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WELCOME TO KILDAREUCHATS - AN ANONYMOUS CHATROOM FOR KILDARE UNIVERSITY STUDENTS

★ pairing.ᐟ frat!rafe x nerd!reader

★ summary.ᐟ rafe cameron AKA MalachiConstant is the golden boy of kildare university; certified frat boy, captain of the football team, relentless party animal with lines of girls to sleep with.

reader AKA AnnabelLee couldn't be more different; while she has the best grades in the whole school, she suffers from social anxiety disorder, and her social life is limited to her three best friends and the cat she secretly snuck into her dorm room.

both of them decide to join the anonymous chatroom for their campus, and start talking to one another,, a friendship starting to form between the two; but neither of them know how different the other is.

PARTS:

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN EPILOGUE

EXTRAS:

the other three musketeers dodge mason her closet

You were a surgeon. It was a fucking miracle.

You also had POTS. Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome. Some days were harder then others but you were trying your damnedest to succeed.

You had moved into Meredith's early on, one of the first roommates.

Probably the longest standing tenet. You kept to yourself most the time.

You made it months before you passed out for the first time in front of anyone in the group.

Scared the shit out of Izzie then swore her to secrecy.

No matter who owned the house, you stayed there. Kept quiet, observed and tried to take care of yourself privately.

However when Alex sold the house back to Meredith you knew you needed to find somewhere else to live. So you got an apartment, your symptoms went into a flare one week and you ended up calling out for several days in a row, the chief well aware of your situation.

You somewhat managed, gave up on cooking, caught something and got worse.

It felt like the flu at first and you were worried you were sick, but when it didn't go away you realized you just got worse and it was your new normal.

You assumed it was the stress that made your symptoms worse.

Being a surgeon is hard.

When you finally got back to work you realized you missed a whole new batch of drama, as always.

Alex was the first to notice you, "Where were you? You look like shit."

You gave a chuckle, "Feel like shit, it's not contagious though."

He stared quiet for a few minutes.

Your day went back to normal, eventually catching wind of what happened.

Alex broke up with Jo.

God knows why.

The days was quick. Over in a heartbeat.

By the time you made it out to your car you were breathless. Everything hurt.

Getting in your door was quick too.

You were in then your stuff was on the floor and you were on the couch.

You laid there peacefully for a few minutes before you heard the knock.

You threw your legs over the side standing taking a step and then having your knees buckle.

You threw your hand back to catch yourself on the couch vision going completely spotty, rainbows radiating from the edges as you dropped to the ground wacking your leg against the coffee table, a glass falling.

When your vision cleared again you had a pounding headache, your pants were wet, and your leg was throbbing.

You sat there for a few minutes, the door now a banging.

"Y/n! Y/n are you okay? Fuck. Please... Please fucking answer, I need to know you're okay?"

You called out, words slurred a bit, "M okay"

You dropped a hand over your head laying there for a another few minutes, your heart pounding.

The thud slowing down a little bit.

You felt your brain come back into focus, the edges becoming a bit sharper again.

You slowly propped yourself against the back of the couch a bit straighter, slowly moving up again.

Till you stood.

The spots danced around your eyes again you stood still for a few seconds.

Then you made your way to the door.

Opening it to see Alex standing there with a suitcase.

He didn't even hesitate, pushing his way in, dropping the suitcase in the door and grabbing your shoulders looking you over.

"Are you okay?"

You nodded, "Yeah. Why're you here?"

He stared for a second, "I'm crashing here for a while?"

"The fuck-"

"I'll clean and do whatever the fuck you need. I just... I can't stay with Jo, I couldn't kick her out."

You gave him a once over, too tired to care.

"Fine. There's a guest room down the hall."

You just stare at each other for a second.

You practically avoid him the first few days, not wanting him to ask the question worried he's on to you. Eventually that settles though and you realize he isn't going to question it.

The company is nice. Knowing someone else is in the house.

Everything comes to a head though when you get home and drop onto the couch.

The second you do you realize you forgot to take your meds at lunch.

Jumping up hoping to take then quick enough that you wont' have to delay your next dose.

Except instead you drop like a sack of potatos over the corner of the coffee table.

Your vision is out as soon as you're on your feet, and stays that way for a some time, you can't tell how long, could have been a second, could have been 2 minutes.

When things start to come back into focus your head is pounding.

You can hear Alex freaking out on the phone, "Hold on she's coming to."

When your eyes open the light's bright and Alex is leaned over you, you're in recovery position on the floor, legs propped against the couch.

Your hand goes to your eyes blocking the light.

"Hey hey, easy. An ambulance is about to be dispatche-"

"I don't need an ambulance."

He stares down at you for a second.

You wait and hear him talk with the operator again.

You slide your hand over your face when he hangs up.

Eyes opening to peak at him, "What the hell was that."

He leans back onto his knees as you slowly move to sit up.

This feels like a sitting up conversat-

Nope this is a laying down conversation.

You feel how your heart picks up when you try to move.

Laying there quiet on the floor for a second, his voice is demanding, "You just- you collapsed. You weren't breathing right.-"

"I fainted."

His eyebrows furrow, "No shit you fainted." You hear the subtle raise in his voice, "People don't just faint like that. Surgeons don't just faint like that, What the hell happened."

You cringe internally, "I stood up too fast."

You watch his face just drop, dumbfounded, "That's not- What the hell are you talking about."

You run another hand down your face, "It's nothing Alex, I've managed it for years. I just forgot my meds at lunch."

"Meds, Hold on, i'm not following, what do you mean for years. What the hell is going on?"

You give a short chuckle, "I have a condition. It's not dangerous, just inconvenient."

"Not dangerous my ass, you were unconscious. What condition."

It's quiet for a second, "Why the hell didn't you tell anyone?"

"I told the chief. I can manage it, it's why i'm always sitting down during surgery's. No one else really needed to know, i've got it under wraps."

"Under wraps, So what. You've been passing out alone? At home? At the Hospital? And you didn't stop to think, 'Oh I should tell my friends about this in case you know I fucking die?'"

You'd laugh at his high pitched impression of you if this conversation was a little less serious.

"I'm not dying Alex. Seriously. It's not like that."

"That's not what it fucking looked like, You were completely out. I didn’t know if you’d hit your head, if you were choking, if you were- Fuck. You can't hide this from people who care about you."

You prop up slowly onto your palms moving into criss cross applesauce.

“I’m not leaving you alone like this,” he finally says. “I don’t care what your plan was, or what you think you can handle. I’m staying. And I’m helping. I'm not going to look for a new place, i'll pay rent, I don't care, you're not getting rid of me.”

"Alex-"

"No, Save it. I don't care if you want a babysitter, you almost cracked your skull open-"

"I just forgot my meds at lunch, i'll be more care-"

"No, I'm not watching you die in your living room because you think you're invincible."

"Alex seriously, it's just POTS."

"What the hell- What is POTS."

You roll your eyes, "Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome."

"Speak English."

"It’s a form of dysautonomia. My autonomic nervous system just… doesn’t regulate when I’m upright. Blood pressure drops, heart rate spikes. I get dizzy, lightheaded, faint if I’m not careful. I'm on beta blockers to try to manage the symptoms and spikes, when I forget them I tend to do way worse."

"How long have you had this?"

You shrug scooting to put your back against the couch, "Since High School. It got worse in Med School, that's when I got put on beta blockers."

“You’ve been passing out since before med school,” he repeats slowly. “And you didn’t tell anybody?”

“I managed it,” you say quietly. “I always have.”

He laughs—one sharp, disbelieving bark. “No. No, you’ve been covering it. That’s not the same thing.”

“Alex-”

“You could’ve hit your head. You could’ve cracked your neck. You could’ve-” His voice falters. He looks away. “You can’t keep this shit a secret. Not from the people you live with. Not from me.”

You glare for a second, "Seriously, I don't want to be a problem."

"You're not a problem, You aren't fragile either, that's not what this is, you're stubborn, but hiding this, that isn't going to cut it anymore. You need help sometimes, so do I. We're human, it happens."

"I don't have to do that, you didn't sign up for it."

"You're right, i'm imposing it on you. Get over it."

“Look… I get why you hid it. People judge. People treat you different. I know.” He gestures vaguely toward his chest, like the ghost of his past trauma is sitting on his shoulder. “But this” He points at you, hunched over your knees back to the couch. “This isn’t something you can deal with alone.”

“I’ve been doing it alone for years.”

“And look how well that worked out,” he snaps. Then softer, “You scared the shit out of me.”

You shrug, "M sorry, I can't control it. It's not like I wanted to have POTS. I just forgot my meds at lunch, a patient was coding and I got busy."

It's quiet for a few minutes, "Do you need anything? Water? Snack? A blanket?"

You shake your head, "Just my meds, they're in my purse, I just need one."

He doesn’t move at first. Not because he’s ignoring you—because he’s staring at you like the words “I just need one” physically hurt him.

Then he exhales sharply through his nose, pushes up from the floor, and mutters:

“Yeah. Okay. Fine. Meds.”

But he’s moving fast.

He practically sprints to your purse, yanking it open like it personally offended him. You watch him rummage through it, muttering under his breath:

“Ridiculous… forgot her meds… not dangerous my ass… freaking beta blockers in a damn bottomless pit…”

You watch him pull out the bottle and flip it around reading the label.

You know what it says, you know how it looks.

“Next time?” he says, voice low. “You tell me. Before you faceplant into the furniture and I have to call 911 like some panicked idiot.”

You take the bottle.

He watches you take the pill, waits until you swallow, then finally leans back on his heels, still breathing hard.

“Jesus,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. “You forget your lunch meds in med school too? Or is this a new ‘I like terrorizing Alex Karev’ thing?”

You glare weakly.

He glares right back.

"Seriously though, is this why you took forever to answer the door the first day I was here?"

You nod a bit, you should have seen that question coming a mile away.

You watch him get all frustrated all over again.

“I thought you were dead. So don’t… don’t do that again. You can't let this keep happening.”

You blink at him. “Alex-”

“No.” He points at you like he’s scolding a resident. “I’m not doing the whole tragic-surgeon-found-alone thing. I’m not finding you on the floor like that again. You live with me now.”

You snort. “I already live with you.”

“Then you live-with-me live with me,” he counters immediately. “No more shutting yourself in your room. No more skipping meals because you’re charting. No more ‘I’m fine’ when you’re sweating bullets and can’t see straight.”

You raise a brow. “You done?”

“I’m setting alarms on your phone.”

“Alex—”

“And mine.”

“Alex.”

“I’m checking in during your shifts.”

“Alex!”

“What?”

“You’re being insane.”

He huffs, crosses his arms. “Good. Because sane Alex apparently isn’t enough to keep you upright.”

You curl further in on yourself looking at your floor more intently.

"hey... i'm not mad at you... i'm just mad you were alone, handling this alone. Come on,” he says. “Couch. You’re not getting up again tonight.”

You hesitate.

He rolls his eyes. “Take my damn hand.”

Grabbing it he pulls you up and guides you onto the couch.

Then he sits on the floor again, right beside you, arms draped over his knees.

“You scare me,” he says quietly, not looking at you. “And I don’t get scared.”

You open your mouth, but he cuts you off one more time.

“And don’t say sorry. Just… don’t hide this from me. Ever again.”

----------

The next morning you're up before he is, getting ready faster.

You know what this is, you're in a flare. But you're so goddamn stubborn, you don't want to stay home. Call off sick again. You don't want to have to do that. You know your situation. You know you should, but Alex is here and if you call out hell call out and if he calls out someone will get suspicious.

You practically race to the hospital.

Not wanting to confront Alex.

You practically race through hallways. You're not sweating you know that's a bad sign.

You're hot then cold then hot again and not sweating.

Your feet feel swollen, ankles too.

You know you're in a flare. That this isn't good. You can't stop now though.

You're leaning on counters, on the wall, every chance you get, you're leaning on something to keep upright. To keep moving.

Chanting internally, 'Just keep swimming, just keep swimming.'

You have to make it through the day.

By the time you're in surgery you feel the world do a spin but stay in the same place at the same time.

It sucks. You tell a nurse to get you a chair.

Sitting as you continue.

The surgery goes off without a hitch, you're worse for wear after though.

You stand up again to do the closing and your vision goes dark.

You bump your knees agains the chair for a second. Your vision coming back as you stand there.

Then you continue. You close.

Then you leave.

The second you're through the door Alex grabs your upper arm tightly.

"I saw that."

You nod, face drained of color, body going hot again, feeling naseous.

"Y/n, you need to take a break."

You don't fight him, just back against the wall and slide down onto the floor.

You put your head between your knees as you sit on the ground.

Alex freaks out, "God are... are you okay?"

You nod, "I'm in a flare. Shit sucks."

He grabs your wrist pulling it forward.

You listen to the hustle and bustle of the hospital as he takes your pulse.

"Shit, your hearts doing a goddamn sprint."

You chuckle, "I could have told you that."

You sit for a good 15 minutes, "I'm okay, i've gotta go make rounds."

As you stand Alex is basically attached at the hip.

"Alex, i'm alright, seriously. You can go-"

His pager goes off and you watch him check down then up again, "Fine, but if you feel any worse, stop while you're ahead. Don't pass out in an OR or worse."

You roll your eyes scoffing.

He doesn't leave, "Fine. Now shoo." he nods rushing off as you make your way slowly to do your rounds.

By the time you're around you take a break.

Finding a table to sit at while you eat and take your meds.

You're up on your feet again after, practically running around as you walk into the pit.

Your downfall is when a patient codes.

You do chest compression while Christian runs up.

When she takes over you back to the wall, turning to walk out except the second you take a step you drop. Face first into the corner of the cart you're next to. Forehead rebounding off the edge.

Your body gives out with zero warning, just an instant of static behind your eyes and then nothing. It gets quiet but tunes back in quick.

Your forehead slams into the metal edge of the crash cart with a sickening, hollow crack.

There’s no bracing, no sliding to your knees this time just a straight uncontrolled collapse, shoulder bouncing off the floor after your skull hits first.

And the worst part? You don’t black out completely. You’re aware just enough to hear the chaos erupt around you.

“—Doctor down!”

“Get a gurney!”

“She hit her head- Jesus- someone get Karev!” you hear Christina yell.

You try to push yourself up but your arm isn’t cooperating. Nothings cooperating.

Your vision is wrong split down the center, one side smeared colors, the other pulsing as things start to come back from the show of spots.

Someone rolls you onto your side. Someone else keeps a hand on your neck. There’s a voice you recognize but can’t place.

And then you hear it, “Move!”

That one you know instantly.

Alex drops to the floor so fast the knees of his scrubs skid.

He grabs your face, not rough, but not gentle either, his thumbs brushing your cheekbones as he tilts your head enough to see your eyes.

“Hey. Hey- look at me. Come on- look at me.”

Your eyes start to focus again, looking towards his face.

“Pupils are uneven,” someone announces behind him.

“No shit they’re uneven,” Alex snaps. “She just hit the cart head‑first because she shouldn’t have even been upright.”

“Y/n, can you hear me?”

You swallow, nod once.

“Okay. Good. Don’t move.” He turns his head, barking over his shoulder, “Page Shepherd. And someone get a collar—now.”

You groan, “M’fine.”

Alex whips back to you like you just insulted his entire bloodline.

“You are not fine. You coded a patient and then passed the hell out into a piece of equipment. Do you understand how not fine that is?”

You close your eyes. “Just… dizzy.”

“Don’t close your- hey.” He taps your cheek lightly. “Stay awake.”

“I’m awake,” you mumble.

“You’re concussed,” he fires back. “And your heart rate is trying to set a hospital record- holy shit.” He presses two fingers harder into your wrist. “Y/n, it’s like you’re running laps while lying on the floor.”

The collar goes around your neck, and you want to protest, but the second someone lifts your head you nearly vomit.

Alex’s hand shoots to your shoulder, steadying you.

“Easy. Easy. Don’t move.”

You feel your face flush, "I'm okay, please I just-"

“You’re done. You’re so done,” he says, voice cracking. “You’re not standing up for the rest of the damn day.”

You feel yourself get placed onto a gurney, then wheeled out towards a room.

When everything settles down a bit, “Why didn’t you stay home?” he demands quietly, so only you hear.

You breathe shallowly. “Didn’t want you to… worry.”

He lets out a sound—disbelief mixed with something like pain.

“You think I worry less watching you destroy your nervous system in real time?”

“Didn’t want you to skip work.”

He stops walking for half a beat. Just enough that the gurney moves ahead without him.

When he catches up, his voice is lower than you’ve ever heard it.

“Y/n… I would skip work for you in a heartbeat.”

You squint, "That's the point, if you and I both are out, someone's bound to question it. If someone questions it Meredith going to figure it out then there goes every sense of normalcy."

By the time you're in a room a nurse is hooking you up to an IV and Alex is just staring at you quiet.

“She’s stable,” a nurse said, checking your vitals.

Alex didn’t relax. He knelt beside you, one hand on the gurney rail, the other gripping yours. “Stable?” he repeated. “She just hit her head into a metal cart. She’s lucky she’s not unconscious right now!”

You winced, leaning back against the gurney.

“She needs a neuro check,” someone said, glancing at Alex. He didn’t move.

“She’s got POTS,” he barked, not to argue but to clarify. “And she just… collapsed. She’s not fine, okay?”

You hear the door and sit up slow, Christian rushes in, "Y/n Oh my god!"

She's assessing you in a heart beat, "What the hell happened."

Alex scoffs, "She's got POTS."

"I'm fine."

"Fine? You hit your head, THAT is not fine."

Dr. Bailey strides in sharp, Alex speaks up, "She's stable-" a glare silencing him.

"You hit your head, young lady. That’s not ‘stable,’ that’s lucky. No more walking around alone like this, do you hear me?”

“We’re running full neuro and cardiac checks—no movement until we’re certain she’s stable. Alex, stay with her.”

“I’m right here,” Alex mutters, already positioned beside you like a shield.

“She’s lucky,” Bailey mutters to Shepherd, arms crossed as she keeps monitoring your vitals. “This could’ve gone so much worse if she’d gone down differently.”

Shepherd nods once, firm. “Agreed. And if anyone thinks she’s walking out of here on her own today, they’re wrong.”

Alex leans closer, low and protective. “See? You’re not dying alone. Not on my watch.”

18+ , mdni. — bf!benito x black!fem!reader

“For musical purposes,” he said, his voice a low rasp that went straight to your core.

That was his excuse for everything now. For calling you over at 2 AM. For having you lay back on the expensive leather couch in his home studio—right after you got your hair done. For positioning the expensive Neumann microphone between your spread thighs.

The red recording light was on. It was always on.

Benito—Benny, when you were like this, sweaty and desperate—stood over you, his tattoos stark against his skin in the moody studio lighting. He wasn’t looking at your face. His dark eyes were fixed between your legs, watching the way your pussy glistened, already wet just from the anticipation.

“You know the drill, mi vida,” he murmured, his accent thick. “I need the raw sound. The real thing.”

You whimpered, arching your back. He’d been teasing you for an hour, playing a heavy, throbbing beat that vibrated through the floor and into your bones, telling you to “react naturally” to the rhythm. Your shorts were somewhere on the floor. Your shirt was pushed up, your brown tits bare and aching.

He finally knelt, his hands rough as he hooked your thighs over his shoulders. “Let me get the levels right,” he said, but it was a lie. He buried his face in you without another word.

“fuu—” you choked out as his tongue, thick and relentless, licked a broad stripe from your asshole to your clit. The microphone caught every wet, filthy sound. He ate you out like he was starving, like the taste of your pussy was the only thing that kept him alive. His nose pressed against your clit as his tongue fucked deep into your hole, curling and thrusting.

“Yeah, just like that,” he grunted, pulling back for air, his chin slick with you. “That’s the sound. Open up for me. Let me hear it, amor”

You were babbling, a stream of “ah, ah, Benny—right there, please yes” that he’d definitely sample later. He zeroed in on your clit, sucking the swollen bud hard into his mouth, flicking it with the tip of his tongue until your legs shook around his head and you screamed, your orgasm ripping through you raw and sudden. He didn’t stop, drinking down your juices, lapping at you through the convulsions until you were sobbing, pushing weakly at his head.

“Perfecto” he panted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a cocky smirk on his face. “That first take is always the hottest. But we need more layers.”

Before you could come down, he was unbuckling his jeans, freeing his cock. It was thick, long, veiny, and already leaking. He stroked it slowly, his eyes locked on your wrecked pussy. “You want it, mami ?”

“You know I do,” you whined, still trembling.

“For the track,” he said, lining up the head. “I need the impact sounds.”

He didn’t wait. He shoved into you in one brutal, deep thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The air punched out of your lungs in a sharp cry. He was so big, stretching you unbearably, filling you up in a way that made you see stars.

“Pinche coño, you’re tight,” he groaned, his hips snapping back before slamming home again. “This… this is the rhythm. This is the beat.” He set a punishing pace, fucking you into the couch with hard, deep strokes that jolted your body. The slap of his skin against yours, the wet, squelching sounds of your pussy taking him—it was all so loud, so obscene. And the microphone was right there, capturing it all.

“Who do you belong to?” he growled, leaning over you, his sweat dripping onto your chest.

“You! Only you, Benny—” you cried out.

“Damn right.” He hooked one of your legs higher, changing the angle, and suddenly he was hitting a spot inside you that made your vision whiten. “Cum for me again. I want it on the track. I want everyone to hear how good I make you feel and never know it’s you.”

His words, the possessive fire in his eyes, the relentless grind of his cock against your G-spot—it broke you. You came with a shattered scream, your pussy clamping down on him in rhythmic pulses. He fucked you through it, his thrusts getting sloppier, more frantic.

“Gonna fill you up,” he grunted, his rhythm stuttering. His head rolled back as he let out some whimpers, his forehead covered in sweat. 

With a final, deep drive, he came, a hot flood painting your insides. His groan was long and ragged, right into the mic. He collapsed on you for a second, both of you breathing like you’d run a marathon.

Slowly, he pulled out. The wet, messy sound of his cum leaking out of you made you flustered. He reached over and tapped the mic, a satisfied smile on his face.

“Perfect,” he said, his voice back to that cool, collected producer tone. “That last layer is gonna be crazy on the bridge, princessa.” He leaned down, kissing you roughly, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “Take a shower. I gotta edit this.”

YES I love this And thanks bro!

Pairing:Bad bunny x black fem reader.

Warnings: Fluff, mentions of childbirth and home/waterbirth, mentions of pregnancy (yes that's a warning), and Google translate Spanish as usual mixed in with some Spanish that I know. The usual I suppose😔, protective Benito.

Short asl tho

Ahhh This is the cutest thing ever! So this would be for single mom reader too?

Parings: Bad bunny x Black!single mom! reader

Synopsis: Benito teaching you how to cook your daughters favourites, pastellitos de Carne.

Warnings: Fluff.

SISTA IM SO BAD AT MAKING MY OWN PLOT So is it okay if I lowk execute my underground rapper idea

So ig headcannons.

Pairing: Bad bunny x black reader.

OOOO YES (and I mainly write smut lmao)

Pairings: Bad bunny x Black reader

Warnings: Nothing too crazy jst the meat and potatoes pretty vanilla icl, cock warming or whatever BUT IN MY OPINION nothing too crazy. But oh squirt, and kinda public, established relationship, he's not like AS FAMOUS NOW but when he started to begin to blow up is the setting (so ig 2016 lol)

YESS AND THANK YOU BADDIE

but if you want, could you write a fic where reader (preferably fem but no biggie) & benito announce their relationship at the super bowl?

again, you DONT have to write this <3

ty, ily 💕😩

The Only Thing More Powerful Than Hate Is Love

masterpost

word count: 3.9k

pairing: bad bunny x fem!reader; platonic!pedro pascal x fem!reader

A/N: first, but DEFINITELY not last time posting a bad bunny story (i forgot to add him to my list, I'm for sure accepting requests for him) :) aaaaaah I'm so excited about this!! I did rush it a little bit, but just becasue I needed to get this out since I truly just couldn't hold in my excitement anymore! thank you so much for the request, i really hope you like it and thank you for it being your first request, I'M SO HONOURED!!! here's to the best halftime show ever! (also: this doesn't have a ton of bad bunny x reader moments, but I'm writing more, I promise!)

It was wilder than you had expected. A lot wilder. Louder, more extravagant, and busier than you could’ve ever imagined. The people in the stands kept on shouting remarks you’d understand if you knew a little bit more about American Football. Even the kids who had come with their parents seemed to understand the game, jumping up in joy and excitement when their favourite team made yet another few points.

Thankfully, you didn’t have to survive the large crowd surrounding you on your own. Pedro and your assistant had joined you at one of the back entrances. After saying goodbye and wishing Benito good luck, the three of you were led to your designated seats for the first half of the game. Oh, what you would give to be backstage with the man of the hour, but protocols, and rules, and blah blah blah. He told you it would be fine, you should enjoy the evening not just as a girlfriend, but as a casual viewer as well. But the fact was, you couldn’t be there for your partner, your confidant, your other half.

The pressure of standing on the biggest stage of the nation, performing in his mother tongue in a time of hate, had been heavy on his shoulders the past few days, if not weeks. Spanish, a language taught in most schools on US grounds, yet the people from areas of the American continent that spoke it fluently were being threatened, hated on, and even deported. But that didn’t make him back down. If anything, it fuelled his desire to spread his message, his love for his people. And you admired him for it, like many others. Only that your love ran deeper.

And with that love came fear. Fear of him receiving more hate than he already did, fear of him getting hurt before, during or after his performance. And now you were stuck in one of the seats overlooking the green field, joining thousands of people who were rooting for their favourite teams, while you had been picking at your nails and nervously tapping your feet. You kept on checking your phone to see if Benito had sent you anything, but the screen stayed clear. He was probably even more nervous than you; the last thing on his mind would be to text you something with only a few more minutes until the biggest performance of his life.

No one knew what you were waiting for. The people knew you as an actress getting bigger and bigger, gaining new roles in massive franchises, building up your fan base. No one knew who you went home with every night, who was holding you while you were sleeping, who you had breakfast with, whose home country you had gone to more times than you could count. The man who held 31 concerts in Puerto Rico, that helped recover the nation’s tourism statistics. You had been there for every single performance, most times staying backstage or undercover. Some people managed to get pictures with or of you, rumours spreading like wildfire, but nothing had been confirmed yet. Benito wanted it to be big. Make a statement people wouldn’t forget.

“You’re more nervous than him,” a deep voice from your left spoke into your ear. You turned your head to see Pedro’s eyes, covered by his sunglasses, looking at you, a kind smile curling his lips. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

You shook your head with a smile, “Can you blame me?”

He shook his head, understanding your concern. “Don’t worry about him, he knows what he’s doing.” A comforting arm found its way around your shoulder, squeezing your upper arm to ground you. You leaned into him and nodded.

“I pray,” you mumbled, fixing your hair as you sat back down straight.

You couldn’t focus on the game even if you tried, the thoughts were too loud in your head. Deep breaths, you remembered.

The vibration of your phone brought you back into the present, making you look down into your hand immediately.

‘Going to give Noah my phone now. Remember this one is for you too, te amo querida❤️’

You smiled at Benito’s message, right in front of the picture that decorated your lockscreen of the two of you on a night out that was taken by a friend of yours.

You were quick to reply,

‘Promise I’ll cheer the loudest, make your people proud Beni, I love you‘

One look at the time let you know that it was only 18 minutes until halftime would be called. You knew the schedule, you knew the plan. 380 people dressed as plants, 330 dancers, different celebrities in the casa, while you’d join him for a quick dance break and wait for him once he’d walk out through the tunnel . You just didn’t know what he had planned for the very end.

A nudge to your side made your head perk up.

Your assistant nodded her head to the security guards behind her, “Let’s go.” The time had come. They were prepping to set up everything and get people in their designated places. Thankfully, you had already changed into the white dress you were supposed to be wearing for your chameo.

“God…,” your mumble made the actor behind you chuckle as he joined you, heading towards the stairs. Pedro walked a step quicker and stopped, offering his arm for you to hold and help you walk down, as you were also already wearing heels. The security guards made sure you were able to make your way freely, not getting interrupted by interested people, but you couldn’t help but notice the murmuring around you. Some had grabbed their phones, filming and taking pictures as you were guided down the stands.

On the ground floor again, Pedro was separated from you as he was told to join the other celebrities that would be taken to the field in a few moments, while one other guard walked you to the walkout tunnel. Now you were alone with your assistant, but her being busy on her phone left you alone with your nerves. You looked around, trying to find someone you knew who could offer some distraction, but all you saw were NFL employees and other people’s managers, assistants, as well as guests.

“We’re gonna bring you to the other side of the stage. Afterwards, you walk down the stairs with Stefani,” the security guard stretched his arm out, pointing towards the very end of the field, before motioning back to a place by the wall right at the tunnel, “but towards the end, we’re gonna bring you back here, alright? Someone will get you to bring you here.” He explained as a technician had come up to fix a set of in-ears to your dress, handing them to you, so you could place them into your ears once you needed to.

You nodded in understanding, thanking him and the other man behind you. Even though you had rehearsed your short moments during the halftime show, everything needed to go down smoothly, so the reminder was welcomed. Messing up would be the biggest mistake of your life, and this was not the time to forget positions, steps or places. Not only was half the world watching, but you were supposed to support your partner and help him through one of the biggest events of his career.

You handed your phone over to your assistant as she joined you, walking the sidelines up to the other side of the field, where more dancers, dressed similarly to you, were already waiting. You addressed them with a warm smile and waves, having already met them properly during the rehearsals. The security guard excused himself as he was replaced by another, and a tap on your arm made you turn around.

“We almost forgot this!” One of the stylists exclaimed, holding up a Flor de Maga pin that was supposed to be attached to your dress, slightly differentiating you from the other dancers. She pinned it to the top part of your white dress, patting down any wrinkles before leaving again.

Your eyes fell to the side, where multiple executives and managers were lined up, trying to find a familiar face, when you found a silhouette you were able to recognise.

“Noah!” You called out for Benito’s assistant, who turned around immediately at the sound of your voice. With a bright smile and a hug, he welcomed you.

“Hey, Y/N!” He released you and eyed you carefully, “How’re you doing?”

You shrugged, putting your hands on your back, “I think, alright. Nervous, but alright.”

Noah laughed, “Beni said the same thing. Trust me, it was the right decision not having you in the green room. You wouldn’t have let him out if you’d seen how nervous he was.”

“Was he?” You immediately wondered, the worried sleeper agent in you waking up. “Are you serious?”

His assistant chuckled softly, placing a hand on your shoulder, “He was, but don’t worry. Anyone would be before a show like this. But he’s gonna do great.”

You nodded, gulping as you crossed your arms in front of your chest. Your eyes had drifted up to look around the stadium. Yesterday completely empty seats, now filled with thousands of people and even more watching on their screens all over the world.

“God, I hate this,” you sighed out loud.

“What? You good?” Noah frowned as he glanced over at you.

You shook your head, “I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

But he just continued to smile at you, “Stop worrying. He’s gonna kill it. And you will too.”

You nodded, your lips curling up as your eyes fixed on the middle of the field, where his stage was now being set up. “I know he will,” you softened your voice and took a deep breath. Now it was just a matter of five minutes max until the big show. The actual highlight of tonight’s event.

And those turned out to be the longest five minutes of your life. Watching the stage slowly getting created piece by piece, then the dancers entering the space and getting put into place.

Somewhere in the distance, you caught a glimpse of Pedro’s curls, finding Jessica Alba and Karol G right next to him as they joined the others on the lower part of the casa. Your eyes moved around almost frantically, trying to see if you’d be able to find Benito. He’d be entering from one of the tunnels opposite you, that much you knew, but there was too much movement going around all over the place, making it hard to find anyone specific, especially once the trees had entered the scene. A make-up artist had made his way over to you, touching you up with some bronzer and blush to complement your skin, as well as a hairstylist, adding some spray to make sure the wind wouldn’t cause too much of a commotion.

“Alright, guys!” One of the leading directors of tonight’s performance called out, making you turn back to the crowd of dancers, “Four minutes until we’re taking our places, and you’re on in five. Remember: be quick!”

You took a deep breath and got a comforting shoulder pat from Noah before he disappeared into another crowd, along with your assistant, who wished you good luck and left you in the hands of a different performance director, that was specifically there to guide you.

Then the lights turned off for a short moment. The big screen at the top showed the Apple Music intro for tonight’s halftime show, along with the scenery chosen by no other than your partner himself. You couldn’t help but grin. Remembering how hard he had worked on getting everything right for this moment. Every song chosen wisely, every dancer, every prop, and each piece of his outfit. And that’s when he came into view. The all-white fit, wide shoulders, thanks to the football gear he was wearing underneath. He was getting into place, disappearing within a second in the makeshift maze. Your gaze fixed on the screen again when the music started, making the crowd applaud as they welcomed the halftime show. You put your hands together, clasping them tightly as the applause died down and pressed your lips to your knuckles, quickly thanking whatever higher power there existed to let everything go smoothly and as planned.

Benito’s deep voice echoed through the speaker as he turned around, eyes locked on the camera. His warm eyes filled the screen as he moved through the maze swiftly, stopping at each prop to act  out the scenes that he had rehearsed for so many days.

Next thing you know, he’s on top of the pink coloured makeshift house, celebrities filling the porch of the lower floor. Moving along with the other dancers, singing the words of his high-charted hits.

The floor fell beneath his feet, letting him fall into the comfort of the four walls before he exited again through the ‘front door’. He went on further while other dancers filled the screen, moving along to the songs of his fellow Latin singers, the sound of ‘Gasolina’ making you grin, knowing how many people in their homes would love the mention.

Once he had reached the truck that was placed in the middle of the stage, the director moved his hand to let your group follow him. Your personal director guided you, giving you some last-minute instructions, mainly just going through the right positioning to remind you.

You reached the other elevated space, where the dancers had gathered to surround the couple that would be officially wedded tonight. You were supposed to stay a little further back. Not having a professional dance background came in handy as you had less to focus on. This was Lady Gaga’s moment, joined by a live band and the other dancers performing as if at a wedding reception.

The official ceremony ended with the newlywed couple kissing, when the sound of a new rendition of ‘Die With A Smile’ filled the stadium, Lady Gaga’s smooth voice ringing through the speakers. She moved effortlessly in her flowy blue dress, complementing the colours of those around her.

You were guided to sit on one of the chairs in the corner until it was your cue to stand up. Joining the elder performers and kids on the sides, you managed to greet them quickly before your eyes locked on the scene in front of you. The couple had moved to the tall wedding cake in the other corner, with some other background dancers joining them.

Right as she finished the last line of the chorus, you were suddenly greeted by your partner, holding his hand out for you to take. So in awe of the musical performance, you were surprised by the action, adding to the scene as the camera was now on you. With a grin, you took it, just like you were supposed to and let him guide you towards the middle of the ‘dance floor’. He couldn’t say anything to you, that much you knew since there was a possibility of his microphone catching any words, but the warm curl of his lips was enough for you. Gliding over the floor, you let him twirl you into position before you came to a halt next to him, and he opened his arms wide.

“¡Mientras uno está vivo, uno debe amar lo más que pueda!” He called out into the microphone. That was your cue to turn towards him, your hand sliding over his chest that was covered by the white suit jacket he had changed into. Benito gazed at you proudly, giving you one of his award-winning smiles before you started to move your hips just like he had taught you all those months ago back in his hometown, where he had taken you dancing.

You held onto your dress, moving it along with your body to accentuate your movements in front of him. After making one 360-degree turn, you placed the back of your hands on his cheeks, his warm hands running down the side of your arms as you locked eyes through his sunglasses, grinning at each other brightly. If it weren’t for him, you would have been much more nervous, but suddenly, with your loving partner right in front of you, the crowd surrounding you, and millions of eyes watching you were left behind. This was a moment he decided to share with you, making his performance all that much more special.

He grabbed your hands on his chest, desperately wanting to interlock your fingers if only you didn’t have a choreography to stick to. Benito held onto your right hand, letting you move around him freely as the acoustic sounds of BAILE INoLVIDABLE filled the stadium. One last meet of your eyes before he let go of your hand gently, and moved on to the little girl right behind you to twirl her as well as he went on with his performance, while you reached your hand out for the girl to take and bring her with you, disappearing into the crowd of dancers again. A director right on the side showed you the way back to the stairs. You let the young girl walk down first before following behind her. She was guided away in the opposite direction from where you were supposed to be heading next.

Your eyes found your assistant already waiting on the sidelines, greeting you with a big grin,

“How incredible was that?!” She screeched as you jumped into her arms, the adrenaline suddenly feeling ten times more intense than before.

“Oh my God,” you breathed out, “did that-”

“We gotta move you further now,” a security guard interrupted your short moment of excitement as he motioned towards the other end of the field, where you had come from originally. Right, next moment. Your assistant joined you as you suddenly started jogging over, passing the multiple cameras swiftly.

The performance carried on behind you as you took your next place. This is where you’d be greeting him right after the mini-concert ended, after the cameras were back on the field, away from the two of you.

“You did it,” your assistant grinned proudly, “And you guys looked AMAZING. I can’t wait to see Twitter’s reaction to this,” she chuckled, making you join her as you shook your head.

“This is insane,” you sighed happily, placing a hand on the space between your chest and stomach, trying to catch your breath after just being in front of a live camera and running up an entire football field.

“You know,” she smirked, nudging your side, “you look great in white.”

“Stop it,” you rolled your eyes with a smile, shaking your head, knowing exactly what she was initiating.

She quickly raised her hands in defence, “Just saying,” but the grin never left her lips.

You got to enjoy the very last part of NUEVAYoL before Ricky Martin's presence filled the screen, making you smile. Oh, how many women are shouting excitedly at their screens right now, you thought to yourself.

Once Benito started to climb one of the power lines, you could feel your heart stopping for a short moment. The climbing wasn’t the problem per se. But the fact that he was jumping and dancing on the tiniest platform known to mankind without a harness did it for you. You knew he had refused to wear anything to secure him up there, sure in his abilities and wanting to create a dynamic and real performance, you shook your head softly, eyeying each one of his movements carefully. A heavy breath of relief left your lips when he was back on the floor. As proud as you were of his achievement, you knew there was a conversation to be held - let’s not get hurt during worldwide-streamed performances.

You didn’t even notice your assistant leaving you for a short moment before she came back rushing to you, a big colourful piece of fabric in her grip.

“Here,” she grinned, opening it and draping it over your shoulders without a warning. She had snatched one of the Puerto Rican flags from the sides, handing it over to you. “Makes you even prettier,” she smiled as she tied the flag around your neck. You giggled, glancing back, watching the red stripes and white star within the blue triangle hang over your back, slightly flowing in the wind.

Just then, the rhythmic beat of DtMF hit your ears, and before you knew it, a tear had already escaped your eye. You didn’t even bother to wipe it away, knowing more were soon to come. Watching Benito jump up in ecstasy as more dancers holding and swinging flags of all the other countries of the American continent joined him happily, echoing his words like a choir.

The crowd that had formed was making their way to the walkout tunnel, where you were already anxiously waiting for him, ready to welcome him with the proudest hug of the century. Your eyes watched him closely as he clearly took in the moment, gazing around the stadium as he led his people towards the end. A security guard made sure they wouldn’t get interrupted just as they reached you.

“Muchas gracias,” Benito raised his hand up in the air as he got closer and closer, you already pushing yourself off the wall.

He turned around to the crowd one last time, shouting out the words of the number one song in the world before his eyes found yours. With a wide smile, Benito jogged up to you, the camera moving along with him quickly, making you furrow your brows slightly as you thought this would be the moment they’d cut back to a wide-shot of the stadium. But they stayed on him. Even as he reached you.

“A mi amor,” Benito proudly stated loudly before reaching his right hand out to you, your eyes widening in surprise, while using his left one to rip the microphone off and letting it dangle over his shoulder. Catching you off guard, he pulled you towards him with a quick tug, making you steady yourself with your hands on his chest as he hugged you. Before you could truly realise what he was doing, he spun you to the other side, tipped you lower and placed a loving kiss on your lips. You could only hear the loud cheers in the back from the dancers, almost overpowering the crowd in the stadium. With his mouth pressed onto yours, his big hand on your back, pressing into the flag still draped around you, brought you up to your feet again, letting you lean back and meet his dark, yet warmest eyes you had ever met, looking directly into yours.

“What are you doing?” You wondered out loud, your breathing quick as you still tried to wrap your head around the moment that had just been captured on camera.

“Te amo, cariño,” he grinned, catching his breath as the adrenaline was wearing off slowly. “I love you. So much.”

You giggled shyly, cupping his cheek and letting your thumb brush over his, the rosy tint gently, “I love you too, Beni.” With a smile, you pulled him down, placing another kiss, much softer, onto his lips. He didn’t even try to hide his forming grin as his hands grabbed you tighter and pulled you closer, deepening the kiss even more, letting the crowd fall into the back. He just made history in so many ways.

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yourusername and the whole world cheered🫶🏼

pedropascal absolutely incredible👏🏼 love you both❤️

user1 YES YES YES YES YES

user2 and the whole world cried (happy tears)

user3 I'm so here for this🩷

karolg mamacita🔥

↳ yourusername mommy😮‍💨

user4 we have a new it couple 🔥

user5 abolsutely love it when hot people date hot people

user6 how tf did he manage to make me scream, cry and laugh all within 13 minutes