands sliding beneath his shirt, exploring the contours of his back, her fingertips trailing along his muscles as if memorizing them.

Paul’s touch was tender but grew bolder with each passing moment, his hands slipping to her waist as he pulled her closer. “You feel incredible,” he murmured, his voice husky and thick with desire.

Y/n arched into him, her nails grazing his shoulders, sending a ripple of tension and pleasure through his body. “You feel incredible too,” she whispered back, her breath catching as his lips moved to the delicate curve of her neck.

Paul paused for a heartbeat, his intense gaze meeting hers. “I want you,” he said, his voice rough and urgent, filled with unspoken promises.

Her answer came in the form of a nod, her eyes wide and full of trust. “I want you too,” she managed, her voice trembling with anticipation.

Paul’s hands roamed her body with care and reverence, each touch deliberate, each kiss leaving her skin tingling. His shirt was the first to go, revealing the warmth of his skin beneath her palms. She marveled at the feel of him, her hands exploring the firm planes of his chest and back.

Their movements were unhurried yet purposeful, as if savoring every second. He eased her back onto the bed, his body hovering over hers, a perfect blend of strength and gentleness. Her fingers tangled in his curls as he kissed her deeply, their connection growing more intense.

Paul shed the remaining barriers between them with a mix of tenderness and urgency, his gaze never wavering from hers. “Are you sure?” he asked one last time, his voice soft but steady.

Y/n’s response was unwavering, her hands cupping his face. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

He smiled, his expression filled with love and awe before he kissed her again. Their bodies moved together in perfect harmony, their rhythm slow and deliberate at first, building into something more urgent and primal. Each touch, each kiss, brought them closer, their connection deepening with every passing moment.

Paul groaned softly, the sound vibrating against her skin as he buried his face in her neck. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, his breath warm and ragged.

Y/n clung to him, her nails digging lightly into his back as her own gasps mingled with his. “You too,” she managed, her voice shaky but full of emotion. “You’re perfect, Paul.”

Their bodies moved in unison, fitting together as though they had always been meant to. Y/n arched into him, her body responding to his every movement. Paul’s kisses trailed from her lips to her collarbone, each one igniting a new wave of heat that coursed through her.

As their pace quickened, the intensity between them grew. Paul’s voice broke with emotion as he whispered her name, his hands cradling her as though she were the most precious thing in the world. Y/n responded with equal fervor, her own cries of passion filling the space between them.

When they reached the peak of their connection, it was as though time itself stood still. They clung to each other, their bodies trembling, their breaths mingling in the stillness of the room. Paul pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, his arms wrapping around her as he held her close.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

Y/n smiled, her head resting against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat steady and comforting. “I think I’m the lucky one,” she replied, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin.

They stayed entwined, the warmth of their connection wrapping around them like a cocoon. The world outside faded into insignificance as they lay together, their connection deep and unspoken. Silence filled the room, but it wasn’t empty—it was charged with the weight of their emotions, their breaths syncing as they slowly came down from the high of their shared intimacy.

Paul shifted slightly, brushing a strand of hair from Y/n’s face. His expression was a mixture of tenderness and awe, as though he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. “Are you alright?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern.

Y/n nodded, her lips curving into a small, content smile. “More than alright,” she whispered. “That was... everything.”

Paul chuckled quietly, his fingers tracing the curve of her jaw. “You have a way with words,” he teased, his dimples flashing as his grin widened. “But I’m glad you feel that way.”

She let out a soft laugh, her hand resting against his chest. “I think you might be rubbing off on me, Mr. Poet.”

“Oh, is that what I am now?” he asked, arching a playful eyebrow.

She smirked, tapping his chest lightly. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Paul leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. “Too late,” he murmured against her skin, earning another laugh from her.

They lay together for a long time, their limbs tangled as if neither could bear to let go. Paul’s fingers lazily traced patterns on her back, while Y/n’s hand rested on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this close to someone,” Y/n admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paul’s arms tightened around her, pulling her closer. “Me neither,” he replied, his tone earnest. “You make everything feel... different. Like the world’s quieter when I’m with you.”

She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with emotion. “You make me feel safe. And seen.”

“You deserve to feel that way every day,” Paul said, his voice firm yet gentle. “And I’ll do my best to make sure you do.”

Y/n smiled, leaning up to kiss him softly. It wasn’t driven by urgency this time—it was slow and full of promise, a silent vow that neither of them needed to put into words.

As the night stretched on, they talked in hushed tones, their conversation punctuated by soft kisses and bouts of laughter. The connection they shared went beyond words, beyond physicality—it was something deep and profound, a bond that felt as though it had always existed, waiting for the right moment to surface.

Eventually, exhaustion began to creep in, and they settled into a comfortable silence. Paul pulled the blanket over them, tucking her securely against his side.

“Goodnight, Y/n,” he murmured, his lips brushing her temple.

“Goodnight, Paul,” she replied, her voice soft and sleepy.

With his arms wrapped around her and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek, Y/n felt an overwhelming sense of contentment. In this moment, everything felt perfect—like they were exactly where they were meant to be.

[andy-15-07]

newly engaged couple actressxpaul do the puppy interview?

Puppies, Promises, and Pure Joy

PAIRING:Paul Mescal x reader

WORD COUNT: 1177 | requests are open

Paul Mescal Masterlist

The Puppy Interview is one of the most beloved staples of celebrity culture. There’s something about seeing big-name stars cuddling with bundles of wiggly joy that makes even the most reserved fans swoon. So, when BuzzFeed announced that newly engaged couple Y/N, the rising star actress, and Paul Mescal, the award-winning Irish actor, would be participating in the segment, social media went into a frenzy.

The scene opens in a cozy studio, soft ambient lighting casting a golden hue over the carpeted floor. A large white playpen dominates the space, adorned with toys, blankets, and bowls of treats. Off-camera, faint yips and barks echo—the stars of the show are ready.

Y/N and Paul sit side by side on the floor, leaning against a fluffy couch. She’s dressed casually in an oversized sweater and jeans, her engagement ring catching the light as she tucks her hair behind her ear. Paul, in a simple t-shirt and joggers, radiates his usual easygoing charm, though he’s clearly excited. Both are grinning like kids on Christmas morning.

“Right, let’s get started,” Paul says with a laugh, clapping his hands together as the first batch of puppies is released.

A litter of golden retriever puppies bounds into the room, tails wagging furiously. The couple’s faces light up as the puppies swarm them, tumbling over each other in their excitement.

“Oh my God, look at them!” Y/N exclaims, scooping up a particularly tiny pup with floppy ears. “You are so small! How are you even real?”

Paul laughs as a more adventurous puppy climbs onto his lap, gnawing on the drawstring of his joggers. “This one’s already causing trouble. You’d fit right in at my family’s house,” he quips, scratching behind the puppy’s ears.

The interviewer, speaking from off-camera, begins with a warm greeting. “Welcome, Y/N and Paul! How does it feel to be surrounded by this much cuteness?”

“Overwhelming,” Y/N replies, her voice soft as she cuddles her puppy closer. “But in the best way. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

Paul nods in agreement, holding up the puppy on his lap so they’re eye level. “I mean, look at this face. How could you not feel pure joy?”

The interviewer chuckles. “We’ve got some fan-submitted questions for you two. Let’s dive in. First up: What’s the best part about being engaged?”

Y/N and Paul exchange a quick glance, their connection palpable. Y/N speaks first. “I think for me, it’s just knowing that we’re building something together. Like, we’ve always been a team, but this feels like… the next chapter, you know?”

Paul nods, his expression softening. “Yeah, it’s like this little promise we’ve made to each other. It’s not about the ring or the labels; it’s about choosing each other every day. Also, she’s already started calling me her fiancé in random conversations, and it’s…” He pauses, grinning. “It’s the best thing ever.”

Y/N laughs, nudging him playfully. “Don’t make me cry. There are puppies here, Paul.”

The next question comes as Y/N tries to stop a particularly wriggly puppy from climbing onto her shoulder. “If you could describe each other in three words, what would they be?”

Paul leans back, pretending to think deeply. “Okay, for Y/N… I’d say passionate, hilarious, and… luminous.”

Y/N freezes, clearly touched. “Luminous? That’s such a good word.”

“It’s true,” Paul says earnestly. “You light up every room you walk into.”

“Stop it,” Y/N whispers, hiding her face behind the puppy in her arms. “Your turn.”

She takes a moment, her gaze soft as she looks at him. “Grounded, kind, and… soulful.”

Paul raises an eyebrow. “Soulful?”

“Yeah,” she says with a small shrug. “You feel things deeply, and it shows in everything you do—your acting, the way you treat people. It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

For a moment, they’re lost in each other’s eyes, the puppies around them forgotten. The interviewer clears their throat, breaking the spell.

“All right, next question: What’s the weirdest thing you’ve learned about each other since living together?”

Y/N bursts out laughing. “Oh, I have so many answers to this.”

“Be nice,” Paul warns, though he’s grinning.

“Okay, okay,” she says, holding up a hand. “Paul has this… very specific way of making tea. He’ll boil the water, pour it into the mug, then immediately pour it out and boil fresh water again because he swears the first batch isn’t hot enough.”

Paul laughs, shaking his head. “It’s called precision, Y/N.”

“It’s called madness,” she teases. “But I love you for it.”

Paul grins, then retaliates. “Well, Y/N has this habit of talking to inanimate objects. Like, if she bumps into a chair, she’ll apologize to it. Or she’ll thank the fridge for keeping the milk cold.”

“That’s called being polite,” Y/N says, feigning indignation. “You should try it sometime.”

They’re interrupted by a tiny yelp as one of the puppies tumbles into Paul’s lap. He immediately picks it up, cradling it like a baby. “You okay, little one? You’re stealing the show here.”

The interview continues with more fan questions, ranging from their go-to karaoke songs (“Toxic” by Britney Spears for Y/N, and “Dreams” by The Cranberries for Paul) to their guilty pleasures (“Cheesy reality TV,” they both admit simultaneously, laughing).

As the session wraps up, the interviewer asks one final question. “If you could give one piece of advice to your younger selves, what would it be?”

Y/N’s expression turns thoughtful. “I’d tell her that it’s okay to take risks, even if they’re scary. And that the right people will love you for exactly who you are.”

Paul nods, his gaze steady. “I’d say something similar. I’d tell him to trust himself more and not to be afraid of failing. Every mistake leads you to where you’re meant to be.”

Just as they think the interview is over, the puppies—now more comfortable and mischievous—cause a delightful chaos. One puppy manages to steal Paul’s sock, prompting a playful chase around the playpen. Y/N, laughing uncontrollably, tries to wrangle two others that have decided her hair is the best chew toy.

“This is a disaster,” Paul says breathlessly, finally retrieving his sock.

“This is heaven,” Y/N counters, sitting cross-legged with two puppies curled up in her lap.

As the crew steps in to gather the puppies, the couple’s reluctance is palpable. “Can we adopt all of them?” Y/N asks, only half-joking.

Paul wraps an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s start with one and see how we manage.”

The interviewer, sensing the perfect closing shot, asks, “Any final words for your fans watching?”

Y/N smiles warmly. “Thank you for all the love and support. And if you ever get the chance to be in a room full of puppies, do it. It’s life-changing.”

Paul adds, “And adopt, don’t shop. These little guys deserve all the love in the world.”

As the couple waves goodbye to the camera, their hands intertwined, the internet collectively swoons. The Puppy Interview has once again proven to be a heart-melting success, but this one might just be the most adorable yet.

[andy-15-07]

can you write reader helping calm down joel miller or javier peña after panic attack even if they try to show them away like they’re fine something like that angst❤️

In the Quiet

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader

Word Count: 1032 | Requests are open! (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The late evening air was cool as it drifted into the small cabin, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth. Outside, the crickets sang their rhythmic tune, but inside, the room was unnaturally quiet. Joel sat on the edge of the worn couch, his hands gripping the edge as though it might anchor him to the moment.

You’d noticed the signs earlier. The stiffness in his shoulders, the way his jaw tensed and untensed as he spoke in clipped sentences. Joel Miller had always been a man of few words, but tonight his silence felt heavier, darker. You’d learned to read the small shifts in his demeanor in the months since you’d started traveling together, though he often pretended there was nothing to notice.

But now, as his breathing hitched, as his hands trembled slightly against the fabric of the couch, it was impossible to ignore.

“Joel,” you said softly from where you leaned against the doorway. “You okay?”

His head snapped up, and for a moment, his eyes met yours. They were wide, glassy, and filled with something you rarely saw in him: fear. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. He looked away, his lips pressing into a tight line.

“‘M fine,” he muttered. His voice was gravelly, but it cracked at the edges, betraying him.

You didn’t move closer yet. Joel wasn’t the type to take comfort easily, not from anyone, and especially not when he was trying to hold himself together. Instead, you stayed where you were, giving him space but not leaving.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” you said, keeping your tone gentle. “You wanna talk about it?”

He huffed a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Ain’t nothin’ to talk about.”

But his hands betrayed him again, flexing and clenching on the edge of the couch. His chest rose and fell unevenly, and he rubbed at his sternum as if trying to ease some invisible pressure.

You took a slow step forward. “Joel,” you said again, more firmly this time. “What’s going on?”

“I said I’m fine,” he snapped, his voice rough and strained. He pushed himself to his feet, turning away from you. “Just drop it, alright?”

But his legs wavered, and he had to catch himself against the arm of the couch. You were at his side in an instant, reaching out instinctively.

“Don’t,” he bit out, shrugging off your hand. “I—I just need a minute.”

“You’re having a panic attack, Joel,” you said, your voice steady even though your heart clenched at the sight of him like this. “You need to sit down.”

He shook his head stubbornly, but his breathing grew more erratic, his chest heaving as though he couldn’t get enough air. He stumbled again, and this time, you didn’t let him brush you off.

“Joel,” you said firmly, stepping into his space. You placed a hand on his arm, grounding but not forceful. “Sit down. Now.”

His eyes darted to yours, wild and unfocused, but something in your tone must have reached him. Slowly, reluctantly, he sank back onto the couch. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and cradled his head in his hands.

You crouched in front of him, keeping your voice calm and steady. “Alright. I’m here. Just breathe with me, okay?”

He shook his head, his voice muffled. “Can’t… can’t fuckin’…”

“Yes, you can,” you said, unwavering. “Follow my voice. In through your nose, nice and slow.”

He tried, but his breath hitched again, and he let out a low, frustrated growl. “Ain’t… ain’t that easy,” he muttered, his words barely audible.

“I know it’s not,” you said gently. “But you’ve got this. You’re okay, Joel. Just keep trying. In through your nose, hold it for a second, then out through your mouth.”

You demonstrated for him, exaggerating the motion so he could see it. It took a few tries, but eventually, his breathing began to slow, falling into a shaky rhythm that matched yours.

“That’s it,” you said softly. “You’re doing good.”

He didn’t respond, but his shoulders began to relax ever so slightly. His hands were still trembling, but the tightness in his jaw eased, and his breaths grew steadier. After a few more moments, he leaned back against the couch, letting out a long, shuddering exhale.

You stayed where you were, watching him carefully. “You alright?”

He nodded after a beat, though he didn’t meet your eyes. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” you said, straightening up and sitting down beside him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Ain’t much to say. Just… got caught up in my head, I guess.”

You didn’t push him. Joel wasn’t the type to spill his guts, and you knew better than to expect him to. Instead, you leaned back and let the silence stretch, offering your presence without pressing him for more.

After a while, he spoke again, his voice quieter this time. “It’s the nights that get me sometimes. Too quiet. Gives me too much time to think.”

You nodded, understanding the unspoken weight of his words. The nights were when the ghosts came out, when the memories crept in and refused to leave. You’d had your own share of them, and you knew how suffocating they could be.

“I get it,” you said softly. “It’s hard to outrun your thoughts.”

He glanced at you then, his gaze searching. “How d’you do it?”

You offered a small, sad smile. “Some nights I don’t. But when it gets bad, I try to focus on what’s right in front of me. Little things. The sound of the wind, the way the stars look, stuff like that. It doesn’t fix it, but it helps.”

He was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. I’ll try that.”

You didn’t say anything else, and neither did he. The two of you sat there in the quiet, the night stretching on around you. And for the first time in a long while, Joel let himself lean into the presence of someone else, finding a fragile kind of solace in the quiet.

[andy-15-07]

hiii i think maybe acacius comes back hurt from battle and reader trying to care about him but he’s stubborn

love your fics🩷

Stubborn Hearts and Healing Hands

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x female reader

Word Count: 898 | Requests are open!

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The sun dipped low on the horizon, bathing the camp in hues of orange and crimson. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, iron, and the faint char of wood smoke. Soldiers moved like shadows around the campfires, their voices murmuring about the day’s skirmish. But your focus was fixed on the tent before you.

You’d heard the whispers before you saw him. General Acacius, victorious again but wounded. It sent your heart racing, equal parts relief and dread. You knew how stubborn he could be, how he wore his pride like armor, never admitting weakness. But this time, you wouldn’t let him brush you off.

Pushing past the heavy canvas flap, you stepped into the dimly lit tent. Acacius sat on a low stool, his broad shoulders hunched, blood-streaked fingers working to undo the clasps of his breastplate. The sight of him, usually so commanding, now so vulnerable, made your chest tighten.

“Acacius,” you said softly, stepping closer.

His head snapped up, and his piercing gaze met yours. For a moment, something unreadable flickered in his eyes. Relief? Guilt? Then, his familiar smirk settled in place, though it was weaker than usual.

“Y/N. You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice gruff. “It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”

“A scratch?” you echoed, arching a brow. Your eyes drifted to the dark stain spreading across his side, where his tunic clung to his skin. “That doesn’t look like a scratch.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve had worse. Go back to the main tent. I’ll join you soon.”

“Not a chance.” Your tone brooked no argument as you crossed the space and knelt before him. “Let me see.”

“Y/N…” His voice held a warning, but you ignored it. Gently, you pushed his hands away and began unbuckling the remaining straps of his armor. He sighed, a sound heavy with exasperation, but he didn’t stop you.

When the breastplate finally came free, you sucked in a sharp breath. A deep gash ran along his side, angry and raw. Blood seeped from the wound, staining his skin and the edges of his tunic.

“Acacius,” you murmured, your voice trembling slightly. “This isn’t just a scratch. You need proper tending.”

He scoffed. “It’ll heal. It always does.”

“Not without help,” you snapped, the sharpness in your tone surprising even yourself. You met his eyes, your own blazing. “Stop being so stubborn and let me help you.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. That, in itself, was a small victory.

You gathered what you needed: a basin of water, clean cloths, and a small pouch of herbs. As you worked, the tent was filled with a heavy silence, broken only by the occasional hiss of pain from Acacius and the soft murmurs of your voice as you tried to soothe him.

“You’re too reckless,” you said, dabbing at the wound with a damp cloth. “Charging into battle like you’re invincible.”

“I’m a general,” he replied. “It’s my duty.”

“It’s your duty to lead, not to throw yourself in harm’s way,” you countered. “What would your men do without you? What would I do without you?”

His gaze softened at that, the hardness in his expression giving way to something more tender. “You’d be fine. You’re stronger than you think.”

“Don’t,” you said, shaking your head. “Don’t say things like that. I don’t want to be strong without you.”

For a moment, he said nothing, just watched you with an intensity that made your cheeks flush. Then, he reached out, his rough, calloused hand brushing against your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “For worrying you.”

Your breath hitched, and you leaned into his touch. “Just promise me you’ll be more careful. Please.”

He nodded, the movement small but sincere. “I’ll try.”

It wasn’t a perfect promise, but it was enough for now.

You finished cleaning the wound and applied the herbs, ignoring his grumbles about the sting. Finally, you wrapped it with a clean bandage, tying it off securely.

“There,” you said, sitting back on your heels. “That should hold until we can get the healer to look at it.”

“You’re better than any healer,” he said, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto your own face. “Flattery won’t get you out of trouble.”

“I’m not trying to get out of trouble,” he said, his tone suddenly serious. “I mean it. Thank you.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart ache. You reached out, your fingers brushing against his. “Always.”

The silence that followed was different from before, not heavy or strained but warm, comforting. For a moment, it felt like the world outside the tent didn’t exist, like it was just the two of you.

“Rest,” you said finally, breaking the quiet. “You need it.”

He started to protest, but you silenced him with a look. Reluctantly, he nodded and lay back on the cot, wincing slightly as he settled.

You stayed by his side, your hand resting lightly on his. And as his breathing evened out, the lines of tension on his face softening, you felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, you could convince him to take better care of himself. For now, though, you were content to watch over him, to be his strength when he needed it most.

[andy-15-07]

Hi,

I love your work. Can we get a story about marcus conquering a city and then be in a political marriage with the princess of the fallen city ? She hates him at first and then of course they both fall for each other

The Princess of a Fallen City

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x female reader

Word Count: 1961 | Requests are open! (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The city of Lystra fell under a blood-red sky. Marcus Acacius, General of Rome, stood at the edge of the conquered city’s grand palace, his armor glinting with the remnants of battle. Soldiers celebrated in the streets, their cheers echoing through the hollow corridors of what had once been a seat of power.

Marcus’ gaze fell on the bound figure brought before him. Princess Y/N of Lystra stood tall despite the chains adorning her wrists, her eyes blazing with defiance.

“The lion of Rome,” she said mockingly, her voice sharp as a blade. “Come to gloat, have you?”

Marcus’ lips curved into a slight smile, though his dark eyes remained cold. “Gloat? Hardly. This was a necessity, not a pleasure.” He motioned to the soldiers to release her chains. “I prefer my conversations unrestrained.”

“How generous of you,” she replied, rubbing her wrists as she was freed. “Do your victories often involve slaughtering innocents?”

“War is never clean,” he said, his voice even. “And no one is truly innocent in a rebellion against Rome.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of a retort. Instead, she straightened her posture, looking every bit the queen she would have been.

Two days later, Marcus stood in the opulent hall of Lystra’s palace. The once-bright tapestries had been torn down, replaced with Roman banners. The elders of the city knelt before him, offering allegiance. But his attention wasn’t on them. It was on the proposal laid out by his advisors.

“A political marriage,” his second-in-command explained. “It will secure loyalty. The people will be less likely to rebel if their princess is bound to you.”

Marcus considered the idea, his expression unreadable. He didn’t need a wife, much less one who despised him. Yet, there was logic in the suggestion. “Summon her.”

When Y/N entered the chamber, her expression was wary. Marcus gestured for the guards to leave, leaving the two alone.

“You summoned me, General?” she asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“I did,” he said. “Sit.”

She didn’t move. “I’d rather stand.”

“Suit yourself.” Marcus rose from his chair and walked toward her, his imposing frame towering over her. “The terms are simple. A marriage between us. You’ll remain in this palace, and your people will be spared further suffering.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You expect me to marry the man who destroyed my home?”

“Expectations are irrelevant,” Marcus said evenly. “This is a matter of necessity.”

“Necessity for whom? Certainly not for me,” she snapped.

“For your people,” he replied. “You claim to care for them, yet you’d risk their future out of spite?”

Y/N’s fists clenched. “Don’t you dare speak of care to me. You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

“Perhaps not,” he admitted. “But I know loyalty. And I know duty. Think carefully, Princess. The choice is yours.”

Her silence stretched, heavy with tension. Finally, she spoke. “I’ll agree. But don’t think for a moment that I’ll ever forgive you.”

Marcus nodded, unperturbed. “Forgiveness isn’t required.”

The days leading to the wedding were filled with preparations. Y/N’s attendants fussed over her, but she felt like a prisoner in gilded chains. Every glance in the mirror reminded her of the man she would soon call husband—a man she loathed.

Marcus, on the other hand, approached the event with the same stoic detachment he applied to war. He made no attempt to ingratiate himself with Y/N, understanding that time and actions would speak louder than words.

The ceremony was grand but cold, much like their union. As Marcus placed the ring on Y/N’s finger, she fought the urge to recoil. His touch was firm yet impersonal.

Weeks passed, and life in the palace settled into a tense rhythm. Y/N avoided Marcus whenever possible, though their paths inevitably crossed. One evening, as she wandered the palace gardens, she heard his voice.

“You find peace here?” he asked, stepping into view.

She stiffened. “Peace is a rare commodity these days.”

“For both of us,” he said, surprising her. “You think this is easy for me?”

“Is that supposed to make me feel pity for you?” she retorted.

“No,” he said simply. “But perhaps you might understand. I do what I must for Rome. Just as you would do for Lystra.”

For the first time, she detected a hint of vulnerability in his tone. She frowned, unsure of how to respond. Instead, she walked away, leaving him alone in the fading light.

Their dynamic began to shift subtly. Marcus’ actions—small gestures of kindness, moments of unexpected humor—chipped away at her hatred. He had a way of speaking that made her question her preconceptions, though she fought against it.

One night, during a formal dinner, a senator insulted Lystra’s culture. Y/N bristled, ready to defend her people, but Marcus spoke first.

“You forget yourself,” he said coldly. “Lystra’s traditions deserve respect. They are now part of Rome.”

Y/N stared at him, startled. He met her gaze briefly before returning to his meal, as if nothing had happened.

It was during a rare moment of vulnerability that the walls between them truly began to crumble. Y/N found Marcus in the war room late at night, staring at maps with a haunted expression.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked, surprising even herself.

He looked up, startled. “No.”

She hesitated before approaching. “What keeps you awake?”

He sighed. “The faces. Of those I’ve lost. Those I’ve killed.”

For the first time, she saw the weight he carried. “Does it ever go away?”

“No,” he admitted. “But you learn to live with it.”

Their eyes met, and something unspoken passed between them. For the first time, she saw him as more than a conqueror. And he saw her as more than a defiant princess.

Months turned into a year, and their relationship evolved. Their shared moments grew more frequent, filled with tentative smiles and genuine laughter. Y/N found herself drawn to Marcus’ strength and quiet resilience, while he admired her fiery spirit and unyielding determination.

One evening, as they walked through the gardens, Marcus took her hand. She didn’t pull away.

“I never thought this would happen,” she admitted softly.

“Neither did I,” he said. “But I’m glad it did.”

Their lips met, tentative at first, then with a passion that spoke of everything they had endured. The past didn’t vanish, but in that moment, it no longer defined them. They were no longer conqueror and captive but two souls finding solace in each other amidst the ruins of war.

As their bond deepened, Y/N began to see Marcus in his element as a leader beyond the battlefield. He often walked through the streets of Lystra, speaking to its people. Though they were wary at first, they slowly came to respect his pragmatism and fairness. It was his way of showing that he was more than the general who had broken their gates.

Y/N joined him on these walks, observing how he handled disputes and sought to rebuild what had been destroyed. “You don’t have to do this,” she told him one day.

“I do,” he replied. “It’s my responsibility now. Just as you’ve taken on yours.”

She nodded, a faint smile on her lips. “Perhaps you’re not as heartless as I thought.”

“Perhaps you’re not as inflexible as I thought,” he countered, his tone teasing.

The seasons changed, and with them, so did the hearts of the people. Y/N’s initial resentment gave way to admiration as she saw how deeply Marcus cared for the future of both Rome and Lystra. He, in turn, found in her a partner whose strength and compassion matched his own.

One evening, as they stood on the palace balcony overlooking the city, Y/N leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Do you think we’ll ever be free of the shadows of the past?” she asked.

“No,” Marcus said, wrapping an arm around her. “But we can build something new. Together.”

And for the first time since the day the city fell, Y/N believed him.

Their relationship blossomed, a delicate flower in the shadow of war. Marcus, surprised by the depth of his feelings, found himself seeking out her company. He would find excuses to visit her chambers, bringing her rare fruits from distant lands or books of poetry he thought she might enjoy. He would linger in the gardens, hoping to chance upon her, their conversations growing longer, their silences more comfortable.

One evening, as they strolled through the gardens, the moon casting long shadows across the path, Marcus stopped and turned to face her. "You know," he began, his voice husky, "I never thought I would find… this." He gestured vaguely between them.

Y/N looked at him, her eyes wide with surprise. "This?"

"This feeling," he clarified, his gaze unwavering. "This… peace. This… joy."

A blush crept up Y/N's neck. "I… I feel it too," she admitted softly, her voice barely a whisper.

Their hands brushed against each other as they reached for a fallen blossom. A jolt, electric and unexpected, passed between them. Marcus's breath hitched. He wanted to pull her close, to taste the sweetness of her lips, to lose himself in the warmth of her gaze. But he hesitated, unsure if his feelings were reciprocated.

Y/N, sensing his apprehension, took a deep breath. "Marcus," she began, her voice trembling slightly, "I… I don't know how to explain it. But… being with you, even amidst the ruins, it's… it's like finding a sliver of sunlight in a darkened room."

Marcus's heart soared. He took her hand, his touch gentle, reverent. "Then let us bask in this sunlight, my princess," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

Their first kiss was a hesitant exploration, a tentative touch of lips that quickly ignited into a fierce passion. They clung to each other, their bodies trembling, their souls yearning for a connection that transcended the boundaries of their past.

In the aftermath, they lay side-by-side, the moon casting long shadows across the garden. "I never thought I would feel this way," Y/N confessed, her voice a soft sigh.

Marcus smiled, his hand tracing the curve of her cheek. "Neither did I."

Their love story continued, a delicate dance amidst the ruins of war. They faced challenges together – political intrigue, the lingering resentment of some of Lystra's citizens, and the ever-present shadow of Marcus's past. But through it all, their love grew stronger, a beacon of hope in a world scarred by conflict.

They learned to cherish the quiet moments – sharing stories by the fire, exploring hidden corners of the palace, simply enjoying each other's company. They found solace in each other's arms, their bodies seeking warmth and comfort, their souls finding a haven in the depths of their shared love.

Years later, as they sat on the balcony, watching the sun set over Lystra, a city now thriving under their joint rule, Y/N looked at Marcus, his face etched with the lines of time and the weight of his responsibilities.

"You know," she said softly, "we built something beautiful from the ashes, didn't we?"

Marcus turned to her, his eyes filled with a love that transcended time and circumstance. "We did," he agreed, his voice thick with emotion. "And it's all because of you, my love."

He leaned down and kissed her, a long, slow kiss that spoke volumes of their journey, their resilience, and the enduring power of love to heal even the deepest wounds. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the city in a warm, golden glow, they knew that their love story was far from over. It was a testament to the enduring power of hope, a beacon of light in a world that often seemed shrouded in darkness.

[andy-15-07]

hiii! i saw that your request is open. i would love to read about reader and pedro planning to go public

reader and pedro have been dating for almost a year but never go out on public together because reader wasn’t ready with people’s response and she has some trauma from her previous marriage (got cheated on and divorce). pedro was also scared that paparazzi & fans will bother her. but now after they said ily and sure about each other, they finally planning to go public

thanks in advance 💖

Us

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x female reader

Word Count: 1235 | requests are open!

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the city. From their apartment window, they watched the lights of the skyscrapers twinkle into life, creating a breathtaking panorama. Inside, a comfortable silence hung in the air, a quiet anticipation buzzing between them.

Y/N sat on the edge of the couch, her gaze drawn to the swirling patterns in her coffee cup. Beside her, Pedro stood by the window, his profile etched against the vibrant hues of the sunset. A thoughtful expression softened his features, his eyes tracing the city lights as if lost in a private reverie.

Almost a year had passed since their relationship had blossomed. A year filled with stolen moments, whispered confessions under the cloak of night, and an unwavering support that had deepened their bond. Yet, their love story remained a secret, shielded from the public eye and the inevitable scrutiny that came with fame.

Y/N had always been wary of the spotlight. The echoes of her past marriage, a painful chapter marked by betrayal and heartbreak, still lingered. The discovery of her ex-husband's infidelity had left deep scars, a constant reminder of the vulnerability that came with exposing her heart. She had vowed to protect herself, to keep her love life private.

And then there was Pedro, a man who understood her fears, who respected her boundaries with a gentle patience that melted her heart. He never pushed, never pressured her to share their love with the world. He understood the potential pitfalls – the intrusive glare of the paparazzi, the relentless scrutiny of the public, the way their love story could be twisted and sensationalized. He knew how easily something beautiful could be tainted by the harsh glare of fame.

But something had shifted. Their love had evolved, deepening into an unwavering foundation. It was no longer just about the private moments they cherished; it was about building a life together, a life they yearned to share with the world.

Pedro turned from the window, his gaze finding hers. He walked towards her, his footsteps a soft rhythm on the wooden floor. He sat beside her, his hand reaching out to gently cup hers, his thumb tracing soothing circles on her knuckles.

"We're really doing this, aren't we?" he asked, his voice a low murmur, a question hanging in the air.

Y/N looked up at him, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. "Are we?" she echoed, the uncertainty in her voice betraying the whirlwind of emotions swirling within her.

He smiled, a warm, reassuring smile that reached his eyes. "We're ready. I know you've been through a lot, but with you, I feel an unwavering certainty. I want the world to know how deeply I love you. And I'm ready to face whatever comes our way, together."

She squeezed his hand, his touch a grounding force amidst the fluttering in her chest. She had spent countless nights battling with doubt, fear gnawing at her, picturing the judgmental eyes and the potential for heartbreak. But in his presence, she felt a newfound strength. She could do this.

"I love you too," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "But I'm scared. Scared of the judgment, of the possibility of it all being torn apart."

He gently stroked her hand, his touch a silent reassurance. "I know, mi amor. I understand. I wouldn't want anyone to hurt you. That's why I've been so cautious. I've seen how the public can twist things, how they can turn something beautiful into a spectacle. But we can't live our lives in fear forever. We've waited long enough."

She took a deep breath, letting his words settle into her soul. There had been countless sleepless nights, the weight of the decision pressing down on her. But with Pedro by her side, the fear seemed to diminish, replaced by a newfound resolve.

"I don't want to hide anymore," she confessed, her voice trembling slightly. "Not from you, not from them. I want to be with you, openly, without the constant worry."

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "We'll do it when you're ready, mi amor. Together."

A comfortable silence settled between them, a shared understanding unspoken yet deeply felt. They had made the decision, but the path ahead remained uncertain.

"So," Pedro began, his voice light, attempting to break the lingering intensity, "how do we want to announce it? Instagram? A joint interview? Maybe a staged paparazzi photo?"

She chuckled, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. "Let's not go for the full 'paparazzi' act. But I think I'm okay with social media. It feels like the most natural way to share it."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Sí, I think so too. Maybe a simple photo of us, something casual, something that captures the essence of who we are."

"Real," she echoed, the word resonating deeply within her. It wasn't about creating a spectacle, but about sharing their authentic selves with the world. "It's not about impressing anyone," she added. "It's about showing them who we are, no matter what they think."

He pulled her close, his embrace a comforting cocoon. She rested her head on his chest, finding solace in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

"Are you sure?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He pressed another kiss to her hair. "Más seguro que nunca, mi vida."

They remained like that for a while, simply holding each other, the weight of their decision settling into their souls. It was a significant step, a leap into the unknown. But there was also a sense of liberation, a feeling of finally stepping into the light.

As the night deepened, they started to plan. They would post a simple photo of them together, a candid moment captured, a reflection of their genuine selves. No grand proclamations, no elaborate schemes – just a glimpse into their love story.

When the time came to post it, her heart raced. Pedro was by her side, his hand gently resting on her thigh, a silent anchor amidst the storm of emotions. She could do this. They could do this.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the Instagram app and uploaded the photo – a casual snapshot of them walking hand in hand, laughter sparkling in their eyes. She paused, her finger hovering over the 'post' button, a wave of apprehension washing over her. Then, with a trembling hand, she pressed it.

The world would see them. It wasn't just a relationship; it was their life, their love, unfiltered and authentic.

The response was immediate, overwhelming. Messages poured in from friends, family, fans, and colleagues. The support was abundant, but so were the inevitable questions, the curiosity, and the occasional critical comment. The scrutiny was inevitable. But for the first time, she didn't feel alone. She had Pedro by her side.

He squeezed her hand as they scrolled through the comments together, reading the messages of love and support.

"We're doing okay, aren't we?" she asked, her gaze meeting his.

He smiled, his eyes twinkling with pride. "Más que okay, mi amor. We're doing fantastic."

The future remained uncertain, as it always did. But one thing was certain – they would face it together, hand in hand, no longer hiding in the shadows. It wasn't about impressing the world, but about sharing their love, their story, with the world. And that, in itself, was enough.

[andy-15-07]

Stitches in the Heart

pairing: boyd holbrook x reader

word count: 2071

Requests are open!

It had been a while since Boyd Holbrook left for filming in another country. Weeks had turned into months, and with every passing day, Y/N found herself feeling the weight of the distance between them. At first, the texts and calls had been enough to bridge the gap. But as time wore on, the little things started to unravel. Boyd's new role in a big-budget film was requiring more of his time, and the new cast, a stunning co-star with a reputation for flirting, only added to her insecurities.

Y/N tried to keep herself busy, working on her own projects, catching up with friends, but it wasn’t the same. There were moments when she would scroll through her phone, seeing pictures of Boyd with his co-star, and the knots in her stomach would tighten. Today was one of those moments. Boyd had posted an image of him with her—his co-star—at an event they had attended together. They were standing close, smiling with their arms around each other.

It wasn’t a big deal, Y/N tried to convince herself. It wasn’t anything more than just a picture. But the way the co-star had leaned into Boyd, the look in her eyes, the way her hand rested on his chest, set something off inside Y/N. She couldn’t shake the feeling of jealousy creeping up on her.

Unable to sit still, Y/N grabbed her phone, her fingers trembling slightly as she unlocked it. She found Boyd’s contact and hit the call button.

Boyd was in the middle of a meeting when his phone buzzed, the name of his long-time girlfriend flashing on the screen. His heart skipped a beat. He smiled, his thoughts instantly drifting to her. He quickly excused himself from the conversation, stepping out of the room to answer.

“Hey, babe, what’s up?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line before Y/N’s voice cracked, a mix of frustration and hurt in her tone. “Boyd... What the hell is going on?”

Boyd furrowed his brow, walking down the hallway to find a quieter space. “What do you mean? What happened?”

“Why are you letting her get so close to you?” Y/N snapped. “I saw the picture with your co-star. You were practically cuddling her, Boyd! What the hell?”

Boyd’s chest tightened. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He knew that the jealousy was part of the distance that had begun to grow between them, but he never thought it would come to this. He had always reassured Y/N that there was nothing to worry about, but now, her voice—laced with hurt and anger—made him feel helpless.

“Babe, please... it’s not what you think. She’s just a co-star, nothing more. You know I’d never—”

“You don’t get it, Boyd! She’s flirting with you!” Y/N interrupted, her voice rising. “And you're just letting it happen! You don’t even see it, do you?”

Boyd’s heart sank. He had seen the tension, the way his co-star had been overly friendly with him, but he never once entertained the idea of anything happening. He was in love with Y/N, had been since high school. They had been through so much together, and this distance was already difficult enough without the added strain of suspicion.

“Y/N, listen to me,” he said gently, trying to keep his voice steady. “You’re my girl. I’ve always been loyal to you. She’s just... part of the job, okay? It doesn’t mean anything.”

But Y/N wasn’t listening. Her voice cracked, a sob escaping as she continued, “I don’t want to be with someone who makes me feel like this, Boyd. You’re never here, and when you are, it’s like you’re not even really here. You’re always so busy with her, and I’m just... I’m just here, waiting for you to come back, to see me, to remember me.”

Boyd’s stomach dropped. He hated hearing her like this. He couldn’t stand it. She had every right to feel hurt, but he needed her to understand.

“Y/N, I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel like that. I’ve been trying my best to balance everything, but I never meant to make you feel second. You’re my priority, always,” Boyd said, his voice soft and reassuring. “You have to know that.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. Boyd could hear Y/N trying to compose herself, the sound of her breathing shaky. The tension between them was unbearable. Finally, she whispered, “I don’t know if I can keep doing this, Boyd. I don’t know if I can trust you anymore.”

Boyd felt a pang in his chest, the words cutting deeper than he expected. He knew he had taken Y/N for granted, assuming that no matter how far apart they were, their bond would hold strong. But now, with the doubt settling between them, he realized how much he had been neglecting her needs, her feelings.

“I’m coming home,” Boyd said quickly, the decision firm in his mind. “I’ll be on the first flight back. Just wait for me, okay? We’ll talk, and I’ll make this right. I promise.”

But before Y/N could respond, the call ended. Boyd stood there for a moment, staring at his phone. He had to fix this. He couldn’t lose her over something so trivial, something that should have never been an issue in the first place.

The flight felt like it took forever. Boyd spent the entire time restless, consumed with worry. His mind raced with thoughts of how he would fix things, how he could make it up to Y/N. He had messed up, and he knew it. But he also knew that he couldn’t let this slip away. She was the one. She had always been the one.

When he finally arrived home, Boyd rushed out of the airport and into a cab, all he could think about was getting to her. He knew she had every right to be upset, but he wasn’t prepared for how badly it hurt to see her in so much pain.

When he arrived at their apartment, he didn’t even bother with the key. He knocked frantically on the door, his heart pounding in his chest.

A few moments later, the door creaked open, and there she was. Y/N, wearing one of his hoodies, her eyes red from crying. Boyd’s heart ached at the sight of her, but he didn’t say anything. He just pulled her into his arms, wrapping her tightly, as if trying to shield her from the hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Boyd whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I never meant for you to feel like this.”

Y/N stiffened for a moment but then slowly relaxed into his embrace, her hands clutching the fabric of his hoodie as she sniffled.

“I... I don’t know what to believe anymore,” she murmured. “You’re so far away, and it feels like I’m losing you.”

Boyd gently pulled back, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. His hands cupped her face, and he gazed into her eyes with a raw intensity. “You’re not losing me, Y/N. I’ve been an idiot. I’ve been so focused on work, on everything else, that I forgot what’s important. You are what matters to me. I love you. And I will prove it to you, every day.”

Y/N’s lips trembled, but she didn’t say anything. Boyd leaned in and kissed her forehead, then softly kissed her lips, his hands holding her gently, as if she might break. He was desperate to make her feel secure, to show her that there was nothing in this world that would make him leave her.

After a long moment, Y/N pulled away, her eyes still wet with tears. “I don’t know how to trust you anymore, Boyd. You don’t understand how hard this has been for me. I can’t just pretend like everything’s fine.”

Boyd swallowed hard, the weight of her words heavy on his chest. He nodded slowly. “I get it. I don’t expect you to forgive me right away. But I’ll do whatever it takes, Y/N. Just don’t give up on us. Please.”

Y/N looked at him, her gaze searching, before she finally nodded. “I’m not giving up on us, Boyd. But you need to show me that you’re still here. That you’re still... ours.”

Boyd’s heart swelled with relief. He knew this wouldn’t be easy, but he was ready to put in the work. He would show her, prove to her, that she was his everything.

And as they stood there, in the quiet of their apartment, Boyd knew that he would never let her go again. Not now, not ever.

The following weeks were a whirlwind of apologies and reassurances. Boyd was a man of his word. He canceled the rest of his filming schedule, returning home to Y/N. He spent every waking moment with her, showering her with affection, showering her with gifts, and most importantly, showering her with his attention. He made an effort to be present, to truly be there for her, to listen to her fears and insecurities.

He took her on long walks in the park, holding her hand tightly, whispering sweet nothings in her ear. He cooked her favorite meals, filling their apartment with the comforting aroma of home. He spent hours curled up on the couch with her, watching old movies, their bodies pressed together, the silence between them filled with a comfortable intimacy.

Y/N, initially hesitant and guarded, slowly began to thaw. She saw the sincerity in his eyes, the genuine remorse in his voice. She saw the effort he was making to reconnect with her, to rebuild the trust that had been so fragile.

One evening, as they were lying in bed, Y/N turned to him, her eyes searching his. "I'm still scared, Boyd," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "What if it happens again? What if you go back to work, and you forget about me again?"

Boyd pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her protectively. "I won't let that happen," he promised, his voice firm. "I've learned my lesson. I won't let anything come between us again."

He paused, his gaze intense. "I know I messed up, and I'm truly sorry. But I also know that I love you more than anything in the world. You are my everything, Y/N. You always have been, and you always will be."

Y/N felt a tear roll down her cheek. "I love you too, Boyd. More than words can say."

As the weeks turned into months, the shadow of doubt that had hung over their relationship began to fade. They communicated openly and honestly, sharing their fears and insecurities with each other. They made a conscious effort to spend quality time together, to cherish every moment they had.

Boyd found new ways to keep in touch with Y/N while he was away on location. He sent her constant updates, silly videos, and even a few love letters. He made an effort to schedule regular video calls, making her feel connected to him even when he was thousands of miles away.

Y/N, in turn, learned to trust him again. She saw the changes he had made, the effort he was putting in to maintain their relationship. She saw the love in his eyes, the unwavering devotion in his heart.

One evening, as they were enjoying a quiet dinner at home, Boyd surprised Y/N with a small velvet box. His eyes sparkled with excitement as he opened it to reveal a stunning diamond ring.

Y/N gasped, her eyes widening in disbelief. "Boyd..."

He took her hand, his voice trembling slightly. "Y/N, I know we've been through a lot, but I've never been more sure of anything in my life. You are the most amazing woman I know. You are my best friend, my confidante, my love. Will you marry me?"

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes. She nodded, speechless, her heart overflowing with joy. Boyd slipped the ring onto her finger, his lips meeting hers in a passionate kiss.

As they embraced, they both knew that this was just the beginning of their happily ever after. They had faced their challenges, they had overcome their doubts, and they had come out stronger than ever. Their love story, once threatened by distance and insecurity, had emerged even more beautiful, a testament to the resilience of their bond.

[andy-15-07]

Would you Pedro Pascal x actress!f!reader

You were about to get ready to photoshoot for Variety for Actors on Actors. You two got to say hello to each other, to ready to photoshoot. You two poses very realistic and seriously though, focusing on camera. You two sit as talks about the roles you two describes, how things getting well. They talk very wholesome and lots of flirting. They seem to have a chemistry together. After that, he secretly text you for come along to your apartment.

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

The Rise of a New Beginning

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x female reader

Word Count: 1807 | requests are open!

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The lights of the studio were soft yet purposeful, casting a warm glow that illuminated the set perfectly. The buzz of the crew filled the air as Y/N adjusted the strap of her dress, a masterpiece of sleek lines and understated elegance. She stood near the vanity mirror, the last few touches being made to her makeup. Her eyes sparkled under the light, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling beneath the surface. Today’s shoot was no ordinary gig; it was for Variety’s Actors on Actors series. Sharing the frame with Pedro Pascal added a certain gravity to the event.

As Y/N’s stylist stepped back, the director called out, “Pedro’s here!” The room shifted subtly, a collective murmur of admiration following the actor’s entrance. Dressed in a tailored black suit with an open-collared white shirt, Pedro exuded effortless charm. His warm brown eyes scanned the room, landing on Y/N. A genuine smile broke across his face as he approached her.

“Y/N,” he greeted, his voice smooth with a hint of gravel, “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

She returned his smile, shaking his outstretched hand. “Likewise. I’m a little starstruck, if I’m being honest.”

“Starstruck? Please. You’re the star here,” he teased, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

The banter between them was easy, an unspoken connection already forming. The director clapped his hands to get their attention. “Alright, you two. Let’s get started with the photoshoot.”

They moved to the set, a minimalist setup with a mix of vintage and modern elements. Pedro and Y/N positioned themselves under the guidance of the photographer. The first few shots were straightforward: standing side by side, arms crossed, faces serious. But as the session progressed, the chemistry between them became palpable. The poses grew more dynamic, more intimate. At one point, Pedro rested a hand lightly on her waist, their faces close enough to share a secret.

“You’re a natural,” he murmured softly, his voice meant only for her.

She tilted her head slightly, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “And you make it look effortless.”

The photographer, sensing the magic, encouraged them to lean into it. “Perfect! Let’s do a few more with you two laughing.”

Pedro turned to Y/N, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Quick, tell me your worst joke.”

“Oh, you’re putting me on the spot,” she said, feigning indignation before firing back with a terrible pun. Pedro laughed wholeheartedly, his infectious energy pulling a genuine laugh from her as well. The camera clicked rapidly, capturing the moment.

After the shoot wrapped, they moved to a cozy, dimly lit interview area. Two chairs faced each other, separated by a small table holding water bottles and notepads. Once seated, the interviewer gestured for them to begin. The conversation flowed easily, their voices weaving a tapestry of stories and reflections.

“So, Pedro,” Y/N began, crossing her legs and leaning forward slightly, “your role in ‘The Last of Us’ has been such a phenomenon. How do you approach portraying a character with so much emotional weight?”

He took a moment, his fingers tracing the edge of the water bottle. “I think, for me, it’s about grounding the character in reality. Joel’s experiences are so intense, but at the core, he’s just a guy trying to protect the people he loves. I try to focus on those universal emotions.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “That’s beautiful. I think that’s what makes the performance resonate so deeply. It’s raw and honest.”

“Thank you,” he said, his gaze lingering on her for a beat longer than necessary. “And what about you? Your recent role was such a departure from your earlier work. What drew you to it?”

Y/N’s expression softened. “It was the challenge, really. The character was so layered, and I loved the idea of peeling back those layers and discovering what made her tick. It’s scary but rewarding to step out of your comfort zone.”

“Well, you nailed it,” Pedro said sincerely. “You brought so much depth to her. It was inspiring to watch.”

The interviewer occasionally interjected with prompts, but the conversation naturally veered back to Pedro and Y/N’s exchange. Their laughter filled the room as they shared behind-the-scenes anecdotes, moments of vulnerability, and thoughts on their craft. The crew’s knowing smiles hinted at the chemistry sparking between the two actors.

As the interview concluded, Pedro leaned closer, his voice low. “You make this way too easy. I think we might be too good at this whole ‘chemistry’ thing.”

She chuckled, matching his tone. “Are you saying we’re method acting right now?”

“Maybe,” he said with a wink, standing to shake her hand as the crew began to pack up.

Later that evening, Y/N was unwinding in her apartment, still replaying the day’s events in her mind. Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. Picking it up, she saw Pedro’s name flash across the screen. Her heart skipped a beat as she opened the message.

Pedro: Hey, today was fun. You’re incredible. Any chance you’re up for some company tonight?

A smile spread across her face as she typed her reply.

Y/N: Only if you’re bringing the charm you had on set today.

His response was immediate.

Pedro: Always. See you soon.

As she set the phone down, the anticipation thrummed in her chest. The night, it seemed, was just beginning.

The doorbell chimed, a melodious sound that cut through the quiet of Y/N's apartment. She glanced at her reflection in the hallway mirror, a playful smile gracing her lips. Tonight, she was going for effortless chic – a flowy silk slip dress, her hair pulled back in a messy bun, and minimal makeup.

Pedro stood on the other side of the door, a bouquet of sunflowers in hand. His eyes widened when he saw her, a silent compliment that spoke volumes. "You look… breathtaking," he finally managed, his voice rough with admiration.

"Thank you," she replied, her cheeks warming under his gaze. "You brought flowers? You shouldn't have."

He shrugged, a charming smile playing on his lips. "Couldn't resist. Besides, sunflowers are your favorite, right?"

"They are," she confirmed, taking the bouquet from him and inhaling the sweet, summery scent. "They're beautiful."

He stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the apartment. "It's lovely. Cozy."

"Thank you. Come on in, I made dinner."

The aroma of pasta and garlic wafted from the kitchen, making Pedro's stomach rumble. "It smells incredible. I'm starving."

They spent the next hour laughing and talking over dinner, the conversation flowing easily between them. They discussed their childhoods, their favorite movies, their dreams for the future. Pedro was a captivating storyteller, his voice filled with warmth and humor. Y/N found herself drawn to him, captivated by his intelligence, his kindness, and the mischievous glint in his eyes.

After dinner, they moved to the living room, settling on the couch. Pedro put on a record – a classic jazz album – and they listened to the music, the soft melodies filling the air.

"This is perfect," Y/N murmured, leaning back against the cushions. "Just… being."

Pedro smiled, his gaze fixed on her. "I agree. This is exactly where I want to be."

He reached for her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers. The touch sent a shiver down her spine, a jolt of electricity that surprised her. She looked at him, her heart pounding in her chest. His eyes held hers, an unspoken question hanging in the air.

He leaned closer, his breath fanning against her cheek. "May I?" he whispered, his voice husky with emotion.

Y/N nodded, her breath catching in her throat.

Their lips met, a tentative touch that quickly deepened. It was a slow, sensual kiss, a exploration of each other's senses. Y/N felt a surge of warmth, a dizzying sensation that swept over her. She lost herself in the moment, in the feel of his lips against hers, the way his hand cupped the back of her neck.

They pulled back, their foreheads resting against each other. "Wow," Y/N breathed, her voice barely a whisper.

Pedro smiled, his eyes filled with a tenderness she had never seen before. "Wow, indeed."

He leaned back against the couch, a contented sigh escaping his lips. "This is… nice," he said, his voice laced with a hint of disbelief.

Y/N smiled, snuggling closer to him. "It is."

They spent the rest of the evening in comfortable silence, the music providing a gentle backdrop to their shared contentment. They talked, they laughed, they simply enjoyed each other's company. As the night wore on, the air grew heavy with unspoken emotions, a simmering tension that hung between them.

Finally, Pedro stood up, stretching his arms above his head. "I should probably go," he said, his voice reluctant. "I don't want to overstay my welcome."

Y/N felt a pang of disappointment. "You don't have to leave."

He looked at her, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "Are you sure about that?"

She nodded, her eyes sparkling with a challenge. "I'm sure."

He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Alright then. Let's see what we can do about that."

And so, the night continued, the air crackling with a potent mix of desire and anticipation. They explored the boundaries of their newfound connection, their laughter echoing through the apartment. As the first rays of dawn peeked through the window, they lay entwined, a comfortable silence settling between them.

Y/N drifted off to sleep, a contented sigh escaping her lips. She had spent the most magical night, a night filled with laughter, conversation, and an undeniable connection. And as she fell asleep, she knew this was just the beginning. The beginning of something special, something unexpected, something beautiful.

The next morning, Y/N woke up to the sound of sunlight streaming through the window. She turned her head and saw Pedro sleeping peacefully beside her, a soft smile gracing his lips. A wave of warmth washed over her, a feeling of contentment she hadn't experienced in a long time.

She gently traced the lines of his face, her fingers lingering on his cheekbone. He stirred, his eyes fluttering open.

"Good morning," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

"Good morning," she replied, her voice soft. "Did you sleep well?"

"Better than I have in a long time," he admitted, his eyes twinkling.

They spent the rest of the morning in bed, talking and laughing, their bodies still warm from the intimacy of the previous night. As they lay there, a comfortable silence settled between them, a shared understanding passing between their gazes.

"I think I'm falling for you," Y/N confessed, her voice barely a whisper.

Pedro smiled, his eyes filled with a tenderness that mirrored her own. "I think I am too."

And with that, they sealed their confession with a kiss, a promise whispered on the breath of dawn.

[andy-15-07]

Hiiiii hru?? I hope you're doing well! I saw that requests were open (if not, sorry, just ignore this) I would love to read something where Javier Peña saves the reader (for example from Pablo who kidnapped her) something with a lot of angst😭

Thank you in advance🥹🫂

Caught in the Crossfire

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Word Count: 1336 | requests are open

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The humid air hung heavy in the dilapidated warehouse, thick with the stench of sweat, blood, and the acrid bite of gunpowder. Your wrists throbbed, raw and stinging where the coarse rope bit into your skin, the knots tightened with a brutality that mirrored the situation. Pablo Escobar's voice, a chilling baritone laced with venomous amusement, cut through the tense silence.

"You think she's bait enough to lure Peña here?" he sneered, his eyes, cold and calculating, sweeping over you like a predator assessing its prey. "That American DEA agent, he'll come running. Like a dog to a bone."

You swallowed hard, the metallic taste of fear coating your tongue. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the chaos around you. But you refused to let him see your fear. To give him the satisfaction of knowing he had broken you. You met his gaze with a defiant stare, your eyes blazing with a silent fury.

A low rumble, distant at first, began to shake the ground. The sound of an approaching engine. Tension crackled through the room, the air thick with anticipation. Pablo's men shifted, their hands instinctively tightening around their rifles, fingers twitching on the triggers. You held your breath, every nerve in your body screaming.

Then, a deafening crash. The sound of splintering wood, the shattering of glass, and the eruption of panicked shouts. Gunfire erupted, a cacophony of violence that tore through the silence. Bullets whizzed past, the air thick with the metallic tang of cordite.

Through the smoke and the chaos, a figure emerged from the swirling dust. Javier Peña. His face, grim and determined, was etched with lines of exhaustion and worry. Dust clung to his dark hair, his eyes, the color of molten steel, narrowed in a fierce glare.

A wave of relief, so intense it almost buckled your knees, washed over you. But it was quickly followed by a fresh surge of terror. You were caught in the crossfire, a pawn in their deadly game.

"Peña," Pablo drawled, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "You finally arrived. And for what? A woman? A mere distraction?" He scoffed, his voice dripping with contempt. "She's not worth dying for."

"She's worth more than you'll ever understand," Javier spat, his voice low and dangerous, each word a venomous barb.

Before Pablo could retort, a shot rang out. A man, standing closest to Pablo, crumpled to the ground, a crimson stain blooming on his shirt. The room erupted in renewed chaos. Bullets flew, ricocheting off the walls, turning the warehouse into a maelstrom of violence. Javier moved with a deadly grace, a ghost in the smoke, his gun a blur of motion, each shot finding its mark.

"Get down!" Javier barked, his voice sharp, his eyes searching for you in the chaos.

You didn't hesitate, dropping to the floor, your body instinctively seeking the safety of the shadows. Javier crouched beside you, his breath ragged, his hands moving with a practiced efficiency as he worked to free you from the ropes.

"Javi," you gasped, your voice trembling, your throat tight with emotion.

"I've got you," he said, his voice softer now, a hint of tenderness in his eyes that belied the grim determination etched on his face. "I'm getting you out of here."

But the reprieve was short-lived. Pablo's voice, enraged, cut through the din.

"You think you can take her from me?!" he roared, his voice a guttural growl.

Javier's grip on your arm tightened, pulling you closer, his body shielding you from the onslaught of bullets. You could feel the tension radiating off him, the weight of every decision, every life lost, etched into the lines of his face.

"You're finished, Pablo," Javier said, his voice a low growl, a calm fury simmering beneath the surface. "This ends here."

And it did. The next few moments were a blur of motion—a flash of movement, the deafening crack of gunfire, the desperate scramble for cover. Then, silence. An eerie, unsettling silence broken only by the heavy breaths of the survivors.

When the dust settled, Javier turned to you, his expression softening, the lines of his face etched with relief and concern. He gently cupped your face in his hands, his touch tentative, almost reverent.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice rough with worry, his eyes searching yours for any sign of injury.

"No," you whispered, tears streaming down your face, blurring your vision. "I thought... I thought I'd never see you again."

He pulled you into his arms, his embrace a haven of warmth and safety. You clung to him, burying your face in his chest, inhaling the scent of his cologne, the faint tang of cigarette smoke, a comforting anchor in the aftermath of the chaos.

"You'll always see me again," he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. "I'll never stop coming for you."

And in that moment, surrounded by the wreckage of Pablo's empire, the ghosts of fallen comrades, and the lingering scent of blood and gunpowder, you believed him.

He gently pulled you to your feet, his arms strong and steady as he supported your trembling frame. Dust motes danced in the shafts of light piercing through the smoke-filled air, illuminating the grim scene around them. Javier's gaze swept over you, searching for any sign of injury.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice rough with worry, his eyes filled with a love that bordered on desperation.

You shook your head, unable to speak, tears finally spilling down your cheeks. The fear, the adrenaline, the sheer terror of the past few hours crashing over you in a tidal wave. Javier pulled you close, his arms a comforting cage, holding you against his chest.

"It's over," he whispered, his voice a soothing balm against your fear. "You're safe now."

He led you out of the warehouse, his hand clasped tightly in yours, his eyes constantly scanning the surroundings, alert for any remaining threats. The fresh air, though thick with the metallic tang of blood and gunpowder, was a welcome relief.

You found a relatively safe spot, a deserted alleyway hidden from view. Javier gently guided you to sit against a crumbling wall, his gaze searching your face with intense scrutiny.

"Let me see," he said softly, his voice laced with concern. He gently lifted your hair, examining your scalp for any wounds. "Any pain?"

You shook your head, your voice a mere whisper. "Just... scared."

He pulled you closer, his arms a protective shield against the horrors you had witnessed. "I know," he murmured, his voice a low rumble in your ear. "I know."

He gently traced the outline of your face, his thumb brushing away a tear that escaped your eye. "You're safe now," he repeated, his voice firm and unwavering. "I won't let anything happen to you."

You looked into his eyes, the depths of which mirrored the turmoil within you. But in the midst of the chaos, in the face of death, you saw something else—a love so fierce, so unwavering, it ignited a spark of hope within you.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He smiled, a weary but genuine smile that reached his eyes. "And I love you more than words can say," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "More than anything."

He held your gaze for a long moment, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Then, he leaned down and kissed you, a gentle, lingering kiss that spoke volumes. It was a kiss born of fear and relief, of love and gratitude, a testament to your resilience in the face of unimaginable danger.

As you sat there, holding each other, the echoes of the gunfire fading into the distance, you knew that this experience had changed you forever. But it had also reaffirmed your love, making it stronger, more profound than ever before. You had faced death together, and in doing so, you had found a love that could withstand anything.

[andy-15-07]

maybe a Paul mescal fic about wedding planning… or family engagement party?

Two Souls, One Heart

PAIRING:Paul Mescal x reader

WORD COUNT: 1621 | requests are open

Paul Mescal Masterlist

The music had faded, the last of the guests had departed, and the room, once a vibrant celebration, was now bathed in the soft glow of the moon. Exhausted but exhilarated, you and Paul slipped into your honeymoon suite, the air thick with the lingering scent of champagne and happiness.

"That was the most perfect day of my life," you whispered, snuggling into his arms.

He pulled you closer, his breath warm against your ear. "It was perfect because of you," he replied, his voice husky with emotion. "I can't wait to spend the rest of my life making every day as perfect as this one."

He gently traced the line of your jaw with his fingers, his eyes filled with a tender adoration that made your heart melt. You reached up and intertwined your fingers with his, feeling a wave of contentment wash over you.

"Me neither," you murmured, your eyes fluttering closed.

He leaned down and kissed you, a slow, lingering kiss that deepened into something more. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer, and you felt the heat of his body against yours.

You broke away, breathless, your eyes meeting his in the darkness. "Paul..."

He smiled, his eyes sparkling with a playful glint. "Don't worry, I won't rush you."

But his words did little to quell the fire that was burning within you. You reached for him, your fingers tangling in his hair, and pulled him closer. He responded with a groan, his lips finding yours again in a passionate embrace.

The night unfolded slowly, a symphony of whispered promises and gentle touches. As you lay entwined in each other's arms, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you and the intoxicating warmth of their newfound intimacy.

You knew, with a certainty that settled deep within your soul, that this was just the beginning of a lifetime of love and adventure, a journey filled with joy, passion, and the unwavering bond they shared.

and now put all the parts together

The day was overcast, sunlight barely filtering through the clouds, but the warmth of home surrounded him. Across from him, you were busy scribbling notes into a notebook, your mind focused on the details of your upcoming wedding.

Planning the wedding had been more of a whirlwind than either of you had anticipated. From the venue to the dress, every decision had come with its own set of emotions. But what kept Paul grounded was knowing that this was the beginning of a lifetime with you.

"Do you think we should have a spring wedding or fall?" you asked, flipping through a wedding magazine for inspiration. "I love the idea of fall, but spring has such a fresh vibe."

Paul leaned back in his chair, his eyes softening as he gazed at you. "Honestly, I think any time of year with you is perfect," he said, his voice tender. "But fall might be nice... imagine the leaves changing, the crisp air, the cozy vibe." He chuckled softly. "And I’m sure your dress will look amazing, no matter the season."

You smiled, feeling your heart flutter at his words. "You're sweet. But seriously, we need to make a decision. My mom’s waiting for us to confirm the date, and we’re already running out of time."

Paul rubbed his temple, a playful glint in his eyes. "I know, I know. I swear, planning a wedding is like trying to organize a small army."

You laughed, the sound like music to his ears. "Maybe I should just elope. But then we wouldn’t get to have the big celebration I know you’re secretly looking forward to."

He raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. "Are you accusing me of wanting a huge party?" he teased, though his eyes were full of affection. "Maybe I am. Maybe I want all our friends to be there, dancing and laughing, and just celebrating us."

Your smile softened, touched by his sincerity. "I guess you’re right. We should have that moment."

"Okay, so fall wedding it is." He pointed at the screen. "Now, we need to finalize the venue."

You scrolled through the list, a few choices catching your eye. "How about this one? It’s in the countryside, and it has a beautiful barn for the reception. Perfect for an intimate setting."

Paul leaned over to take a closer look, his fingers brushing against yours. His touch sent a shiver up your spine, and he noticed. He glanced at you, a little smirk on his lips.

"Guess we’re both a little touchy today," he said, his voice hushed and teasing.

You blushed but didn’t pull away, enjoying the warmth of his hand. "I think it’s the stress of wedding planning."

"Well, if this is stress, I’m all for it," Paul murmured, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

You both stared at the venue photos, imagining the day when you’d walk down the aisle, your eyes locked on each other, surrounded by the people you loved most. It was coming together, slowly but surely, but one thing was certain—no matter how many decisions there were, you and Paul were in this together.

Later that night, after dinner and a quiet walk in the park, the two of you sat on the couch, Paul with his head on your shoulder as you cuddled together. His fingers traced lazy circles on your arm, a comforting, rhythmic gesture.

"I'm just so excited for the wedding," you murmured, your eyes closing as you relaxed into his touch. "But I'm even more excited for after the wedding. For our life together."

He looked up at you, his face serious but full of love. "Me too. I know this whole wedding thing is a big deal, but when I think about you and me, just... living our lives together, that's what really excites me."

You smiled, your heart full of affection for him. "I'm glad you feel the same way."

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he whispered. "And I can't wait for forever with you."

You kissed him softly, letting the moment linger. Wedding plans would come and go, but what mattered most was the love between you two, growing stronger every day.

As the weeks turned into months, the wedding planning continued. You and Paul spent countless hours poring over fabric swatches, tasting cake flavors, and arguing (playfully, of course) over the guest list. But through it all, your love for each other deepened.

One rainy afternoon, while browsing through vintage shops for wedding decorations, you stumbled upon a small, antique music box. As you wound it up, a delicate melody filled the air, transporting you both to a different time.

"It's beautiful," you breathed, your eyes sparkling. "It reminds me of something out of a fairytale."

Paul smiled, his hand reaching for yours. "It's perfect for our wedding," he said, his voice soft. "We can play it as we cut the cake."

You leaned into him, your heart swelling with happiness. "I love you, Paul," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the music.

He pulled you closer, his lips brushing against yours. "I love you too, more than words can say."

The day of the wedding finally arrived, and the weather cooperated, painting the sky with a breathtaking array of autumn colors. As you stood at the altar, your eyes met Paul's across the room, and the world seemed to fade away. He looked more handsome than you ever imagined, his eyes filled with a love that mirrored your own.

The ceremony was a beautiful blend of tradition and personal touches. Your best friend, a talented musician, played the guitar as you walked down the aisle, and Paul's brother, a witty and charming emcee, kept the guests entertained throughout the reception.

As you and Paul cut the cake, the antique music box played softly in the background, filling the room with a sense of enchantment. You looked at Paul, his face radiating happiness, and you knew that this was just the beginning of a lifetime of love and adventure.

The night flew by in a whirlwind of laughter, dancing, and heartfelt toasts. As the last guests departed, you and Paul retreated to your honeymoon suite, exhausted but exhilarated.

"That was the most perfect day of my life," you whispered, snuggling into his arms.

He pulled you closer, his breath warm against your ear. "It was perfect because of you," he replied, his voice husky with emotion. "I can't wait to spend the rest of my life making every day as perfect as this one."

He gently traced the line of your jaw with his fingers, his eyes filled with a tender adoration that made your heart melt. You reached up and intertwined your fingers with his, feeling a wave of contentment wash over you.

"Me neither," you murmured, your eyes fluttering closed.

He leaned down and kissed you, a slow, lingering kiss that deepened into something more. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer, and you felt the heat of his body against yours.

You broke away, breathless, your eyes meeting his in the darkness. "Paul..."

He smiled, his eyes sparkling with a playful glint. "Don't worry, I won't rush you."

But his words did little to quell the fire that was burning within you. You reached for him, your fingers tangling in his hair, and pulled him closer. He responded with a groan, his lips finding yours again in a passionate embrace.

The night unfolded slowly, a symphony of whispered promises and gentle touches. As you lay entwined in each other's arms, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you and the intoxicating warmth of their newfound intimacy.

[andy-15-07]

heyy i love your fics

i have one idea like joel accidentally with one night stand while he was drunk made daughter in QZ Boston and he is stuck with her and tess being a little softer to his daughter more than joel like joel is cold and grumpy and everything because of sarah but like when no one see he actually cares, and she grow up in like independent and cold teen because that’s what joel is taught her because he shuts her down, and then when ellie came along and their journey, she starts to be a little jealous because of joels and ellies relationship and starts doing dangerous things to prove herself to joel and idk something like that if you are willing to write and also i thought like his daughter is 15 when ellie came or something like that haha❤️❤️

The Weight of the Past

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader

Word Count: 1728 | Requests are open!

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The generator outside the QZ walls rumbled incessantly, a low-grade tremor that echoed through Joel's nightmares. He hadn't planned on this – not on the responsibility, the weight of another life clinging to his. Sarah's ghost haunted him, a constant reminder of the innocence stolen from this cruel world. He'd sworn he'd never let himself get close to anyone again, never open himself up to the inevitable pain.

And then came Elena. A whirlwind of dark hair and a laugh that sounded suspiciously like a stolen melody. He barely remembered her name, the details blurred by the cheap whiskey and the desperate yearning for something, anything, to break the monotony of survival in this desolate place.

Nine months later, he stood in the sterile white room of the makeshift hospital, staring down at a tiny face, impossibly small and fragile. Elena, her face pale and drawn, held the baby close. "She's yours, Joel," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Lydia. And I… I can't do this. Not here. Not anymore."

He took her, the tiny bundle of warmth against his chest, and the world shifted on its axis. The weight of responsibility, heavier than any infected horde, settled on his shoulders. Tess, ever the pragmatist, had pushed him. "You can't just abandon her, Joel. She's your flesh and blood."

And so, he became a father again. Not by choice, but by necessity. He raised Lydia with an iron fist, a ghost of the man he used to be. He taught her to shoot, to fight, to be invisible in a world that had forgotten how to be human. Emotions were liabilities, trust was a weapon against you. He hardened her, built walls around her, convinced himself it was for her own good.

Lydia, however, inherited a resilience from her mother he couldn't extinguish. She was sharp-witted, fiercely independent, a shadow of her father, but with a flicker of defiance in her eyes. She craved connection, a tenderness he couldn't provide. The world had stripped him bare, leaving him a shell of the man he once was.

Then came Y/N. A breath of fresh air in the suffocating atmosphere of the QZ. She wasn't soft, not by a long shot. She could wield a wrench with the best of them and had a vocabulary that would make a sailor blush. But there was a warmth about her, a genuine kindness that seeped into the cracks in Lydia's armor. Y/N patched her up, listened to her frustrations, and even smuggled her extra rations when Joel wasn't looking. She was the first person in years to make Lydia feel seen, felt like more than just a burden.

Joel watched, a silent observer, grudgingly acknowledging the positive influence Y/N had on his daughter. He was a poor substitute for a father, he knew that. Y/N was better at this, at giving Lydia the love and affection he couldn't.

And then Ellie arrived. A whirlwind of chaos and defiance, a mirror image of the teenage Lydia. Joel found himself drawn to her, despite himself. He saw glimpses of Sarah in her, a flicker of the innocence lost. He argued with her, worried about her, protected her with a ferocity that surprised even himself. It was a side of him he rarely allowed himself to show, a vulnerability he thought long buried.

Lydia watched, a growing unease settling in her chest. The jealousy was insidious, a venomous snake coiling around her heart. She saw the way Joel looked at Ellie, the way he softened, the way his eyes held a tenderness she'd never known.

"You're gonna get yourself killed," Joel growled one evening, his voice rough with worry after Lydia returned from a particularly dangerous scavenging run.

"I'm fine," she snapped, pulling her arm away from Y/N, who was attempting to clean a nasty gash.

"Fine ain't good enough. You've got to stop taking these risks."

"What do you care?" Lydia retorted, her voice laced with venom. "You've got Ellie now. She's the one you're always worried about."

The room fell silent. Joel's jaw clenched, his eyes hardening. "That's not true."

"Isn't it?" Lydia's voice trembled with unshed tears. "You don't even look at me the way you look at her."

Y/N gently intervened, but Lydia was spiraling. "You taught me to be strong, to survive," she spat, her voice rising. "But you never... you never cared. Not really. Not the way you care about her."

The words hung heavy in the air. Joel was speechless, the accusation cutting deep. He saw the hurt in her eyes, the years of unspoken resentment, and the guilt washed over him in a suffocating wave.

The following days were a tense, simmering cauldron. Lydia pushed herself harder, taking on increasingly dangerous missions, seeking validation in the face of her father's neglect.

Y/N, ever observant, confronted Joel. "You need to talk to her," she said, her voice firm. "She's acting out, pushing herself to the brink. She feels… invisible."

"I do care," Joel insisted, his voice gruff. "She knows that."

"Does she?" Y/N challenged, her gaze unwavering. "Because all she sees is you pouring all your attention on Ellie, the girl you barely knew a year ago."

The truth of her words hit him like a physical blow. He was a terrible father, a man who had built walls around himself and his daughter, leaving her to fend for herself in a world that had long since forgotten how to love.

The opportunity to rectify his mistakes came sooner than he expected. Lydia, driven by a reckless need to prove something, was cornered by a horde of infected during a supply run. Joel and Y/N found her just in time, but the close call left everyone shaken.

That night, as Lydia nursed a sprained ankle by the fire, Joel sat beside her. The silence between them was thick with unspoken emotions. Finally, he spoke, his voice rough with emotion. "Lydia," he began, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames, "I… I'm sorry. I've made a lot of mistakes. With you, with Sarah, with… everything. I thought I was protecting you by making you tough, by preparing you for this world. But I see now that I… I haven't been the father you needed."

Lydia looked at him, her eyes wide with disbelief. She'd never heard him admit fault, never seen this vulnerability in him before.

He turned to face her, his expression raw, honest. "I do care about you, Lydia. More than you'll ever know. And I… I'm sorry if I've ever made you feel like you weren't enough. Because you are."

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them back, a small, tremulous nod the only response she could manage.

It wasn't a sudden transformation, nor was it easy. The years of neglect couldn't be erased overnight. But it was a start. A fragile, tentative step towards healing the wounds of the past. Lydia began to see a different side of her father, a man capable of vulnerability, of love. And Joel, for the first time in a long time, began to see his daughter, truly see her, beyond the hardened shell he had helped to create.

The world was still a harsh and unforgiving place, but for the first time in a long time, they faced it together, not as strangers, but as father and daughter, slowly, painfully learning to trust and to heal.

The air hung heavy with unspoken words as Lydia stared at the fire, the embers reflecting in her dampened eyes. Joel, his gaze fixed on the flames, shifted uncomfortably. "I… I know I haven't been the best example," he finally admitted, his voice rough. "But I'm trying, Lydia. I'm trying to be better."

Lydia, surprised by his honesty, looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time in years. The lines on his face, etched deep by hardship and regret, seemed to soften slightly. He was trying.

A hesitant smile touched her lips. "Thanks, Dad," she whispered, the word tasting strange on her tongue.

He nodded, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. "Now," he said, his voice regaining its gruff edge, "about that infected patrol you almost ran into…"

The tension began to ease, replaced by a familiar banter, a comfortable rhythm they hadn't shared in years. Y/N, watching from across the fire, felt a surge of relief. It was a small victory, a fragile hope in the face of despair, but it was a start.

The next morning, Joel woke to find Lydia already gone. A note lay on the table, scrawled in her hurried handwriting. "Went out for supplies. Be back soon." He looked at the note, a flicker of worry crossing his face. Supplies runs were always dangerous, but lately, Lydia seemed to be pushing her limits.

He found her hours later, deeper into the infested zone than she should have been. She was surrounded, cornered by a horde of infected, her face pale with fear. Rage surged through him, a primal instinct to protect. He fought his way through the infected, a whirlwind of motion, his axe a blur of steel. He reached Lydia, pulling her to her feet. "Are you alright?" he demanded, his voice rough with concern.

She nodded, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Y-yeah. I… I got carried away."

He didn't scold her. Instead, he pulled her close, an arm around her shoulders, shielding her from the remaining infected. For the first time in her life, she felt truly protected, not just physically, but emotionally.

As they made their way back to the QZ, Joel walked beside her, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. The silence between them was comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding. He knew he had a long way to go, that trust wouldn't be rebuilt overnight. But he was committed, determined to be the father Lydia deserved.

Looking at his daughter, her face pale but determined, a flicker of hope ignited within him. Maybe, just maybe, they could rebuild. Maybe they could find a way to heal, to forgive, to rediscover the family they had lost.

The road ahead was long and uncertain, but for the first time in a long time, Joel felt a glimmer of optimism. He had a daughter to protect, a family to rebuild. And that, he realized, was enough.

[andy-15-07]

hi! can i request a friends to lovers fanfic where the reader is a surgeon and met pedro through mutual friends, but then they grew apart because of their busy schedule. After a few years they meet again and decide to date, thanks 🖤

From Friends to Forever

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x female reader

Word Count: 2074 | requests are open!

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The upscale restaurant buzzed with a lively energy, the clinking of glasses and the soft laughter of patrons creating a warm, inviting atmosphere. You sat nestled in a booth, a rare evening off from the whirlwind of your life as a surgeon granting you this moment of respite. The long, grueling shifts, the constant pressure of life-or-death situations, and the emotional weight that clung to you like a second skin had left little room for anything beyond the sterile walls of the hospital. But tonight was different. Tonight, you found yourself face-to-face with Pedro .

The memory of your initial meeting, a serendipitous encounter orchestrated by mutual friends, flashed through your mind. His infectious laughter and the warmth that radiated from him had drawn you in immediately. You'd spent hours engrossed in conversation, bonding over shared passions, late-night musings, and a mutual appreciation for the simple pleasures of life, like sharing a bottle of cheap wine and debating the merits of obscure indie films.

However, life had a way of intruding on even the most cherished connections. His career had skyrocketed, propelled by a string of critically acclaimed roles, while your own life was consumed by the relentless demands of your surgical residency. Phone calls became less frequent, texts went unanswered, and the vibrant thread of your friendship gradually frayed, fading into a distant memory.

Yet, here he was, sitting across from you, that same mischievous glint in his eyes, that familiar warmth emanating from him. "How long has it been?" he asked, his voice a low rumble, laced with a hint of surprise and a touch of nostalgia.

"Too long," you replied, taking a sip of your wine, the cool liquid a welcome respite from the sudden flutter in your chest. "You've been busy becoming a household name, while I've been buried under a mountain of surgeries."

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair, a comfortable ease settling over him. "Fair enough. But look at you! Surgeon extraordinaire. You always had that drive."

"And you always had that charm," you retorted playfully, earning a genuine laugh from him. The ice was broken.

The rest of the evening unfolded with a surprising ease. The years that had drifted by seemed to melt away, replaced by a comfortable familiarity. You found yourself drawn into his stories, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm as he described the challenges and triumphs of his career. In turn, you shared glimpses into the demanding world of medicine, the adrenaline-fueled chaos of the operating room, and the profound satisfaction, and sometimes the crushing weight, of saving lives.

As the night wore on, the restaurant began to empty, the initial buzz replaced by a lingering sense of contentment. Pedro glanced at you, his expression softening, a question unspoken hanging in the air. "Hey," he began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "do you have a moment? There's a little coffee shop around the corner. Want to catch up properly?"

You hesitated, glancing at your watch. You had an early shift tomorrow, the exhaustion of the past few weeks threatening to catch up with you. But the pull to reconnect, to delve deeper into this unexpected reunion, was undeniable. "Sure," you agreed, grabbing your coat.

The coffee shop was a haven of tranquility, the warm glow of the lights casting a soft halo over the worn leather booths. You settled into a cozy corner, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. Pedro ordered two lattes, his gaze lingering on you as he spoke to the barista.

"So," he began, his voice low and sincere, "tell me everything. What's it like saving lives every day?"

You smiled, tracing the rim of your cup, the warmth radiating through the ceramic. "It's rewarding, incredibly so. But it's also...intense. The hours are long, the pressure is immense. You're constantly on the edge, dealing with life-and-death situations. Sometimes, it feels like there's no room for anything else."

He nodded thoughtfully, his gaze searching yours. "Sounds lonely."

"It can be," you admitted, a tinge of melancholy coloring your voice. "But I've learned to find joy in the small things. Like this," you gestured to the steaming cup of coffee, "these quiet moments, these unexpected connections. They remind me that there's more to life than just the operating room."

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. "I get that. Acting can be the same way. It's easy to get lost in the whirlwind, to become consumed by the character, the performance. You lose sight of everything else."

For hours, you poured your heart out, sharing your fears, your dreams, the joys and the sorrows that shaped your life. He listened intently, his eyes reflecting a genuine interest in your story. In turn, he opened up about the challenges of his own career, the constant scrutiny, the pressure to maintain a public persona while navigating the complexities of his personal life.

As the night deepened, you found yourself captivated by his honesty, his vulnerability. The years of distance seemed to melt away, replaced by a comfortable intimacy that had been dormant for far too long. As you parted ways, a sense of warmth, a feeling you hadn't realized you'd been missing, lingered in your heart.

The following weeks were a whirlwind of reconnection. Texts and calls became a lifeline, a way to bridge the gap between your busy schedules. You shared stories, laughed until your sides ached, and discovered a renewed appreciation for each other's company. Late-night phone calls became your refuge, a space where you could unwind, share your deepest thoughts, and simply enjoy each other's presence.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day at the hospital, your phone buzzed with a text from Pedro. "Hey, are you free this weekend?" he asked, his tone unusually hesitant.

"I think so. Why?"

"There's this little art exhibit I've been dying to see. Thought maybe you'd join me?"

You smiled, touched by the invitation. "I'd love to."

The exhibit was a feast for the senses, a vibrant explosion of colors and textures. Pedro's enthusiasm was contagious as he guided you through the gallery, sharing his insights, his interpretations of the art. You found yourself captivated by his passion, his ability to see the world through a different lens. At one point, you caught him watching you, a thoughtful expression gracing his features.

"What?" you asked, a playful lilt to your voice.

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "Just...happy you're here."

Something shifted in that moment. The air between you thrummed with a subtle energy, a connection deeper than mere friendship. The realization hit you with the force of a tidal wave – this was more than just a casual reunion, more than a friendly catch-up.

The weeks that followed were a delicate dance, a slow, tentative exploration of a burgeoning connection. His gestures became more pronounced – a lingering touch, a compliment that lingered on your mind long after he'd spoken. And then, one evening, as you walked along a quiet street, he stopped abruptly, his gaze fixed on you.

"I need to say something," he began, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. "I've been trying to ignore it, but I can't. I like you. More than a friend should."

Your heart pounded against your ribs, the weight of his words sinking in. "Pedro..."

"I know it's complicated," he interrupted, his gaze intense. "Our schedules are insane, and it won't be easy. But I'm willing to try. If you are."

Tears welled up in your eyes, the intensity of his confession overwhelming you. "I'm willing," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

The transition from friends to lovers was a gradual, organic process. You navigated the complexities of your careers, finding solace in stolen moments, late-night phone calls, and weekend escapes. His unwavering support became your anchor, a constant source of strength during the most challenging days. You would wait for you outside the hospital after a long shift, bringing coffee and a warm smile that could melt away the exhaustion of the day. You would spend hours on set with him, watching him transform into a different character, marveling at his dedication and talent.

One evening, as you sat on the edge of his bed, watching him read a script, you noticed a small, silver locket tucked into his jeans pocket. Curiosity piqued, you reached out and gently pulled it out.

"What's this?" you asked, turning it over in your hand.

He looked up from the script, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "Oh, that." He hesitated, then continued, "It was my grandmother's. She gave it to me before she passed away. She told me to hold onto it, to remember the things that truly matter."

You opened the locket. Inside, nestled on a bed of velvet, was a faded photograph of a young woman with kind eyes and a warm smile.

"She was beautiful," you said softly.

"She was," Pedro agreed, a touch of melancholy in his voice. "She taught me about love, about family, about the importance of cherishing the moments that truly count."

He reached for the locket, his fingers brushing against yours. "I want to give you something," he said, his voice low and husky.

He pulled out a small box from his bedside table and opened it. Inside, nestled on a bed of satin, was a delicate silver bracelet, a single diamond sparkling in the center.

"It's… it's beautiful," you whispered, your breath catching in your throat.

He slipped the bracelet onto your wrist, his gaze intense. "It's for you. A reminder of the moments we've shared, and the many more to come."

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his. The kiss was slow, tender, a culmination of weeks of unspoken emotions. As you pulled away, you looked into his eyes, and you knew. This was it. This was the beginning of something truly special.

The following months were a whirlwind of stolen moments and unexpected joys. You navigated the challenges of your demanding careers with a newfound sense of ease, your love a constant source of strength and support. You learned to cherish the small moments – a shared cup of coffee in the morning, a stolen dance in his trailer on set, a quiet evening at home, watching a movie curled up on the couch. You discovered that even in the midst of chaos, there was always time for love.

One evening, months later, Pedro surprised you with a weekend getaway to a secluded cabin in the woods. The crisp autumn air, the crackling fire, and the peaceful silence were a balm to your souls. As you sat on the porch, watching the stars twinkle in the night sky, Pedro turned to you, his eyes filled with a love that transcended words.

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Will you marry me?"

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you nodded, unable to speak. He pulled you close, burying his face in your hair. "Yes," you whispered finally, "yes, a thousand times yes."

The wedding was a small, intimate affair, held in a charming vineyard overlooking the rolling hills of Tuscany. Your friends, family, and a select few colleagues from both your worlds gathered to celebrate the love that had blossomed between you. As you stood at the altar, exchanging vows, you felt an overwhelming sense of peace and joy. You had found your soulmate, the one person who made your heart sing and your life feel complete.

Years later, as you sat on the porch of your own cozy cabin, watching your children play in the garden, you couldn't help but smile. Life had thrown its curveballs, but you had navigated them together, your love a constant, unwavering force. You looked at Pedro, who was now reading a bedtime story to your son, and you knew that this was just the beginning of your happily ever after. The clinking of glasses and the laughter of friends faded into a distant memory, replaced by the sound of children's giggles and the gentle rhythm of your own lives. And as you watched them, you realized that the greatest adventure of all was not the fame or the fortune, but the love you had built, brick by brick, a testament to the enduring power of connection and the magic of finding your way back to each other.

[andy-15-07]

Marcus Acacius fic where you’re a prostitute working at a bath house and marcus has come in a few times but this time is different he wants to take you out of this place

love you 🫶🫶🫶

Redemption Beyond the Bathhouse

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x female reader

Word Count: 1228 | Requests are open!

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The humid air of the bathhouse clung to your skin, heavy with the mingling scents of sweat, perfumed oils, and damp stone. The low hum of voices, punctuated by the occasional splash of water, filled the grand room. It was a space of decadence and desire—a place where the powerful came to indulge in pleasures of the flesh and mind. And you, (Y/n), were among the many who served them.

Your life here was a series of practiced smiles, feigned laughter, and the occasional fleeting moments of kindness that reminded you there was still some humanity left in the world. Marcus Acacius was one of those moments. He’d come in a few times before, always quiet, his presence commanding without him needing to raise his voice. A gladiator turned hero, his reputation preceded him. Yet, he carried himself without the arrogance that marked so many others who walked through these halls.

Today, though, there was something different in the way he looked at you. His gaze lingered longer than usual, his dark eyes searching yours as if trying to uncover secrets you’d long since buried. When he approached, the weight of his presence sent a ripple of unease and anticipation through your body.

“(Y/n),” he said, his voice low and steady. He rarely used your name, and the sound of it on his lips sent a shiver down your spine. “Walk with me.”

You hesitated. Clients didn’t usually ask for anything outside the confines of the bathhouse. The rules were clear, but Marcus wasn’t like the others. There was a gravity to him that made refusal seem impossible.

“Where?” you asked, your voice soft but laced with curiosity.

He gestured toward a quieter corner, away from the prying eyes and ears of the other patrons. You followed him, your bare feet silent against the smooth stone floor. When he turned to face you, his expression was unreadable, a mask of determination and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“I’ve been watching you,” he admitted, his gaze unwavering. “You don’t belong here.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it. “And where exactly do I belong, Marcus? Out there?” You gestured toward the world beyond the bathhouse, a world that had shown you nothing but cruelty. “This is all I have.”

He stepped closer, his imposing frame towering over you, but there was no menace in his stance—only resolve. “It doesn’t have to be. Come with me. I’ll take you away from this place.”

Your heart skipped a beat. No one had ever offered you such a thing. Freedom. A chance to leave this gilded cage behind. But it was impossible, wasn’t it?

“Why would you do that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t even know me.”

He reached out, his calloused hand brushing against your cheek in a gesture so gentle it brought tears to your eyes. “I know enough,” he said. “Enough to see that you’re wasting away in this place. You deserve better.”

You wanted to believe him. Gods, how you wanted to. But years of disappointment and betrayal had taught you to be cautious. “And what happens if I say no?”

Marcus’s jaw tightened, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. “Then I’ll keep coming back until you realize you’re worth saving.”

His words hung in the air, a promise and a challenge all at once. For the first time in years, you felt a spark of hope. Perhaps this was your chance to reclaim something you thought you’d lost forever.

“Alright,” you said finally, your voice trembling. “I’ll come with you.”

The night you left the bathhouse was one you’d never forget. Marcus led you through the winding streets of the city, his presence a reassuring shield against the dangers lurking in the shadows. He didn’t say much, but his actions spoke volumes. Every time you stumbled, he was there to steady you. When a group of drunken revelers got too close, his sharp glare sent them scurrying away.

He took you to a modest villa on the outskirts of the city. It wasn’t grand, but it was clean and safe. The scent of freshly baked bread and herbs greeted you as you stepped inside, a stark contrast to the stale air of the bathhouse.

“This is your home now,” Marcus said, his voice soft but firm. “No one will hurt you here.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked around the room. A simple bed, a table with two chairs, and a small hearth. It was more than you’d ever dared to dream of.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, turning to face him. “What do you want from me?”

He stepped closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “I don’t want anything from you, (Y/n). I just… I couldn’t stand by and watch you waste away in that place. You deserve a chance at a real life.”

“And what about you?” you pressed. “What do you get out of this?”

A faint smile tugged at his lips, and for the first time, you saw a glimpse of vulnerability in the stoic gladiator. “Maybe I’m trying to save myself too,” he admitted. “Maybe I’ve spent so long fighting and killing that I… I need to do something good for once.”

His honesty took your breath away. In that moment, you realized that Marcus wasn’t just a savior; he was a man carrying his own burdens, seeking redemption in the only way he knew how.

Over the days and weeks that followed, you began to rebuild your life. Marcus was patient, never pushing you to share more than you were ready to. He taught you how to tend the garden, mend clothes, and even how to defend yourself with a dagger he’d given you.

As time passed, the walls you’d built around your heart began to crumble. You found yourself laughing at his dry humor, sharing stories of your past, and even daring to dream of a future.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the sky in hues of orange and gold, Marcus joined you in the garden. He’d been training earlier, and a faint sheen of sweat glistened on his skin.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said, sitting beside you on the stone bench.

You glanced at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

You hesitated, then took a deep breath. “About how different my life is now. About you.”

He raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Good different or bad different?”

“Good,” you admitted, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “Very good.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing against yours. “You’ve changed my life too, (Y/n). More than you know.”

The weight of his words settled over you, filling the space between you with unspoken emotion. For the first time in years, you felt truly seen, truly valued. And in that moment, you realized that Marcus Acacius hadn’t just saved you from the bathhouse; he’d given you a chance to rediscover yourself.

As the stars lit up the night sky, you leaned against Marcus, his arm wrapped protectively around you. Whatever the future held, you knew you wouldn’t face it alone. Together, you’d forge a new path, one filled with hope, redemption, and the promise of a better tomorrow.

[andy-15-07]

Lines of Duty

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Word Count: 2263 | requests are open

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The bar buzzed with a low hum of conversation, punctuated by the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter. The air smelled of whiskey, smoke, and sweat—a combination Javier Peña knew too well. He sat at the far end of the counter, nursing a glass of bourbon, his eyes scanning the room with a mix of boredom and habit.

That’s when he saw her.

She sat alone at the bar, her posture relaxed but confident, one hand delicately wrapped around a glass of wine. Her hair framed her face perfectly, her eyes scanning the menu as if she had all the time in the world. She was striking—not in the loud, flashy way of some women in the room, but in a way that made Javier’s heart skip a beat.

He’d seen beautiful women before, plenty of them. But something about her felt different—like a challenge he didn’t know he was looking for.

Javier straightened his posture, draining the last of his bourbon before standing up. Adjusting his jacket, he approached her with the kind of swagger that came naturally to him, a mix of confidence and charm that had worked countless times before.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, his voice smooth as honey.

She barely glanced up, her expression neutral. “Actually, I do.”

Javier blinked, momentarily thrown off. Most women didn’t refuse him outright. He let out a soft chuckle, leaning on the counter beside her. “Tough crowd tonight. You sure? I’m good company.”

She finally looked at him, her eyes sharp and assessing. “Good company doesn’t need to announce itself.”

He smirked, his ego bruised but not broken. “Fair point. But maybe you’d let me prove it?”

“Not interested,” she replied, turning her attention back to her glass.

Javier hesitated for a moment, debating whether to push further. But he knew better than to come on too strong. “Alright,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Enjoy your evening.”

He walked back to his seat, though his eyes found her every now and then. There was something intriguing about her—the way she carried herself, the confidence in her refusal. Most people didn’t challenge him, but she had, effortlessly.

A few drinks later, Javier decided to try again. He wasn’t the type to give up so easily, especially not when something—someone—caught his interest like this.

He approached her again, this time with a gentler demeanor. “Look, I’ll admit I came on a little strong earlier. Let’s start over. I’m Javier.” He extended his hand.

She glanced at him, a hint of amusement in her eyes now. After a moment, she shook his hand. “Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. Can I buy you a drink?”

She tilted her head, considering him. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

“Only when it’s worth it,” he replied with a grin.

With a slight shrug, she gestured to her half-empty glass. “Sure. Why not?”

Javier signaled the bartender, ordering a refill for her and another bourbon for himself. As the drinks arrived, he leaned on the counter, genuinely curious. “So, what brings you here tonight?”

She sipped her wine before answering. “Long day. Needed a break. You?”

He hesitated, debating how much to share. “Work’s been… intense. This is my way of unwinding.”

“What do you do?” she asked, her tone casual but her eyes sharp, as if she could see right through him.

Javier swirled his bourbon. “I’m with the DEA.”

Her brows lifted slightly. “Drug Enforcement Agency? Interesting.”

“And you? What’s your story?”

She leaned back slightly, a small smile playing on her lips. “I’m a lawyer.”

“A lawyer,” he repeated, impressed. “What kind of law?”

“Criminal defense,” she said, watching his reaction closely.

He let out a low whistle. “That’s a tough gig.”

“So is yours,” she countered. “Though I imagine we’re often on opposite sides of things.”

Javier chuckled, raising his glass in a mock toast. “Here’s to professional differences.”

She clinked her glass against his, her smile widening just a fraction. “Cheers.”

They fell into an easy rhythm after that, their conversation flowing naturally. Javier found himself captivated not just by her beauty but by her sharp wit and intelligence. She was unlike anyone he’d met before, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a genuine connection forming.

As the night wore on, he leaned in slightly, his tone softer. “You know, I didn’t expect you to give me the time of day after earlier.”

“Why did you try again, then?” she asked, her tone curious.

He shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. “Something told me you were worth the effort.”

She looked at him for a long moment before smiling. “Maybe I am.”

“I’ve got a bottle of wine back at my place that’s better than anything they’re serving here,” he said, his tone casual but inviting. “Care to join me?”

She raised an eyebrow, considering his offer. After a moment, she nodded. “Alright. Let’s see if your wine lives up to the hype.”

Javier grinned, signaling the bartender for the check. They left the bar together, stepping into the cool night air. His apartment wasn’t far, and they walked in comfortable silence, the occasional brush of their arms adding a spark of anticipation.

When they arrived, Javier opened the door and gestured for her to enter first. “Make yourself at home,” he said, heading to the kitchen to grab the wine.

She took in the space—simple, a little messy, but lived-in. “Nice place,” she commented.

“It does the job,” he replied, returning with two glasses and a bottle of red. He poured them each a glass, handing one to her. “To unexpected meetings,” he toasted.

“To persistence,” she countered, clinking her glass against his.

They sipped their wine, the atmosphere growing warmer with each passing moment. Javier set his glass down, his eyes meeting hers. “You’re something else, you know that?”

She smiled, setting her own glass down. “I could say the same about you.”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Can I kiss you?”

Her answer was a soft nod, and he closed the distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a slow, deliberate kiss. She responded eagerly, her hands sliding up to his shoulders as he pulled her closer.

The kiss deepened, growing more intense as their inhibitions melted away. Javier’s hands trailed down her back, pulling her firmly against him as he guided her toward the couch. They tumbled onto it together, their movements urgent yet unhurried, each touch and kiss fanning the flames between them.

Clothes were shed piece by piece, their bodies finding each other in the dim light of the apartment. Javier’s lips traced a path down her neck, eliciting a soft moan as his hands explored every curve. She arched into him, her fingers tangled in his hair as the world outside faded away.

They moved together in perfect rhythm, their connection undeniable and electric. Time seemed to stand still as they gave in to the moment, their breaths mingling and hearts racing. When it was over, they lay tangled together on the couch, the quiet hum of the city outside a distant backdrop to their shared warmth.

Javier brushed a strand of hair from her face, his eyes soft as he looked at her. “You’re definitely worth the effort,” he murmured.

She smiled, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. “So are you.”

And for the first time in a long time, Javier Peña felt at peace.

The morning sun streamed through the gaps in the blinds, casting long, dancing shadows across the room. Javier stirred, blinking against the sudden brightness. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand – 8:30 AM. He groaned, burying his face in the pillow beside him.

He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, shaking him lightly. "Morning, sleepyhead," a soft voice murmured.

Javier opened his eyes to see Y/N smiling down at him, her hair a mess of curls around her face. He smiled back, his hand reaching out to tuck a stray strand behind her ear. "Morning," he rasped, his voice still rough with sleep.

"You were out like a light last night," she teased, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

He chuckled, pulling her closer. "You have a way of making a man forget his worries."

She leaned in and kissed him, a soft, lingering kiss that sent shivers down his spine. "I'm glad I do," she whispered, her breath warm against his lips.

Just then, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. He groaned again, reaching for it. It was Steve.

"Murphy," he answered, his voice still thick with sleep.

"Peña, you alive?" Steve's voice crackled through the phone. "You missed the briefing. We've got a lead on the Cali Cartel. Escobar's shipments are coming through Panama."

Javier sat up, instantly alert. "Panama? You sure?"

"Positive. We're putting together a team. You're on it."

"Right. Give me the details. I'll be there in an hour."

He hung up, the excitement already building within him. This was the kind of case he lived for.

Y/N watched him, a concerned frown creasing her brow. "Another case already?"

He sighed, pulling her closer. "I'm sorry. This is important."

"I know," she said softly, understanding dawning in her eyes. "But don't you dare get yourself killed."

He grinned, leaning down to kiss her again. "I won't. I promise."

He quickly showered and dressed, grabbing a quick breakfast with Y/N before heading out. He left her with a promise to call later, a lingering kiss, and the gnawing feeling that this case could be the most dangerous yet.

As he drove to the DEA office, his mind was already racing. The Cali Cartel was a formidable enemy, more sophisticated and ruthless than anything he'd encountered before. He knew this wouldn't be easy, but he also knew he couldn't back down.

He reached the office, the familiar tension in the air a stark contrast to the peaceful morning he'd shared with Y/N. He joined the briefing, his mind already focused on the task at hand.

Days turned into weeks, the investigation consuming his every waking moment. He worked long hours, chasing leads, interrogating informants, and piecing together the puzzle of the Cali Cartel's operation. He kept in touch with Y/N whenever he could, late-night phone calls, hurried visits, stolen moments between meetings.

One evening, after a particularly long day, he returned to his apartment, exhausted but exhilarated. He found Y/N waiting for him, a pot of coffee brewing on the stove.

"You look like you could use this," she said, handing him a mug.

He smiled gratefully, taking a long sip. "I could use you too," he admitted, sinking into the couch beside her.

She smiled, reaching out to hold his hand. "I'm here."

He leaned against her, closing his eyes. It was a simple gesture, a quiet moment of peace amidst the chaos of his work. But in that moment, with Y/N by his side, he felt a sense of calm he hadn't experienced in a long time.

The investigation continued, fraught with danger and uncertainty. They faced setbacks, near misses, and the constant threat of violence. But Javier never wavered, driven by a fierce determination to bring down the Cali Cartel and protect the innocent.

One night, he received a tip – a major shipment of cocaine was due to arrive in Panama within the next 48 hours. This was their chance.

The operation was a delicate dance of surveillance, infiltration, and calculated risk. Javier and his team worked tirelessly, their every move a calculated gamble. The tension was palpable, the stakes higher than ever.

Finally, the day of the shipment arrived. The operation was underway, Javier leading the charge. They tracked the shipment to a remote airstrip, the tension building with every passing minute.

The confrontation was swift and brutal. Gunfire erupted, the night air filled with the sound of bullets and screams. Javier fought with a ferocity born of years of experience, his mind sharp, his reflexes honed.

In the end, they seized the shipment, a major blow to the Cali Cartel. But the victory came at a cost. Several DEA agents were injured, and the operation had taken its toll.

Exhausted but triumphant, Javier returned to his apartment, the events of the night still fresh in his mind. He found Y/N waiting for him, her face etched with worry.

He pulled her into a tight embrace, burying his face in her hair. "I'm alright," he murmured, his voice hoarse.

She held him close, her arms wrapped around him protectively. "I was so worried," she whispered.

He pulled back, looking at her with a grateful smile. "I'm okay. We got them."

She smiled, her eyes filled with pride. "I knew you would."

They spent the next few days recovering, the aftermath of the operation weighing heavily on them. But they were together, and that was all that mattered.

The victory over the Cali Cartel was a turning point. The cartel's power was significantly weakened, and the DEA had dealt a major blow to the drug trade. But the fight was far from over.

Javier knew that. He knew there would be other battles to fight, other dangers to face. But he also knew he wasn't alone. He had Y/N by his side, a love that was stronger than any cartel, any threat.

And as he looked at her, her eyes filled with love and admiration, he knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together.