Can you write something about lamine based on the boyfriend head cannon of him dodging your kisses and jokingly calling you clingy but when you actually stop and pretend to get mad he starts acting reallllyyyyy clingy
clingy.
masterlist requests word count: 900
a/n: this is a bit cringy but oh well lol
genre: fluff.
warnings: none.
summary: while you're chilling with lamine, he starts avoiding your affection... until you really do stop, and suddenly he's regretting it.
It starts like it always does. You’re curled up beside him on the couch, one leg thrown lazily over his lap, your cheek resting on his shoulder as the soft flicker of the TV lights up the living room. It’s a comfort kind of night, no games, no training, no pressure. Just you, Lamine, a blanket, and a half-finished tub of ice cream.
He shifts, pulling the spoon from your grasp and taking a bite without asking, like he always does.
“You’re so annoying,” you mumble, not moving an inch from your spot.
“You love it,” he replies, mouth full.
He’s right, obviously. You do love it. You love all of him, his dramatic gasps when he loses at FIFA, the way he kicks his feet like a little kid when he’s excited, how he always smells like a mix of his shampoo and the citrusy cologne you love. You even love how, lately, he’s been dodging your kisses like it’s an Olympic sport.
Like just now.
You lean in to kiss his cheek, and he leans away, grinning like a damn idiot.
“Lamine,” you say flatly, giving him a look.
“What?” he says innocently. “You’re always trying to kiss me. It’s kinda clingy.”
Your mouth drops open slightly.
“Clingy?”
“Yeah,” he says, all smug. “Can’t even watch TV in peace without being attacked.”
You sit up, dramatically placing a hand on your chest. “Oh, wow. Okay. Since when am I clingy?”
He shrugs. “Since, like, always. It’s cute though.”
Cute, he says, like that’s supposed to soften the blow. You squint at him.
“Fine,” you mutter, grabbing the tub of ice cream back and scooting away just slightly. Not too far, but enough to make your point. “I won’t be clingy anymore.”
He snorts. “You? Not clingy? That’ll last like two minutes.”
“Wanna bet?”
You press your lips together and turn your attention back to the screen. Internally, you’re screaming a little. The logical part of your brain knows he’s joking, that this is your dynamic. But the petty, dramatic part of you decides to go full method actor.
You don’t lean into his shoulder again.
You don’t touch his leg.
You don’t try to kiss his cheek, his jaw, or even his neck like you usually would.
You don’t do any of it.
Ten minutes pass. Then twenty.
You’re playing it so cool. You even laugh at the TV a little extra, just to prove you’re fine.
And that’s when he starts to squirm.
You feel him shifting closer. He pretends to stretch, arms moving up behind his head. One arm drops casually behind your shoulders, but you don’t lean into it. You act like you didn’t even notice.
He clears his throat.
“You’re really not gonna kiss me?”
You hum noncommittally. “Thought I was clingy. I’m trying to give you peace.”
He looks at you like you just kicked a puppy.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, now visibly concerned. “Bebé, come on.”
You offer him the most dramatic side-eye ever. “I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”
“Okay, now you’re being dramatic.”
“Says the man who dodged me like I had a disease.”
He opens his mouth, then shuts it again. His brain is buffering. Good.
Finally, he scoots closer. Like, really close. His arm wraps around your waist and he leans into you, his face buried in the crook of your neck.
You stiffen.
He doesn’t let up. In fact, he presses a kiss to your skin.
Then another.
Then five in rapid succession.
You blink.
“Lamine…”
“Shhh,” he murmurs against your neck. “Let me be clingy now.”
You bite your lip, trying not to give in. But his grip tightens around you, and his whole body shifts until he’s basically sprawled across your lap like a golden retriever-sized boy. He looks up at you with big, round eyes.
“You’re mad?” he whispers.
“A little.”
He pouts. Actually pouts. Then tugs you down until you’re lying on the couch with him half on top of you.
“I like your kisses,” he says, voice soft. “They make me feel good.”
You blink at him.
“And warm,” he adds. “And safe. And sometimes dizzy.”
You press your lips together, fighting the smile that’s begging to take over your face.
“Then why do you dodge them?”
He shrugs. “Because it’s fun to tease you. But now I feel bad.”
“As you should.”
He nods solemnly. Then kisses your cheek.
Then your nose.
Then finally, gently, your lips.
You melt into it, because honestly? He’s too cute. Way too cute for his own good. You wrap your arms around his neck and let your fingers tangle in his curls.
After a long pause, you pull back just a little. “You’re clingy.”
“Yeah,” he says shamelessly. “So?”
“You called me clingy.”
“I was projecting.”
You roll your eyes.
He kisses you again, deeper this time, and when he finally pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, smiling.
“Be clingy with me again.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. I was just being a little dumb.”
You kiss him softly, then grin. “Good. Because I was about to die holding back.”
He laughs, full and real, his body shaking slightly against yours.
“You’re impossible,” he whispers.
“And you’re annoying.”
“Perfect match then,” he replies, already leaning in for another kiss.
And this time, he doesn’t dodge it. Not even a little.
Hii ! Can I plz request bf lamine with a reader who is really into physical touch like hugs and holding hands etc...
And the other boys tease him about her and their relationship
Btw I really love your writing 🤍
intertwining hands.
masterlist requests word count: 1k
a/n: lamine is so cutesy yay
genre: fluff.
warnings: none.
summary: lamine's teammates love teasing you and him for how touchy you are with each other.
You’ve always been the kind of person who shows affection with touch. Whether it’s curling into Lamine’s side on the couch, looping your arm through his when you walk, or holding his hand even if you’re just standing in line for coffee, it feels natural to you. For Lamine, it took some adjustment. He liked you from the beginning, but he never expected to date someone who always wanted to be so close. Now, though, he wouldn’t trade it for anything.
The first time the guys really noticed was after training. You had come to pick him up, waiting by the exit in your hoodie and sneakers, looking comfortable as always. The moment he stepped out, sweaty hair stuck to his forehead, you grinned and immediately reached for him. He slung an arm around you, letting you tuck yourself under his shoulder. That would have been fine if it ended there, but you slid your hand into his, fingers weaving through like it was second nature.
“Tío,” Gavi called, voice teasing as he raised an eyebrow. “Already glued together?”
Lamine rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”
You laughed, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. “Don’t be jealous.”
That only made them laugh more. Ferran whistled as he passed, wagging his eyebrows. “Careful, Yamal. At this rate, you’re gonna forget how to walk on your own.”
Lamine tightened his hold on your hand, not letting go. “They’re just mad because nobody wants to hold theirs.” He muttered it under his breath, but you heard it and grinned.
From that day on, it became a running joke. Every time you showed up, someone had something to say. When you hugged him from behind at a team dinner, Héctor chuckled into his drink. When you leaned into him at the movies during a team outing, Pau nudged Pedri and whispered loud enough for Lamine to hear, “Look, he’s a teddy bear now.”
At first, he got defensive, cheeks heating up every time they teased. But the more it happened, the more he stopped caring. Because the truth was, he loved it. He loved the way your hand always found his, like it was automatic. He loved the way you pulled him close without asking, reminding him he didn’t have to be the confident, sharp player the world saw. With you, he could just be Lamine.
One afternoon, you were sitting on the couch at his place, head on his chest while his arm draped lazily over your waist. He was scrolling on his phone, half-paying attention, until a notification buzzed. It was a group chat message from Marc, he had taken at training earlier of you kissing Lamine’s cheek outside the facility.
“Are you kidding me,” Lamine groaned, shoving his phone into the cushion. “They’re obsessed.”
You lifted your head, curious. “What is it this time?”
“They keep taking pictures. Like I’m some zoo animal.”
You laughed, tracing lazy circles on his chest with your fingertip. “You’re the one dating me. Comes with the territory.”
“Yeah, but they don’t let me live,” he complained, though his lips curved into a smile.
You kissed his jaw. “Because they’re jealous, like you said. Not everyone gets cuddles on demand.”
Later that week, you tagged along to watch training. You sat on the bleachers, bundled in one of his jackets even though the weather was warm. When he came over for a break, you reached out immediately, tugging him close so you could fix the way his hair was sticking up. He let you, leaning into your touch.
That was when Ferran shouted from across the pitch, “Oi, Yamal! Need her to tie your boots too?”
The whole squad laughed. Lamine sighed, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder. “I can’t win.”
“You don’t need to,” you whispered, kissing the top of his head. “You’ve already won me.”
That answer made him blush deeper than any of the teasing.
After training ended, you were waiting by the gate when Gavi came over first. He smirked, crossing his arms. “So, what’s the secret? Do you put a spell on him or something? He’s completely whipped.”
You smiled sweetly. “No spell. Just affection.” Then you held your hand out toward Lamine as he walked over, like proof. Without hesitation, he laced his fingers through yours.
The guys groaned and laughed again, shaking their heads as though you were impossible to deal with. Lamine didn’t care anymore. He tugged you closer, muttering under his breath, “They’ll get over it.”
The teasing only made you more stubborn. At a team lunch a week later, you slid into the seat next to him and immediately draped your arm around his shoulders. The guys exchanged knowing looks, waiting for his reaction. But instead of shrinking under the attention, Lamine leaned into your touch.
He even turned his head and kissed your temple, casual as anything. “What are you staring at?” he asked them, tone steady.
Pau shook his head with a grin. “Nothing. Just… proud of you, hermano.”
That earned a round of laughter, but this time it was different. There was no bite in the jokes, no real embarrassment. They were used to it now, almost fond.
And Lamine, instead of fighting it, chose to own it.
That night, when you were curled up together again, he admitted softly, “At first I hated how much they teased me. But now… I don’t know. I like that they notice.”
“Because it means they see how much you love me?” you teased.
“Exactly,” he said without hesitation. “I don’t care if they joke. They’re right.”
You tilted your face up to look at him. “About what?”
“That I’m whipped.” He said it with a grin, pulling you close until your laughter was muffled against his chest.
The truth was, no amount of teasing could change the way he felt. If anything, it made him more sure. Because every time they pointed it out, it reminded him that you were his, and he wasn’t afraid to show it.
- he sends you tiktoks that say “this is us” and they’re never romantic. like it’ll be two raccoons fighting over a sandwich or a couple falling off a jet ski and he’ll send it with: “you and me in 10 years 😍” the only romantic ones he ever sends are ironically. still, he saves the cute ones to his favorites. just… never tells you.
- game days are when he’s actually softest. he acts chill, but when he sees you in the stands or waiting for him after, his whole vibe shifts. he runs over, wraps his arms around you, kisses your temple and mumbles, “you saw that assist, right?” then he lets go and immediately goes back to acting smug like he wasn’t literally giddy to see you.
- he calls you on facetime when he’s bored, even if it’s 30 seconds. middle of his day? “i’m eating a sandwich, look.” out with his mamá? “which flowers are your favourite?” he doesn’t need a reason to talk to you. he just likes your face. and your voice. and the way you always roll your eyes but answer anyway.
- he’ll pretend not to want physical affection, until you stop. you go to kiss his cheek? he dodges you playfully. you reach for his hand? he teases you like “ew clingy.” but when you actually stop being affectionate, he’s instantly like “wait where’s my kiss? i didn’t mean it. come back.”
- he teases you constantly, but it’s how he shows affection. he’ll call you dramatic for taking too long to get ready or pretend to gag when you call him cute, but then he’s tying your laces when you’re distracted, or waiting for you with a snack he knows you like. he’s all banter, until it’s time to actually show up. and he always does.
- he’s the kind of boyfriend who comes over just to hang. he doesn’t need big plans. he shows up, steals half your snacks, sprawls out on your bed with his phone, and acts like he lives there. and if you fall asleep mid-movie, he quietly grabs a hoodie to cover you and lowers the volume. doesn't say anything. just stays.
- he likes listening to music with you more than anything else. you could be in the car, in his room, lying on the floor, he’s got one airpod in and the other in your ear. half the time, you’re not even talking. just listening. sometimes he skips a song two seconds in and apologizes like “nah, you wouldn’t like that one.” he never gets tired of figuring out what sounds like you.
- he loves including you in his insta dumps. a blurry picture of you walking ahead of him. a selfie of the two of you. a few second long video of you doing something and dumb and both of you laughing. you curled up on the couch with keyne in a pic he took of the tv. you’re always there. somewhere. even before you two made it “public,” you perfume bottle was on the dresser behind him in the mirror pics. your hairtie was on his wrist. your initial written on the inside of his wrist tape on matchday.
Lamine is in love with an assistant girl at the club, but she doesn't know about it and when one of the other boys gets too close to her, Lamine goes crazy with jealousy.Can you do this please? <3
don't let him near you.
masterlist requests word count: 970
a/n: very cutesy
genre: fluff.
warnings: none.
summary: lamine gets jealous when he sees gavi flirting with you during one of his appointments.
You’re used to footballers getting flirty. It’s kind of baked into the job. When you’re one of the youngest physiotherapists at the club, surrounded by boys with egos as big as their followings, it’s just part of the deal.
What you weren’t expecting was him.
Lamine Yamal.
Golden boy. Game-changer. Media darling. And for the past month and a half, your regular rehab client after he twisted his ankle mid-match.
Seventeen and a rising star, but somehow, when he walks into the physio room with that boyish grin and those huge brown eyes, he doesn’t feel like a million followers and counting. He just feels like Lamine.
And lately, he’s been showing up early. Staying a little longer than necessary. Asking questions that have nothing to do with ankles.
You don’t let yourself read too far into it. You’re smart. Focused. Professional. You don’t crush on clients, even if they do look at you like you hung the stars in the recovery room.
Besides, it’s not like he’s said anything.
Not like the others.
“Careful, Lamine,” Pablo teases as he hops onto the table next to his friend, shirt damp from training. “You hog her too long and I might steal her.”
You roll your eyes and tap his knee with the clipboard. “You’re not even on my list today.”
“That can be fixed.” He grins, cocky as ever, and shoots a wink your way.
You snort. “Keep talking and I’ll add you, to the injury report.”
Lamine doesn’t laugh.
You don’t catch it right away. You’re too focused on checking his range of motion, rotating his ankle gently as he leans back on his palms, muscles tense under your hands.
But when you look up, his jaw’s tight. His gaze isn’t on you. It’s fixed firmly on Gavi.
“Do you mind?” he mutters, eyes narrowed. “We’re in the middle of something.”
Pablo raises a brow. “Relax, hermano. I’m joking.”
“Doesn’t sound like it.”
You blink.
There’s a beat of silence. A charged one. You clear your throat.
“Let’s just get through this set, okay?” you say, shifting the focus. “I want to test some lateral pressure today.”
Lamine obeys. Sort of. He’s cooperative physically, but emotionally, he’s miles away. Cold. Quiet. And when Gavi eventually leaves, tossing one last playful glance your way, Lamine doesn’t say a word for the rest of the session.
You finally exhale when he grabs his things and heads for the door.
But then he turns.
Hand on the frame. Lips parted. Something burning in his expression.
“I don’t like it,” he says.
Your brows knit. “Don’t like what?”
“That.” His voice is low. “The way he looks at you.”
“Lamine…”
“Don’t act like you didn’t notice.”
There’s something unrecognizable in him. Not angry exactly. Just… wound up. Unraveling.
“He was joking,” you say, trying to keep your tone even. “It’s harmless.”
“It’s not harmless if I feel like punching someone.”
You blink again. “Excuse me?”
His eyes finally meet yours, and for the first time, they don’t soften. They ignite.
“I can’t sit there and watch guys flirt with you,” he says, stepping back into the room. “I’ve been trying to be cool. Trying to stay chill. But every time I see someone else touching you, or making you laugh, or even just… being near you when I’m not allowed to say what I want to say-”
He cuts himself off.
You’re not breathing.
He runs a hand through his curls, pacing.
“You think I’ve been coming here every day just for ankle stretches?” he asks, voice rough around the edges. “You think I don’t notice the way you smell like coconut or how you hum when you’re focused or how you never let me leave without saying something sweet, even if I’m being annoying as hell?”
You’re frozen. Absolutely still.
He stops pacing. Looks at you like he’s out of breath.
“I’m not just another player, am I?” he asks.
The question hits you right in the center of your chest.
“No,” you whisper. “You’re not.”
His shoulders drop, like the tension is finally cracking.
“I didn’t want to mess anything up,” he says, stepping closer. “Didn’t want to cross a line. But if someone else tried to get with you, I don’t think I could take it.”
“Lamine…”
“You’re different,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “You see me. Not the player. Not the headlines. Just me.”
You reach for his hand. He takes yours instantly, lacing your fingers like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“I do see you,” you say, heart hammering. “You’ve got no idea how much.”
He squeezes your hand.
Then, finally, he smiles.
That familiar Lamine grin, crooked and charming and almost shy.
“So,” he says, “if I asked you out, would you say yes? After I’m back to full fitness, I mean.”
You laugh, a little breathless.
“Lamine, I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out since your second session.”
He beams. “So… that’s a yes?”
You nod, grinning back. “That’s a definite yes.”
And just like that, the tension in the room flips.
Because he’s still seventeen, and he’s still got a thousand cameras watching his every move, but in this moment, it’s just the two of you. Fingers entwined, hearts wide open, and nothing between you but the truth that’s been bubbling under the surface since day one.
Lamine leans in, forehead brushing yours. Not a kiss, not yet, but close.
“Don’t let Gavi near you again,” he whispers, teasing now.
You laugh again. “Possessive much?”
He shrugs. “Only when it comes to you.”
And yeah, he’s still technically a patient. You’re still technically on the clock.
But for once, rules don’t feel so important.
Because love? That’s the real rehab. And the two of you… you’re healing just fine.
summary: how lamine yamal, pablo gavi, pedro gonzalez, pau cubarsi, and hector fort would ask you calm you down when you're nervous before going to spend your first Christmas with his family.
a/n: the long awaited 100 follower special! to some people this doesn't seem like many, but to me, i would forever be grateful for just one, so this is a big deal in my mind!
i would like to specially thank @nngkay for being around this blog, more or less since the beginning, and @vvssqqz6 for constantly liking and reblogging my posts! thanks to @pedricos for giving me ideas and motivation to write. and thank you to you. for reading this, (hopefully for liking it), and to anyone who has supported my writing in any way in the past!
here's to another 100, love,
- obvithebestsoph 💕💕
masterlist requests
genre: fluff/comfort.
warnings: none.
You stared blankly at the half-packed suitcase on the bed, then at the closet, then back at the suitcase.
“This is ridiculous,” you mumbled to yourself, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I’m just meeting his family. It’s not the end of the world. I shouldn’t be this nervous.”
Still, your heart’s going crazy, and your hands can’t stop fidgeting. You’d packed and then unpacked three times already, trying to find the perfect thing to wear to impress Pedri’s parents.
Pedri walked in a moment later, phone still in hand, but his attention almost immediately shifted from the Instagram post he was looking at to you.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice calm and even as usual.
You looked up, giving him a nervous smile. “I feel like I’m going to forget how to speak the moment I meet tu mamá.” He chuckled, tossing his phone onto the bed and walking over to sit beside you, “You’re overthinking, sol (sunshine). My parents are going to love you.”
You give him a fairly sassy look. “You have to say that.”
“No,” he said, giving you a sassy look back, and bumping your shoulder gently with his. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”
Pedri took your hand in his, running his thumb slowly over your knuckles. “My mamá’s going to be obsessed with you. She’s been asking about you for weeks. And my papá? He already likes you. He said anyone who can make me this happy and in line must be some sort of saint.”
You let out a small laugh, despite the nerves. “So I’ll be fine?”
“You’ll be perfect.” he grins.
You sighed and leaned your head on his shoulder, grateful for how effortlessly he calms your nerves. “I just… I want them to see how much I care about you. I don’t want to mess it up.”
Pedri turned toward you slightly, his voice quiet and genuine. “You already show me how much you care every single day. They’re going to see that too. And if they don’t see it in the first five minutes, my mamá will get out the baby photo albums to embarrass me, and, if you pay attention, you’ll be her favourite forever.”
You smile into his shoulder. “Tempting. You were a cute ass baby.”
He grinned and kissed the top of your head. “Just be yourself. That’s who I love, and that’s who they’ll love, too.”
Pedri stood up and offered his hand to you. “Vamos, we have a suitcase to pack, a flight to catch, and my mamá made croquetas. If you’re nervous, eat first. That’s her rule for everything.”
You laughed and took his hand, butterflies still fluttering, but in a different way now.
Maybe, just maybe, it would be okay.
You sat curled up on Pau’s bed, knees hugged yo your chest, your suitcase still half-zipped and lying on the floor. Everything was packed. Everything was ready. But you weren’t.
Your mind kept spinning in circles. ‘What if they don’t like me?’ ‘What if I say the wrong thing?’ ‘What if I somehow embarrass Pau or myself in front of his whole family?’
You barely noticed the sound of footsteps before you felt the bed dip beside you. Pau didn’t say anything at first - just sat quietly, his presence calm as always, like he knew you needed a minute or two.
Finally, you glanced at him. “Is it obvious I’m lowkey freaking out?”
He smiled gently, his green eyes warm and soft. “A little. But only because I know you.”
You groaned and hid your face behind your knees, “I’m sorry. I know this is supposed to be exciting, and it is, I promise. I just… I don’t know. Meeting your parents feels like a really big deal.”
Pau nodded slowly, taking his time to respond. “It is a big deal. But that doesn’t mean it has to be scary.”
You looked up at him, your brows furrowed. “Aren’t you nervous?”
He shook his head, and then reached for one of your hands, his fingers wrapping tightly around yours. “No. Because I know them, and I know you. And I know how much they’re going to like you.”
You let out a shaky breath. “What if I say something weird? What if I don’t say enough? What if tu mamá thinks I’m too quiet? Or what if tu papá-”
“Hey,” Pay cuts you off gently, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “It’s okay to be nervous. But you don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be yourself. My parents… they’re kind people. They’re not going to judge you. They’re excited to finally meet the girl I’ve been talking about for months.”
A small smile makes its way onto your face. “You’ve been talking about me?”
He smiled, his own cheeks going a little pink. “Kind of a lot.”
That made you laugh, and Pau laughed too, a little shyly, his eyes crinkling at the corners nonetheless. “Mi mamá’s probably already made ten different things to eat just because she doesn’t know what you like. She’s going to spoil you. And mi papá… he’s quieter, like you and me, but he’ll ask about football or something to bond with you.”
You look down at your joined hands, then up at Pau again. “I really want to make a good impression.”
“You will,” he said simply. “Trust me.”
And the way he looked at you right then - so sure, so confident, so proud - you started to believe him.
You squeezed his hand, another smile forming on your lips. “Okay, let’s go then.”
Pau smiled back, standing up and offering you his hand to help you up off the bed. “You’ve got this. And if anything gets weird, I’ll fake an emergency and drive us back.”
You laughed. “Deal.”
“Okay, lowkey, what if your mamá hates me?”
You asked the question halfway through putting on your jacket, frozen in place with one arm through the sleeve. Ferran looked up from where he was zipping up the duffel bag by the door, eyebrows raised, clearly not expecting that level so suddenly.
“Hates you?” he repeated, blinking like you’d said something in another language. “What are you talking about?”
You let your arm flop uselessly out of the jacket and sat down on the bed, letting out a long digh. “I don’t know, Ferran. She’s your mamá. She probably has, like, sky-high expectations and perfect Valencian princess ideas of the girl her only son’s supposed to bring home. What if I disappoint her?”
Ferran stared at you for another few seconds, before slowly standing upright and crossing the room towards you, trying, and failing, not to laugh.
“Valencian princess ideas?” he repeated, amused. “Do you hear yourself?”
You groaned and fell back on the bed, arms splayed out dramatically. “I’m serious.”
He climbed onto the bed next to you, propping himself up on one elbow as looked down at you. “Vale, escúchame, reina (okay, listen to me, queen). My mamá isn’t scary. She’s just a mamá. And she’s going to love you.”
You cracked an eye open. “You’re just saying that because you love me.”
“Exactly,” he said, kissing your cheek, “and soon, she’s gonna see that too.”
You turn to face him fully, propping your chin on your hand. “What if I talk too fast? Or sat something dumb in front of your papá? Or like… accidentally curse during dinner?”
Ferran laughed again, then leaned in until your noses were almost touching. “Then you’ll fit right in.”
That made you smile, despite the nervousness still bubbling in your stomach.
He reached over to brush a piece of hair behind your ear, his voice gentler now. “You’ve got nothing to prove. You being you? That’s all they want. My sister’s already excited to meet you. My mamá’s probably baking something right now just because I told her your favourite dessert.”
Your heart smiled. “You told her that?”
“Of course I did,” he said, as if it were obvious. “You think I’m not bragging about you every chance I get?”
You roll your eyes but the felt starts to ebb away.
He leaned in slightly, giving you a soft kiss. “Vamos. I’m excited.”
You laugh and get up, resuming putting on your jacket.
Lamine noticed you nervously adjusting your shirt for the millionth time in the last five minutes, your eyes flicking between the floor and the couch. You hadn’t said anything aloud, but he could sense the tension that’s building up inside you. He knew how important today was for you. Meeting his family for the first time, especially during Christmas, was bound to bring a wave of nervousness over you. You were excited, of course, but you couldn’t shake the anxiety in your stomach either.
“Hey,” he said softly, elbowing your side to get your attention, “¿qué ocurre (what’s wrong)?”
You turn your head to look at him and smile tightly back at him, “Yeah, I’m just… nervous, I guess.”
Lamine frowns, “Nervous? About what?”
You sighed and fixed your hair yet again. “I really want them to like me, Lamine. It’s your family, they’re important to you, so I want them to like me. I don’t want to mess anything up.”
Lamine smiles at you reassuringly, slinging an arm around you in a casual fashion. “I promise, they’re going to love you. Mi mamá’s been pestering me to meet you, and Keyne’s hardly scary. You’ll be fine.”
You glance at him from the corner of your eye, raising an eyebrow. “You say that now, but what if I say something awkward or do something weird? What if they don’t think I’m good enough for you?”
He just laughed, shaking his head. “You’re not going to mess up. You’re perfect as you are.” He smiles more softly now, his dark brown eyes looking into yours, “They’re so excited to meet the person who makes me so happy. You have nothing to worry about.”
His words were gentle, but as they usually do, they carried a confidence that made you feel lighter. Lamine talked about them so fondly, you knew they’d be kind, but the thought of being actually in the same room as them for the first time still made your palms a little sweaty.
“Besides,” Lamine continues, more playful now, “if you ever feel too nervous, just hang out with Keyne. He gives the best hugs and he’ll happily tell you all about all his soft toys and their names.”
You laughed, “I’m sure I’ll be fine, so long as I don’t embarrass you.”
Lamine’s face softened once again as he turned your face to look at him. “You could never embarrass me, mi amor. You mean so much to me, and my family knows that, and I’m excited for them to see it in person too.”
You take a deep breath, feeling the weird tossing of your stomach soothe as the moments pass. Lamine was right, annoyingly, he often is. His family would see how much you both love each other, and they’d understand. There’s nothing to be nervous about.
“You always know how to calm me down,” you whispered, leaning into his side, his body warm, as usual.
Lamine kissed your forehead. “That’s because I’m always around your anxious ass. I’ve cracked the code on how to make you see sense again.” he snickers, and you playfully slap his arm.
After a few more moments of laughing, the room goes quiet again and Lamine smiles at you.
“Ready to go?” He holds his hand out for you to take as he stands up to leave.
You nod and lace your fingers with his, heading towards the front door.
“Te amo (i love you).” he murmurs as he kisses the top of your head.
“Yo también te amo (i love you too).” you smile up at him, and he smiles back.
You were pacing again.
Back and forth in front of Pablo’s bed, feeling too restless to sit still. Christmas in Los Palacios. With his family. His parents. His sister.
You froze when you heard a soft laugh behind you.
“Bebé,” Pablo says, calling your attention as he leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed and a teasing, but soft, smile on his face, “you’re going to wear a hole in the floor. Cálmate.”
You gave him a look, but he was already walking towards you, his presence alone making the nerves calm slightly. “I’m freaking out, Pablo,” you said, the words coming out faster than your normal tone. “What if they don’t like me? What if I say something weird or-”
“-trip over something? Spill wine on mi mamá’s couch? Bring a dish with ingredients that someone’s allergic to?” he offers, raising an eyebrow with that stupid, teasing smile still on his face.
You groaned and slapped his chest. “You’re not helping!”
Pablo laughs, pulling you into his arms. His arms slide around your waist like they have done a million times before, like that’s his favourite place for them to be, and maybe, it is. “I am helping. I’m making you realise how silly it sounds.”
You sigh, resting your forehead against his chest, the steady beat of his heart against your ear. “I just… I want them to like me. I mean, they’re your parents. This is kind of a big deal.”
“They’re going to like you.” he said firmly, and when you looked up, he was already looking down at you with those big, perfect eyes of his. “They’re going to love you, actually. Because I do.”
Your breath hitched ever so slightly at the way he said it, so very certainly. Like it was the most obvious and natural thing in the world. “You do?”
He rolled his eyes with a grin. “Of course I do. Do you really think I’d take any girl home for Christmas? Mi mamá might cry. She’s a crier. Mi papá will pretend he’s chill, but he’s probably going to ask about your entire life story 10 minutes after you meet him. And Aurora? She’ll be happy to have another girl her age-ish around.”
“Dios mío.” you mutter, burying your face in his hoodie.
“But they’ll love you,” he said, his voice a little softer now. “Because you make me ridiculously happy. You’re the first person I’ve never been nervous to bring home.”
Your heart squeezed a little. All your nerves, your doubts, your ‘what-if’s - they didn’t disappear, but they felt quieter, dulled by the way Pablo seemed so confident and the way he held you tight. He made you feel like you already place in his family, even if you hadn’t actually met them yet.
You wrapped your arms tighter around his waist and then dropped them to your sides in a final squeeze. “Vale, I’m ready.”
“Good,” he murmured, kissing your temple. “Because they’ve been ready for you since the second I told them about us.”
You were sitting on the edge of the couch, nervously twisting the strap of your bag in your hands. Your suitcase packed, coat hanging by the door, and Marc had already triple checked the passports and plane tickets. Everything was ready for the flight back to Barcelona… except for your nerves.
Marc popped his head in from the hallway, grinning like he did, cheeks slightly pink from the cold air outside. “You ready?”
You hesitated. “Almost.”
He paused, then walked over, his smile softening when he saw the way you were chewing your bottom lip. “You’re nervous.”
You sighed, leaning back on your hands. “Is it that obvious?”
Marc sat down beside you, pulling you closer to him. “You’re usually the confident one between us. I’ve never seen you sit this still.”
You let out a quiet laugh, then groaned. “I just… I want to make a good impression. I mean, it’s your family. What if they think I’m not good enough for their son or something? What if they don’t even like me?!”
Marc turned to face you fully, his expression serious, but soft. “Hey. Cállate, idiota (shut up, idiot). You’re overthinking this. First of all, that’s not even possible. And second, they’re not trying to like you. They already do. I’ve told them all about you. About how kind you are. How funny you are. How you’ve got this really annoying habit of stealing my hoodies and acting like it’s yours-”
You playfully smacked his arm, but he grabbed your hand before you could pull it back, lacing his fingers with yours.
“I’m serious,” he said, voice quieter now. “They’re excited. Mi mamá’s been texting me asking what kind of snack you like, and mi papá’s already made a list of places to show you in Granollers. You don’t have to prove anything to them.”
You blinked, taken aback by how certain he was. How calm. How much he believed in you.
“You don’t think I’ll say or do something dumb?”
Marc chuckled. “If you do, they’ll probably just think it’s funny. Like I do.”
That made you smile, your nerves softening just a bit. Leaning your head on his shoulder, you let yourself breathe for the first time all morning.
“Okay, I’m ready now. I think.”
Marc pressed a kiss to the top of your head, holding you there for a moment. “Good. Because mi hermana’s already threatened to disown me if I don’t bring you home soon.”
You laughed again, the tension finally beginning to ease. “How nice of her,” you reply sarcastically.
He grinned and then stood up. “Vamos. You’re about to be the favourite in the family, and I’m not even mad about it.”
You took his hand, heart still fluttering - but this time, it wasn’t from nerves. It was from the way he looked at you, with nothing but love.
You sat at the kitchen island, holding a mug of hot chocolate that you hadn’t touched in 10 minutes. Your bag was by the door. Your phone was charged. The car had a full tank of petrol. You’re due to leave in five minutes. And yet, you’re still spiraling.
Across the kitchen, Héctor is humming to himself while getting his last few little bits ready, completely unbothered, like he wasn’t about to bring you home to meet the people who literally raised him.
“Do you think your mamá and papá will like me?” you asked suddenly, your voice barely louder than a whisper.
Héctor froze and turned to face you slowly, like he wasn’t sure if you were joking.
You weren’t.
“Wait,” he said, wa;king over with a soft, confused smile. “You’re actually nervous?”
You looked down at your hot chocolate. “Yeah… like, very.”
He leaned against the counter beside you, gently tugging the mug out of your hands and setting it aside. “You do realise my mamá’s probably already planned some sort of girl’s night for the two of you or something right?”
Your head snapped up, “What?”
He chuckled. “Yeah. She’s excited to finally have another girl around. She even said, and I quote, ‘bring that sweet girl of yours around so I can finally meet her properly and feed her well.’ Her words. Not mine.”
You blinked. “That's oddly comforting.”
“She’s a mamá. It’s how she shows love,” Héctor said with a shrug, brushing his fingers over your wrist gently. “And my papá? He’s more reserved, but if you ask him anything about the garden or football, he’ll fall in love with you instantly.”
You let out a soft laugh, the knot in your stomach loosening by a fraction.
“No sé (i don’t know),” you mumbled. “I just… I want to be enough. For them. For you.”
Héctor’s hand immediately found yours, his fingers warm as always. “Oye,” he said, tilting his head so you’d meet his eyes. “You’re already enough. More than enough. You don’t have to try and be anything you’re not.”
“But-”
“Nope.”
He cut in softly, giving your hand a squeeze. “I’m serious, I wouldn’t be bringing you home if I wasn’t sure - if I didn’t want them to know the person who makes me the happiest.”
Your heart fluttered.
He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “You’re not auditioning for anything. You’re just coming home with me. And they’re gonna love you, because you’re you.”
You leaned into his touch, letting out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. “Vale. Let’s go meet your mamá and see what kind of terrifyingly welcoming night she has planned for me.”
Héctor grinned. “That’s my girl.”
And just like that - your nerves didn’t disappear completely. But they shrank under the warmth of his voice and the certainty in his eyes. With him, it didn’t feel so scary anymore.
Hey! Sugar lips part 2? Our Lamine and his baker girl are in a secret relationship.Lamine wants to announce the relationship to everyone(to his family, friends and fans)But the girl is insecure about this because she thinks she won't be accepted by everyone.Lamine tells his mother about the girl he is in love with. And he brings her to the cafe as a surprise.And maybe his sweet little brother too❤️
sugar lips - chapter 2.
masterlist requests word count: 450
a/n: should i turn this into a series?
genre: fluff.
warnings: none.
summary: you meet lamine's mamá and little brother.
chapter 1.
You never thought you’d be the secret kind of girlfriend. But here you are. Quiet texts at midnight, stolen moments between his training and your baking. Whispered laughs over coffee. Lamine’s smile when he sees you from across the room, like you’re the best part of his day.
The bakery still feels like your safe space, a little bubble where you two exist without the noise. But Lamine’s been hinting lately. More looks, more pauses. Like he’s carrying something big and beautiful inside, just waiting to share it.
And then, one afternoon, over a cup of your strongest espresso, he blurts it out.
“I want to tell everyone about us.”
You nearly choke on your coffee.
“Everyone? Like who?”
His eyes hold yours, steady but nervous.
“Family. Friends. Fans. Everyone who knows me.”
You pull your apron tighter, suddenly shy in your own bakery.
“You don’t have to,” you say softly. “It’s okay to keep this just ours.”
He shakes his head, a small smile teasing his lips.
“No. I want to be proud. Of you. Of us.”
You look down, fingers curling around your cup. The truth is, you’re scared. Scared they won’t accept you. Scared of all the eyes, all the judgments. What if you don’t fit into his world?
Lamine catches your hesitation.
“You’re amazing,” he says quietly. “I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”
A few days later, Lamine calls you after training.
“Meet me at the bakery. I’ve got a surprise.”
When you arrive, the bell jingles, but you’re not alone. A small pair of feet races forward, three-year-old Keyne, Lamine’s little brother, with wide eyes and a grin full that gives him the cutest dimples.
“Hola!” Keyne shouts, grabbing your hand and dragging you inside.
Lamine is smiling wider than ever, his arm around his mother, Sheila. She looks warm and kind, and honestly, a little nervous.
“Mamá,” Lamine says, “this is the girl I told you about.”
You nod, heart pounding.
Sheila smiles gently at you.
“We’ve heard so much about you,” she says. “And the way Lamine talks, I know you’re special.”
You breathe a little easier.
Lamine’s hand finds yours under the counter. Keyne climbs up onto a stool beside you, swinging his legs.
“So,” Lamine says, grinning, “what do you think about making this place our spot?”
You look around your bakery suddenly filled with the people who matter most to him. It feels a little scary and a lot wonderful all at once.
“I think I’d like that,” you say, smiling back.
Sheila raises her coffee cup.
“To the two of you,” she says.
And you realize that maybe, just maybe, this is exactly where you belong.
lamine yamal with f1 driver? pretty please w a cherry on top 🥺
baller boy and racer girl.
masterlist requests word count: 890
a/n: this is the closest i'm getting to writing f1 for now - don't get any ideas anons that keep requesting lando norris fics 🥀🥀
genre: fluff
warnings: none.
summary: lamine's dating an f1 driver and comes to her gp, where she gets pole position.
You’ve barely stepped out of the garage before Lamine’s all over you.
Helmet in hand, fire suit half unzipped and hanging from your waist, sweat sticking your black tank top to your back, and he’s striding toward you like he didn’t just watch you push a car to its absolute limit in thirty-plus-degree heat. You’re the one that just finished a qualifying lap. He’s the one looking like he’s won something.
"Don't even start," you warn, eyes narrowing. "I know I took that last corner too late."
"You still got pole," he shrugs, all casual, like it’s not a massive deal. Like he didn’t nearly fall out of the (preferred team) hospitality suite, cheering.
You try not to look too flattered. Or too exhausted.
But Lamine’s already grinning. He knows.
“I’m proud of you,” he says, pulling you close and pressing a kiss to your cheek—right where your helmet left a slight red imprint. "You killed it."
You glance around. Cameras are already flashing, phones up. Of course they are. A young Barcelona star with the most talked-about woman in motorsport? PR gold.
But Lamine doesn't seem to care. He never does.
“You’re not even subtle,” you mutter, tucking your hair behind your ear. “You know the gossip pages are gonna eat this up.”
“I’m just being supportive,” he says, feigning innocence. “Boyfriend duties. What, you want me to stand silently in the corner like I don’t know you?”
“No,” you admit, and sigh. “But maybe stop smiling like I just proposed.”
“Would’ve said yes.”
You roll your eyes so hard it might dislodge your brain. “You are so annoying.”
“And you’re so obsessed with me,” he chirps back, smug as hell.
You push him lightly in the chest, and he stumbles back with a fake wounded expression. “Go sit down, Yamal.”
He does, but not before sneaking a kiss to your temple.
Later, back at the hotel, your legs are propped up on the bed with ice packs on your knees and Lamine is sitting cross-legged beside you, remote in one hand, your protein smoothie in the other.
“You still tense?” he asks, gently rubbing your calf.
“I’m fine,” you mumble, even though everything aches.
He frowns. “Liar. You’re walking like a retired grandma.”
You chuckle. “It was a long day. Twenty laps of pushing like hell will do that.”
“You wanna stay in tonight?”
“No,” you say. “We already RSVP’d to that dinner with your team. I can’t bail just because my legs are crying.”
“You can,” he argues, “and they’d understand.”
You give him a look. “You skipped two nights out last week because you had early training. I let you. Now it’s your turn to let me be stubborn.”
He throws his head back. “God, you’re impossible.”
“And you love it.”
“I do,” he grins, leaning in. “Scarily so.”
He presses a soft kiss to your lips. You hum, letting yourself melt into it for a second.
Then you pull away.
"Hey," you say, brows lifting, "you haven’t even congratulated me properly yet."
He looks confused. “I literally said I was proud—”
“No,” you say, smug now, “I mean congratulated. As in, real F1 winner style. Champagne, a little celebration. A hotel bath full of ice cream. I don’t know. Romance.”
Lamine’s eyes narrow. “You want a bath of ice cream?”
“I’m just saying, I’ve won three races this season and all I got was one protein shake and a ‘well done, cariño.’”
He’s laughing before you finish. “Okay. First of all, you drink those protein shakes. Second, if you want a grand gesture, all you had to do was ask.”
“I am asking.”
“Bet.”
He gets up and disappears into the bathroom. You hear the faucet start. Then drawers opening. Then a string of curses when something clearly spills.
“What are you doing?” you call.
“Creating your ridiculous victory celebration,” he yells back. “You better not complain when there’s bubble bath in your smoothie.”
You cover your face with a pillow, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt.
That night, you end up in a tub full of bubbles and half-melted strawberry ice cream, champagne in one hand, your legs resting on Lamine’s thighs.
“This is disgusting,” you say, laughing.
“You asked for this.”
“I said I deserved it. Not that I wanted to sit in dairy.”
“You’re sitting in victory,” he replies solemnly.
You roll your eyes again. “God, I love you.”
He pauses, glancing at you.
You realize what you said only a moment after it leaves your lips, but you don’t regret it. He’s sitting there like it’s the easiest thing in the world to love you. No fuss, no fear. Just trust.
Lamine’s eyes soften. “I love you too,” he says.
It’s quiet for a second, the sound of the water lapping against the sides, the soft fizz of the bubbles, the clink of your glasses.
Then he adds, “Even if you are the only person on Earth who can be this competitive and tzhis dramatic.”
You lean over, kiss him sweet and slow.
“You picked me,” you whisper.
“Every time,” he says, and this time, there’s nothing smug about it.
Just honest, boyish wonder, like he still can’t believe a girl who drives 300 kilometers an hour for a living looks at him like he’s the wildest ride of all.
summary: how lamine yamal, pablo gavi, pedro gonzalez, pau cubarsi, and hector fort would ask you to be their valentine.
masterlist
warnings: suggestive.
You met when you were seven, while playing football out in the schoolyard on one of your first days at your new school in Tegueste, after moving from Lanzarote, another Canarian Island, the closest one to Spain. You were quite a good wee player, but were met with the ground after being tripped by another boy, who looked about your age. Your bottom lip had wobbled as you looked at your now-skinned hands. The boy, looking as guilty as if he’d killed you, crouched down in front of you.
“Lo siento mucho. Lo prometo, no fue mi intención. ¿Estás bien (i’m so sorry. i promise i didn’t mean to. are you okay)?” he had asked tentatively. You sniffed and nodded. Your eyes had gone back to his face, and he had spoken up again.
“Puedo besarlo mejor por ti. Eso es lo que hace mi mamá cada vez que me lastimo (i can kiss it better for you. that's what my mami does whenever i get hurt).” Almost immediately, you nodded once more and held your hands out to him. The boy had pressed a small kiss to each of your palms.
“¿Está todo mejor ahora (is it all better now)?”
“En realidad no, pero duele menos. Quizás seas mágico (not really, but it hurts less. maybe you’re magic).”
“Tal vez (maybe),” he smiled and helped you up, “Soy Pedri. Bueno, Pedro, pero todos me dicen Pedri porque soy pequeño y el otro Pedro es grande (i'm pedri. well, pedro, but everyone calls me pedri because i'm little, and other pedro is big).” he introduced, gesturing to a much larger boy across the yard.
“¿Cómo te llamas (what’s your name)?” Pedri asked as he helped you up from the floor.
“Y/N. ¿Quieres que seamos amigos? Soy nuevo y no tengo ninguno (do you want to be friends? i'm new, and i don't have any).”
He nodded and you guys wandered off, back towards the classroom, as the bell had gone.
And that’s how you met your boyfriend, best friend, and love of your life.
Having been there for each other through the highs and lows, you two are closer than anyone else either of you know. No longer seven and clueless, the pair of you are curled up in bed, the rain pouring outside, you reading, Pedri on his phone beside you. There was a peaceful silence, besides the sound of rain on the windows and the occasional paper sound coming from your book.
You turn the page and something falls out, sliding into your lap. Confused, you pick it up, what is it but a pressed white rose and a note?
“Be my valentine?” you laugh and look up at Pedri, who’s watching you with a raised eyebrow, waiting. Grinning, you lean across the bed a little, connecting, before pulling away and murmuring against his lips, “Most certainly, I’ll be your Valentine. Considering you’ve been asking since we were 15, do you really even have to ask anymore.”
“Yes, I do, because I know it makes you feel special, it makes me feel important, and it actually improves the general romantic-ness of our relationship,” he says firmly, but with a soft, signature Pedri smile.
“Woah, alright. And thank you, it’s very sweet.” you press another kiss to his lips, expecting just a peck, but very quickly, his tongue is in your mouth and you’ve been pulled to straddle his lap.
“I have a few more Valentine’s gifts for you, don’t worry.” Pedri says with a smirk and hungry glint in his eye. You know you’re in for a long night, but aren’t at all mad about it.
You had been sitting in second-period Science, right before lunch, when one of the receptionists from the front office came into the classroom, asking you to pack up your things and come with her. Confused, you did so, trailing behind the older woman, back to the main office. Standing there in the office is a faux-distraught-looking Pau, claiming to be your cousin, needing to pick you up early as there’s been a family emergency. Behind her back, you cover your mouth to stifle a laugh.
A few minutes later, and you’re all signed out and walking out to the carpark with Pau.
“You know, you can’t just pull me out of school whenever you want, right? Our ‘grandma’ can only die so many times.” you laugh. He just shrugs and intertwines his hand with yours.
“Oh well. I’m taking you on a date.”
“A date? At 11.45 in the morning?”
“Sí. We’re having a picnic on the beach,” he announces proudly.
“On the beach, huh? So all the sand can get in our food? Delightful.” you laugh, he whacks your arm.
“Calla, it’s meant to be romantic (shut up).” Pau teases back, unlocking his car and opening the passenger door for you.
“Princesa.” You roll your eyes at the nickname. Most boyfriends would use it in a cute way, their “princesa,” but no, not your boyfriend. Pau just uses it to tease you.
He makes a dramatic gesture of it, helping you in by taking your hand and everything. You keep forgetting he has free reign to drive you guys anywhere now. So maybe random Friday lunch dates after a long week will become a more regular occurrence.
The drive to the beach is fairly short, and most of the way there, you just give Pau the rundown on this week’s school gossip. It’s sunny and warm today, good weather for a picnic. Turns out, Pau’s version of a picnic is a salad and water for him, a sandwich and a lemonade for you, eaten on the tailgate of the car, however, to look out onto the beach while you eat, the car has to be reverse parked.
Pau is awful at reverse/parallel parking, and only just barely passed it on his test, so, while it is a little illegal, you always do it for him. It’s funny, you’re only studying, don’t even have your proper license, and can drive a lot better than him in many ways. Once the car is successfully parked, you both get out, opening the boot and sitting in it, cuddling close to each other.
You both sit in silence for a while, eating and drinking, until Pau randomly speaks up once more.
“You know how you left your phone at mine the other day?”
You suddenly feel a little nervous. “Yeah..?”
Pau grins. “Wanna explain why you have over 500 saved edits of me on TikTok?”
You’re quite tempted to die of embarrassment. Literally, mortified. He takes immense pleasure in your pink face.
“We can do it like that… if you want to.”
You almost don’t want to ask. “Do what like what?”
“Do you want it from the back, with your face in the pillow so you can yell as loud as you want to?” He says with a suggestive smirk, quoting the audio of the most recent edit you’ve saved, knowing exactly what he’s doing.
“Shut up,” you mutter, slumping down further. But he doesn’t shut up. Doesn’t even think about it, and 20 minutes later, you find yourself topless, laying in the boot of the car, Pau having put the backseats down for a rather messy makeout, like the good, horny teenagers you are. He lays next to you, both of you breathless. For a good few moments, the only sound that is heard in the car is both of you panting.
“You know, I actually brought us out here for the ‘romantic’ date to ask you to be my Valentine,” he says.
“Really? Well, the answer is yes.” you chuckle breathily, sitting up.
“How am I meant to go back to school, looking live I’ve been mauled by a dog after going to ‘say goodbye to our grandma with my cousin.’?” casually, you laugh, but Pau’s face is far from amused.
“No way in hell are you going back to school. We’re going straight to my bed, mi amor.”
You giggle and he finally laughs too. “Alright. Maybe we should try your suggestion from earlier.”
His grin only grows.
You’ve been in a ‘talking stage’ with Lamine for the past two or three months. You had been friends as kids when he still lived in Rocafonda, you grew apart a little with age, but you’ve gotten closer again after starting high school.
You guys are in the same literature and mathematics classes, so you often give him notes or go to his place to help him with homework. He’s very sweet, he looks at you like you’re a beautiful girl, not some piece of meat, he’s always giving you little gifts and things too. You’ve gotten to know his mother better and met his little brother, Keyne. His papá seems to like you too on the few occasions you’ve met him.
Tonight, you’ve come over to help him with some of the literature homework. You’re laying on his bed, paper and books in front of you as you explain the concept it as best you can, when his mamá, Sheila, puts her head in the door, speaking to you with a warm, motherly smile.
“Hola, Y/N. ¿Te gustaría quedarte a cenar (would you like to stay for dinner)?”
Lamine watches you intently, waiting for your reply, almost as if this was planned… although, you didn’t notice that.
“Sí, Le enviaré un mensaje de texto a mi mamá y le preguntaré. Gracias señorita Ebana (yes, i’ll text my mamá and ask. thank you miss ebana).” you smile back. Sheila nods and leaves the room again, shutting the door.
You and Lamine go back to doing the homework, although he seems more nervous and less focused than before.
“Are you alright?” you frown, noticing that he has been staring at your face and not the book for the past two minutes. He blinks and looks away, a little flushed.
“Sí, sí, sorry. I just… zoned out.”
You give him a sceptical look but nod. “Vale. Now, back to page 167 (okay)…”
The two of you continue reading and writing until Sheila comes back to say dinner’s ready. When you get to the table, Lamine makes sure to pull your chair out for you and hand you your plate first. Sheila giggles behind her hand as she watches her son, clearly in on something you’re not, so you’re confused for a moment, but then move on. The table is fairly quiet, aside from Keyne chattering away in his high chair. With no siblings at home, you find it very entertaining and help him with a few spoonfuls of the spiced and seasoned rice, watching and laughing at him as he goes. Sheila watches on with a smile, grinning at the secret plan Lamine had made with her, but also at you and Keyne interacting.
After dinner, you help to clear the table and do a few of the dishes with Sheila, Lamine watching on with love in his eyes from the living room floor as he half plays with Keyne, and half admires you and how well you and his mamá are getting on. Once the dishes are done, you go and sit next to Lamine on the floor again.
“You wanna keep going on the homework?” he asks.
You nod and head back to his bedroom. He tells you that he needs the bathroom and that he’ll be in in a minute.
When he reenters, you’re sitting on his bed, and he has his hands behind his back, holding something. You frown in confusion and laugh, watching him as he smiles back nervously at you.
“What?” you laugh.
Lamine takes a deep breath and moves his hands from behind his back. In one hand is a bouquet of long-stem red roses, and in the other, is a small, navy-blue, velvet box. Your eyebrows immediately rise in surprise and your eyes go from the roses to his anxious, but hopeful face. When you don’t immediately take them, he pushes them towards you a little more, you snap out of the haze that is those beautiful brown eyes of his and take the flowers and jewellery box.
You smile at him before opening the box, inside is one of the most beautiful necklaces you’ve ever seen. It’s (gold/silver) the colour he knows you prefer, a small iridescent opal pendant hanging from it. Inside the box, is also a small note.
“Be my valentine?” in Lamine’s signature neat, although slightly crooked, handwriting.
You laugh shakily and cover your mouth, staring at it for a second before putting the bouquet and necklace down on the bed and standing up to hug him. You rest your head on your shoulder, and whisper out your answer.
“Yes, yes of course I’ll be your valentine.” he grins and tilts your head up.
“¿Puedo besarte (can i kiss you)?” you nod, and a few moments later, those gorgeous plush lips of his are on yours. You pull away a few seconds later and laugh, still close, your forehead resting against his, looking into his eyes once more.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
“For what?”
“Saying yes.” the taller boy smiles.
You laugh, shaking your head slightly, “Of course I said yes. I’d be an idiot not to.”
Lamine pulls away and reaches for the box on the bed once more, he takes it out and gestures for you to turn it around. You feel the cool, delicate (gold/silver) on your neck and his fingers carefully doing up the clasp behind you.
That night, you have your first sleepover together, and cuddle in bed most of the night, deciding homework can wait until tomorrow.
You’ve never had a Valentine before. Yep, 20 years old and not a single Valentine. So it’s kind of crazy that you’re first ever one will be the Pablo Gavi.
You didn’t think he’d ask you, considering you were dating and it was probably just assumed, but alas, you arrived home from the grocery shopping to find a whole display of flowers, balloons and various other things on the dining room table, a proud Pablo standing next to it.
You laugh in shock, almost dropping the grocery bag in surprise. Instead, you deposit it onto the kitchen counter and go over to him. Grinning his usual wide smile, he wraps his arms around your waist and kisses you passionately for a good while, but when he gets distracted and his kisses start trailing down your neck, you laugh and pull away, bringing his head back up again.
“Save that for later, amor.” He chuckles and presents the table to you properly.
You take a closer look and there are multiple bottles of your favourite perfume and skincare products. There’s no makeup as always as Pablo refuses to buy it for you because he thinks you look even prettier without it. Dotted around are multiple bags, Dior, Mercadona, Victoria’s Secret (you can hardly imagine what he’s picked out from there), shoes, and a new dress, with flowers all around the place, and a big sign in the middle of the table.
“Will you be my Valentine?”
You laugh, just taking it all in.
“What kind of question is that? Who else’s would I be?”
He shrugs and kisses you again.
“Is that a yes then?” you roll your eyes and laugh for what feels like the millionth time.
“Of course, mi amor. Siempre, sí (forever, yes).”
Once more, that cheeky grin appears on his face. You squeak when you’re lifted up the waist, legs automatically wrapping around his waist. As he carries you past the table, he picks up the Victoria’s Secret bag, making a beeline for the bedroom.
Right now, you’re laying on your boyfriend of three years after yet another long day of uni. The silence had been comfortable as he gently scratched his fingers through your hair and kissed your forehead over and over again, in fact, you were almost asleep. But your half-dozed-off state is interrupted when Héctor speaks up.
“Can you look at my foot?”
“What?”
“My foot.” you just stare at him for a moment.
“Your foot?” you repeat, slower. He nods as if that was a perfectly normal request.
“Why exactly?”
“Because it hurts and you’re training to become a physio.” After staring at him for a moment longer, you sigh and relent, moving to crouch at the end the chaise of the couch, pulling off his sock.
“Do you not have professional physios for this?”
“Yeah, but I like you better.” Inspecting his foot, you frown.
“There’s nothing wrong with it.”
“Yes, because it’s the other one.” You pull off his right sock instead, and your eyes widen.
“Héctor Fort García, what did you do?!” you gasp, glancing up to his face, which had the biggest grin on it. On the inside of his right foot, are your initials and birthday, as well as your anniversary date, all written in your handwriting.
“Got another tattoo.”
“I can see that. Why that, and why there?”
“Because that’s the foot I score goals with. So now, every goal I score, every pass, every tackle, every run, is dedicated to you, like you’re there helping me kick, in thought, of course.”
You watch him in surprise for a moment before laughing in disbelief and coming back up to kiss him and give him a hug.
“Estás loco (you’re crazy).”
“Sólo para ti, mi amor (only for you, my love).” he laughs back, pressing yet another kiss to your nose.
You lay together in silence for a moment, before Héctor speaks up again.
“If you couldn’t tell, this was a very long way of asking you to be my Valentine?”
“Yeah, alright.” you laugh. You two are always laughing when you’re together, because there’s always something to laugh about. Whether it be Héctor messing up an English word, or you spilling something all over yourself, you both find humour in everything.
“Just, ‘alright’?” he sniggers, shoving you a little.
“What would you prefer I say then, hm?”
“How about a ‘Yes, please, dear boyfriend that just got my name and birthday permanently tattooed on his body.’?”
“Mmmm… I think I’ll stick with ‘Yeah, alright.’” you tease, which earns his fingers under your arms, tickling you until you slide off the couch and are crying tears of laughter.
a/n: i wanted to do one for marc, but it was last and i genuinely had no ideas 😭 so i'd be happy to add it later if anyone has some requests or suggestions?
