#huij

[laminedean]

i know the laminedean nation (population: 1) loves this gif

[mywhereverigo]

Let's go back

[grimini]

[laminedean]

LOOOOOOOOOL

[laminedean]

next classico we’ll see our two babies (dean and lamine) play against each other 😔💔

that’s what i call friends to enemies

TUE TRUE TRUEUUEUEE

i personally iamgine their dynamic in my head, canon compliant (?) (gah! spoilers for my fics plot!) strangers to teammates (spain u21) to strangers (they never texted after that) to teammates (spain camps ykwim) to friends (lamine dragging him into his friend group despite dean seeing lamine as Very Unapproachable) to lovers (and then every el clasico theyre competitive as hell)

lamine going "mi nuevo juguete" and dean replying "mijo" (or mi hijo? i forgot which) which translates to "my new toy" and "my son" is FOREVER one of my favorite banter moments between the two like does ANYONE see thr tension??? js me?? okay.

i feel like el clasico is the perfect setup for like those fics that r like "if u win u can do wtvr u want w me, and if i win i get to do whatever i want to you" or like "if you win you get a prize" or variations of the sort (judri core LMFAO)

hm hm lamine'll be of age by the next el clasico, hm,,, (i also feel like they cant hold hands without exploding so i mean..) thats been rotting in my head for a little while now

[laminedean]

I need a very detailed explanation on how lamine and dean got together, was it sudden or…was it a slowburn ?!

GAH,, NEW ANON⁉️

atp im done naming yall. yall name urselves 😭🙏

also, if u want a detailed explanation... guess youll have to wait for the fic in the works rn 😼😼

i am currently working on neymessi myspace au but could be persuaded to work on it simultaneously... or even,, first priority 🙀🙀

i love using the cat emojis LMFAO

but heh, a hint, huh?

Dean knows he should be doing his cool-down stretches, or drinking water, or at the very least not sitting by the sideline like he’s forgotten how to function, but it’s hard to remember any of that when Lamine is lying ten meters away with his shirt balled under his head, eyes closed, and his headphones on, looking - God, he doesn’t even know what the word is.

Relaxed, maybe. Carefree? Completely at home in his own skin. If there were a word for that, Dean would like to replace its dictionary entry with "Lamine Yamal" instead.

He still can't look away, either. How could he possibly look away now?

Lamine's not even sleeping. Dean can tell, because his fingers are drumming some rhythm against the flat of his stomach, and even though he can't hear it, Dean starts imagining it anyways. Something loud, probably. Or fast. Maybe it's something slow and sweet and completely at odds with the way Lamine plays, but perfectly makes sense in a moment like this, like there’s a version of him no one gets to see until he’s got his headphones on and the world tuned out.

Dean likes that idea. God, he likes that idea, along with the prospect of seeing Lamine more like this, more often. Unbothered, quiet, without a care in the world and the pressure of all of Spain on his back.

He tells himself to move before Gavi sees and makes fun of him again, or worse, Lamine sees him, but he's so capitavted he can't. He's completely stuck, staring at Lamine like a pathetic cliche in one of Pedri's romance novels.

Lamine stretches his leg out and kicks once, lazy and feline, almost, in the sun. Dean’s gaze drifts after the motion before he can stop it. He will go to his grave saying Lamine’s skin catches light better than glass.

His brain helpfully supplies, "What if I kissed that ankle, so tenderl-"

He blinks hard and looks away, mentally reprimanding himself to never take any of Pedri's recommendations again.

He looks back. Really, he can't help himself. He also hates himself a little more.

Lamine, without lifting his head or opening his eyes, all but purrs, “You’re staring.”

Dean freezes. His heart implodes and explodes simultaneously.

“I’m not.”

“You totally are,” Lamine replies, voice lazy, muffled, amused.

He still hasn’t moved, still has one arm draped over his eyes and wind ruffling his bleached hair (which Dean found mildly horrifying, at first, but he's grown to love it. Just like he loves Lamine's smile, and the way it turns crooked at one side when he's trying not to laugh, and his laugh, and Lamine himself, re- he should really, really, really stop listening to Pedri.) There’s the barest curve of a smile at his mouth, like he's just scored one at the Bernebau.

Dean takes a long sip from his water bottle just to give himself something to do with his face. The water tastes warm. Useless. Kind of disappointing. Like him, really.

He makes a valiant effort not to stare again (Very valiant, actually. They should write poems about it, etch it into marble, maybe. Could even put it in the history books under “the boy who managed to look away from Lamine Yamal's glorious face.”)

What he doesn’t see is Lamine cracking one eye open, watching Dean pout with that same small, knowing smile still ghosting across his lips.

He also misses the way Lamine lets his eye fall shut and stretches out, slow, casual, purposeful, only to crack it open a second later, just in case Dean is still looking. Just for a chance to catch those pretty eyes on him, and maybe that soft, rosy flush that accompanies it.

(and yes, lamine figures out later that its actually js dean blushing around lamine So Often lamine thought it was natural)

[grimini]

[fdsfdsfsdfs]

So HOT, they’re selling out !

I HATE U YOU SO MUCH...