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hypnotiiize · 1 year

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𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦’𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘺

𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: i got this idea at the literal last minute so i wrote this in a day which is literally unprecedented for me so YOU RLLY JUST GOTTA DEAL W ME IM SAWRY

He’d been standing in the aisle for fifteen full minutes before he finally huffed and widened his arms, sweeping up as many gifts as he could manage.

He peered over the mountain of presents with one keen eye, struggling his way over to the cashier. The seventeen-year-old there just blinked at him warily, too tired from figuring out Calculus to be amused by him. He bent at his waist, his lips pressed into a line as he carefully laid everything on the black conveyer belt.

The seventeen-year-old’s eyes darted from the man to everything he’d laid out, her lips a little turned up as she asked dryly, “Is that all?”

Richarlison hadn’t heard the bite in her tone, too busy questioning if he’d gotten enough to make the woman on his mind happy. “Yes!”

“Great.” She grabbed a heart-shaped box and pushed it past the scanner.

Richarlison only processed her words just as she’d scanned the very first teddy bear. “Do you think it’s enough?” he asked unsurely, positive that the teenage girl would know more about love and gift-giving than him.

The girl, Kayla by the looks of her nametag, scoffed in return.

Richarlison’s eyes widened as he assumed the worst. A scoff could mean nothing good. “No?”

“I mean,” the girl backtracked at the dread in his voice. She shrugged. “It depends on how many girlfriends you have. If you have about six, you should be fine,” she quipped, shaking her head at the Ain’t Shit nature of even the most handsome, tall, and brooding of men.

Richarlison shook his head cluelessly. “But… I don’t have a girlfriend.” Did he have to have a girlfriend?

Kayla’s hands paused on a stuffed turtle. “You don’t? Then why are you getting all this stuff? Not that it’s my business, I’m just really nosy,” she added sincerely, glancing to him as she scanned the special edition Twizzlers.

He had to fight to catch his breath at the thought of his valentine. “It’s for my,” he paused for five long seconds, contemplating his relationship (or lack thereof) with the woman of his dreams. The balls of his cheeks were pink when he finally said, “Friend.”

“Yeah, it’s for your… friend,” replied the seventeen-year-old, making a show of hesitating just as long as he did. His bashful gaze fell on a stuffed elephant as he nodded. “Well, if it’s just for one friend, this is more than enough. It might even classify as wealth hoarding if you get anything more.”

Whatever that meant.

“I’m not sure what she would like,” he confessed in a murmur, gnawing on his lip.

Kayla shrugged. “Just call her and ask.”

“I can’t do that!” he rasped quickly, a little shocked that she had even suggested such a thing. “I have to surprise her. She has to be surprised,” he whispered the second bit to himself, definitive in his conclusion.

Kayla shrugged again. “Well, then, these are fine. She’s gotta like one of ‘em.”

“I hope so,” he breathed.

“I hope so, too, random man. I hope so, too.”

On his way home, as he juggled three large bags, he watched a man stop at a vendor on the sidewalk. The man, whose greyed tufts of hair protruded from underneath his Kangol hat, was beaming as he communicated with the seller. Richarlison watched as the man gently lifted a bouquet of carnations and then strolled away, stopping beside a woman before kissing her on the cheek and handing her the flowers. The woman gasped deeply with joy, and suddenly Richarlison was making a beeline toward that very vendor.

He was contemplating holding the bouquet of flowers in between his teeth when he spotted a baby in a store holding the gift– the very one that he knew he had to get for the woman. He had to walk through the front door sideways to fit, and still, he was not deterred; he navigated his way through the aisles easily, finding the present he knew was hers and even some that caught his eye. By the time Richarlison reached his home, his wallet had lost a considerable amount of weight and he was holding seven shopping bags.

He was sure it was worth it.

She found him on his street just as the sun began to set, handing out valentines to anyone that would walk his way. He smiled sweetly at her as she sauntered to his side, her own smile uncontrollable as she watched him hand a little girl a teddy bear.

“What, the whole neighborhood’s your valentine?” She laughed as she wrapped her arm around his torso in a hug.

He reminded himself not to blush at the heat her presence generated in his chest, his heart dancing to her the familiar beat that her proximity brought on. “Well, some people don’t have valentines,” he said after a second, regarding the nature of the holiday. “So... I guess so!”

(Plus he had about two hundred dollars worth of merchandise that would’ve gone bad after sifting for the gifts he wanted to give her, but it would take him years to tell her just how much he’d splurged that day.)

She craned her neck to make eye contact with him, and he was sure his heart stopped right there. “You’re really sweet,” she praised quietly, just for him to hear.

He was begging himself not to blush. “So are you.”

“Wait, speaking of sweet,” she began, moving away from him to open her purse. He mourned what was once her presence as she said, “I have a lil’ something for you.”

He had a lot of something for her, but– and his inner voice stumbled over itself in his head at this– not in that way. Unless–? No, no, not in that way.

“Don’t feel bad if you didn’t get me anything.”

He got her Target’s whole catalog but he was currently giving it away.

“Here.”

She placed a white box in his hands and just before he opened it, Richarlison could only feel grateful for the text he’d gotten yesterday from one of his ever-prying teammates, asking who his Valentine was, as he may have forgotten altogether.

He lifted the top and found himself staring at lightly-dusted squares of what he predicted was bread. She leaned closer to peer inside the box with him.

“They’re beignets. You ever had one?” she asked goodnaturedly.

“No, I haven’t,” his voice threatened to crack with his reply as he became overwhelmed with the fact that she had thought of him– on a day like that, no less. He would wonder, later, what that could possibly mean, though at that moment he had to remain as stoic as possible lest he expose the fact that he was head over heels for her.

He eyed the treat she’d given him, humming as he realized that they reminded him of something. “They’re like from that movie… Sapo, sapo,” he repeated softly under his breath, his mind racing to recall the word in English.

Her grin broadened as her eyebrows raised. “Are you talking about The Princess and the Frog?”

“I think so.”

“Well, does it have a princess and a frog? A little green guy?”

“Yes!”

“That’s the one! Rich, I love that movie! What you know about that?!”

“My sisters and cousins really liked it,” he explained.

“That’s what I was thinking of when I made you these,” she noted, laughing sweetly as she tapped on the top of the box with the pad of her finger.

His chest hurt from his heart beating so quickly. “You made these?” he asked after a moment, pausing to ensure that he had cleared the nerves from his voice.

“I made them,” she confirmed proudly.

He was having trouble catching his breath. “For me?”

“For you.”

Don’t faint, don’t faint.

She pressed on upon the lack of response from Richarlison, gesturing wildly with her hands as she spoke, “I was kinda bored and I was like ‘hm, I wonder what Rich is doing’ and then I realized that it was about to be Valentine’s Day, so I was like let me be nice to him real quick and– oh my God?”

Her confused words had been muttered against the fabric of Richarlison’s sweater after he’d wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest in a quick motion– way too quick for her to duck back, as he was sure she would. Richarlison was sure she could hear how fast his heart was pumping. He himself could hear his heartbeat reverberating in his head; he could feel it in his fingertips that clutched the white box she’d given him.

“You crying?” she wondered, wrapping her hand around his muscle in an attempt to clear her airways. He was simply too big to hug her in that way, she was sure she’d almost suffocated.

“Shhh,” he countered, and she giggled against his bicep. “Thank you. That’s really nice.”

She sighed as if in awe of herself. “I know.”

The two stayed outside until the final chocolate box was handed out, and then five minutes more when a group of kids came by asking Richarlison if he could give them money for the store. This was not her first time watching him cough up money to kids as if they were bullies in the eighties, and she doubted it would be the last– Richarlison would give a kid the shirt off his back in zero-degree weather. The kids chorused pitchy goodbyes to the both of them before speeding off, leaving them to turn to each other and laugh a little at their eagerness.

She did not say what she wanted to say: that he looked handsome and his generosity was giving her heart palpitations.

He did not say what he wanted to say: that she looked beautiful and he wanted to place his hands on either side of her face to pull her lips to his… And also that he was kind of sure he’d accidentally given one of those kids a fifty.

They stared at each other until their eyes began to sting. When they entered his home, just as sky morphed into a dark hue of blue, she found his couch covered in presents.

“There’s more?” she asked in shock. She moved toward the sofa and tilted her head at the sparkly gift bag smack dab on the middle cushion, reaching out to rub a gentle finger against the red glitter there. She glanced to Richarlison. “Is this one even yours, or is it your roommate’s?”

Richarlison had thought of how he would give the presents to her fleetingly throughout the day– he found, however, when faced with the woman of his dreams he couldn’t form any semblance of thought. He stood before her kind of stoically.

She scrunched her face up. “Wait, do you even have a valentine? I didn’t ask.” This was, of course, due to her apprehension regarding whatever his answer would be. She pressed her lips together as he teetered a little side to side.

“I don’t have a valentine,” he said a bit haltingly. “Do…” he gulped, “Do you?”

She blinked at him. “Do I have a valentine?”

“Do you have a valentine?” he questioned simply, losing feeling in his fingertips from his nerves.

“No, I don’t think I technically do.”

He would ignore the ‘technically.’

“Because I,” he started shakily, crossing the room in two easy strides and stopping a few inches away before her.

This was it, the moment he imagined: striding over to her in a silver suit, sitting on a stallion— her knight in shining armor— and romantically declaring that, that big, sparkly gift bag was hers.

In real-time, he choked. “I, uh… Hey, this is yours,” he said, pointing to the present.

He was shocked to find that she was still gasping deeply despite his lackluster approach. She appeared rocked by his words as if she had truly not been expecting him to think of her, her mouth agape and a hand over her heart. He was unsure how she could even think such a thing, as his every thought began and end with her. He could not fathom the fact that she did not know how important she was to him, and this, in turn, shocked him.

“It’s mine? You got me something?” Her wide eyes searched his desperately, though she knew Richarlison would never play with her that way.

His brown eyes fell to his shoes, confident that if he looked at her for a second longer he would turn beet red. He could already feel the tips of his ears scorching, begging him to press an ice pack against them.

Her hand lifted up hesitantly before she laid her warm palm against his clavicle and he was sure he was knocking on heaven’s gates. She pressed there, turning him toward her as her left hand grabbed his right arm. She wrapped his arm low around her waist and pulled him against her, his heart mere inches from her own.

She smelled like his childhood. She smelled like sweet treats and the Sun and water balloons. She smelled like everything he’d ever known, and he decided he would do everything in his power to keep her with him.

“Thank you, Rich,” she whispered against the skin of his neck. “It means a lot.”

His cheeks burned and he no longer cared to hide it. “It means a lot to me, too.”

She snaked her fingers into the hairs at the nape of his neck and tightened her hold there gently, pulling away in the next moment to assess the gift bag. She sat to its right and he sat to its left, his lip caught between his teeth as he watched her peek inside. She closed two fingers around the tissue paper and delicately tugged it onto her lap. Richarlison promptly reached over and gathered the jumble of reds and pinks from her legs, placing it beside him on the couch just as she pulled out a bouquet of wine-colored roses.

They were wrapped in white paper, a pink bow tied around them for good measure. There was a pang somewhere in her chest at the realization that they were placed in a heart, with the rose in the middle not even being a rose at all— instead, smack dab in the middle of the deep red bouquet, laid a jasmine flower the color of a pearl.

She recalled being in his room many times in passing, and each time her eyes would find the jasmines placed on his nightstand. She would chuckle each time she saw them, and he would give her the same excuse, “I think they’re pretty.”

“Oh my God,” she said before she could think, sweeping a finger along one of the petals of the white flower.

“That one is from my room,” he told her, and then laughed. “I almost broke my vase.”

Her gaze snapped to the man on the couch, wide and amazed at something Richarlison was not too sure of. “You put this together yourself?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered easily, shrugging. He had not yet caught the glossy sheen zipping across her irises, too caught up in elaborating, “The roses were really beautiful, but they were missing something more. And I like jasmines. They’re pretty. I wanted to give you something really, really beautiful and pretty.”

(There was a flash in which she thought of that one Nicki Minaj verse, in which she rapped about putting something on a man’s sideburns.)

“Do you like it?” Richarlison asked, studying her pretty face to find her blinking hard to get something out of her eye— Richarlison guessed maybe a dust particle had gotten in.

“I love it,” she mused.

His heart fluttered at her praise. “There’s more in the bag,” he said, taking the flowers from her so that her hands were free.

She plucked the next gift from the bag: a huge heart-shaped box of chocolates. She laughed when Richarlison reached over her and grabbed a chocolate for himself the moment she pried it open, his sweet tooth notorious to the point that he had even ended up grabbing the box from her to keep eating as she craned her neck back to the bag.

When the final gift was out, and she’d settled it on her lap, Richarlison watched as she cupped her hands over her mouth and chuckled loudly. He smiled, too, grateful that he had anticipated her reaction so accurately; he’d expected her awed laughter and had been looking forward to it ever since he’d bargained with a baby for it.

Okay, so he bribed the baby.

Okay, so the baby got away with a hundred-dollar bill.

Whatever.

“Stop,” she breathed, shaking her head with a grin. “Stop.”

She brushed a finger against the lines on the stuffed toy before her– yellow, black, yellow, black, yellow, black, until her finger landed on the smooth material of its pink heart-shaped wings. It was a bee holding a fluffy red heart between its tiny arms and grinning at her lopsidedly. Bee Mine! Read the toy, and she swore her temples were beginning to ache from how hard she was smiling.

He’d been calling her Honey for weeks, having found himself enamored with the emoji she’d pressed into his phone the very first time they met. He parted his lips to say this to her, to tell her that the plush bee represented the nickname, though when she shoved the gift bag off the couch and crawled into his lap— wrapping her smooth arms around his neck in a tight embrace— he assumed that she’d probably made the connection herself.

She pressed her lips against his cheek once and then twice before saying, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Rich,” and kissing him there a third time.

He was sure he’d been hallucinating, though the feel of her waist underneath his hands threw a wrench in that theory. Still, he felt nonplussed; there were many dreams of him in which they’d always end up in that same position, her poised in his lap with her arms around his neck. He had to blink a few times to snap back to reality. He was a little dazed as he tightened his fingers around her midriff, having to fight to catch his breath at the feeling of her ribcage constricting. She was real and alive and in his lap. He was tempted to FaceTime all of his friends and go on a long tangent.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he breathed.

She did not wish to go home, and he did not wish to be apart from her. Thus, the answer was simple: the two ate beignets and watched The Princess and the Frog, her arms thrown across his torso in an effort to both fit on the couch.

As the Voodoo Priestess on the screen sang about digging a little deeper, he laid his cheek against her slicked bun and smelled the sweet treats and the Sun and water balloon. He smelled everything he’d ever known, and then some. Richarlison’s gaze flitted from the screen to the woman tucked into his side, and for the first time in a very long time, he did not feel absolutely foreign in the country that was not his own.

#richarlison andrade #richarlison x reader #richarlison fluff #richarlison x black reader #x black fem reader #x black reader #x oc #valentine #valentine's day #football imagine #princess and the frog

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