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theetherealbloom · 2 months ago

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Your Love Feels Like A Sunday When You Got Nowhere To Go

Summary: You are Pedro’s date to the SNL 50 celebration as his newly engaged fiancée.

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Suggestive Content, little SMUT, PiV, Dirty Talk, Short but sweet smut, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Surrounded by A-Listers, Dancing, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Red Carpet, Cameras, Paparazzi, Long Distance, Timezone Difference, Social Media, Interviews, I’m not a Spanish speaker, I might be wrong with the terms, please don’t come after me T^T,

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: Hi! Yes, I am still working on It Could Happen To You. School is being a bitch and I’m just in a weird headspace rn lol. Anyway, since this is basically a series now… I’ll make a series masterlist for this soon tehe.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Your Love by JISOO

PEDRO PASCAL MAIN MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST |

THE BOWERY HOTEL — DAY

You arrived a day before the taping of the SNL 50th anniversary show, the energy of New York buzzing all around you. But inside the hotel suite, it was just you and Pedro, wrapped up in a world of your own.

Sweet, romantic Pedro. The man who hadn’t stopped calling you wife since he slid that engagement ring onto your finger.

You twirled the sparkling diamond under the dim lighting, still not quite believing it was real. It had been just over a month since Pedro had proposed, and somehow, you were still catching yourself staring at it in disbelief.

From across the room, Pedro watched you, his lips curling into a smirk as he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.

“Caught you staring again,” he teased, voice warm with amusement.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “It’s new. Let me have my moment.”

He pushed off the doorway, crossing the room in a few strides before wrapping his arms around your waist. “It’s not new to me,” he murmured against your temple. “I’ve known you were mine for a long time.”

You sighed dramatically, tilting your head back to look at him. “I’m not your wife yet, Pascal.”

Pedro hummed, his nose brushing against your cheek as he whispered, “Hmm… nah. You are.”

You swatted at his chest, but the way his eyes twinkled made your heart melt.

“You’re impossible.”

He grinned. “And yet, you love me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” you muttered, but the smile on your face betrayed you.

Pedro chuckled at your faux annoyance, his warm breath ghosting against your lips as he leaned in. “You’re so cute when you pretend to be mad at me,” he murmured, tilting your chin up with his fingers before capturing your lips in a deep, slow kiss.

You melted instantly, hands threading into his hair as his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The kiss grew hungrier, his lips moving against yours with a languid sort of urgency, like he was savoring every second.

His hands roamed—one resting on the small of your back, the other slipping beneath the hem of your robe, fingertips teasing against your bare skin. A soft hum escaped you as his mouth trailed along your jaw, down the curve of your neck.

And then it hit you.

“Wait—” You gasped, breathless, gently pushing at his chest. “We have lunch with Javiera.”

Pedro groaned dramatically, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Mierda.”

You giggled as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression somewhere between frustration and mischief. “Did I forget to mention I invited her to watch you perform?”

“You did,” he huffed, pouting slightly. “And I love that she’s coming. I do. But do we have to be on time?”

You gave him a pointed look.

Pedro sighed, rolling his eyes playfully. “Fine. Fine.” He took a step back, raking a hand through his already tousled hair. “But just so you know, you owe me later.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Owe you?”

“Oh, cariño.” His voice dropped to a sinful murmur as he trailed a slow finger down your arm. “Later tonight, I’m going to have my way with you.”

A shiver ran down your spine, but you smirked, smoothing your robe as if unaffected. “We��ll see about that, Pascal.”

His grin was full of promise. “Oh, we will.”

THE BOWERY HOTEL — AFTERNOON

Lunch with Javiera was set at a quiet corner table in the hotel's restaurant, a space that offered just enough privacy for a family catch-up without feeling too closed off. The scent of fresh bread and herbs lingered in the air as you sipped on a glass of chilled wine, the engagement ring on your finger catching the soft afternoon light.

Javiera beamed as she reached for your hand, examining the ring for what was probably the fifth time since you sat down. “It looks even better in person,” she said, her voice warm with affection. “I still can’t believe you two are finally engaged.”

Pedro, seated beside you, chuckled as he reached for a piece of bread. “Finally? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Javiera gave him a knowing look. “Oh, come on. Everyone saw this coming except you.”

You laughed, nudging Pedro playfully. “See? Told you.”

He huffed dramatically. “Unbelievable. My own sister conspiring against me.”

Javiera grinned, sipping her drink. “I’m just saying, I’ve seen the way you look at her. The way you talk about her when she’s not around. You’ve been a goner for a long time, hermano.”

Pedro didn’t even try to deny it. Instead, he turned to you, a soft smirk playing on his lips. “Guilty as charged.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart melted at the way he was looking at you. Before you could say anything, the waiter arrived with your meals, setting down plates of fresh seafood and warm pasta.

Javiera leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “So, have you two started thinking about the wedding?”

Pedro answered before you could. “She keeps saying she’s not my wife yet, but I don’t know… feels pretty official to me.”

You groaned. “Pedro.”

Javiera laughed, shaking her head. “He’s never going to let that go.”

Pedro grinned, cutting into his food. “Nope.”

You sighed dramatically, but you couldn’t hide your smile. “We haven’t talked about it too much yet. Everything’s been moving so fast. But we will.”

Javiera nodded in understanding. “Well, no matter what you decide, just know the entire family is already planning in their heads. Mom is probably dreaming up wedding decorations as we speak.”

Pedro groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Dios mío.”

You giggled, squeezing his hand under the table. “At least we know it’ll be a party.”

Javiera smirked. “A very loud one.”

As the lunch carried on, the conversation flowed effortlessly, filled with teasing, reminiscing, and warmth. The afternoon sun streamed in through the windows, casting a golden glow over the table, and you found yourself stealing glances at Pedro every now and then—marveling at the fact that this was your life now.

Engaged. In love. Surrounded by family.

And if Pedro had his way, he’d be calling you his wife a lot sooner than you expected.

THE BOWERY HOTEL — EVENING

After a long, exciting day, you and Pedro decided to call it an early night, opting for the comfort of your hotel room over any glamorous outings. Room service had just arrived, and the two of you sat on the plush bed, plates of warm pasta and glasses of wine spread out between you. The room was dimly lit, the soft golden glow of the bedside lamps casting a cozy warmth over everything.

Pedro swirled his wine glass lazily, leaning back against the headboard with a contented sigh. “This is perfect,” he murmured, glancing at you with the softest eyes. “No loud crowds, no cameras—just us.”

You grinned, taking a bite of your pasta before setting your fork down. “I still can’t believe you’re going to be on SNL again. It feels like just yesterday we were watching your first episode from our couch.”

Pedro chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, and I was nervous as hell back then.”

“You were incredible, though,” you said earnestly, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “And you’ll be even better this time. I’m so proud of you, Pedro. Not just for this, but for everything. For who you are.”

His ears tinged pink, and he let out a bashful laugh, shaking his head. “Stop, you’re gonna make me all emotional.”

“I mean it,” you insisted, scooting closer. “You work so hard, and you never let the pressure change who you are. That’s why people love you. That’s why I love you.”

Pedro set his wine glass aside and turned to face you fully, his expression melting into something unbearably tender. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he murmured, brushing his knuckles along your cheek. “But I thank whatever force in the universe brought you into my life every damn day.”

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. “You’re just saying that because I let you steal half my food.”

Pedro smirked, feigning innocence. “Who, me? Never.”

Before you could protest, his fingers darted to your waist, tickling you mercilessly. A shriek escaped your lips as you collapsed onto the bed, writhing in laughter. “Pedro! No—stop! I’m gonna spill the wine!”

He was laughing just as hard, his face split into the most joyful grin as he kept at it. “Not until you take back that accusation!”

Through uncontrollable giggles, you tried to escape, but he was relentless, his hands finding every ticklish spot. “Okay, okay! You’re innocent! You’re a saint!” you gasped between bursts of laughter.

Pedro finally relented, collapsing beside you, both of you breathless from laughing. You turned to face him, your eyes still shining with amusement, but the moment shifted as his gaze softened, darkening with something deeper. His hand brushed over your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jawline.

“You really do mean the world to me,” he murmured, his voice hushed and full of emotion.

Your breath hitched as his lips met yours, slow and deliberate, the laughter between you fading into something softer, needier. His hand slid to the back of your neck, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, and you melted into him, sighing against his mouth. His body pressed against yours, the warmth of him seeping into your skin as he kissed you like he had all the time in the world.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently, and he groaned into your mouth, his hands roaming down your back, pulling you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between you. The air grew thick, charged with heat and unspoken promises. Pedro’s lips trailed down your jaw to your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point just enough to make you shiver.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and rough.

You exhaled shakily, tilting your head back as his hands explored, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, tracing slow circles over your bare skin. “Then maybe we should do something about it,” you whispered, your own hands sliding under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin.

Pedro didn’t need to be told twice.

The moment your lips met, any remaining restraint melted away. His hands gripped your hips, fingers pressing into your skin like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. The heat between you was intoxicating, a slow burn that built with every kiss, every teasing graze of his fingertips over your exposed skin.

His mouth was hungry, insatiable, devouring you with a passion that made your breath hitch. He kissed you like he’d been starving for you, like he was trying to drown himself in the taste of you. His tongue swept against yours, deep and slow, coaxing a soft whimper from your lips that only spurred him on.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your mouth, his voice thick with desire. “You have no idea what you do to me, cariño.”

You gasped as he rolled his hips against yours, the hard press of him igniting something primal deep within you. Your fingers fisted in the fabric of his shirt, desperate to feel more—more of him, more of his warmth, more of the intoxicating way he made your body feel like it was on fire.

“Then show me,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper, but Pedro heard it loud and clear.

His answering smirk was sinful. “Oh, I plan to.”

In one swift motion, he flipped you onto your back, settling between your legs. The weight of him pressed you into the mattress in the most delicious way, making you arch into him instinctively. His hands wandered, sliding beneath your shirt, fingertips skimming over your stomach before tracing a slow, teasing path upward.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just beneath your jaw. “I’ll never get tired of looking at you. Touching you.”

You shivered under his touch as he pushed your shirt up higher, his fingers grazing over your bare skin with a maddening slowness. His lips followed, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, lower and lower, until he reached the edge of your bra. He paused, glancing up at you with hooded eyes, silently asking for permission even now.

“Pedro,” you whined, your body arching toward him, desperate for more. “Please.”

That single word sent a visible shudder through him, his control hanging by a thread. “Fuck, baby,” he muttered before finally peeling your shirt off, his eyes darkening at the sight of you beneath him.

His lips were everywhere—on your throat, your shoulders, the swell of your breasts. He took his time worshipping you, his hands and mouth exploring every inch of exposed skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The contrast of his rough stubble against your soft skin made you gasp, sending a delicious ache straight to your core.

“You’re killing me,” you murmured, your nails digging into his back as he teased you, his lips hovering just above where you needed him most.

Pedro chuckled, his breath hot against your skin. “Patience, mi amor.” But the way his voice wavered, the way his own body trembled against yours, told you he was just as desperate.

And then—finally—his mouth was on you, his kisses turning scorching, his hands gripping your thighs as he moved lower.

The next moments were a blur of pleasure, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, his touch unraveling you until you were nothing but gasps and moans beneath him. Every flick of his tongue, every slow grind of his hips against yours sent you spiraling higher and higher, until you shattered beneath him, trembling, breathless, completely undone.

Pedro didn’t stop. Not yet. He guided you through the aftershocks, whispering sweet praises against your flushed skin, his voice raw with love and desire. “That’s my girl,” he murmured. “So fucking perfect for me.”

When you finally opened your eyes, dazed and blissed out, Pedro was hovering above you, his gaze soft but filled with something deeper—something more than just desire.

“I love you,” he whispered, brushing damp hair away from your face. “Always.”

Your heart swelled, your body still humming with pleasure as you reached up to cup his cheek, running your thumb over the stubble there. “I love you too,” you murmured, pulling him down for a slow, languid kiss.

And as he wrapped you up in his arms, bodies tangled beneath the sheets, you knew—there was no place in the world you’d rather be.

THE NEXT DAY…

THE BOWERY HOTEL — AFTERNOON

The hotel room buzzed with energy, a symphony of laughter, light conversation, and the occasional pop of a hairspray bottle. Your glam team moved around you in a carefully choreographed dance, curling strands of hair, blending makeup, and adjusting the final touches of your red-carpet look. The air smelled of floral-scented powders and expensive serums, mixing with the faint, crisp scent of fresh linens from the open balcony door.

It was a beautiful afternoon in New York, golden sunlight pouring through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow over everything. The excitement in the room was palpable—not just for the event, but for you.

“So,” one of the hairstylists, Bella, said with a teasing grin as she ran a brush through your hair, “how does it feel to be engaged to Hollywood’s most beloved man?”

You let out a soft laugh, glancing at yourself in the mirror as the makeup artist dusted a final touch of highlighter on your cheekbones. “Surreal, honestly. I keep waiting for someone to shake me awake and tell me it’s all a dream.”

Another stylist, Marie, chimed in, hands on her hips as she admired your nearly finished look. “Well, if it is a dream, you’re living in the most romantic one ever. That ring? Stunning. And the way he looks at you? Girl, you won.”

Your heart squeezed at her words, warmth blooming in your chest. You knew exactly what she meant—Pedro had a way of looking at you like you were his entire world, like nothing else mattered when you were in the same room. Even after all this time, it still made you breathless.

As if on cue, the door creaked open, and in walked Pedro, freshly showered, the scent of his cologne—a mix of cedar, citrus, and something undeniably him—filling the room. His tousled curls were still damp, his beard neatly trimmed, and he wore a fitted brown V-neck shirt that clung to him in all the right ways, paired with black dress pants that hugged his hips perfectly. A blazer hung over his arm, though from the easy smirk on his lips, he didn’t seem in any hurry to put it on.

And, of course, he was grinning.

“Talking about me?” he mused, his voice carrying that familiar playful lilt as he sauntered in, hands casually slipping into his pockets.

Your stylists all exchanged knowing looks before Bella smirked. “Oh, always.”

Pedro chuckled, then placed his hands on the back of your chair, leaning down so his face appeared beside yours in the mirror. His deep brown eyes flickered over your reflection, admiration evident in his gaze. “Damn, Hermosa…” His voice dropped lower, more reverent. “I might have to fight off every person at this event just to keep their eyes off you.”

Your stomach flipped at the intensity in his tone.

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress the giddy smile tugging at your lips. “Smooth.”

“I’m serious,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your bare shoulder. The heat of his lips against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, your breath catching in your throat.

Marie let out a dreamy sigh. “Ugh. The romance.”

Pedro straightened, clapping his hands together with a playful grin. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave you all to it. Just needed to see my girl before we head out.”

But as he turned to leave, he caught your gaze in the mirror again, his expression softening into something deeper, something unspoken. And then—he winked.

A flutter of warmth spread through your chest, and you realized something.

No matter how many times you saw him, no matter how many times he looked at you like you were the only person in the world—you would never get used to it.

As the final touches were made, you finally stepped into your dress—a breathtaking gown that made you feel like a dream. It was an elegant yet modern off-the-shoulder number, the fabric a deep, rich shade that complemented your skin tone perfectly. The fitted bodice flattered your curves, while the flowing skirt trailed behind you like a soft cascade of silk.

You took a steadying breath, smoothing your hands down the fabric before turning toward the door—where Pedro was waiting.

He was already dressed in his full look, a classic black suit tailored to perfection, the crisp white dress shirt beneath unbuttoned at the collar just enough to drive you a little insane. His salt-and-pepper curls were styled just so, his beard neatly trimmed, and his warm brown eyes—those eyes that always made you feel like the only person in the room—were already locked on you.

And when you stepped into his view, his breath audibly hitched.

"Dios mío…" His voice was barely above a whisper, but you heard it, felt the weight of it settle deep in your chest.

A slow, smitten smile tugged at your lips. “You clean up pretty well yourself, Pascal.”

Pedro exhaled a dramatic sigh, placing a hand over his heart as he took a step closer. “Mi amor, if I wasn’t already planning to marry you, I’d be proposing again right now.”

You let out a breathless laugh, warmth blooming in your chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m serious.” His hands found your waist, his fingers brushing lightly over the fabric as he shook his head in disbelief. “I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful in my life. And I mean that. Completely. No exaggeration.”

Your throat tightened, emotions swelling too fast, too much, because—God, how did he do this to you? How did he make you feel so seen, so loved, so entirely his without even trying?

You swallowed hard, blinking up at him. “Pedro, you can’t say things like that.”

He frowned slightly, tilting his head. “Why not?”

“Because…” Your voice wavered, and you let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh. “Because you’re going to make me cry.”

Pedro’s expression melted into something impossibly tender. “Oh, baby…” He cupped your face instantly, his thumb tracing along your cheek as he studied you, his own eyes glassy now. “Then let’s cry together. Because fuck, I love you so much, I don’t know what to do with it sometimes.”

Your breath hitched, a tear slipping free before you could stop it. Pedro caught it with his thumb, brushing it away before leaning in, pressing the gentlest kiss to your lips—like he was sealing in everything he couldn’t say.

You clutched his lapels, pulling him closer. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Pedro huffed out a soft laugh, resting his forehead against yours. “You existed, mi amor. That’s all you ever had to do.”

A choked laugh left your lips as you shook your head. “You’re the most sickeningly romantic man alive.”

“And you love it,” he teased, his nose nudging against yours.

“I love you,” you corrected, voice barely above a whisper.

Pedro pulled back just enough to look at you fully, his expression so full of love, so full of everything that it made your chest ache. He took your hand in his, bringing it to his lips and kissing your engagement ring before intertwining your fingers.

“You ready?” you murmured, voice still thick with emotion.

He squeezed your hand, his gaze never leaving yours. “With you?” He smiled, soft and certain. “Always.”

And with that, you stepped out into the night, hand in hand, heart in heart, ready to take on the world—together.

ROCKEFELLER CENTER, STUDIO 8H — EARLY EVENING

The moment you stepped out of the car, camera flashes erupted like fireworks.

Pedro’s hand was warm in yours as you both made your way down the red carpet, stopping every few feet to pose for photos. Reporters called out his name, some calling yours, and you couldn’t help but feel a wave of nerves crash over you.

Pedro must have sensed it, because he squeezed your hand, leaning down to whisper, “Breathe, baby. I got you.”

And just like that, the tension melted away.

You reached the interview section, and almost immediately, Entertainment Tonight flagged you both down.

“Pedro! Congratulations on SNL’s 50th! And—oh my gosh, congratulations to both of you on the engagement!”

Pedro beamed, pulling you a little closer. “Thank you. Yeah, it’s been a hell of a year.”

The reporter turned to you. “How does it feel to be engaged to the Pedro Pascal?”

You laughed. “Honestly? Like dating a golden retriever with a credit card.”

Pedro clutched his chest dramatically. “Wow. Wow. Betrayed on live television.”

The reporter laughed. “Well, it’s clear you two are head over heels. Pedro, can we expect wedding bells soon?”

Pedro turned to you, his smile softening. “Whenever she’s ready. No rush. I just know she’s it for me.”

Your heart stuttered.

You turned back to the reporter, your own smile matching his. “Yeah. He’s it for me, too.”

And as the night went on, with the lights, the cameras, and the sea of Hollywood’s biggest stars surrounding you both, you knew—Pedro was right. You were already his.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

STUDIO 8H – SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE 50TH ANNIVERSARY SPECIAL

You loved watching Pedro perform on stage. It was one of your absolute favorite things. The way he commanded the room with effortless charisma, the way he delivered every line with that perfect balance of humor and sincerity, the way he owned the stage—he was a natural. An absolute force.

And really fucking funny.

Sitting in the audience, you could barely keep it together. The energy in the studio was electric, but nothing compared to the way your heart pounded watching him up there, in his element, making an entire room—hell, millions of people—laugh like it was the easiest thing in the world.

And then it happened.

The skit with Sabrina Carpenter had already been hilarious—Pedro leaning into his role, playing it up with exaggerated expressions and that perfect comedic timing that had everyone in stitches. But when the music kicked in and he suddenly started hip-thrusting into the air, fully committing to the bit with zero hesitation, your jaw unhinged.

“Oh. My. God,” you breathed, your entire body stiffening as your brain tried to process what you were seeing.

Javiera, sitting beside you, didn’t miss a thing.

“Are you—oh my God,” she cackled, smacking your arm. “You’re so done for.”

You barely registered her words because your entire world had narrowed down to him—Pedro, on stage, grinding the air like it was his job, all while belting out the ridiculous lyrics to the skit’s song.

Your face was on fire.

“Shut up,” you hissed, pressing your hands to your face in a weak attempt to cover how absolutely hot and bothered you were.

Javiera just laughed louder, fully reveling in your suffering. “No, no, no—don’t go all shy now! Own it, babe. That’s your fiancé up there.” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice just enough so only you could hear. “And let’s be real… if he’s that good at hip-thrusting in public—”

“Javiera!” you choked, shoving her while she doubled over in laughter.

You turned back to the stage just in time to catch Pedro glance toward the audience, his eyes scanning the crowd before they found you. And oh, the moment he locked onto your completely flustered, scandalized expression, his lips twitched into the smuggest smirk you’d ever seen in your life.

That bastard knew exactly what he was doing.

He winked.

You swore your soul left your body.

Javiera grabbed your arm, wheezing with laughter. “Oh, you’re in trouble tonight.”

And yeah. She was absolutely right.

You were in so much trouble.

But before you could even fully recover from the absolute chaos of Pedro’s hip-thrusting performance, the next skit rolled in—and it wrecked you all over again.

Pedro walked onto the stage, transformed.

His usual effortless charm was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a full-blown, committed hillbilly persona. He wore the most ridiculous wig, long and messy, nearly covering his eyes, and a graphic shirt that looked like it had seen better days. The second he opened his mouth, putting on that exaggerated twang and delivering his lines with painstakingly perfect comedic timing, you lost it.

Javiera was right there with you, grabbing your arm as she wheezed through her laughter. “Oh my God—look at him! I can’t—”

You could barely breathe. “Stop, I’m actually about to die.”

Onstage, Woody Harrelson and Kate McKinnon were trying—and failing—to keep straight faces as Pedro went all in on the character, telling some completely unhinged story about how the aliens had abducted him and taken a very inappropriate interest in his “hillbilly butt.”

And then came the moment—

Meryl Streep, Meryl fucking Streep, turned to Pedro, trying to deliver her line with composure, but Pedro—your Pedro—gave her this completely deadpan look, blinking beneath that ridiculous wig before delivering a line so absurdly timed, in that perfect hillbilly drawl, that Meryl Streep—the queen of acting herself—broke.

Her head dipped forward as she cracked up, covering her face, shaking her shoulders, and the entire audience erupted.

You lost your mind.

“Oh my God he just made Meryl Streep break character,” you gasped, gripping Javiera’s arm as you struggled to stay upright in your seat. “That’s it. That’s the peak. That’s the moment.”

Javiera shrieked through her laughter. “Your fiancé just made one of the greatest actors alive break on live TV. Babe, you won.”

Tears streamed down your face as you tried to pull yourself together, but Pedro kept going, doubling down on his character’s antics, sending the entire studio into absolute hysterics. The audience was howling, and you? You were on the verge of falling out of your damn seat.

To say you were proud of Pedro was the understatement of the century.

He was killing it.

And when the skit finally ended, the camera catching Pedro barely holding it together as Woody clapped him on the back and Meryl wiped away her tears of laughter, you saw it—that look he gave, that quick flicker of his eyes searching the audience, finding you.

And when he did?

He grinned.

That big, beautiful, unbelievably smug grin.

And you knew.

You were so in trouble tonight.

STUDIO 8H – LATER THAT NIGHT

After his skit, he’d barely disappeared backstage before returning to you, his face still slightly flushed from all the laughter and adrenaline. And just when you thought he couldn’t get any more irresistible, there he was—dressed in a plain white henley, the soft fabric stretching just right across his chest, his sleeves pushed up enough to show off those strong forearms.

And those glasses.

The square-framed ones that made him look ridiculously handsome, the ones that had your brain short-circuiting every time he wore them.

Oh, you were so done for.

Pedro slid back into his seat between you and Javiera, flashing you a small, knowing smile. His hand automatically found your thigh, squeezing lightly—just a touch, nothing inappropriate, but enough to send heat flooding through your body. You swore the bastard knew exactly what he was doing.

So you did what you knew would drive him crazy.

You turned to him, grabbed his face, and kissed him dizzy.

Pedro inhaled sharply through his nose, but he barely hesitated, responding immediately—his hand sliding up to your waist, fingers pressing in just enough to claim you, as if he wanted to pull you into his lap right then and there. His lips were warm, soft, and eager as they moved against yours, deepening the kiss just slightly. His thumb brushed over your ribs, and you felt the way his breath hitched, like he was fighting the urge to take things further.

Your fingers curled in the fabric of his henley as he kissed you like he needed you—slow, lingering, with an almost teasing edge.

Javiera groaned beside you. “Alright, you two, I am still here.”

You pulled away with a breathless laugh, Pedro’s lips still chasing yours even as you separated. His forehead rested against yours for a lingering second, and when he finally pulled back, he gave you that devastatingly soft look—the one that made your heart flip inside your chest.

“You keep kissing me like that, mi amor,” he murmured, his voice low and full of promise, “and I’m not gonna make it to the after-party.”

You smirked, letting your fingers trace along his jawline. “Who said we’re going to the after-party?”

Pedro’s eyes darkened ever so slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was holding back a smirk. He gave your thigh another squeeze, this time lingering a little longer.

But before he could say anything—

Paul fucking McCartney took the stage.

The first notes of Golden Slumbers filled the room, the familiar melody wrapping around you like something magic.

Pedro’s entire body shifted as if on instinct. His fingers laced through yours, squeezing tight, before pulling you up with him.

“You’re dancing with me,” he murmured, voice low and full of emotion, his breath brushing against your ear as he wrapped an arm around your waist.

“You act like I’d ever say no.”

Pedro chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he held you close. His other hand settled at the small of your back, guiding you effortlessly as he swayed you in slow, easy circles.

His touch was everywhere—warm, solid, grounding. You let yourself melt against him, your cheek resting against his chest as the music carried you both away.

“Once there was a way… to get back homeward…”

Pedro hummed softly against your temple, his voice low, affectionate. You felt the way his arms tightened around you, the way his fingers traced lazy circles against your spine.

“You have no idea how much I love you,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion.

Your throat tightened. “I think I do.”

His lips brushed your forehead. “You’re everything to me.”

You closed your eyes, letting the moment sink in, letting his words settle in your heart like something precious.

As Carry That Weight began, the crowd’s energy shifted—cheers, laughter, voices singing along. Pedro lifted your hand, spinning you gently before pulling you right back into his arms.

You laughed, breathless, the warmth in his eyes making you weak. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

Pedro’s hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones with so much tenderness. “I love you,” he whispered. “More than I know how to say.”

And that was it.

You surged forward, pressing your lips to his, letting the kiss speak for you. It was soft, full of love and something deeper—something that felt like forever. Pedro kissed you back just as sweetly, his fingers threading into your hair, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go.

As The End played, the final notes echoing through the studio, you held onto Pedro like he was your whole world.

Because he was.

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