hii I love your writing <33
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.
