𝐁𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐋𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 ⎯⎯⎯ ꩜
BAD BUNNY / innermoons

There are albums about heartbreak.
And then there's Debí Tirar Más Fotos — a masterclass in regret.

In what may be his most personal work to date, Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio (known globally as Bad Bunny) has done what most superstars never dare: pull back the curtain on a loss he still hasn't recovered from.

During his recent appearance on The Tonight Show, Bad Bunny finally acknowledged what many already suspected.

"I wrote this album for her. For the love of my life. For the girl who never wanted to be in the spotlight but made every part of it worth it," he told Fallon. "I ruined it. I lost her. That's the truth."

He didn't elaborate, of course. He didn't need to. The entire album plays like an open wound.

"She doesn't pick up when I call. I don't think she even listened to the last album. But maybe she'll hear this one," he told Fallon, half smiling, fully devastated.

So, what is DTMF really? A Grammy contender? A soul purge? A public apology in disguise?
Whatever it is, it's the most vulnerable Benito has ever been. And maybe the most relatable.

Because we all have that person — the one we didn't take enough photos with. And maybe, the one we were never meant to get back.

❛ 𝕾UMMARY ❜  🌞 pensando en todo' los
plane' que hicimo' pero así fue el destino .ᐟ

Gabriela "Gaby" Rivera loved quiet mornings and little things. She loved the smell of warm bread from the panadería down the street, the sound of rain tapping lightly on the clay roof tiles of her grandmother's house, the way children laughed when they didn't know they were being watched. She loved yellow—the warm kind, the one that lived in the center of sunflowers and the edges of sleepy afternoons. She loved the sea when it was still, the kind of blue that only came after a storm had passed. She loved stories—real ones, made-up ones, the kind that came in whispered pieces from her abuela's rocking chair and the ones written in the pages of books with bent corners and sand caught in the spine.

She hated shouting. She hated sudden changes in plans, cold eggs, coffee, and that feeling of walking into a room and forgetting what she came for. She hated hurting people, even when they deserved it. She hated leaving things behind—even things that had already left her.

At eight, Gaby used to press her ear to the earth and swear she could hear it hum. She grew up in Vega Baja, in a small house with peeling blue paint and potted plants on every windowsill. Her grandmother lived with them, always baking or sewing or humming some old songs Gabriela never learned the words to. Her mother was a teacher, always coming home with chalk dust in her curls and ink smudged on her fingers. Her father worked long hours at the mechanic's shop on the corner, and made pancake shapes on Sundays that never looked like what he said they were. She had two older sisters, loud and wild and brilliant, who left home for college and never moved back, though their presence still echoed in the house—through the old posters on the bedroom walls and the voicemail they recorded together when she was nine.

Gaby was the youngest. The baby. The "quiet one" who read too much and smiled too easily and believed people when they said they'd call. She loved routine, predictability, gentle days that unfolded the same way as the one before. Her world was small, but to her, it felt full. It had family, and food, and friends who showed up at the front door without knocking. She played hopscotch in the street, picked starfruit from the tree behind the school fence, and dreamed of growing up to be someone kind.

At eleven, she started writing poems. They were shy things, scribbled on napkins and receipts, folded into the spines of textbooks. She liked the way words could soften hard feelings, how something ugly—loneliness, fear, disappointment—could be turned into something you could reread and understand. She never showed them to anyone except her best friend, a girl named Luz who smelled like coconut and always wore mismatched socks.

At sixteen, she met Benito.

He sat behind her in chemistry class and spent most of the semester poking holes in his notebook and humming to himself. He wore beat-up sneakers and hoodies two sizes too big, and his laugh could derail an entire classroom. Gabriela noticed him, of course. Everyone did. He wasn't the kind of boy you could ignore. But he didn't notice her. Not at first.

Until she had stayed late one afternoon to make up a quiz. The classroom was quiet, the sky outside fading into lavender. Benito had wandered in to ask their teacher a question and saw her sitting there, chewing on her pencil, brow furrowed like the whole universe rested on that piece of paper. He lingered after the teacher left, leaned against the desk, and asked, casually, "Do you always look that serious when you're doing math?"

She'd blushed, of course. Gaby always blushed.

He made her laugh—without trying. He offered to walk her home even though he lived in the opposite direction. That first walk turned into another. Then another. And another. Until one day, they stopped pretending it was coincidence. They talked about everything—music, dreams, what it meant to be small in a world that wanted you loud. Gabriela was quiet but unafraid, gentle but unwavering. Benito was all spark and shadow, full of impossible ideas and lyrics scribbled on receipts and the backs of his hands.

They kissed for the first time behind the baseball field after a school talent show. He had just performed—nervous, brilliant, half-smiling—and she had brought him a Gatorade because she said that's what champions drank. He gave her mixtapes with hand-drawn covers. She brought him snacks before his weekend shifts at the supermarket. He'd sneak notes into her locker—some silly, some sweet, one that simply said Te pienso. She carried that one in her wallet for years.

They were different, but they understood each other. Benito was big dreams and fire and sky. Gabriela was soft land and open arms. He had ambition too big for the island, and she never asked him to shrink. She told him he could be a star before anyone else did.

At eighteen, they graduated. Benito was already making noise online—remixes, freestyles, late-night recordings in his friend's bedroom. People were noticing. Gabriela had gotten accepted to a small college nearby, planning to study early childhood education. Her heart was set on becoming a teacher like her mother. She wanted to shape lives with softness, to give kids what she had been given: love without conditions, a safe place to land.

But life has a way of tilting when you're not looking. One of Benito's songs went viral. Then another. Suddenly, there were calls from producers, DMs from labels, invitations to shows far from home. His dream was unfolding fast—faster than either of them expected.

When he told her he was moving to New York, she didn't hesitate. She said yes before he finished asking. She packed two suitcases and her grandmother's rosary and followed him into the unknown.

At twenty, she lived in a city that never whispered. Everything was loud—subways, neon signs, the price of coffee, the speed of change. New York was colder than she expected. The buildings too tall, the air too fast. Everything there felt like it had a price tag, including silence. But she adjusted, the way she always did. She found a job at a community center, teaching Spanish to kids who had forgotten how to speak to their own grandparents. She made coffee the way her mother taught her and walked to the bodega for plátanos even when the snow turned to slush. Benito changed too, though he never said it out loud. His world expanded while hers stayed steady, and sometimes the space between them felt like a whole other city. He was in studios and flights and meetings she wasn't invited to, surrounded by people who called her sweet in a tone that meant small. He still loved her—she knew that—but fame is a strange mirror. Sometimes it reflects, and sometimes it distorts.

At twenty-two, she started going to bed before he came home.

They stopped talking about the future and started talking about the next event, the next deadline, the next flight. Love became logistics. Touch became rare. Words became sparse. She told herself this was temporary, that every success came with a cost. But deep down, she knew: he wasn't just chasing something anymore. He was being swallowed by it.

At twenty-three, she returned to Vega Baja.

The house was smaller than she remembered. The plants had overgrown the windows. Her grandmother had passed, the bed left perfectly made. Her mother had kept everything the same, as if time could be paused by love alone. Gabriela unpacked slowly. She took the long way to the store. She picked starfruit again. She started working at the local school, teaching five-year-olds how to hold scissors and write their names with pride.

Far away, on stages soaked in lights and fans screaming his name, Benito still thought about her. In hotel rooms too quiet, in lyrics he didn't know he was writing for her, in dreams where her laughter still sounded like the end of summer.

And one day, when the noise wasn't enough anymore, he made a choice.

He went back.

𝓒AST ━━   ❛ tu orgullo no me quiere
hablar entonces vamo'a competir ❜

GABRIELA RIVERA        ━━           gaby
𝒊.                      ✧                      maria isabel

COUGH SYRUP           /         darren criss
❛                  restore life the way it should be
i'm waiting for this cough syrup                  ❜

BENITO MARTINEZ    ━━   bad bunny
𝒊.                     ✧                  benito martinez

YONAGUNI                  /             bad bunny
❛         una noche más y copas de más tu no
me dejas en paz, de mi mente no te vas     ❜

──── ୨୧ ────
rauw alejandro                       himself
savannah lee smith          luz ortega
❪ constantly updated ❫
──── ୨୧ ────

▌  WARNINGS  . . .
this book may contains strong language, injury and mention of death, sad scenes, use of alcol, mentions of sex and overall mature scene. these themes are used for storytelling purposes and are not meant to minimize or trivialize the complexity or seriousness in real life.
▌  DISCLAIMER  . . .
All rights to the original characters belong to me !!
Graphics and layout are mine as well ( do not take them please ).
This is a work of fiction. the characters in this story are used for narrative purposes only and do not reflect the real-life opinions, experiences, or actions of the actors. any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons is purely coincidental.
▌  PUBLISHED   . . .
24-07-2025

i apologize for any grammatical mistakes as
english is not my first language 🤍

dedicated to trulyjohnlock romaidilliaca -pinkmvtter clearlotus pecadove scarriewhite lvstrials rkivedro plumemoire junecries cheriiedesire ddessoir andromqda vcluvely

thank you for the support !!!! ♡ ( in case i forgot to tag you, sorry !!! tell me and i'll add you )

I'M SO EXCITED !!! hope you'll like this 💕💕💕💕

©innermoons