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manuphantom · 15 days ago

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i love it 😭😭😭😭

Here with You

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x f!reader Summary: A soft, quiet morning unfolds as you and Pedro move through familiar rhythms—gentle touches, easy laughter, and the shared excitement of welcoming his family into the heart of your home. Warnings: fluff, established relationship, birthday morning A/N: This is the second part of Everywhere With You! Part 1: Everywhere With You

The sun had barely risen, but the light spilling through the curtains already felt like a soft embrace. The world outside was still and quiet, but inside the bedroom, warmth and comfort filled the space between you and Pedro. He lay beside you, his presence so solid, so reassuring, as though nothing could touch you here. His arm was around your waist, pulling you closer as you both remained nestled under the warmth of the thick duvet, the kind that seemed to make the world outside disappear entirely.

You were awake, though not in a hurry to move. The peacefulness of the moment felt too precious to rush. You felt his steady breathing against your skin, the rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. He was sound asleep, but there was something magnetic about him—the way he exhaled gently, the faint traces of a smile on his lips as he dreamed, the calm in his features.

His arm tightened slightly around you, pulling you closer, making a sleepy sound as his head shifted on the pillow, his curls brushing the side of his face. His body language said everything: he was content, completely at peace in this quiet, shared space.

You smiled to yourself, tracing the edge of his shoulder with your fingertips, then gently brushed a few stray curls from his forehead. He stirred slightly at the touch, his eyes fluttering open slowly, the hazy remnants of sleep clinging to him.

“Morning,” you whispered softly, your voice barely above a murmur.

“Mmm,” he hummed in response, not fully awake yet, but still pulling you closer into his chest as if to savour the moment just a little longer. His lips pressed softly against the top of your head, and he whispered back, “Morning, cariño.”

You stayed there for a while, tangled together in the warmth of the sheets. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable; it was a kind of content, easy peace, a language only the two of you understood. You ran your fingers along the edge of his arm, brushing over the soft skin, feeling the warmth of his body underneath your hand.

There was something beautiful about these mornings—about waking up with him, about how everything felt just a little more in place when he was beside you. The faint sound of birds chirping outside was the only interruption, and even then, it only added to the calm atmosphere, like a backdrop to your quiet morning.

Finally, Pedro shifted, the movement small but enough to wake him fully. He blinked slowly, lifting his head from the pillow just enough to look down at you, a soft smile curling on his lips.

“Is it too early for a kiss?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep.

“Not for you,” you replied, lifting your chin in invitation, and he wasted no time in leaning down, his lips meeting yours in a gentle, lingering kiss. It was a slow, soft thing at first, as if both of you were still savouring the peace of the morning. His hand slid around to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he deepened the kiss, a soft sigh escaping him as he pulled you closer.

You felt the connection between you both, the quiet but undeniable bond that had been growing with each shared moment. It wasn’t rushed; there was no urgency, no hurry—just the slow, gentle exploration of how well you fit together in the simplest of moments.

When he pulled back, his eyes were still heavy with sleep, but there was something in them—something that made your heart flutter. “I’m so lucky to wake up next to you,” he murmured, brushing his thumb along your cheek.

You smiled softly, your heart swelling with affection. “And I’m lucky to wake up next to you, too.”

Pedro yawned quietly, then reached up to run a hand through his messy curls, sighing contentedly. “We have a few hours before everyone gets here, right?”

“Yeah,” you replied, “just enough time to get some breakfast ready.”

He groaned lightly, stretching his legs beneath the sheets. “And a little more time for us to just be like this,” he added, wrapping his arms around you again and pulling you back to his chest.

You let out a small laugh, feeling safe and warm in his embrace. The day was going to be busy, but this moment, this calm space between the two of you, was everything you needed.

You shifted slightly, easing out of his arms, but not without a playful little kiss to his lips. “Alright, but only if you promise not to get mad at me for taking over the kitchen,” you teased as you slid out from under the covers and stretched.

He raised an eyebrow as he propped himself up on one elbow, watching you with a smirk. “We both know I’m terrible at cooking, but you’re gonna make me work for it, huh?”

“Always,” you teased over your shoulder, pulling a clean underwear from your drawer and some decent clothes on. You padded barefoot across the room to the kitchen, the soft padding of your feet on the hardwood floor the only sound breaking the silence.

Pedro, still half-drunk on sleep, took his time getting up, stretching his arms overhead before stumbling to the bathroom to wash up. You could hear the shower running, and some time later the faint creak of the bathroom door as it opened, then closed.

In the meantime, you busied yourself in the kitchen, setting the coffee to brew, cracking eggs into a bowl, and setting the table. When you heard his footsteps behind you, you turned to find him leaning against the doorframe, now fully dressed in grey sweatpants and a black T-shirt, his hair damp from the quick shower, a lazy grin on his face.

Pedro crossed the little room in a few strides and came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you back into his chest. He placed a soft kiss against your neck, making you smile. “I’m gonna miss this after today.”

You just hummed, and leaned back into him, letting your head fall backwards and rest on his broad shoulder. He chuckled softly, nuzzling your neck with his nose, while swaying softly to a non-existent melody.

When breakfast was finally ready, you set the table and served up the scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee. It was simple, but it didn’t need to be anything else. You sat across from him, your legs touching under the quiet hum of Fleetwood Mac played softly in the background. It was one of those mornings where nothing felt rushed, nothing felt forced—it was just you and him, two people simply existing in each other’s company.

Pedro reached across the table, taking your hand in his, and gave it a soft squeeze. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how much I love these mornings with you.”

You squeezed his hand back, smiling softly. “Me neither.”

There was something so profoundly peaceful about these mornings. The calm before the storm of the day ahead—his family, the bustle, the chatter. But for now, it was just you and Pedro, and the world felt perfectly in place.

——

The hum of the ceiling fan spun lazily overhead as soft morning light spilled across the living room floor, golden and warm. Breakfast was already a memory—crumbs on the counter, an empty coffee mug in the sink. Your stomach was full, your heart fuller. Pedro had kissed your shoulder while drying the dishes, humming along to the music playing low on the speaker, and now the two of you moved through the house in that easy rhythm couples grow into—the kind that speaks of shared routines and unspoken glances.

You were in the bedroom folding a few stray blankets, still in your pyjama bottoms and one of Pedro’s old T-shirts that you put on in a hurry. He stepped in from the hallway, his hair still damp and curling slightly at the ends, wearing soft grey sweatpants and a black fitted T-shirt that made your stomach flutter just looking at him.

“You look like Sunday morning personified,” you murmured, watching him grab a pair of socks from the dresser.

He grinned, rubbing a towel over hi hair. “That’s because I feel like Sunday morning. Happy. Full. Very in love.”

You laughed as he came over and wrapped his arms around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder while you both looked into the mirror. “They’ll be here in what, an hour?”

“Maybe less,” you said, voice gentle, eyes tracing over his face in the mirror.

“You sure you don’t want to run? I could fake the flu.”

“I already dealt with them on several occasions, I think I can manage,” you said, looking into his eyes through the mirror.

He tilted his head, kissing your cheek slowly. “You did so much for me. You made it perfect. Yesterday, today—this whole weekend. I can’t even describe how much it means to me.”

His arms tightened a little around you, and you leaned back into his chest, your fingers sliding lightly over his forearms. The weight of him, his presence behind you, always had a way of grounding you. And in moments like this—quiet and filled with meaning—it felt like time stood still.

“I just wanted you to feel loved,” you said softly.

“I do,” he whispered into your hair. “Every second I’m with you.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The room was peaceful. Outside, the wind rustled through the trees. Pedro’s thumbs gently traced circles against your hips before he gave you a quick, soft kiss to the neck and pulled back.

“Alright,” he said with a stretch and a sigh, voice lighter now, “let’s get everything set up before the teenagers storm in and eat the entire pantry.”

You chuckled, heading toward the kitchen again while Pedro tidied up a little. You opened the fridge, checking the drinks, then moved on to slicing fresh fruit. The low murmur of Pedro’s voice came from the hallway as he cursed under his breath, accidentally kicking into the doorframe.

The dishes from breakfast were drying on a rack by the sink, the morning sunlight catching on them in streaks of gold. Pedro’s mug was still warm on the counter, his half-finished coffee abandoned when he got distracted trying to untangle the string lights he insisted on putting up along the bookshelf— “ambience,” he’d said with a grin, “for the family chaos.”

You padded barefoot across the hardwood, adjusting the throw pillows on the couch for the third time. “Okay, if I touch these again, stop me.”

Pedro glanced over from where he was crouched near the outlet, one string light looped around his neck like a glittering scarf. “No promises,” he said, voice low and amused. “I like watching you fuss.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “They’re just… I want it to feel warm. Comfortable.”

Pedro rose slowly, brushing his palms on his thighs, and walked over to you. His hands settled on your waist, grounding and warm. “It already does,” he murmured. “Because you’re here”

You looked up at him, taking in the softness of his face in the late morning light—his curls a little messy, his jaw covered in patchy beard that made you want to drag your fingers along it. “You really think they’ll like it?”

“They’ll love it. They’ll love you.” He kissed your temple gently. “They already do.”

You melted into him for a moment, resting your cheek against his solid chest, his heartbeat slow and steady underneath your ear. Everything felt unhurried in that second, like the world had slowed down just enough for you to enjoy the quiet.

Then came the familiar buzz of Pedro’s phone from the hallway table.

He glanced over your shoulder. “That’s probably Lux. She said they’d stop for pastries on the way here.”

You stepped back with a little breath of laughter. “I’ll finish folding tidying the living room. You finish those lights, Mr. Ambience.”

Pedro grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

Just as you tucked a blanket into the corner of the couch, Pedro returned to your side and pulled you in by the hips, the lights now softly glowing behind him. “Hey,” he said, voice suddenly quieter. “I know I’ve said it before but thank you. For all of this.”

You reached up, brushing a curl from his forehead. “It’s your birthday weekend. You deserve all of this.”

His eyes searched yours, full of something deep and grateful. “I don’t know how I got this lucky.”

You smiled. “You bought a Fleetwood Mac record at that little store three years ago and asked me if I liked Stevie Nicks. That’s how.”

He chuckled, leaning in to press a slow kiss to your lips. “Best impulse buy of my life.”

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway broke the moment. You both turned toward the window just as Nico and the boys stepped out, followed by Lux with her arms full of bakery boxes, and finally Javiera.

Pedro kissed your cheek once more. “Showtime.”

As he moved toward the door, you watched him go—relaxed, golden in the light, like a God—and felt a flutter of warmth bloom in your chest. This was home. Him, this day, this soft togetherness before the laughter and noise filled the rooms.

And when he opened the door and his family flooded inside with hugs and chatter, he still reached for your hand behind him, fingers finding yours like they always had.

——

The house smelled like fresh coffee, buttery croissants, and something sweet baking in the oven—brown sugar and cinnamon, the quiet promise of a soft morning. The dining table was full, every chair taken, and still the room had a calmness to it. No rush. No pressure. Just the ease of family settling in, voices low, laughter soft, and plates passed across the table like rituals already long practiced.

Pedro was next to you, his hand on your thigh beneath the table, thumb brushing slow circles through the cotton of your sleep pants. He hadn’t let go of you all morning—not after you both got up early to start the cinnamon rolls, not when Javiera insisted on helping with the fruit salad, and not now as breakfast stretched into the kind of morning you wished you could live inside of.

Lux was telling a story—something about one of her newest movie possibility —and across from her, Nico was already laughing before she got to the punchline. The boys were on their third round of toast and eggs, barely looking up from their food and each other’s phones as they debated music, memes, and something you didn’t quite catch.

It all felt warm. Whole.

Javiera turned toward you mid-bite, gesturing with her fork. “This is perfect,” she said, nodding toward the spread you and Pedro had laid out. “You really didn’t have to do all this, but I’m so glad you did.”

“I wanted to,” you said simply, your gaze shifting to Pedro for a second, then back. “It’s not every day we get to have everyone here.”

Pedro looked down like he was embarrassed by the attention, but his hand gave a squeeze on your leg, and when he glanced up, his smile was quiet and full of something deeper. Something he didn’t need to say out loud.

Lux caught the look between you two and smirked. “Okay, I’m calling it—this is disgustingly adorable.”

Pedro just rolled his eyes. “You’ve known me for more than thirty years and this is what makes you gag?”

“This is different,” Nico added, pointing his fork at him. “This is like… you’re happy. Calm. Soft, even.”

Pedro tried to look indignant. “I’ve always been soft.”

“Not like this,” Javiera said, a little gentler. “This suits you.”

And that was the thing. It did. The softness, the quiet joy, the domestic simplicity—it all suited him. And you. Together. In this house that didn’t feel too big anymore with his family filling every room, with his voice carrying over the clinking of cutlery and the creak of chairs.

The cinnamon rolls were finally pulled from the oven and set on the table, and the room filled with happy groans and hands reaching across each other. You caught Pedro’s eye as you handed him the tongs. His fingers brushed yours. He didn’t look away.

You leaned closer, pressing your lips to the shell of his ear. “Happy birthday.”

He turned, kissed you on the cheek, and murmured, “This is the best one I’ve ever had.”

And somehow, with sunlight warming the floor and the sound of teenage laughter bouncing off the walls, it felt like the truth. Not just for him—but for you, too.

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