twisted wonderland one-shots (requests CLOSED! for now)

floyd x fem!reader

synopsis: nothing but fluff and fl*yd being himself

a/n: sorry this one took so long i have had so much shit happening to me. i'm like if a boy was gods favorite chew toy and the result is very slow chapter updates

"Hey, babe?" you call over from where you're sitting on Floyd's bed, crouched over a small packet of worksheets that you'd just been working on.

"Yeah?" Floyd calls from the other end of his bed. He's been occupied by some game on his phone for a while now, barely looking up to glance quickly at you before getting drawn back into whatever has him tapping at his screen.

"Have you already finished all of Crewel's work? I'm almost done myself, but you've been on your phone for a while now," you tell him, and when Floyd looks up again, guiltier this time, you sigh. "Did you even start it?"

"...Maybe?" He punctuates that with a smile that doesn't convince you at all. You sigh again.

"Looks like you've got some work to do, then. C'mon, turn off your phone," you say, ignoring Floyd's loud, dramatic groan of protest. "None of that now. Time to work."

"But I don't wanna," he whines, rolling onto his stomach like a petulant child.

"Do you wanna graduate? It's not like you can't take breaks either."

"Can I take a break right now?" You roll your eyes, forcing yourself to look away from the goofy grin Floyd is wearing.

"I meant after you started working, genius."

Cajoling him into getting any work done has always been a chore. Floyd's emotions, which he barely keeps in check, keep him from getting motivated and from getting distracted too easily. It's especially tough if the topic at hand isn't one he finds interesting, which is why he constantly ends up submitting assignments late or half-done at best. You'd started off as just a tutor, but things had clearly progressed from there and now you're comfortable with calling him out whenever he tries to put himself in a slump. He's headstrong, but so are you—it took a while, but you'd finally figured out how to get him to do his work without any fuss.

Today seemed like it would be one of the more difficult days. Floyd had grouched through his classes, ignoring just about everyone and snapping at anyone who'd tried to talk to him. Club practice hadn't gone any better—just about everything set him off. He was yelling at his teammates when he wasn't angrily throwing balls in every direction without watching where they landed, and when it looked like he was about to get into a fight with a younger student who had knocked into him during a play that's when you decided it was time to step in and drag him off.

You could tell that Floyd wasn't having a great time. He'd seemed to calm down some after playing his little mobile games, but there was still work to be done.

"Hey." You nudge him with your foot. "Work time. Phone down."

Floyd kicks you back. "Nuh-uh. Leave me alone."

You kick him this time, harder than he kicked you. "If you wanted me to leave you alone, you shouldn't have asked to date me."

Floyd hums, then nods. "Okay, kind of a good point. But this stuff is boring and I wanna do something fun. Can't we just leave it for tomorrow?" he asks, looking over at you with big eyes that would've had you folding were it not for how used to it you were.

"Nope. If we leave it for tomorrow, you're just gonna want to procrastinate even more, and then you're not gonna get anything done until the night before, so no. We're doing this right now and then you have the rest of the time to do whatever you want," you tell him, listening to Floyd groan and kick his legs on the bed a bit more before eventually giving in and pulling the packet out of his bag.

"Fine, whatever! I'll do the stupid packet," he grumbles, throwing it down on the bed and glaring at the offending pages while he grips his pencil, tapping it against the sheets.

It's silent for a bit longer while you get back to your work and Floyd stares down at his own homework before the boy finally loses patience and chucks the packet across the room. You look up to catch the pencil following it, eyes snapping back to Floyd as he drags his hands across his face with a loud, tired groan.

"...Rough day?" you ask. Floyd nods silently, which is a little odd because he usually has something else to tack on.

It's probably one of those days, then. Sometimes, Floyd will wake up in a mood that progressively gets worse and worse until he's struggling not to squeeze and strangle anyone who breathes just a little too loudly in his general direction. Floyd doesn't generally have the best grasp on his emotions as it is, so as things build up he simply gets more and more agitated until it spills over and he's left frustrated and unable to deal with it for a while.

That's usually where you come in to talk him back down and sort things out again. He's plenty capable of doing it himself, and more often than not he usually does, but having you around certainly helps. So when you scoot closer, reaching out to run your hand across his shoulder, Floyd merely sighs and closes his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch.

"You wanna talk about what's going on?" you ask him, waiting for your boyfriend to give you an answer. It's another few seconds before Floyd merely shrugs, arms crossed.

"Just, y'know, not feelin' great," he mutters. You nod. That's kind of what you'd gathered was going on in his head. You know that he's trying his best not to completely explode while you're in the room, but the way his shoulders are hunched and the little wrinkle between his eyebrows gives away the tension flooding him.

"Alright, well, lets take a few minutes to cool down before we start working, yeah?" you tell him, running your hand up and down his back while Floyd clenches and unclenches his fists. After a few seconds he nods, shooting his crumpled packet one last dirty look before crawling over to the other side of the bed and pulling you down to the pillow with him, wrapping his arms around your back and keeping you tucked flush to his chest.

As soon as the two of you have settled, you can feel the way that the stress leaves Floyd's body. He sags, closing his eyes again and nesting his chin in your hair while you run your hand up and down his back once again.

It takes a few more minutes for Floyd to speak up. "Can we just, y'know, stay here?" he asks. Against your will, you grin against him, pulling back a bit to look up at him.

"Just for a bit. You know you still have work to do, right?" you ask, watching Floyd's nose scrunch up.

"Do I have to?"

"Yep. Ten minutes and then we're gonna get back to being productive, 'kay?" you tell him, watching his face soften as he agrees to your terms and goes back to burying himself in your hair.

Those ten minutes pass, and as it turns out, it's awfully comfortable in his arms. Just five more minutes, you tell yourself. Five more and we'll get back to work.

The two of you stay in bed for another three hours.