Hi, I LOVE your writing, and I wanted to make a request. Could I get Lamine Yamal with a girlfriend who's the opposite of him? Like she's super introverted and shy, yet kind. And at every public event she's clinging at him because she's embarrassed (bonus points if her love language is physical touch). Anyways, thanks for reading 💝
SHY!
PAIRINGS. lamine yamal x shy!fem!reader
SYNOPSIS. you’re shy and easily overwhelmed, but lamine is always there for you. in quiet moments and through small gestures, he helps you feel safe and seen, even when the world feels too much.
GENRE. fluff. extrovert x introvert
WORDS. 1.7k
WARNINGS. not proofread.
note. i'm so sorry anon for just finishing this request now. it literally took me so long. it is also kinda short, but i hope you still like it
you knew what you were signing up for when you started dating lamine yamal.
he’s a rising star. the kind of person people watch from across the room before they even know who he is. the kind of guy who can talk to strangers like they’re old friends, who moves through crowds like he was born for it. he can entertain a room full of people without getting boring for hours. he’s a total extrovert.
you’re not like that.
people online don’t understand how someone like him could fall for someone like you.
you don’t talk much. you avoid photos. you don’t have a glamorous job or a mile-long list of social events on your calendar. you’re the girl who prefers quiet cafés over beach parties, who listens more than she speaks.
you’ve never liked crowds.
even as a little girl, birthday parties made your stomach twist. while the other kids chased balloons and smeared frosting on each other’s faces, you stayed close to your mother’s side, clutching her sleeve like a lifeline. you were never the type to jump in right away. it always took you a while. a few hours, a bit of quiet observing. before you felt comfortable enough to join in.
you’ve always needed time. time to adjust, time to settle, time to breathe. you don’t mind people. you just don’t always know what to say at first. you’re soft-spoken, observant, the quiet presence in the corner that most overlook.
nothing’s changed. not really.
except now, you’re clinging to lamine yamal’s arm instead.
the second you step out of the car, the lights start flashing.
not the soft kind either — harsh, white bursts from all angles, voices shouting names from behind ropes, cameras pointed straight at you. your name’s not the one they’re calling, obviously. they want him. they always want him.
but you’re part of the frame now.
and all you can think about is how loud it all feels.
you blink against the flashes, hand tightening around lamine’s arm.
he doesn’t flinch. he never does. not when crowds call for him, not when cameras get too close, not even when people say things they shouldn’t. he’s always calm, always steady.
“bebé,” he murmurs near your ear, “you’re squeezing my arm like crazy.”
you glance up at him, cheeks burning. “sorry.”
he smiles. that stupidly warm, soft smile that makes your heart do backflips no matter how many times you’ve seen it. his hand drops to the small of your back. it stays there like it’s meant to be. steady.
“i like it,” he adds quietly, leaning closer so only you can hear him over the buzz of the room. “makes me feel like i’m your safe place or something.”
his hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together. he leans down a little, speaking into your ear without letting go of your hand. “come on. just stick with me.”
inside, the party is already in full swing.
the music thumps deep through the floor. champagne glasses clink. laughter and conversation spill from every corner of the room, and soft gold lights hang from the ceiling, casting a glow that somehow still feels too sharp.
your heels click against the marble. you stay close to lamine’s side, your shoulder brushing his as you walk. he’s saying hello to people you vaguely recognize. teammates, industry people, maybe even a few celebrities, and you manage polite smiles, a few quiet hellos.
but mostly, you just hold on to him.
his hand stays at the small of your back, firm and familiar. when someone asks for a picture, he says yes, but keeps you tucked under his arm. you’re not posing. you’re just there, attached to him like a second skin. and honestly, you don’t care how it looks.
later, you’re both seated at a round table draped in velvet. there are champagne flutes and gold-rimmed plates, and someone’s giving a long speech on stage that you can barely focus on.
now, you’re seated between lamine and a woman in an emerald-green dress who hasn’t stopped talking since the entrées arrived. her lashes flutter when she speaks to him, and she leans in far too close for your comfort.
you pretend to be listening. you’re not. you’re counting seconds between sips of water, trying to ground yourself, wondering if anyone else can hear how loud your heartbeat is.
then you feel lamine’s fingers search for yours under the table.
your breath catches as he interlocks your fingers and squeezes once. you glance at him. he isn’t even looking your way. he’s nodding politely at whatever the woman just said. but his thumb is brushing soothing little circles against the back of your hand, like he knows exactly what you need.
you scoot your chair a little closer, your knee pressed into his now.
still not enough.
so you curl your other arm around his bicep and rest your head lightly against his shoulder. you don’t care who sees.
he turns his head slightly and plants a soft kiss on your temple. he doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t need to.
“you okay, mi amor?” he murmurs, brushing his lips against your forehead.
you just nod.
you stay like that for the rest of the evening, letting his presence quiet everything that buzzes too loudly inside you.
by the time the pictures are over and the party ends, you’re drained. lamine guides you through the hotel lobby and into the waiting car, his hand never leaving yours.
the second the door closes, you let out a shaky laugh and bury your face in his shoulder.
“you’re always glued to me,” he chuckles, kissing your hair.
you peek up at him, cheeks warm. “i just… feel better when i’m close to you.”
“i know,” he says softly. he doesn’t tease. he just pulls you even closer, letting you curl against him.
crowds are even harder in stadiums on match days.
the noise is deafening, the colors overwhelming, the sheer number of people enough to make your stomach twist. and yet, you go to every single home match, sitting in the family section with his mom and brother.
they’re warm, welcoming, but you still sit pressed against the edge of your seat, heart racing from the buzz of tens of thousands of voices.
“tranquila,” his mother whispers kindly, patting your arm.
but you don’t calm until you see him step onto the pitch.
when he glances up at the stands and spots you. because he always does. you swear your whole body breathes again. he waves subtly, just a quick raise of his hand before kickoff, but it’s for you.
after the match, when he’s still sweaty and buzzing with adrenaline, he jogs over to the edge of the pitch where families are waiting. most players just wave. lamine comes right up, finds you, and leans in for a hug even with cameras around.
“you came,” he grins into your hair.
“i always come,” you mumble, squeezing him tighter than you mean to.
he laughs and kisses your cheek. “yeah, and i always feel better when you’re here.”
dinner at his family’s house is chaos. laughter, overlapping conversations, clinking plates, keyne running around. it’s warm and loud in a way that makes your chest both tight and soft at once.
you sit quietly, smiling when people look your way, answering questions politely but never stealing the spotlight. you’re just about to retreat into yourself when you feel lamine’s hand slip over your thigh under the table.
he doesn’t say anything. just rests it there, warm and steady. a reminder.
you relax, leaning slightly into him. his mom catches the movement and smirks knowingly.
later, when everyone’s in the living room chatting over dessert, you find a quiet corner of the couch. lamine doesn’t hesitate before sitting beside you, tugging you against his chest. he talks animatedly with his family, his arm snug around you the whole time. every so often, he presses a casual kiss to your hair like it’s second nature.
nobody questions it. nobody makes you feel out of place. with him, you’re just… home.
a simple date
not every public moment is grand. sometimes it’s just walking down the street with him on your day off. barcelona is alive with noise. scooters zipping by, people spilling from cafés, tourists everywhere.
you feel eyes on him constantly. people whispering his name, some brave enough to stop him for pictures. he never says no, never loses his easy smile.
you, though, keep your face tucked into his shoulder, one hand clutching the hem of his shirt while the other is trapped safely in his palm.
when the last fan walks away, he looks down at you with a grin. “you know you don’t actually disappear if you hide in my shirt, right?”
your cheeks burn. “i don’t care.”
he laughs, kissing your forehead right there on the sidewalk. “good. i don’t care either. stay close.”
you end the afternoon at a quiet café, tucked into the corner where no one bothers you. your legs are tangled under the table, your hand clasped in his the entire time. he chats about training, about dreams, about little things that make him laugh, and you listen. your thumb brushes across his knuckles in absentminded affection.
at one point, he pauses, looking at you with a smile that makes your stomach flip. “you know, i think this is why we work. you’re quiet. i’m loud. you hold on to me, and i get to hold you back. feels like balance.”
you duck your head, but his hand tilts your chin up until you meet his gaze. his smile softens. “i like you just like this. don’t ever think you’re too much or too little. you’re exactly right for me.”
and when you press closer, curling into him even in broad daylight, he just laughs softly, hugging you tighter.
because while the world might see you as opposites, to lamine, you’re the safest thing he’s ever known.
because while your shyness might make you feel small in the spotlight, to lamine, it only makes him want to hold you tighter.