Pairing: Bad bunny X Plus sized ! Black reader

Tagline: He didn’t show up. Someone else did.

Summary: Valentine’s Day was supposed to be different this year.

You had the outfit, the plans, the hope that maybe just once your boyfriend would choose you.

Instead, you’re left sitting alone in the warm Caribbean night, phone in hand, watching him live a life that doesn’t include you. A quick stop at a bodega turns into an unexpected conversation with a stranger who listens instead of excuses, who sees you instead of forgetting you.

Sometimes love doesn’t come in roses and reservations.

Sometimes it comes in the form of someone who stays.

Warnings: 18+ content,mdi ( minors do not interact) Smut, Hurt/comfort,

Sexual tension, P in V , Unprotected sex( wrap before you tap) , Exhibitionism, Oral sex ( F receiving), Emotional neglect,Disappointment, Loneliness ,Light angst, Hurt/comfort, Unhealthy relationship dynamics.

Word Count:

~2.12k

🍒 A/n: Hi loves. This is a Valentine’s Day hurt/comfort piece with a little heat and a lot of feelings.

——-

He Didn’t Show Up. Someone Else Did.

The humid Caribbean breeze carried the faint scent of salt and blooming jasmine through the open balcony doors of your San Juan apartment. Valentine’s Day had dawned with promise pink skies over the ocean, the kind that made you believe in second chances. You’d spent the afternoon perfecting your look, standing in front of the full-length mirror in your bedroom, appreciating the way your light skin glowed under the soft afternoon light filtering through the sheer curtains. Your heritage whispered through your features: full lips that curved into a natural pout, high cheekbones that caught the shadows just right, and those thick, bouncy curls that framed your face like a crown. As a plus sized woman, you carried your curves with confidence wide hips that swayed when you walked, a soft belly that spoke of real life and real beauty, and thighs that rubbed together in the most comforting way. Stretch marks traced silvery paths across your hips and breasts, like delicate lightning on your warm, light brown skin, badges of the body you'd grown into and loved fiercely.

You’d chosen a sleek black dress for tonight, one that hugged every inch of your voluptuous form. The fabric was stretchy and forgiving, clinging to the swell of your breasts, cinching at your waist to accentuate the flare of your hips, and ending mid-thigh to show off legs that could command a room. It was off-the-shoulder, exposing the smooth expanse of your collarbone and the gentle roll of your shoulders. Underneath, a lacy black bra and matching panties cradled your full figure, the kind that made you feel sexy even on off days. Your curls were pinned up in an elegant updo, a few tendrils escaping to brush your neck, and you’d slipped on strappy gold sandals that added a few inches to your height without sacrificing comfort. Jasmine perfume dotted your wrists and the hollow of your throat the scent he once said drove him wild. Dinner reservations at that cliffside spot in Old San Juan, where the waves crashed below like applause. This year, you told yourself, he’d show. He’d choose you over whatever pulled him away last time work, friends, the endless excuses.

But as the clock ticked past 8 PM, your phone stayed silent. No texts, no calls. You refreshed his socials out of habit, and there it was: a story from some club in Condado, him grinning with a bottle in hand, surrounded by people who weren’t you. The caption? “Vibes only.” Your chest tightened, that familiar ache blooming like a bruise across your soft curves. You typed out a message Where are you? and hit send. Dots appeared, then vanished. Nothing.

Tears pricked your eyes, but you blinked them back, careful not to smudge the winged liner that sharpened your almond shaped eyes a nod to the Black roots that gave them their depth and expressiveness. Not tonight. You grabbed your purse, a small black clutch that matched your dress, and slipped on a light cardigan to ward off the evening chill, though the night was anything but cold. Needing air, needing to move before the walls closed in, you stepped out. The streets of San Juan pulsed with life even at this hour couples strolling hand-in-hand, laughter spilling from open bars, reggaeton beats thumping from passing cars. Your dress swished against your thick thighs as you walked aimlessly, the warmth of the night wrapping around your plus-sized frame like a reluctant embrace, until your throat burned for something cold. A bodega glowed ahead, its neon sign flickering invitingly.

Inside, the air was cooler, stocked with shelves of plantains, sodas, and those little packets of tropical candy. You headed for the cooler, your hips brushing a display as you reached for a bottle of Medalla, when a voice broke the quiet hum of the fridge.

“Rough night?”

You turned, and there he was leaning against a rack of chips, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, but you’d know that face anywhere. Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio. Bad Bunny. In the flesh, right here in this hole-in-the-wall store like it was no big deal. He was dressed down in a loose tank that showed off the tattoos snaking up his arms, baggy shorts, and those signature shades even indoors. His presence filled the space, magnetic and unassuming all at once.

You froze, bottle halfway to your lips, your full lips parting in surprise. “Uh, yeah. Something like that.” Your voice came out steadier than you felt, but your heart raced beneath the soft swell of your chest. Was this real? Or just the universe’s cruel joke on a lonely Valentine’s?

He chuckled, low and warm, grabbing a six-pack for himself. “Valentine’s sucks sometimes. Mi gente acts like it’s the end of the world if plans fall through.” His Spanish lilt wrapped around the words, easy and inviting. He nodded toward the counter. “Come on, let me get that for you. Stranger tax.”

You hesitated, but the kindness in his eyes—dark, searching—pulled you in, making your light skin flush with a warmth that spread to your cheeks. “Thanks. I’m... just trying not to think about it.”

The cashier rang you up without a second glance, and as you stepped back into the night, he fell into step beside you. Your cardigan slipped off one shoulder, revealing more of the dress's cling to your curves, and he glanced appreciatively but respectfully. “Walk with me? The beach is close. Better than pacing alone.”

You should’ve said no. Should’ve gone home, curled up with a rom-com and pretended it didn’t hurt. But his energy was a balm, steady where your boyfriend’s was chaos. So you nodded, and the two of you wandered toward the shore, the city lights fading behind you. The sand was still warm underfoot, your sandals sinking slightly as you sat on a weathered bench overlooking the water, your dress riding up just enough to expose the stretch marks on your thighs like subtle invitations.

He cracked open a beer and handed it over, his fingers brushing yours electric, but not pushy. “Wanna talk about it? Or nah?”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them. The plans, the dress, the endless waiting. How your boyfriend always promised more but delivered excuses—late nights at the studio, “bro time” that stretched into dawns. How you felt invisible, like your love was a placeholder until something better came along, your plus-sized body and all its beautiful imperfections overlooked. “It’s stupid,” you finished, staring at the foam in your bottle, your curls loosening slightly in the breeze. “Valentine’s is just a day, right? But it hurts. Like, really hurts.”

Benito listened, really listened no interruptions, no platitudes. His knee bumped yours lightly, a grounding touch against your soft thigh. “Nah, it’s not stupid. That shit builds up. Emotional neglect, they call it? Like you’re pouring into a cup with a hole in it. And he’s out there living like you don’t exist? That’s on him, mami. Not you. And look at you you’re stunning, every curve, every mark on that gorgeous skin.”

His words hit deep, cracking open the loneliness you’d buried. Tears slipped free this time, hot on your light cheeks, tracing paths that highlighted the subtle warmth of your undertone, a blend of sun-kissed light skin with the rich depth of Black ancestry in your features. He didn’t flinch. Instead, he shifted closer, his arm draping over the back of the bench, not quite touching but offering shelter. “Hey, you’re worth more than that. Someone who sees you, who stays. Those stretch marks? They’re like stories on your body, beautiful ones.”

The air between you thickened, charged with the salt and his cologne something earthy, like sandalwood mixed with sea. You turned to him, your faces inches apart, and in his eyes, you saw it: not pity, but hunger. For connection, for you. “Why are you being so nice to me?” you whispered, your full lips trembling slightly.

“Because you deserve it,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “And because tonight, I’m choosing to be here, mi reina.”

His hand cupped your cheek, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw, and you leaned in, lips meeting his in a kiss that started soft tentative, tasting of beer and unspoken need. But the hurt in your chest fueled it, turning gentle into desperate. You kissed him like you were claiming something back, your fingers tangling in his shirt, pulling him closer, your soft belly pressing against him.

He groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, and his free hand slid to your waist, bunching the fabric of your dress over your hips. “You sure?” he asked, pulling back just enough to search your eyes, his gaze lingering on the way your light skin flushed.

“Yes,” you breathed, the loneliness twisting into something hotter, needier. “Please.”

That was all he needed. Benito stood, tugging you up with him, and led you down the beach a ways, away from the distant lights, to a secluded stretch where the palms curved like a natural alcove. The moon hung low, casting silver on the waves, and the sand felt like silk under your feet as you kicked off your sandals. He pressed you against a smooth palm trunk, his body pinning yours—solid, warm, alive. His mouth claimed your neck, lips sucking gently at first, then harder, marking the light skin that your boyfriend had ignored for too long, right above the faint stretch marks peeking from your dress's neckline.

You gasped, arching into him, your hands roaming his back, feeling the flex of muscles under ink, your full breasts heaving with each breath. “ mami, you taste divine ,” he whispered, nipping at your earlobe, his voice gravelly with that Puerto Rican fire. “Gonna make you forget all about that pendejo. Love how this dress hugs you, mami shows off every perfect curve.”

“Promise?” you teased back, your fingers slipping under his tank to trace the ridges of his abs, your own body responding with a heat that made your thighs clench.

He laughed softly, a rumble in his chest. “Oh, I promise, pretty girl . Spread those legs for me.”

You did, hiking your dress up as he dropped to his knees in the sand. The grains shifted cool against your skin as he hooked his fingers into your lacy panties and tugged them down, exposing your pussy to the night air, the stretch marks on your hips glowing faintly in the moonlight. He looked up at you, eyes dark with lust. “Fuck, look at you. So pretty and wet for me already.That skin... light and smooth, with those hints of fire underneath.”

Before you could respond, his mouth was on you tongue flat and broad, licking a slow stripe up your folds. You moaned, loud and unfiltered, your hands flying to the sand beside you, fingers digging in for purchase as he devoured you. He sucked your clit between his lips, flicking it with the tip of his tongue, then delved deeper, thrusting inside you like he was fucking you with his mouth. The wet sounds mixed with the waves, obscene and perfect, his hands gripping your thick thighs, thumbs tracing the silvery lines there appreciatively.

“Benito oh shit,” you whimpered, hips bucking against his face, your curls tumbling fully loose now, wild and framing your face. He reached up, grabbing a fistful of them, tugging just hard enough to arch your back, exposing more of your light skin to the night.

“That’s it, mami,” he growled against your core, the vibration sending sparks through you. “Grab that sand like you’re holding on for life. I’m gonna eat this pussy till you scream. You’re so soft, so real love these marks, like art on you.”

He did, relentless lapping at your entrance, circling your clit, his free hand gripping your thigh to hold you open, fingers pressing into the plush flesh. Pleasure coiled tight in your belly, your body trembling as you clawed deeper into the beach, sand caking your palms, your plus-sized frame quivering with building ecstasy.

“Feels so good , your tongue, fuck, right there!”

Just as you teetered on the edge, voices drifted from the path laughter, footsteps crunching shells. A group of late night strollers, probably tourists, heading your way. Panic and thrill mixed in your veins, your heart pounding against your full chest. “Wait someone’s coming!” you hissed, trying to pull back, your dress still bunched around your waist.

Benito didn’t stop. He sucked harder, eyes locked on yours with a wicked grin. “Let ’em hear how good I make you feel. Come on my face, quick.” His words were a dare, muffled but commanding, his grip on your curls tightening playfully.

The footsteps grew closer, a woman’s voice calling out about the stars. You bit your lip, but the orgasm hit anyway crashing through you like a rogue wave. Your pussy clenched, juices flooding his mouth as you shuddered, a muffled cry escaping despite your efforts. Sand flew from your grip as your body convulsed, waves of pleasure rippling through your curves.

The voices paused, then moved on, the group none the wiser. Benito licked you clean, slow and thorough, before rising with a smug wipe of his mouth. “See? Almost caught, but worth it. You taste like heaven, by the way. And damn, those thighs could stay between them all night.”

You laughed breathlessly, still buzzing, adjusting your dress over your stretch-marked hips. “You’re insane.”

“Insanely into you,” he shot back, pulling you into another kiss. You tasted yourself on his lips, salty and sweet, your light skin tingling from his touch.

But he wasn’t done. His hands roamed lower, shoving his shorts down to free his cock thick and hard, curving up with a bead of pre-cum at the tip. You stroked him, feeling the heat pulse in your palm, your soft hand contrasting his firmness. “Want you inside me,” you murmured, guiding him, your body aching for more.

He spun you around gently, bending you over against the palm, your hands bracing on the bark, dress hiked up to reveal the full glory of your ass and the silvery trails across it. “Gonna fuck you just like this, out here where anyone could see. You’re perfect, every inch.” His tip nudged your entrance, slick from his mouth. With a slow push, he sank in, inch by inch, stretching you wide, filling the softness of your plus-sized form.

“Fuck, so tight,” he groaned, bottoming out. You both stilled, savoring the fullness, the connection, his hands caressing your hips, thumbs brushing the stretch marks like treasures.

Then he started moving deep, steady thrusts that had you pushing back to meet him, your curves jiggling with each impact. His hand found your curls again, wrapping them around his fist like reins, pulling your head back just enough to expose your throat. “Look at you, taking my dick so well. You love it, don’t you? Being my dirty little secret on this beach, all that beautiful light skin glowing for me.”

“Yes harder, please,” you begged, the words tumbling out amid gasps, your body alive with sensation.

He obliged, pounding into you, the slap of his hips against your ass echoing softly. Sweat beaded on your skin, mixing with the sand, tracing down your back. Leaning in, he hovered over your shoulder, lips brushing your ear. “Open up,” he commanded, voice husky.

You parted your full lips, and he spat into your mouthhot, intimate, claiming. You swallowed, the act sending a fresh wave of heat through you, making your pussy clench around him. “That’s it ,” he praised, thrusting deeper. “Now come with me, mi amor.”

The rhythm built, frantic now, his grip on your hair tightening as he chased release. Your walls fluttered around him, the coil snapping again. You came with a whine, clenching hard, and he followed pulling out at the last second to spill across your ass, hot ropes painting your light skin and the stretch marks there.

Panting, he released your curls, spinning you for a lazy kiss, his hands gentle on your waist. “Damn, that was fire. You okay, mami? Felt amazing holding all of you.”

You grinned, adjusting your dress, feeling alive in a way you hadn’t in months, your body humming with satisfaction. “Understatement.”

He tucked himself away, then glanced toward the city lights. “Still early. I know a spot a little club in Condado. Low-key, good music. Wanna keep this night going? Can’t let a queen like you go home yet.”

“Why not?” you said, linking your arm with his, your cardigan draped over your shoulders now. The walk back was easy, filled with light banter about bad Valentine’s stories and his latest track ideas, his arm around your plush waist. Laughter bubbled up, warm and unexpected, easing the last remnants of ache.

The club was tucked down a side street, pulsing with bass that shook the ground. No velvet ropes, just a bouncer who nodded at Benito like an old friend. Inside, it was a swirl of bodies—sweaty dancers, colorful drinks, reggaeton blasting from hidden speakers. He pulled you to a corner booth, away from the crowd, ordering piña coladas that arrived frothy and strong, the sweetness matching the night.

You sipped, hips swaying to the beat in your dress, his hand on your thigh under the table, warm and reassuring. “Dance with me?” he asked, that smirk lighting his face, eyes twinkling at your curves.

Before you could answer, a squeal cut through the noise. “Girl! Is that you?”

Your heart dropped. There, weaving through the throng, were your friend three of them, dressed to kill, eyes wide as they zeroed in on you and your disheveled curls. “We’ve been texting you! Thought you were home crying over that loser!”

You froze, Benito’s hand stilling on your leg, but he squeezed gently, a silent we got this. He chuckled under his breath, cap pulled lower. “Friends, huh? Play it cool, mi vida.”

They piled into the booth, chattering about their night bad dates, spilled drinks one of them eyeing your flushed light skin and the way your dress clung post beach. “Wait, who’s this? New guy already? Spill! And girl, you look... glowy. What happened to the sad solo night?”

Benito leaned back, casual as ever. “Just a friend from the bodega. Keeping her company on this wild Valentine’s.” He flashed a grin, cute and disarming. “She’s too fine to be left alone, you know?”

Your friend squinted at him. “You look familiar... like, really familiar.” She pulled out her phone, scrolling. “Hold up—wait, is that...?”

Panic hit, your pulse racing as more heads turned subtly. If she recognized him, the whole club would swarm. Benito shot you a wink, then stood smoothly. “Hey, ladies, mind if I steal her for a dance? Emergency vibes only gotta show her some moves before the night ends.”

They laughed, waving you off with teasing whoops, but as he tugged you toward the floor, your friend yelled, “He kinda looks like Bad Bunny! No way! Girl, if that’s him, you win Valentine’s!”

You stifled a giggle, his arm around your waist as you melted into the crowd, your bodies grinding to the rhythm, his hands respectful on your hips. “Close call,” he murmured into your ear, spinning you with a playful twirl that made your dress flare. “But worth it for that laugh on your face.”

“Too close,” you admitted, laughing as another fan brushed past, double-taking but getting lost in the mob, the comedic tension dissolving into shared amusement.

“We gotta bounce before they start a riot or demand autographs,” he said, guiding you to a side exit with a dramatic flourish. Outside, the night air hit cool against your warm skin, and you both cracked up full bellied, relieved laughs that echoed down the alley, your stretch marks tingling faintly from the earlier passion.

“Best Valentine’s plot twist ever,” you said, leaning into him, your head on his shoulder.

The boarding house hunched on the edge of the pier as if trying not to be noticed. Doors upon doors creaked and sighed with weariness as people came and went. It was an excitable green once; granny smith apple with a fresh veneer of wax. Now it was the cloying green found on the backs of bread long forgotten in a cupboard. The doors, however, remained a rusty smear upon its face. Its owner had decreed it be painted regularly, for appearances, she had said. Never mind the sagging roof and crumbling foundation that was slowly losing its battle of stubbornness with the tide after every year. The house, as its owner, endured.

Despite its appearance, it was infamous among locals. Not because of the décor, or seaside view, but because of her. The owner. She sat there in a plastic chair in her day duster with a bowl of dried beans on her lap. Her withered fingers sifted through them quickly with the steady hand of experience, as one would spot a lie in a face. The inferior beans and any grit were tossed to the side.

Cover Reveal: Ablaze by Elvira Bell

Ablaze | Elvira Bell Wavesongs #3

Cover by: Kim Killion

Release Date: December 8, 2019

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Blurb

Nick Andrews has returned to the Caribbean—but the world he remembers has changed for the worse. Despite the dangers, he needs to find a way to get to Corona. All he can think of is to reunite there with the love of his life.

Meanwhile, Tom is watching his every…