Pedro Pascal One Shots

Coffee

Sweet, innocent fluff. You're a female barista who meets Pedro when he comes in for coffee, and he just can't get enough of you. Enjoy!

Coffee

Another morning, another day at work. You groaned when your alarm went off for the third time. You'd be late if you hit snooze again, so you rolled over and got up finally.

You did your usual morning routine. Cup of coffee, skincare, brushed your teeth, very minimal makeup, hair up in a bun. For clothes, your favorite jeans and one of your work t-shirts with some no slip sneakers. You shoved a granola bar down your throat for breakfast as you made your way out to your car, the sun just starting to come up. Traffic wasn't bad yet and your drive wasn't far anyways - in ten minutes you were at The Sip, the coffee shop you were employed at.

How you worked the opening shift when you were the farthest possible thing from a morning person was a mystery. Okay, maybe not. Coffee got you through mornings, and you had an unlimited supply at your fingertips. In fact, you got yourself your second cup as you did the opening procedures.

The very early mornings (pre 7 am) brought in a specific crowd. It was always regulars who were up as early for their jobs as you were, and it wasn't all that busy. It allowed you to prepare for the 7-9 am rush of everyone else getting their fix on their way to work. The initial hours of the day were almost always uneventful, but today begged to differ.

When he walked in, you did a double take. One security guard stayed a few feet back as he removed his sunglasses and tucked them into his shirt pocket. There was a second guard just outside the door. This and the pinch you administered to your own arm let you know that you weren't confused or dreaming; Pedro Pascal had just entered your place of work, and you were the only one in the front, readily available to serve him.

"Good morning," he greeted you with a smile, walking up to the counter and perusing the menu on the chalkboard behind you.

"Morning," you replied. "You're Pedro Pascal," you added stupidly. What a way to start this interaction.

"I am," he chuckled. "And you are...y/n?" Your heart skipped a beat. How did he know your name? Oh yeah, your nametag. Your fingers brushed the small plaque pinned to your apron as you remembered it was part of the uniform.

"Yes. Sorry, I'm a huge fan! Which, you could probably tell, since I knew who you were. Everyone knows who you are. You're an incredible actor! Sorry, I should shut up now. Coffee?"

"Honestly, I could probably listen to you talk all day. But yes, I could use some coffee. I've never been here before, so is there anything you'd recommend?" Pedro wondered,

"Well, we have some popular seasonal drinks right now, and our flavored cold brews are usually a hit. But, if you're anything like I am this early, you probably just need something that's going to get you going. I could do your signature. Iced espresso, extra ice, six shots?"

Pedro laughed. "Of course you know my order. Yes, I suppose I'll go with my usual. In a large, if you don't mind."

"Of course. That's going to be $6.26. Unless you're hungry too."

"Which of your muffins is the best?" he wondered.

"Definitely the blueberry. They just came out of the oven, and we use these huge, fresh blueberries. And the sugar on top is to die for. They're honestly my favorite muffins ever."

"You sold me. I'll take one," Pedro decided, so you updated his total and he handed over his card. You put it through and handed it back to him with his receipt, then went to work on making his drink. Luckily, you had been working there for a while and were a natural, because you definitely had a million butterflies beating their wings around in your stomach.