#because his name is Floyd and he is pink | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sometimesanalice · 4 days

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Make Me Your Masterpiece

Summary: Bob credits you for helping him to find his new hobby. And when he asks if he can you paint you, you find you quite like the idea of being his muse.

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x Female Reader

Length: 4.5K

Warnings: fluff, smut, and basically an ode to Lewis Pullman’s hands (mdni)

(Author’s Note: smutty fics are the new friendship bracelet, spread the word! Happy Birthday, Ames! 🎉 @laracrofted)

You’ve always had a thing for Bob’s hands.

They were one of the first things you noticed about him that day at the coffee shop almost a year ago now.

You’d been reaching for your iced vanilla cinnamon latte when a big hand had wrapped around it just a half of a second before you could grab it. Which you wouldn’t have minded admiring them for a moment under any other circumstances, but after an endless string of meetings you’d been in a dire need of a caffeine fix- and not the weak stuff that people brewed in your office’s communal coffee pot.

“I think that’s-” you’d started.

“Oh, I’m sorry-” the coffee thief backpedaled.

The next thing you knew you were looking into the prettiest pair of ocean blue eyes.

The two of you were startled out of the moment when the barista called out the next order as they’d set it on the counter.

By some kismet or fate, they had been a matching set. But instead of embroidered towels, it was his and hers coffee cups with your names written on them in a hasty scrawl.

Realization dawned over his features as he gave you a sheepish smile, “Think this one might belong to you, Miss.” He spun the coffee until he found the spot with your name. That little smile becoming a full grin as he’d said it aloud before passing the cup to you.

The hands had been good, the eyes had been great, but Bob’s smile directed at you had left you weak in the knees.

You’d been a goner right then and there.

And while you’d ended up almost ten minutes late to your next meeting, you’d also gone back to the office with his phone number written on a cardboard coffee sleeve that was tucked away safely in your purse and a date lined up later that week.

As it turned out fate had a name and it was Robert Floyd.

Barely twenty minutes into your first official date with Bob, his ears had turned a delightful shade of pink as his anxious fingers straightened the silverware on the white linen tablecloth of the Italian spot he’d taken you to. He’d fessed up and apologized as he came clean, telling you that he’d purposefully ordered the same coffee as you in hopes of getting to start up a conversation with the pretty girl who’d been standing in front of him in line.

“I didn’t want to interrupt you, since you looked busy. But I didn’t want to miss my chance,” he’d confessed over candlelight.

He’d told you how he’d only been at the coffee shop because he’d recently returned from a deployment and was fighting the jetlag that came with adjusting to being back on Pacific Standard Time, and that he normally preferred tea but he needed something with a bit more to it to get him through the day.

Instead of getting up and taking the bottle of wine to-go as a consolation prize, like you would have if it had been anyone else, his genuine earnestness had charmed you instantly. And you’d settled on having a second date with him before the first one had even really started.

You only let him sweat it for about thirty seconds before you took pity on him. With a light fingertip, you traced along one of the veins on the back of his hand and simply asked, “So other than being a meet cute mastermind, what is it that you do for a living, Bob?”

It was the best first date you’d ever had.

For your second date with him, you’d bought tickets to a ‘Paint and Sip’ event at a buzzy new bistro in town your friend had told you about.

You weren’t an artist by any means, but during that dinner date his antsy fingers and expressive hands had clued you into how nervous he’d been. You’d found your eyes drifting to them on more than one occasion. Partly because they were so enticingly disproportionate to the rest of him, but also because you couldn’t look him directly in the eye for too long without feeling your face heating up.

You thought it would be a good way for the both of you to work past the getting-to-know-you jitters, something that would keep your hands and eyes occupied enough to relax a bit more and have fun together.

Although instead of the seascape class you’d thought you’d signed up for, you’d willingly paid $86+ tax to watch Bob’s lithe, long fingers delicately grip a paintbrush in a way you thought was going to make you lose your mind.

You’d spent the whole first hour trying and failing to mix the perfect shade of blue before giving up when you’d realized that the man next to you, in addition to having really great hands, was also very good at painting.

Bob had seemed surprised by that too because he’d kept flushing that wonderful shade of pink that had quickly become your new favorite color every time you complimented his piece.

He had steady, capable hands. But you were quickly learning that everything about Bob Floyd seemed that way. There was a quiet confidence about him. He didn’t shy away from the way he’d openly observed you, like you were a riddle he was enjoying learning to decode.

You’d never known a man to be so attentive until him.

Bob’s tongue was peeking out as he’d worked on adding some wispy clouds to the top of his piece. You weren’t even sure what step you’d technically stopped at before you’d given up to watch the visual feast of him painting instead. Only halfheartedly adding random bits to your canvas along the way to make sure it wasn’t totally blank by the end of the session.

You’d been so zoned out watching him create that it was like a slow-motion sequence in a horror movie. You’d reached out for your wine glass, lifting it to your lips to take a sip, it had only taken you a split second to realize it wasn’t the full-bodied red you’d ordered that was coating your tongue, but the murky, gritty paint water instead.

Mortified, you’d looked over just in time to see Bob’s empathetic wince. You’d been hoping to fly under the radar, but it had turned out that you’d had more than one set of eyes on you.

“And we officially have our first casualty of the evening, folks,” the instructor cheerily announced to the group, “The rest of you can breathe easy now!”

You wanted to be able to laugh at your own expense, but you’d groaned as you buried your face in your hands.

It was not the way you saw the night going. You wanted to be dazzling, you wanted that pivotal third date with him. But now you were the girl who drank paint water whose canvas looked like it had all the same efforts as an enthusiastic fourth grader.

Bob’s hands had gently wrapped around your wrists before he’d pulled them from your face. And then he’d leaned in close, taking your chin in his hand and kissed you squarely on the lips, his tongue dipping in and sliding against yours to taste the acrylic pigment from your surprised mouth.

“Huh,” he’d said, contemplatively. He’d pulled away only far enough to look into your eyes and give you a soft smile. “Celadon blue doesn’t taste like a Cabernet, go figure.”

He brushed a light kiss against your cheek as he’d passed you your wine glass so that you could rinse the paint water taste out of your mouth.

You couldn’t help but to still be a little embarrassed, but then you’d caught the way he’d shoot an unimpressed look at the instructor every time they passed by for the rest of the evening. You didn’t need a knight in shining armor when you had a Bob Floyd with a paintbrush and a cutting side eye.

You took him home with you that night and learned for yourself just how capable those hands of his were.

It was only later that you realized the exact shade of blue that you’d been trying so hard to capture earlier that night was the same color as the eyes that gazed down at you as Bob fucked you for the very first time.

There was no way you could have known that the ‘Paint and Sip’ date would have inspired him to pick up painting as a hobby.

First, he’d started taking classes at the Rec Center. His once a week classes later turned into him checking out books from the library. And then he’d turned his spare bedroom into a studio, as it has the best afternoon light in the Spanish style house he rents near the Naval base. He’d even bought a comfy chair for you to curl up in as he painted, a little nook of your own in his favorite space in his home. And steadily, the walls of both your apartment and his place fill up with all of his creations.

You’d even had your favorite one professionally framed. The pretty landscape done in shades of soft greens that he gave to you for your birthday hangs in a place of honor above your bed. You like having that piece of Bob as one of the last things you see before you fall asleep and one of the first things you see in the morning on the rare occasion the two of you aren’t sharing a bed. You liked to imagine the hours he spent on it with the sunlight streaming through the open window as he lovingly and painstakingly created something just for you with his own two hands.

Although you did have to beg him to sign it for you. He claimed that since he does it for fun that there’s really no reason too, but you were adamant about it and he’d eventually caved and scrawled his name in the lower right-hand corner.

Now it’s become your personal mission to ensure that every Bob Floyd original has his signature on it when he gives his paintings out as gifts.

Everyone assumes that his art would be all straight lines and precise angles, but it’s your favorite moment when people get to see his abstract landscapes. He’d told you he spends so much time in the sky that he likes to paint what’s on the ground, the things he doesn’t get to see when he’s 50,000 feet in the air.

You could tell Bob was a little nervous when he first asked to paint you.

After almost a year with him, you’d think he’d know by now that you’d do anything for him. Not to mention, you were more than a little in love with the idea of being his muse.

“Are you saying you want to paint me like one of your French girls?” you’d teased with a grin, unable to resist the opportunity. You always did have a thing for men with perfectly floppy hair.

He’d tipped your chin up so that you were looking into his blue eyes- a color you were positive couldn’t be replicated- and stated, “No, I want to paint you like my girl.”

Which is how you’ve ended up naked on the floor of his living room.

You’d been surprised when you came downstairs to see that the furniture had all been pushed to the side to make space for the king-sized top sheet he’d laid out on the floor. You figured it must have been from some mismatched set he had stashed in his linen closet because you’d never seen it before and you spent more than enough time in his bed getting familiar with his sheets.

Bob was shirtless and wearing only a pair of loose-fitting and paint stained jeans that were hanging low on his hips as he worked on getting all of his brushes and paints set up.

You were pretty sure that Michelangelo himself wouldn’t be able to do proper justice to Bob’s body. He wasn’t as built as some of his friends on the Dagger Squad were, but there was an undeniable sturdy steadfastness to him. Those defined shoulders and arms often were the stars of your afternoon daydreams, since you got to admire his handsome face anytime your phone lit up.

He came and met you at the bottom of the stairs, giving you a low whistle, “Well, aren’t you as pretty as a picture in my shirt.”

“Oh,” you’d said, feigning surprise and toying with the hem, “So it is.” And then you’d slowly lifted it up and off of you, revealing more of your body to his artist’s eye.

You never felt as good about yourself as you did when you were naked in front of Bob. The color of his morning skies eyes would always darken to a deep shade of Prussian blue as he took in the curves of you. With him you always felt appreciated, wanted, desired.

His greedy hands came to grip your hips pulling you to him until you were pressed against him.

“Is this how you wanted me?” you asked, running your fingers through his hair.

Bob slipped his hand behind your neck and tugged you in for a heated kiss. “I always want you.”

You never knew true distraction until you’d felt Bob’s lips against yours all those months ago. You’d happily lose minutes, hours, days to them. The thing about Bob is that he never does anything halfway. If he’s kissing you, he’s doing it thoroughly until you’re out of breath.

The sound of the air conditioner kicking on and the light draft that it coasted over you reminded you that there were other plans on the agenda. And that the sooner he starts, then the sooner he finishes, and the sooner you can feel his lips on other parts of you.

“Where do you want me?”

“In my bed,” he murmured against your lips.

His name started as a laugh but turned into a sigh as he dropped a line of kisses down your neck, “I meant, like on the couch or on one of the chairs from the kitchen.”

Bob pulled away and peered deep into your eyes, “Darlin’, I wanted to paint you.” He trailed a teasing finger down your soft stomach. “If that’s alright with you.”

You thought you were just going to be his subject, but as it turns out he wanted you to be his canvas too.

You’re trying not to shiver as he meticulously coats your overheated skin with cool paint. Goosebumps follow in the wake of every delicate stroke he makes along your body.

His hair was curled over his forehead in a way that had your fingers aching to touch him. There was a slight furrow between his eyebrows as he concentrated on the deliberate lines and curves he painted on you. The paint smudge on his cheek only made him all the more attractive to you.

Bob had tucked a pillow beneath your head before he’d started, a gesture that you appreciated now because time had lost all meaning to you. You had no idea how long you’ve been lying there. You were pretty sure every inch of you had to be covered by now.

He’d started along the plane of your stomach and steadily worked his way out from there. Up your arms. Along your clavicle. Over your breasts and tops of your thighs. You didn’t miss the way he’d smirked when you arched into that soft to the touch paintbrush as it glided over your peaked nipple. Or the way he’d hummed pleased when you’d try to subtly rub your thighs together to relieve the need that had been building as you laid there.

Bob loves taking his time with you. In bed, he loved teasing you until you had tears in your eyes and were begging for his cock. And it became clear very quickly that this would be no different.

There was an electric thrum that was pulsing through your body with every dip and swirl and brushstroke. The muscles of your stomach jump involuntarily as the fine hairs of his paintbrush drift over your hypersensitive skin making you whimper.

He tsks, “Gotta stay still for me, pretty girl. I’m almost done, promise.”

You release a shaky sigh and nod, not trusting your voice to betray just how needy you were for him. Although the self-satisfied smile on his face told you everything you needed to know.

You try to control your breathing as he works on finishing, but your shallow breaths sounded loud in his living room. You love getting to watch him work normally, but the intense way he is looking at you- his eyes your favorite shade of Prussian blue now- is too much for your hummingbird heart.

Just as your skin was collecting layers of paint from his brush, the space between your thighs was steadily collecting your wetness. You were so desperate for him to touch you, the need made you want to crawl out of your skin.

You hear the sound of a watery swish and the clink of a brush against glass and your breath catches in your throat in anticipation.

“God, look at you,” Bob breathes, reverently, “You’re so beautiful. This might be my best work ever.”

Instead of the paintbrush, you can feel the path of his flame blue gaze traveling over you as he takes in the art he’s made out of you.

You open your heavy eyes and see Bob wiping off his hands with a frayed towel.

“There she is,” he says, giving you a smile that makes your toes curl. You didn’t notice it sitting there with all his paints until he was reaching for it, his dad’s old film camera. He holds it loosely in front of him like a question, “Can I take a few just for me?”

The answer is easy, “Yes.”

You trusted Bob more than any other man you’d ever been with. He’s never once given you reason to doubt his words because his actions always spoke for themselves.

The guys you’d been with before had been boys, Bob Floyd was a man.

The tension between the two of you is thicker than the acrylic he’d been using earlier as he snaps photo after photo. You admire the way his muscles shift as he bends and angles himself to get the perfect images.

He stands over you, the lens pointed down at you, “Look at me.”

You can barely breathe. You feel yourself getting even wetter at the thought of seeing yourself through his eyes. No one has ever made you feel the way he does.

“Bob”, you whine.

The camera clicks.

“I know,” he hums, “You’ve been so good for me.” He sinks to his knees between your legs and hooks a hand behind your knee, pulling it up so it’s propped on the floor. And then he does the other so that you’re sprawled open for him, just the way he likes you to be, “Just one more, darlin’.”

The heat in his eyes has dried up all the words in your mouth.

He trails a finger down the soft skin of your inner thigh and you gasp.

The sound of his camera reverberates in your head.

“You’ve made such a pretty mess,” he drawls, as he gently sets the camera on the floor next to you. “It’s a good thing I put something down. You’re damn near dripping.”

“Bob, please.” You arch towards him like a flower in the sun.

He settles between your thighs and pushes them apart further so that his broad shoulders fit between them. The paint is still drying on your skin, but neither one of you cares about that now.

“You were so perfect for me. I appreciate you staying so still.” He drops a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Don’t worry, I know just how to thank you.”

Your body jolts at the first touch of his tongue on your clit. You can feel his smile against you, he knows exactly what he does to you.

Bob has always eaten you out like it’s what he was put on this earth to do.

Normally, he’s teasing you with gentle licks and tracing nonsensical shapes on your clit with his tongue until you’re a squirming mess for him. He knows your body so well, always building you up to the point where you’re breaths away from tipping over the edge and then pulls himself back before building you right back up again.

But tonight, there’s nothing playful about the way his mouth is working against you. His hot mouth is sealed to your clit. Bob hums in satisfaction with every keen and whine that he pulls out of you. He laves at you until you’re writhing underneath him, your thighs already shaking.

“Wanna paint you just like this,” he murmurs, sucking at the spot where your leg and hip meet. “But I don’t think you’d stay still long enough for me to finish.”

Bob dips down and gives you another long broad stroke of his tongue. He pulls back only long enough to spit on your cunt before diving right back in, chasing after his own taste on you.

Your hands are in his hair. Clutching at his shoulders. It’s taken him no time at all getting you to the point where you’re trembling and taut.

All the air leaves your lungs when he buries two large fingers into you. Your hips cant into his mouth on their own and he moans. Bob wraps an arm around your hips and presses down on your lower stomach to hold you in place.

You feel the pain smear beneath his warm palm. You were dying to see it. You hoped there was a handprint- his handprint- that disrupted all the lines and swirls of color that he’d decorated you with. Something that was distinctly him.

You were wearing his art and now you’re wearing him. The evidence of this moment in time on your skin.

His fingers and tongue weren’t enough.

You needed more.

“You cock, Bob, I need your cock,” you pant, tugging at his hair.

He meanly sucks your clit into his mouth in a way that has you crying out and jerking against him. You love it, you love him.

“God, I love it when you beg for me,” he licks into you again, “Sweetest sound in the world.”

Bob drops a sweet kiss on your clit, it’s a stark difference to the filthy way he’d been using his mouth on you. He rises to sit back on his knees between your parted legs.

He looks so good kneeling above you the way that he is. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is a mess. That knot behind your bellybutton twists tighter because you did that to him.

He unzips his jeans and tugs them down low enough to pull his hard cock out.

It’s pretty enough to be featured in a gallery, you think to yourself, even in your desperate haze. It’s long, thick, perfect and yours.

Bob smirks when he notices you admiring him, pumping himself slowly a few times for your viewing pleasure.

The only time Bob Floyd was ever a show-off was when he was in bed.

He grabs your thighs and pulls them over top of his own, so that yours are draped over his obscenely, and then he thrusts easily into you.

You gasp at the sensation of being so full of him. It always takes you a minute to adjust to his cock, no matter how many times you’ve taken it now. His thumbs make little circles along your hipbones as your body relents and yields to the size of him.

“There you go,” he says, rocking into you, working you open, “Just needed this cock, didn’t you?”

You whimper your agreement. Your hips tilt into the pressure like you’re trying to get as much of him as you can. Wanting to show him how much you can take. You know you’ll never get enough of him.

He fucks into you at a reckless and unrelenting pace. You’re high off the feeling of seeing Bob like this, that you’re the one who gets to see him unreserved and uninhibited. He has your hips gripped so tightly, keeping you closer than close. And when you clench around him, you’re treated to a wrecked groan.

Your skin prickles with desire and the feeling of paint drying on you. His cock is hitting just the right spot inside of you and you know you won’t be able to hold off for much longer, not with the way he’s grinding against your aching clit.

Bob’s eyes glued to the spot where you two come together. You’re on full display for him. He watches the way you stretch and spread around him with every deep thrust with the same appreciative gaze that he admires his favorite artists.

It’s under his river blue gaze that your orgasm swiftly sweeps you away. And with your back arching and thighs quaking around his, you give yourself up to the endless current of it.

You know he’s close when his hips start to stutter.

Bob pulls out of you and wraps his large hand around his slick-shined cock and works himself with rough, purposeful strokes.

This time he paints you with himself, his come covering your stomach.

The only sound in the room is the two of you breathing hard, trying to catch your breath.

“Jesus Christ,” Bob huffs, raggedly, taking in his handiwork, “You’re my masterpiece.”

You’re covered in paint and come, but you’ve never felt more beautiful than you do right now as he looks down at you in awe.

“Did you remember to sign your work this time?” you ask, out of breath but teasingly.

“I think I left my mark, darlin’,” he says, with well-earned smugness in his voice. You can’t help but giggle. He flops down next to you, throwing his arm over his eyes, “Goddamn.”

You prop yourself up onto your elbows to look at yourself.

“Baby, I think you gave Jackson Pollock a run for his money.” You grin widely when he lets out an amused snort. “Wait, where’s your camera?”

He passes it to you, the fondness in his eyes makes your chest feel warm. You scooch in close to him and hold it up above your heads, the camera flashes when you kiss his flushed cheek.

That picture is the first one that gets put up in the new house, the one the two of you chose together when he asked you to marry him six months later. Followed by the soft green landscape that now hangs above your shared bed.

It’s your favorite picture of the two of you, happy and in love. You can just see a hint of the cloud he’d painted on your shoulder.

That night Bob had decorated your body with the place he loved best.

He gave you the sky and he made you his world.

Happy birthday, Ames! Your gift will be mailed eventually, it really was a lesson in chemistry, lol! Enjoy a Bob fic just for you in the meantime!

A big, bigggg thank you to the Bob Babes/Lew Crew girlies! @callsignspark and @attapullman I appreciate you two so much for being such ultimate hypegirls! And thank you to @theharddeck, you helped me out of my writers block and I've been so excited to write this since we talked about it back in January!

You can read my other stories here!

taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

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roosterforme · 12 days

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Covering the Classics Part 7 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Just when Anna starts to feel settled, a simple cookout at her friend's house turns everything upside down. Her jealousy shines through, and there's nothing she can do to try to take it back.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, masturbation, eventually 18+

Length: 4800 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more! Thank you to @mak-32 for the beautiful banner!

Things with Bob felt like they shifted back to normal again, and Anna was thankful for that. Every book she let him borrow was returned with a note folded up inside. Some of them were short and simple. When he handed back Love Letters of Great Men, the note simply said The dog eared pages are going to make me cry. But some of them were longer and more elaborate.

She was running a little late to meet him at the usual coffee shop, worried he would already be there. He seemed to end up paying for her drink every single time, which was honestly really sweet of him, but she felt like such a nuisance. When she walked inside, he was there, at a table with two steaming mugs in front of him and his nose buried in a book. In one of Anna's books. In her copy of Wuthering Heights.

Her whole body felt too warm as she thought about how much she would love to have Bob read every single one of the hundreds of books she owned. Maybe even read some parts out loud in that deep, soothing voice. She would love to hear his take on each plot and watch him blush as he called her the expert and asked for her opinions. She would love to take the book from his hands and pull him down into bed with her.

But she couldn't do that. They were just friends. So instead, she dropped down into the empty seat across from him and said, "Hi, Bob," with a smile she hoped wasn't as sad as she felt.

"Anna." Her name sounded like golden perfection when he said it, and she shivered. "This book... I can't stop reading it. I read it twice already," he said with a little laugh. "How in the world do you always know exactly what I'm going to like?"

Because she felt undeniably drawn to him and his preferences and everything about him.

"Because I'm a professional."

He laughed a little more as his pretty lake-blue eyes followed her cup as she brought it up to her lips. When the ceramic touched her, he looked away as his cheeks grew pink. He pushed the book across the table, and when she reached for it, he said, "Uh, just read that note later, okay?"

When she saw the edge of white paper sticking out from the worn pages, she said, "Sure, Bob."

He cleared his throat a little awkwardly. "Did you hear about the change of venue for tomorrow?"

Anna ducked her head. "Yeah, the girls told me about it at lunch yesterday. A cookout? Bradley wants to show off his new grill?"

Bob nodded and said, "Could be a nice change from the Hard Deck for once."

While he wasn't wrong, Anna hated that she still barely had enough money to make ends meet. San Diego was expensive, and when she asked Advanced Calculus what she could bring with her to their house to contribute to the meal, her friend said to bring hot dog and hamburger buns. Anna was already trying to figure out how to scrape together the ten dollars that would be required when Jessica said she already bought some along with chips and pretzels. When she didn't quite meet Anna's eyes, she knew for a fact that Jessica had figured her out.

"Yeah. I suppose," Anna told Bob. But at least at the Hard Deck, Penny didn't usually even charge her for the three dollar ginger ales. And if she did, one of the guys just put it on their tab like it was nothing. When she showed up empty handed to the cookout, she was going to feel awful that Jessica had covered for her.

"You want another coffee?" Bob asked, standing with his own mug, but Anna shook her head. She couldn't let him pay for another thing. Perhaps deleting multi millionaire Dev Borah's phone number wasn't her best move. Not that she would ever take advantage of someone for their money. Not after what Kevin did to her.

"No. But thank you. I actually can't stay very long today."

Bob nodded before saying, "No worries. I have dinner plans with Suzanne before Mickey picks me up for D&D anyway."

And there it was once again. The reminder that Bob didn't think about that kiss nearly as much as she did. "I hope you have a great time."

------------------------

It was late on Saturday night, and he should have been in bed, but Bob had his computer out. He reasoned that he could sleep in as late as he wanted tomorrow before heading to pick up the burgers Bradley asked him to bring for the cookout. He could stay up as long as it took for him to finish this poem and finally post it on PoetsAmongUs after looking at it for weeks.

If anyone knew he was writing about Anna, he would probably die on the spot. But nobody in his life knew he wrote anything in his free time, let alone the fact that he wrote poetry. And this poem was getting close to needing a 'mature' label if he was going to post it online.

"What are you doing?" he asked himself softly. Somehow he believed that writing about her specifically would cleanse him of these thoughts, but now he knew he was wrong. He proofread and posted his poem anyway while his skin prickled with need. He'd never experienced the kind of love his friends had, and in spite of all of her hesitations, he could imagine it happening with Anna. If anything, he liked that she seemed cautious and contemplative, he just wished she wasn't still that way toward him.

She made him want to keep leaving her notes in the books he borrowed from her, but she also made him feel like an idiot for wanting to do that. It was maddening. He needed to sleep, but he was too warm, imagining Anna once again in place of his faceless lover while he touched himself. He almost couldn't wait until the day when someone else would take her place in his mind, even if it meant settling.

The next day, he drove his old pickup toward the coast with the burgers and a six pack of ginger ale in tow. The Spanish revival style house that Bradley purchased before he and his wife made things official again was cute with desert landscaping, but she was the one who really made it a home. There was art hanging on the walls in every room, including a panoramic watercolor of the scenery of Virginia. The front bedroom had been turned into her home office, and for some reason, she had Bradley's fraternity paddle hanging in there. The house seemed more lived in now, and Bob knew Bradley was much happier for it.

"Hey, thanks man," Bradley told him, taking the bag of burgers when he got there. He was wearing his hideous Grateful Dead shirt and holding two cans of beer on one hand, but he still managed to give Bob a quick hug. "Sugar's out back, setting up some snacks and just generally looking hot. You want a beer?"

Bob held up the ginger ales in response and said, "Thanks, but I'll just have one of these for now." The last thing he wanted was a hangover like he had after their New Year's Eve party.

"Hi!" Jessica said as she and Jake walked inside, and she made a beeline right for Bob. "Have you given any more thought to how I should paint my barbarian?"

He just smiled as she started to push him through the kitchen toward the back door. "We just played yesterday. I didn't know you'd still be in the mood to talk about your ridiculous D&D character."

"Please," she practically whined. "You know how sensitive my barbarian is."

Bob snorted; truly he never would have expected he and she would have had so much in common, but even Jessica couldn't keep his attention once he saw who Bradley's wife was talking to. Anna had some freckles on her thighs. Her cutoff denim shorts went high enough up her legs that he was treated to the sight of freckles everywhere. And that wasn't all. Not even close. The deep "V" of her shirt revealed that there was a pretty good chance the freckles even trailed down inside her bra.

He wasn't going to survive the cookout if he had to look at her all afternoon. Her red hair was clipped up on top of her head with some sort of claw-shaped thing, and her skin was just everywhere. Her neck and her legs and the swell of her breasts. Her fingernails were burgundy again, just like the first day he saw her. She hadn't even noticed him yet, which was terrible, because if she had, he would have looked away by now. Instead he was given ample opportunity to memorize the way her legs looked as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, shuffling her beat up sneakers a bit along the patio.

"Oh," Jessica whispered, squeezing his bicep gently when he stopped responding to her. "Yeah, that'll do it." Her tone sounded slightly sympathetic, and it made Bob so self conscious. "Let's go say hi."

He shook his head jerkily and muttered, "In a second." Anna was currently laughing, head thrown back in delight, and Bob got the briefest peek at the strip of skin above her shorts and her bellybutton, and his brain actually stopped functioning. When she tipped her head forward again, an overjoyed smile still on her lips, she met his gaze. His brain jump started again as her teeth sank into her bottom lip, and he took a step in her direction before he could reconsider.

"Hey, Bob." She sounded a little breathless as she said his name while Bradley's wife smirked at the two of them. But he and Anna were just friends, and he needed to remember that.

"Anna," he replied softly, slipping his hands into his jeans pockets. His palms were sweaty, and he knew he was blushing. He'd never make it out of here alive. Not when she was looking at him like that.

She smiled and said, "I came up with a few, slightly more obscure book recommendations for you. I was thinking maybe we could go back to the bookstore and look for some of them that I don't currently own? I might be fun to-"

Bob was already about to agree with whatever she said, because it sounded exactly perfect to him, then he heard someone screeching his name.

"Bob!" There was a brunette flash streaking across the small backyard, and then Natasha Trace was in his arms. She was giggling next to his ear where she kissed his cheek three times in a row, knocking his glasses askew.

"I didn't know you were coming home today," he said in surprise.

"I didn't tell anyone except Bradley. Did I surprise you?" she asked.

"That's an understatement, Nat," he replied, hugging her tighter when she refused to let go. "I missed you."

Her familiar laughter was comforting as she said, "You have no idea how much I hate flying with anyone other than you." When she finally started to pull away from him, she added, "Now we can pick up where we left off before my deployment."

-----------------------------

Anna couldn't believe how incredible her friend's house was. It was huge and beautiful, and she had a yard. A yard! In California! There was colorful art on the walls, which appeared to be a collection of things that she and Bradley enjoyed. Her office was something Anna could only dream about, and the kitchen was bigger than her whole apartment.

After a tour of the interior, she stood on the patio in the autumn sunlight in a pair of shorts, something she would have never been able to do in New Jersey. Every day seemed to get better than the last, assuming she could keep the intrusive thoughts about Kevin away. And also assuming she could figure out what she was supposed to do about Bob and the growing collection of feelings she seemed to have for him.

"You have to hear what happened in my Differential Equations lecture on Friday afternoon," her friend was saying as they stood near the new grill that would soon be the centerpiece of the afternoon. "You won't even believe it."

Anna listened for a minute to the wild story, bursting into laughter when she learned how her friend thought she was going to have to call the fire department while she was teaching. Then she saw him. Bob was here with his tidy hair and his adorable glasses and his big hands, and like always her brain filled up with the beautiful poetry she loved so much. Somehow it seemed to go together with him. Those stunning words matched the way he made her feel.

She had to bite her lip in an attempt to calm herself down. "Hey, Bob," she managed to say as his cheeks flushed pink.

"Anna."

Oh, she was a mess. She thought about him way too frequently, even taking the time to compile the titles of some books she had read and loved, convincing herself he might like some of them too. "I came up with a few, slightly more obscure book recommendations for you. I was thinking maybe we could go back to the bookstore and look for some of them that I don't currently own? I might be fun to-"

But she stopped mid sentence when she heard some excited chatter behind Bob, and then a woman came running out through the back door. A beautiful woman. Calling his name. Jumping into his arms. Anna was treated to the sight of the woman's lips brushing against Bob's cheek while he held onto her like he was just reunited with the only person he ever cared about. She had to watch as this other woman ran her fingers gently along his skin in exactly the way Anna fantasized about. And when she looked around, nobody seemed concerned by this turn of events, rather they all acted like it was perfectly normal that Bob and this woman were whispering intimately to each other.

Then Anna heard her say, "Now we can pick up where we left off before my deployment."

Oh. Well. There was a sour taste in her mouth as she took a step backwards as the rest of the group greeted this mystery woman. Anna was going to have to have words with Advanced Calculus and Advanced Physics after this. Maybe they tried to set her up with Bob, because they didn't like this other woman? That idea vaporized as soon as she saw Jessica embrace her with a bright smile on her face.

Anna felt like her chest was growing tighter by the second, and then Jessica started to pull the pretty brunette toward her. "You have to come meet the newest faculty member from the English department! Dr. Anna Webber."

The woman looked her up and down with dark, appraising eyes and a little smirk set firmly on her lips. Then she stuck out her right hand and said, "I'm Natasha Trace."

The last thing Anna wanted to do right now was shake hands, but Jessica was looking at her with concern, probably wondering why she was just standing there. "It's a pleasure," Anna said with as much conviction as she could muster, shaking hands as briefly as she could.

"You teach at San Diego State too?" Natasha asked as her smirk bloomed into a bigger smile. When Anna nodded, she laughed and added, "What the hell do they put in the water at that school?"

Jessica was beaming now as she said, "Anna gives book recommendations to Bob all the time."

"Really? Is that so?" Natasha asked, still eyeing Anna like a predator would their prey, when Bob appeared with two cans of ginger ale. He gave one to Natasha and then tried to hand the other one to Anna as Natasha said, "I actually read a phenomenal book last month, Bob. I'll write down the title for you."

He kind of smiled, still holding out the other can toward Anna who felt like she was on the verge of screaming. "No. Thank you," she told him, taking a few steps away as she clocked the hurt expression on his face. "I don't want any."

The uncomfortable feeling was overtaking Anna's whole body now when Natasha leaned a little closer to Bob and softly muttered, "Let me guess... you have a little crush? This happened in my absence?"

Anna turned and went inside, searching for the bathroom she'd seen on the house tour. That woman was mocking her. Anna didn't want to hear any more of that conversation, because it was making her skin crawl. And worse still, she was finally able to identify this feeling as she closed and locked the door and leaned on the sink vanity.

Jealousy.

She was more jealous of this petite brunette who seemed to think Bob's personal space was hers for the taking than she ever was about Kevin and Alyssa. She was beside herself at the idea of another woman giving Bob book recommendations and making fun of his stupid little crush on her.

This was exactly why she should have never let herself have feelings. When she looked in the mirror, she saw tears in her eyes. "Shit," she whispered. She didn't have a car, so she couldn't just discreetly leave. Plus she'd been looking forward to eating something other than one of her sad sandwiches for days.

The jealousy gave way to anger as she wiped her eyes with a tissue and dropped it in the trash can. Her new friends invited her here, and she was going to stay. She wasn't going to let her feelings for Bob Floyd dictate her mood or what she felt she was allowed to do. She wasn't going to let another man run her life like that ever again.

With her head held high, she walked back outside, making it a point to avoid Bob and Natasha at all costs. She willingly had a thirty minute conversation with Jake and Mickey about the Marvel Cinematic Universe as an excuse to keep her distance. Then she and Bradley discussed the extensive musical catalogue of the Grateful Dead while she slowly sipped a beer to try to take the edge off. Then he turned on the grill, and the smell of food cooking had her excited enough that it was becoming easier and easier to ignore Bob.

When she accidentally looked his way, he was already eyeing her with a confused expression. She could pretend all day long that she didn't care what he thought and that she wasn't jealous at all. She could be so stubborn about this. At least all they had between them was that one awkward, fumbled kiss in his truck. It wasn't like she'd slept with him before he ditched her for the much better looking Natasha.

She was still doing a fine job of ignoring both of them when Bradley announced that dinner was ready. Anna took a plate of food and scooted all the way to the end of the rectangular patio table, snagging the spot across from Jessica. She was willing to talk about anything right now, even her friend's physics curriculum that she could barely comprehend, but then Bob was right next to her.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asked cautiously, setting his plate next to hers. Anna just shrugged, and then she was enveloped in his clean scent as he eased himself down in the seat with his knee hitting her thigh. She quickly crossed her legs before scooting her chair a few inches to the side away from his. "Are you okay?"

Anna almost laughed as Natasha found a spot on the other side of the table. "I'm just fine," she said before taking a huge bite of her burger and avoiding looking at either of them.

"Right," Bob whispered, frowning down toward his plate as she gave him side eye. "I just... feel like I did something to upset you."

Anna shook her head, and when she was done chewing the delicious food, she said, "Not at all. You're free to make the decisions you want to make. And I'm free to keep my books to myself since you've got other ones now."

Bob looked at her and asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

But Anna was well on her way to starting a conversation with Jessica that could probably last for hours. She ignored him as she asked, "Hey, Jess, what's up with that physics professor who just started wearing a toupee?"

"Dr. Leeland!" she screeched before launching into an animated conversation on the topic of her colleague's hair piece just as expected.

------------------------

Bob was so confused. He had been about to jump at the chance to hang out at the bookstore in North Park with Anna when Natasha arrived. At that point, he honestly thought this was going to be the best day he'd had in a while. Anna seemed happy to see him, and one of his best friends was finally home from deployment. But as soon as that thought entered his mind, Anna started acting like she wanted nothing to do with him. So much so that she asked Jess about some guy's fake hair? Bob sat there and listened to the conversation while he ate, trying to interject, but Anna just wasn't having it. She had even rejected his ginger ale.

What the hell did he do wrong? All he wanted to do was talk to her about books and look at her freckles. She was sitting right next to him, but he may as well have been on Jupiter with the way she seemed convinced that he wasn't even there at all.

As everyone started to finish eating, Bob washed his food down with the rest of his ginger ale. Maybe he should just head home early. He'd be spending all week at work with Nat, so it wasn't like he was going to miss out on much there. And being around Anna when she wasn't even looking at him made him feel like an idiot for secretly writing poems about her. He sat at the table alone for an extra minute with his head cradled in his hands, then he took his trash inside the house.

Of course Anna was the only other person in the kitchen, helpfully washing the grilling utensils and other things Bradley left in the sink. She glanced his way briefly before continuing with her task, and Bob headed for the trash can. He had the perfect view of the freckles on the backs of her thighs, but he didn't feel like he should be looking now. He stood quietly for a few seconds before deciding that he'd give this one last try before heading out.

"Anna," he said just loud enough that he knew she could hear him over the running water. "Can we talk? I just feel like I did something to upset you? When you started to invite me to the bookstore, I was going to say yes. Obviously I'd love to go with-"

She looked at him over her shoulder, and he went silent at her glare. "Why don't you just go with Natasha instead?"

His brow furrowed in confusion. "That's not the kind of thing she and I usually do together."

"Oh?" she asked, her voice dripping with something that made Bob's skin tingle with goosebumps. "Does she usually recommend books while you're out to dinner? Or do you take her to see her favorite movies?"

She turned off the water and faced him without bothering to dry her hands. His lips parted as he watched the furious looking blush that crept along her chest, up her neck, and to her cheeks.

"I don't really do those things with her either," he said slowly, trying to puzzle his way through this. She sounded almost jealous of Nat, but that couldn't be. That didn't make any sense at all. Anna made it clear she didn't want to be with him.

"Well, you're free to do whatever you want, Bob," she said with a shrug, chin held high. "This is why we're just friends. You've already got plenty of women to choose from, like Suzanne and Natasha, and I'm not about to get caught up in another attractive man who seems too good to be true."

She started to duck past him, but Bob blocked her path. "Whoa, whoa! No, you've got it all wrong." She doubled back the other way, but he stepped to the side until she bumped into him. "Suzanne is my elderly neighbor. And Natasha and I are friends," he said quickly, and he was rewarded with Anna's brown eyes snapping up to meet his. "I've known her for years. She's the pilot I usually fly with."

Anna took one stumbling step backwards toward the sink. Her teeth sank into her lip like earlier before she whispered, "Oh." She swallowed hard, drawing Bob's gaze back to the freckles on her neck as her blush grew deeper. "So you're not... into her?"

His voice sounded deep even to his own ears as he promised, "Not even slightly. Not like I'm into you."

The kitchen went so silent that Bob could hear laughter filtering from the patio through the open door, and Anna's expression softened as she took a tiny step forward. Then another one. Then one more before she was launching herself into his arms. Bob could feel her damp hands in his hair as their lips met, and it was nothing like the way they kissed in his truck. She wasn't tentative, and he didn't pull away as she kissed him harder. This time her body was pressed to his, and she moaned softly when he let his hands settle on her hips.

Anna coaxed him impossibly closer with her fingers in his hair and on the back of his neck, and soon he had her pinned against the edge of the counter. He could feel denim rubbing against denim as she parted her lips and wiggled slowly against him. When Bob swiped his tongue along her bottom lip, Anna let him taste her before her lips drifted along to his neck.

"Fuck," he grunted, squeezing her hips in his hands as his index finger met the soft skin of her lower back. She was sucking gently on the spot just to the left of his Adam's apple, and there was no way she couldn't feel how hard he was getting for her right now.

Those burgundy fingernails were scraping gently along his scalp as he rolled his hips one time against her body. When Anna licked his neck, he forced himself to ask the question that was fluttering around the peripheral of his aroused brain. "Are you going to tell me this is another mistake? Like that night in my truck?"

Anna pulled her lips away from his pulse point long enough to whisper, "It wasn't even a mistake last time. I just couldn't help myself."

Then Bob kissed her lips until she was clinging to him with her back arched against the counter and her hips held tightly in his hands. When he could tell someone was coming inside, he pulled himself away, panting as she tried to chase him for more. He could see the questioning look on her face as he stepped aside just before Mickey and Jake walked inside, arguing about who ate the last hot dog.

Anna turned back toward the sink as she blushed, and Bob was aching to kiss her again. Dying to confirm that she wasn't going to write him off again. He cleared his throat and asked, "Will you let me drive you home later?"

Bob heard her soft laugh and whispered, "Yes." Then with a smile, he took the last can of ginger ale from the refrigerator and set it on the counter next to her. She looked up at him, eyes filled with need as he excused himself back out to the patio where he started to count down the minutes until he could suggest it was late enough to leave.

---------------------------

Anna, you are living the dream, baby! Let him love you the way he wants to! And once again, in Natasha we trust. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 8

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#bob floyd x oc #robert bob floyd x oc #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #robert floyd imagine #bob floyd fic #bob floyd fanfiction #robert floyd x oc #robert floyd fanfiction #robert floyd fic #robert floyd #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #roosterforme #covering the classics

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yuri-is-online · 9 months

Note

Hi! Congratulations on getting more followers! You totally deserve it:)

Can I ask for prompt 5 with Floyd, Idia and Leona?

Thank you<3

5. Jealousy pt.1- seeing their partner wearing someone else's jacket

（＾ワ＾） thank you annon, your words mean a lot. Of course you can! how did i know Floyd was gonna get this prompt

notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu, miscommunication and jealousy but everything ends happy. Check out the rest of the event requests here.

Floyd

Floyd unceremoniously dumps you off his in a secluded corner of the gymnasium hallway. “Shrimpy…" he whines, yanking on the hem of the used gym shirt you are wearing as he uses his other arm to cage you against the wall "where did you get that shirt?” “From the laundry basket in your room this morning?” He had stolen your blazer a few days ago to as a joke so you had impulsively decided to pay him back by snatching something of his. He's always whining about wanting you to wear is clothes anyway, why is he so upset? “It’s yours isn’t it?” “Nah.” Floyd's lips purse in displeasure. “Nah, that's Jade’s not mine. If ya look, he has his name written in stupid little letters on the tag.” Oh. OH. Well, now you just feel stupid and fix your eyes firmly on his shoes. How could you be so stupid? Of course, some of Jade's clothes would be in the room's ONE laundry basket. Hell, you aren't actually sure Floyd uses the hamper now that you think about it. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself for the teasing as you look up prepared to apologize, only to completely lose your train of thought at the sight of Floyd yanking his jersey over his head. “FLOYD!”

“Huh? What’s wrong lil shrimpy?" A very sharp grin emerges from the cloth, though he doesn't bother to take his arms out of the shirt just yet. "I'm on the bench aaaaaaaany way ‘s not like I need it.” “You’ll be cold!” It's the wrong argument to make when he practically has you pinned to the wall. “No I won’t,” he giggles, good mood blown back to life by the flames of your embarrassment “and if you’re that worried just stay here and squeeze me.”

Idia

"You're seriously too unaware for your own good." Idia mutters, wrapping himself further into Jack's jacket as you try to hide yourself in his hoodie. The outline of his hair flickers a gentle pink as the two of you try your best to avoid looking at each other.

"He was just worried about me being cold because I wouldn't stop sneezing during class." Idia's sweatshirt smells surprisingly nice, and once you get the courage to look up at your boyfriend he doesn't look bad in the regular uniform jacket either. Though you have to admit, he is at his cutest when he is comfortable and he definitely is not right now.

"We aren't in the same classes so I miss out on time limited quests like that, huh." He mutters, reaching up to fidget with his headphones while you wonder if touching him would spook him too much. "It's almost like everyone forgets we're together."

"I'd never let them do that!" You decide to risk it, wrapping your arms around Idia's torso in a loose embrace he can escape if he needs to. It forces him to really look you over, taking in the full sight of you in his hoodie and a deep, deep breath.

It makes his hair explode into a beautiful hot pink display.

"On second thought take it off." He squeaks, jumping back from your hug and burying his face in his hands.

"Idia-"

"Quick, I can't handle this much agrro!"

Leona

There is an angel at rest in the furthest corner of the NRC library. Their head is firmly smashed against a text book, leaving a clear dent in their cheek that is threatening to turn into a series of paper cuts. Anyone would look at them and be drawn in...

Which was precisely the problem. Someone had forgotten they had a much more comfortable place to nap and a much more comfortable partner than a stack of old books, and hadn't gone looking for him, forcing Leona to do some work for once. And good thing he decided to go on patrol too, some small brained herbivore had decided to try and push in on his territory. As if sensing his presence, you stir in your sleep slightly and Leona suppresses a smile. Barely.

"Oy." Leona bats the offending jacket off from around your shoulders, resisting the urge to turn it to sand, reminding himself that would be petty and beneath him.

Exactly where that jacket was right now.

"Leona?" You murmur sleepily, trying to resist the temptation to rub your eyes. His heart clenches painfully in denial of how cute you are.

"What are you some sort of cub? Making me come looking for you like this." His insults make you smile for some reason as you reach to shove your books back into your bag blissfully unaware of the jealousy storming behind them.

"Let's go take a nap," you hum, well aware those are some of Leona's favorite words "I had a really nice dream about you, wanna actually wake up in your arms next time." Well now, Leona certainly isn't going to argue with that.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #floyd leech x reader #idia shroud x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #300 followers celebration #i attempted to draw a bunny this time #thank you very much!

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laiiaaa · 1 year

Text

THE PART WHERE YOU KISS ME — JJ MAYBANK

summary: You're stuck with the job of getting a very drunk, very lovesick JJ into bed.

length: 2.4k

contains: tooth-rotting fluff, obsessed boyfriend JJ, soooo touchy he can't keep his hands off of you (can you tell my love language is physical touch lmfao???), mentions of heavy drinking of course, zero plot, he's a flirty little freak and i hate him

note: Not the happiest with this but I haven't posted in a week and I'm in the middle of writing three other pieces right now...so take this as an apology gift for not having the GFAW chapter out yet <3

Driving to the Chateau this late is never ideal, especially when you’re tired and ticked off from a busy shift. Your feet and back ache, your head could use a few Advil, and you would be perfectly happy to stay home and sleep for twelve hours.

But when Kie calls you, groaning and saying Your boyfriend is wasted and won’t shut up about you and you need to come pull him to bed, you go. It’s as simple as that, really. Partially because JJ is already painfully stubborn when sober and only gets worse as the night goes on (code for: he won’t listen to anyone but you), and partly because you get a sweet kick out of his clinginess and extra loving.

So when you finally pull up and hop out of your car, the sound of Pope sighing Finally doesn’t surprise nor offend you. Kie and Sarah scurry over, welcoming you with hugs and jokes about how sorry they are they had to call you while John B and Pope still tend to the drunken blonde.

“It’s alright,” you assure them, “I don’t mind.” And you really don’t, not at all, not when he acts all the more helplessly in love with you.

The bonfire still burns on, red-hot embers breaking off into the midnight sky. Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon plays from a speaker nearby, and beer bottles litter the ground as you approach. The fire’s warmth wraps around you, a handle of Tito’s—only half full—entering your field of vision as you find JJ reclined back on the ground, an arm thrown over his eyes while his other hand taps along to the song. You crouch down next to him and hear him hum in tune.

John B stands behind you, feeling a little helpless. “He’s been talking about you nonstop since he got, like, three shots deep.”

“And as much as we love you guys together,” Sarah adds, leaning into the boy’s side, “He doesn’t listen very well once he gets started.”

You shoot them a smile over your shoulder. “It’s okay, I get it. You guys can head in if you want, this might take a while.” The two lovebirds wave you goodnight as they walk back inside with Kie and Pope, and you turn your attention back to your exceptionally troublesome boy. “JJ? Time to go to bed.”

He grumbles without moving an inch. “I told you to fuck off, Sarah, I just wanna see my girl.”

Your heart flutters at the name—his girl. You’ve never heard him call you that. Does he seriously think you’re Sarah? “Your girl?”

“Yeah, you know the gorgeous one?”

“Might ring a bell.”

“Yeah, well, she’s the most…the most beautiful person in the history of…of forever, and she’s mine, so get outta here n’…go flirt with John B or somethin’.” He lazily waves you off, mumbling something you don’t quite hear.

A smile fights its way to the surface, and you gently place your hand on the smooth plane of his shoulder. “Oh, but I wanted to flirt with you instead. How’s that sound, hm?”

He quickly pushes your touch away. “It sounds like my girl’s gonna kill you any second now, so watch it, Blondie.” He slurs his words as he speaks, pulling giggles from your lips. You gently take his wrist in your hand to remove his arm from his eyes and press a kiss where your fingertips touch him. His eyes stay closed, and he juts his chin in the opposite direction in protest.

“Jay, baby, I’m not killing anyone anytime soon,” you coo, leaning over his chest and face while running a hand through his hair.

He opens one eye, suspicious of your claims, but quickly realizes it’s you, and turns to look at you like he’ll never get the chance to do it again, his expression swallowed by a smile. “When did you get here, baby?”

“Oh, just now,” you answer, laughter lacing your words, “Kie called me over.” You press a kiss to his forehead before sitting back up, your hand quickly taken by his.

“You should’ve come sooner.” His other hand makes its way to your thigh, smoothing over your skin. “I was waiting for you, all by myself, and—” he abruptly sits up— “there’s something I have to tell you,” he whispers. He casts a glance to the Chateau. “It’s top secret.”

With him this close, you can smell the vodka on his breath. “Yeah? What is it?” You loop your arms around his neck and scratch at the nape of his neck, to which he instinctively responds by wrapping his arms around your waist and rubbing the palms of his hands along your back.

“This is top secret, classified information, princess, you can’t just get it for free. Everything comes with a price.” A sly little grin comes over him, tugging you a little closer.

Knowing JJ, you already know where this is headed. You decide to play along anyway: “Name it, then. I’m sure we can strike a deal somehow.”

He mulls over his words before saying, “Hear me out.”

“I’m listening.”

“You—” he points at your chest— “give me three—no, five kisses for the info up front.” When you raise your eyebrows in suspicion, he continues, “And every follow up question is worth another kiss.”

“This must be very important information.”

“Very.” His hands, still soaking in the feeling of you beneath them, start to play with the hem of your tank top, fingertips slipping beneath the fabric to feel skin. “Better pay up soon.”

You feign a look of shock and place a hand on his chest. “I didn’t even agree yet, don’t get too excited.”

He pouts with furrowed brows, convinced his offer would be impossible to resist. “Why? Baby, come on,” he urges, holding you tighter, “This is the part where you kiss me.” His eyelids droop with drunkenness and fatigue as he presses his lips to your neck, but you quickly take his jaw in your hand and pull him away.

“Ah ah ah,” you tease. “You come to bed first, then I’ll give you kisses for your secrets.”

“But I don’t wanna go to bed.” His hands work their way from your waist down to your hips again, soon grazing your thighs the way he knows erupts butterflies in your stomach. “I wanna stay here with you…have you boss me around. You’re very sexy when you do it.” He smirks while looking up at you, and you know for a fact he’s just trying to push your buttons.

You roll your eyes and push his face away as you start to stand up. “You’re a pain in the ass, I hope you know that.” As bitter as you try to sound, you’ll always have a soft spot for him the way he does for you, especially when your bitterness is met with that beautiful smile of his. You hold out both hands, towering over him and urging him to stand. “C’mon, Jay.”

He leans his weight onto his hands, stubborn as always. “Will you stay the night?”

“Not if you keep this up, I won’t.” You lend him a condescending smile.

“But Baby,” he groans, finally complying now that the stakes have been raised. “I haven’t seen you all day, and I miss you.” He starts to shuffle where he sits, taking hold of your hands as you pull him up, dizziness causing him to stumble into your arms. “Can’t a boy just get some love from his girl?”

There he goes again—his girl.

You loop his arm over your shoulder and wrap yours around his waist as you lead him into the Chateau, surrounded by his warmth and the smell that’s so distinctly him: a bit of beachiness, mandarin and musky from his body wash, a hint of marijuana.

“You’re very kind,” he rambles on, “for coming here so late. I missed you.”

“I know, baby. You told me.”

He makes his way up the steps with you, following as you open the door. “Well, I’m making sure you’re sure.”

“I’m sure, love.” You smile to yourself, a little caught off guard with how open he’s become.

“I still have to tell you that top secret information,” he whispers, leaning down to your ear-level. His body wraps around you as you stand in front of him to open the door to his bedroom, his arms start to wrap around your waist again. “And you still owe me kisses for it.”

You usher him into his room, shutting the door behind you. “C’mon, let’s get into bed. That was the rule.”

He does as you wish without complaint for once, though when he does sit at the edge of his bed, he also pulls you to stand in between his legs. “I’m in bed now.”

“I can see that,” you giggle, hands massaging his neck and shoulders.

“Does this mean you’ll give me a kiss now?”

“Not yet.” You tug at the fabric of his shirt. “Take this off, please?” You don’t think much when you say it, but once the words slip out and you see JJ’s brows raise as a cocky smirk crosses his face, you realize you need to cover your tracks.

He bites his tongue to oblige, nabbing the back of his tee before pulling it over his head. Revealed to you are his broad shoulders, his chest, those toned arms that are, admittedly, to die for, though you’d never tell him that directly.

“You’re trying to undress me, baby?” he asks, too quick for you to correct yourself. His hands take purchase of your hips before taking up your thighs, his hands molding to your curves and getting treacherously close to your inner thighs.

Your face goes hot—why is he so good at this?—but you keep a straight face and grab his face, one hand cupping his jaw while the other supports the back of his head. “Do you want your kiss or not?”

“Yes ma’am,” he responds, almost immediately. His eyes glaze over, entranced by everything you are. A drunk smile is sent your way, and he can’t really tell whether the tingling all over his body is just from the vodka, or if it’s your hands on his body, your snippy tone that he knows is full of love. He’s sure that no matter how flustered he can make you, it’ll never compare to how you make him feel with even the slightest of touches.

Your grip goes soft, and you rake your hand through his hair, his eyes falling shut and his head gone slack into your hands. “You’re beyond wasted, aren't you?”

He laughs heartily now, eyes still shut as he nods his head. “I can’t keep my eyes open any longer, princess.” Giggles line his words and his face scrunches in a smile, dimple on display.

“How much did you drink?”

“A few beers.”

“And?” You tug lightly on his hair.

“Mm, some vodka, maybe. A few shots.” His hands drag from the backs of your thighs, to your hips, to your waist.

“JJ.” You stare down at his clearly vodka-dazed face. “How many is a few?”

He hums to himself, as deep in thought one can be when wasted. “Maybe seven…or nine…don’t remember,” he mumbles.

You sigh to yourself, not surprised by his recklessness but still not all too happy with it.

But before you can formulate a single thought, a single articulated response, he starts to pout—eyes still closed of course, because your boy is nothing if not a truth-teller. “You sound mad.” Even when wasted he knows you so well.

“I’m not,” you fib a little, for his own sake. You kiss his forehead, then his cheek before letting go of him entirely to pull back the covers for him. “Come on, time to sleep, yeah?” You give a soft tug on his hand as his body goes pliant.

He slowly but surely crawls properly into bed, giving you a show of his back muscles flexing and relaxing before falling face-first into his pillow with a hmph. You lay down next to him as he lifts his arm with all his might, slowly turning onto his side to make space for you. Legs intertwine without words, the warmth of his body blankets your senses, his weight grounds you.

“You need to hurry, princess. I need to…need to give you the information.” The words are half-muffled by his pillow, and his eyes are still shut.

“Oh. We’re still doing that?” You’re surprised he even remembers the information at this point—whatever it might be.

He squeezes you tighter into his body, pulling a smile from you as he groans. “Yes, we’re still doing that…it’s important. You need three more…”

“Okay, okay,” you soothe, and you press a kiss to his shoulder. “Does that count?”

“Mhm, two more.” A stupid, drunk, terribly charming grin crosses his face, and it feels like you’re falling for him all over again, teetering at the edge of a cliff. His arm, still heavy on your waist, shifts a little, and his fingers dance along your back and light fires where they touch.

You curl your hand, gently, along the crook of his neck and kiss his jaw. “And that counts as well?”

With the way you’re whispering your words into his neck, JJ swears he could die happily. “Mm, sure does.”

For the fifth and final kiss, the corner of his mouth. It curls into your kiss like he knew it was coming, and you give him one more just for good measure—and, maybe, because seeing him smile is worth his weight in gold. You brush your hand through his hair before hugging him a little tighter towards your chest, all too aware now that you won’t be getting any information out of him the rest of the night. This minor inconvenience, however, doesn’t seem to compare to having him in your arms, his breath against your neck, his arm wrapped around you to tell you he’s there, and he’s there to stay, and he wants to be there more than anywhere else.

You think that you could play this game a million times over. The part where you kiss him—that is, when his lovely, sweet little smile peeks through that rough shell—will never get old enough to retire.

(But for tonight, you can live without more of his drunken teasing. Just for tonight.)

#jj maybank #jj outer banks #jj obx #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank fluff #jj obx fic #jj obx imagine #jj maybank x you #outer banks #obx #obx fic #obx imagine #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank outer banks #jj maybank fic

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honey-milk-depresso · 1 year

Text

“He wonders…” TWST boys dreaming about their crush (Heartslabyul)

Ace Trappola

Ace would never admit it to you that he actually fell for you. And hard. Most of the time he just tried to cover it up by teasing you a lot. In reality, Ace can’t help but constantly dream about you all the time. And he hates it.

The thought of your laughter and smile while he drones out makes him dazed and hypnotised while in the middle of class, before he’s snapped back to reality by the teacher sharply calling for his name with a stone cold glare to wake him up.

When he’s in his basketball match and you suddenly pop up in his head in a pretty outfit while asking him out on a date, his lips subconsciously pouting a little while his cheeks darkened in red shade by just a tad bit, eyes clearly not focus… and he gets hit straight in the face by the ball.

He went to the infirmary for that one, since Floyd threw it to his face a bit to hard and it gave him a nosebleed. Ace hates it that you came to the infirmary to see him, with a worried look and nagged at him things that ring out white noise to him as he starts to dream of you again while you’re here.

The effect you have on him is very clear to Ace, that you are bold enough to run rent-free in his head almost everyday and not spare him an ounce of mercy. You’re the one teasing him all the time. That’s so unfair, as if he’s in a game he has no chance of winning.

His cheeks slowly turn red again, and he looks away. “Excuse me? Are you even listening to me? I said be careful next time!” You grabbed his face by cupping his cheeks and turning him towards you. “I was seriously worried you broke your nose!”

His dreamy thoughts of you raced in his head once more. You’ll be the death of him until he could finally utter out his confession. <3

Deuce Spade

The moment he fell for you, his teenage hormones didn’t help him even try to repress it. Once he dreamed about you, he really dreamed about you.

From how he dreamt about you on a date with him on a motorbike, or the both of you having a picnic together, to dreaming of you in a white dress… n-no wait, t-that’s too early- w-wha- “WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?!” He shouted in the middle of the hallway while walking to class, suddenly embarrassed he yelled that while other students were around.

Every time he dreams of you, he makes it obvious that he is, unintentionally. Deuce would look dazed and almost vulnerable, cheeks flushed slightly pink, and most importantly, smiling stupidly to himself as his cheeks rest on his hands. Of course, Ace would take advantage of this to scare him while in this state, but even then would Ace start to get bored of it. Because he’s still not making a move.

He wants to tell you his little (very much an understatement) crush on you… but when you really face him he suddenly goes quiet and talks about everything but his confession. Not only that, he knows he dreams about you, and Deuce feels rather guilty for doing so and can’t overcome his shyness because of it.

As a result, Deuce came to his seniors for advice and all of them said the same thing: it’s better out of your system now than later. His dreams of you became more and more frequent, where he can’t help but wonder what it would be like to pursue a romantic relationship with you. “Deuce?”

Deuce blinked, suddenly realising he was with you in PE Class and he’s just sitting down looking aimlessly. “Come on, silly. Don’t doze off in the middle of class,” you smiled. He blushed, he was dreaming of you again. It’s now or never for his dreams to become reality… <3

Trey Clover

It’s not easy knowing if he’s dreaming or not, and he rarely does anyways. He doesn’t even know how could ever dream something so sappy and romantic… until he does.

Trey would only realise he ever has a crush on you the moment he realises he spent 5 minutes thinking about you without realising he was. He dreamt about how you two would bake together, smear frosting and batter on each other, laughing together as he hugs you from behind…

…Ah. He definitely has a crush on you. As much as Trey want to deny it, the thoughts of you loving him in a way that most definitely wouldn’t be classed as “just friends” is something he can’t reject either. So he sort of just… accepts the fact he does indeed have a crush on you.

Trey ultimately treats you the same: your kind upperclassman you can always come asking for his help. It’s just that he makes himself more obvious that he wants the relationship to bloom into something more, and open up parts of him you that he doesn’t often show. He can be a mischievous little guy if you really ask for it~ ofc he is I hate him Argh *kisses him* >://

When his dreams of you frolicking in a field of daisies while smiling warmly at each other with loving eyes makes him really embarrass, and it’s something Cater definitely teases him about because it’s just so sappy, he still wonders. And he wonders if you dreamt of him in similar situations. Not in a creepy way but… he’s be really happy if you do, he hopes you do. Because that way, he knows that perhaps his feelings are being reciprocated.

When the time is right, when the both of you are alone in the kitchen, when you two are fooling around with oblivious joy, to not care about what anyone says about the two of you teasing each other with frosting and toppings… he would tell you… tell you tha-

“Trey? Are you gonna tell me the recipe on what we’re baking today?” You giggled, snapping him out of his thoughts. Huh… his own dream had come true. Now it’s only a matter of time, just when it’s right. “Oh! Of course. I have a little surprise for you afterwards, I hope it makes you happy.” <3

Cater Diamond

He shamelessly dreams of the both of you on dates, taking couple selfies together, and so much more. The only thing is that Cater doesn’t tell anyone that, although Trey pretty much has a hunch of who he’s thinking about when he sighs dreamily with a love stricken smile.

Cater dreams very fondly over each selfie you took with him, dreaming that one of those selfies would have you kissing his cheek, or the other way around whichever you prefer. Every flirt he sends your way back then was always platonic, and you knew. But now, it seems that he desperately hopes you do pick up that there’s something slightly different.

He dreams you picked up on his flirts and just kiss him on the spot, he dreams you fell in love the moment he fell for you too, he dreams that one day the both of you could live together… wait- JFKSKDJF OKAY WOW- HE WENT THAT FAR HUH-

Cater smiled sheepishly to himself, blushing furiously as the sudden realisation hits him that his feelings for you has grown beyond just a crush. Like a… super crush…crush. Yeah, that’s it. That’s gotta be trending.

Trey shakes his head as he listens to Cater ranting about how stupid he is for realising (and as if Trey would have DEFINITELY immediately know he had a crush on anyone I wish it was me-/hj )and tells him he should really try to tell you since you’re not really picking up on any signs he throws in. “It’s either you do or you don’t Cater,” Trey’s words would always ring in his head.

If only he could skip pass the whole confession anxiety and cut straight into the acceptance of being in a romantic relationship. If only he could… “It’s either you do or you don’t, Ca-”

“Cater?” “Gah!” The poor boy being startled by you, causing you to flinch. “I-is there something wrong?” “Wrong? Me?? Pshhh, nah, never!” “…you’re not a very good liar right now.” He sighs, suddenly feeling his cheeks burning hot. It’s either you do or you don’t…

“Well, maybe one thing’s on my mind…” <3

Riddle Rosehearts

He dreams about you the moment he fell for you, but the latter feels quite guilty about it. He knows what he’s thinking are romantic fantasies but why does he dream of such when he shouldn’t? When you two clearly establish that you two were only friends?

His dreams of you at a tea party where your hands covered his, or how the two of you play croquet alone with one another, or how the two of you kiss under the rose shelter… no. He shouldn’t… Riddle believes that his thoughts were unacceptable, especially when you two are friends. And you think you two were only friends, right? Then he can’t.

Unfortunately his dreams turned him to spending less time with you, so that he’d stop dreaming of you in such way. Of course, it didn’t work. He dreamt of you more frequently than before, and sometimes even nightmares of you leaving from him for good. He knew deep down he wanted you to stay, but why such dreams?

“Well it’s pretty normal to feel some romantic feelings for your friend. I mean I had a crush on someone when I was a kid, of course, backfired hard and we moved on.” “Trey, that doesn’t sound like a good example.” “Aha… well, I wasn’t serious about it since I wasn’t thinking serious, but if you really are serious about those dreams you have of them, Riddle, you should just tell them. You never know, maybe they feel the same way about you, too.”

The boy pondered for a while. “You feel the same way”… what if you do? And yet again he dreams again. He made it his plan, to apologise to you and explain why he did so, and tell you he’s come to accept his feelings and confess. Simple, practical and straightforward. He just hopes you think it’s genuine, because he really is.

He’s thought of the scenario over and over again, smiling softly to himself about how you’d nod your head and throw yourself at him to hug Riddle, and- “R-Riddle..?” He perked his head up with a startled look. You were right in front of him, suddenly bumping into you. “Er… how are you?” You smiled sadly, and he remembered how he had secluded you from himself. “W-wait, y/n I… I’m sorry…” “A-about what?” With his cheeks tinted pink, he took a deep breath… <3

Reblogs help!^^

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virtualluvr · 4 months

Note

Since Floyd canonically journals [written in the Brozone website], maybe something where his journal was left open accidentally and reader catches a glimpse of a page where he's gushing about them?? :3

FLOYD — TROLLS

BYEYYE sorry for disappearing, and for how short this is..i just wanted to feed u guys a lil smth smth

Floyd likes to spill his thoughts and many emotions into his journal. He finds it very relaxing and less embarrassing than telling someone, especially his brothers. (who would tease him..) he ALSO keeps it very private, putting a small lock on it to keep it from opening incase someone wants to read it.

He’s told you very few about it, he calls it ‘just a hobby’,,even though it looks super heavy and stacked..also how he hides it in his pod very well. So it was to your surprise (and his demise..>.>) when you found it wide open in his pod.

Maybe he was in a rush— no, he wouldn’t make such a silly mistake- You shook your head and looked around, a little suspicous if this was a trap or not. Nevertheless, you slowly approached the decorated book, a smile creeping on your face from excitement.

Your hands smoothed around the material, it was as heavy as you expected but not overly, the edges had a few scratches as if it was thrown around. Probably when he hides it. You quickly flipped through the pages, there were multiple writings about his day or random lyrics he wrote down with small doodles.

Although one page caught your eye.

The page had scattered hearts, swirls, and words written in pink ink. Floyd would definitely kill you if you read it…but hes not here.

“ i think i’ve come to realize my feelings for name. i’ve noticed how i care about them more than others, and how they’re always on my mind. they listen to me. they’re so...so kind and considerate. im always so nervous around them, maybe because their laugh is adorable, or because their smile is breathtaking. everything about them is perfect i could go on, maybe it could fill up my journal. ”

Your face felt as if it was on fire as you dropped the book in disbelief. When did your heart start beating faster?

The two of you had met after the band broke up, you listened to his frustrations and comforted him. Ever since you and Floyd were inseperable, always walking side by side, talking about anything and everything. So it was no surprise when you started to feel a different way about him.

As if on queue Floyd rushed in, his heart dropping when he saw your shocked expression and his journal laid on the floor. His throat was clogged, and he froze. His eyes trailed on the page it was open to, his breath hitching when be realized it was that one.

“name…I-” Floyd looked at the floor in shame, his arm smoothing on the other. Why did he leave it lying there in the first place?! And why did you—how did you even get in?

“I feel the same way Floyd. I actually think it’s cute how you described me. I’m sorry I invaded your privacy.” you quickly reacted, squeezing your fists and eyes shut.

“Oh thank god.”

@VIRTUALLUVR — dont copy my work, paste it, or steal !

#brozone x reader #fanfic #trolls #trolls 3 #trolls dreamworks #trolls x reader #brozone #trolls band together #trolls band together x reader #trolls fandom #floyd brozone #floyd x reader #trolls floyd

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xxkiller-muffinxx · 4 months

Text

As long as you're here.

Floyd x reader (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

Summary: You and Floyd met when Floyd was still in brozone, but when the band separated so did you. That is until you were both captured by the mediocre artists of Veneer and velvet. Not that you care much though, your fine and healthy and your with your favorite person again.

Words: 1380

Warnings: angst, semi-cliffhanger if I plan to do a part 2

A/N: this is so rushed you guys, it's genuinely painful, but also it has most of the elements I wanted to include so if y'all would please be so kind as to like this if you enjoyed it that'd make my little heart so happy. In other words: stay golden and enjoy. Lemme know if y'all want a part 2!

✦✧✦

You groaned at your hurt vocal chords after going to another concert just that week. You wondered if you'd have a larynx of steel by the end of the month. You didn't have backstage tickets so you wandered a little ways away until you were far enough to cool off in the cool night air.

What an incredible concert, I mean you could've had more of the sensitive troll but hey! It still rocked your world. You took a few deep breaths to get rid of that post-concert buzz. You jolted to life when you heard a twig snap.

You heard the faint curses of a troll followed by a sad sigh. Your gaze Met the back of his pink haired head, and your heart dropped. You covered your mouth before a fangirl scream could fall out. You took a deep, deep breath before rising and looking at him.

He seemed startled when you spoke. “Hey… you okay there?” you said with as little excitement you could muster. However it still wasn't enough to make him think you weren't a fan.

Once he calmed down he turned away from you. “Hi. Uh…if you want an autograph just say so.” He mumbled, just clear enough for you to make out. He sat on a log, and soon enough you joined him.

“Autograph?” You whispered in return, surprised he'd assume such a thing. Then you realized he proba got that a lot more than he did comfort. “No, no, I don’t want an autograph, I'm genuine. Are you okay?” You placed a gentle, sweet hand on his shoulder.

He looked at you and it seemed like there was a switch in his whole attitude. From melancholy to downright depressed. He wiped his eyes before any tears could fall. “Sorry you have to see me like this.”

“Don’t apologize, it’s natural.” You sat next to him, looking into his eyes. “Talk to me, Floyd.”

Floyd’s eyes widened slightly at the use of his name and he seemed lost for a second. Should he talk to you? Probably not, but this is the most comfort he’s gotten in ages, so he just breaks.

He tells you everything, and in just a few hours you’re already wrapped around each other's fingers. Floyd leaning into your shoulder and you holding him tight. Letting his pain be heard. He sniffled hard and lifted his face, tears covering his poor cheeks and puffy red eyes.

You giggled at the sight, something about this whole thing was surreal. “You okay now?” you ask with a smile on your lips and in your voice. Floyd doesn’t respond verbally. Instead he just nods. Still leaning his head into your shoulder.

At some point he had grabbed onto your hand, desperate never to let go. Now he’s gently playing with your fingers. Waiting for you to tell him to stop. Which you wouldn’t.

He looked up into your eyes quickly. “Thank you for staying with me.” He whispered. You nodded your head and stroked his hand with your thumb. Then it dawned on you.

“I uh, I’m so sorry this was pretty forward of me if I’m honest, I haven’t even introduced myself.” You stood up and offered him your hand. You gently declare your name, your cheeks flushed in embarrassment at how forward you had been with him. Maybe it was because you already felt close to him. Considering he was your favorite band member.

Floyd stared into your eyes and cleared his throat. His gaze flickered away from yours and you hesitated. Ready to take back your hand at any moment. Just then his hand met yours. A chill ran down your spine as his cold contrasted with your warmth.

Your eyes stare at your connected hands, and then onto his face. His eyes were large with friendliness, but overshadowed by exhaustion and uncertainty. “It’s okay. I don’t mind at all.” He would say. You nodded slightly. Then squeezed his hand.

“I should…I should go-”

“Yeah…yeah that’s probably for the best. I gotta get home.”

“Yeah yeah. I’ll let you do that.” You said awkwardly before turning on your heel and skulking off elsewhere where you’re needed.

Floyd chuckled slightly as he watched you go away, then he heard his name being called. Despite his initial disappointment he decided maybe as long as you were there it wouldn’t be so bad.

❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿

Many years have passed since then.

You reminisce on an old photo of you and Floyd. It was directly after another concert, the last concert before he and his brothers disappeared off the face of the earth. You kept that photo, thinking one day you'd get to see Floyd again. However, considering your current situation it was unlikely.

Trapped, inside a purple diamond with nothing to hear except thoughts and teenage screaming laughter. You were tired of it, but not afraid. Velvet and Veneer were a duo of teenagers you hated with a burning passion. You were their test dummy, to see if they could steal the song of a troll. Which you wished was impossible.

Unfortunately, today would prove to be the effect of your situation.

Velvet’s nagging voice screams in your ears as she and her brother return for a spritz. The sound of another diamond being slammed into the table cause you to have a brain reboot. You looked up and saw Velvet more excited than ever.

She was singing multiple riffs over and over, it was annoying. which made you realize that she found another troll. One more musical than you. You immediately looked at the bottle beside you. It's color colliding with yours, making it incredibly difficult to see inside of it. You didn't dare speak until the cruel duo parted.

“Psst. Hey.” you whispered to the other bottle. Trying to see who it was. They didn't respond immediately so you kept prying. “Hey…fellow inmate. I come in peace.” You joked, trying to lighten the mood despite being devoid of much joy yourself. “Please? I could use some social interaction.”

Silence followed, as if you were alone all over again. Then you began thinking. No one is there, it's hopeless. You're alone and you're going to die alone. There's no need to pretend like one day you'll have a friend here because you never will. You need to just give up already-

Then, as if by chance, a quiet voice says your name. A familiar voice. A hand presses itself against the glass and the two of you make eye contact. “Is it really you?” he says, and then a pit drops in your stomach, but pure joy fills your skull.

You gasp and move closer to him. “Floyd? Yes! Yes, it's me!” you groan as you lean your cheek into the glass. “I'm so glad to see you, but what are you doing here!” You pulled your cheek away and crossed your arms. Your eyes gentle on his familiar exhaustion.

Floyd laughed nervously then frowned. He turned and leaned on the diamond casing and slid to the ground. You mimicked him and he quietly acknowledged this. “It all happened so fast that…I just don't want to talk about it.” He seemed deeply saddened, like his whole world was crumbling before him. It really made you stop and think.

“I get that. I got a little too curious and wound up here myself. Sucks huh?”

“How can you get too curious and get locked up for it?”

“I got curious about this place and I didn't realize the song would be sucked out of me for it! Give me a break!”

That made Floyd laugh, but then he shook his head. “We have to get out of here.” Floyd said, his arms wrapping around his knees.

“Good luck with that.” you huffed. “I've been here for ages and there's no exit in sight,” you admit, a frown on your lips. You tossed your head back into the purple shield and sighed softly. “At least I have you to spend eternity with.”

Floyd looked at you. “I bet it won't be eternity, but as long as we're together, I'm okay. We're okay.” he said as he relaxed into the glass. You nodded, sighing up into your enclosure.

“Yeah, we're okay. Together.”

#trolls x reader #trolls floyd #trolls franchise #trolls fanfiction #trolls band together #trolls fanfic #trolls fandom #trolls #floyd x reader #trolls floyd x reader #trolls 3 #fanfiction #dreamworks trolls #dreamworks animation #dreamworks fanfiction

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ninjaturtlemaniac · 4 months

Text

Part 1 Trolls Headcanons/ Theories/ Thoughts/ Ideas

Part2 Part3 Part4 Part5 Part6 Part7 Part8 Part9 Part10

Trolls - in general Trolls are pretty rare outside their usual kingdoms and it's considered good luck to meet one.

Brozone - drastically changed their looks coz they hate that they used to dress the same.

Bruce - one of those dads who would get a new barbeque and show off all the cool features to the other local dads.

Bruce - "No kids, we're not keeping that stray animal, end of story, no way..." - 1 week later and he's giving it kisses and building it an over the top kennel with a heated blanket and a water fountain.

Bruce - (canon?) carried all their eggs, indirect reason why his hair is so big. (Side note - I read somewhere someone called all their kids 'The Bakers Dozen' and I frigging love that)

Floyd - solo career after he left Brozone - all his songs were PINK FLOYD SONGS! (Maybe that could've been his stage name?)

Floyd - his hair is naturally pink but JD made him make it redder because 'we're a boyband and pink is a girls colour'

John Dory - has embarrassing baby pictures of his brothers as leverage

John Dory - over-exaggerates his retellings of stories "I fought off 30 no no no 40 snakes with one hand behind my back."

John Dory - always casually asking Poppy, Brandy and Viva to marry him, over small things too "Brandy, these pancakes are delicious, marry me."

Clay - writes long and very detailed critical reviews of restaurants

Clay - has reading glasses. Probably the ones that attach magnetically at the nose ridge.

Clay - labels everything (labelmaker is to Clay as Gary is to Branch)

Clay - very into color coded itineraries and always know everyone's business "Poppy is currently at Smidge's pod doing her hair" "How could you possibly know that?" "I have my sources."

Clay - also a notary and registered marriage celebrant

Clay - hair was always naturally green but JDs hair was already green. JD said he had to be yellow for the band, they needed that color coordinated group vibe.

Clay - has drafts for his own book series

Clay - actually plays golf

Clay - gets clumsy when trying to impress someone he admires (imagine him meeting King Peppy and he just knocks things over)

Clay - competitive af - brothers know better than to verse him at anything - has an over the top victory dance

Viva - that concept art of tiny Viva is the age she was when they escaped the Troll Tree. So like 15 maybe?

Viva - wants to make up for all the missed holidays/birthdays/parties with Poppy so she is constantly popping out from places with gifts yelling SURPRISE!

Branch - for Pop Trolls - being in a famous singing group is the equivalent of being a recognized expert in your field. So the fact that Branch is in TWO famous boy bands is like he has several PhDs.

Branch - Kismet formed inside a group home for Trollings

Poppy and Vivas mother - my theory is that they managed to keep princess Viva a secret from the Bergens. They chose the Queen for Trollstice when they discovered what they thought was her first egg. The Troll Tree escape plan came about when Chef promised the new royal trolling for the young Bergen prince.

#trolls #dreamworks trolls #trolls floyd #trolls john dory #trolls branch #trolls brozone #trolls viva #trolls clay #trolls bruce #trolls queen poppy #queen poppy

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outpost-31 · 2 years

Text

fun facts . apollo canonically loves pink floyd and the bee gees. that's all

#rambles #apollo tag #specifying this because i know hes kivking and kicking his feet and daydreaming everytime more than a woman comes on #+ his stand is named after a pink floyd song. he loves a saucerful of secrets

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drabbles-mc · 2 months

Text

Help Me Out

Bob Floyd x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, alcohol, nervous Bob, Hangman being a little bit of a dick

With the help of This Prompt List by @creativepromptsforwriting and my trusty Wheel of Names with every character I’ve ever written for, I’m aiming to write a fic in 500 words or less every day of March. We’ll see how far we get!

Prompt: blooming

Word Count: 500

A/N: i almost broke my 500-word maximum for this challenge over these two lmao. maybe i'll come back to them sometime down the road because i do adore them so 🥰

You were no stranger to the shenanigans that were always taking place at The Hard Deck. While the place was known as a home away from home for all the people stationed at the Naval base, you were just lucky enough to be a local.

Over the years you’d watched countless officers come and go, some returning, some happier about it than others. You didn’t really know many of them, and even fewer of them knew you, but you were okay with that. The nature of it all was so fleeting anyway.

You were about to order yourself another drink when a man sauntered up next to you. You ignored him for a couple seconds until you felt how his stare wasn’t diverting from you. Letting out a sigh, you turned to face him.

“Can I help you…” you looked at the tag pinned to his uniform, “Seresin?”

He chuckled, unbothered by your tone. “Me? No.” He shook his head to emphasize his point before gesturing to a group lingering over by the billiards tables. “But I’m thinking maybe you could help my friend out over there.”

You were about to ask which ‘friend’ he was referring to when you realized that out of the handful of men on the other side of the bar, all except one of them were laughing, and the one who wasn’t had a dark red blush blooming across his cheeks. He might’ve been the only man in that bar you’d ever felt real sympathy for and you didn’t even know his name.

“Doesn’t look like he wants any help.”

“Oh, he does. He just doesn’t know it.”

“Look, I’m not—”

“Bobby!” he cut you off as he waved his friend over, “Come by this girl a drink.”

If it were possible, you were certain that he would’ve melted off the stool he was sitting on and rendered himself a puddle on the floor. Since he couldn’t swing that, though, he forced himself to stand and nervously make his way over to you.

When he arrived, Seresin clapped him on the back with a smirk that spelled out nothing good. “Whatever the lady wants, alright?” He laughed as he started walking away. “Little pick-me-up for both of you.”

His eyes were glued to the floor for the world’s longest five seconds before he looked back up at you, face still a deep red. “I’m real sorry, miss. He just—”

“What was your name?” you asked, tone soft and kind.

He cleared his throat. “B-Bob.”

You smiled and gestured to the empty stool beside you. “Sit. Next round on me, Bob, alright?”

He shook his head as he sat down. “You really don’t have to—”

You leaned in, putting your hand on top of his, noticing how his eyes blew wide open for a moment. “I want to. Besides,” your eyes darted towards where the rest of his crew was standing and watching, “serves them right.”

Face still pink, he smiled and nodded. “O-okay.”

#top gun #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #bob floyd #robert floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd x you #x reader #x reader fic #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc #bob floyd fanfiction

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merakiui · 1 year

Note

hi hi!! Thank you so much for doing this event!! TwT can I get sweet lollipops (abo friends with benefits to eventually lovers!!) with candy hearts (accidental knotting/pregnancy?) for our lovely alpha Floyd?

I hope I got that right! 💜

floyd leech x (gender neutral) reader cw: nsfw, abo/omegaverse, knotting, friends with benefits, omega!reader, alpha!floyd, heats note - thank you for checking in, dearest guest! enjoy your order! [lunar love hotel]

i. “this is just a one-time thing, okay?”

Celebrations at the Mostro Lounge are always extravagant events, luring in crowds so large the premises might resemble that of an overpacked sardine tin if it weren’t for Azul’s careful foresight. To avoid any unsavory issues, tonight’s celebration—a birthday party for a staff member—is strictly limited to Octavinelle residents and those working tonight’s shift, save for the exception that the birthday celebrant was permitted to invite friends from other dorms.

The lounge reflects this upbeat occasion, decorated in banners and streamers, confetti, and seashell-shaped light strands—all in pastel purples, blues, yellows, and pinks, colors resembling the shiny, waterlogged treasures found deep within the Coral Sea. There’s a buffet table that’s situated in the center of the room with snacks and desserts of all kinds, piled humorously high on silver platters that have not yet fallen over due to some special enchantment. Partygoers are scattered all throughout the lounge, some filling plates for themselves and others chatting around booths and in front of the massive aquarium, its aquatic illumination casting everything in cerulean hues.

You stand behind the bar drying and arranging crystal champagne flutes, a task so monotonous you’re lucky to listen in on nearby conversations to keep your brain perfectly sane. There are plenty of cloying smells that fill the lounge like helium inside a balloon, far more distracting than the scents of pastries and fruity, fizzy beverages. Your nose wrinkles at the distinctness of every alpha, omega, and beta in this room, some so robust you can practically taste them as they fog your brain with an unshakable haze.

Standing beside you, Azul works to mix and pour drinks, keeping up with each order in timely, flawless fashion. The clinking of glass and metal shakers brings you back to the present.

“You seem to be wearing quite the pensive look. A Madol for your thoughts?” Azul remarks without looking from the floor laid out before the both of you, his eyes scanning each and every partygoer, tallying them within his mind like they’re prey he’s preparing to net in one fell swoop.

You swallow a thick, awkward laugh, shaking your head to rid yourself of the cotton that’s been stuffed into your ears. Even the music spilling out of the speakers in loud, wild notes—courtesy of the birthday playlist assembled by the birthday boy and his friends—is muffled beyond comprehension, coming to you in a distant echo. You rub your shoe against the hardwood floor; it’s got a heartbeat, but that could just be because of the pounding music.

“(Name)?”

“Right. Thoughts. Madol. Yes,” you say with great haste, smacking your lips in a way that makes you look as if you’ve just tasted the air. And you are, technically, with every inhale and exhale. Amongst the many pheromones tinging the room, the ones that radiate from the alphas smell the most enticing. You blink through a sudden, all-consuming dizzy spell, head spinning. “I’m not thinking...about anything.”

Azul peers at you from his peripheral. “If you feel unwell, you’re welcome to take your break. I can handle things from here.”

“I’ll be fine...” You wipe sweat from your brow and tug at your collar. “Are you hot? It feels really hot in here.”

His brows knit together for a mere moment before a knowing glint flashes in his perceptive blues. It dawns on you, when he takes the glass from your trembling hands and sets it on the counter, that you are not as fine as you were a few moments ago. And both of you seem to have arrived at the same reason for why that might be.

“From one omega to another,” he murmurs, yet his voice sounds much clearer in this moment, “I suggest you take the rest of the night off before it catches up to you.”

You debate the suggestion, which is actually more of an order veiled within soft syllables, and you’re ready to insist you can power through it when your knees almost give out altogether when a particularly strong smell hits you. You slam your hands down upon the counter to keep your balance.

“This better not come out of my pay,” you mutter through grit teeth.

Azul barks out a laugh. “Why, I would never! We’re of the same sub-gender, after all. Naturally, we have to look out for one another.”

You try to roll your eyes, but it only makes you dizzier. You’ve done your best to ignore it so far, but now it’s impossible to not feel the slick that’s dampening your undergarments and rolling down your thighs in thick rivulets.

“Shall I send a beta to accompany you on your way back?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Azul looks like he wants to argue you on that, but instead he turns away to resume his current task. “Then I wish you a pleasant evening. Be safe.”

Pleasant, you think with bitter resentment. As if any of this is ever pleasant.

Luckily, the booming music and the absurd amount of scents within the lounge all but drowns yours out, allowing you to slip through the exit to follow the path that leads to Octavinelle's shadowed halls. The sprawling ocean looks much darker through the glass, as if it’s simply a liquid outer space or an endless abyss. Either one sounds equally terrifying. You stop your stagger-walk to lean against the cool surface, hoping to regain your sense of awareness. Shutting your eyes only makes you even more tipsy, so you press your forehead to the glass and exhale slowly.

It takes a moment for the world to stop tilting, but once it does you peel yourself away from the glass and continue to stumble onwards. In hindsight, you shouldn’t have decided to test fate when your calendar detailed your approaching heat, but that’s the least of your worries now. Not much can be done when it’s already upon you. Although you really wish it would have chosen to inconvenience you tomorrow when you weren’t set to work at the lounge.

The music is but a mere hum now, so distant it almost isn’t there, but you immediately forget about it when your shoe catches on something at the end of the hall, which sends you tumbling forwards. You land on frigid, unforgiving tiles with a harsh smack, and though the pain trickles through you it isn’t enough to distract you from the soothing scent of fresh rainfall. You blink through tears, forcing yourself to sit up, and find yourself staring into the face of Floyd Leech.

And he’s staring right back.

“F-Floyd? Didn’t you...” You inhale a deep breath, a poor move on your part because his smell encapsulates you entirely, and it almost knocks you over. “Kitchen shift... Azul put you on...food duty or...something.”

“Didn’t feel like it,” he mutters, looking bored and irritated all at once, as if your sudden arrival has disturbed his brooding in the dark. “Whatcha doin’ here? Thought you had a shift.”

You open your mouth to respond, but even that is too much for you; and so you slap your hands over your mouth, fixing him with a weak glare. Floyd’s never known just how strong his scent is, but you’ve always been able to differentiate it from the other staff members’ scents at the lounge because of how unmistakably Floyd it is. Unlike Jade, who dutifully wears scent blockers, Floyd could care less about the precautions most take to avoid any scent-related problems from cropping up. Sometimes you wish he was more like Jade, but then Jade never has any notable scent about him and that unnerves you more than the overwhelming nature of Floyd’s.

Floyd flashes his sharp teeth at you in a mocking grin. “Shrimpy looks so funny. Smells funny, too.”

You intend to put more vitriol into your glare, but his playful chuckle has you suppressing a needy, little whine. Your knuckles grow sore from how forcefully you’re clamping your hands over your mouth. If you don’t get back to Ramshackle soon, you’ll be a mess of sweat, pheromones, and slick and then that might draw unwanted attention. You attempt to stand, only to fail miserably when you sway on unsteady feet, and so you lower yourself onto your knees, glancing at Floyd’s colorful sneakers.

A breath shudders through you. The smell of rain and morning dew hangs heavy like cigarette smoke in the air. You can’t believe you’re about to verbalize your innermost desires, if they weren’t already blindingly apparent, but you can’t hold back any longer.

“Can you—” you swallow your inhibitions, far past the point of shame— “Can you help me?”

Floyd follows the length of his outstretched legs to look at you hunched over in front of him, your hands placed firmly on the floor to keep yourself from falling over.

His mismatched eyes hold mischief, but his face is neutral when he replies with: “Mmh... I guess. What do ya want help with?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” you snap, and he tilts his head at you like you’re a bewildering curiosity. His acquiescence is all you really needed to hear, though, because you’re already shedding your uniform suit jacket in a breathless hurry. “Please don’t get smart right now. I just need—” You’re not sure what you need specifically, but you do know you need relief. And he’s the only alpha within reach. “I just need you to help.”

“Okaaay,” he drawls lazily, waiting there with his back against the glass. His figure is framed in the bright luminescence from the jellyfish swarming in the great depths beyond, and you crawl over his long legs and into his lap. He peers at you, amusement twinkling in his gaze. “Shrimpy’s so funny tonight!”

You admire him through the lenses unique to a heat. It’s more akin to a drunken stupor—the kind of phenomenon that makes strangers look ten times more appealing than they normally do if you’re sober—and every rugged, dangerous edge that composes Floyd suddenly seems so perfect and safe. Your fingers curl into the lapels of his jacket, and you yank him towards you, your lips mere centimeters from his. There’s no indication that he feels the same spark as you, but in this moment there doesn’t need to be any life-changing sparks. As long as he’s agreed to help you, you’ll take his assistance and nothing more.

“Floyd.”

“Shrimpy.”

“Can you...” You wiggle your hips, impatiently fumbling to shrug out of the straps of your high-waisted suspender trousers. You’re not very successful in this endeavor, so you give up with a frustrated huff. “Please touch me. D-Down there...”

“Sure thing,” he says with a nonchalance that’s frighteningly alarming.

You were certain that an omega in heat made it difficult for most alphas to focus, let alone properly function, when there were so many tempting smells and sounds coming from them. But then Floyd isn’t like most alphas. Floyd is uniquely Floyd in every possible way. He doesn’t conform to the typical standards applied to other alphas. But it does sting a little to think that, with how undoubtedly cloying your pheromones must be, he isn’t affected in the slightest. He’s not even hard, which feels like a chip in your omega pride, but you’re too frantic with lust to dwell on it.

Floyd's rough hands grab your waist and he lifts you up slightly, pressing you flush against his chest so that he can yank your trousers down for easier access. The fabric bunches halfway at your knees, but that hardly matters in the moment. You’re certain the wet spot would have been noticeable if it weren’t for the dim lighting in the hall, and you’re secretly grateful for the lack of brightness.

“T-This is just a one-time thing, okay?”

“Whatever you say.”

You’re not sure why he sounds so disinterested, but you don’t care enough to ask. And when he slides your soaked underwear to the side so that he can thrust two slender fingers up inside your dripping hole, you slump against him, gripping his shoulders like he’s the only one who can keep you afloat amidst the turbulent sea you’ve found yourself in. With your face buried in the crook of his neck, where his scent glands are so close and produce the headiest scent you’ve ever come to know, you cum with a strangled, gasping cry, slick clinging to your thighs in translucent, stringy ribbons. Floyd doesn’t say anything, continuing to curl his fingers inside tight, wet, gummy walls, which leaves you shuddering and sobbing with ecstasy.

You lick at his neck, pressing lingering kisses to every available inch, breathing in his scent as if it’s your oxygen. Your teeth prick the surface of his skin, but before you can bite down he’s grabbing your chin with his free hand and smashing his mouth against yours in a sloppy, aggressive kiss. Your teeth click against his, and his tongue flicks past your lips, searching for yours. You meet him halfway, kissing back as fervently as you roll your hips against his hand, taking a third and a fourth finger in one thrust. He’s worked you open with delightful movements, scissoring you as roughly as he kisses, and when you break away to gulp down mouthfuls of air Floyd licks his lips clean of saliva—your saliva.

You’re not sure if it was possible for you to get wetter, but you do and you reach your second—or perhaps it’s your third—climax with a squeal.

“You can put it in. Please put it in,” you mumble, mind fuzzy with one single thought: If you aren’t fucked sore and senseless right now, you might never recover from this heat. “Please, Flo... Floyd, put it in...” You palm at his crotch, satisfied that there’s now a stiffness straining against his trousers, and you reach up to slide his suit jacket off his broad shoulders. “I need it. I’ll cover your shifts for a week—no, two weeks—three weeks! Anything you want—just need you inside me...”

Floyd hums his consideration. “Don’t wanna,” he eventually says, cutting off your whiny protests with another expert curl of his fingers. “S’too much work.”

That seems to sober you a little, and though your entire body is flushed with warmth there’s an odd coldness that seeps through. You lose track of how many times you cum, but at some point you must have slipped into unconsciousness from the exhaustion of it all. When you wake, the sun’s just barely peeking over the horizon, and you’re lying in your work clothes in your room at Ramshackle Dorm. You feel and smell so filthy, covered in slick and sweat that has dried sticky on your skin, but the worst of your heat has abated for now. You know this isn’t the last of it—that there’s more to come in the next few days and that you’ll just feel so foggy-headed until the true instinctual lust hits and you’re leaking through your undergarments like a broken faucet.

Groggily, you sit up, rubbing the crust from your eyes, only to flop back down.

Bath can wait, you think, yawning. It’s way too early for that.

You feel something bunched underneath you, and for a moment you think it’s Floyd. Though you’re not sure why he immediately pops into your mind, you’re given your answer when you pull the suit jacket out from beneath you. It smells pleasantly of a rainy morning, musky and earthy, a pleasant petrichor that could only belong to Floyd.

ii. “you smell like shrimpy. ain’t that good enough?”

Floyd is an elusive force. He appears and disappears whenever he feels like it—almost like a playful poltergeist haunting a house. If he wants you to find him, you’ll find him. Today, it’s not Floyd you find when you venture through the courtyard in search of him, but rather Jade. You suppose he’s better than no one, and if you look at him from the wrong angle he becomes Floyd. So this is the best you can do in this moment. Perhaps it’s convenient you don’t have to face Floyd because you haven’t even rehearsed what you’ll say to him—if you even want to say anything to him about that night.

“I’d like to return Floyd’s jacket,” you tell him in your best professional tone, offering it to him alongside a packaged pastry.

Jade gazes at your outstretched hands. “The pastry as well?”

“Please don’t be a smart-ass.”

He hides his sharp smile behind a gloved fist. “Is there a reason you’re in possession of Floyd’s jacket?” As if to be even more irritating than he already is, he adds, “And Floyd’s pastry?”

You avoid his stare, distracting yourself with the sight of your scuffed shoes. “N-No reason in particular...”

But Jade is not the type to drop a subject he’s found interest in, which leaves him thoroughly invested in this not-so-mysterious mystery. “No reason at all?” he presses, brows raising. “If I recall, Floyd’s been left without a jacket for a week. This is merely speculation—take it with a grain of salt—but you must have been indisposed for a few days to deal with...‘personal matters,’ as Azul had called it, hence why we didn’t see you at the lounge. Is it correct to assume you may have been burdened with a certain biological inconvenience?”

“Not true! He lent it to me. Yeah, lent it to me. That’s all there is to it.”

“And the pastry?”

“Oh my—Jade, please just take your brother’s jacket. You’re killing me here.”

“On the contrary, I haven’t yet twisted the knife deep enough.”

You groan, deflating before him like a boneless fish. “You already know why I have his jacket. Don’t make this difficult.”

He chuckles; you don’t see what’s so hilarious about this situation. “Well, I was made aware of specific details, yes. What was it you had told Floyd? Ah, right. You would cover his shifts for three weeks if he—”

“Ahaa, Shrimpy, there you are!” Before you can listen to the rest of what was going to be a highly flustering sentence, Floyd crashes into you from behind, wrapping his arms around you, while you nearly topple over from the impact. Thankfully, he steadies you with strong arms. “I was lookin’ all over for you!”

“What a coincidence. So was I.” You squirm in his grasp, holding his jacket and the pastry up for his viewing pleasure. “For you.”

“So that’s where it was! Thanks, Shrimpy! Didja take good care of it for me?”

You stare at him. Did he seriously forget where his own jacket was?

“I don’t know what flavors you like, but I got this custard bread for you.”

“Huh? What for? It’s not my birthday.” The arm curled around your waist tightens its crushing grip, persuading you to admit your reasoning before he squeezes and your guts spill out through cracked bone. “It’s not even a holiday. What gives?”

“It’s for your help that night. A thank you from me to you.”

He snatches both from you, draping his jacket over his shoulder, and inspects the packaging. “Hey, this looks yummy. Thanks, Shrimpy!” He digs something out of his pocket, takes your hand, spreads your fingers, and drops it in your palm. “I also got a little somethin’ for ya.”

It’s a golden canine tooth, most likely one that came from a beastman. There’s still some blood and gum sticking to it.

“Um. Thanks?” You choke down the urge to shiver.

Floyd giggles, looking quite satisfied with himself.

Jade stares at it, unsurprised. “May I ask where you acquired this tooth?”

Floyd shrugs, releasing you from his smothering hug. “Asked some guy where Shrimpy was and he kept dodgin’ the question. Had to pull the answer right from his mouth.”

“I see.”

You stuff the tooth into your pocket, wiping your palm against the fabric of your blazer, and grin awkwardly. “I appreciate the...gift.”

You’ve never traded a pastry for a tooth before. But, hey, there are firsts for everything, right?

“You like it?! I can get more for Shrimpy! Which ones do you like best? Gold? Silver?”

“No, that’s okay. One is enough.”

One is too much, actually...

Floyd hums his contentment, the scent of rain rolling off of him in happy waves. You inhale as subtly as you can. He smells good—perhaps much better now that you’ve toed the line of intimacy with him—however emotionless it may have been—and have had an entire week to familiarize yourself with his scent. It settles your frazzled nerves, allowing you a small fraction of confidence...that immediately shrivels when you recall how he’d called your scent funny.

“Do I...” You shrug your anxieties off, forcing the question out from the confines of your dry throat. “Do I smell bad?”

Floyd looks through you rather than at you. “Never said that.”

“You didn’t say I smelled good either.” You cross your arms over your chest. “For the record, I think you smell good.”

That prompts a tiny laugh from Jade. “As riveting as your human courting techniques are, I’m afraid I must be on my way. I wish you a pleasant afternoon, (Name). Floyd, I’ll see you at dinner.”

“‘Kaaay.”

You’ve never been more glad to see him and his troublesome smirk go, and you curse him six ways from Sunday with each step he takes, until it’s just you and Floyd standing in the center of the sparsely populated courtyard.

Floyd unwraps the pastry without much decorum, taking an obnoxious chomp from it while he waits for you. Crumbs stick to his face and gather on his uniform like sugar snowfall.

“So I do smell bad.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Shrimpy,” he says around a mouthful of pastry. “You smell like Shrimpy. Ain’t that good enough?”

What in the world does ‘shrimpy’ even smell like?

You tilt your head back and forth, unsure of what to truly say. “I... Floyd, your scent really helped me. Like, a lot. And I know you probably don’t think it did, but your jacket made things way more tolerable than they usually are.”

He’s licking his fingers clean now, nodding along to what you’re saying with bright, eager eyes.

You steel yourself with it’s now or never. “My budget has been low lately, so I haven’t been able to afford suppressants for the next few months. And between attending classes, working at the lounge, and keeping Ramshackle in good shape, I can’t lose a week’s time because of my heats. So... So what I’m trying to say—what I’m trying to get at here... I guess what I really want—can we make this not a one-time thing, but a monthly thing instead? If you helped me, you could cut my heats down to just two or three days. I can buy you more pastries if you want, or I can cover your shifts. Please just help me out again. I’ll do anything.”

It feels useless and pathetic to beg, especially since you know how mercurial he can be, so sometimes it’s as though you’re speaking to an immovable wall. In fact, you might have better luck going to Azul or Jade if you really wanted—

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” He grins. “Why not? Sounds fun.”

“So it doesn’t sound like ‘too much work’?”

“Nah. Shrimpy’s fun.” He crumples the empty packaging and stuffs it in his pocket. “And fun things aren’t work.”

“All right... If you say so.”

You aren’t going to push it any further, lest you risk annoying him and losing this chance.

iii. “most importantly, we’re just friends and nothing more.”

It’s raining today. Normally, watching gloomy weather unfold fosters unrest within you. But this time Floyd’s with you, lying sprawled in a cramped alcove in the library, all lanky limbs outstretched, while you flip through a textbook in search of anything that might give you more insight into how to cure heats or, at the very least, halt them in a way that doesn’t require expensive medicines. Floyd’s scrolling on his phone, a lollipop between his lips. He’d caught your scent on the wind and had gravitated towards it, and you’d smelled him the minute he stepped into the hallway to follow you into the library. You let him accompany you because there’s no shaking Floyd once he’s made up his mind.

With the lack of sunlight, the lighting in the library is dimmer than usual. It’s peacefully comfortable despite the rain-spattered windowpanes and the cloudy sky beyond ancient, dusty confines. You peer at Floyd from where you sit. He’s looking through an online shoe catalogue.

“Do you like shoes?”

“They’re cool,” he replies without missing a beat. “And the surface’s got lotsa cool designs and styles.”

Briefly, you glance at your worn pair in hopes that looking long enough will give you an idea for what to say next. It doesn’t work as intended, but Floyd doesn’t seem keen to continue chatting with you, his attention focused squarely on his phone screen. You return to the task at hand, skimming a few chapters on alpha and omega biology, information on betas, and even an in-depth analysis on heat and rut nuances. Nothing tells you of the panacea needed to rid yourself of your heats.

Defeated, you shut the textbook with a sigh. Floyd’s looking at you now, his phone swiftly pocketed. You slump in your seat. He smiles lopsidedly when he knows you’re watching him.

“All good?”

You nod, but your words contradict that. “I can’t find a cure for heats and it’s a little frustrating.”

“Why do you wanna cure ‘em? You got me for that, don’tcha?”

“Yeah. But… Actually, since you’re here, can we go over a few rules? My next heat isn’t scheduled until next month, but I’d like to set some boundaries before we do anything.”

Floyd pulls the lollipop stick from his mouth and twists it into a knot. “Lay ‘em on me.”

You nod, push the textbook away from you, and scoot your chair closer to the alcove. “You can’t bite.” You point at your neck. “Anywhere else is fine, but here is off limits.”

Floyd mirrors your actions, tapping the area where his glands reside with a hum. “I won’t bite.” His smile says otherwise, but you take him for his word.

“And no knotting.”

“No knotting.”

“No breeding either.”

“No breeding.”

“And… And no kissing.”

“No kissing. Gotcha.”

“You’re being surprisingly agreeable about this.”

Floyd shrugs. “It’s what Shrimpy wants.”

“Right. Okay. Well.” You wring your hands together. “Most importantly, we’re just friends and nothing more.”

“Just friends,” he parrots. “Nothing more.”

“Cool.” You nod to yourself, but it does nothing to dispel the awkwardness. “Awesome. Cool...”

Floyd pops up from the alcove seat like a reanimated corpse springing from a grave. He grabs your hand and tugs you up from your chair, all boisterous energy and laughter despite the vicious shushes you receive from nearby students.

“Let’s go swimming!”

You have no idea where this came from, but you allow yourself to be tugged from the library, abandoning the pile of textbooks you’d been perusing for nearly an hour. And though your spirits had been dampened considerably by the information, or rather lack thereof, you seem to forget about it while you watch Floyd splash freely around in the Octavinelle pool, swimming laps with such smooth precision. You dip your bare feet in the chilled water, entertaining him with a game of fetch, tossing a diving ring each time he brings it back to you.

And within no time your frown has lifted into a genuine smile.

Later, during your shift, Jade brushes past you. “Floyd has been in such a pleasant mood today,” he remarks, nodding towards his brother, who’s currently balancing trays as he happily skips from table to table, a whistle in his voice. “I wonder if something exciting has happened. Do share. I so dislike being left out of the loop.”

Knowing Jade and his affinity for omniscience, you suspect he’s already within the loop. And it’s not as if you could lie to him; he’d find out eventually when Floyd starts smelling more like you and you start smelling more like Floyd. So it’s best to be honest about it, even if it is a little uncomfortable admitting such a thing to Jade.

“Floyd’s going to help me with my heats.”

“Is that so? How kind of him. You have my most sincerest blessings.” Jade holds a hand over his heart. “Take good care of Floyd now. He can be rather sensitive, though he doesn’t seem it.”

“We’re not getting married, Jade.”

He smiles innocently. Your gazes are drawn to Floyd as he approaches with empty trays. He catches your eye and grins broadly, waving in a manner so ecstatic you’d think he’s just meeting you again for the first time in years.

“I wouldn’t be so certain about a hypothetical that has yet to be proven.”

“Then, hypothetically, I marry into the Leech family. What then?”

“I believe that would make us in-laws, no?”

“Right. And, hypothetically, my dear in-law goes missing and is never found again because he can’t keep his annoying mouth shut. What then?”

“You would have quite the crime on your hands. I don’t think the sea would show you much mercy.”

Floyd’s hands clap down upon your shoulders at that moment. “Whatcha talkin’ about?”

Jade’s grin sharpens into something predatory when he looks at Floyd, who’s resting his chin on top of your head. “We were merely discussing how we might dispose of the other should (Name) marry into the family.”

“Ooh! Shrimpy’s marryin’ Jade, huh?”

You and Jade answer in unison, though your responses are very contrasting.

“That can be arranged.”

“Absolutely not!”

Floyd pinches your cheek, cooing playfully. “I wouldn’t mind it. That means I’d get to see Shrimpy all the time.”

“Although, as honored as I am to consider a future with (Name), I believe Floyd would be a much better fit for you.”

“Huh? Why me?” Floyd looks at you more closely, inspecting you with narrowed eyes, and then he barks out a high laugh. “No way, Jade. You hafta like someone if you wanna marry ‘em.”

You twist out of Floyd’s arms. “And we all have to work if we don’t want Azul on our cases!” With a huff, you snatch the trays from under Floyd’s arm and stomp off towards the kitchen, listening to the twins’ laughter as you go.

iv. “shrimpy’s rule: no knotting.”

In the days leading up to your heat, Floyd is a leech, not just in surname but in the literal sense. He’s almost always hanging around you. From working the same hours at the lounge to accompanying you to and from classes to meeting you at Ramshackle first thing in the morning, he is your shadow. It almost feels like he’s attached to you by some invisible thread and can only go so far before he’s drawn back in by way of magnetic force. You thought it was weird, but then Floyd has always been weird and so this sort of behavior isn’t uncharacteristic. Rather, it makes perfect sense for him to stick to you like a barnacle. Why, you might ask? The simple answer is that he’s found entertainment in you and isn’t going to give up until he grows bored.

But the complex answer comes to you days before your scheduled heat, when Ace had none-too-subtly pointed out that you smell. He didn’t say you smelled funny, which had been a little soothing, but even Deuce had echoed his sentiment. You didn’t smell like yourself, they had told you. So you asked what you smelled like and without missing a beat they replied: “Like rain.”

You had laughed and then paused to consider what felt like an absurdity and then laughed again. Floyd isn’t your alpha and you’re not his omega. There shouldn’t be any reason for him to scent you. You shrug off Ace’s teasing and Deuce’s genuine curiosity in favor of focusing on your lunch. Lunch, you’ve decided, is much tastier than whatever confusion you were previously feasting on.

Unlike last month’s heat, you’re ready for this one. You wake and attend classes as you normally would, only feeling the faintest itch of what’s to come, but by your final class you’re woozy, struggling to stay centered while the lecture goes in one ear and out the other in a string of mushed syllables. You’re not completely gone when you shuffle out of class, ignoring the whispers that are thrown around, and you only truly perk up when a familiar smell hits you head-on.

Floyd leans against the wall, a casual smile pulling his lips apart. “My dorm or yours?”

“Yours,” you blurt, only to shake your head hastily. “No... No, not yours. Mine is better.”

He giggles and tilts his head at you. “Okaaay!”

Floyd hardly has any time to shut the door and drop your belongings on the sofa before you’re grabbing at him, clinging like a koala, and he gathers you in his arms and covers the distance to your bedroom. You’re quickly losing yourself to instinctual lust, shedding your articles of clothing as easily as you whimper his name. Floyd’s grinning as he follows your example, his eyes tracking your every movement. You flop onto your bed after you’ve discarded your rumpled uniform, skin hot and sticky with sweat and slick. Floyd’s pheromones fill the room at once, and you reach for him when he crawls on top of you, caging you between sturdy, muscled arms.

“Shrimpy smells funny again.”

“Knock it off, will you?” you spit, but the irritation doesn’t last long when you get another whiff of him and you throw your head back with an impatient sigh. “I don’t smell funny... Ace and Deuce didn’t think I smelled funny.”

“Yeah?” he prompts, palming your drenched hole, sliding two fingers past rings of wet muscle.

You shift underneath him, hissing out a breathy moan through grit teeth. “They said...” Another gasp. “They said I smelled like—” Your hands grip the sheets when he adds a third finger, lazily working you open with dexterous digits. “Like ra—aah—rain.”

“Musta been rainin’ that day.”

“N-No, you were... Your smell. You smell like—mmh. Like the rain.”

You don’t miss his tongue as it darts out to wet his lips. The lewd squelching of his fingers pumping in and out of you permeates the air, replacing any words he might have wanted to say. You shut your eyes with a blissful hum. Perhaps if you weren’t already so deep in your heat you might be able to sift through your thoughts with more coherence. But then, if you weren’t so deep in your heat, you wouldn’t be in this position in the first place, and so you probably wouldn’t get this far with your curiosity.

“Were you... Hah... Were you scenting me? I couldn’t tell because...”

Because your scent’s already so familiar.

Floyd doesn’t answer, but he does withdraw his hand and you whine low in your throat. Your displeasure is short-lived, though, for rough hands spread your thighs next, and before you know it he’s between your legs, licking a stripe up your slick-coated entrance. By instinct, you attempt to shut your legs, wanting to lock him there forever, but his hands keep you spread wide for him, and so you rest your ankles upon his shoulders while he continues to lick and nip, his razored teeth just barely scraping skin.

Suddenly, pressing him for answers doesn’t seem like your main priority when a long, thick tongue pushes its way into you at the next moment. He hums his enjoyment, and the vibrations ripple through you like waves in a pond. It’s much better than anything you could have accomplished with just your fingers alone, and you can’t stop the noisy mewls that fall freely from your lips, breathy and pitched in a way that foretells approaching orgasm. With the way his fingertips burrow into the pudge of your thighs to the way his tongue sloppily works in and out of you, the warmth in your stomach builds to an insurmountable level, and it isn’t long until you’re tipping over the edge. You dig your fingers into teal locks, pressing him firmly against your crotch, and cum with a strangled shout.

Floyd withdraws, his face glistening with your slick, and you shudder at both the sight of him and the faint ache of emptiness. He swipes a stray droplet from his cheek and samples it with a slow lick. You almost cum again, heat kindling within you once more.

“Ahaaa,” he exhales giddily, pupils blown so wide they eclipse his irises. “Shrimpy’s like a fountain today!”

You lessen your grip on his hair, chest heaving as you come down from your high, and tug him back onto the bed, hurrying to swap the positions before he can grab hold of you. You fumble with his still-hardening dick, coating your fingers with your slick and attempting to pump it with awkward, inexperienced strokes. Floyd supports himself on his elbows, eyeing you as you lean down to take the head of his cock in your mouth.

He hisses out a laugh. “Shrimpy’s not very good at this, huh?”

You want to snap at him, but all you can manage is a disgruntled scoff. You’ve entertained scenes like this in your dreams, in which you were skilled in all areas of sex, but now that you’re actually leaning over him, giving it your best effort to fit half of him in your mouth, you realize your dreams painted an ideal version of you that is not applicable to the real-world you. And that dents your pride a little. At least you can blame your sloppiness on your heat, which has you rushing through the motions in your impatience. Miraculously, your mouth manages to work some magic because his cock stiffens completely, curving up at an angle that you’re certain will hit the deepest spots within you.

You pull off of him with a wet pop and he giggles, reaching to pinch your cheek. Swatting at his hand, you crawl over him, straddling him, and brace your hands upon his chest. Floyd watches you, his arms folded behind his head, as he lies back and allows you to do the work. Your fingers wrap around the base of his cock, holding it steady while you align the soft, fleshy head with your hole. For a tense minute, you stare at the way the tip’s kissing your slit, oozing pre-cum. Had you been less omega-brained, you might have fretted over whether something so big would even fit, but right now all you need is to be completely filled to the brim.

Floyd unfolds his arms and rests his hands on your hips, seeming both amused and endeared to witness the emotions that shift on your face. Your eyes flick to his mismatched ones.

“Please...” You shiver, your hands closing around his larger ones. “Please, Floyd...”

You think that might have tempted him, for you’re hit with a stronger wave of his pheromones, but the thought is knocked out of your head when he lowers you onto his cock in a way that is uncharacteristically gentle. Your nails dig into his hands as slick, gummy walls swallow inch after thick inch. He’s concentrating on the way you stretch around him, groaning through clenched teeth, and he’s not even halfway in when you cum with a desperate wail. Floyd smirks up at you and, with his nails poking your hips, slams you down in one swift motion, spearing you entirely on his cock. You cry out your relief in delighted gasps.

“I-It’s inside...” you mumble, awestruck, as you press a hand to your stomach in an attempt to feel him. “It really—haah... Really fit...”

“‘Course it did,” he says pridefully. “I knew Shrimpy could do it.”

“Shrimpy only did it because of how wet—ah!” You nearly collapse when he thrusts up suddenly, the tip of his cock hitting a sensitive spot that sends pleasurable shockwaves rattling through you. You fix him with a weak scowl, but he isn’t looking at you. He’s looking at your hand intertwined with his while the other remains on your waist, keeping you steady. You loosen your grip for a moment before curling your fingers with a confidence only fostered by your heat. “C-Can I hold it?”

“S’not goin’ anywhere.”

You stick your tongue out at him and he laughs; and soon you’re starting to smile.

Swallowing your own heat-drunk giggles, you lift your hips slowly and ease back down onto him, shuddering at the way he fills you so completely. You do this a few more times while Floyd gleefully observes, and it isn’t long before you’re settling into a satisfying pace. He guides you up and down, watching you come undone with each steady roll of your hips. You’re a mess above him, fucking yourself silly while he meets you halfway with an occasional rough thrust, and you hold his hand so tightly you think you might tear it from his wrist. Floyd’s groans and grunts are music to your ears, spurring you onwards in your endeavors. You’re certain it’s just a byproduct of the heat, but he looks so enchanting beneath you, squeezing your hip and then reaching up to twist one of your perky nipples between his fingertips.

“Feels good?”

“So good,” you pant, breaths hot and wet. You’re overcome with the urge to pull him up and into your arms so that you can be even closer, but you’re too focused on feeling him deeper and so you never act on the temptation. “R-Really—mmph! Really good!”

He traces patterns into your stomach, giggling breathlessly. “I can tell. Shrimpy’s squeezin’ me soooo much.”

Neither of you seem to realize the base of his cock has swelled a considerable amount, but it’s brought to your attention the next time you slam your hips down and you’re stopped by his knot. You peer at it with lidded, glassy eyes and your omega instincts flare wildly, all messy bundles of nerves fraying at the idea that that could be inside you—that it should be inside you—locking you and Floyd together. You raise your hips, inches sliding out of you gradually, and you prepare yourself to take him—knot and all—when Floyd’s hand breaks from out of your hold to grab your waist, stopping your swift descent.

“Nuh-uh,” he chides, and you growl at him, almost animalistic with anger. “Shrimpy’s rule: No knotting.”

“This is—aah... Mmh... This is different. A t-trial run. This time...doesn’t count.”

“Hee hee. Shrimpy’s gonna regret it later.”

You squirm in his hold, begging him to keep moving through whimpers and whines, and he complies with a playful whistle.

“Please. Just once. Just once and then—”

“Mm, nope,” he says, popping the ‘P.’

“Floooyd...”

“Shrimpyyy.”

You sigh a sad, little sound that has Floyd’s eyes softening. His knuckle pets your cheek, oddly fond.

“S’just the heat talking,” he reminds you, and you lean into his warm, welcoming hand. “See? Shrimpy’s just followin’ instincts.”

He slides you off of him and your hole clenches uselessly around nothing. Within seconds, he’s flipped you so that you’re lying on your back and he’s above you. His teeth flash at you, sharp and bright, wild and untamed. You sandwich his face between your palms, adoring the way nasally laughter ripples through him. You’re glad he isn’t a mirror because if he was he might reflect an expression you don’t wish to confront at this very moment.

Floyd’s positioned himself and in one speedy thrust that nearly knocks the air from your lungs he slots himself inside, only this time you feel the overwhelming stretch of his knot as it fills you entirely, and you howl with ecstasy, linking your arms around his neck to bring him closer to your throat. Floyd moans lowly, resting his arm above your head and biting into the muscle so hard thin ribbons of blood streak from the punctures. Your chest is heaving, heart pounding out an erratic, heat-driven rhythm, and you cum around his thick knot with a strangled sob, tears running down your cheeks.

Within just a few more tight thrusts, Floyd’s emptied his creamy load inside, and you don’t have the sobriety to consider the weight of broken rules—rules that you had specifically put in place. You listen to his soft pants as he pulls away from his arm, saliva and blood stringing from his lips, and he licks it away with a swipe of his tongue. When he attempts to slide out, your face twists in discomfort.

“Hurts...”

“Aw. I’m sorry, Shrimpy,” he coos, adjusting your position so that he’s lying on his back and you’re resting on top of his chest, his knot still buried within you. His hand rests upon the small of your back, and he gives you a pleased, toothy grin. “Feel better now?”

“A little. Thank you,” you whisper, laying your head over his heart while the extremities of your heat ebb away, satisfied now that you’ve been properly filled and knotted by an alpha. His heart beats a steady thrum: buh-bum, buh-bum, buh-bum. The sweet scent of rain encases the both of you, easing you into a sleepy spell. You peer at the bite mark on his forearm and frown. “You bit yourself?”

“Didn’t wanna bite your neck.”

“Oh.” Your eyes flick to his, but he’s avoiding your stare, his cheeks tinged the faintest pink while he gazes at the ceiling. It’s a rare sight to see the Floyd Leech flustered and withdrawn; you wonder what’s the cause of this sudden shift in character. “You could’ve bitten anywhere else. I...wouldn’t have minded.”

“Didn’t wanna hurt you.”

“Oh.”

He’s looking at you now, the color on his cheeks fading, and a bashful smile plays at his lips. “Didn’t mean to break your rule.”

You reach up to run your fingers through his hair, petting him gently. “It’s fine. We’ll figure it out once we’re unstuck.”

His chest rumbles with laughter. “Whatcha wanna talk about ‘til then?”

“Um... Well, what’s a good stuck-together conversation topic?”

Floyd hums thoughtfully. “You like shiny stuff?”

You blink at him. “Yeah. Why?”

“Just askin,’” he says, but his eyes flash with mischief. He leans in until his nose is touching yours. “Cuz I like shiny stuff, and Shrimpy’s glowin’ right now.”

Your face warms considerably and you push him away with an embarrassed groan. His giggles are muffled in your palm. “Not when we’re stuck together...”

v. “rather, ‘honey rain’ has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

You’re in the process of discussing spring weather with Azul when Floyd rushes up to you, takes your hand, gently spreads your fingers open as if they’re petals, and drops something onto your palm. You expect another tooth or a stone or a crumpled flower—all items he’s been gifting you at random over the course of a few months; what you don’t expect is an eel keychain. Perhaps you should have, though. You’ve learned to expect the unexpected with Floyd.

“What’s this?”

“For you!”

“An eel...for me?”

He nods and holds up a shrimp keychain. Your face warms when the implication becomes clear.

“It’s cute. Thanks. I’ll keep it safe.”

Floyd beams at you and presses his lips to your cheek in a fleeting smooch. Just as quick as he had come, he’s retreating, skipping off in delight, his laughter echoing down the halls while he ignores your flustered shout. You know he wants you to pursue him, but you’re too embarrassed to give chase. Instead, you scrub at your cheek with a huff. He’s always kissing your cheeks and sometimes even your lips. You enjoy it too much to remind him of all the rules the both of you have since broken. They mean nothing now.

“You certainly smell pleased,” Azul remarks with a sly smirk.

“It’s better than smelling funny.”

“Floyd still hasn’t told you what you smell like?”

“No! And it’s really annoying!” You peer at the tiny plush eel in your hands, its beady eyes and stitched smile taunting you. “It’s always ‘Shrimpy smells funny’ and never ‘Shrimpy smells like something that isn’t funny.’”

“I can assure you your scent is not at all humorous. It’s actually quite pleasant.”

“Are you just saying that to be nice, or are you saying that to be nice?”

Azul shakes his head in amusement. “Can’t I compliment a fellow omega and, most importantly, a friend?”

“Can’t you admit the truth?”

“Details, details.” He waves the dig away dismissively. “It’s no wonder Floyd fancies you so. He adores sweet things.”

“Oh, do I smell sweet then? Like candy? Or maybe like a pastry?”

“You smell like floral honey.”

“Huh. That’s...definitely not a funny scent.”

“Not at all. Rather, ‘honey rain’ has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

You wonder if you should object. You wonder if you should try to claim that you and Floyd are still friends despite the evolution of your arrangement. Neither of you have admitted it, but it’s obvious you’ve stepped over the boundary of ‘just friends’ and have entered new territory—territory that’s so very akin to lovers.

But you only smile covertly. “Yeah, it does,” you mumble, tracing your finger over the eel’s tilted head. “It really does.”

#tw: abo #tw: omegaverse #tw: knotting #n/sfw #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #floyd leech x reader #floyd x reader #lunar love hotel 2023 #fluffy floyd hours #since the type of writing wasn't specified i decided to write a oneshot :D

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