benicio del toro x f!reader
a/n: benicio is in his early 40s and reader is in late 20s, it was the age gap i was most comfortable with and so it's not grooming
a/n: hii sorry for being inactive here for some time but a lot of things are going on right now in my life and i promise that i will post fluffs more often hopefully every two days or so and i'm planning to write more fluffs about other actors too so if anyone has any ideas please let me know and pardon any mistakes english isn't my first language
warnings: kisses, angst and fluff, hate online but not really awful just mentioned, really cute benicio
The first time you met Benicio, neither of you were looking for anything.
Certainly not a relationship that would one day have half the internet arguing about it.
You were just trying to finish a book.
It was one of those warm Los Angeles afternoons where the sunlight filtered through the trees in lazy patches. The park wasn’t crowded. A few people walked dogs. Someone played guitar in the distance.
You sat on a bench with your legs tucked underneath you, completely absorbed in your novel.
You didn’t notice the man approaching until a shadow fell across the page.
For a second you just stared.
Not because he was famous.
Because he looked oddly amused.
His eyes dropped toward your book.
Then he lifted his own copy.
“I was going to say the same thing.”
Curious, you tilted your copy.
For a moment there was complete silence before you both burst out laughing.
“Okay,” you said. “That’s a little creepy.”
“You’ve either been following me around the city or this is the weirdest coincidence ever.”
He put a hand over his chest.
“I choose to be offended by that accusation.”
The conversation was supposed to last five minutes.
It lasted nearly three hours.
Places you wanted to travel.
Somehow, despite his fame, talking to him felt surprisingly normal.
The kind where he remembered details and asked questions and seemed genuinely interested in your answers.
By the time the sun started setting, neither of you wanted to leave.
When he finally asked if he could see you again, he almost sounded nervous.
And that was the beginning.
The relationship developed quietly.
For months, most people had no idea.
Benicio liked it even more.
After years of living under public scrutiny, he treasured privacy.
With you, he could just be himself.
The man who stole your fries when he said he wasn’t hungry.
The man who quoted books dramatically just to make you laugh.
The man who could spend an hour talking about movies and another hour talking about absolutely nothing.
You spent evenings cooking together.
Weekend mornings wandering bookstores.
Late nights watching old films on the couch.
The age difference existed.
Neither of you pretended it didn’t.
You were in your late twenties.
He was in his early forties.
But it wasn’t something that defined your relationship.
Capable of making your own choices.
Most days you barely thought about it.
It happened after dinner.
Just the two of you walking through Los Angeles together.
The city lights reflected off the pavement.
You had your hand tucked into his jacket pocket because it was colder than expected.
He kept glancing down at you with that small smile he always got when he thought you weren’t paying attention.
“You keep looking at me.”
Your heart did that stupid thing it always did around him.
“You know, that’s very cheesy.”
“Embarrassing, honestly.”
Instead of answering, he leaned down and kissed you.
The kind of kiss that felt like home.
You kissed him back without hesitation.
Neither of you noticed the cameras.
The photos were everywhere the next morning.
People suddenly had opinions about a relationship they knew absolutely nothing about.
Some reactions were positive.
The criticism hit harder than you expected.
Not because strangers disliked you.
But because strangers acted like they knew you.
Like they knew your relationship.
People called it inappropriate.
People called it disgusting.
Some comments were cruel.
For the first time since meeting him, you wished nobody knew who either of you were.
You sat on your couch scrolling through the headlines.
Each one felt worse than the last.
You should have stopped reading.
You answered immediately.
The moment he heard your voice, his own softened.
“You’ve been reading comments.”
You leaned back against the couch.
“I didn’t think it would bother me this much.”
His voice cracked slightly.
When you arrived, he opened the door before you could knock.
The second he saw your face, his expression fell.
Without saying a word, he pulled you into his arms.
You buried your face against his chest.
For a while neither of you spoke.
Eventually you felt him press a kiss against your hair.
He gestured vaguely toward the world outside.
“None of that is your fault.”
“But you’re dealing with it because of me.”
The sadness in his eyes nearly broke your heart.
Because he genuinely believed that.
You reached up and held his face.
“I chose this relationship.”
“You didn’t trick me into it.”
“Good. That would’ve been very difficult.”
Over the following days, more people started speaking up.
People who had met both of you.
Several pointed out the obvious truth.
Not someone being manipulated.
Just an adult woman in a relationship with an adult man.
Others expressed frustration that people were focusing on two happy people while ignoring genuinely harmful behavior elsewhere in the industry.
Gradually the conversation began shifting.
But the biggest turning point came from Benicio himself.
He rarely addressed rumors.
Yet one afternoon he decided enough was enough.
In a short interview, he spoke calmly.
He explained that you met as adults.
That your relationship was built on mutual respect.
That neither of you owed anyone justification for caring about each other.
Then he said something that spread quickly online.
“People are free to have opinions. But she’s kind, intelligent, independent, and one of the best people I’ve ever met. That’s what matters to me.”
You watched the interview from your apartment.
Not because you were sad.
Because you knew how private he was.
How much he hated discussing personal matters.
Yet he’d stepped forward anyway.
But to protect what the two of you had.
Months later, the storm had mostly passed.
People found new things to talk about.
One evening you found yourself back in the same park where everything had started.
The same quiet atmosphere.
A book rested in his lap.
Then both of you started laughing.
“Okay,” he said. “Now it’s definitely creepy.”
You leaned your head against his shoulder.
His arm wrapped around you automatically.
“But it worked out pretty well.”
Looking at the man who had walked up to a stranger reading a book and changed both of your lives.
Then he kissed your forehead gently.
And for the first time since all the chaos began, everything felt completely, wonderfully normal again
