I Think It's So Funny How I Have A Jade Fic I've Been Working On Since I Started This Blog But I Finished Azul And Floyd Fics Before It - Blog Posts

[Kissing it Better - Floyd Leech]

Summary: Floyd gets in a fight. You kiss it better.

Notes: gn!reader, fluff, slight mentions of blood and injury but nothing graphic! some more fluff for good measure

You sigh at the sight in front of you.

Floyd could get rowdy sometimes, you knew that. And he also has a tendency of chasing trouble, so it shouldn't be any surprise to find him as ruffled as you did. 

Still, usually he was the one doing the beating, so you weren't used to seeing him littered with bruises and a pouty expression indicating his foul mood.

You shake your head, setting the first aid kit on the bed beside him. You had to drag him to your room to attend to his wounds, him protesting weakly and pouting the whole time, insisting it was fine and he didn't need to be coddled.

"Now, stay still for me to clean it up, alright?"

He just glares at you, an expression that might have scared off the majority of NRC campus, but wasn't effective on you. You knew he wouldn't do anything to hurt you, he just wanted to be left alone to lick his own wounds and sulk, which you weren't about to let happen.

Your hand lifts the gauze pad with antiseptic to his face, making him dogde stubbornly. You try a few more times, with no success. Floyd just glares on. You bite your lip, wondering how you should go about this.

"Please, Floyd, it could get infected if I don't clean it." Even if you know your plea won't be very effective, you still give it a try.

"I don't care."

The frustrated noise that leaves your throat makes his lips twich upwards. He was enjoying messing with you, it seemed.

The next time you do the motion, he doesn't bother dodging, just swipping away your hand like it was a pesky fly. 

"Just leave me alone Shrimpy, I don't wanna play right now."

"It'd be over very quickly if you'd just let me do it."

"Hah? Why should I? You don't get to order me around." He does the scary face that usually wards off anyone that might be bothering him, arms crossing, voice dropping and pupils contracting, lips forming a snarl that shows just enough of his pointy teeth.

You lower your arm and set the gauze down, eyebrows furrowing at him. "Alright." Better to not push him too much and make him close up. There's no point in trying to aggravate a sea storm. "How about a hug, then? Surely it'll make you feel better."

Floyd's scary façade breaks, giving way to surprise. He never understands how you could ask for something the others avoid as if their lives depend on it, yet you do it time and time again. The truth is, Floyd could easily squeeze until he felt your ribs breaking under his palms, but there's something about the way you treat him, the way you actually seem to like having him around, that makes him be more gentle.

(Jade pointed it out, once. He made a side comment about how Floyd's hugs are unusually soft when it's with you. At the time you didn't agree, as they are still very tight, but you started to pay more attention. His hugs might envelop you whole and trap you in his arms with no way of getting out, but they never left bruises or made you breathless. His laughter sounds more genuine as well. It has only served to fuel your affection towards him. You have a feeling that was Jade's plan all along.)

Floyd stares at you before unfolding his arms, spreading them out for you. An invitation. "Since you're so cute, Shrimpy, if I squeeze you reaaal hard it might change my mood."

A small smile forms on your face, endeared by his redundant way of asking for a hug. The empty threat doesn't faze you and you waste no time in straddling his lap, letting his arms hold onto your waist and back tightly as your hands clasp behind his neck, burrowing your face on his shoulder. 

It's a comfort both of you are used to, the contact making him relax and prop his chin on the top of your head. You breath in deeply and sigh contently, tickling his skin and making him giggle on your hair. Your smile grows as you notice how his mood has improved already.

A few moments pass like this, Floyd's hand making patterns on your back and your hand playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. You wait until you think he's calmer before pulling away by pushing his shoulders, coming face to face with him. He whines at the loss of contact, squeezing your waist in protest. 

You let out a huff of laughter at his affronted expression, but you can sense the playfulness under it. You cup his cheek with one hand, tenderly brushing your thumb on the sore spot and making him squeeze his eyes shut because of the sting. "I'll take care of it now." You murmur, getting the gauze back and apllying it on the wound before he could complain, wipping off the flakes of blood that clung to his skin.

He whines as you clean the cut on his eyebrow and the blood down his nose and on his lips, one hand on his chin to keep his head still. You only hum in response, analyzing your work and covering the bruises with a colorful plaster. 

"There you go, all done."

There's a petulant frown on his face, clashing with the eye cathing patterns of the plaster and his messy hair, his eyes boring into you with some emotion you can't describe. You feel a rush of affection flow through yourself, so sudden it makes you feel light headed. You cup his cheeks and brings his face closer to yours, giving the tip of his nose a light kiss before pulling away once more. You're, as they say, kissing it better.

There's a tinkle in your eyes as you look back at him, they wrinkle at the corners as your smile stretches your cheeks. Floyd's face feels hot and he doesn't know what to make of it all, what to make of you. Your fingers are warm against his cold skin and so unbearably tender. He can feel your heartbeat against his, your weight on top of him, your sweet scent surrounding him. He isn't used to this, to being treated as if he's precious, as if he's something worth of protecting, of taking care of, of looking so fondly at.

Floyd is not fragile. He isn't weak and he can take care of himself just fine. He is vicious and can be cruel and doesn't care about the feelings of others, as long as he's having his fun. He doesn't bother trying to rein his emotions in and he's scary and the campus avoid him like the plague and he doesn't care. He really doesn't. But when you took the time to get to know him, when you stayed by his side regardless of his mood, when you look at him with eyes so full of affection, never fear, he feels like he can let himself open up a bit. And then a bit more, and a little more and suddenly Floyd's walls are crumbled on his feet and you stand right on top of their ruins, victorious smile shining down on him and he lets himself think that maybe it's alright to be vulnerable, to let someone take care of him. 

"Does something still hurt? You're awfully quiet." Your voice lulls him like the calm waves, your hands kiss his skin like sun rays on the beach, your scent a refreshing breeze. He wants to lose himself in it, on you.

Instead of answering, he props his head on your shoulder, a needy sound leaving his throat, nuzzling on your neck, feeling you, you, you. You're safe. He grips your waist tighter, making sure you stay flush against him and let him enjoy the moment.

You laugh, being used to his antics. Your hand reaches the back of his head and you play with his hair, the other one on his back. You leave a kiss on the top of his head, resting yours against his and preparing to stay like this for some time.

The moment eventually breaks when Floyd nips on your neck lightly, his sharp teeth stinging and making you yelp. He chuckles next to your ear, saying how Shrimpy put him in a better mood already.

It seems like kissing it better did work, after all.

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