⋆bando’s corner⋆

request are open :)

bandoscorner on wattpad.

JOBE BELLINGHAM:

➞ CAN WE JUST PRETEND ?

➞ STAY CLOSE !

➞ HOMEBODY !

➞

➞

➞

RICHARD RIOS:

➞ CAN I SEE U i !

➞ CAN I SEE U ii !

➞ DETECTIVES !

➞ NOT SICK !

➞ ONE CALL AWAY !

➞ PERMANENT !

➞ THROUGH THEIR EYES !

➞ jobe bellingham x reader

➞ he’s usually pretty laid-back, but apparently being away from you for a few days has made him forget how personal space works

➞ est!relationship, clingy!jobe, fluff, summer, soft!jobe, no use of y/n

(masterlist)

bandoscorner on wattpad.

YOU had barely been home for ten minutes before Jobe had already followed you into every room you’d walked into.

It started when you went to the kitchen to get some water and found him leaning against the counter, watching you unpack the little things you’d brought home from your trip. You’d been away for four days, which wasn’t exactly a long time, but judging by the way he’d been attached to your side since you’d arrived, you’d think you’d disappeared for four months.

“You know you don’t have to follow me everywhere,” you said, trying not to laugh as you reached into the cupboard. “I know” he replied. He didn’t move. You glanced over at him. “Then why are you standing here?” He shrugged, looking completely comfortable. “I haven’t seen you in four days.”

“You’ve seen me now.”

“I know.” That was apparently the end of his explanation.

You filled your glass and walked back towards the living room, hearing his footsteps behind you. When you sat down on the sofa, he immediately dropped down beside you, close enough that your legs pressed together despite there being more than enough room on the other side.

You looked at him, amused. “You’re being very clingy.” He smiled and rested his head against your shoulder as though he’d been waiting for permission that you hadn’t actually given him. “Maybe.”

You tried to keep watching the television, but his hand found yours a few minutes later, his fingers slipping between yours while he settled further into your side. It was strangely sweet considering how independent he usually was, and you couldn’t help smiling when he quietly asked what you’d been doing while you’d been away, wanting to hear every little detail even though you’d already told him most of it over the phone.

Later, when you got up to make something to eat, you heard him follow you again. This time you turned around halfway to the kitchen and caught him standing in the doorway.

“You need something?”

“No.”

“Then why are you here?”

He looked at you for a second before smiling. “I like being where you are.”

The answer was so simple that it made you forget whatever teasing response you’d been about to give him.

You carried on making food while he stayed nearby, occasionally reaching over to steal pieces from whatever you were preparing. When you eventually caught him for the third time, you pushed his hand away with a laugh and told him to wait until dinner was actually ready.

He only smiled before coming up behind you and loosely wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his chin against your shoulder while you continued cooking. “You really missed me.”

“I did.” There was no hesitation in his answer this time. You leaned back against him slightly, smiling as his arms tightened around you. “I missed you too.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to sound so pleased with yourself.” He laughed quietly against your shoulder, finally letting you go when you threatened to burn dinner because he was distracting you. Even then, he didn’t go very far.

When you eventually sat down to eat, he pulled his chair closer to yours, and later, when you moved back to the sofa, he followed you without even thinking about it.

By the time you were getting ready for bed, you were starting to realise that this was probably just how the next few days were going to be.

And honestly, you didn’t mind.

(masterlist)

➞ jobe bellingham x reader

➞ sometimes pretending to be together is easier than admitting you actually want to be.

➞ fake dating, summer romance, friends to lovers, jealousy, romantic tension, fluff, slight angst

(masterlist)

bandoscorner on wattpad.

THE favour was supposed to be simple.

At least, that’s what Jobe had told you when you’d first agreed to it. One evening, one event, a few pictures together, and then everything would go back to normal.

You’d known each other for years through mutual friends, so nobody would find it strange if you turned up together, and apparently that was enough to make the whole thing believable.

You were still questioning your decision when he pulled up outside your house the following evening.

He leaned across to unlock the passenger door as you climbed in, giving you a quick glance before starting the car again. “You look nice.”

“Thank you.” You adjusted your bag on your lap, trying not to smile. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

He laughed quietly and pulled away from the kerb, one hand resting on the steering wheel as he followed the road towards the city. The conversation came easily at first because you’d spent enough time around each other that silence had never been particularly uncomfortable, but every now and then one of you would remember what you were actually doing and the mood would shift slightly.

“Just remember the plan,” you said, looking over at him. “We arrive together, we stay together, we take a few pictures if anyone asks and then we leave.”

“I know.”

“And no making it weird.”

He glanced across at you with an amused smile. “You’re the one who keeps reminding me.”

“Because I know you.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“I trust you. I just don’t trust the situation.”

That made him laugh again, and by the time you arrived, the awkwardness had mostly disappeared.

The event was busier than you’d expected, with people moving between tables and stopping every few minutes to talk to Jobe. You stayed close without thinking too much about it, letting him introduce you when someone asked who you were.

Every now and then his hand found your back as you moved through the crowd, mostly because it was easier than losing each other. After a while, you started forgetting that everyone thought you were together.

It was only when someone asked how long you’d been dating that you remembered. You looked at Jayden, waiting for him to answer.

“Not very long,” he said naturally, turning back towards the conversation. The person smiled before moving on, leaving you standing beside him. You looked up at him. “Not very long?”

He shrugged slightly. “It sounded believable.” You nodded, although something about the answer stayed in your head longer than it should have.

The rest of the evening passed quickly. You spoke to people you’d never met, laughed at stories you didn’t understand and eventually found yourself sitting beside Jobe away from the main crowd, both of you watching everyone else from a distance. “I think I’m actually enjoying this,” you admitted.

He smiled. “Me too.” You looked at him, expecting another joke, but he seemed completely serious. That was when you noticed the difference.

Earlier, he’d been playing along because you had to. Now he seemed comfortable enough to forget that anyone was watching.

When you eventually left, the drive home was quieter than the journey there. The city lights passed across the windows as you sat with your hands folded in your lap, thinking about the evening.

After a while, you broke the silence. “We were convincing.” Jobe smiled, keeping his eyes on the road. “Yeah”.

“Maybe too convincing.”

He glanced at you briefly before looking back ahead “Maybe.”

You waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t. The silence returned, although it felt different now. Neither of you mentioned that the agreement was supposed to end when the evening did.

And neither of you seemed particularly interested in being the first person to say it was over.

(masterlist)

FOR those enjoying my Richard Rios imagines, I have just published my new book LOST IN TRANSLATION on wattpad!!

feel free to have a read and I hope you like it I will try to get the chapter out as quick as possible.

I also have a Jobe Bellingham book coming very soon hopefully!

READ HERE

➞ richard rios x reader

➞ sometimes, missing someone hit hardest in the middle of a crowded room.

➞ angst, slight spanglish, emo!reader, hungover!reader, comfort, backseat chats, slight fluff

(part i) (masterlist)

bandoscorner on wattpad.

THE morning light was always less forgiving than the club's strobe lights. When you finally opened your eyes, the pounding behind your forehead was an instant reminder of every drink from the night before, but the physical hangover was nothing compared to the sudden, sinking weight in your stomach.

You scrambled for your phone under the pillows, praying to yourself that it had all just been a vivid, awful dream. You unlocked the screen and opened the chat, only for your heart to drop as reality stared back at you. Green bubbles filled with blurred, desperate honesty, capped off by his final message from the previous night ‘call me then’.

Before you could even process it or panic, a new message popped up at the bottom of the screen.

‘are u awake?’

You stared at the text, the bluntness of it cutting right through the lingering fuzziness in your head.

‘come downstairs’

‘in your car park’

The realisation that he was already sitting outside your apartment complex made you move without thinking. You didn't care that you hadn't brushed your hair, or that you were wearing a giant, oversized jumper and a pair of faded grey joggers. You just shoved your feet into the nearest slides, grabbed your keys, and slipped out of your flat.

The morning air outside was crisp, hitting your face and making you shiver as you walked down into the car park. It didn't take long to spot his car parked in one of the spaces near the back, the engine idling quietly. Through the tinted glass, you could see the silhouette of him sitting in the driver's seat.

You walked over, pulling the passenger door open and slipping into the warmth of the car. The familiar scent of his cologne immediately filled your senses, a mix of something clean and woodsy that instantly made your chest tighten with nostalgia.

Richard turned his head to look at you, his dark eyes taking you in—the messy hair, the oversized jumper, the tired lines under your eyes. He reached over and turned down the low music playing from the dashboard.

You pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them tightly and keeping your eyes fixed straight ahead on the windshield. You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, the confidence you had at midnight completely gone now that you were sitting right next to him.

"You look like you're freezing," he said softly, his voice deep and raspy from the morning.

"I'm fine," you muttered, shifting slightly but keeping your gaze locked on the dashboard. The silence between you stretched out, heavy and suffocating, completely different from how easily you used to talk. You cleared your throat, the tension in the car making it hard to breathe. "This is... really awkward."

Richard shifted in his seat, turning his body toward you, though you still didn't look at him. "Why is it awkward?"

"Because," you whispered, tightening your grip around your legs. "It just is."

"I've been worried about you since yesterday," he said bluntly, his voice dropping a fraction. He looked at you, taking in the way you were practically trying to disappear into your own jumper. He had spent the whole night picturing you like this, imagining you overwhelmed after those texts, and the thought had left a heavy, dull ache in his chest. He had known the space was what you needed and that he shouldn't just rush back into things but seeing the messages had made it impossible to stay away. "I didn't want to just turn up at your door last night. But I couldn't stop thinking about you."

Your chest tightened at his words, the rigid barrier you'd built up over the last month starting to crack. The fact that he had been sitting in his own apartment, hurting and worrying about you just as much as you were missing him, made the distance between you feel completely unbearable.

"Can we go in the back?" you asked abruptly, your voice quiet as you finally turned your head to meet his eyes. "Please."

Richard didn't argue or ask questions. He just nodded, turning off the ignition before opening his door. You both climbed out into the cool morning air for a brief second before slipping into the backseat together, pulling the doors shut and cutting off the rest of the world again.

Without the steering wheel and the gear shift between you, the space felt entirely different. It was smaller, more intimate, and suddenly there was nowhere left to hide. Richard sat back against the leather, shifting so he was facing you, waiting.

You pulled your legs up again, looking down at your hands.

"I really do miss you though," you said, your voice low and tired, keeping your delivery completely subdued despite the weight of it. "I spent the whole month trying to forget about you and move on, but it's not working. It's not gonna work. Last night I was out with my friends, and everyone had that person at the end of the night. I just wanted to be with you. I miss my person."

As the last word left your mouth, the quiet, deep sadness finally caught up to you. Your eyes started to tear up, a few silent tears escaping and tracking down your cheeks while you stared fixedly at your lap, trying to hold onto whatever composure you had left.

Richard didn't hesitate. He leaned across the seat, his large hands moving to gently frame your face, tilting your head up slightly. His touch was firm and steady as his thumbs brushed the tears from your cheeks, his expression completely composed.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice level. "Por qué lloras? Don't hide."

"I look for you everywhere" you admitted, the words coming out in a flat, honest whisper. "I go places hoping I'll run into you, and then when I don't, I just feel empty. I hate it. You're my safe space, and I'm just so tired of pretending I don't need you."

He kept his hands on your face, his daily dark eyes locked onto yours, completely steady.

"I'm here," he said quietly. "Ya estoy aquí.

He paused, his thumbs resting against your cheekbones, his tone flat but grounded.

"Escúchame," he continued, his voice dropping a fraction as he looked at you. "You think I don't miss you? No digas eso. It’s been a month and nobody makes me feel the way you do. Me haces falta, every single day. I still want you, and I want us to be good, but we need to actually fix what went wrong this time. We can't just pretend it didn't happen because we're hurting right now. Let's do things right."

He sighed quietly, his gaze softening just enough for you to see the worry he'd been carrying.

"Don't cry," he added softly, his thumbs sweeping over your skin one last time. "It makes me crazy sitting in my place, worrying about you and not knowing how you're feeling. We're going to figure it out."

You nodded against his forehead, the relief making your shoulders drop as you let go of the tension you'd been holding all morning.

Richard let out a quiet breath and slid his hands down from your face, wrapping his arms around you to pull you into a firm, steady hug. It wasn't rushed or dramatic, just tight and grounding, his chest warm against yours. You buried your face into his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne, finally feeling like you could rest. As he held you close, he leaned his head down slightly, his face pressing into your hair for a quiet moment, just taking in your presence after a month apart.

He held you for a moment longer before slowly pulling back, his hands resting on your shoulders as he looked at you.

"What have you eaten today?" he asked, taking in your tired eyes. "You need something for that hangover."

"Nothing yet," you admitted, your voice quiet. "I really just want a coffee."

He gave a small nod, a slight smile finally breaking his composed expression.

"Vamos," he murmured softly, shifting to climb back into the front seat. "We'll go wherever you want."

(part i) (masterlist)

➞ richard rios x reader

➞ sometimes, missing someone hit hardest in the middle of a crowded room.

➞ angst, exes, drunk texting, unresolved feelings, club setting, no use of y/n, open ending

(part ii) (masterlist)

bandoscorner on wattpad.

THE music had been loud enough that you shouldn’t have been able to hear yourself think.

Your friends were dancing, drinks kept appearing in your hand and someone was already talking about where everyone was going afterwards, but none of it seemed to reach you. You smiled when you were supposed to, laughed when everyone else laughed and let yourself be pulled back onto the dancefloor more times than you could count.

It still wasn’t enough.

You’d spent the last month convincing yourself you were getting over him. Most days, you almost believed it. Then nights like this came around, when everyone else had someone waiting for them at the end of the evening, and suddenly it felt like the breakup had happened yesterday.

By midnight, your phone had found its way into your hand more often than your drink had.

You opened his contact. Closed it. Opened it again.

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard for nearly a minute before you finally typed.

‘i hate you’

You stared at it. Then another message.

‘i don’t actually hate you’

Another.

‘i think i hate how much i miss you’

You shouldn’t have sent them. You knew that.

But somewhere between the second drink and the fourth, honesty had become easier than pride.

Your friends were still talking around you, completely unaware that you’d mentally checked out twenty minutes ago. Someone nudged your shoulder, asking if you wanted another drink. You smiled, nodded absent-mindedly and looked back down at your screen.

‘i wish it worked’

‘i still look for u everywhere’

The typing came quicker now.

‘it’s actually embarrassing’

‘u were so annoying’

‘i miss u though’

A few minutes passed before your phone buzzed.

You looked down.

‘u done?’

That was it.

No lecture about how drunk you obviously were.

Just two words that somehow sounded exactly like him.

You laughed quietly to yourself, shaking your head.

‘probably not’

Another message appeared almost immediately.

‘figured’

You read it three times before replying.

‘can i see u’

The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

‘no’

You frowned at the screen.

‘why’

This time his reply took longer.

‘you’ll regret it tomorrow’

You bit your lip.

‘i won’t u don’t know that’

Another pause.

The music around you seemed impossibly loud now, your friends still dancing only a few feet away while you sat on the edge of the booth, staring at your phone like nothing else in the room existed.

‘can i come over then’

It took nearly a minute for him to answer.

‘no’

‘why are u saying no???’

His reply came back almost immediately.

‘cause you’re drunk’

‘and cause i know you’

You swallowed.

‘but i mean it’

Three dots appeared again.

‘maybe you do’

‘if you still mean it tomorrow’

Another pause.

‘call me then’

You read the message over and over, hoping there’d be another one underneath it. There wasn’t.

Your phone slipped back onto the table as your friends called your name from across the room, waving you over to join them. You looked up for the first time in what felt like forever, forcing a smile before making your way back towards them.

The music hadn’t changed. Nor the people around you.

But for the first time all night, you realised you’d spent hours trying to drown out the one person who’d been on your mind from the moment you walked through the door.

And somehow, the only person who hadn’t taken advantage of your drunken honesty was the one you’d been trying so hard to forget.

(part ii) (masterlist)

➞ richard rios x reader

➞ they hadn’t announced anything, the internet had simply decided to investigate.

➞ fluff, established relationship, social media, fans being detectives, domestic, brief spanglish, no use of y/n, humour, happy ending

(masterlist)

bandoscorner on wattpad.

NEITHER of you had ever really spoken about your relationship online. It wasn’t something you’d agreed on one evening or even properly discussed; it had simply happened that way. Richard posted football, you posted whatever happened to be in front of you, and the two of you naturally stayed out of each other’s content. The people closest to you already knew, and neither of you felt any real need to invite millions of strangers into something that was perfectly fine without their opinions. For a long time, it worked.

Occasionally there would be a comment asking who had taken one of Richard’s photos or why the background of one of your Instagram stories looked strangely familiar, but it never went much further than that. The internet would notice something, talk about it for a day or two, and then move on to the next transfer rumour or matchday discussion. Apparently, that had changed.

You were sitting beside Richard on the sofa one evening, half paying attention to a film while scrolling absent-mindedly through TikTok. One of your legs was stretched across his lap while he idly traced circles over your ankle, barely paying attention to whatever was on the television. Every now and then you’d laugh at something on your phone, and he’d glance over out of curiosity before looking back at the screen. “I think you’ll appreciate this,” you said eventually, turning your phone towards him.

Richard took it without much thought, expecting another recipe or one of the videos you always saved instead of sending him. Instead, he was met with a creator he’d never seen before and a title that read, I don’t think Richard Ríos is single… He looked at you, raised an eyebrow and quietly muttered, “A ver…” before pressing play.

The first clip was harmless enough. One of his Instagram stories from months earlier was paused just long enough for the creator to zoom in on the reflection in a café window. Sitting opposite him was someone whose face couldn’t even be seen properly. The next slide was one of your own Instagram posts where a pair of football boots could just about be seen underneath the kitchen table. Then came a photo comparing the view from your apartment balcony to one Richard had posted after training, followed by another from one of his teammate’s birthdays where the creator had somehow managed to circle the sleeve of your jumper in the background.

By the time the video finished, there were screenshots, timelines and enough red circles to make it look like a criminal investigation. Neither of you spoke for a moment. He watched it again. “I actually think they’ve got everything right.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I know.”

He scrolled into the comments, reading through them with a small smile that only seemed to grow. “Dios mío… They’ve even worked out you were at the derby.”

“I was.”

“I know.”

“They’ve figured out which café we always go to.”

“I noticed that.”

“They even recognised your watch.”

You leaned over to look at the comments again, completely baffled by how much attention people had paid to details you’d never even noticed yourselves. “I genuinely don’t understand how they find half of this.”

Richard handed your phone back with a quiet shrug.

“No sé.”

“No, seriously.”

“Amor, I don’t even remember posting some of these.”

You laughed, scrolling onto another video from a different account that somehow had even more evidence than the first. “They’ve matched my bracelet.”

“Sí.”

“They’ve worked out where we live because of the balcony.”

“También.”

“They’ve identified the plant in our living room.”

That finally made him laugh.

“Okay… that’s impressive.”

You looked up at him with a grin. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“A little.”

There were dozens of videos by different people, each adding another tiny piece to the puzzle. One had figured out you’d both been in the same restaurant because the table number happened to be visible in opposite corners of two completely unrelated photos. Another had realised the hoodie you’d been wearing in an Instagram story belonged to Richard after spotting him wearing it months beforehand.

None of it was particularly invasive. It was just… incredibly observant.

“I would’ve never noticed any of this,” you admitted, still scrolling.

Richard shrugged “They’ve got a lot of free time.”

“You don’t think it’s weird?”

He thought about it for a second before shaking his head. “No, mi vida. I think it’s funny.”

“You do?”

“They’ve spent months trying to solve something we weren’t even hiding.”

You smiled to yourself “We weren’t very subtle, were we?”

He smiled back “I didn’t think we needed to be.”

The apartment fell quiet again as another video began playing automatically. This one confidently explained that your favourite bakery had been identified because the pastry boxes in the background of one of Richard’s photos matched the ones you’d posted weeks earlier. You couldn’t help laughing. “I think they’ve earned the answer at this point.”

Richard glanced at your phone one last time before looking back towards the television.

“Tranquila. They’ll work it out eventually.”

“I think they already have.”

“Puede ser.”

There wasn’t much else to say. Neither of you had been trying to create a mystery, and neither of you felt particularly bothered that people had pieced it together. If anything, the most surprising part wasn’t that the internet had guessed the truth. It was that they’d managed to do it with nothing more than reflections, coffee cups and an unusually memorable houseplant.

(masterlist)

➞ richard rios x reader

➞ it wasn’t the tattoo that surprised you. It was how little of a deal Richard made out of it.

➞ fluff, established relationship, domestic, tattoo mention, brief spanglish, mature relationship, no use of y/n, happy ending

(masterlist)

bandoscorner on wattpad.

RICHARD had mentioned the tattoo appointment almost a week before, bringing it up over breakfast while tying the laces of his boots by the front door. He’d said he wanted to add a small piece he’d been thinking about for a while and that he’d probably be home a little later than usual after training. You’d teased him about running out of room, earning nothing more than a quiet laugh and a casual, “Todavía no,” before he leaned down to kiss your forehead and disappeared out of the apartment.

By the time you got home that evening, everything looked exactly as it always did after one of his training sessions. His bag had been left by the front door, the washing machine hummed somewhere down the hallway and a football match played quietly on the television while he stretched out across the sofa in a pair of grey joggers and an old T-shirt. He looked over as he heard your keys, smiling briefly before turning his attention back to the screen.

“Hola, bebé.”

You smiled, leaning over the back of the sofa to kiss his cheek before disappearing into the kitchen. “How was the tattoo?”

“Bien.”

You laughed to yourself as you filled two glasses with water. “That’s all I’ve got?”

“What else is there to say?”

Shaking your head, you carried the drinks back into the living room and handed one to him. As he reached for the glass, the sleeve of his T-shirt slipped back slightly, revealing a strip of clear protective film wrapped around the inside of his forearm. You frowned immediately, your eyes narrowing as you tried to make out what was underneath it .

“…What’s that?”

Richard glanced down for half a second before looking back at you.

“What is what?”

You pointed towards his arm. “That.”

He followed your finger as though he’d completely forgotten it was there. “A tattoo.”

“I can see that,” you replied with a small laugh. “Of what?”

He looked at you for a quick second before answering, completely unfazed. “You.”

The word landed so casually that you genuinely thought you’d heard him wrong.

“What?”

“My tattoo.”

You reached for his wrist without thinking, turning his arm gently until the light caught the fresh ink beneath the clear bandage. Sitting neatly beneath the small design he’d told you about was your name, written in clean black script. It wasn’t oversized or dramatic. It was simple, understated… and unmistakably yours. For a few seconds, all you could do was stare. “I thought you were getting one tattoo.”

“I was.”

You looked up at him. “…Richard.”

He smiled to himself before correcting, “Well… I was. Then I got two.”

“You decided to get my name tattooed on you while you were already there?”

He shrugged lightly, as though the answer was obvious. “Más o menos.”

You let out a quiet laugh, somewhere between disbelief and amusement, your thumb brushing carefully over the edge of the protective film.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“You didn’t even tell me.”

“I was going to.”

“When?”

“When you noticed.”

“You weren’t going to mention it if I didn’t.”

“You noticed.” His logic made absolutely no sense, yet somehow it made perfect sense coming from him.

You looked back down at the tattoo, reading your own name over and over as if it might suddenly disappear. It wasn’t the tattoo itself that caught you off guard—it was how ordinary he’d made it seem. There hadn’t been some elaborate surprise or long speech about forever. He’d simply gone to an appointment he’d already booked, looked at the empty space on his arm and decided your name belonged there.

“I don’t understand you sometimes,” you admitted quietly, still holding onto his wrist. “Most people would think about something like this for months.”

Richard finally looked away from the television properly, his expression softening as he watched you studying the fresh ink. “I did think about it.”

“For how long?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Long enough.”

You laughed under your breath. “That’s not an answer.”

“It was for me.”

There was no hesitation in the way he said it. No uncertainty. Just the same quiet confidence he carried into almost everything he did. To him, it hadn’t felt impulsive. It had felt obvious.

You looked back down at the tattoo one last time before lifting your eyes to meet his. “Why?”

He frowned slightly, genuinely puzzled by the question. “Why wouldn’t I?” The apartment fell quiet again, the only sound coming from the television neither of you were really watching anymore. You smiled despite yourself, leaning across the sofa to press a kiss against his cheek before resting your head lightly against his shoulder. Your hand never really left his arm, your fingers absent-mindedly tracing around the bandage every few minutes, still trying to get used to seeing your name there.

Richard didn’t tease you for looking. He didn’t ask what you were thinking or wait for some emotional reaction. Instead, he simply intertwined his fingers with yours, gave your hand a gentle squeeze and carried on watching the match as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

To anyone else, it was just another tattoo. To him, it had simply felt like the most natural place your name could be.

(masterlist)

➞ richard rios x reader

➞ richard insisted it was “just a cold.” By lunchtime, he was asleep with his head in your lap and refusing to admit you were right.

➞ fluff, est!relationship, sick!richard, caretaker!richard, stubborn!richard, domestic intimacy, slight spanish, no use of y/n

(masterlist)

bandoscorner on wattpad.

RICHARD had spent the entire morning insisting he wasn’t ill. According to him, it was “just a cold,” despite the fact he’d sneezed at least eight times before breakfast and had wrapped himself in a blanket even though the apartment was warm. You’d watched him shuffle from the bedroom to the sofa with all the energy of someone who’d just finished a marathon instead of yesterday’s training session, his hair still damp from a shower he’d taken purely because he’d convinced himself it would “clear his head.” When you pressed the back of your hand against his forehead, he looked at you hopefully, as though waiting for you to confirm he was on the verge of death. Instead, you smiled. “You don’t even have a temperature.” He sighed dramatically, pulling the blanket a little higher over his shoulders. “It’s getting there.”

By midday, it had become impossible to do anything without him appearing beside you. The moment you wandered into the kitchen to make lunch, you heard the familiar shuffle of socks against the wooden floor, followed by Richard leaning silently against the counter with the blanket still draped over him like a cape. He didn’t need anything. He simply watched you chop vegetables for a moment before mumbling that he “didn’t want to be in the living room on his own.” You laughed under your breath, shaking your head as you reached up to smooth a hand through his hair. “You’re unbelievable.” He smiled faintly. “I know.”

The pattern continued all afternoon. If you folded laundry, he sat on the bed watching you. If you answered a text, he rested his head against your shoulder to see who it was. Even making tea became a two-person activity because he insisted on following you into the kitchen before quietly wrapping both arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder with a tired sigh. Every time you suggested he go back to the sofa and rest, he answered with the same excuse—that he was more comfortable wherever you happened to be.

Eventually, you gave up pretending you were going to be productive. The washing basket stayed exactly where it was, your book remained untouched on the coffee table and the afternoon dissolved into the two of you lying on the sofa beneath the same blanket. Richard wasted no time settling against you, his head in your lap while your fingers drifted lazily through his curls. Within minutes his eyes were closed, though every so often he’d peek one open just to check you were still there. When you shifted slightly to reach for your now-cold mug of tea, his hand instinctively caught your wrist. “¿A dónde vas, mi amor?” he mumbled sleepily. You couldn’t help smiling. “Nowhere. I’m literally reaching for my tea.” Apparently satisfied, he let go again, curling a little closer as though he’d never moved in the first place.

By the early evening, you were beginning to suspect he was enjoying the attention just as much as he was recovering. You stood up to check the soup simmering on the stove, only to hear him call after you less than ten seconds later, asking if you’d be long. Looking back, you found him exactly where you’d left him, blanket pulled up to his chin and wearing the most pitiful expression imaginable. “Richard,” you laughed, “the kitchen is five steps away.” He shrugged, entirely unapologetic. “It’s quieter when you’re not in here.”

You shook your head, abandoning the soup for another minute before returning to the sofa. The moment you sat down, he rested his head against your shoulder with a content sigh, your fingers instinctively finding his hair again. “You’re such a baby when you’re ill,” you murmured, smiling as he let out a quiet hum of agreement instead of arguing. After a moment, he tilted his head just enough to look at you, the corners of his mouth lifting into a sleepy smile. “Only with you.”

(masterlist)

➞ richard rios x reader

➞ Richard had plans that night, but the moment your friend called, nothing else seemed quite as important

➞ fluff, est!relationship, drunk!reader, caretaker!richard, brief spanish dialogue, no use of y/n, emotional vulnerability, comfort, domestic intimacy, makeup removal, reader cries, black!reader

(masterlist)

bandoscorner on wattpad.

RICHARD had plans that evening, something that had taken longer to organise than either of you cared to admit. One of the boys had finally managed to get everyone together after weeks of conflicting schedules, and judging by the neatly folded shirt laid across the bed, Richard had actually intended on making an effort. Even so, he insisted on dropping you at the club first, claiming it was on his way when you both knew it wasn’t.

The car rolled to a stop outside the entrance, music already spilling onto the street as your friends waited beneath the glowing sign. You checked your bag one last time, making sure your phone and purse were where they belonged before reaching for the door handle. Richard stopped you only long enough to lean across the centre console, pressing an absent-minded kiss against your forehead. He reminded you, as he always did, that if the night changed for any reason, you were to call him. You smiled, promised that you would, and climbed out into the cool evening air. He watched you disappear through the doors before pulling away towards the other side of the city.

For the first few hours, everything was exactly as you’d imagined. Drinks arrived between stories, laughter bounced around the table, and every song that came on seemed to demand another round. Somewhere along the way, though, the excitement gave way to exhaustion. Your replies became quieter, your drink remained half-finished, and the music that had seemed impossible to ignore now blurred into little more than background noise. You hadn’t realised how much you’d drunk until the room began to feel a step behind every time you moved.

Your friends noticed long before you did. One of them quietly slid your glass away while another reached beneath the table for her phone. There was no discussion over whether they should call Richard. They all knew he would come, and looking at you—resting your cheek against your hand with tired eyes fixed somewhere across the room—they knew you weren’t in any state to argue either. By the time his name flashed across the screen, you hadn’t noticed a thing.

The call found him halfway through dinner. He glanced down, recognised your friend’s name immediately and excused himself before answering, his voice low enough not to interrupt the conversation around the table. It took less than a minute for him to understand the situation. By the time he slipped his phone back into his pocket, he was already reaching for the keys beside his plate. One of the boys looked up as he stood, asking if everything was alright, and Richard simply nodded while pulling his jacket back on.

“Sí,” he answered with a small smile. “Mi novia.”

A few quiet nods followed, someone reminding him to drive safely before the conversation resumed as naturally as it had paused. Richard thanked them, promised he’d catch them another night and disappeared before anyone had the chance to insist otherwise.

It wasn’t until a familiar hand settled lightly against the middle of your back that you slowly lifted your head. Even through the haze clouding your thoughts, you recognised him instantly. The tension you hadn’t realised you’d been carrying disappeared the moment your eyes met his.

Richard thanked your friends for staying with you before turning his attention back to where you sat. His hand found your waist as you stood, steadying you before your balance had the chance to disappear completely. “Ven, mi amor,” he murmured, his voice quiet enough that only you heard it.

The walk back to the car was slow, your shoulder brushing against his every few steps while he adjusted to your pace without ever pointing out that he was doing it. His hand remained at your waist the entire way, guiding you through the crowd as naturally as if you’d left the club together every weekend. Once outside, he settled you into the passenger seat, fastening your seatbelt after your hands fumbled with it before passing you a bottle of water he’d picked up at the petrol station on the way over. “Un poquito,” he encouraged softly, watching until you’d taken a few sips before starting the drive home.

The roads were almost empty by then, the city washed in amber reflections after a brief spell of rain. You spent most of the journey watching blurred lights drift across the window until your eyelids grew too heavy to keep open. At the next red light, Richard reached across the centre console, his hand finding yours almost instinctively. His thumb traced slow circles across your knuckles, and somewhere between sleep and wakefulness your fingers curled around his. Neither of you spoke. There wasn’t anything that needed saying.

Richard guided you inside with a hand resting lightly against the small of your back, quietly locking the front door behind him while you slipped your shoes off somewhere in the hallway. You looked exhausted now, the adrenaline of the evening long gone, and he could tell from the way your eyes struggled to stay open that you were only awake because you hadn’t made it to bed yet. He steered you towards the bathroom, helping you onto the counter before disappearing for a moment to grab your cleanser, a fresh towel and the cotton pads you always kept beneath the sink.

He had watched you do this routine enough times to know it by heart. Warm water first. Cleanser. Eyes before anything else because mascara was always the hardest to get off. You barely reacted as he tucked a loose curl behind your ear and tilted your chin upwards with gentle fingers, your gaze fixed sleepily somewhere over his shoulder while he worked. The room stayed comfortably quiet, filled only by the sound of running water and the soft scrape of cotton against your skin.

It wasn’t until he reached your left cheek that he noticed the tears.

His hand stopped immediately, his thumb brushing beneath your eye before another escaped. You looked almost surprised by them yourself, letting out a small, breathy laugh that quickly dissolved into a sniffle. Richard frowned ever so slightly, searching your face before asking, “¿Qué pasó, mi amor?”

You shook your head, embarrassed more than anything, but the tears refused to stop. For a moment you stared down at your hands, trying to find the words that made sense of whatever you were feeling. When you finally looked back at him, your lip trembled despite the smile tugging at it.

“I just…” You laughed quietly again, wiping at your cheek with the back of your hand before he gently caught it. “You love me so much.”

Richard’s expression softened instantly.

The corner of his mouth lifted into the smallest smile as he brushed another tear away with his thumb. “Ay,” he murmured, unable to hide the affection in his voice. “Such a crybaby.”

You let out another watery laugh, the kind that only made more tears follow, and rolled your eyes at yourself. “I know.”

“No,” he said gently, setting the cotton pad down on the side of the sink before stepping between your knees. “Ven aquí.”

You leaned into him without hesitation, resting your forehead against his chest while his arms settled around you as though they belonged there. One hand found the back of your head, the other rubbing slow circles across your back until your breathing gradually evened out. He didn’t tell you to stop crying or ask you what was wrong again. He understood that there wasn’t really anything wrong. You were tired, emotional and impossibly loved, and sometimes that was enough to bring tears all on its own.

When you eventually pulled away, he smiled as though nothing unusual had happened and reached for another cotton pad. “We’ve still got half your mascara left,” he teased quietly, wiping the last traces of makeup from beneath your eyes before helping you change into one of his T-shirts and your bonnet. By the time he placed a glass of water and two painkillers on your bedside table, you were already climbing beneath the duvet.

You instinctively reached for him the moment he lay down beside you, curling into his side until your head found its familiar place against his shoulder. Richard kissed the top of your head, smiling to himself as your breathing slowed against his chest.

Dinner with his friends could always happen another night. They’d understand, just as they always did. Loving you had never been something he squeezed into the spaces left over in his life. It had become part of it so naturally that leaving halfway through an evening, driving across the city and carrying you home felt no different from locking the front door or turning off the lights before bed.

If you ever needed him, he’d come.

Not because he’d promised.

Because, to him, there had never really been another option.

(masterlist)