Story: You (y/n) and Richarlison are starting a thing but a message may tear this beginning down. // I didnât intend to make a part 2 but it got too long. // it involves Drake and Pierre Gasly because đ€·đŸââïžđ€·đŸââïžđ€·đŸââïž
Ps: I wrote this directly on the Tumblr app!! Not revised at all. English is not my first language. Feedback is appreciated.
đ«¶đŸâšđ« welcome to my wicked mind âłïžâïžđŻ
You were taking a nap with Richarlison when his phone beeped a message. Then two messages. Youâre a light sleeper so it bothered you. You reached out to the phone and saw two messages by someone named Juliana. You smoothly placed the phone in front of his face to get his ID and the phone unlocked.
You opened the messages and there she was: a semi nude picture and the âwhat time youâre arriving tonight?â text. You gulped and felt tears dwell on your eyes but took a deep breath. Richarlison was sleeping heavily because it was a quick nap time after he came back from training.
You got up from the sofa and made your way to the bedroom on the first floor. The tears involuntary started streaming down your face. âI canât believe heâs still talking to that bitchâ you mouthed to yourself while packing your things the way you could and as quick as possible. By the time Richarlison woke up, you were gone.
You managed to book a hotel room for the night before taking the train from London to Paris. Itâd be impossible to book a flight and everything was just wrong: you managed to find two days off from work to go to London to spend some quality time with your boyfriend. Ok, you werenât official, like real official. But everyone knew about you, you had met his friends and even was known by other Tottenham WAGs*.
The thing was you worked with Formula 1 and tried to find peace spaces within the hectic schedule to be with Richarlison, but clearly he didnât think of you dearly because that message? The semi nude from another chick? All the time he reassured that he was only with you. Come on.
You tried to rationalize the feelings but listening to the saddest love songs back to Paris wasnât helping. You messaged your friend Pierre Gasly asking if he were in Paris and he said yes immediately. You explained that your âthingâ broke your heart, which made Pierre very mad because he knew how hard you fell for Richarlison.
When you arrived at the hotel in Paris, all you could do was crying your heart out while hugging a pillow, letting out all your insecurities on those tears, letting your mind wonder what was wrong.
âI hate my body, I hate my hair, why Iâm not perfect like them?â You whined while sobbing. This moment, a message beeped on your phone. It was Pierre.
- Vamo pra revoada* (Letâs party hard) - he wrote. You laughed. Pierreâs journey with learning Portuguese started exactly with carioca funk and it was a funny one to watch. He called you.
âAy, you good? So, thereâs this party tonight and Iâm taking you with me. Go beautiful like alwaysâ he said. He didnât even notice your crying voice. But you managed to confirm that you were going.
You stood up and opened your suitcase. The music on your airpods was cut again by a call. It was Richarlison. You didnât answer. Only hours later he realized you were gone? Come the fuck on.
Phone on airplane mode and Drake on the speakers now, you started to get ready. You put on a beautiful brown constructed corset that hugged your boobs tightly with your favorite low rise Leviâs jeans and heels with straps around the jeans. You nailed the make up, with a clean girl aesthetics face but with a lot of bronzer, ombrĂ© lips and Dior lipgloss. Everything was on point. You looked at yourself in the mirror realizing that it was difficult to hide de eye bags of crying and tiredness. You decided to snap a lot of selfies and a video lip syncing to Jimmy Cooks by Drake. It was a full photoshoot by yourself. The you posted the video of you lip syncing on Tiktok and a carousel of pictures + the video on Instagram with the caption âHonestly, nevermindâ.
A few minutes later, Pierre arrived at the hotel. You didnât realize the many messages Richarlison had sent you. They were spamming your messages app. A lot of missed Whatsapp calls.
âI couldnât give a shitâ you told yourself knowing very well you cared so much about him that itâd take 5 seconds of his voice to go back to him, no matter the excuse he gave you. But you werenât just ready to be replaced by the woman he swore he was not talking to anymore. The message she had sent came to your mind and then you remembered you were better than this.
You left your room and met Pierre on the hall. He said nothing when he saw you, stunned by your beauty. You two left for the party.
Back in London, when Richarlison woke up, he thought you were in the kitchen preparing some food, like you always did when you were there.
You werenât in the kitchen. Nor in the bedroom. You were nowhere to be found and your suitcase and all your things werenât there either.
He ran downstairs to grab his phone and call you. When he unlocked it, the screen was opened exactly on the message he received from Juliana. The semi nude, the text. He gulped. âY/N saw it for fucking sureâ. He didnât know whether to ask Juliana what the fuck was going on or to call you and know where you were. He did neither. He called his cousin.
âBro Iâm so sure she saw it, like what the fuckâ he said on the phone, rubbing his hand back and forth on his scalp.
âAre you sure she saw it? Like, Y/N was supposed to travel back to Paris today cause sheâs gotta go back toâŠâ his cousin answered.
âNah she saw it. The screen was on the message. How did she unlock my phone? She doesnât have the code thoâ Richarlison started to think properly.
âI donât know, but bro let it go. You werenât official anywaysâ his cousin stated. Richarlison scoffed, pretending to not care.
âYeah, Iâll call you laterâ then hung up. He laid on his back on the sofa and messaged Juliana. âWe need to talkâ.
In a matter of minutes, she was in his house. He was wearing his Nike set of sweatpants and hoodie, hands on his pockets and walking around nervously.
âI knew you were longing for meâ she said, approaching him and putting her hands on the back of his neck.
âYou cannot text me things like thatâ he coldly stated. She took a step back, confused. âIâveâŠâ he paused, going around the kitchen counter to be as far from her as possible. âItâs not right, ok? Not for you, not for me. Just letâs move on separately, ok?â
âWhyâs that all of sudden? Cause last week you were on my DMs asking if I were in LondonâŠâ she told with her finger pointed to his face.
âIâve met someone. I met her two months ago and weâre getting serious. Look, I know itâs my-â he was saying but was interrupted.
âYou texted me last weekâ she scoffed.
âIâm sorry, Juliana but-â
âFuck you, for realâ she said and left.
Richarlison took a deep breath and opened a bottle of wine. Who cared if the season was about to start and he had to be in great shape? He wanted to forget everything. Then it was time to call you.
He sent a message first. âWhere are you? Iâm worried.â You didnât answer. Phone out of reach. He tried whatsapp calls. Nothing came from you. He knew you saw the picture and the message and as far as he knew you, it would be a big deal.
You werenât like the other girls that came around. They were about sex, instagram stories, shallow dialogues, controlling him to dismiss the others. You came around and showed him places in London he didnât know. The Italian restaurant of your first date was one of those. You cooked for him too, played FIFA with him even though you were terrible at it, sang pagode, taught him English through pop music, never made him do things âbecause youâre rich nowâ, had the same sense of humor, let him be him, cuddled him, listened to him, understood him⊠all of that in such a short time.
Hours later, his cousin sent him a message.
âAy that ainât your lil girl?â And he sent an instagram link of your post.
He saw the pictures one by one then the video. You were sexy, confident, beautiful. The lips of yours he missed on his. Your curvy body and juicy boobs under those clothes. The sassy attitude he loved on the low. One thing he noticed was the unusual amount of likes. Almost 300,000. And a comment by Drake himself.
âDrake commented on my fucking post!â You screamed to Pierre. You sent a screenshot to your friend Hannah, who was in Amsterdam, and she video called you right away.
âGIRL!â She screamed on the other side. You were trembling and giggling, your hands sweating and a face in disbelief
Comment: @/champagnepapi: major đ„đšđœâđŠŻ
You couldnât believe it. Drake noticed you. Suddenly your heartbreak seemed so insignificant. You were that bitch.
When you got back to the hotel, you took it all off and started crying again. On your phone, multiple calls from Richarlison laid on your screen. Rubbing your eyes, you felt your phone buzzing again. It was him. You answered it.
âWhat do you want?â You said, with a raspy voice.
All you heard was Richarlisonâs breath on the other side of the phone. And you heard a knock on your hotel door.
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