Bad Bunny x girlfriend!reader. word count: 2.7k
summary. Benito can't sleep the night before his new album comes out.
warnings & tags. fem!reader. established relationship. fluff. a little bit angsty but nothing too serious. panic attacks. mentions of DtMF. words in spanish. english isn't my first language.
a/n. hii! so i watched recently one of benito's interviews where he said that the night before DtMF dropped he woke up feeling anxious, so i thought i could do smth w that. hope you like it 🤍🐸 Credits to the owners of the dividers! masterlist
Benito was one of those people who put every part of themselves into what they loved.
When he cooked —something he loved doing whenever he could— he made an effort to get every detail perfect, just the way you liked it and the way he liked it. When he played dominoes with his friends and family, he did whatever it took to give his all and make the game especially incredible.
So it was no surprise that when he made new music, he tried to make every detail, every melody, every lyric perfect.
Debí Tirar Más Fotos was his most precious album. It was a part of him he had never fully shown his fans. Part of him was nervous, thinking maybe it wouldn't be good enough, but another part reassured him that it would go well, that his fans would recognize the dedication behind all that work and appreciate it deeply.
The last few days had been a nightmare for Benito.
Despite loving his work and giving everything he had, he had a tendency to leave everything for the last minute. Sometimes unintentionally, sometimes on purpose. But it had happened again, so this last week had been spent working every minute and every hour of the day, leaving him maybe 4 or 3 hours of sleep.
His day consisted of waking up earlier than he wanted to admit, running to the kitchen where he would find you with a smile and a coffee waiting for him. He would tell you he loved you in murmurs while pressing his chest against your back. He wished he could spend more time with you, but it wasn't possible no matter how hard he tried.
You spent at least 30 minutes together in the morning. Benito rushed around the house between outfit changes and his coffee, which always spilled a few drops because he walked so fast.
You always scolded him, rolling your eyes. Still, he would walk up to you and say “Perdóname, mami. Tú sabe' que yo te amo.” (Forgive me, mami. You know I love you) with a sly smile, leaving quick kisses on your lips before grabbing a napkin to clean his mess.
Some days you accompanied him to the studio. You gave ideas that sometimes worked and sometimes didn't. On those days, he got excited. There were few days when you were free to spend time with him even while he worked, but when you did, Benito got more excited than he admitted.
He spent hours with his coworkers and friends writing and recording, but in other moments he came over to you. Sometimes he sat on the couch and pulled you onto his lap, leaving caresses and squeezes on your thighs. Other times he hugged you from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaving wet kisses on your neck and cheek.
“Let me know when you get tired y te dejo en la casa, mami.” (and I'll take you home, mami) he said every time you accompanied him to the studio.
When he saw you blinking more than usual, he made sure to stop for a moment to take you home. He knew he was short on time to release his album, but he would never let his girl feel uncomfortable or unable to do something because of him. Never.
However, those busy days had finally ended. That same day, hours before releasing the album, he had finished his new project.
Before sleeping, he had talked to you. He told you in whispers, lying in your shared bed, how excited he was. Lying like little kids again, with a sheet over your heads, confessing small secrets you might not have told each other before. Between laughter, caresses, and kisses, you both fell asleep. You rested with your head on his chest, while he held you with both arms around your body, as if he didn't want you to go too far while you slept.
It didn't feel like much time had passed since you closed your eyes when you felt your head hit the pillow in a sudden movement. Blinking quickly, you noticed Benito sitting up, his chest rising faster than normal.
“Beni?” you whispered, not knowing what was happening. You pushed yourself up on your elbows, getting closer to him but not touching him yet.
Benito placed both hands over his face, dragging them up into his hair and leaving them there. His chest kept moving rapidly. Worried, you placed your hand on his bare back, noticing it was covered in sweat.
“Hey” you said softly, bringing your hand to his cheek, trying to gently guide his face toward you, but not applying enough pressure in case that wasn't what he wanted.
He removed his hands from his head and pointed at his chest, trying to say he couldn't breathe well, that his heart was beating much faster than normal. You understood immediately because it wasn't the first time.
“It's okay, baby.” you whispered into his ear, leaving a soft kiss there.
You tried to get out of bed to open the windows. In moments like this, you had learned that the best thing for him was to let the air circulate, to help him feel like he could breathe better. However, you knew he needed you close. So it wasn't surprising when he grabbed your wrist —between uneven breaths— when you moved a few centimeters too far.
“I'm going to open the windows quickly and I'll be right back, I'm not going anywhere. Lo prometo, amor.” (I promise, love) you said, caressing his hand gently. Only then did he calm down enough to let you go.
You quickly walked to the windows, opening them as much as you could; the streetlights and moonlight entered, illuminating the room a bit more. Then you opened the bathroom door and the bedroom door before returning to the bed.
That was when you could finally see his face completely. There were tears on his cheeks, and his cheeks were redder than usual, something that happened when he was overheated or feeling something intensely. His lips were also redder from biting them. One of his hands pressed against his chest, right over his heart.
“No-No puedo...” (I-I can't...) he tried to say while staring at the mattress.
“¿No puedes qué, Beni? Tell me, love, I'm right here.” (Can't what, Beni?) you said, sitting in front of him, placing your hands on his thighs because you didn't want to invade his space completely.
“No puedo subirlo...” (I can't drop it...) he finally said after a few seconds of silence and doubtful glances. “I can't do it.”
That was when you truly understood what it was all about.
“No le va a gustar. No va a ser suficiente.” (They're not going to like it. It's not going to be enough.)
Benito spoke nonstop while shaking his head. You felt your heart break into tiny pieces seeing the tears falling from his eyes.
You knew the connection he had with this album. With his country, with his family, with every moment he had lived. It was his most precious work.
“Beni...” you tried to speak, but your voice cracked on its own.
“Se siente horrible porque sé que personas seguirán criticando sin siquiera saber quién soy. Pero quizás esto no es para mí, quizás es demasiado y lo que estoy por lanzar no será suficiente.” (It feels horrible because I know people will keep criticizing without even knowing who I am. But maybe this isn't for me, maybe it's too much and what I'm about to release won't be enough.) he said in Spanish, feeling safer in that language. Even then, his voice broke every few seconds, as if he couldn't let it all out without falling apart.
Benito kept breathing fast, as if each inhale cost him more than the last. His fingers trembled slightly as he wiped his tears with the inside of his wrist.
“It's just... I don't know, mami,” he murmured softly, almost embarrassed to hear himself. “Siento que... que no va a ser suficiente. Que... que la gente va a pensar que estoy... que estoy bajando, ¿me entiende'? Que ya no soy el mismo.” (I feel like... like it's not going to be enough. That... that people are going to think I'm... that I'm going downhill, you know? That I'm not the same anymore)
He shook his head again, pressing his lips together until they turned even redder.
“And I... I tried, really. I put everything into it. Everything I had. But... I don't know if that's enough.”
You, who knew him better than anyone, didn't contradict him immediately. You didn't say “of course it is” because you knew he couldn't receive that in this state. What he needed was to feel seen, not corrected.
You moved closer, slowly, like approaching a frightened little animal you didn't want to scare. You placed your hand over his, the one pressing his chest.
“Beni... mírame un momento, amor.” (Look at me for a moment, love)
He took his time. He blinked several times, struggling to focus, but eventually lifted his gaze. His eyes were shiny, wet, and vulnerable in a way only you had ever seen.
“You don't have to be enough for everyone.” you said softly, careful not to startle him. “You just have to be you. And you... you always give more than you have. Siempre.” (Always)
Benito swallowed hard, lowering his gaze again.
“Pero... ¿y si no les gusta? ¿Y si piensan que... que estoy hablando mierda? ¿Y si...?” (But... what if they don't like it? What if they think... that I'm talking shit? What if...?)
His voice broke. It literally cracked on the last word. That was when you leaned in closer —knowing it was the right moment— until your knees touched his. You cupped his face gently with both hands, as if he were made of glass.
“Mi amor... tú no haces música pa' gustarle a todo el mundo (My love... you don't make music to please everyone). You make music to say what you feel. And that... that has always been what makes you great.”
He closed his eyes, as if your words hurt him and healed him at the same time.
“Pero tengo miedo,” (But I'm scared) he confessed softly, almost inaudible. “Tengo miedo, mami. No quiero fallar.” (I'm scared, mami. I don't want to fail)
You spoke the way he did in interviews when he was honest: without embellishment, without ego, without a fake persona.
“It's okay to be scared,” you whispered, resting your forehead against his. “Pero no estás solo. Estoy aquí. Estoy contigo (But you're not alone. I'm here. I'm with you). And you're not going to fail, because you made this with your heart. And when you do something with your heart... it always reaches people.”
Benito let out a soft sob, one of those he tried to hold back but couldn't. He grabbed your waist and pulled you toward him, hiding his face in your neck as if he needed to disappear there for a moment.
“Quédate aquí... por favor,” (Stay here... please) he murmured against your skin. “No te vayas.” (Don't go)
“Ni loca me voy,” (I'm not going anywhere) you replied, running your fingers through his hair. “Breathe with me, okay? Poquito a poquito.” (Little by little)
And there, while he tried to follow your breathing, you held him. You didn't force him to calm down. You simply stayed with him, and that, for him, was enough to begin settling.
Benito kept breathing against your neck, still trembling a little, but no longer with the desperation that had woken you. Your fingers moved slowly along his nape, in small circles, just the way he liked when he was on the edge.
You felt his chest begin to slow down, even though his hands still clung to your waist as if afraid you might disappear if he loosened his grip.
“Yo sé que tú tienes miedo,” (I know you're scared,) you whispered, staying still, letting your voice remain steady. “y está bien. No tienes que ser fuerte ahora mismo. Al menos no conmigo.” (and it's okay. You don't have to be strong right now. At least not with me)
Benito didn't answer. He only pressed his forehead deeper into your collarbone, as if he needed to feel you to believe you.
“Listen to me” you murmured, stroking his sweat-damp hair. “You made this album with love, with your story, with your truth, and people feel that and always have. It doesn't matter if there are critics, it doesn't matter if someone doesn't understand it. What you do... touches people. And that isn't measured in numbers or comments.”
He swallowed hard, and even though you couldn't see him, you knew he had closed his eyes.
“Y si mañana te despiertas y todavía tienes miedo” (And if tomorrow you wake up and you're still scared) you added, “yo voy a estar aquí. Para recordártelo cada vez que necesites escucharlo, Ben.” (I'll be here. To remind you every time you need to hear it, Ben)
Benito lifted his head just enough to look at you. His eyes were still shiny, but the panic was gone. Now there was only exhaustion and a deep, vulnerable affection he rarely showed.
“Thank you” he murmured, with that soft voice he only used with you. “De verdad... gracias, mami.” (Really... thank you, mami.)
You wiped a tear from his cheek with your thumb, gently, not wanting to hurt him.
“No tienes que agradecerme nada,” (You don't have to thank me for anything) you replied. “Yo estoy aquí porque te amo. Y porque tú también estarías aquí si fuera al revés.” (I'm here because I love you. And because you'd be here too if it were the other way around)
He nodded slowly, as if your words settled something inside him. Then he let himself fall back onto the bed, pulling you with him without letting go. You settled on his chest, feeling his breathing finally find a calmer rhythm.
His hands, once tense, now rested on your back with more ease and security.
“Quédate así,” (Stay like this) he whispered. “Don't move, please, baby.”
“I'm not moving, love.” you said, closing your eyes as you continued to stroke his bare chest with slow movements. “Duerme. Yo te tengo.” (Sleep. I've got you)
And for the first time that night, he let his body surrender. His breathing deepened, and you felt his chest rise and fall beneath your cheek, steadier each time.
Before you fell asleep too, you leaned in just enough to whisper something else, knowing he might not fully hear it, but that it would stay somewhere inside him anyway.
“Tú eres suficiente, papi. You always have been.” (You are enough, papi)
The room fell silent, illuminated only by the faint light from the street coming through the open window. And that was how the night ended. With him holding onto you and you protecting him with your calm. Just two people breathing together, finding peace in each other.