#benito x reader

✦ oh my god, he's a MUNCH. it lowkey borders on an oral fixation. it's not that he doesn't like getting head (because he falls apart when your mouth is on him), but you're just so sweet and addictive. there's genuinely been times where he's come home from a studio session, only to bury himself in your thighs and eat you out.

✦ speaking of eating.. he will go down on you after he's cum inside you, while you're still dripping from him. he'll lick a long stripe through your folds, groaning at the taste, before leaning up and kissing you hard. if you make some comment about it being nasty, he'll just grin and say, "solo estoy compartiendo nuestro amor, mi amor" (i'm just sharing our love, my love).

✦ he's HUNG. like when you got him in bed the first time, you were actually almost scared of his dick. 9 inches, thick bush at his pelvis that blended into a happy trail, all tan skin and veins. (picture I found below the cut at the bottom so be warned..)

✦ his favorite position is probably doggy or reverse cowgirl. he's an ass man through and through. but he especially loves doggy because of how deep it makes him go, how he can lean over and press his chest to your back, how he can hold your belly in his hands— right where your uterus is (surely this will have no implications later..)

✦ you can't ever be quiet around him. you know those memes where you pass by a hotel room, and the girl in there is getting pounded so hard it sounds like she's possessed? yeah that's benito. it also definitely results in a sex tape of sorts getting posted— someone in the same hotel as you, realizes it's THE bad bunny when you start screaming his name..

✦ you think he'd be upset about that getting leaked, but he's not that mad tbh. he's an utter freak and everyone knows it. he's just more worried about your reputation getting compromsied— he knows how differently sex is treated between men and women.

✦ once he gets comfortable, he definitely starts slipping things about marriage or kids into his dirty talk. especially when he's close, and his dirty talk just becomes spanish mumblings. he'll say things like, "voy a poner una bebe en ti esta noche, amor" (i'm gonna put a baby in you tonight, love) or "joder, te verás tan hermosa el día de nuestra boda así... solo para mí." (fuck, you'll look so beautiful on our wedding day like this... just for me)

✦ he loves when you tug on his curls. whether that's to guide his head where you want it, or because you need something to grab onto, it turns him on either way.

✦ scratches are very common after sex. on his back, biceps, even his thighs if he's taking you from behind. he wears them like a badge of honor because it means that he made you feel good, and tbh, that's all he really wants.

✦ he secretly would lose his mind if you dressed up in a sexy costume for him, especially if it's a bunny. maybe it's a little on the head, but seeing you looking so innocent yet sinful at the same time drives him insane. (i'm gonna write something about this hopefully soon, trust..)

✦ he honestly has a pretty high sex drive. maybe not like every day type of thing, but you guys have sex at least 3 days out of the week, and that goes multiple rounds. if he's not home, he'll definitely send you videos of his hand wrapped around his cock while he talks about the dirty things he'd do if you were there.

✦ he's pretty experimental, but he will NEVER do anything that he can see you're not fully comfortable with. like, for example, if you aren't into anal, but you agree to try and he can see you're not enjoying it, he stops immediately. in his mind, sex should be enjoyable for both parties, and it turns him off when you're not into it.

✦ he would never distance himself if that happens through. at the end of the day, you matter to him so much more than how your body makes him feel. he'll pull you in, kiss you, and tell you how much he loves you.

✦ he loves when you lick his neck. he also licks yours, but he licks everywhere so what's really new?

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ summary: benito talks you through taking his cock

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ warnings: sexually explicit content, size kink (???), soft dom benito, p in v sex, poorly translated spanish

Your thighs straddled Benito's hips, no layers between the two of you anymore. You grabbed the base of his cock, rubbing the head of it against your folds, collecting the arousal there before pushing him inside.

It was an all consuming feeling— having him nestled inside you. Everytime you took him, you swore you wouldn't be able to fit all 9 inches. Of course, you did without fail everytime, but that didn't mean it didn't push you to your limits.

"Papi, it's too big.." You whined, almost panting from how dizzy it made you.

"Shh.. Breathe for me mami. Puedes soportarlo. Siempre lo haces." (You can take it. You always do.) He cooed, rough hands gently grabbing the supple flesh of your ass. His thumbs ran circles on your skin, grounding you in the moment, in the weight of him.

Your hands found their way to his tattooed chest, splaying out to support yourself as you made small, languid thrusts of your hips— an up and down motion that brought new sparks of pleasure everytime you bottomed him out again.

Your brows furrowed and soft mewls fell from your lips. No matter how many times you fit him inside you, there would always be the stretch of your body accommodating him again.

Benito was a patient lover, his hands sliding up to rest against the small of your back, while his hips gently rolled up to meet your motions halfway. You were so beautiful like this, taking him so perfect despite everything.

"Feel good, mi amor?" He asked in a husky whisper. "You fit so good around me.."

You bit your lip and nodded, words failing you right now. Every motion brought more pleasure instead of the initial pain, and your want outweighed your need in this moment. You started riding him faster, desperately chasing that high of an orgasm.

"Keep talking, please, en español. Don't stop.." You pleaded. If anything got you off more, it was his dirty words, especially when they were said in his native tongue while he brought your body closer to heaven.

He chuckled softly at seeing your eagerness but he could never deny you. "Mi maldita esposa.." (My fucking wife) He murmured, his Puerto Rican accent dripping off like honey. "Tan mojado. Solo para Benito, ¿eh?" (So wet. Only for Benito, hm?)

His rhythm started matching yours, the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the room. "Buena chica, recibiéndolo todo tan bien." (Good girl, taking every inch so well.) He praised, his hand finding your hair, cradling your head as he messily kissed you.

The pressure was building up in your lower belly, a feeling you'd grown familiar with since you started dating Benito. "I'm so close.." You whined against his lips. His hand that wasn't in your hair pressed firmly on your back, removing any distance between his body and yours. He took over thrusting up into you, letting you just fall apart against his chest.

"Let go.." He whispered through his own groans. "Grita mi nombre, cariño. Deja que los vecinos oigan cómo me ocupo de este coño." (Shout my name, baby. Let our neighbors hear how I take care of this pussy.)

The coil that had been building finally snapped and your orgasm tore through you like something violent. You cried out his name, your fingernails digging into his tanned skin.

Benito pulled your face into the crook of his neck as he pushed your hips as close together as possible while he spilled inside you, his movements stilling.

You both were trembling with the aftermath, but he kept his grip on you, breathing you in. He needed you close after sex, and his lips found your hairline which was now misted with sweat.

"I've got you. Rest now." He whispered, catching his breath as he pulled a blanket over your attached bodies. He didn't bother pull out, choosing to stay close inside you until his erection fully went down.

"Thank you, conejito." You whispered, a spanish pet name that you'd picked up for him. Bunny. Like his stage name.

"You don't need to thank me, hermosa. You just need to enjoy yourself." He hummed, cradling you to his chest.

masterlist || ko-fi

a/n: This is a reupload from my other blog @drugs-and-daddyissues. I did not steal this writing.

🔞 smut | 🐇 fluff | 💔 angst

🩷 female reader | 🩵 male reader | 💛 gender neutral reader

ᝰ.ᐟ oneshots

~♡• a little stretch 🔞🩷 | benito talks you through taking his cock.

ᝰ.ᐟ headcanons

~♡• nsfw headcanons 🔞🩷

ᝰ.ᐟ blurbs/other

~♡• "the isopod wants it" 💛🐇

Pairing: Bad Bunny x Sofía Valdés (original character) Summary: She lives behind the scenes. He lives in the spotlight. When Sofía Valdés joins an international concert tour as its new media liaison, the last thing she expects is to form an unlikely friendship with the artist she’s been hired to protect. As cities blur together and the world watches from a distance, the quiet moments between them begin to matter more than either of them is willing to admit. masterlist

Chapter Eight (part 2)

⸻ By the time Sofía returned to Benito’s floor, evening had settled over Amsterdam.

The last of the sunlight stretched across the hotel windows in long bands of gold, reflecting softly against the polished marble floor. Somewhere farther down the corridor, members of the band laughed as they disappeared into the elevators, finally finished for the day.

Sofía adjusted the notebook beneath her arm.

It felt heavier now.

Nearly every page she’d left blank that morning had been filled with hurried notes, revised schedules and names she would almost certainly remember for weeks.

The crisis wasn’t over.

It rarely was after a single afternoon.

There would still be emails waiting in the morning.

There would be follow-up calls.

Journalists who had promised not to ask about the collaboration and almost certainly would anyway.

But the situation had stopped growing.

That, in communications, was often enough to call a day successful.

As she rounded the corner toward Benito’s production office, familiar voices drifted into the hallway.

Benito and Darren stood outside the conference room, paper coffee cups in hand, talking quietly over tomorrow’s schedule.

Benito looked up first.

His eyes found her almost immediately.

Something in his expression eased before he could stop it.

Not dramatically.

Just enough that she wondered, for the briefest moment, whether he’d been expecting her.

“There you are.”

The words were simple.

Casual.

Yet they carried the unmistakable feeling that he’d noticed she was gone.

Sofía smiled.

“I survived.”

“So it seems.”

Before either of them could say anything else, footsteps echoed behind her.

Gabriel caught up, the thick folder he’d carried all afternoon now noticeably thinner.

He looked tired.

Not exhausted anymore.

Just relieved.

“I wanted to return her personally,” he said, glancing toward Benito. “It seemed only polite after stealing her for half the day.”

Benito smiled.

“I appreciate that.”

Sofía looked between them.

“I wasn’t aware I’d been stolen.”

Gabriel laughed.

“I’m choosing to ignore that part.”

The tension that had filled the morning seemed strangely distant now.

The hallway felt quieter.

Lighter.

Like everyone had finally remembered how to breathe.

Gabriel turned back to Sofía.

“I also wanted to thank you properly.”

“There isn’t any need.”

“There is.”

His tone remained calm, but there wasn’t a trace of exaggeration behind it.

“You probably saved me two days’ worth of damage control.”

She shook her head immediately.

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“I do.”

“You would’ve solved it.”

“Eventually.”

He smiled.

“You solved it before lunch.”

Sofía lowered her eyes with a small, embarrassed smile.

Compliments had always unsettled her.

She never quite knew where to put them.

“I was only doing my job.”

Gabriel looked at Benito.

“You undersold her.”

Benito raised an eyebrow.

“I did?”

“I expected someone competent.”

Gabriel glanced back at Sofía.

“I wasn’t expecting someone who’d walk into a room she’d never seen before and have everyone working from the same plan twenty minutes later.”

Benito smiled into his coffee.

“I told you.”

“You did.”

Gabriel laughed softly.

“I thought you were being generous.”

“No.”

Benito looked at Sofía for a brief second.

“I was being accurate.”

Heat crept into her cheeks.

She shifted the notebook slightly beneath her arm.

“I think both of you are being very kind.”

“We’re being honest,” Gabriel replied.

“And I’m very grateful.”

For a moment, none of them spoke.

The silence felt comfortable.

The sort that followed long days and shared victories.

Finally, Gabriel glanced at his watch.

“I should let everyone enjoy what’s left of the evening.”

He smiled at Sofía.

“I sincerely hope the next time we work together, it’s under less dramatic circumstances.”

“So do I.”

He offered a final nod to Benito and Darren before disappearing toward the elevators.

The sound of his footsteps gradually faded.

Darren watched him go before finishing the last of his coffee.

“I should get back inside.”

He looked at Sofía.

“Nice work today.”

The compliment was brief.

Matter-of-fact.

Coming from Darren, somehow, it meant just as much.

“Thank you.”

He nodded once before disappearing into the conference room, quietly pulling the door shut behind him.

The corridor fell still.

For the first time all day, it was only the two of them.

Benito looked at her for a moment.

“You look tired.”

She considered denying it.

Instead, she smiled.

“I am.”

“But?”

“But it was a good day.”

He nodded.

He understood exactly what she meant.

Not easy.

Good.

There was a difference.

“Did you eat?”

Her expression faltered.

“…I forgot.”

He sighed.

“I had a feeling.”

“I was busy.”

“I noticed.”

She laughed quietly.

“What?”

“You forget basic human requirements when you’re working.”

“I do not.”

“You absolutely do.”

“I had breakfast.”

“This morning.”

She smiled.

“That still counts.”

“It really doesn’t.”

Another laugh escaped her.

He found himself smiling in return.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed hearing it that afternoon.

“You know,” he said, “the stylists have apparently taken over the hotel lounge.”

Her eyebrows lifted.

“Taken over?”

“They’ve declared tonight mandatory.”

“Mandatory?”

“Apparently none of us are allowed to work.”

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“That sounds… ambitious.”

“I thought so too.”

She glanced toward the elevators.

“I should answer a few emails first.”

Benito let out a long, theatrical sigh.

“I knew you were going to say that.”

“They won’t take long.”

“I’m timing you.”

“You most certainly are not.”

“We’ll see.”

She shook her head, smiling despite herself.

“I’ll come down afterwards.”

“Good.”

She took a few steps toward the elevators before stopping.

She turned back.

“Thank you.”

He frowned slightly.

“For what?”

“For trusting me with today.”

The answer surprised him.

He shrugged lightly.

“They needed you.”

She held his gaze for a second.

“I’m glad you let me help.”

“So am I.”

The words came naturally.

Almost before he’d thought about them.

She smiled.

The elevator arrived with a soft chime.

“I’ll see you downstairs.”

“Don’t be too late.”

“I’ll do my best.”

The doors slid closed.

Benito stood there for another moment, looking at his own reflection in the brushed steel.

Then he smiled to himself.

For the first time since lunchtime, everything felt exactly as it should again. ⸻

By the time Sofía finally made it down to the hotel lounge, the atmosphere had softened considerably from the controlled chaos of the afternoon.

Someone had taken over the speakers near the bar, keeping the music low enough that conversations could still overlap comfortably. Members of the production team had scattered themselves across sofas and armchairs in loose groups, drinks balanced on side tables, shoes kicked beneath chairs, jackets abandoned wherever they had landed.

For the first time since arriving in Amsterdam, nobody seemed to be in a hurry.

Sofía spotted the stylists near the far end of the lounge.

One of them noticed her at almost the same moment.

“There she is.”

Three heads turned.

Another raised both hands dramatically.

“She lives.”

Sofía laughed as she approached.

“I was gone for one afternoon.”

“One very mysterious afternoon.”

“It wasn’t particularly mysterious.”

She settled into the empty space they made for her on the sofa, tucking one leg neatly beneath the other.

One of the girls immediately leaned forward.

“So?”

Sofía looked around the group.

“So what?”

“How did it go?”

“With Gabriel?”

“With the crisis.”

“Oh.”

She smiled.

“Fine.”

Several unimpressed expressions appeared at once.

“Fine?”

“You disappeared for half the day with one of the most senior people in the company and came back with everybody suddenly looking less stressed.”

Another stylist pointed toward her.

“That is not ‘fine.’”

Sofía laughed softly.

“It really wasn’t very dramatic.”

“What happened?”

She gave them the shortened version.

The wrong interview had gone online. A collaboration had been mentioned before it was supposed to be public. Rauw’s usual media liaison had been forced to fly home because of a family emergency, leaving Gabriel without the person who would normally handle the response.

“So we redirected the coverage toward tomorrow’s performance,” Sofía finished.

One of the women stared at her.

“That’s your summary?”

Sofía frowned.

“Yes?”

“You make everything sound boring.”

“It was mostly phone calls.”

“It was crisis management.”

“It was mostly phone calls during crisis management.”

That drew a laugh.

Then one of the stylists suddenly sat straighter.

“Wait.”

Sofía looked at her.

“What?”

“You were with Rauw’s team all afternoon.”

“Yes.”

A pause.

“Did you meet him?”

Sofía nodded.

The reaction was immediate.

“Oh my God.”

“You met Rauw?”

“What’s he like?”

“Is he even better-looking in person?”

“Does he smell good?”

Sofía blinked.

“…Does he smell good?”

“Yes.”

“That matters.”

Another woman leaned closer.

“His skin. Is it actually that perfect?”

“I didn’t inspect his skin.”

“His eyes?”

“What about them?”

“Do they twinkle?”

Sofía stared at her.

The woman looked completely serious.

“Twinkle?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“I genuinely don’t.”

The entire group burst into laughter.

Someone else took over.

“Was he wearing sunglasses?”

“Yes.”

“Of course he was.”

“Did he take them off?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“How were the eyes?”

Sofía’s smile widened despite herself.

“They were… eyes.”

A collective groan went around the table.

“You are impossible.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am.”

One of them placed a hand over her heart.

“If I spent an afternoon sitting across from Rauw Alejandro, I would remember the exact color of his eyelashes.”

Sofía laughed.

“I was working.”

“That doesn’t make him less attractive.”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t attractive.”

Aha.

Every face changed.

One stylist leaned closer.

“So you agree.”

Sofía caught the trap immediately.

“I said nothing of the sort.”

“You literally just said he wasn’t not attractive.”

“That is not the same thing.”

“It’s very close.”

She shook her head, still laughing.

“He’s obviously a handsome man.”

“Obviously?”

“Yes.”

“But?”

Sofía looked genuinely confused.

“But what?”

“But you weren’t fazed.”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

She thought about it.

Honestly.

“No.”

The stylists looked at one another as though she’d just admitted she didn’t understand gravity.

One spoke slowly.

“You spent hours around Rauw Alejandro…”

“Yes.”

“…and at no point did you think, God, he’s hot?”

Sofía covered her mouth for a second as another laugh escaped.

“No.”

“Who are you?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Something normal.”

“I thought he was nice.”

That only made things worse.

“Nice?”

“He was.”

“Nice is what you say about somebody’s uncle.”

Sofía laughed harder.

“He was polite. Funny. Very easy to work with.”

“She’s reviewing his customer service.”

“I am not.”

“You basically gave Rauw Alejandro four stars on Google.”

The group dissolved again.

Sofía shook her head, cheeks warm from laughing.

A few seats away, Benito sat with one of his band members and a sound engineer, half listening to an argument about whether the hotel bar’s playlist had improved or gotten considerably worse.

His phone rested loosely in one hand.

He had been scrolling without really reading anything.

He hadn’t meant to listen to the conversation behind him.

At first, he hadn’t.

He heard Rauw’s name.

That was normal.

Then Sofía laughed.

His attention shifted without permission.

Not enough to turn around.

Just enough that the words started reaching him.

Does he smell good?

Benito nearly smiled.

Idiots.

He continued looking at his phone.

Then he heard Sofía say Rauw hadn’t fazed her.

For reasons he did not care to examine, something warm and stupid settled in his chest.

He immediately frowned at himself.

Why would that matter?

It didn’t.

Obviously.

Rauw was his friend.

Sofía was—

Sofía.

That was all.

He returned to his phone.

Behind him, one of the stylists said:

“Okay, then I need to know something.”

Benito’s thumb moved once across the screen.

“What?” Sofía asked.

“If Rauw doesn’t do it for you…”

A pause.

“…who does?”

His thumb stopped.

He stared at the same post without seeing a single word.

No.

Absolutely not.

This was none of his business.

He should put the phone away.

Move seats.

Join the conversation across from him.

Anything.

Instead, he remained perfectly still.

The sound engineer beside him said something.

Benito nodded automatically.

He had no idea what he’d agreed to.

Behind him, Sofía laughed.

“I don’t know.”

One of the girls groaned.

“No. We’re not accepting that.”

“It’s true.”

“You have to have a type.”

“I really don’t think I do.”

Everyone objected at once.

Sofía sank slightly farther into the sofa.

“I haven’t thought about it.”

“That is impossible.”

“It isn’t.”

“You’ve never thought about what kind of man you like?”

“Not as a list.”

“Well, congratulations.”

One of the stylists grinned.

“We’re making the list.”

Sofía looked horrified.

“We absolutely are not.”

“We absolutely are.”

“Why?”

“For research.”

“This is not research.”

“Answer the question.”

She laughed, shaking her head.

“All right. Fine.”

Across the room, Benito’s attention sharpened despite every reasonable part of his brain telling him not to.

He knew this was ridiculous.

Why did he care?

He didn’t need to know what kind of man Sofía liked.

There was absolutely no useful reason for that information.

And yet—

He wanted it.

Badly enough that he lowered the volume in the earbud he’d forgotten he was still wearing.

He immediately realized what he’d done.

Jesus Christ.

He stared straight ahead.

Behind him, Sofía thought for a moment.

“I suppose…”

The women leaned toward her expectantly.

“…he should be polite.”

Groans.

“Nice.”

More groans.

“Kind.”

“Sofía.”

“Charismatic.”

“Oh my God.”

“Well-spoken.”

One stylist threw herself dramatically against the back of the sofa.

“We do not care about those.”

Sofía laughed.

“You asked what I like.”

“We asked what you find attractive.”

“Those things are attractive.”

“Personality later.”

Another pointed at her.

“Looks.”

Sofía visibly recoiled from the interrogation.

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I don’t.”

“Close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Close your eyes and picture a man you find attractive.”

Sofía stared at her.

“That sounds ridiculous.”

“Do it.”

“No.”

“Sofía.”

She sighed.

Fine.

For barely a second, she allowed herself to think.

A man.

Someone attractive.

Tall, perhaps.

Well dressed.

Clean-cut.

Something safe and generic.

Instead—

Benito appeared.

Not even gradually.

Just there.

Dark curls.

The beard.

Broad shoulders beneath a black T-shirt.

Those dark, round eyes that could somehow look impossibly soft even when the rest of him carried an edge.

Sofía’s breath caught.

Her eyes opened immediately.

No.

Absolutely not.

Heat climbed her neck with such speed that she was grateful the lighting in the lounge was low.

What on earth was that?

Her mind had made a mistake.

That was all.

They had spent too much time together.

The girls had been talking about men.

His face was familiar.

Of course her brain had supplied someone familiar.

There was nothing significant about it.

Nothing.

And certainly nothing remotely appropriate.

He was an artist she worked with.

A professional responsibility.

A person she was around constantly.

That was all.

She reached for the glass in front of her even though she wasn’t thirsty.

One of the stylists narrowed her eyes.

“Why did you just turn red?”

“I didn’t.”

“You absolutely did.”

“It’s warm.”

“It is not warm.”

Sofía ignored her.

“Fine.”

She gathered herself.

“Looks.”

The women waited.

She chose the safest possible answers.

“Tall.”

One nodded.

“Okay.”

“Broader shoulders.”

Another approving sound.

“Dark features.”

“Meaning?”

“Dark hair.”

“Good.”

“A beard, maybe.”

Benito’s eyes dropped slowly to his phone.

His beard.

No.

Stop.

There were approximately four billion men with beards.

This meant nothing.

Behind him:

“What else?”

Sofía hesitated.

“I don’t know.”

“Come on.”

She thought.

Her mind should have supplied something simple.

A nice smile, perhaps.

Instead, she found herself thinking about eyes.

“Kind eyes.”

One of the stylists tilted her head.

“Kind?”

Sofía nodded slowly.

“Yes.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know exactly.”

She tried to put it into words.

“Just… soft, I suppose. Warm.”

Her fingers moved absently around the edge of her glass.

“Eyes that make someone seem approachable.”

A small pause.

“Even if the rest of him maybe doesn’t.”

Across the lounge, Benito went very still.

One of the stylists glanced at another.

It was quick.

Barely noticeable.

But something had clicked.

Tall.

Broad shoulders.

Dark hair.

Beard.

And now—

soft, kind eyes that made someone look approachable despite everything else.

That was becoming considerably less generic.

Sofía, entirely unaware of the silent conversation happening around her, continued thinking.

“And nice hands.”

The girls went quiet for half a beat.

Then—

“Nice what?”

She immediately regretted speaking.

“Hands.”

One woman’s grin became wicked.

“What makes hands nice?”

“I don’t know.”

“You brought them up.”

Sofía sighed, visibly wishing she’d chosen literally any other answer.

“Just…”

She looked down at her own hands as though they might help.

“…manly hands.”

Across the lounge, Benito looked down at his.

Actually looked at them.

Then caught himself.

What the fuck are you doing?

He put the phone down against his thigh.

One of the stylists had already noticed where this was heading.

She exchanged a look with another.

Very slight.

Very dangerous.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “So tall. Broad. Dark hair. Beard. Kind eyes. Nice hands.”

Sofía nodded.

“That’s general enough.”

“Very.”

Too agreeable.

Sofía narrowed her eyes.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Another stylist leaned forward.

“What about curly hair?”

Sofía shrugged.

“That’s nice.”

The first woman bit down on her smile.

“Would tattoos be a deal breaker?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“I don’t particularly seek them out.”

“But not a dealbreaker."

“No.”

Another jumped in.

“What about full lips?”

Sofía blinked.

“This is becoming very specific.”

“Answer.”

She laughed nervously.

“I suppose they’re attractive.”

Several eyes flashed toward one another.

Benito’s jaw tightened as he tried very hard not to smile.

Full lips.

Really?

He should leave.

He absolutely should leave.

He remained exactly where he was.

“High cheekbones?”

“They can be nice.”

“Rosy cheeks?”

Sofía laughed.

“What does that even mean?”

“You know. Someone whose face gets a little pink sometimes.”

She thought about it.

Entirely against her will, she pictured Benito after rehearsal, cheeks flushed from stage lights and movement, the color sitting naturally high across his face.

Her stomach did something deeply unhelpful.

She looked away.

“I suppose that’s… charming.”

That was it.

The girls lost control.

One covered her mouth.

Another dropped her forehead into her hand.

A third simply stared at Sofía with enormous eyes.

Sofía frowned.

“What?”

No answer.

“What?”

One of them finally managed:

“Nothing.”

“That is very obviously not nothing.”

Another stylist inhaled, attempting composure.

“So…”

She glanced toward the others.

Then back to Sofía.

“…let me make sure I understand.”

Sofía already disliked her tone.

“Tall.”

“Yes.”

“Broad shoulders.”

“Yes.”

“Dark hair.”

“Yes.”

“Beard.”

Sofía sighed.

“Yes.”

“Curly hair.”

“I said I wouldn’t object.”

“Full lips.”

“I said—”

“High cheekbones.”

“Those are not unusual.”

“Rosy cheeks.”

“Oh my God.”

“Tattoos aren’t a problem.”

“I never said they were.”

“And nice, manly hands.”

Sofía covered part of her face with one hand.

“Why do I feel like I’m being prosecuted?”

The stylist smiled sweetly.

“Because…”

A beat.

“…you basically just described Benito.”

Sofía froze.

Across the lounge, Benito stopped breathing for approximately one second.

Silence.

Then Sofía’s eyes widened.

“No.”

Too fast.

Far too fast.

The girls burst into laughter.

“No. No, absolutely not.”

Sofía sat straighter.

“That is not what I meant at all.”

“No?”

“I wasn’t describing—”

She stopped.

Restarted.

“I don’t like—”

Another stop.

Her face was burning now.

“I mean, obviously he’s attractive.”

The laughter became louder.

Sofía realized instantly what she’d said.

“No. Wait. That’s not—”

She closed her eyes.

“I mean, I’m not saying he’s not attractive.”

That did not help.

At all.

One stylist was practically folded over beside her.

Sofía tried again.

“He is objectively attractive.”

Across the room, Benito’s mouth twitched.

Objectively.

Good to know.

“But that does not mean I am attracted to him.”

A beat.

“I mean—”

Her eyes widened again.

“No, that sounded worse.”

The women were gone.

Completely useless now.

Sofía spoke faster, trying desperately to find a sentence that didn’t betray her.

“Benito is an artist I work with.”

She gestured helplessly.

“He’s—well, he’s not my boss, obviously, but he’s professionally—”

She stopped again.

“This is ridiculous.”

One of the girls wiped tears from beneath her eyes.

“You’re making it so much worse.”

“I know.”

“No one said you liked him.”

“Exactly.”

Sofía pointed at her.

“Thank you.”

“And then you gave us a five-minute statement about how you don’t.”

Her mouth fell open.

“I did not give a statement.”

“You issued a press release.”

That finally made Sofía laugh despite herself.

She covered her face.

“This conversation is over.”

It was at that point Benito decided he had heard enough.

Or, more accurately, that if he remained seated much longer, somebody was going to notice he hadn’t moved in several minutes.

He picked up his phone, stood, and crossed toward the group as casually as he could manage.

He had no intention of telling Sofía he’d heard any of it.

Absolutely none.

He had also never been more pleased to have functioning ears.

“What are you all laughing about?”

Every head turned.

The effect was immediate.

The stylists exploded.

Again.

Sofía’s hands dropped from her face.

Her expression changed from embarrassed to outright alarm.

Of course.

Of course he would appear now.

Benito stood beside the sofa, one hand sliding into the pocket of his trousers, his expression carefully neutral.

His eyes landed on Sofía.

She looked at him.

For one fatal second—

really looked.

Her gaze moved over him with the horrible awareness of someone who had just spent the last ten minutes having every one of his features listed aloud.

Dark hair.

Beard.

Cheekbones.

Mouth.

Shoulders.

Hands.

And just as she realized what she was doing—

Benito caught her.

Their eyes met.

She looked away immediately.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

One stylist looked between them and had to cover her mouth again.

Sofía stood far too quickly.

“I was actually just about to leave.”

“No, you weren’t,” one of the girls said and pulled her down again.

“I absolutely was.”

Benito’s eyebrows lifted.

“I feel like I’ve missed something.”

“You have.”

“We’re helping Sofía.”

Sofía looked at her.

“Helping me? I don’t remember asking for help.”

“You didn’t.”

“You clearly needed it.”

Benito folded his arms, growing more amused by the second.

“Should I be worried?”

“No,” another stylist said. “Quite the opposite.”

Sofía gave her a warning look.

The woman ignored it.

“We’re trying to find Sofía a man.”

“There is no man,” Sofía said immediately.

“Not yet.”

“Oh my God.”

Benito’s expression barely changed, but something warm settled low in his chest.

He knew.

Or at least—

He was beginning to suspect.

One stylist turned toward him with exaggerated innocence.

“Actually, you know a lot of people.”

“I do.”

“We need someone very specific.”

Sofía looked genuinely horrified.

“No, we do not.”

The stylist began counting on her fingers.

“Tall.”

Another joined in.

“Broad shoulders.”

“Dark hair.”

“Beard.”

“Curly hair would be nice.”

“High cheekbones.”

“Nice smile.”

Then another stylist added, almost thoughtfully:

“Oh—and kind eyes.”

Sofía’s stomach dropped.

Benito looked at her.

The woman continued, far too innocently.

“That one was specifically hers.”

Sofía’s head snapped toward her.

“Why would you clarify that?”

The girls laughed.

“What? It was.”

Benito said nothing.

But his eyes stayed on Sofía a second longer than they should have.

She had said kind eyes herself.

Not because the girls had suggested them.

Not because someone had asked whether she liked dark eyes or brown eyes or any particular shape.

That was simply what she’d thought of.

And for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, that pleased him considerably more than the shoulders.

Or the beard.

Or even the hands.

Especially when Sofía finally looked at him—

and immediately seemed to regret doing so.

Benito broke the moment.

“Anything else?” he asked.

Sofía’s head snapped up.

“No.”

The girls laughed.

One of them pretended to think.

“Nice hands.”

Sofía made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a plea.

“Please stop.”

Benito looked down briefly at his own hand.

Then back at her.

That almost broke the stylists.

Another woman added:

“Tattoos are apparently acceptable.”

“I said they weren’t a dealbreaker."

“Important distinction.”

Benito nodded solemnly.

“Very.”

Sofía finally looked at him.

There was unmistakable amusement in his eyes now.

That only made her cheeks hotter.

He had no right to look that entertained.

She narrowed her eyes slightly.

He smiled.

“I’ll ask around.”

The girls burst into laughter.

One of them managed:

“If you happen to find someone.”

Benito nodded seriously.

“Tall.”

“Broad shoulders.”

“Dark hair.”

He pretended to consider the problem.

“Kind eyes.”

That one came out a little slower.

His eyes moved back to Sofía.

She had apparently developed a sudden and profound interest in the floor.

Benito almost smiled.

“Might take a while.”

She wanted to disappear.

“I hate all of you.”

One stylist immediately wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“No, you don’t.”

Sofía sighed.

“No.”

Her smile betrayed her.

“I really don’t.”

Benito chuckled quietly.

“I’ll let you know if I find this mystery man.”

Then he turned away.

He made it perhaps three steps before the smile he’d been suppressing finally appeared properly.

He didn’t know what, exactly, had just happened.

He certainly wasn’t arrogant enough to assume that Sofía had consciously described him.

She probably hadn’t.

If anything, her reaction suggested she’d been just as surprised by the resemblance as everyone else.

But he knew one thing now that he hadn’t known an hour earlier.

Sofía Valdés thought tall men with broad shoulders, dark hair, beards, full lips, high cheekbones and—apparently—nice hands were attractive.

And kind eyes.

Soft. Warm. Approachable.

That one lingered differently.

Because the others were features.

Things anyone could see.

But kind wasn’t really something eyes were.

It was something Sofía saw in the person behind them.

And although Benito had absolutely no reason to assume she had been thinking about his—

he wondered.

Just for a second.

Then his gaze dropped to his hand again.

He actually looked at it.

Again.

Benito immediately shook his head at himself.

What the fuck are you doing?

Ridiculous.

Completely ridiculous.

Still…

As he walked away, he couldn’t quite stop smiling.

Behind him, Sofía remained trapped between the stylists, wishing she could rewind the last fifteen minutes of her life.

She couldn’t.

Worse—

She could still see Benito’s face from the moment he’d caught her looking at him.

And somewhere beneath the embarrassment, beneath the professional alarm bells ringing furiously in her head, beneath every perfectly reasonable explanation she could produce…

was one deeply inconvenient truth.

When she’d been asked to picture someone attractive—

She hadn’t pictured a stranger.

She’d pictured him.

Pairing: Bad Bunny x Sofía Valdés (original character) Summary: She lives behind the scenes. He lives in the spotlight. When Sofía Valdés joins an international concert tour as its new media liaison, the last thing she expects is to form an unlikely friendship with the artist she’s been hired to protect. As cities blur together and the world watches from a distance, the quiet moments between them begin to matter more than either of them is willing to admit. masterlist

Chapter Eight (part 1)

Amsterdam greeted them beneath a sky the color of pearl.

The rain that had passed through before dawn had left the streets gleaming, the canals reflecting ribbons of pale morning light between rows of narrow brick buildings. Cyclists drifted effortlessly through the city as though they belonged to a rhythm entirely their own, weaving around trams and pedestrians with quiet confidence.

The convoy rolled beneath the entrance of the Conservatorium Hotel just after nine.

Sofía climbed out of the car, adjusting the strap of her handbag over one shoulder while her eyes automatically drifted to the notifications waiting on her phone.

Three new emails.

Two schedule updates.

One revised production document she hadn’t yet opened.

Amsterdam would be busy.

There were interviews today.

Rehearsal later that afternoon.

Tomorrow night’s concert.

She made a mental note to review the latest production schedule before lunch.

Benito was already holding the lobby door open for her.

She thanked him with a small smile before stepping inside.

The warmth of the hotel wrapped around them immediately.

Marble floors reflected the amber glow of hanging lights. Fresh flowers stood in oversized arrangements near the entrance, their scent mixing with coffee drifting from somewhere deeper inside the building. Guests crossed the lobby with quiet conversations and rolling luggage while hotel staff moved between them with practiced ease.

For a moment, it almost felt peaceful.

They approached reception together.

An elderly woman looked up from behind the desk and smiled kindly.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” Benito answered.

“Passport, please.”

He reached into the pocket of his hoodie and handed it across.

The receptionist adjusted her glasses, comparing the photograph to the man standing before her.

“Thank you, Mr. Martínez.”

She entered a few details into her computer before lifting her eyes toward Sofía.

“And your wife’s passport, please.”

Time seemed to hesitate.

Without thinking, Benito extended his hand toward Sofía.

He wasn’t even looking at her.

His body had simply reacted before his mind did.

Over the time they've known each other, dozens of tiny routines had settled quietly between them.

She handed him schedules before interviews.

He carried her coffee when her hands were full.

She passed him his phone before soundchecks.

He reached for things she was already holding without either of them stopping to think about it.

So when another passport was requested…

His hand simply waited for it.

Then the words caught up with him.

…your wife’s passport.

His arm froze halfway.

Slowly, he turned his head.

Sofía was already smiling politely at the receptionist, but he caught the faint flush spreading across her cheeks before she lowered her eyes.

“Oh…”

A quiet, almost embarrassed laugh escaped her.

“I’m not his wife.”

The correction came instinctively.

Almost too instinctively.

She reached into her handbag herself and placed her passport gently on the counter.

“Sofía Valdés.”

She offered the receptionist a reassuring smile.

“I’m his media liaison.”

The older woman’s expression fell immediately.

“Oh goodness… I’m terribly sorry.”

“It’s perfectly all right,” Sofía replied.

“It was an easy mistake.”

The receptionist let out a relieved breath.

“Thank you for understanding.”

She finished checking them in before sliding two keycards across the polished counter.

“Mr. Martínez, you’re on the sixth floor.”

Then she turned to Sofía.

“Ms. Valdés, we’ve placed you on the same floor as the rest of your team.”

“Thank you.”

They stepped away from reception.

For several moments, neither of them spoke.

Benito slipped his keycard into the pocket of his hoodie.

Normally he would’ve laughed.

Made some ridiculous comment.

Asked whether she wanted to keep pretending for the free room upgrade.

Anything.

Instead…

His thoughts had caught on something strangely insignificant.

She had corrected the receptionist immediately.

Of course she had.

What else was she supposed to do?

She wasn’t his wife.

She wasn’t his girlfriend.

She wasn’t anything except the woman responsible for making sure he showed up in the right city at the right time with the right passport in his pocket.

It had been an innocent misunderstanding.

Perfectly ordinary.

Still…

For one brief, ridiculous moment…

He’d liked hearing the word.

The realization made him almost roll his own eyes.

You’re an idiot.

As they crossed the lobby, another group entered through the revolving doors, pushing flight cases toward the elevators.

Sofía glanced up automatically.

Different credentials.

Different production passes.

One familiar logo caught her attention.

She looked back at Benito.

“I didn’t realize Rauw’s team was staying here.”

He followed her gaze. Rauw Alejandro.

One of the biggest Latin artists in the world, and one of the few Benito regularly collaborated with. Their names had appeared together often enough over the years that seeing them share a stage barely counted as news anymore.

“They got in last night.”

“I thought he was touring somewhere else.”

“He is.”

He pressed the elevator button.

“He’s joining us tomorrow.”

She looked at him.

“For the whole concert?”

“One song.”

She frowned thoughtfully.

“I don’t remember seeing that.”

“It got confirmed yesterday.”

Almost immediately, her thoughts shifted.

The press release.

The photographer briefing.

Tomorrow’s running order.

Someone would have to notify the local media before the revised schedule circulated publicly.

Benito watched her for a second before smiling to himself.

“You’re doing the thing again.”

She looked up.

“What thing?”

“The one where I can practically hear the spreadsheets.”

A surprised laugh escaped her.

“You cannot hear spreadsheets.”

“I can.”

She folded her arms.

“What do they sound like?”

He tilted his head as though genuinely listening.

“…Deadlines.”

She laughed again, shaking her head.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’ve been told.”

“Frequently?”

He looked at her with complete sincerity.

“Mostly by you.”

The corners of her mouth lifted despite herself.

“Maybe you should start listening.”

“Nah.”

“No?”

“You’d have nothing left to complain about.”

“I’m sure I’d think of something.”

“I know you would.”

The elevator arrived.

They stepped inside together.

The doors slid closed behind them, shutting out the quiet hum of the lobby.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Benito glanced sideways.

“You get that a lot?”

She looked up.

“The wife part?”

He nodded.

A smile touched her lips, though she could still feel the warmth lingering in her cheeks.

“No.”

She turned the keycard slowly between her fingers.

“I think people just assume that if a man and a woman arrive together…”

She searched for the right words.

“…people fill in the rest.”

She gave a small shrug.

“It wasn’t unreasonable.”

“No.”

“It just caught me off guard.”

She let out a quiet breath.

“I’ve never been mistaken for anybody’s wife before.”

Something inside Benito eased before he could stop it.

It was ridiculous.

Her answer shouldn’t have mattered.

Yet he found himself oddly pleased.

As though he’d unknowingly won something that had never been a competition in the first place.

He frowned almost imperceptibly.

Get a grip.

The elevator climbed another floor.

“I’ll remember to leave a little more space between us next time.”

“…Don’t.”

The word escaped before he’d thought it through.

She looked at him.

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“I mean…”

A sheepish smile appeared.

“We’ve already confused one receptionist.”

A beat.

“No need to confuse the next one into thinking we don’t know each other.”

She studied him for a second.

Then a smile—small, genuine, almost impossible to notice unless you knew her well—appeared.

“I wouldn’t want to create unnecessary administrative complications.”

He laughed quietly.

“Exactly.”

The elevator chimed.

The doors opened onto the sixth floor.

Without thinking, they stepped out together.

Neither of them noticed they were walking at exactly the same pace.

Neither of them noticed there was barely any space between them. ——

The production office occupied one of the hotel’s conference rooms overlooking the inner courtyard.

By the time Sofía arrived, it had already settled into the familiar rhythm of a tour morning.

Laptops covered the long table beside printed schedules, venue maps, and half-finished coffees. Conversations drifted between English and Spanish while phones buzzed every few minutes somewhere in the room. A lighting technician was discussing tomorrow’s stage build while one of the dancers unsuccessfully negotiated for a later rehearsal call.

It was busy.

But it was organized.

Exactly the kind of environment where Sofía did her best work.

She slipped into the empty chair beside Darren without announcing herself and opened her laptop.

Three emails waited.

One interview request needed approval.

A photographer had been added to tomorrow’s accreditation list.

Someone had attached an outdated version of the press release.

She quietly corrected the file before anyone else noticed.

Across the room, Benito leaned against the coffee station, stirring sugar into a cup he’d already forgotten to drink.

The conference room door opened.

“There he is.”

Benito looked up immediately.

A grin spread across his face.

“You made it.”

The newcomer laughed as he crossed the room.

“I said I would.”

They embraced briefly before stepping apart.

Sofía glanced up for no more than a second.

She didn’t recognize him.

Mid-thirties, perhaps. Dark hair. Relaxed posture. The kind of person who looked naturally calm even when the exhaustion beneath his eyes suggested he hadn’t slept properly.

Whoever he was, he and Benito clearly knew each other well.

She returned her attention to her laptop.

Benito studied him for a moment.

“You look terrible.”

“I’ve had better mornings.”

“What happened?”

The smile faded from the man’s face.

“You got a minute?”

Benito nodded.

The two moved toward the windows overlooking the courtyard. They didn’t leave the room, only stepped far enough away that their conversation blurred beneath everything else happening around them.

Gabriel rested one hand against the back of an empty chair before letting out a slow breath.

“I’m here for both you and Rauw this week.”

Benito nodded.

“I figured.”

“I’ve got Rauw’s team downstairs and yours up here.”

“So what’s wrong?”

Gabriel rubbed the back of his neck.

“The broadcaster uploaded the raw interview last night instead of the approved cut.”

Benito’s expression changed immediately.

“…Seriously?”

“They caught it quickly.”

“How quickly?”

“Twenty minutes.”

Benito winced.

“Twenty minutes isn’t quickly.”

“No.”

Gabriel gave a humorless laugh.

“It was long enough for Rauw to mention a collaboration that wasn’t supposed to be public yet.”

“…Shit.”

“The interview’s gone.”

“The clips aren’t.”

Benito nodded.

Of course they weren’t.

Once something escaped online, removing the original meant almost nothing.

Gabriel continued.

“The communications team started containing it last night.”

“So why are you dealing with it?”

For the first time, something heavier settled into Gabriel’s expression.

“Because Elena got a call around three this morning.”

Benito waited.

“Her father had a heart attack.”

His face softened instantly.

“Damn.”

“She left on the first flight home.”

For a moment, neither spoke.

Gabriel glanced toward the room around them.

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have been personally coordinating journalists and broadcaster corrections.

As Senior Director of Artist Management and Communications for Horizon, he sat several layers above the day-to-day media teams. His job was to oversee the people managing the artists, approve major public strategies, coordinate with labels and touring departments when decisions crossed multiple teams, and step in when a problem became too large—or too politically complicated—for any one person to solve alone.

He was the person people called when a situation had already become everyone’s problem.

The difficulty this morning was not that Gabriel didn’t understand communications.

It was that he was simultaneously overseeing two major artists in the same city, and the person who would normally execute every detail of the response was suddenly on a plane home.

Benito nodded slowly.

“So you’re putting out fires.”

“Exactly.”

Gabriel let out a quiet laugh.

“I figured if anyone had a fire extinguisher…”

His gaze drifted across the room.

“…it’d be your team.”

Benito followed it.

Sofía hadn’t looked up once.

She was correcting tomorrow’s interview schedule while answering a question from Darren and pointing another member of production toward the right file at the same time.

Nothing about her looked hurried.

That was the strange thing.

Everyone around her seemed to move faster.

Sofía somehow became calmer.

A small smile appeared on Benito’s face.

“It does.”

Gabriel nodded almost imperceptibly toward her.

“Is that her?”

“The best.”

There wasn’t even the smallest pause before the answer.

Gabriel smiled.

“Confident.”

Benito shook his head.

“No.”

A beat.

“Accurate.”

Gabriel watched her for another moment.

Darren handed her another document without explanation.

She looked at it.

Asked one question.

Made one correction.

Passed it back.

The entire exchange lasted perhaps fifteen seconds.

Gabriel looked toward Benito again.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

He folded his arms.

“You think Darren will let me borrow her for the afternoon?”

“Ask him.”

“I will.”

Benito looked once more toward Sofía.

Then back at Gabriel.

“If he says yes…”

Gabriel waited.

“…bring her back.”

A quiet laugh escaped him.

“I’ll do my best.”

Before either of them moved, Benito spoke again.

“…How’s it going with my request?”

Gabriel looked at him for a second before understanding what he meant.

A smaller smile crossed his face.

“Slowly.”

Benito nodded once.

“Keep me updated.”

“I will.”

The conversation ended there.

Gabriel crossed the room toward Darren.

For the first time since he’d arrived, Sofía looked properly up from her laptop.

The unfamiliar man stopped beside Darren’s chair and introduced himself with an apologetic smile.

She couldn’t hear the words from where she sat.

But judging by Darren’s expression…

Something had gone very wrong.

⸻

Sofía had just finished replying to another email when Darren appeared beside her chair.

“Sofía.”

She looked up.

“You got a minute?”

“Of course.”

She saved the document she was working on and stood.

Benito and the unfamiliar man were waiting near the windows.

As they approached, Darren made the introductions.

“Sofía, this is Gabriel García.”

The man smiled warmly and extended his hand.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

She returned the handshake.

“You too.”

Darren continued.

“Gabriel is Senior Director of Artist Management and Communications for Horizon.”

Sofía’s posture straightened almost imperceptibly.

She knew exactly what that meant.

He oversaw the senior management and communications teams attached to some of the company’s biggest artists, approved major media strategies, coordinated between labels, touring departments and management when decisions crossed multiple areas, and stepped into reputational crises that had already moved beyond the authority of a single team.

He was one of the people called when something had already gone wrong.

Gabriel offered an apologetic smile.

“I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

Sofía waited.

“I also oversee Rauw’s team.”

She nodded.

“Last night, one of the broadcasters accidentally published the raw version of an interview instead of the approved edit.”

Her brow furrowed.

“The raw interview?”

He nodded.

“It stayed online for roughly twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes.

Her mind immediately began calculating.

Downloads.

Screen recordings.

Fan accounts.

Entertainment pages.

Far too much time.

Gabriel continued.

“The media team started containing it overnight.”

“What happened?”

“Our lead liaison had a family emergency around three this morning.”

His voice softened.

“Her father had a heart attack. She had to leave immediately.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

He exhaled.

“She’d already started dealing with the leak before she left, but right now we’ve got an active media situation and no one on Rauw’s side with enough context to take over cleanly.”

Sofía nodded.

“What leaked?”

“He casually mentioned a collaboration that isn’t supposed to exist publicly yet.”

“I imagine the labels weren’t happy.”

“They’re still not.”

“And the media?”

“My phone hasn’t stopped since breakfast.”

A faint smile escaped her despite herself.

“I can imagine.”

Gabriel returned it.

“I can manage the strategic side.”

“I can approve what goes out.”

“I can deal with the label.”

“But I can’t spend the entire day personally calling journalists while overseeing both tours.”

That made sense.

He looked directly at her.

“I know we’ve only just met.”

“And I know this is an unusual request.”

“But I’d really appreciate your help for the afternoon.”

Almost instinctively, Sofía looked toward Darren.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Go.”

She blinked.

“You don’t need me here?”

“We’ll manage.”

He smiled.

“They won’t.”

She looked back at Gabriel.

“What exactly do you need?”

Relief softened his expression.

“Someone who can step into what Elena already started and make sure we don’t spend the next two days chasing a story we should’ve killed this morning.”

He handed her a folder.

Inside were interview transcripts, screenshots, journalist contact lists, notes from overnight, and a timeline of everything that had happened since the interview went online.

Sofía skimmed the first page.

By the second, she was already reorganizing the priorities in her head.

The broadcaster.

The journalists.

The label.

The clips.

The timing of tomorrow’s appearance.

She looked up.

“Do we know how widely the raw file spread before it came down?”

Gabriel smiled faintly.

“The first question I was hoping you’d ask.”

She closed the folder.

“When do we start?”

He glanced at his watch.

“I was hoping five minutes ago.”

She smiled.

“Then we’d better not lose another five.”

The tension in Gabriel’s shoulders eased for the first time all morning.

“I like the way you think.”

Benito had remained mostly quiet throughout the conversation.

Watching.

Listening.

Watching Sofía move from surprise to analysis in the space of barely a minute.

No unnecessary questions.

No panic.

Just—

What’s the problem?

What matters first?

What can still be controlled?

Gabriel noticed it too.

He looked briefly toward Benito.

Now he understood what the certainty had meant.

The best.

It hadn’t been praise.

It had been an assessment.

Sofía picked up her notebook.

“I’m ready.”

Together, she and Gabriel left the room.

Benito watched the door close behind them.

Then, almost unconsciously, he smiled to himself.

If anyone could untangle whatever was waiting downstairs…

It was Sofía.

⸻

Gabriel led her into a smaller conference room at the end of the hallway.

Unlike Benito’s production office, this one had lost any resemblance to order.

Two laptops sat open on the table, each displaying a different entertainment website. Three mobile phones buzzed intermittently beside a stack of printed transcripts. Accreditation lists had been pushed beneath handwritten notes. Two coffees sat untouched and cold.

Someone had clearly spent the night trying to impose structure.

The room had resisted.

Gabriel closed the door behind them.

“I’m sorry to throw you into this immediately.”

Sofía set her notebook on the table.

“It’s all right.”

He slid the folder toward her.

“Everything Elena managed before she left is there.”

Sofía opened it.

The first page was the interview transcript.

The second contained screenshots of the first posts that had picked up the clip.

The third listed journalists who had already requested comment.

She read in complete silence.

Gabriel watched her.

He had expected questions immediately.

Instead, she simply kept turning pages.

Only after reaching the end did she close the folder.

“Has anyone responded publicly?”

“No.”

“The broadcaster?”

“Privately apologized.”

“Nothing public?”

“Not yet.”

She nodded.

“They need to correct the publication publicly.”

Gabriel reached for his pen.

“Apology?”

“Short.”

She thought for a second.

“No defensiveness. No excuses. They posted the wrong cut, removed it and corrected it.”

He made a note.

“The original interview is gone?”

“Yes.”

“And the clips?”

“We’ve been filing takedown requests since last night.”

“How successful?”

Gabriel gave her a tired smile.

“Not very.”

“I didn’t think so.”

She leaned back slightly.

“We should stop.”

His pen paused.

“…Stop?”

“The takedown requests.”

He frowned.

“But the footage—”

“Is already out.”

She met his eyes.

“If we spend the entire day trying to erase something people already downloaded, all we do is keep reacting to yesterday.”

Silence settled over the room.

Gabriel waited.

Sofía turned one of the laptops toward herself.

The entertainment sites were almost identical.

RAUW ALEJANDRO ACCIDENTALLY REVEALS SECRET COLLABORATION

UNEDITED INTERVIEW LEAKS ONLINE

FANS CONVINCED NEW SONG IS COMING

She scanned the pages for another few seconds.

Then looked back at Gabriel.

“If this interview had never leaked…”

He waited.

“What would everyone be writing about today?”

He thought for a moment.

“Tomorrow’s concert.”

“Exactly.”

She closed the laptop.

“So let’s give them that story instead.”

His expression shifted.

“You want to redirect.”

“I want to replace.”

She pulled a blank sheet toward herself.

“Right now everyone has one headline because nobody’s given them anything better.”

Her pen moved across the page.

Then she turned it toward him.

RAUW TO JOIN BAD BUNNY FOR SPECIAL AMSTERDAM PERFORMANCE

Gabriel read it once.

Then again.

“That’s…”

“True.”

He looked at her.

“We’re not denying the leak?”

“No.”

“We’re not confirming the collaboration?”

“No.”

“Then what are we doing?”

A small smile appeared.

“Changing the headline.”

She folded her hands.

“Tomorrow night is real.”

“The performance is confirmed.”

“There’s footage to shoot, questions to ask, speculation about what they’ll perform.”

She glanced toward the laptop.

“That gives journalists something newer.”

Gabriel slowly leaned back.

“And if they start writing about tomorrow…”

“Today becomes old news.”

“The internet gets bored quickly.”

A quiet laugh escaped him.

“I’ve never heard anyone describe crisis management like that.”

“It’s useful to remember.”

She pulled another sheet toward herself.

“The broadcaster posts the correction.”

“We call everyone who requested comment.”

“What do we give them?”

“Five minutes with Rauw before rehearsal tomorrow.”

His eyebrows rose.

“We give them access?”

“We give them a reason to wait.”

She looked at him.

“If they know they’re getting fresh material tomorrow, they’re less likely to spend tonight recycling the same clip.”

Gabriel nodded slowly.

“The label?”

“One statement.”

“The same one everyone gets.”

“No separate versions.”

“No speculation.”

“No trying to explain what Rauw meant.”

“Consistency.”

“Exactly.”

The room fell quiet.

Not because there was nothing left to do.

Because, for the first time that morning…

There was a plan.

Gabriel looked at the pages filling with notes in his own handwriting.

Now they simply had to make it work.

⸻

Meanwhile…

While Sofía spent the afternoon rebuilding Rauw’s media strategy on the other side of the hotel, an entirely different problem had begun quietly developing inside Benito’s production office.

He kept looking for her.

Not consciously.

She was simply… absent.

The first time happened during a radio interview.

A journalist asked whether an evening press call had been moved.

Benito turned automatically.

“Sof—”

Nobody was there.

Darren looked up from his laptop.

“She’s still with Gabriel.”

“Right.”

Benito answered the question himself.

Ten minutes later, someone from wardrobe appeared asking whether tomorrow’s backstage photographer access had been finalized.

Again, Benito found himself glancing toward the chair Sofía usually occupied.

Empty.

Someone else answered.

Not incorrectly.

Just…

Slower.

By the time rehearsal began, he’d reached for his phone twice before remembering she wasn’t with them.

The realization irritated him more than it should have.

He wasn’t incapable of functioning without her.

Obviously not.

He’d toured for years before Sofía joined the team.

Still…

He had apparently become accustomed to solving small problems by saying,

“Ask Sofía.”

Now everyone else was doing the same thing.

The answers simply took longer to arrive.

During a short break between songs, Darren wandered over carrying two bottles of water.

“You look grumpy.”

“I’m not grumpy.”

“You’ve asked where Sofía is four times.”

“I’ve asked twice.”

Darren smiled.

“You asked two other people if they’d seen her.”

Benito frowned.

“I did?”

“You did.”

He unscrewed the bottle.

“Huh.”

Darren laughed.

“You’ll survive.”

“I know.”

“You miss your media liaison.”

“I miss efficiency.”

“Mhm.”

Benito pointed the bottle at him.

“I do.”

“I’m sure.”

Darren’s smile only widened.

“She’s good.”

Benito looked toward the empty production table.

“The best.”

The answer came automatically.

Darren noticed.

He didn’t comment.

Instead, he nodded toward the empty chair.

“You know…”

“I’ve worked with a lot of media people.”

Benito looked at him.

“Most are good at solving problems.”

He took a sip of water.

“Sofía prevents them.”

Benito smiled faintly.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t notice that until she’s gone for a day.”

His smile faded into thought.

That was exactly it.

Nothing had gone wrong.

Everything simply required…

More effort.

More explanation.

More waiting.

It wasn’t dramatic.

It was inefficient.

And somehow, that had become unusual.

A production assistant approached.

“Benito?”

He looked up.

“Gabriel’s asking if he can keep Sofía for another hour.”

Benito stared at him.

“…Another hour?”

“That’s what he said.”

He glanced toward Darren.

Darren tried—and failed—not to smile.

Benito sighed dramatically.

“Tell him…”

He paused.

“…fine.”

The assistant nodded and disappeared.

Darren folded his arms.

“You sounded like somebody asked to borrow your favorite guitar.”

“He borrowed my best employee.”

“You said she was the best.”

“I was right.”

“You usually are.”

A comfortable silence settled between them.

Then Darren smiled.

“You’ve become dependent.”

Benito looked at him.

“I’ve become organized.”

“Whatever helps you sleep.”

Benito laughed quietly, shaking his head.

Across the stage, technicians reset microphones while the band drifted back toward their positions.

For a moment, his eyes found the empty production table again.

Laptop.

Headset.

Schedules.

Coffee cup.

One chair.

Empty.

Funny.

He’d never really noticed the chair before today.

Darren followed his gaze.

“You know…”

Benito looked over.

“People notice talent.”

He nodded vaguely toward the hallway.

“And Gabriel’s built his career on finding it.”

Benito frowned.

“So?”

Darren shrugged.

“So…”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if this isn’t the last time he asks to borrow her.”

Benito looked back toward the empty chair.

The thought lingered longer than he expected.

He didn’t like it.

Not enough to argue.

Just enough to hope Darren was wrong.

Someone called rehearsal back to places.

Benito pushed himself to his feet.

“Come on.”

As he walked back toward the stage, the production table remained behind him.

The chair was still empty.

He found himself hoping it wouldn’t stay that way for much longer. ⸻ By the time Sofía looked up from the laptop again, nearly two hours had disappeared.

The room had changed.

Not dramatically.

The same phones sat on the table.

The same transcripts remained scattered between them.

But the sense of panic had faded.

The broadcaster had agreed to publish the correction.

Three journalists had accepted revised interview times.

A fourth had asked whether tomorrow’s performance would include any surprises.

Gabriel ended that call and looked across the table.

“They’re already asking about Amsterdam.”

Sofía glanced up.

“Good.”

He blinked.

“Good?”

“It means they’re no longer leading with the leak.”

A slow smile spread across his face.

For the first time since she’d met him, he looked genuinely relaxed.

“I owe Benito an apology.”

She looked up.

“For what?”

“I thought he was exaggerating.”

She tilted her head.

“About what?”

“When he said you were the best.”

Her eyes lowered almost immediately.

A faint warmth reached her cheeks.

“I think he was being kind.”

Gabriel smiled.

“No.”

A beat.

“He was being accurate.”

Before she could answer, someone knocked on the door.

Gabriel looked toward it.

“Come in.”

The handle turned.

Rauw stepped inside, dark sunglasses resting on top of his head and his phone already in one hand.

He looked tired.

Not confused.

Tired.

The expression of someone who had been hearing about the same problem from too many people for too many hours.

“Please tell me somebody figured out how we’re answering this.”

Gabriel leaned back in his chair.

“Good afternoon to you too.”

Rauw gave him a flat look.

“My manager has called six times.”

“The label wants me to pretend I never said anything.”

“Three people have sent me the same clip.”

“And somebody apparently thinks I announced an album.”

Gabriel smiled.

“So you’ve had a relaxing morning.”

“Beautiful.”

Only then did Rauw notice Sofía.

His expression softened slightly.

“Oh.”

Gabriel gestured toward her.

“Rauw, this is Sofía Valdés.”

She stood.

“It’s a pleasure.”

He shook her hand.

“You too.”

Gabriel nodded toward the papers scattered across the table.

“She’s the reason your phone should start calming down soon.”

Rauw looked between them.

“You fixed it?”

Sofía smiled modestly.

“I redirected it.”

His eyebrows rose.

“That sounds suspiciously better.”

Gabriel slid the new media plan across the table.

“We’re not fighting the leak anymore.”

Rauw looked at him.

“We’re not?”

“No.”

Gabriel nodded toward Sofía.

“She pointed out we were spending all our energy trying to erase something everyone already has.”

Rauw glanced at her.

“So what are we doing?”

Sofía turned the sheet slightly toward him.

“We’re giving them something newer.”

His eyes dropped to the headline.

RAUW TO JOIN BAD BUNNY FOR SPECIAL AMSTERDAM PERFORMANCE

He read it.

Then looked up.

“That’s why everyone suddenly started asking me about tomorrow?”

“Hopefully.”

A small smile appeared.

“You did that?”

“Not alone.”

She nodded toward Gabriel.

“But yes.”

Rauw looked back at the page.

Then laughed quietly.

“I like this problem much better.”

Gabriel pushed another sheet toward him.

“Your homework.”

Rauw sighed dramatically.

“Of course there’s homework.”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Five-minute media availability.”

“No questions about the leaked collaboration.”

“You redirect everything toward tomorrow night’s performance.”

He scanned the page.

“That’s it?”

Sofía nodded.

“The less defensive you sound, the faster people move on.”

“They really work like that?”

She smiled.

“They work like everyone else.”

“They care about whatever feels newest.”

“So we give them something newer.”

He considered that for a second.

Then smiled.

“I’ve been doing interviews for ten years.”

“No one’s ever explained it like that.”

“I’ve found it makes my job easier.”

Rauw looked between her and Gabriel.

“So…”

He nodded toward Sofía.

“…you stealing her?”

Gabriel smiled.

“The thought has crossed my mind.”

Sofía looked up from the folder she’d reopened.

“I can hear both of you.”

“We’re aware.”

She shook her head, smiling.

“I’m perfectly happy where I am.”

“Oh?”

“I already have enough to do.”

She closed the folder.

“One Benito is plenty.”

Rauw laughed immediately.

“I believe that.”

Even Gabriel couldn’t suppress a smile.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“It wasn’t meant as an insult.”

“No?”

She shook her head.

“It just turns out one Benito requires approximately the workload of two normal artists.”

Rauw laughed harder.

“That may be the most accurate thing I’ve heard all day.”

Gabriel looked at her thoughtfully.

“I can see why he refuses to let you go.”

A faint blush rose to her cheeks.

“I don’t think anyone is refusing anything.”

“No?”

She smiled politely.

“I simply happen to like where I work.”

Gabriel nodded once.

“Fair enough.”

One of the phones buzzed again.

Gabriel picked it up.

He read the screen.

Then looked toward Sofía.

“The broadcaster published the correction.”

She held out her hand.

“May I?”

He passed her the phone.

She read carefully.

The apology was brief.

The wording was neutral.

And, more importantly, after the opening paragraphs…

The rest of the article had already shifted.

Tomorrow night.

Amsterdam.

The guest performance.

Sofía handed the phone back.

“Good.”

Rauw leaned forward.

“That’s good?”

“They apologized.”

“They acknowledged what happened.”

“And…”

She nodded toward the screen.

“…they spent most of the article talking about tomorrow.”

Gabriel looked down.

She was right.

The headline now read:

RAUW TO JOIN BAD BUNNY FOR SPECIAL AMSTERDAM PERFORMANCE

A slow smile spread across his face.

“I think…”

He looked toward Sofía.

“…you’ve officially saved my day.”

She smiled.

“I’m glad.”

“No.”

He shook his head.

“I mean it.”

“I walked in this morning thinking I was about to spend forty-eight hours apologizing.”

He looked toward Gabriel.

“And now…”

Gabriel finished it for him.

“…you’re promoting a concert instead.”

Rauw laughed.

“I much prefer this version.”

The room relaxed.

The crisis had not disappeared.

Nothing online ever truly did.

But it had stopped dictating the conversation.

That was enough.

Gabriel gathered the remaining papers into a neater stack.

“I think we’re done here for now.”

He looked toward Sofía.

“And apparently I owe Darren an employee.”

She smiled.

“You do.”

Rauw stood with them.

As they moved toward the door, he slowed just enough to fall into step beside Gabriel.

Sofía was already several feet ahead, checking something in the folder.

Quietly, Rauw nodded toward her.

“So…”

Gabriel glanced sideways.

“What?”

“You weren’t kidding.”

“No.”

Rauw looked toward Sofía again.

“She’s good.”

Gabriel smiled to himself.

“The best.”