arepitas

lamine yamal

[arepitasya]

ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ•*¨*•.¸¸☆*

[huhjinn]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎LAMINE YAMAL HCS ‎ . ‎

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ · ·‎‎ ─ ‎ ‎ blog ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ,‎ ‎ taglist ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎lamine masterlist

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( pairings & content )‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ,‎ ‎ lamine yamal x fem!reader‎ . ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ no warnings /‎ ‎ ‎ established!rs ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ,‎ ‎

‎taglist ⸺    

@random34674 ‎ ‎ ‎ @zerosevenonenine ‎ ‎ ‎ @frvrisa ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ @rubleooble‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ @miisouva‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ @brazilianhere

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‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ❛ ft.spain players ‎ ❜ ' 𝑠𝑓𝑤 . '

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BF!LAMINE he's not afraid to love loudly. whether in public or on social media, he takes every opportunity to let your relationship be known.

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BF!LAMINE one of his favourite things to do is to try and teach you football tricks and then tease you when you struggle to understand. even if you fail miserably or master it the first time, he loves doing what he loves, with the person he loves.

BF!LAMINE he loves having you around and including you in moments with his family. watching football games, going out for lunch, or even just coming over to hang.

BF!LAMINE he always wants to make sure that his jersey is the only one you wear out. not because he gets jealous, but because he likes being shown off by you.

BF!LAMINE he'll come home after training and talk to you about how the whole thing went. telling you that coach kept getting on his and cubarsí's ass but not mentioning the part where the two of them kept messing around.

BF!LAMINE loves back scratches and when you run your fingers through his hair.

BF!LAMINE is the type to have his love language be physical touch and buying you gifts. never has to be anything fancy. something as simple as buying you your favourite candy while out, or a bracelet made from beads of your favourite colour.

BF!LAMINE piggy backing off of that, he bought you a necklace and himself a bracelet with your initials on them that he wears whenever he can.

BF!LAMINE he loves to annoy you on purpose just for a reaction, and will then tease you for it.

BF!LAMINE i'm convinced he'd be the type of guy to cancel on hangout plans with his friends if he finds out you'd also be free at that same time. he'd rather spend a day with you doing nothing in bed than anything else.

BF!LAMINE his teammates tease him all the time at camp. things like calling him your boy/mr. rather than his name, making weird noise in the background of your calls or even trying to get in the camera view while you're on facetime.

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‎I'm actually so sorry for not posting that fic yet. I've currently got my ballet exams and job overlapping and it's been hard to finish it! I am working on it and will be posting some hcs until I can feed you people properly 🥹🥹

‎ join my taglist here

‎

[arepitasya]

😭💗

[lamine-cuba]

Lamine 🇪🇸

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[dixheuresdix]

can u make smut for lamine yamal ?? any plot is okayy

VIRGIN BOY;

⤷ ゛masterlist ˎˊ˗

lamine yamal x f!reader.

dating.

note: thanks for ur req!

mdni. smut.

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you thought lamine was experienced but in the middle of the act, you notice that he's probably a virgin.

you had been dating lamine yamal for a few months now.

he was always so sweet with you, stealing moments after training to pull you into quiet corners for soft kisses, sending you silly voice notes when he was away with the national team and showing up at your door with your favorite snacks after long days.

everyone around him assumed he was this experienced guy.

the way girls used to throw themselves at him and how the media painted him as a young heartthrob with a list of exes.

you never pushed. you loved the way he blushed when things got a little heated.

one quiet evening after a big win, you were both in his apartment, curled up on the huge couch watching a movie.

lamine kept glancing at you instead of the screen, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your thigh under the blanket.

you turned to him smiling and kissed him softly.

the kiss deepened quickly, his breath hitching as you climbed into his lap, straddling him. his hands settled on your waist, gripping a little tighter as your tongues met.

“i want you,” you whispered against his lips, feeling the heat building between you.

lamine nodded and carried you to his bedroom like you weighed nothing.

clothes came off slowly. he was so gentle, worshipping every inch of your skin with his mouth.

you could feel how hard he was against your thigh, his body trembling slightly with anticipation.

when you finally guided him between your legs and he pushed inside you for the first time, you both moaned at the feeling.

he was thick and warm, stretching you perfectly, but something felt off.

his movements were hesitant, a little clumsy, like he was concentrating too hard not to hurt you.

you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, and noticed the way his hips stuttered, the slight wince on his face mixed with pure bliss.

that was when you tilted.

you cupped his cheeks, slowing him down gently as you looked into his eyes.

“lamine… baby, have you done this before?” you asked softly.

he froze for a second, burying his face in your neck, embarrassed.

“no...” his voice came out quiet and shy.

your heart melted at his confession. you kissed him deeply, running your fingers through his hair.

“it’s okay, we’ll go slow,” you smiled.

lamine relaxed against you, nodding as he started moving again, this time with more confidence guided by your praises.

you showed him how to roll his hips, how to find the rhythm that made you gasp his name.

it turned into something hotter, sweat-slicked skin sliding together, his moans growing louder and more desperate every time you clenched around him.

he was a quick learner, soon thrusting deeper, hitting that perfect spot inside you while his thumb found your clit, circling it shyly at first then firmer when he heard how much you loved it.

you smiled through your moans, pulling him closer so your bodies were completely flush.

the room filled with the sounds of skin meeting skin, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

lamine lasted longer than you expected for his first time, focused entirely on making you cum first.

when you finally tightened around him, shaking with pleasure, he followed right after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a broken groan of your name.

afterwards, he didn’t pull out right away.

he stayed on top of you, catching his breath, pressing soft kisses all over your face and neck.

“thank you for being patient with me. next time i’ll be even better, i promise.”

you laughed softly and held him tight, running your fingers down his back.

“you were perfect, lamine.”

the two of you stayed tangled together under the sheets for hours, talking quietly, laughing about the rumors and how wrong everyone had been, sharing gentle touches and more kisses until sleep took you both.

he was inexperienced but so full of love and eagerness to learn everything with you.

dixheuresdix, like and comment <3

[ange1archive]

Lamine with madridista reader first meeting and fall in love please❤️

MADRIDISTA

PAIRINGS. lamine yamal x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS. you're a madridista through and through. supporting your brother on the field and disliking everything that has to do with barça. until you cross paths with barcelona’s golden boy and a lost bet leads to something unexpected.

GENRE. fluff. enemies to lovers

WORDS. 3k

WARNINGS. lamine being cocky. not proofread. punctuation kinda messy

A/N. finally finished this request. sorry, anon for taking this long. reader is also the sister of a madrid player, but i didn't have anyone special in mind. hope you enjoy it.

you’ve been wearing white since the day you were old enough to understand what football was. actually, scratch that, since you were born.

your father is a die-hard madridista. he always joked about your first word being "hala." and your second being "madrid," which was absolutely not true.

your mother is a madridista too, though she tries to pretend she doesn’t scream at the tv during penalty shootouts and always tells others “it's not about winning, it's about taking part” when madrid loses.

your older brother made his way up through the academy and finally got signed to the first team two years ago.

you remember staying up late just to catch away games in different time zones and see your brother play.

right now, you’re at el clásico, the biggest game of the season.

tensions are high, the energy in the stadium is electric, and your brother, being your brother, forgot the personalized shin guards he insists on wearing for every big match in the hotel.

so like the dutiful sister you are, you volunteered to drop them off before kickoff. he actually bribed you to bring them for him but you`d never admit that out loud.

“please,” he had said over the phone, half-dressed in his kit, his voice rushed, “just bring them to the tunnel entrance. ask one of the staff to hand them off to me. it’ll take you two minutes.”

you rolled your eyes, already annoyed. “that’s embarrassing. can’t you get them yourself?”

“too late. i’m already at the stadium,” he replied, and there was a pause as if he was weighing his options. then: “look, i’ll drive you everywhere you want for the whole next week. just, please, bring me my shin guards.”

that got your attention. a whole week without taking the subway? tempting.

you sighed. “alright, fine. a whole week. i’ll be there in twenty.” you had hung up before he could say anything else.

now, dressed in one of your brother’s real madrid kits, the badge gleaming proudly on your chest and a scarf wrapped tight around your neck, you flash the family pass at security and slip into the restricted area.

your sneakers squeak against the polished concrete as you walk briskly through the tunnel, every step echoing in the empty tunnel. your heart beats a little faster. not from nerves, obviously, just adrenaline, or irritation. or the fact that your brother forgot his damn shin guards on the day of el clásico.

you grip the drawstring bag tighter. you’re not supposed to be here.

from above, the roar of the crowd rumbles through the concrete, like thunder just behind the walls.

you take a sharp turn around a corner, distracted by a message from your brother and–

thud.

you collide with someone.

hard.

your shoulder slams into theirs, the bag with your brother's gear almost slips from your hands, and you let out a startled breath.

“watch it,” a voice mutters.

you stumble back a step, muttering a quiet “lo siento” before you look up.

and immediately wish you hadn’t. your stomach drops.

he’s taller than you expected. broad shoulders. sharp jaw. wearing training gear with the barcelona crest right over his heart.

he’s staring at your shirt.

lamine yamal.

you definitely remember the first time you heard about him.

the so-called prodigy from barça. barça’s golden boy. the enemy. the one madrid twitter can’t stop arguing about. the one who somehow always manages to assist or score at the worst possible moment.

the one madrid fans love to hate.

you’ve seen him a hundred times. on tv, in press conferences, plastered all over social media. you’ve yelled at your screen because of him. called him overrated. called him a cheat. called him every name in the book from your couch. told your brother he was annoying, cocky, and everything wrong with barça..

so yeah. you’re not a fan.

he looks you up and down like you're something stuck to his shoe. his eyes narrow at the logo on your shirt.

“figures,” he says, stepping back. “should’ve known a madridista wouldn’t know how to walk straight.”

you scoff, folding your arms. “should’ve known a barça player would cry the second he gets touched.”

his smirk is slow, sharp, like he enjoys it. “fans aren’t allowed down here. maybe try your luck outside the stadium. who knows, you might even catch a glimpse of a madrid player if you’re lucky.”

you pull the lanyard from under your scarf and flash the family pass in his face, letting it swing once before tucking it back in.

“I’m here to bring something to my brother.”

his eyebrows lift slightly, but the sarcasm doesn’t leave his voice. “oh. and who’s your brother?”

“that’s none of your business.” you roll your eyes and start walking again, brushing past him. not hard, but not gentle, either. just enough for your shoulder to catch the edge of his arm.

he doesn’t move, but you feel the tension in the split second of contact.

as you're about to turn the next corner–

“ah,” he says behind you as he stares at the name on the back of your shirt, realization hitting him. “you both have the same attitude.”

you tighten your grip on the drawstring bag slung across your shoulder, the nylon crinkling under your fingers. your knuckles turn white. still, you keep your head high, pace even.

he doesn’t leave it alone.

“tell him i said good luck,” he calls, his voice dipping into a kind of fake sincerity that makes you grit your teeth. “he’s gonna need it.”

you glance over your shoulder, expression unreadable. “he doesn’t.”

his smirk twitches, just slightly.

then he taps his chest twice with two fingers, like he’s signing off a message. “should i be worried?”

you stop. only for a beat.

then you half-turn, your eyes scanning him like he’s already lost the match.

you say, tone casual. “maybe.”

his eyes narrow with something that almost resembles interest.

“you really hate me, huh?”

you nod once, slow and deliberate. “with my whole heart.”

he stares at you a moment, eyebrows raised, like he’s trying to figure out if you're serious or if you’re just trying to get under his skin.

then he lets out a short whistle, teeth flashing. “i’m flattered.”

you don’t turn around.

but you hear him, voice echoing down the tunnel behind you.

“i’ll be thinking about you when we win.”

without breaking stride, you lift your middle finger.

his laugh follows you, sharp and cocky and way too pleased with himself.

he watches you for a beat, then grins wider, eyes glinting with challenge. “wait. how about this: when we win, i get to take you out. no excuses.”

you glance back, eyebrow raised. “and what if madrid wins?”

“then i'll post a picture of your brother in my story, congratulating him on his win,” he says smoothly. “deal?”

you know lamine is good. that he scores in every match he plays, but you also know how good madrid is this season. how much they have trained for this match, so you're sure they won't lose, “you’re on.”

you smirk, feeling the weight of the unspoken dare between you.

he should annoy you.

he does.

mostly.

but then again, you’re still smiling when you reach the end of the tunnel. just a little. the kind of smile you only wear when someone gets under your skin, and you hate that he does.

even though you never once look back, you know he’s still standing there.

watching.

the final whistle blows and the stadium explodes. the sound is overwhelming, a tidal wave of cheers and chants that shakes the very ground beneath your feet. barça has won el clásico. madrid has lost. the white shirts scattered across the field slump in exhaustion and disbelief. your brother stands among them, his shoulders hunched, face hard to read from this distance.

you’re still sitting in the stands. the floodlights glare down on the pitch where barça players are celebrating like they just won the world cup, and your stomach twists in a way it never has before.

you watch him from the distance, moving confidently across the field, waving to fans, flashing that same cocky grin you saw earlier in the tunnel. it’s frustrating and annoying, and yet your eyes stay glued to him.

around you, madrid fans are either silently disappointed or trying to keep their heads high with forced cheers and claps. your own family is probably quiet right now, subdued after the loss. your brother, probably feels worse than anyone, and you haven’t even seen him yet. the thought stings.

you watch as your brother walks off the pitch with the rest of the madrid players, exhaustion heavy on his shoulders. his face is tight, lips pressed into a thin line. you want to go down and find him, to wrap your arms around him and tell him it’s okay. but the security is tight, and you don’t have a pass to get close to the locker room. so you stay put, hoping he’ll come to the stands later.

pulling your scarf tighter around your neck and leaning forward on the cold metal railing, your eyes are still on lamine. then, through the crowd, you catch sight of him turning toward the stands, almost as if he’s looking for someone.

your breath hitches when his gaze lands in your direction, though you don’t think he’s noticed you yet. your heart pounds a little faster. you’re caught between wanting to hate him and not knowing why he gets under your skin so much.

you tell yourself it’s nothing.

the crowd begins to thin as fans spill out toward the exits, their voices still buzzing in the warm night air. you stay put, pretending to watch the last few seconds of the match replay on the big screen. but really, your mind is elsewhere.

you’re sure the bet won’t happen. there’s no way you’ll actually go out with him. after all, you don’t even have his number. you don’t know where to find him. and honestly, you’re certain this is the last time you’ll see lamine.

you shake your head at the thought. it’s ridiculous. you barely know him, and yet the idea of going out with him feels... strange, even unsettling. so you tell yourself to forget the whole thing.

your phone buzzes with a message from your brother: “meet me by the players’ exit.” you stand up and make your way down the concrete steps toward the tunnel entrance where the players will soon be coming out.

the corridor outside is quieter now, the roar of the crowd reduced to murmurs echoing in the distance. you wait near the exit, the cool air pressing against your skin, your breath forming little clouds in front of you.

then you see him again. lamine.

still wearing the barça training jacket, sweat drying on his face, his hair a little tousled from the game.

he spots you almost immediately. his smirk is there, casual but knowing. he leans against the wall, arms crossed, waiting.

“didn’t think you’d actually stick around,” he says, voice low but teasing.

you cross your arms, trying to keep your cool. “waiting for my brother.”

he steps a little closer, eyes locking on yours. “so, are you free tomorrow?”

your breath catches. “you actually want to take me out?”

he grins, no hesitation. “yeah. definitely.”

you roll your eyes, but can’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

you nod slowly, trying to act like this isn’t the most unexpected thing that’s happened to you all week. “tomorrow then.”

he flashes that grin again, the one that makes your stomach twist, and steps back toward the exit. “i’ll pick you up at seven.”

you watch him go, heart still beating too fast. "you don't even know the hotel i'm staying in. plus, you don't even have my number."

he shrugs, "what makes you think that?"

the next evening, you stand nervously in front of your hotel, dressed in something you hope is appropriate because you have no idea where lamine is taking you. you recheck your phone. no missed calls, no messages yet. it’s early, and the quiet only makes your nerves louder.

then, the soft hum of an engine pulls your attention, and you look up to see a sleek black car pull up in front of you.

lamine steps out, the familiar smirk softened by something almost genuine. “ready?” he asks, voice low and warm.

you nod, swallowing the nervous flutter in your chest. he opens the door for you, and you slide into the car, the leather cool beneath you. he slips behind the wheel and pulls into the street.

the city blurs by in streaks of gold and shadow.

for a while, it’s quiet. you stare out the window, unsure of what to say, expecting awkwardness. but it never really comes.

he breaks the silence first. “so… did you really think i wouldn’t hold you to the bet?”

you glance over. “honestly? yeah. i didn’t think you’d even remember.”

he grins, eyes flicking between the road and you. “i don’t forget things that matter.”

it shouldn’t make your stomach flutter, but it does.

conversation builds from there. about football, of course. about how you grew up watching madrid with your family, about his early days in la masia and his breakthrough during the euros.

you laugh more than you thought you would. he’s sharp, but not as cocky as you thought. and when he teases you, it’s more playful than biting.

he’s funny, unexpectedly down-to-earth, not the arrogant player you had built up in your head for so long. the walls you’d built around him , the barça player you “hated”, start to crumble, brick by brick.

eventually, he pulls into a quiet side street and parks in front of a restaurant you’ve never seen before. small, tucked away, the kind of place only locals know.

“this okay?” he asks.

“more than okay,” you say, surprised by the charm of it.

“thought we’d keep it simple,” he says, opening the door again for you.

inside, the lighting is low, golden. the walls are brick and the tables are close, intimate. soft music plays, not loud enough to compete with your voices, just enough to fill the spaces in between.

you sit across from each other, menus untouched for a while, talking instead. he tells you about the pressure, what it’s like to carry expectation this young. you admit that sometimes you hate how football makes people cruel. you’re both quiet for a moment when you realize you understand each other more than you should.

you order eventually. it gives your hands something to do. gives your eyes something to focus on when his gaze lingers too long.

and it does. linger.

at first, it makes you nervous. you glance away, clear your throat, change the subject.

but later, you stop avoiding it. later, you start holding it longer.

at one point, he leans forward a little and says, “so, do i still live rent-free in your head?”

you raise your brows, lips twitching. “only when you’re being annoying.”

he laughs. “so all the time?”

you stab your fork into your pasta. “don’t push it.”

he does, of course. but you don’t mind it as much now.

after dinner, he suggests a walk along a nearby park. the city is quieter now, the streets less crowded. he leads you through the small park nearby, the sound of distant traffic muffled by trees and the soft crunch of gravel under your shoes.

the night air is cool, the stars hidden behind clouds, but the streetlamps cast a warm glow around you.

you walk side by side, shoulders brushing in small, electric touches.

he stops, turns to face you, and the teasing light in his eyes is replaced with something serious, almost vulnerable.

there’s a long stretch of silence. the good kind. the kind that settles into your bones.

“you know,” he says eventually, glancing over, “i didn’t expect this.”

“what? me being charming?”

“you liking me at all.”

you smile faintly. “me neither.”

he stops near a small fountain, the sound of water trickling in the background. he looks at you for a long moment.

“i’m actually glad you came tonight,” he says quietly, voice low and steady.

you swallow, feeling the weight of his gaze, the sincerity in it.

“me too.”

he steps closer, the space between you shrinking until it’s just inches.

his hand reaches up slowly, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

your breath catches, heart beating faster.

then, without another word, his lips brush yours. soft and tentative, like testing the waters.

you respond, the kiss deepening, slow and sweet, each second melting away the doubts you didn’t know you were holding.

when you finally pull back, your foreheads rest together, both of you smiling softly, breathless.

“you know,” you say quietly, “i used to hate you.”

his smile flickers, warm and real. “you still kind of do.”

you laugh, the sound light but honest. “a little. you’re still annoying and on the wrong team. but… i don’t know. i think i’m starting to like you.”

he grins, teasing. “oh really? the madridista is softening?”

you roll your eyes, shrugging, trying to sound casual but feeling vulnerable. “maybe. maybe one day i’ll even let you borrow my scarf.”

he pretends to gag, but then his fingers find yours, brushing gently and neither of you pull away.

he fakes a dramatic gag. “okay, let’s not move too fast. but maybe one day you'll wear my kit. with my name on your back.”

"you wish." you nudge him with your elbow, and he catches your hand without thinking.

[anlaal]

HEAR ME OUT

Lamine yearning for reader 👀

Break up

synopsis: you want a break up, lamine can't handle that

Pairings: lamine yamal x fem!reader

Genre: Angst

Part 2 here!

You had been in a relationship with Lamine for a long time. You loved him, and he loved you. You hadn't been in such a healthy relationship in a long time. Lamine had always treated you like part of his family, not just a girlfriend who'd recently entered his life. He was kind, gentle, and loving. Everything really was perfect.

But it didn't last long. Soon you found harassment everywhere. Everyone knew who you were now. Rumors about you appearing online became a regular thing.

Whenever you left the house, you might see a car you'd never noticed before, windows completely tinted, or feel like someone was following you at the supermarket.

You never liked this life — even though you weren't famous yourself, you never really liked the life of celebrities.

You missed your life before you dated Lamine. It had been quiet and comfortable. You only used to talk to your friends, relatives, and your workplace. It was a genuinely routine life.

It wasn't that you didn't love having Lamine in your life — quite the opposite, he was something you truly didn't want to give up.

But every day, it got harder, and you couldn't bear it anymore.

"Lamine." you said to the young man sitting across from you, scrolling on his phone.

"Yes, my love?" he said, lifting his smiling eyes to you.

"Let's break up."

---

Lamine's expression froze for a moment, as if the words hadn't reached his mind yet. He slowly set his phone down on the table, as if trying to buy a few extra seconds before facing what you'd just said.

"What?" he asked in a quiet voice, as if he wished he'd misheard.

"Let's break up. I can't handle this anymore." Your voice was trembling; you tried to avoid looking into his eyes.

He laughed nervously. "What are you saying? Where is this coming from?"

"I'm serious, Lamine. I'm sorry I surprised you. I should have talked to you about this sooner."

"Surprised me? Yes, you've surprised me. Baby, what are you saying? Is this some kind of prank?"

He shifted anxiously in his seat and leaned closer to you.

"No, Lamine, I want to break up. I would never say this just to hurt you."

It took him a few seconds to grasp how serious your words were; he seemed on the verge of collapse, his hands trembling on the arms of the chair. In his whole life — especially now, at its peak — he never expected something like this to happen.

"Why? Why do you want to leave me?" His voice was broken.

You sighed, preparing to say what you'd been hiding from him for a while.

"I don't love this life, Lamine. With you, I don't love how I'm living now. I don't want to keep living like this."

"Do you... not love me?" he said it as though he'd believed it for a few seconds.

"No, I love you." Your voice rose.

"But Lamine, I don't want to live a life I don't love with someone I do love. I don't want cameras following me everywhere. I don't want to open my phone and the first thing I see is pictures of myself in private places. I don't want that. I hate this!"

"Please." The extent of the brokenness in his voice shocked you.

"Reconsider, baby, okay? I promise there are solutions to all of this!"

"No, Lamine. I've thought about this a lot. I can't do this anymore. I don't want to try to make it work."

You stood up from your seat, trying to find the strength to finish what you'd started, even as every cell in your body told you to stop.

He stood up too, faster than you, and came toward you.

"No, I don't accept this. You can't just end everything like this, suddenly."

"It doesn't matter whether you accept it or not!"

He grabbed your arm as he saw you trying to leave.

"Sweetheart, now you're going to sit down and discuss this with me again, okay? Please don't make this harder on me." He looked desperate as he said those words.

"Lamine, it's all over, don't you understand? It's already been over for a while — I was just hiding it from you."

Lamine couldn't hold himself together any longer. Those last words were the final straw. The thought that it had been over for you for a while, that you had been suffering in silence while he thought he was living the best days of his life, shattered every defense he had.

He slowly let go of your arm, as if his strength had suddenly given out. His trembling hands rose to cover his face, and his head bowed as he tried hard to hold back his sobs, but his body began to shake visibly.

His rapid, broken breaths filled the quiet room, before the first shattered sob escaped, carrying the sound of his crying. It was a cry of utter helplessness. His tears fell heavily from between his fingers, dropping to the floor between you, revealing the depth of the shock and pain crushing his heart.

You felt your heart clench, one thing more and you would cry too.

"For a while?" he murmured from behind his hands, his voice completely shaking. "You were suffering alone and I didn't know anything about it."

He lowered his hands to show you his face — his eyes red from tears — and murmured, "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

You stood there, lost, unable to leave, and unable to go to him. You wanted to go to him — you wanted it with all your heart — but if you got close to him now, everything you had convinced yourself of would be undone.

You swallowed your tears and clenched his hand until your knuckles turned white.

"Don't apologize, Lamine." Your voice came out hoarse, as you tried to keep your tears from falling. "You didn't do anything wrong. Your success, people loving you, your fame — none of that is your fault."

You continued: "And it's not your fault that I don't love this life. I'm sorry for being selfish, Lamine."

He looked at you through his tears, a glimmer of hope in them. "We can change the way we live! I'll hire more bodyguards, we won't go out in public, I'll have my management deal with the press — just don't leave me, please."

"And do you think I want this life? Lamine, I don't want it, and neither do you, really. I don't want to live locked away just because I love someone."

Silence filled the room, except for the sound of his ragged breathing. It seemed your words had finally struck him — you could see his body sink a little.

He stepped back, leaning against the table. Holding onto you meant destroying you, and letting you go meant destroying himself.

"Is this really your final decision?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"Yes."

You moved toward the door with heavy feet. No one had ever told you that endings were this hard. When you placed your hand on the doorknob, you turned and said, "Remember that I'll always love you, Lamine."

The last thing you heard as you walked out was him breaking down into heavy sobs again.

Mynotes: Should I write another part where yearning lamine becomes obsessed and makes the reader come back to him by force? 👀

[dixheuresdix]

can u make smut for lamine yamal ?? any plot is okayy

VIRGIN BOY;

⤷ ゛masterlist ˎˊ˗

lamine yamal x f!reader.

dating.

note: thanks for ur req!

mdni. smut.

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you thought lamine was experienced but in the middle of the act, you notice that he's probably a virgin.

you had been dating lamine yamal for a few months now.

he was always so sweet with you, stealing moments after training to pull you into quiet corners for soft kisses, sending you silly voice notes when he was away with the national team and showing up at your door with your favorite snacks after long days.

everyone around him assumed he was this experienced guy.

the way girls used to throw themselves at him and how the media painted him as a young heartthrob with a list of exes.

you never pushed. you loved the way he blushed when things got a little heated.

one quiet evening after a big win, you were both in his apartment, curled up on the huge couch watching a movie.

lamine kept glancing at you instead of the screen, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your thigh under the blanket.

you turned to him smiling and kissed him softly.

the kiss deepened quickly, his breath hitching as you climbed into his lap, straddling him. his hands settled on your waist, gripping a little tighter as your tongues met.

“i want you,” you whispered against his lips, feeling the heat building between you.

lamine nodded and carried you to his bedroom like you weighed nothing.

clothes came off slowly. he was so gentle, worshipping every inch of your skin with his mouth.

you could feel how hard he was against your thigh, his body trembling slightly with anticipation.

when you finally guided him between your legs and he pushed inside you for the first time, you both moaned at the feeling.

he was thick and warm, stretching you perfectly, but something felt off.

his movements were hesitant, a little clumsy, like he was concentrating too hard not to hurt you.

you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, and noticed the way his hips stuttered, the slight wince on his face mixed with pure bliss.

that was when you tilted.

you cupped his cheeks, slowing him down gently as you looked into his eyes.

“lamine… baby, have you done this before?” you asked softly.

he froze for a second, burying his face in your neck, embarrassed.

“no...” his voice came out quiet and shy.

your heart melted at his confession. you kissed him deeply, running your fingers through his hair.

“it’s okay, we’ll go slow,” you smiled.

lamine relaxed against you, nodding as he started moving again, this time with more confidence guided by your praises.

you showed him how to roll his hips, how to find the rhythm that made you gasp his name.

it turned into something hotter, sweat-slicked skin sliding together, his moans growing louder and more desperate every time you clenched around him.

he was a quick learner, soon thrusting deeper, hitting that perfect spot inside you while his thumb found your clit, circling it shyly at first then firmer when he heard how much you loved it.

you smiled through your moans, pulling him closer so your bodies were completely flush.

the room filled with the sounds of skin meeting skin, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

lamine lasted longer than you expected for his first time, focused entirely on making you cum first.

when you finally tightened around him, shaking with pleasure, he followed right after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a broken groan of your name.

afterwards, he didn’t pull out right away.

he stayed on top of you, catching his breath, pressing soft kisses all over your face and neck.

“thank you for being patient with me. next time i’ll be even better, i promise.”

you laughed softly and held him tight, running your fingers down his back.

“you were perfect, lamine.”

the two of you stayed tangled together under the sheets for hours, talking quietly, laughing about the rumors and how wrong everyone had been, sharing gentle touches and more kisses until sleep took you both.

he was inexperienced but so full of love and eagerness to learn everything with you.

dixheuresdix, like and comment <3