#certifiedyapper

requested! thank you. content: fluff, wife/girlfriend!reader, domestic comfort, reader yapping, Pedro being the most supportive man alive, fans noticing, heart-eyes galore.

Pedro had always been a yapper—sure. But tonight, the tables had turned.

You were the one pacing around the kitchen with your tea forgotten on the counter, voice lilting as you launched into an impassioned monologue about a book you’d just finished. Pedro leaned against the counter, arms crossed, curls still damp from his shower, and just… watched. Listened.

God, he loved listening.

Every little expression on your face kept him hooked—the way your brows furrowed when you reached a dramatic twist, the way your hands waved wildly when you quoted dialogue, the way you chewed your lip before rushing to the next thought, not wanting to lose the thread. He nodded along, chimed in with the occasional “oh no” or “you’re kidding,” just to keep you rolling. Not that you needed encouragement—you were on fire.

He couldn’t stop smiling.

“You’re not even hearing me,” you accused finally, collapsing beside him at the counter. “You’re just staring.”

“Wrong,” Pedro said, poking your side until you giggled. “I’m hearing every word. Every. Word. I could write a dissertation on your dissertation right now.”

You tried to look skeptical, but your grin betrayed you. “Yeah? Then what was the protagonist’s fatal flaw?”

Pedro didn’t miss a beat. “Trusting the wrong people. Which, by the way, you’d never do, because you’re smarter than half the characters you read about.”

Your heart squeezed at the way he said it—so sure, so proud, like it wasn’t even a question.

And of course, the world noticed.

Because the next morning, someone had uploaded a grainy café video of the two of you. You were animated, voice carrying even over the clatter of cups, while Pedro sat opposite you, chin resting on his hand, smiling like he’d been waiting his whole life for this conversation. Every so often, he’d lean forward, interrupt gently with a question, only to let you spiral off into another tangent.

The comments section exploded: “he found someone who YAPS BACK 😭😭😭” “pedro’s certified yapper has finally met her match… i’m sobbing” “the way he’s looking at her like she’s the only person in the world… yeah i’m unwell”

When you showed him later, cheeks burning, he only laughed and pulled you against his chest. “Let them talk,” he murmured into your hair. “They finally get to see what I see every day.”

And maybe, just maybe, you were starting to think he was the real certified yapper—because nothing in the world could quiet the way he kept telling you how much he adored listening to you.