Sade Olutola
Product Placement
Kiana Khansmith
Kaledo Art
Claire Keane
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
No title available
DEAR READER
Andulka
Cosimo Galluzzi
Discoholic 🪩
JBB: An Artblog!
cherry valley forever
ojovivo
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
we're not kids anymore.
AnasAbdin
Cosmic Funnies
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
KIROKAZE
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Poland
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Israel
seen from United Kingdom
seen from India
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Italy
seen from Romania
seen from Switzerland
seen from Pakistan
seen from United States
@balletteens
♥︎ Navigation.
she!her. estp-t. capricorn. hopeless romantic. thriller movies nerd. writing when my mind feels like flying. english it's not my first language. obsessed with movies/tv shows/books and spotify. requests are always open for you (but you must be kind and have patience).
masterlist. wattpad.
✸ My latest works: That’s how they roll (Dean Di Laurentis)
hi :) you don’t have to do this request if you don’t want to btw. no pressure lol. i want to request a dean di laurentis x reader fic about him trying to win her back after they broke up. the reader struggles with mental health or something, so she breaks up with him. she tries to move on by being with other guys but dean gets jealous. he does his own campus wide hands-off rule like garrett did lol. thank you :))
OMG, i LOOOVE this!!! will come back soon with this 🙌🏻🩷
✿ That’s how they roll.
Dean Di Laurentis x fem!reader. word count: +700.
a/n. Can’t say much, this is just how you and Dean roll. (You can go make some request if you want! <3)
warnings & tags. Established relationship. Headcanon. Petnames. No use of y/n. Kissing. English isn’t my first language. masterlist
❪ ⭑ ❫ Everyone thought they knew every side of Dean Di Laurentis, or at least his closest friends and family did, but they all had to take it back once they realized there was a completely unknown side of him. The side of Dean Di Laurentis in love.
❪ ⭑ ❫ At first, he thought it wouldn’t be obvious, but let’s be honest, since when did Dean Di Laurentis ever come home alone with a smile bigger than usual? Definitely since he met you.
❪ ⭑ ❫ It was impossible for Dean not to want you by his side every single day. From going together to Briar University every morning, to having you at every one of his hockey games.
❪ ⭑ ❫ He introduces you to everyone as “my girl” even in situations where it’s absolutely unnecessary. Delivery guy? “Thanks, man, my girl’s starving” Random freshman asking for directions? “Yeah, my girl and I can show you” Someone complimenting your outfit? “Yeah, my girlfriend has great taste” Nobody asked him if you were his girlfriend, but he’ll say it anyway with a big smile that could feel almost fake.
❪ ⭑ ❫ How could anyone forget the day you decided to play a small prank on Dean by wearing the team jersey with John Logan’s name on it. You had never seen Dean so serious in your life, in fact, you didn’t think anyone could look that serious. It’s also impossible to forget how he tossed the jersey aside, took off the one he was wearing, and put it on you without listening to a single word. “I could actually throw away every single one of his jersey’s if I ever see you again with one” he said that day rolling his eyes, but a smile appeared when he saw you smiling.
❪ ⭑ ❫ Dean is always there for you, so when it came to chasing your dreams, he was the one sitting in the front row, watching you with a smile that gave you confidence and made you feel safe.
❪ ⭑ ❫ You probably don’t know anyone more intense than Dean when it comes to hair caresses. It became a habit that every time you were lying down together, he’d rest his head on your chest and you had to run your fingers through his hair. It was impossible to stop until he was fully asleep, because otherwise a confused whisper like “Baby, don’t stop” followed with a pout.
❪ ⭑ ❫ You had never stepped foot on a rink in your life until Dean decided it would be fun. However, after several falls and endless teasing from the blond, he decided it was better to stay home watching your favorite movies, even though neither of you were actually watching the TV.
❪ ⭑ ❫ Dean is definitely not a morning person, but he becomes one if it means waking up with you tangled in his arms. He’ll bury his face in your neck, your head resting on his arm, and the other one on your waist pushing you against him, then mumble something like “Five more minutes, babe” and refuse to let you go even if you’re already an hour late. It was totally normal now to arrive late to places thanks to his bad habits and your lack of strength to refuse.
❪ ⭑ ❫ He pretends he doesn’t care when you steal his hoodies, but the truth is he loves it. He’ll tease you about hiding them, but the moment he sees you in your apartment wearing one, he gets that smug little grin that gives him away. Let’s not even talk about how he bites his lower lip and looks you up and down every time you show up at the University with one of his hoddies.
❪ ⭑ ❫ Dean isn’t subtle at all when it comes to PDA. If you’re out with friends, he’ll sit behind you, wrap his arms around your waist, rest his chin on your head (thanks to the height difference), and kiss your cheek every few minutes. Tucker calls it “gross” but Dean just flips him off, completely ignoring him.
❪ ⭑ ❫ After every game, even if he wins or loses, he searches for you first. The second he spots you, his whole expression softens in a way only you ever get to see, because he only feels this safe with you. He pulls you into his arms being all sweaty and catching his breath, to then bury his face in your neck for a moment longer than necessary, like he needs it to keep going. His voice always drops a little when he whispers “Thank you for coming, baby. I love you”
i am sooo enamored with your writings! please keep the benito works coming i LOVE them!! you’re amazing!!! and super duper sweet!!! thank you for gracing me with ur amazing work!!
omg you are so sweet, thank you so much love 🤍 will try to!!
hii! lovee your benito imagines so muchh <33 you're amazing!
can i ask if your requests are open?
hello!! yes, they’re always open 🤍
✿ Top of his list.
Bad Bunny x girlfriend!reader.
summary. It’s just another day at one of Benito’s show, but this time a weird fan makes you uncomfortable and people know that Benito does not play when it comes to his girl.
warnings & tags. fem!reader. headcanons. a guy being weird. fluff. mentions of making out. overprotective beni. words in spanish. english isn’t my first language.
a/n. sooo it was my man’s birthday and that’s enough for me to come back!! masterlist
bf!benito who will always do whatever’s in his power to keep you happy and safe.
bf!benito who takes you with him to all his shows and saves special spots for you every time so you can enjoy the concert even more.
bf!benito who always has his eyes on you whenever you’re in “La Casita.”
bf!benito who knows the house sometimes ends up with more people than expected, so he’s always making sure no one gets too close or pushes you.
bf!benito who comes up to you every time he walks past, giving you flirty smiles or a wink that made your legs shake. And on different occasions he spent more time by your side, whether singing with his hand on your lower back —almost your ass—, or, as on other occasions, singing while you both danced with your bodies close together and smiles on both your faces.
bf!benito who completely stops when he notices some random guy trying to get close to you in a way he shouldn’t.
bf!benito who doesn’t hesitate for even a second to stop singing and walk toward you with long strides.
Benito was standing in front of you and the man nobody knew. The guy’s hands tried to reach your waist to pull your body against his, but Benito got there first. Without thinking, he dropped his drink, alcohol spilling all over the floor, and shoved the man away from you with force. “Cabron, ¿quien tu ere’?” (Asshole, who even are you?) he said, trying to move the mic away from his lips, but it was useless since his low words echoed through the speakers. “Aléjate de mi mujer” (Stay away from my woman)
bf!benito who pointed his head subtly toward the man, and just like that, his security had him gone in seconds.
bf!benito who didn’t care about the show at all and let them know he needed a few minutes. Without saying anything else, he walked into the house, guiding you with his hand on your lower back, always gentle.
bf!benito who would keep everyone outside so it was just the two of you. “¿’Tas bien, mami?” (You okay, mami?) he’d ask softly, pressing your foreheads together and moving his hands to your cheeks.
bf!benito who would listen to you trying to reassure him that you’re fine, but he’d have a hard time believing it. He hates feeling like he can’t keep his promises, and taking care of you is at the top of his list.
bf!benito who, after you told him multiple times that he needed to go back to his show (and argued because he wasn’t sure it was the best idea), finally agreed with a small pout and an eye roll, and after a little make out session well needed.
bf!benito who’s always worried about your safety, but this time even more. He tried to keep you close to his friends and people you both trusted, and every time he felt someone getting closer than they should, he’d shoot them a serious look, shaking his head slightly. Nobody gets closer than they need to.
bf!benito who says “Eso es lo que pasa cuando andan pasados. Eso no” (That’s what happens when people get outta pocket. That’s a no) pointing at the hallway where the man had been taken minutes earlier by security. He said it with both eyebrows raised, then gave you another wink before going back to the show once again.
hiii! 🤍
I have some bad bunny fics and headcanons half done, are we still interested??? 🤭
just discovered ur wattpad story… it’s so so so good
OMG WHAT! thank you so much, ur so sweet 🤍🤍
♥︎ La noche de anoche.
Bad Bunny x girlfriend!reader. word count: 2.7k
summary. Benito can't sleep the night before his new album comes out.
warnings & tags. fem!reader. established relationship. fluff. a little bit angsty but nothing too serious. panic attacks. mentions of DtMF. words in spanish. english isn't my first language.
a/n. hii! so i watched recently one of benito's interviews where he said that the night before DtMF dropped he woke up feeling anxious, so i thought i could do smth w that. hope you like it 🤍🐸 Credits to the owners of the dividers! masterlist
Benito was one of those people who put every part of themselves into what they loved.
When he cooked —something he loved doing whenever he could— he made an effort to get every detail perfect, just the way you liked it and the way he liked it. When he played dominoes with his friends and family, he did whatever it took to give his all and make the game especially incredible.
So it was no surprise that when he made new music, he tried to make every detail, every melody, every lyric perfect.
Debí Tirar Más Fotos was his most precious album. It was a part of him he had never fully shown his fans. Part of him was nervous, thinking maybe it wouldn't be good enough, but another part reassured him that it would go well, that his fans would recognize the dedication behind all that work and appreciate it deeply.
The last few days had been a nightmare for Benito.
Despite loving his work and giving everything he had, he had a tendency to leave everything for the last minute. Sometimes unintentionally, sometimes on purpose. But it had happened again, so this last week had been spent working every minute and every hour of the day, leaving him maybe 4 or 3 hours of sleep.
His day consisted of waking up earlier than he wanted to admit, running to the kitchen where he would find you with a smile and a coffee waiting for him. He would tell you he loved you in murmurs while pressing his chest against your back. He wished he could spend more time with you, but it wasn't possible no matter how hard he tried.
You spent at least 30 minutes together in the morning. Benito rushed around the house between outfit changes and his coffee, which always spilled a few drops because he walked so fast.
You always scolded him, rolling your eyes. Still, he would walk up to you and say “Perdóname, mami. Tú sabe' que yo te amo.” (Forgive me, mami. You know I love you) with a sly smile, leaving quick kisses on your lips before grabbing a napkin to clean his mess.
Some days you accompanied him to the studio. You gave ideas that sometimes worked and sometimes didn't. On those days, he got excited. There were few days when you were free to spend time with him even while he worked, but when you did, Benito got more excited than he admitted.
He spent hours with his coworkers and friends writing and recording, but in other moments he came over to you. Sometimes he sat on the couch and pulled you onto his lap, leaving caresses and squeezes on your thighs. Other times he hugged you from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaving wet kisses on your neck and cheek.
“Let me know when you get tired y te dejo en la casa, mami.” (and I'll take you home, mami) he said every time you accompanied him to the studio.
When he saw you blinking more than usual, he made sure to stop for a moment to take you home. He knew he was short on time to release his album, but he would never let his girl feel uncomfortable or unable to do something because of him. Never.
However, those busy days had finally ended. That same day, hours before releasing the album, he had finished his new project.
Before sleeping, he had talked to you. He told you in whispers, lying in your shared bed, how excited he was. Lying like little kids again, with a sheet over your heads, confessing small secrets you might not have told each other before. Between laughter, caresses, and kisses, you both fell asleep. You rested with your head on his chest, while he held you with both arms around your body, as if he didn't want you to go too far while you slept.
It didn't feel like much time had passed since you closed your eyes when you felt your head hit the pillow in a sudden movement. Blinking quickly, you noticed Benito sitting up, his chest rising faster than normal.
“Beni?” you whispered, not knowing what was happening. You pushed yourself up on your elbows, getting closer to him but not touching him yet.
Benito placed both hands over his face, dragging them up into his hair and leaving them there. His chest kept moving rapidly. Worried, you placed your hand on his bare back, noticing it was covered in sweat.
“Hey” you said softly, bringing your hand to his cheek, trying to gently guide his face toward you, but not applying enough pressure in case that wasn't what he wanted.
He removed his hands from his head and pointed at his chest, trying to say he couldn't breathe well, that his heart was beating much faster than normal. You understood immediately because it wasn't the first time.
“It's okay, baby.” you whispered into his ear, leaving a soft kiss there.
You tried to get out of bed to open the windows. In moments like this, you had learned that the best thing for him was to let the air circulate, to help him feel like he could breathe better. However, you knew he needed you close. So it wasn't surprising when he grabbed your wrist —between uneven breaths— when you moved a few centimeters too far.
“I'm going to open the windows quickly and I'll be right back, I'm not going anywhere. Lo prometo, amor.” (I promise, love) you said, caressing his hand gently. Only then did he calm down enough to let you go.
You quickly walked to the windows, opening them as much as you could; the streetlights and moonlight entered, illuminating the room a bit more. Then you opened the bathroom door and the bedroom door before returning to the bed.
That was when you could finally see his face completely. There were tears on his cheeks, and his cheeks were redder than usual, something that happened when he was overheated or feeling something intensely. His lips were also redder from biting them. One of his hands pressed against his chest, right over his heart.
“No-No puedo...” (I-I can't...) he tried to say while staring at the mattress.
“¿No puedes qué, Beni? Tell me, love, I'm right here.” (Can't what, Beni?) you said, sitting in front of him, placing your hands on his thighs because you didn't want to invade his space completely.
“No puedo subirlo...” (I can't drop it...) he finally said after a few seconds of silence and doubtful glances. “I can't do it.”
That was when you truly understood what it was all about.
“No le va a gustar. No va a ser suficiente.” (They're not going to like it. It's not going to be enough.)
Benito spoke nonstop while shaking his head. You felt your heart break into tiny pieces seeing the tears falling from his eyes.
You knew the connection he had with this album. With his country, with his family, with every moment he had lived. It was his most precious work.
“Beni...” you tried to speak, but your voice cracked on its own.
“Se siente horrible porque sé que personas seguirán criticando sin siquiera saber quién soy. Pero quizás esto no es para mí, quizás es demasiado y lo que estoy por lanzar no será suficiente.” (It feels horrible because I know people will keep criticizing without even knowing who I am. But maybe this isn't for me, maybe it's too much and what I'm about to release won't be enough.) he said in Spanish, feeling safer in that language. Even then, his voice broke every few seconds, as if he couldn't let it all out without falling apart.
Benito kept breathing fast, as if each inhale cost him more than the last. His fingers trembled slightly as he wiped his tears with the inside of his wrist.
“It's just... I don't know, mami,” he murmured softly, almost embarrassed to hear himself. “Siento que... que no va a ser suficiente. Que... que la gente va a pensar que estoy... que estoy bajando, ¿me entiende'? Que ya no soy el mismo.” (I feel like... like it's not going to be enough. That... that people are going to think I'm... that I'm going downhill, you know? That I'm not the same anymore)
He shook his head again, pressing his lips together until they turned even redder.
“And I... I tried, really. I put everything into it. Everything I had. But... I don't know if that's enough.”
You, who knew him better than anyone, didn't contradict him immediately. You didn't say “of course it is” because you knew he couldn't receive that in this state. What he needed was to feel seen, not corrected.
You moved closer, slowly, like approaching a frightened little animal you didn't want to scare. You placed your hand over his, the one pressing his chest.
“Beni... mírame un momento, amor.” (Look at me for a moment, love)
He took his time. He blinked several times, struggling to focus, but eventually lifted his gaze. His eyes were shiny, wet, and vulnerable in a way only you had ever seen.
“You don't have to be enough for everyone.” you said softly, careful not to startle him. “You just have to be you. And you... you always give more than you have. Siempre.” (Always)
Benito swallowed hard, lowering his gaze again.
“Pero... ¿y si no les gusta? ¿Y si piensan que... que estoy hablando mierda? ¿Y si...?” (But... what if they don't like it? What if they think... that I'm talking shit? What if...?)
His voice broke. It literally cracked on the last word. That was when you leaned in closer —knowing it was the right moment— until your knees touched his. You cupped his face gently with both hands, as if he were made of glass.
“Mi amor... tú no haces música pa' gustarle a todo el mundo (My love... you don't make music to please everyone). You make music to say what you feel. And that... that has always been what makes you great.”
He closed his eyes, as if your words hurt him and healed him at the same time.
“Pero tengo miedo,” (But I'm scared) he confessed softly, almost inaudible. “Tengo miedo, mami. No quiero fallar.” (I'm scared, mami. I don't want to fail)
You spoke the way he did in interviews when he was honest: without embellishment, without ego, without a fake persona.
“It's okay to be scared,” you whispered, resting your forehead against his. “Pero no estás solo. Estoy aquí. Estoy contigo (But you're not alone. I'm here. I'm with you). And you're not going to fail, because you made this with your heart. And when you do something with your heart... it always reaches people.”
Benito let out a soft sob, one of those he tried to hold back but couldn't. He grabbed your waist and pulled you toward him, hiding his face in your neck as if he needed to disappear there for a moment.
“Quédate aquí... por favor,” (Stay here... please) he murmured against your skin. “No te vayas.” (Don't go)
“Ni loca me voy,” (I'm not going anywhere) you replied, running your fingers through his hair. “Breathe with me, okay? Poquito a poquito.” (Little by little)
And there, while he tried to follow your breathing, you held him. You didn't force him to calm down. You simply stayed with him, and that, for him, was enough to begin settling.
Benito kept breathing against your neck, still trembling a little, but no longer with the desperation that had woken you. Your fingers moved slowly along his nape, in small circles, just the way he liked when he was on the edge.
You felt his chest begin to slow down, even though his hands still clung to your waist as if afraid you might disappear if he loosened his grip.
“Yo sé que tú tienes miedo,” (I know you're scared,) you whispered, staying still, letting your voice remain steady. “y está bien. No tienes que ser fuerte ahora mismo. Al menos no conmigo.” (and it's okay. You don't have to be strong right now. At least not with me)
Benito didn't answer. He only pressed his forehead deeper into your collarbone, as if he needed to feel you to believe you.
“Listen to me” you murmured, stroking his sweat-damp hair. “You made this album with love, with your story, with your truth, and people feel that and always have. It doesn't matter if there are critics, it doesn't matter if someone doesn't understand it. What you do... touches people. And that isn't measured in numbers or comments.”
He swallowed hard, and even though you couldn't see him, you knew he had closed his eyes.
“Y si mañana te despiertas y todavía tienes miedo” (And if tomorrow you wake up and you're still scared) you added, “yo voy a estar aquí. Para recordártelo cada vez que necesites escucharlo, Ben.” (I'll be here. To remind you every time you need to hear it, Ben)
Benito lifted his head just enough to look at you. His eyes were still shiny, but the panic was gone. Now there was only exhaustion and a deep, vulnerable affection he rarely showed.
“Thank you” he murmured, with that soft voice he only used with you. “De verdad... gracias, mami.” (Really... thank you, mami.)
You wiped a tear from his cheek with your thumb, gently, not wanting to hurt him.
“No tienes que agradecerme nada,” (You don't have to thank me for anything) you replied. “Yo estoy aquí porque te amo. Y porque tú también estarías aquí si fuera al revés.” (I'm here because I love you. And because you'd be here too if it were the other way around)
He nodded slowly, as if your words settled something inside him. Then he let himself fall back onto the bed, pulling you with him without letting go. You settled on his chest, feeling his breathing finally find a calmer rhythm.
His hands, once tense, now rested on your back with more ease and security.
“Quédate así,” (Stay like this) he whispered. “Don't move, please, baby.”
“I'm not moving, love.” you said, closing your eyes as you continued to stroke his bare chest with slow movements. “Duerme. Yo te tengo.” (Sleep. I've got you)
And for the first time that night, he let his body surrender. His breathing deepened, and you felt his chest rise and fall beneath your cheek, steadier each time.
Before you fell asleep too, you leaned in just enough to whisper something else, knowing he might not fully hear it, but that it would stay somewhere inside him anyway.
“Tú eres suficiente, papi. You always have been.” (You are enough, papi)
The room fell silent, illuminated only by the faint light from the street coming through the open window. And that was how the night ended. With him holding onto you and you protecting him with your calm. Just two people breathing together, finding peace in each other.
thank you so much for the support 🤍🥺
hello hello!! i got a quick question about what would you guys want me to publish first 🤭🤍🐸
which one??
Bad B. fic! He gets overprotective in “la casita” after fan treated reader wrong
Bad Bunny fic! part 2 of la noche de anoche. reader & benito at the grammys
Bad Bunny fic! a friends to lovers with a little bit of angst
Bad Bunny headcanon! times reader got jealous 🤭
https://www.tumblr.com/balletteens/808925064976269312/this-has-been-sitting-in-my-drafts-for-a-while
pleaseeeeee release this omg
I just published it!! it’s here.
AHHH can’t wait for ur new fic to drop!! u have such a way with words
omg you’re so sweet 🥹🥹 tysm. I just published it, you can find it here.
♥︎ La noche de anoche.
Bad Bunny x girlfriend!reader. word count: 2.7k
summary. Benito can't sleep the night before his new album comes out.
warnings & tags. fem!reader. established relationship. fluff. a little bit angsty but nothing too serious. panic attacks. mentions of DtMF. words in spanish. english isn't my first language.
a/n. hii! so i watched recently one of benito's interviews where he said that the night before DtMF dropped he woke up feeling anxious, so i thought i could do smth w that. hope you like it 🤍🐸 Credits to the owners of the dividers! masterlist
Benito was one of those people who put every part of themselves into what they loved.
When he cooked —something he loved doing whenever he could— he made an effort to get every detail perfect, just the way you liked it and the way he liked it. When he played dominoes with his friends and family, he did whatever it took to give his all and make the game especially incredible.
So it was no surprise that when he made new music, he tried to make every detail, every melody, every lyric perfect.
Debí Tirar Más Fotos was his most precious album. It was a part of him he had never fully shown his fans. Part of him was nervous, thinking maybe it wouldn't be good enough, but another part reassured him that it would go well, that his fans would recognize the dedication behind all that work and appreciate it deeply.
The last few days had been a nightmare for Benito.
Despite loving his work and giving everything he had, he had a tendency to leave everything for the last minute. Sometimes unintentionally, sometimes on purpose. But it had happened again, so this last week had been spent working every minute and every hour of the day, leaving him maybe 4 or 3 hours of sleep.
His day consisted of waking up earlier than he wanted to admit, running to the kitchen where he would find you with a smile and a coffee waiting for him. He would tell you he loved you in murmurs while pressing his chest against your back. He wished he could spend more time with you, but it wasn't possible no matter how hard he tried.
You spent at least 30 minutes together in the morning. Benito rushed around the house between outfit changes and his coffee, which always spilled a few drops because he walked so fast.
You always scolded him, rolling your eyes. Still, he would walk up to you and say “Perdóname, mami. Tú sabe' que yo te amo.” (Forgive me, mami. You know I love you) with a sly smile, leaving quick kisses on your lips before grabbing a napkin to clean his mess.
Some days you accompanied him to the studio. You gave ideas that sometimes worked and sometimes didn't. On those days, he got excited. There were few days when you were free to spend time with him even while he worked, but when you did, Benito got more excited than he admitted.
He spent hours with his coworkers and friends writing and recording, but in other moments he came over to you. Sometimes he sat on the couch and pulled you onto his lap, leaving caresses and squeezes on your thighs. Other times he hugged you from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaving wet kisses on your neck and cheek.
“Let me know when you get tired y te dejo en la casa, mami.” (and I'll take you home, mami) he said every time you accompanied him to the studio.
When he saw you blinking more than usual, he made sure to stop for a moment to take you home. He knew he was short on time to release his album, but he would never let his girl feel uncomfortable or unable to do something because of him. Never.
However, those busy days had finally ended. That same day, hours before releasing the album, he had finished his new project.
Before sleeping, he had talked to you. He told you in whispers, lying in your shared bed, how excited he was. Lying like little kids again, with a sheet over your heads, confessing small secrets you might not have told each other before. Between laughter, caresses, and kisses, you both fell asleep. You rested with your head on his chest, while he held you with both arms around your body, as if he didn't want you to go too far while you slept.
It didn't feel like much time had passed since you closed your eyes when you felt your head hit the pillow in a sudden movement. Blinking quickly, you noticed Benito sitting up, his chest rising faster than normal.
“Beni?” you whispered, not knowing what was happening. You pushed yourself up on your elbows, getting closer to him but not touching him yet.
Benito placed both hands over his face, dragging them up into his hair and leaving them there. His chest kept moving rapidly. Worried, you placed your hand on his bare back, noticing it was covered in sweat.
“Hey” you said softly, bringing your hand to his cheek, trying to gently guide his face toward you, but not applying enough pressure in case that wasn't what he wanted.
He removed his hands from his head and pointed at his chest, trying to say he couldn't breathe well, that his heart was beating much faster than normal. You understood immediately because it wasn't the first time.
“It's okay, baby.” you whispered into his ear, leaving a soft kiss there.
You tried to get out of bed to open the windows. In moments like this, you had learned that the best thing for him was to let the air circulate, to help him feel like he could breathe better. However, you knew he needed you close. So it wasn't surprising when he grabbed your wrist —between uneven breaths— when you moved a few centimeters too far.
“I'm going to open the windows quickly and I'll be right back, I'm not going anywhere. Lo prometo, amor.” (I promise, love) you said, caressing his hand gently. Only then did he calm down enough to let you go.
You quickly walked to the windows, opening them as much as you could; the streetlights and moonlight entered, illuminating the room a bit more. Then you opened the bathroom door and the bedroom door before returning to the bed.
That was when you could finally see his face completely. There were tears on his cheeks, and his cheeks were redder than usual, something that happened when he was overheated or feeling something intensely. His lips were also redder from biting them. One of his hands pressed against his chest, right over his heart.
“No-No puedo...” (I-I can't...) he tried to say while staring at the mattress.
“¿No puedes qué, Beni? Tell me, love, I'm right here.” (Can't what, Beni?) you said, sitting in front of him, placing your hands on his thighs because you didn't want to invade his space completely.
“No puedo subirlo...” (I can't drop it...) he finally said after a few seconds of silence and doubtful glances. “I can't do it.”
That was when you truly understood what it was all about.
“No le va a gustar. No va a ser suficiente.” (They're not going to like it. It's not going to be enough.)
Benito spoke nonstop while shaking his head. You felt your heart break into tiny pieces seeing the tears falling from his eyes.
You knew the connection he had with this album. With his country, with his family, with every moment he had lived. It was his most precious work.
“Beni...” you tried to speak, but your voice cracked on its own.
“Se siente horrible porque sé que personas seguirán criticando sin siquiera saber quién soy. Pero quizás esto no es para mí, quizás es demasiado y lo que estoy por lanzar no será suficiente.” (It feels horrible because I know people will keep criticizing without even knowing who I am. But maybe this isn't for me, maybe it's too much and what I'm about to release won't be enough.) he said in Spanish, feeling safer in that language. Even then, his voice broke every few seconds, as if he couldn't let it all out without falling apart.
Benito kept breathing fast, as if each inhale cost him more than the last. His fingers trembled slightly as he wiped his tears with the inside of his wrist.
“It's just... I don't know, mami,” he murmured softly, almost embarrassed to hear himself. “Siento que... que no va a ser suficiente. Que... que la gente va a pensar que estoy... que estoy bajando, ¿me entiende'? Que ya no soy el mismo.” (I feel like... like it's not going to be enough. That... that people are going to think I'm... that I'm going downhill, you know? That I'm not the same anymore)
He shook his head again, pressing his lips together until they turned even redder.
“And I... I tried, really. I put everything into it. Everything I had. But... I don't know if that's enough.”
You, who knew him better than anyone, didn't contradict him immediately. You didn't say “of course it is” because you knew he couldn't receive that in this state. What he needed was to feel seen, not corrected.
You moved closer, slowly, like approaching a frightened little animal you didn't want to scare. You placed your hand over his, the one pressing his chest.
“Beni... mírame un momento, amor.” (Look at me for a moment, love)
He took his time. He blinked several times, struggling to focus, but eventually lifted his gaze. His eyes were shiny, wet, and vulnerable in a way only you had ever seen.
“You don't have to be enough for everyone.” you said softly, careful not to startle him. “You just have to be you. And you... you always give more than you have. Siempre.” (Always)
Benito swallowed hard, lowering his gaze again.
“Pero... ¿y si no les gusta? ¿Y si piensan que... que estoy hablando mierda? ¿Y si...?” (But... what if they don't like it? What if they think... that I'm talking shit? What if...?)
His voice broke. It literally cracked on the last word. That was when you leaned in closer —knowing it was the right moment— until your knees touched his. You cupped his face gently with both hands, as if he were made of glass.
“Mi amor... tú no haces música pa' gustarle a todo el mundo (My love... you don't make music to please everyone). You make music to say what you feel. And that... that has always been what makes you great.”
He closed his eyes, as if your words hurt him and healed him at the same time.
“Pero tengo miedo,” (But I'm scared) he confessed softly, almost inaudible. “Tengo miedo, mami. No quiero fallar.” (I'm scared, mami. I don't want to fail)
You spoke the way he did in interviews when he was honest: without embellishment, without ego, without a fake persona.
“It's okay to be scared,” you whispered, resting your forehead against his. “Pero no estás solo. Estoy aquí. Estoy contigo (But you're not alone. I'm here. I'm with you). And you're not going to fail, because you made this with your heart. And when you do something with your heart... it always reaches people.”
Benito let out a soft sob, one of those he tried to hold back but couldn't. He grabbed your waist and pulled you toward him, hiding his face in your neck as if he needed to disappear there for a moment.
“Quédate aquí... por favor,” (Stay here... please) he murmured against your skin. “No te vayas.” (Don't go)
“Ni loca me voy,” (I'm not going anywhere) you replied, running your fingers through his hair. “Breathe with me, okay? Poquito a poquito.” (Little by little)
And there, while he tried to follow your breathing, you held him. You didn't force him to calm down. You simply stayed with him, and that, for him, was enough to begin settling.
Benito kept breathing against your neck, still trembling a little, but no longer with the desperation that had woken you. Your fingers moved slowly along his nape, in small circles, just the way he liked when he was on the edge.
You felt his chest begin to slow down, even though his hands still clung to your waist as if afraid you might disappear if he loosened his grip.
“Yo sé que tú tienes miedo,” (I know you're scared,) you whispered, staying still, letting your voice remain steady. “y está bien. No tienes que ser fuerte ahora mismo. Al menos no conmigo.” (and it's okay. You don't have to be strong right now. At least not with me)
Benito didn't answer. He only pressed his forehead deeper into your collarbone, as if he needed to feel you to believe you.
“Listen to me” you murmured, stroking his sweat-damp hair. “You made this album with love, with your story, with your truth, and people feel that and always have. It doesn't matter if there are critics, it doesn't matter if someone doesn't understand it. What you do... touches people. And that isn't measured in numbers or comments.”
He swallowed hard, and even though you couldn't see him, you knew he had closed his eyes.
“Y si mañana te despiertas y todavía tienes miedo” (And if tomorrow you wake up and you're still scared) you added, “yo voy a estar aquí. Para recordártelo cada vez que necesites escucharlo, Ben.” (I'll be here. To remind you every time you need to hear it, Ben)
Benito lifted his head just enough to look at you. His eyes were still shiny, but the panic was gone. Now there was only exhaustion and a deep, vulnerable affection he rarely showed.
“Thank you” he murmured, with that soft voice he only used with you. “De verdad... gracias, mami.” (Really... thank you, mami.)
You wiped a tear from his cheek with your thumb, gently, not wanting to hurt him.
“No tienes que agradecerme nada,” (You don't have to thank me for anything) you replied. “Yo estoy aquí porque te amo. Y porque tú también estarías aquí si fuera al revés.” (I'm here because I love you. And because you'd be here too if it were the other way around)
He nodded slowly, as if your words settled something inside him. Then he let himself fall back onto the bed, pulling you with him without letting go. You settled on his chest, feeling his breathing finally find a calmer rhythm.
His hands, once tense, now rested on your back with more ease and security.
“Quédate así,” (Stay like this) he whispered. “Don't move, please, baby.”
“I'm not moving, love.” you said, closing your eyes as you continued to stroke his bare chest with slow movements. “Duerme. Yo te tengo.” (Sleep. I've got you)
And for the first time that night, he let his body surrender. His breathing deepened, and you felt his chest rise and fall beneath your cheek, steadier each time.
Before you fell asleep too, you leaned in just enough to whisper something else, knowing he might not fully hear it, but that it would stay somewhere inside him anyway.
“Tú eres suficiente, papi. You always have been.” (You are enough, papi)
The room fell silent, illuminated only by the faint light from the street coming through the open window. And that was how the night ended. With him holding onto you and you protecting him with your calm. Just two people breathing together, finding peace in each other.
This has been sitting in my drafts for a while ago. Are you interested 🤭🤭 ???
hii💕I noticed you use “American reader.” I totally understand that you mean someone from the United States, since that’s common in English. But for many of us in Latin America, “America” refers to the whole continent, so it can sometimes feel a bit excluding, like the rest of us aren’t American too. Maybe you could say “US reader” to make it more specific. Of course, this is just a friendly suggestion 💕
Thank you for sharing your fics✨
hiii! thank you for telling me this. My first language isn’t english, so i didn’t really know the best way to refer to the reader so everyone would understand 🙊. In that fic “The standard” my idea was that the reader could be from any country you’d like (anywhere in the whole continent), since i didn’t want to choose a specific one but the idea in that fic was reader carrying a flag from the continent (her country’s flag)! However i totally get where you’re coming from, i’m from latin america too, and o also feel a bit uncomfortable when people talk about “america” as if it were only the US. Anyway, thank you so much for bringing it up, and i hope my answer helped! 🐸🤍
Since it’s basically Valentine’s season, could you pls write some Valentine’s Day headcanons with Benito? 😭💘
hiiii! im so sorry for taking soooo long, but here it is, hope u like it 🤍 Valentine’s day.
♥︎ Valentine’s day.
Bad Bunny x fem!reader. word count: +900.
summary. this is how your boyfriend acts on valentine’s day with you.
warnings & tags. established relationship. fluff. kissing. a bit of suggestive content. words in spanish. pet names. english isn’t my first language.
a/n. im so sooo sorry for taking so long to post this, ups 🤭 also, im not really a fan of it, but i needed to post smth and someone requested this, so i had to deliver!! hope u like it 🤍 also credits to the owners of the dividers! masterlist
₰ ✿ He had always spent the 14th completely dedicated to you, but this year things got complicated because he had his second show in Argentina that same day. That’s why he felt guiltier than usual. He brought you with him to Argentina so at least you could spend the day together and not in different parts of the world.
₰ ✿ He woke up earlier than usual just to watch you sleep for a moment. Even though he had a show that night, he woke up already craving you. The first thing he did was pull you against his chest, his voice still raspy as he murmured against your neck that Valentine’s Day didn’t start until he had you in his arms. He kissed your shoulder slowly, like he was memorizing the moment before the chaos of the day began.
₰ ✿ He woke up before you —in fact, he almost always woke up first. He shifted closer in bed, pulling his body against yours. He gently guided your head to rest on his chest, his fingers running through your hair as he pressed soft kisses to the top of your head. He didn’t move enough to wake you, but he still whispered, “Lo eres todo para mí, mami.” (You’re everything to me)
₰ ✿ He had never been the type to give flowers to anyone, but once he realized how happy they made you, how meaningful that small detail was for you, he learned to always bring you some. Not just on Valentine’s Day, but that day he went completely overboard.
₰ ✿ When you woke up, you found a big bouquet full of your favorite flowers in your favorite colors, arranged exactly the way he knew you liked. They rested on your nightstand next to a handwritten note: “Another Valentine’s by your side. One of many more to come, baby.”
₰ ✿ While you were getting ready, he couldn’t stop watching you from the bed. Every time you caught him staring, he’d just say, “¿Y cómo quieres que no te mire así?” (And how do you want me not to look at you like that?) and tug you closer by the waist. He’d kiss you like he was starving, like everything he wanted was to be with you in bed the whole day.
₰ ✿ Backstage, he pulled you into his dressing room under the excuse you’d hear all the time “necesito un beso pa’ la suerte.” (i need a kiss for luck) But once the door closed, he pressed you firmly but without hurting you against the counter, kissing you deeper, slower, like he wanted to steal a little more time before he had to walk away. When he finally let you go, he was breathless and smiling, telling you, “Ahora sí… ya puedo cantar.” (Alright… I can sing now)
₰ ✿ During the concert, you stayed in “La Casita,” listening to him with a proud smile. When it was time for him to sing there, he made sure to always go closer to you —knowing exactly where you were all the time—, giving you a smile or a wink, though most of the time, he sang the spicier lyrics while pulling your body closer to his.
₰ ✿ You danced pressed against each other more than once, and every now and then he’d leave a kiss on your forehead… or give your ass a playful squeeze. You’d just roll your eyes at him with a smile.
₰ ✿ After the show, he didn’t even let his team finish congratulating him. He found you first, wrapped his arms around your waist, and kissed you like he’d been holding back all night. He whispered against your lips that the real Valentine’s celebration was just starting, and that he planned to make up for every minute he’d been away from you.
₰ ✿ When you finally made it back to the room —after eating in your favorite restaurant from Argentina— he didn’t go straight for you. Instead, he sat on the couch, legs spread, still wearing part of his stage outfit. He patted his thigh and told you “Ven acá” (come here) his voice low and warm.
₰ ✿ The moment you settled on his lap, he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face in your neck, breathing you in like he’d been starving for you all night.
₰ ✿ By then, he had already given you a ridiculous amount of gifts. Things you knew you didn’t need to be happy, but gifts he knew you wanted. He had always been the kind of person who paid attention to what you needed and what you liked without you ever having to say it.
₰ ✿ At one point, he took your hand and placed it over his heartbeat —still fast and uneven. “Mira lo que me haces,”(Look at what you do to me) he murmured, eyes locked on yours. He loved that you could feel how worked up he still was, how much he wanted you without needing to say it outright.
₰ ✿ Needless to say, that night lasted longer than you expected. Benito didn’t let you go for a single moment, giving you exactly what you wanted and needed. Every inch of your body was touched, kissed, and adored by him. It was perfect.