LaReinita

୨ৎ 𝓅𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝓈𝓀𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝓈𝑜𝒻𝓉 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 🇵🇷/🇩🇴

[andy-15-07]

The Girl He Sees

Pairing:Lamine Yamal x Reader

Word Count:3206

Request open!

Football Masterlist

You always sit in the same seats.

Row 14, seats 7 and 8. Your father jokes that they’re older than you are, that they’re practically part of the family. He pats the plastic armrest every match like it’s a dog that’s followed him home.

“Home sweet home,” he says as you both step into your row, the stadium already buzzing. “Best view in the world, eh?”

You smile, tucking your scarf tighter around your neck. “You say that every time.”

“And I’ll say it when I’m eighty,” he replies, dropping into his seat with a groan. “They’ll have to carry me out.”

You sit down next to him, your heart already beating a little too fast. The players are finishing their warm-up. You know exactly which one you’ll start watching.

Your father elbows you lightly. “He’s starting again,” he says. “Your boy.”

“He’s not my boy,” you mumble, staring determinedly at the pitch.

“Sure, sure,” your father says, but his grin is maddening. “The way you scream when he scores, you could’ve fooled me.”

You open your mouth to protest, but your eyes find him,Lamine,jogging toward the sideline to take a last drink of water. He’s laughing at something one of his teammates says, and then he glances up.

You swear he’s looking right at your section.

Your lungs forget how to function for a second. He shields his eyes from the stadium lights with one hand, scanning. Row 14. Your row. Your seat.

No way he’s actually,

His gaze catches yours.

It’s barely a second. A flick, a lock, a tiny familiar jolt that hits you square in the ribs. His mouth curves, just a bit, like he’s found what he was looking for.

You go rigid.

Your father frowns. “You all right?”

“Fine,” you squeak.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” you say, heat crawling up your neck.

On the pitch, the whistle blows. The match begins.

It started a few weeks ago,at least, that’s when you noticed it.

He’d pulled off some ridiculous run, dribbling past two defenders, and you’d reacted before your brain could intervene. You’d stood up, hands clasped to your chest, and shouted his name like he’d personally saved your life.

When the ball hit the back of the net, the stadium exploded.

You jumped. You screamed. You beamed so hard your cheeks hurt, spinning to your father.

“Did you see that?” you gushed. “Did you,he just,he went past both of them,”

“Easy, easy,” your father laughed, grabbing your coat so you wouldn’t tumble forward. “You’ll end up on the pitch at this rate.”

When you turned back, breathless, Lamine was jogging toward the corner, teammates piling onto him.

And then, mid-celebration, he looked up.

Straight at your section.

You still remember the way his eyes seemed to find you, even in the chaos. You’d frozen, mouth parted, heart stuttering. Your scarf slipped down your shoulder. You must’ve looked like an idiot.

He’d smiled, quick and real, before letting his teammates drag him away.

You’d spent the rest of the match trying to decide if you’d imagined it.

But then it kept happening.

Warmups. Corners. Throw-ins near your side. His eyes flickered up, searching. Always toward your seats. And whenever you met his gaze, your face betrayed you,joy, panic, awe, all written loud and clear.

Your father noticed something was off.

“You’re awfully invested in that boy’s career,” he said one night as you walked home. “Think he owes you commission?”

“He’s just… fun to watch,” you muttered.

“Mhmm,” your father hummed, unconvinced. “If your smile gets any brighter, they’ll have to dim the stadium lights.”

Tonight, though, the stadium feels different. Louder. Closer.

Every time Lamine gets the ball, your stomach does somersaults.

“Go on,” your father murmurs, leaning forward. “Take him on, lad.”

Lamine cuts inside, slips past a defender, and the crowd rises with him. You rise too, your body moving before your brain. Your hands are pressed together under your chin, your eyes wide.

He shoots.

The ball whistles just past the post.

The entire stadium groans.

You exhale like someone knocked the wind out of you. “So close,” you whisper.

Down on the pitch, he curses under his breath, then glances up toward your section as he jogs back.

You’re still watching him, caught.

He sees your disappointed little wince and huffs out a breath, almost laughing, like your reaction amuses him. He gives you a tiny shrug that says, My bad.

You feel your lips curve without permission.

“Are you smiling at a missed shot?” your father asks.

You yank your scarf up over your face. “No.”

“Liar.”

Half-time comes with the score still 0–0. You scroll your phone out of habit, thumb flicking, not really looking,until a notification freezes you.

Your father glances over. “What are you frowning at?”

You open the article link with a pit in your stomach.

It’s a photo from last week’s match. Lamine in the foreground, looking up, mid-celebration. In the background, blurred but unmistakable: you, hands to your mouth, eyes shining, leaning over the railing like you’re about to leap.

The headline punches you:

WHO’S THE GIRL LAMINE CAN’T STOP LOOKING FOR?

Your veins turn to ice.

“Dad,” you whisper. “Dad.”

He leans closer, squints at the screen. “What the,”

There are other pictures in the article, from different angles. Lamine looking up. You in the background again and again, always in the same seats. Comments already piling up underneath.

He keeps looking in the same direction after he scores??

Bro found his lucky charm.

Find her @ the club, do it for science.

Your head spins.

“This is bad,” you say. “This is so bad.”

Your father reads silently for a moment, jaw tightening. Then he looks at you.

“Did you know about this?” he asks.

“No!” you protest. “I mean, I knew he… sometimes looked up. But I thought,I don’t know what I thought. I didn’t think people would,”

“Hey, hey,” your father says quickly, seeing the tremble in your hands. “It’s just some gossip article. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Your heart drums against your ribs. “But what if people find me? What if he gets annoyed? What if,”

The whistle for the second half blows, cutting through your spiraling thoughts.

“Look,” your father says gently. “If you want to leave after, we’ll leave. We don’t have to come to the next one if it makes you uncomfortable. All right?”

You nod, throat tight. You try to push your phone back into your pocket and pretend you didn’t see it.

Down on the pitch, the players take their positions again.

When Lamine looks up this time, he finds you… smaller. Wrapped into yourself. Your scarf pulled too high, your shoulders hunched.

His gaze lingers.

You duck your head.

You don’t see his frown.

He scores in the 72nd minute anyway.

It’s a brilliant goal,low, precise, the kind that makes the whole stadium roar. Your father jumps up, swearing happily, grabbing your shoulders.

“Look at that! Look!” he shouts.

You clap, you stand, you cheer,but you don’t let yourself look at him. You stare at the big screen instead, where the replay loops over and over.

You can feel it, though. That pull.

You know, without seeing, that he’s searching for you.

You keep your face turned away.

After the match, your father threads his arm through yours and steers you toward the exits.

“We’ll go straight to the car,” he says. “Beat the traffic. We’ll talk about that article properly at home.”

You nod, still dazed, the stadium noise ringing in your ears like an echo.

You’re almost at the gate when a security guard steps into your path.

“Excuse me,” he says, and your stomach drops. “Are you seat fourteen, row seven, seat eight?”

Your father narrows his eyes. “Why?”

The guard checks a note on his phone, then looks back at you with a kind of careful politeness that makes you even more nervous.

“Player request,” he says. “If you’re comfortable, one of the players would like to meet you.”

Your brain flatlines.

Your father blinks. “You’re joking.”

The guard shakes his head. “I can escort you both. If you’d prefer not to, that’s fine too. No pressure.”

You stare at him, mouth dry. “Which player?”

The guard looks faintly amused. “I think you know.”

Your father turns to you, his expression a mix of stunned, proud, and I knew it.

“Well,” he says. “What do you think, kiddo?”

Your heart is trying to punch its way out of your chest. The article, the photos, the rumor storm,this is exactly what you were afraid of. But there’s another feeling under the fear, bright and insistent.

He asked for you.

You swallow. “O-Okay,” you manage. “Just… for a minute.”

The corridors under the stadium are colder than you expect.

Your footsteps echo on the concrete as the guard leads you and your father through a maze of tunnels, past doors with signs you don’t have time to read. The noise of the crowd above fades into a dull hum.

Your father squeezes your shoulder. “You all right?”

“No,” you croak. “I think I might be dead.”

He snorts. “If you faint, I’m telling everyone it was from the smell in the tunnels.”

You breathe out a shaky laugh.

The guard stops in front of a door, knocks lightly, then pushes it open.

“Got them,” he calls.

You step inside and see him.

Lamine is standing near a table, still in his kit, hair damp, socks half rolled down. There’s a towel around his shoulders, and a half-empty bottle of water in his hand. When he turns and spots you, his entire face brightens.

“There you are,” he says, like you’re late for something he’s been looking forward to.

You freeze in the doorway.

Your father nudges you forward. “Go, go.”

You take a few uncertain steps. The room smells like grass and tape and detergent. Your fingers twist in the edge of your jersey.

“Hi,” you say, voice too small.

He laughs, a little breathless. “Hi.”

There’s a beat of silence where you just… look at each other. Up close, the stadium lights and camera flashes are replaced by something softer. His eyes are warm, curious. Nervous, you realize with a tiny spark of disbelief. He’s nervous too.

“I’m Lamine,” he says, then winces. “Obviously. You know that. Sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. “I’m bad at this.”

You let out a nervous laugh. “It’s okay. I’m worse.”

He glances behind you, where your father hovers, pretending to read some poster on the wall.

“This is my dad,” you say quickly. “He, um… he’s had these seats since,forever.”

“Ah,” your father says, stepping forward to shake Lamine’s hand. “Pleasure, son. You gave us a bit of a scare missing that first chance, you know.”

“Sorry, sir,” Lamine says with a grin. “I fixed it later, no?”

“That you did,” your father says, eyes twinkling. “I’ll wait outside. Let you kids talk.”

“Dad,” you hiss, but he’s already heading for the door.

“Don’t worry,” he calls back. “I won’t go far.”

The door clicks shut.

You’re alone with him.

You stare at your shoes for a moment. “I… didn’t know you could do that,” you murmur.

“Do what?” he asks.

“Ask for people,” you say. “From the crowd.”

He shrugs, leaning back against the table. “You can. I mean, they don’t always find them. But I asked, and… they did.”

“Why?” you blurt.

His gaze softens. “Because you didn’t look at me today,” he says quietly. “Not like before.”

Your cheeks burn. “I,there was an article. With pictures. People in the comments were saying things, and I thought,I didn’t want to cause trouble. Or make you uncomfortable. Or make it weird.”

He stares at you for a second, then laughs, incredulous. “You were worried about making me uncomfortable?”

“Yes,” you insist, then falter. “I mean. Yes?”

He shakes his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “Do you know how many cameras are in that stadium? I’m used to weird. But…” His expression grows a little more serious. “I’m sorry they picked you up in it. That can’t have been fun.”

“It wasn’t,” you admit. “People were trying to figure out who I was. I didn’t reply, obviously. But it was… a lot.”

He shifts like the ground matters suddenly. “Did anyone bother you? Like… properly?”

“No,” you say quickly. “Just speculation. I just don’t… I’m not used to being seen.”

His eyes flick thoughtfully over your face. “You’re very expressive, though,” he says softly. “Kind of hard not to see you.”

Your breath catches. “That’s not a compliment,” you mumble.

“It is to me.”

You have to look away. “You keep… looking for me,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “During matches.”

He chuckles quietly. “You noticed.”

“How could I not notice?” you say. “You’re… you.”

“And you’re always in the same place,” he counters. “Every match. Same seat. Same scarf. Same way of… doing this.” He mimics the way you clasp your hands under your chin, eyes wide.

You want the floor to swallow you. “Stop,” you groan. “That’s embarrassing.”

“It’s nice,” he says. “It makes… everything feel less big. You know? All the noise. When I look up and see you, it’s like,oh, okay. There you are. I can breathe.”

You blink at him. “You can breathe… because I’m panicking in row fourteen?”

That makes him laugh, a proper one this time. “You’re not panicking.”

“I’m constantly panicking.”

“No,” he says, still smiling. “You’re just… honest. With your face. I score, you light up. I miss, you look like someone stole your phone. It’s,” He shrugs, searching for the word. “Real. And I don’t get a lot of that, I guess.”

You swallow hard. Something warm unfurls in your chest, mixing with the nerves.

“I thought you’d be mad,” you admit. “About the article. Like, ‘Who’s this random girl the media thinks I’m obsessed with.’”

He raises an eyebrow. “Are you random?”

“Yes!”

He looks unconvinced. “I don’t think so.”

Your heart does something painful.

He glances down, fidgeting with the cap of his water bottle. “Look,” he says, voice turning shy. “I just wanted to tell you myself. So you wouldn’t… stop. Because of some stupid gossip.”

“Stop what?” you ask.

“Coming,” he says simply. “Being there.”

He meets your eyes, and it’s suddenly so quiet you can hear your own pulse pounding in your ears.

“I play better when you’re here,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Don’t stop coming.”

The words land with the weight of something that’s been waiting a long time to be said.

You stare at him, lips parted. “You don’t have to say that,” you whisper.

“I’m not saying it because I have to,” he replies. “I’m saying it because it’s true. You saw me tonight, yeah?”

“I didn’t look at you,” you say helplessly.

He huffs a soft laugh. “Yeah, I noticed. That’s why I had to work twice as hard. Terrible conditions.”

You can’t help it,you laugh, the tension cracking. “You scored an amazing goal.”

“And it would’ve been even better,” he says, “if I’d seen your face after.”

You want to bury your flaming cheeks in your scarf. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe.” He tilts his head. “Will you come next match?”

Your instinct is to say yes. Your fear says maybe not.

“What if the media keeps going?” you ask. “What if they say… worse things?”

He considers that for a moment. “Then they say them,” he says finally. “They’ll get bored eventually. And if they don’t, we deal with it. The club can help if it gets serious. You’re not… alone in it.”

“Why would you bother?” you ask, almost to yourself.

He looks at you like the answer is obvious. “Because I like when you’re there,” he says. “Is that not a good enough reason?”

You exhale slowly.

“It is,” you say.

He smiles, relief softening his shoulders. “So?”

You bite your lip, but your face has already decided for you,your eyes bright, your mouth curling up, that traitorous glow your father always teases you about.

He sees it and laughs under his breath.

“I’ll come,” you say. “Next match. Same seats.”

“Good,” he says, his grin spreading. “I’ll look for you before kickoff this time. Not just after I mess up.”

“You don’t mess up that much,” you say.

“Mmh, tell that to my coach,” he jokes. “But it’s easier to try things when I know you’re up there, freaking out.”

“I thought you said I wasn’t panicking.”

“I changed my mind,” he says, eyes dancing. “You panic very nicely.”

You groan. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

There’s a knock on the door, and a voice calls, “Lamine, media in five.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah!” he shouts back, then looks at you, softer again. “I have to go be boring and say the same three sentences a hundred times.”

You smile. “You’re good at that. I’ve seen interviews.”

“Don’t expose me,” he pleads dramatically. “I’m trying my best.”

You laugh, and he watches you like he wants to keep that sound.

“Can I ask you something?” he says suddenly.

“Sure.”

“Next match,” he says. “When they say my name in the lineups… cheer for me, yeah?”

You splutter. “I always cheer for you.”

“I know,” he says. “But now I’ll know you know I know.”

You blink. “That’s… confusing.”

He shrugs, grinning. “Destiny usually is.”

Your heart stutters at the word, and you hope it doesn’t show on your face,but judging by the way his eyes soften, it does.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “I’ll cheer.”

“As loud as before?” he asks.

“Maybe louder.”

“Good.” He starts toward the door, then hesitates, glancing back at you. “And, uh… if it gets too much,” he adds, “with the media or the comments… tell me. Or tell the club. Just… don’t disappear without saying anything, yeah?”

You nod. “I won’t.”

He smiles, satisfied. “See you in row fourteen.”

“See you on the pitch,” you reply.

He opens the door, then pauses one last time, looking over his shoulder at you.

“And, hey,” he says. “For what it’s worth? I don’t think you’re ‘the girl in the crowd.’”

Your eyebrows lift. “No?”

He shakes his head. “You’re my girl in the crowd,” he says, a little bashful but not taking it back. “There’s a difference.”

Before you can answer, he’s gone, swallowed by the hallway.

Your father slips back into the room a moment later, eyebrows raised. “Well?” he asks. “Did you survive?”

You press your hands over your burning face.

“I think,” you say, voice muffled, “I might actually die next match.”

Your father chuckles, slinging an arm around your shoulders as you walk out together.

“If he plays better when you’re there,” he says, “you don’t have much choice, do you?”

You think of Lamine’s words, the quiet sincerity in them.

I play better when you’re here. Don’t stop coming.

You hug your scarf to your chest, heart full and terrified all at once.

“No,” you say softly. “I don’t.”

[justageekk]

𝜗𝜚 gentleman jude who . . .

gentleman!jude who . . . lets you ride his dick after a long day.

gentleman!jude who . . . always praises you while having sex. He just wants you to know how pretty and good you are to him. Jude has so many sweet things to say to you.

gentleman!jude who . . . knows you have a huge fixation with his biceps, which is why when he’s fucking you from behind, he wraps his arm around your neck, choking you a little with his bicep.

gentleman!jude who . . . always teases during sex. Even though he’s a gentleman, Jude likes to play around and be the type to make you beg for what you want. To understand Jude's teasing, you have to focus on the questions.

"Does it feel good?"

"Do you want it? How badly do you want it?"

"Will you let me come inside you, my love? Please ask me for it."

gentleman!jude who . . . never, under any circumstances, starts undressing you without first kissing your hands, your shoulders, and your neck.

gentleman!jude who . . . treats your pleasure as a priority. If he notices you’re tired or stressed, he’ll lay you down on the bed, take off your shoes, and take care of you without asking for anything in return. He will spend hours eating you out and using his fingers, making sure you have multiple orgasms. For him, it’s: happy wife, happy life.

gentleman!jude who . . . is the type of boyfriend who opens the car door for you, who wraps his arm around your waist to pull you close to his body when you’re walking down the street, and who looks at you like you’re the most valuable prize he has ever won in his entire life. Jude will give you the dirtiest sex at night, but he will always wake up being the most polite, protective, and deeply in love man in the world. Just a real gentleman.

gentleman!jude who . . . loves looking into your eyes, demanding direct eye contact when things get intense. If you try to hide your face in the pillow or cover your eyes because you’re embarrassed by how loudly you’re moaning, Jude will gently take your chin with two fingers, forcing you to look at him.

gentleman!jude who . . . uses his suits to drive you crazy during sex. He knows perfectly well the effect he has on you when he’s dressed elegantly. Sometimes, he won’t even take off his shirt or tie, he’ll just unbutton what’s necessary to be sexier. Feeling the cold, expensive fabric of his suit brushing against your bare skin while he thrusts into you deeply is an experience every woman should feel. (just not with your charming boyfriend)

gentleman!jude who . . . adores gifting you fine lingerie just for the pleasure of taking it off you himself.

gentleman!jude who . . . has such a serious sense of chivalry that he prefers to sync his orgasms with yours so you never feel alone at the climax.

gentleman!jude who . . . pays attention to the smallest details you mention in passing. If one day you say that a specific book, perfume, or candy caught your eye while talking, don’t be surprised if a few days later you come home and find it on the table with a cute note written by Jude.

gentleman!jude who . . . never lets you walk on the curbside of the street.

gentleman!jude who . . . loved kisses, both giving and receiving them. He couldn’t live without your lips.

@ 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐤

[47foden]

HAND-KISSES - l. yamal

inwhich! you are far from spain, barcelona, on a modeling trip, all the way in morocco. you’ve been apart from lamine for a week now, and you suddenly get spam texts from him. only for it ending up to be kenye telling you how much he misses you.

frannytalks! i LOVED writing this! i hope you love it as well. :) feel free to request anything about any player! please like, reblog, & comment if you’d like to be added to my l. yamal taglist!

you’ve had a tough week being in a country without knowing the language. last time you came to morocco was a year after meeting your current boyfriend of five years, lamine yamal. he took you on his family trip and he, including his family, translated everything for you.

lamine never pressured you to learn arabic since you already know how to speak a couple languages. he didn’t want to stress you out too much, but you’ve always wanted to learn. you tried your hardest every time, but could never get the hang of it.

and you knew the language was different than all the ones you know, especially english, but it never fully clicked since you had people translating for you. you just told them what you wanted to say and they’d tell you what you wanted to hear.

you were invited to walk a runway in morocco with victoria secret, it had always been a dream of yours, and unfortunately lamine nor his family could make it since he had very important games to attend. and you yourself had no family willing to attend either way.

you had just finished another exhausting day filled with unwanted interviews, photographs, autographs, and modeling. not that you really minded the autographs, you were always flattered to see people look up to you. the day was also exhausting because it was another day without lamine. ever since you met him, which was in junior high, you had never gone more than one day without seeing him.

him being too busy to text all the time hurt a little as well. you’d find yourself listening and watching old videos and texts he’d sent you, and scrolling through his private instagram.

you ran yourself a steaming hot bath, hoping to relive some of your stress. you added a cute pink bathbomb, got some snacks ready on a tray, and played some music. right as you were going to close your eyes you heard your phone buzz to your left. you assumed it was a friend or a modeling opportunity, so you left it alone since it was late.

but then it buzzed again, and again, and again, and five more times.

you finally picked it up, feeling your chest tighten with a little anger, letting out a sigh and rolling your eyes to yourself. it wasn’t only until you unlocked your phone you realized it was lamine’s contact. you instantly wiped your hands dry and clicked on them.

lamine ❤️: y/n hol

lamine ❤️: ola

lamine ❤️: hola.

lamine ❤️: were you are

lamine ❤️: were?

lamine ❤️: y/n hallo

lamine ❤️: y/n miss yiu

lamine ❤️: you.

you weren’t sure whether to laugh or be worried. you assumed lamine may have gotten drunk, but hoped not.

you: hola mi amor ❤️

you: i miss you baby, are you okay?

lamine ❤️: y/n. okay

you: are you drunk, lamine?

you: where are you?

lamine ❤️: lamine gone.

lamine ❤️: i am kenye and at room.

you smiled softly at your phone, half glad it wasn’t lamine drunk and instead kenye who missed you, but also a bit upset that it wasn’t lamine texting you.

you: and where is lamine bebe?

lamine ❤️: 😴😴😴😴💤💤🛌🥱🫩🥱🥱

lamine ❤️: lamine left me. sad.

lamine ❤️: 😭😭😭😭🥺🥺🥺😢😢😔☹️😞😪😓

you: it’s okay kenye, i’m here.

you: 🥰🥰🦖🦖🦕

you smiled to yourself once more, knowing he loved dinosaurs and the dinosaur emojis usually calmed him down and made him smile.

lamine ❤️: don’t tell y/n. shhhhh

lamine ❤️: secret picture.

you: ouuuu is there any with another girl? 🤣🤣😳

you laugh to yourself, knowing you’re semi-serious.

lamine ❤️: hold horse.

lamine ❤️: BAD Y/N

lamine ❤️: YOU EF wurd

you: bebe nooo 🫠🫠

you: forgive me, i’m sorry 😢😪😔☹️😥😓🥺🥺

you exaggerate your use of emojis so he’d get the message. you were also relieved to only see pictures of you, even though you weren’t really worried, but you never know. you noticed the second picture he sent was one that kenye took on your phone and you sent to him, it was one of the first times you three traveled alone to a new country, and you babysat kenye since you had caught a cold a couple days before the game and couldn’t attend.

you wait for a text back, but you suddenly get a call from him. you answer as fast as you could.

“hola, kenye?” you say, not wanting to show too much of your face since you’re in the shower, but you take a quick look and see lamine’s sleepy face instead.

“hi mi amor.” he spoke with a grunt, you could hear kenye complaining about wanting to text you again in the background.

“lamine! baby! how are you?” you smile, showing him your face, your hair tied up in a bun, “kenye was texting me on your phone.”

“i know, he woke me up,” he grunted once more, “i’m glad he texted you and not my coach or something.” he laughs softly.

“yeah.” you giggle along, biting your lip, not knowing what else to say.

“he really misses you, y’know,” lamine says while finally sitting up in his bed and turning his led lights up on a dark purple, “he won’t shut up about where you are and when you’re coming back.”

“awe, i miss him too,” you pout excessively, “can i see him?”

lamine nods and pans the camera towards him, kenye is sitting down on his bed playing with a dinosaur plushie you had gotten him a couple years back.

“y/n!” he giggles and jumps up.

“kenye, bebe!” you send him a kiss with your hand, “catch it!”

lamine took over the screen again, pretend catching your kiss and placing it on his lips. “kisses are only for me.” he teases kenye.

kenye starts to tear up, frustrated, “y/n! lamine stole! bad!” he says loudly, while tussling to get the phone back from lamine.

“lamine yamal.” you say in the tone that means, “stop playing around.”, he always listens since you rarely use it.

“fine, okay.” he says giving the phone to kenye.

“kiss.” he smiles while blowing you a million kisses and hearts.

“mwah! i caught it!” you say and place your hand on your heart.

“kenye, i think it’s bed time now.” you raise your eyebrows.

“no!” he argues back, lamine agrees and picks him up, you can hear kenye complaining once again and causing a fuss while his older brother takes him to his room.

a couple minutes go by, you’re left by yourself with your thoughts and your warm bath. you set your phone up on your tray with your snacks so lamine can see you clearer. you start eating some strawberries while waiting.

“amor?” you hear the door open.

“yes!” you perk up and feel your chest warm up.

“i’m sorry i had to,” he pauses mid sentence as he looks at his screen, looking at your bare chest, “uh, sorry, i had to tuck kenye in, and he made me tell him a story.”

“you okay there?” you tease him while taking another bite of your strawberry.

“more than okay, love the view baby.” he winks and continues to stare at the screen.

you roll your eyes, “i missed your stupid face lamine.”

“i missed you more,” he adjusts his position, “i’m sorry i haven’t reached out more, they’ve been crazy hard on me recently for whatever reason.”

“for whatever reason?” you repeat, almost laughing, “you’re the star player right now, of course they’re going to be hard on you!”

he sighs, trying not to smile, “but still, it feels like a lot, i know that’s no excuse though,” he sniffles slightly, “i know you have a lot going on, especially with the language, how are you holding up?”

“shut up, you just want to make fun of me.” you bite your lip, blushing.

“come on amor, i just want to know.” he smirks, knowing he will make fun of you, if he was telling the truth he’d tell you “i promise.”

“on my third day i wanted to order a banana, thick cream smoothie, instead i somehow ended up telling the worker that i lost my parrot with a tie on it.” you say, covering your face in embarrassment.

lamine lets out a laugh a little too loud, “no way.” he licks his lips trying to prevent another laugh.

“you said you wouldn’t make fun of me!” you scoff dramatically.

“i didn’t say i wouldn’t laugh though.” he raises an eyebrow.

“whatever,” you laugh, sinking into the tub a bit more, “i miss having you around, my little translator.”

“oh, that’s the only thing you miss?” he says in a cocky tone.

“with the way you’re acting, yeah.” you playfully roll your eyes.

“how are the, y’know, girls,” he awkwardly says, “are they being nice?” he knows you’ve had trouble with people in the past and always makes sure to check in with you, especially since you overwhelm yourself about making friends and such.

“yes actually, i met these two girls, the ones i’ve posted on my story,” your smile instantly widens thinking about it, “they’re so nice, and one of them knows a little arabic, so she’s been helping me.”

“that’s great to hear y/n, no boys?” he says, trying to act nonchalant, but you know he gets very jealous and protective over you.

“yes actually, he’s in my bed right now!” you tease him, while winking.

“i’m serious, y/n.” he furrows his eyebrows, and puts his “serious” face on, that you call “mr. serious”, but in reality it looks ridiculously funny.

“okay mr. serious,” you giggle to yourself, he’s not laughing along, “i only met one boy, he’s one of my girls’ sibling. he’s also like thirteen before you get jealous.” you say rolling your eyes at him.

lamine’s smile is back when you mention the age and situation, “hm, sure.”

“it’s late over there, you should get some sleep, no?” you pull your knees to your chest as you hear him yawn.

“i’m sorry my baby, i’ll text you first thing tomorrow, i promise.” he says while laying on his side, half-asleep.

“it’s okay if you don’t lamine, goodnight i love you.” you say blowing a hand-kiss.

“love you a thousand times more, sweet dreams.” he says while blowing more kisses back at you.

your music instantly cuts back on once he hangs up, it was a love a song by olivia rodrigo, which made you feel better. you stuffed your face with some more snacks and finished your bath about an hour later.

after getting ready for bed you decided to send him some quick pictures of your trip to update him.

you: some of my pictures from last week <3

you: 2nd last pic the smoothie i messed up while ordering, last pic the 13 yr old ur worried about 🤣

-

l. yamal taglist: @massivepainterfan <3

[sarcasticsweetlara]

I was imagining myself speaking spanish to him since it's my mother tongue, also, it's nice to see a fic that acknowledges Lamine's arabic background.

This was cute and the little bit with Kenye was adorable

[lareinitaa]

|Are you tired? ୨ৎ

Oral.dirty talk.18+.Fdom Benito had just got home from tour and he was exhausted, you could tell just by the look of him, the time change between Spain and New York was a lot for him. You felt so bad, usually he did really well with travelling since he did it so much but after playing so many shows it really took it out of him, and for him to still come to you in New York regardless made you feel even worse for him. Whenever he saw you he usually ate your pussy until your legs were weak and your clit was swollen, and you loved every bit of it. But this time you wanted to return the favour, he deserved it. You were sitting on the couch beside him watching your favourite show as you normally do, cuddling with your head on his shoulder until you moved your head up and started to kiss his neck. His head tilted up as he let out a small gasp of air. His legs spread out making room for you to sit on. You started kissing his face. His cheeks, his jaw, his chin, until to you made your way up to his temples, to his swollen under eyes that carried the look of jet lag. Then finally, his mouth. His soft lips collided with your own as you started to grind your hips over his half hard dick. He moaned into your lips until you pulled away.

“Are you tired baby?”

“Sí”

“Do you want me to make you cum? are you too tired to cum for me?”

“Mmm..nunca mi amor.” You got off his lap and slip down to your knees. You palmed his hard cock in your hand.

“Tomar sus pantalónes para mi bebé.”

His lifted his hips and pulled them down along with his boxers. Your mouth practically watered at the site. You spit on your hand and took him in your palm and began stroking him. He moaned as you did so. Then you placed him in your mouth and paced your head up and down, he tasted so good.

“Te gusta eso?”

You said in between paces.

“Sí bebé, nadie puede mamar cómo tu.”

Watching him melt like puddy and unravel all because of you made your clit swell. His moans got louder as you quicken your pace. He put his hand in your hair and started to push your head deeper to the base of his cock. He got louder as you went faster. He was so close and you knew it. You kept going until he finished in the back of your throat letting out a loud final moan. You could taste the evidence. He breathed heavily as you slowly moved up and down with your head, getting every last drop and swallowing. you pulled your head away and began stroking his cock as he came down. He looked down at you and pulled you up gently by your chin. Kissing you as he mumbled.

“Te amo tanto mi amor.”

“Mm.. te amo a ti baby.”

[lareinitaa]

|Our secret ੈ♡˳

Mdom.secretrelationship.oral.fluff.18+

Having a private relationship with Benito was something that excited you more than anything. The fact that nobody knew, not even your family, made it feel even more special. It was just the two of you, sharing something that belonged to no one else.

You met at a fashion event in Paris. He had been talking to someone else, but you caught him glancing over at you more than once. Eventually, he excused himself and walked over, introducing himself with an easy smile. The conversation flowed effortlessly, and one thing led to another until you found yourself in his hotel room getting fucked silly.

“Face into the mattress… good girl… fuck.”

It felt so good, like he had been made for you. You knew it wouldn’t be the last time you saw him.

You gave him your number, and what started as a casual friends-with-benefits situation quickly became something much more. One day he texted you, asking if you wanted to come over. You were sick and had to tell him no, but instead of accepting your answer, he showed up at your apartment with flowers, cough drops, and your favorite snacks. He asked if you wanted to watch a movie together to help you feel better.

It was sweet and completely unexpected. Sure, you texted constantly, sent each other TikToks and Reels, and whenever you stayed over, he’d make you breakfast the next morning. But you never expected him to come take care of you while you were sick. Somewhere in the middle of a Disney movie, you fell asleep with your head resting on his shoulder.

After that night, everything changed.

You talked even more than before. Constant texting, FaceTimes, and voice notes became part of your daily routine. When you finally made things official, you both agreed that your relationship would stay private. He didn’t want the press affecting your career or following your every move together, so the two of you kept it between yourselves.

Once, after one of his shows that he’d invited you to, you waited backstage for him. The moment he spotted you, he smiled immediately and wrapped you in a tight hug. Before kissing you, he glanced around to make sure there weren’t any cameras nearby.

“Listo para la acción, cariño.”

“Sí.”

When you got back to the hotel it didn’t take long for him to throw you onto the bed and start kissing you again. He took your clothes off and moved his head down to your pussy and started to eat you out letting out loud moans while doing it. You raked your hands through his hair and yelled his name, he always made you feel so amazing.

“Fuck. Sabes tan bien bebé.”

He finally lifted his face after minutes of you begging for his cock. You ripped his shirt off and he took care of his and pants and boxers eagerly. He stroked himself three times and pushed himself in while he kept eye contact as you both moaned in unison. You waited all day to feel him inside you and the relief felt amazing. He started to roll his hips into you, making you arch your back. He leaned forward and moved your hair to the other side of your neck so he had access to suck on your sweet spot he knew so well.

“Fuck, baby… harder… please.”

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you until you cum on my dick, baby?”

“Mmm… yes.”

“Dime en español, mi amor.”

“Quiero correrme en tu bicho papi.”

“¿Quieres eso?”

“Si papi.”

He pounded into into you so hard you couldn’t think. It felt so good, only he knew how to fuck you right. He kept his pace until you came all over his dick just like you asked for. He was so close to finishing when he pulled out it only took himself three strokes until he came all over your lower stomach as he moaned your name.

When everything settled down, he grabbed his T-shirt and gently wiped you clean before tossing it onto the floor. Then he collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms and covering your face with soft kisses.

Everything felt so much more intimate knowing nobody else knew you were together. He was yours, and you were his, away from the cameras, the headlines, and everyone else’s opinions. Those quiet moments afterward became your favorite part. Watching him drift off to sleep beside you, completely at peace, reminded you why keeping your relationship private had always been worth it. ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────♡⊹˚₊𐙚⋆

[lareinitaa]

|Our secret ੈ♡˳

Mdom.secretrelationship.oral.fluff.18+

Having a private relationship with Benito was something that excited you more than anything. The fact that nobody knew, not even your family, made it feel even more special. It was just the two of you, sharing something that belonged to no one else.

You met at a fashion event in Paris. He had been talking to someone else, but you caught him glancing over at you more than once. Eventually, he excused himself and walked over, introducing himself with an easy smile. The conversation flowed effortlessly, and one thing led to another until you found yourself in his hotel room getting fucked silly.

“Face into the mattress… good girl… fuck.”

It felt so good, like he had been made for you. You knew it wouldn’t be the last time you saw him.

You gave him your number, and what started as a casual friends-with-benefits situation quickly became something much more. One day he texted you, asking if you wanted to come over. You were sick and had to tell him no, but instead of accepting your answer, he showed up at your apartment with flowers, cough drops, and your favorite snacks. He asked if you wanted to watch a movie together to help you feel better.

It was sweet and completely unexpected. Sure, you texted constantly, sent each other TikToks and Reels, and whenever you stayed over, he’d make you breakfast the next morning. But you never expected him to come take care of you while you were sick. Somewhere in the middle of a Disney movie, you fell asleep with your head resting on his shoulder.

After that night, everything changed.

You talked even more than before. Constant texting, FaceTimes, and voice notes became part of your daily routine. When you finally made things official, you both agreed that your relationship would stay private. He didn’t want the press affecting your career or following your every move together, so the two of you kept it between yourselves.

Once, after one of his shows that he’d invited you to, you waited backstage for him. The moment he spotted you, he smiled immediately and wrapped you in a tight hug. Before kissing you, he glanced around to make sure there weren’t any cameras nearby.

“Listo para la acción, cariño.”

“Sí.”

When you got back to the hotel it didn’t take long for him to throw you onto the bed and start kissing you again. He took your clothes off and moved his head down to your pussy and started to eat you out letting out loud moans while doing it. You raked your hands through his hair and yelled his name, he always made you feel so amazing.

“Fuck. Sabes tan bien bebé.”

He finally lifted his face after minutes of you begging for his cock. You ripped his shirt off and he took care of his and pants and boxers eagerly. He stroked himself three times and pushed himself in while he kept eye contact as you both moaned in unison. You waited all day to feel him inside you and the relief felt amazing. He started to roll his hips into you, making you arch your back. He leaned forward and moved your hair to the other side of your neck so he had access to suck on your sweet spot he knew so well.

“Fuck, baby… harder… please.”

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you until you cum on my dick, baby?”

“Mmm… yes.”

“Dime en español, mi amor.”

“Quiero correrme en tu bicho papi.”

“¿Quieres eso?”

“Si papi.”

He pounded into into you so hard you couldn’t think. It felt so good, only he knew how to fuck you right. He kept his pace until you came all over his dick just like you asked for. He was so close to finishing when he pulled out it only took himself three strokes until he came all over your lower stomach as he moaned your name.

When everything settled down, he grabbed his T-shirt and gently wiped you clean before tossing it onto the floor. Then he collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms and covering your face with soft kisses.

Everything felt so much more intimate knowing nobody else knew you were together. He was yours, and you were his, away from the cameras, the headlines, and everyone else’s opinions. Those quiet moments afterward became your favorite part. Watching him drift off to sleep beside you, completely at peace, reminded you why keeping your relationship private had always been worth it. ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────♡⊹˚₊𐙚⋆

[lareinitaa]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

Okay so on my last pole I got about 50 votes and most were for the privet relationship option so I will be writing for that bc you guys asked for it but, I still am going to write for friends to friends with benefits as well just later so if you voted for that option don’t you worry 😌😌(both will be VERY smutty btw)

[peachpaloma]

ROSALÍA by Jose Carayol

[music-daily]

LUX TOUR Photographed by Ravi Smits

[lareinitaa]

I can’t decide what I want to write for my next bad bunny fic help me please 😖😖

Friends to friends with benefits

Private relationship

Voting ended onJul 7

Thanks ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

[lareinitaa]

|Are you tired? ୨ৎ

Oral.dirty talk.18+.Fdom Benito had just got home from tour and he was exhausted, you could tell just by the look of him, the time change between Spain and New York was a lot for him. You felt so bad, usually he did really well with travelling since he did it so much but after playing so many shows it really took it out of him, and for him to still come to you in New York regardless made you feel even worse for him. Whenever he saw you he usually ate your pussy until your legs were weak and your clit was swollen, and you loved every bit of it. But this time you wanted to return the favour, he deserved it. You were sitting on the couch beside him watching your favourite show as you normally do, cuddling with your head on his shoulder until you moved your head up and started to kiss his neck. His head tilted up as he let out a small gasp of air. His legs spread out making room for you to sit on. You started kissing his face. His cheeks, his jaw, his chin, until to you made your way up to his temples, to his swollen under eyes that carried the look of jet lag. Then finally, his mouth. His soft lips collided with your own as you started to grind your hips over his half hard dick. He moaned into your lips until you pulled away.

“Are you tired baby?”

“Sí”

“Do you want me to make you cum? are you too tired to cum for me?”

“Mmm..nunca mi amor.” You got off his lap and slip down to your knees. You palmed his hard cock in your hand.

“Tomar sus pantalónes para mi bebé.”

His lifted his hips and pulled them down along with his boxers. Your mouth practically watered at the site. You spit on your hand and took him in your palm and began stroking him. He moaned as you did so. Then you placed him in your mouth and paced your head up and down, he tasted so good.

“Te gusta eso?”

You said in between paces.

“Sí bebé, nadie puede mamar cómo tu.”

Watching him melt like puddy and unravel all because of you made your clit swell. His moans got louder as you quicken your pace. He put his hand in your hair and started to push your head deeper to the base of his cock. He got louder as you went faster. He was so close and you knew it. You kept going until he finished in the back of your throat letting out a loud final moan. You could taste the evidence. He breathed heavily as you slowly moved up and down with your head, getting every last drop and swallowing. you pulled your head away and began stroking his cock as he came down. He looked down at you and pulled you up gently by your chin. Kissing you as he mumbled.

“Te amo tanto mi amor.”

“Mm.. te amo a ti baby.”

[fairyw1ngs]

[kosmogrl]

[totalsellout]

FOCU 'RANNI (2026) ROSALÍA, dir. Petra Collins

[001x456]

fanfic writers and fan artists are carrying fandoms. they are the backbone of fandoms.

thank you fanfic writers and fan artists

[divinizelux]

Rosalía by Noah Dillon for LUX

[vetckkie]

girl get off that c.ai and embrace the 'x reader'