Pairings: Boyfriend! Jabber Wonger X Black fem! Reader (ANYONE CAN READ🧚🏾♀️)
Summary: You're honestly just tryna do your quiz for real . . .
Warnings: None, fluffy, Jabber's cute and chaotic lol
w.c: 1k
Jabber hates when you're busy.
Particularly when he has nothing to do. It always feels like you go out of your way to be "busy" when he's not.
He's been laying here on your bed for about ten minutes now—keep in mind, that's a really excruciating amount of time for a guy like him—scrolling mindlessly on his phone before tossing it to the side without a care of where it dropped. (He'll immediately forget this fact, not realizing it had landed somewhere between your mountain of pillows at the head of your bed. He will be searching for it in a few hours, not really caring about finding it as much as he should.)
He let out a long—a bit overly dramatic—exasperated sigh, the sound cutting over your three hour and twelve minute long chill study music playing on Youtube.
You're already mentally preparing for the foolishness soon to come as you hear him make his way over to you at your desk.
"I'm boooorred." He bends down, resting his chin on the top of your head, his locs instantly blocking the view of your laptop screen. Then come his arms, wrapping around you from behind.
That wasn't as bad as you were expecting. "I just have this one quiz. It's not gonna take long; it's like twenty questions."
You let your guard down when he didn't answer. Figuring he was fine just chilling there on top of your head, you move a few of his locs out of your face so you could keep typing your answer to the question. But, you only manage about ten words total before he reaches out and grabs at your hand, making the last part of the sentence read "—k/'hnjkm".
"Jabber, I'm literally—you see me doin' homework!" You try giving him as stern of a look as you can muster, swatting him away. He always reminds you of a cat when he does this, deliberately sitting on their owners book, laptop, or mouse just to get their attention on them even if for a second.
He takes it as an affront, every time you ignore him, swat at him, or tell him "Hold on, I'm busy".
He grunted, staring at you with a disapproving frown. Then, he leaned back in and bit the base of your neck, just before your shoulder.
You respond with a high pitched, "Ouch!", jumping a little in your seat. Both of you were silent after, the only sound the "chill study music" that was almost humorously out of place for the moment. You stared at him astounded, neck stinging a little, while he just gave you a look that read "And I'll do it again".
As soon as you went to part your lips and scold him, he went for another attack, an abrupt, short kiss that left you more confused and caught off guard than anything else.
"Are you done?", you give him your best unimpressed look, "Can I finish my quiz?"
That proved to be a foolish question, because no, he was not done.
His hand shot out and closed your laptop with a loud smack, the Youtube music cutting off unceremoniously, "Fuck that quiz!"
He didn't let you finish, as he took it upon himself to tackle you. A small scream was all you could manage as you fell from the chair and sprawled underneath him on the floor. You can't connect to what exactly triggered this. He was a lot like a dog or a cat sometimes, with how they can just suddenly bolt all over the place. Rip and run all through the house without a care of what they step on or knock over in the process. Zoomies, as folks like to call it.
It's like you don't know how you cause it with him, you damn sure don't know how to end it, but it's just . . . there. You wait it out, and simply hope it doesn't kill you in the process.
"It's too much going on!", you hollered, a mix of amused, confused, and overwhelmed, "Like, you're actually doing so much right now."
"Why you ain't payin' no attention to me?"
"Oh my god", you roll your eyes with a chuckle, "It hasn't even been—forget twenty—fifteen minutes and you're acting out this bad?"
He gaped at you as if you'd grown two more heads, "Fifteen minutes is crazy!"
"No! You're crazy! You just bit me and then attacked me and my laptop because you don't know how to sit still for longer than two seconds. Which is you're own, very personal, problem."
You cut him off before he could complain, "I have a quiz to do!"
"Do it lateeerrrrr!" He hollered, rolling over and letting you rest on top of him.
You sat up, your hands comfortable on his chest, "I already started iiiitttt!"
He placed his hands on your waist, "I don't give a daaaaamnnnn!"
"Ugh!" You roll your eyes, exasperated. You love your boyfriend, you truly do. But good God, does he not understand the concept of space. Being even three feet apart is a cruel and unusual punishment in his eyes.
You doing anything that didn't involve him, like homework? That means "I don't love you anymore, Jabber".
You leave to go into another room? To him you're saying "I can't stand you."
God forbid you sit at your desk, facing away from him, while he's laying on your bed. The spot, in his eyes, that you're meant to be any and every time he's there.
So he follows you around. Seemingly with a focus on becoming one with your shadow. The amount of times he's stepped on your feet—made you spill your drinks, made you trip—from walking too damn close . . .
And then this, the demand for attention in the form of affectionate aggression, as you've come to call it. The tackling, the biting. And he knows he can get away with it, because you let him, every time.
You lean down and give him a short peck on the lips. And then another, just for good measure.
"Jabber, I'm tellin' you right now" you started, tone dead serious, "If I go and do this quiz later and you start cuttin' up all over again . . . I promise I'm not letting you over tomorrow. I promise."
