HIII I'd absolutely love requesting something for Andrew my man, since I'm on holiday I had this idea of him and reader doing a vacation together, like something cute where maybe he takes her to Italy?
Thank you pookie 🫶🏼
𝑳𝒂 𝑴𝒊𝒂 𝑻𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒂 ♡︎ (Andrew DeLuca X FemReader)
Content: Fluff, Smut Hinted At The Beggining, Andrew Speaking In Italian, Impulsive Plans, Idk What Else To Tag,
The sheets were a tangled mess beneath you, damp with the heat of your bodies and the lingering scent of skin and salt. Andrew’s weight settled over you like a warm, heavy blanket, his forehead pressed to yours, breaths coming in slow, uneven pulls. He was still inside you, soft now, but neither of you made any move to separate.
You felt the quiet thrum of his heartbeat against your chest, steady and familiar. His fingers traced idle patterns along your side, down the curve of your hip, then back up again, as if he needed the reminder that you were real and still there.
“Cara mia,” he murmured, the words rough with exhaustion and something softer. His lips brushed the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then the damp hair stuck to your temple. “You are going to kill me one day.”
A tired laugh slipped out of you. You turned your head just enough to catch his mouth properly, kissing him slow and lazy, the kind of kiss that didn’t ask for anything more than the simple fact of being close. His hand came up to cup your face, thumb stroking along your jaw as he kissed you back with the same unhurried tenderness.
When he finally eased out of you, it was with a quiet sound of reluctance. He rolled onto his side and immediately pulled you with him, tucking you against his chest so your leg slid over his hip and your face found the warm space beneath his jaw. One of his hands settled at the small of your back, the other tangled loosely in your hair.
The city hummed faintly beyond the windows, distant and unimportant. Inside the room there was only the soft rhythm of his breathing, the residual heat of his skin, and the way his thumb kept brushing back and forth over the same small patch of your spine like he couldn’t quite stop touching you.
You felt him smile against your hair.
“Stay right here,” he whispered, voice low and thick with contentment. “Just like this. For a little while longer.”
You closed your eyes and let yourself sink into the solid, familiar warmth of him, already half-asleep and perfectly, completely content.
You laughed against his chest, the sound soft and a little breathless, still warm from everything you’d just done.
“We literally just started our vacation,” you said, tipping your head back so you could see his face. “If we keep this up I’m either coming back pregnant or in a wheelchair. Possibly both.”
Andrew’s eyes crinkled at the corners, that slow, private smile spreading across his mouth. He brushed a damp strand of hair away from your cheek with the back of his fingers.“Both would be impressive,” he murmured, voice still rough with sleep and satisfaction. “But maybe we should leave the bed for a few hours at least.”
You arched a brow, ready with another teasing reply, but the look on his face shifted something quieter, almost careful, settling into his expression. His hand slid down your spine and rested there, warm and steady.
“What if we actually left on vacation?” he asked. The words came out soft, almost like he was testing them. “Italy. The Mediterranean is… perfect in summer. Warm water, long evenings, the kind of light that makes everything look golden. I want you to see it. My land. The places I grew up hearing about, the ones that still feel like home even when I’m oceans away.”
He paused, thumb stroking small circles against your back. “I want to show you,” he said simply. “Not as a tourist. Just… with me.”
The quiet between you felt full rather than empty. Outside, the city kept moving, but inside the room it was only the two of you, still tangled together, still smelling of each other, and the soft, hopeful weight of the idea he’d just placed between your hearts.
“Then find the earliest flight,” you whispered. “I don’t want to wait.”
Andrew’s eyes widened for half a second before a bright, almost boyish grin broke across his face. He laughed under his breath, the sound warm and disbelieving, and rolled you both so he was half on top of you again, peppering quick kisses along your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.
“Sei seria?” he asked, voice low and full of quiet excitement. “Really?”
You nodded, fingers already sliding into his hair. “Really. Book it. Right now. Before you change your mind or the hospital decides we never actually left.”
He reached blindly for his phone on the nightstand without ever fully leaving your body, still half-laughing as he unlocked the screen with one hand while the other stayed firmly around your waist. The soft glow lit the side of his face as he scrolled, muttering half in Italian, half in English about times and connections.
You watched him, heart ridiculously full, still sticky and warm and completely his in the tangled sheets.
“Done,” he said after a minute, dropping the phone somewhere near the pillows and pulling you closer again. “We leave in two days.”
He kissed you once more, deeper this time, the kind of kiss that already tasted a little like salt air and future sunlight.“Italy,” he murmured against your lips, almost to himself. “I’m taking you home I'm taking you to la mia terra.”
You barely slept the next two nights. Every time one of you closed your eyes the other would lean over with another idea—beaches, little trattorias, the exact shade of blue the water was supposed to be in August—until laughter and soft kisses stole the hours away.
By the time the alarm went off at four in the morning you had managed to fill exactly one shared suitcase. It sat open on the bedroom floor like a quiet joke: a tangle of his shirts and your dresses, one pair of his sneakers, your favorite sandals, a single bottle of sunscreen, and the half-empty tube of toothpaste you both used. No careful folding. No separate bags. Just the two of you deciding, over and over, that whatever you forgot you would simply buy together once you landed.
Andrew zipped it shut with a soft, satisfied sound and swung it off the floor as if it weighed nothing.“Lightest suitcase I’ve ever packed,” he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “We’re doing this right.”
The city was still dark and quiet when you left the apartment. Streetlights painted long gold streaks across the empty pavement. You walked close enough that your shoulders brushed with every step, the suitcase rolling steadily behind him. At the curb he loaded it into the trunk of the waiting car, then opened the back door for you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The airport at that hour felt half-asleep. Soft fluorescent lights, the low hum of early flights, the occasional soft announcement in the distance. Andrew kept one hand in yours the entire time—through security, through the quiet coffee line, all the way to the gate. When the boarding call finally came he squeezed your fingers once, eyes bright despite the hour.
“Ready?” he asked, voice low and warm.
You nodded, smiling so wide it almost hurt, and stepped forward together into the soft blue light of the jet bridge, the single suitcase already checked and somewhere ahead of you, carrying everything you needed and nothing you didn’t.
The soft jolt of the landing gear touching the runway stirred you only halfway. You were still curled against Andrew’s shoulder, one of his hands resting lightly over yours on the armrest, the cabin quiet except for the low murmur of the crew and the distant hum of engines winding down.
You felt his lips first—warm, careful, pressed to your forehead, then the bridge of your nose, then the corner of your mouth.
“Amore mio,” he whispered, voice low and rough with the long flight. “Siamo arrivati. Svegliati, tesoro… siamo in Italia.”
You blinked slowly, vision still soft and unfocused, and found him leaning over you with that quiet, private smile he saved only for mornings and moments like this. His dark eyes were bright despite the hour, hair a little messy from the journey.“I don’t even understand you when I’m awake,” you mumbled, voice thick with sleep, still smiling against the hand that had come up to cup your cheek. “And now you’re doing this while I’m half-dreaming?”
Andrew laughed under his breath, the sound warm and fond, and kissed you properly this time—slow and sweet, tasting faintly of the coffee he’d had somewhere over the Atlantic.“Benvenuta a casa,” he murmured against your lips, then translated with a soft grin, “Welcome home.”
Outside the small oval window the early Italian sun was already climbing, painting the tarmac in gold. You were still half-asleep, still giggling quietly into his shoulder, but the reality of it settled gently around you both: you had landed.
The moment your feet touched solid ground again, Andrew didn’t give you the chance to walk more than a few steps.
With a quiet laugh he swept you up into his arms, one strong arm under your knees, the other around your back, as if the long flight had never happened and you weighed nothing at all. You let out a soft surprised sound that turned into another sleepy giggle, arms looping around his neck while he carried you through the quiet early-morning terminal like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You’re ridiculous,” you murmured against his shoulder, but you didn’t ask him to put you down.
“I know,” he answered, voice low and warm near your ear. “But we’re in Italy now. Different rules apply.”
He kept walking, the single shared suitcase rolling behind him somehow, and began to speak in that soft, rolling way he only used when he was truly happy.“We’re going straight to Tuscany,” he said. “I found a little stone house in the hills outside of a village you’ve never heard of. Olive trees right outside the bedroom window. A kitchen that still smells like wood smoke and lemon. We’ll wake up late every morning. Drive to the market for peaches and fresh bread. Swim in a river that no one else seems to know about. Eat dinner outside under the vines until the candles burn low.”
He pressed a kiss to your temple as he stepped through the automatic doors into the soft Italian morning air.“And the sunsets,” he continued, almost reverent. “There’s nothing like a Tuscan sunset. The whole sky turns the color of ripe apricots and the fields go gold. It’s the most beautiful view in the world…”
He slowed, adjusting you slightly in his arms so he could look at your face properly. His smile turned quieter, deeper.“…except for the one I get every single day when I look at you.”
You felt your cheeks warm even in the cool morning breeze. Andrew only grinned wider, pressed one more soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, and kept walking toward the waiting car, still carrying you like he had no intention of setting you down anytime soon.
The narrow road wound gently through the hills, lined with cypress trees that stood tall and dark against the soft morning light. Andrew had parked the little rented car at the edge of a gravel path, insisting the last stretch was better on foot. The single suitcase rolled quietly behind him while you walked side by side, shoulders brushing every few steps.
The air smelled of warm earth, rosemary, and something sweet you couldn’t name yet. Cicadas had already started their low summer song in the distance.
Andrew’s voice was quiet as he spoke, almost as if he didn’t want to disturb the stillness around you.“I used to come here every August when I was a kid,” he said, glancing at the rolling fields that stretched out on either side. “My nonna had a house just over that ridge. Smaller than the one we’re staying in, but it had the same kind of stone walls. Thick. Cool even in the heat.”
He smiled at some private memory.“She’d wake me up before sunrise to help her pick tomatoes. I complained every single time, but the second we got back to the kitchen she’d let me eat the warm ones straight from the basket with a little salt. Best thing I’ve ever tasted.” His hand found yours as you walked. “Carina and I used to race down these exact hills on old bikes that barely had brakes. We’d come home scraped up and laughing, and Nonna would just shake her head and feed us anyway.” He paused for a moment, looking out at the golden slopes.“I haven’t been back since she passed. It always felt… too quiet without her. But walking here with you—” He squeezed your fingers gently. “It feels different. Like the place is breathing again.”
The path curved, and there it was: a small stone cabin nestled among olive trees, its wooden shutters still closed against the morning, a climbing vine of pale yellow roses already reaching toward the door.
Andrew slowed, his smile soft and full of something that looked a lot like home.
“Almost there,” he murmured.
The path ended at a low stone wall, and beyond it the cabin waited—simple, sun-washed, with pale wooden shutters and a climbing rose that had already started to open in the morning light. Andrew set the suitcase down and pushed the old iron gate open with his shoulder, then stepped aside so you could walk through first.
You barely made it three steps before the view stopped you completely.
The land dropped away in soft golden slopes of olive trees and wild grass, and there, at the edge of everything, the sea stretched out in a wide, glittering blue that seemed to go on forever. The morning sun caught the water and turned it into a thousand shifting pieces of light. A gentle breeze carried the salt and the scent of warm earth all the way up to the little terrace in front of the cabin.
Andrew came up behind you, close enough that you felt the heat of him even without touching. His hands settled lightly on your waist as he looked over your shoulder at the same endless blue.“I told you,” he said quietly, almost like he was afraid to break the spell. “There’s nothing like it.”
You could only nod, still taking it in the way the hills rolled down to meet the water, the distant white of a sail far out on the horizon, the soft sound of cicadas mixing with the faint hush of waves.
Andrew rested his chin on your shoulder for a moment, then pressed a slow kiss to the side of your neck.“Welcome to our home for the next two weeks,” he murmured. “Sea in the front, olive trees in the back, and you right here in the middle of it all.”
He reached past you to unlock the weathered wooden door, but neither of you moved just yet. The view held you both still, the Mediterranean gleaming under the climbing sun like it had been waiting specifically for this exact morning.
Andrew’s hand rested on the old wooden door handle, but he didn’t push it open.
Instead he turned to face you fully, the sea still glittering behind him, the morning light catching the soft gold in his eyes. For a second he just looked at you—really looked—like he was memorizing the exact way the breeze moved your hair. “Before we go in,” he said, voice low and suddenly careful, “I need to tell you something. Something important.”
You tilted your head, still half-smiling from the view, but the quiet seriousness in his tone made your pulse skip.
He reached down, unzipped the front pocket of the shared suitcase, and pulled out a small dark box. The moment it appeared in his hand the entire world seemed to narrow to the space between the two of you. Andrew swallowed once, then slowly lowered himself onto one knee right there on the sun-warmed stone of the terrace, the sea stretching endlessly behind him.
He opened the box without speaking.
The ring caught the light—simple, elegant, a soft glint of gold and a single clear stone that seemed to hold the same blue as the water below. Andrew looked up at you, heart visible in his eyes, but he still hadn’t said the words. He was simply there, kneeling, waiting, the open ring box resting in his open palm like an unspoken promise.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and steady, almost reverent, as if every word had been waiting years to be said. “Amore della mia vita,” he began, eyes never leaving yours. “From the first time I saw you I knew the world had shifted. You walked into my life like sunlight through old stone—warm, unexpected, impossible to ignore. You made the long nights shorter. You made the hard days softer. You made me believe that home wasn’t a place… it was a person.”
He swallowed, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small, emotional smile. “I have loved you in quiet hospital corridors and in the middle of chaotic mornings. I have loved you when you were laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe, and when you were tired and needed only silence. I have loved you in every language I know, and still it never feels like enough.”His free hand reached for yours, fingers threading through your own as if grounding himself. “Ti amo,” he whispered. “Ti amo più di quanto le parole possano dire. You are my favorite view, my safest place, the reason I want to wake up every single day. Marry me. Let me spend the rest of my life learning every version of you. Let me build a life that smells like olive trees and sea salt and us. Let me love you the way you deserve—completely, endlessly, without fear.”
He lifted the ring a little higher, the stone catching the morning light like a tiny piece of the Mediterranean itself. “Sposami, amore mio,” he said, voice barely above a prayer. “Be my wife. Be my forever. Let me come home to you for the rest of our lives.”
Tears blurred your vision before you could even speak. One slipped down your cheek, then another, warm against the soft morning air. You nodded first—once, then again, faster—because the word felt too small for everything swelling inside your chest.
“Yes,” you finally whispered, voice breaking on the single syllable. “Yes, Andrew. Yes.”
A sound left him that was half laugh, half sob. He slipped the ring onto your finger with hands that trembled just enough for you to feel it, then rose in one smooth motion and pulled you into him.
You kissed him through the tears—salty, smiling, almost laughing against his mouth. His arms wrapped tightly around you, one hand cradling the back of your head as if he was afraid you might disappear. The kiss deepened, slow and full of everything neither of you could say out loud yet: relief, joy, the quiet certainty that this was exactly where you were both meant to be.
When you finally pulled back just enough to breathe, Andrew rested his forehead against yours. His thumbs gently brushed the wetness from your cheeks, and his own eyes were shining.
“Dio mio,” he murmured, voice rough with emotion. “You said yes.”
You laughed softly through the tears and kissed him again, shorter this time, smiling against his lips as the sea glittered behind you and the ring caught the light between your bodies like a quiet promise already kept.
Is hard finding another girl who loves DeLuca so is it to much to ask for a fluff fic of him based on Daylight by Taylor swift
❛ Daylight ❜
𐙚⋆.˚₊ 𝘗𝘈𝘐𝘙𝘐𝘕𝘎: Andrew DeLuca x f!reader ♡
𐙚⋆.˚₊ 𝘊𝘞: none
𐙚⋆.˚₊ 𝘈/𝘕: AHHH I actually love you so much for requesting this omg. Hope you like it !!!!
Right when you swore to be done with everything and everyone, life decided to reward you with Andrew DeLuca. You were’t looking for something like this, hell the last thing you needed right now was another relationship. All they had brought you was just pain and tears, they made you tough and you weren’t willing to experience it again soon for sure. Well, that’s what you thought before his green eyes flashed at you for the first time, making you wish for nothing else but sinking into them.
It was like an instant attraction, it was incredibly stupid and you often tried to convince yourself you could just ignore it. You had left a whole life behind, you moved from Boston to Seattle and now you were settling in well at Grey Sloan. You wanted to build a new life, far from people you did not need and places that only held bad memories, and you were succeeding in it. You were genuinely happy, and you had absolutely zero intention to ruin everything.
Come on, after all you didn’t like him that much. ‘Liar’ the voice in your head would repeat. Truth was that the fear of suffering again was stronger than all of that and all you were doing was just trying to protect yourself. But Andrew never gave up on you. He had seen you before you even noticed him.
Despite interacting with people wasn’t really your thing, you didn’t want to look rude or something, especially when all he did was being the sweetest to you since your first day. Everytime you felt a bit sad he would do his best to lighten your mood and get a smile out of you. He loved making you laugh, that quickly became his favourite sound. He was always by your side to comfort you after a loss of a patient or just to listen to any of your rantings.
Long story short, while a part of you was too busy to fight those growing feelings, the other part ended up falling in love with every single detail about him. You realized you were screwed when instead of actually listening to what he was saying you caught yourself staring like an idiot. Only the sight of him could calm the storm in your head. You couldn’t stop yourself from thinking about anything else but him. Actually you didn’t want to.
Whenever you looked for him in a room, his eyes were already on you. Admiring you as a slight blush would cover your cheeks the moment you noticed had turned into his favourite activity. God, he wanted you. The only thing that was stopping him was your past. You meant too much to him and after you had opened up to him the last thing he wanted was making you feel uncomfortable. Or to ruin the bond between you two. You were his favourite person, the only one he could truly be himself around.
However one night, outside the hospital, when all that yearning suddenly became too much, his lips crashed onto yours in a kiss that finally revealed all that repressed love. You kissed him back, fuck that was all you were waiting for. But right when everything seemed to be perfect, the fear came back.
The insecurities you thought to be dead were haunting you again, making you push him away without wanting to. You needed time, you didn’t want him to deal with the mess inside you. He knew it and understood completely, never blaming you for anything. All he wanted was making you the happiest woman alive and giving you everything you deserved. So, he waited. He actually waited for you. And that’s when you finally understood you couldn’t lose him.
Time flew, and you were so glad you had given him a chance. Since then, all your days had been wonderful, and those unfamiliar positive feelings had also made you softer. Oh no, worse, you had even become sappy. With Andrew, you learnt to trust again, to worry less, and to believe in something you had given up on long ago, love. What you had always assumed to be pathetic was instead able to pull you out of the black and white world that trapped you, showing you colors you didn’t know you needed in your life and replacing all the darkness with a golden glow.
You leaned against the doorframe of your room and smiled as you looked at him still asleep in your bed, the early morning light filtered through the window, caressing his skin. You walked towards the bed and gently climbed on top of him, kissing his cheek softly. Before opening his eyes, a small smile crossed his lips feeling your presence and your warm against his body.
“Morning” his hands quickly found your hips, holding you closer and kissing your lips softly. “How long have you been awake?” he asked still sounding sleepy.
“Enough to make breakfast” you said feeling quite proud of yourself.
“Oh”
“Oh?” you raised an eyebrow at his reaction.
“Well, last time you tried to poison me” he reminded you, making you roll your eyes.
“I had only messed up with some ingredients!”
“And almost burnt my kitchen”
“I had a night shift that day...” you tried to justify yourself.
He chuckled softly. “I’m joking bella, I’d eat anything made by you. Whether it is rotten or poisoned”
“Come on, am I really so bad?”
“No, you’re perfect” His hand reached your hair, playing with it while his other arm still wrapped around your waist. “And I love you so much” as he pronounced those words he gave you that look that never failed to melt you.
“I love you more” you smiled before kissing him again, this time more intensely. There wasn’t any other place you felt as safe as in his arms. During moments like this, nothing else mattered and all you could see was just you and him, intertwined and lost in each other.
Summary: In the middle of long shifts, exhausting cases, and the constant chaos of Grey Sloan Memorial, you cope the only way you know how—terrible jokes. The kind that make people groan, roll their eyes, or walk away mid-punchline. But Andrew DeLuca? He never walks away. Instead, he listens to every painfully corny joke like it’s the highlight of his day…because to him, you are.
The ER was chaos.
It always was—but tonight felt louder. Monitors beeping, nurses calling out vitals, stretchers rushing past. Through it all, Andrew DeLuca moved quickly, focused, calm in the way that made everyone trust him without question.
You, on the other hand, were leaning against the nurses’ station, watching him with a grin that could only mean trouble.
“Hey, DeLuca,” you called.
He didn’t look up immediately. “If this is another one of your jokes—”
“Why don’t skeletons fight each other?”
That got his attention. He sighed, already knowing. “Why?”
You beamed. “Because they don’t have the guts.”
There was a pause.
A nurse nearby groaned. Someone muttered, “Please make it stop.”
But Andrew? He smiled.
Not just a polite smile—a real one. Soft, amused, a little fond.
“That’s terrible,” he said, shaking his head as he walked over.
You gasped. “Excuse you, that was clever.”
“Mm,” he hummed, grabbing a chart. “If by clever you mean deeply concerning.”
You nudged his arm. “You laughed.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
He didn’t argue further, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
---
Later, when things slowed (slightly—this was still Grey Sloan), you found him again.
“Okay, okay,” you said, practically bouncing with excitement. “I’ve got another one.”
Andrew leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “I’m scared.”
“You should be. What do you call fake spaghetti?”
He closed his eyes briefly, like he was preparing himself. “I don’t know.”
“An impasta.”
Silence.
Then—
Andrew laughed.
Actually laughed.
It was quiet at first, like he tried to hold it in, but it slipped out anyway. Warm, genuine, impossible to miss.
You froze, eyes wide. “Wait—you liked that one.”
He shook his head, still smiling. “No, no, that was awful.”
“But you laughed!”
“I’m laughing at you,” he corrected gently.
You narrowed your eyes. “Wow. Rude.”
But you were smiling too.
---
It became a thing after that.
Between patients, during late-night charting, even in the elevator—you’d hit him with another joke.
“Why did the math book look sad?”
“Why?”
“Because it had too many problems.”
“…You’re unbelievable.”
“Thank you.”
And every time, Andrew reacted the same way—soft smile, slight head shake, eyes lingering on you a little longer than necessary.
Not because the jokes were funny.
But because you were.
---
One night, after a particularly brutal shift, the hospital finally quieted.
You found Andrew sitting alone, exhaustion written all over him. His shoulders slumped, eyes tired, hands resting loosely in his lap.
You hesitated for a second…then walked over.
“Hey,” you said softly.
He looked up, and just seeing you seemed to ease something in his expression. “Hey.”
You sat beside him. “Rough night?”
“Yeah.”
There was a small pause.
Then you brightened. “Do you want to hear a joke?”
He let out a quiet breath—almost a laugh already. “Of course you’re going to tell me one anyway.”
“Correct. What do you call a can opener that doesn’t work?”
He glanced at you, tired but attentive. “What?”
“A can’t opener.”
For a second, he just stared at you.
Then he laughed again—tired, a little quieter this time, but real.
You grinned, proud. “That one was good, admit it.”
He looked at you—really looked at you—and something in his expression softened even more.
“It was…” he said slowly, “incredibly bad.”
You scoffed.
“But,” he added, voice gentler now, “I like hearing them.”
Your smile faltered just slightly, caught off guard. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He leaned a little closer, bumping your shoulder with his. “Because you think they’re funny.”
You blinked. “They are funny.”
He smiled, eyes warm. “That’s what makes them good.”
Your heart did a weird, unexpected flip.
“…I have more,” you said after a second, quieter now.
“I know,” he replied.
And he didn’t move away.
---
You kept telling your terrible, ridiculous, absolutely awful jokes.
And Andrew DeLuca kept listening to every single one—like they were the best thing he’d heard all day.
All Marina Scenes || Grey’s Anatomy - 17.08 ‘It’s All Too Much’
Grey-Sloan is a family. And Andrew DeLuca was a member of that family. And his death, however brave... well, it's still heartbreaking. We can't honor his life like we might have in the past, but we can still honor him.
