"Yeah, Lil Bro's in his room right now," Bro nods his head in the direction of Dave's room. Casually, he throws you a smuppet and you catch it with ease (in reality, you caught it with your face, but all's good). "Use it well you little butt-munch," Bro smirks at you before disappearing behind a wall, most-likely parkouring off to his room. For Bro knew exactly why you were here. You were here to see another Strider, who also happens to reside in this shitty apartment complex. For what reason were you visiting him? To check up on him of course.

Your name is (F/N) (L/N). Somehow, you've found a way to survive on this planet for fifteen damn years. That's a pretty nice achievement if you say so yourself. In the duration of these fifteen years of life, you've found a way to be the girlfriend of the one and only Dave Strider. That shit is so inconvenient, however; it's a bemusing relationship, you wouldn't have it any other way.

Your objective is to sneak into Dave's room.

You near the room of the shaded boy, smuppet in hand. Deviously, you lick your lips, having realized his door was slightly opened. The rhythmic scratching of turntables fill your ears. He's distracted.

Place yourself in a stance that is that of a ravenous predator.

Legs spread apart, knees bent at 90 degrees, your free hand settles on the surface of Dave's door. The mixing of turntables becomes louder as you push the door slightly even more ajar.

Bitch, you're ready, go for it.

You go in for the kill.

Smuppet in hand, you launch yourself through the door and at Dave. The sound of his door being crashed through immediately pulls him away from his turntables. The very sight of you rushing at him like some beast makes him jump. His headphones were yanked off his head at the impact you made with him. He is now on the floor with you shoving a smuppet in his face.

You lie on his stomach, practically straddling him as you shoved the smuppet's rump in his mouth. Any attempt at talking was muffled by Bro's sweet, smuppet's ass.

"Whuut the fuhck are you doingmpf?" Dave's words were blocked my the plush in his mouth.

"Mr. Strider, you didn't check Pesterchum today, did you? None of my pesters were answered, dammit."

You got up and brushed yourself off, looking down at Dave still lying on the floor (probably still analyzing what just happened). You looked at his turntables and an envelope with a tiny heart on it laid there. Holding it up to Dave, who was now sitting up, you indirectly asked what it was.

"I was gonna give that to you later, guess you caught me red-handed," he brushed a hand through is hair and fixed his , and without anything to stop you you open the envelope, and inside was a delightfully, gushy love note.

'Let's be honest, I don't do this kind of shit that often, and I feel awkward writing it out, but whatever. I don't want to be an uncouth, boorish, little bitchtit to you ('cause I feel like that sometimes I am), so I'm try'na be sweet. Sometimes, I feel like you deserve better than me, then I feel like I never want to let you go. Get me? Conflicting feelings of my love for you are clashing like a strife (that's supposed to be a good thing). You make me lose my cool, and as long as it's you, I'm fine with that. Seriously, you don't know how much Bro teases me about this shit. Just letting you know, thank you for putting up with MY shit, and I love you and I hope I'm not scaring you off with this cliche love letter.

Love,

Dave Strider'

So this is what Dave was doing so that he couldn't answer your pesters. You clutched the small slip of parchment to your chest. "So, it was fuckin' awkward, right?" Dave stood up and meekly rubbed the back of his neck.

"It was perfect," you go up to Dave and stand on your toes. A blush immediately formed on Dave's cheeks. Gently, you tug on the collar of his shirt to bring him to your level and kiss him on the lips. When you break away, Dave averts his gaze, "Maybe I should write more of those from now on..."

"Oh... And by the way, sorry about the plush rump in your face."