#L Zone Projects

[freddy-owo]

HAPPY TOYA BIRTH!!1!1!!!1!!1!!!

[noname-nonartist]

on your recent post. you’ve mentioned how ur not caught up with l/n and mmj. what about wxs? have you read all the story?

This is pretty self-explanatory lol

I haven’t really sat down and watch/read much on WxS story. I know the general/vague idea what they are doing now. But yeahhhh…

I only read like. The main story and… uhhhh.

Oh shit. I actually never read any of their key story events so far. All of the WxS related stories that I have read were from mixed events…

Oops. Ummmm…

I will read more, promiseeeeee! >x<;

After I finished reading L/N and MMJ tho. Since like. From what I read, they be good. The fandom be sleeping on them too much, for reals for realsssss. =3=

[annon-guy2]

Guilty Gear - The Missing Link: Hypothetical Remake Guest Character Poll [2 of 4]

[the-acid-pear]

Mental illness is insane I'm just having dinner w my father eating this a little too spicy pasta enjoying the Yeowch on my throat and the silence and suddenly I'm like yeah I'd kill myself.

[tillysslife]

ACTORS ON ACTORS–D. Starkey

pairings: drew starkey x actress!reader

warnings: actress!reader taking place of margot robbie in the barbie movie

word count: 1.9k

Your heart fluttered with nerves as you smoothed down your dress in the back seat of your Uber. It was a pink silky dress that clung to your curves, accentuating your skin tone beautifully.

You had recently been invited to the Variety set for a segment called Actors on Actors, and it felt like your career was skyrocketing over the past year. Last year, you won your first Oscars, for Best Actress in a Leading Role for your portrayal of Stereotypical Barbie in the Barbie movie. And now, here you were, doing an interview with the great Drew Starkey, someone who seemed so far removed from your own humble beginnings.

“We’re here, Miss Y/L/N,” your driver pointed out politely. You had been so wrapped up in your thoughts that you hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for you to exit the car for the last two minutes.

“Right,” you chuckled, offering him an apologetic smile before taking the final steps to prepare yourself for the anxiety-inducing environment—another quick adjustment of your dress, lip gloss smeared onto your lips, and a toss of your hair.

When you forced a smile this time, you dialed it up to perfection—the smile that could only be produced from fear of constant scrutiny. “Thank you.” You beamed, accepting his help as he guided you out of the car.

You watched as he drove away, almost wishing you were him—escaping from your fears, the terror of being put on a screen that would magnify all your imperfections.

You were ushered into the warm studio before you could fully process the motions of your body. The exterior was dull, a stark contrast to the bright, welcoming interior. “You’ll be needed on set in about 15 minutes! Drew’s already here… oh, he’s so handsome, isn’t he?”

You zoned out the wide-eyed assistant. Normally, you would’ve made an effort to at least pretend you were interested in what someone was saying, offering the occasional noncommittal hum or nod. But under pressure, you were never great at multitasking, which felt ironic given your profession of pretending to have it all together.

Soon enough, you were whisked onto the set of the interview. The first thing you noticed was a broad-shouldered man, his presence larger than his already tall frame. You took in the room—two velvet armchairs sitting atop a grey carpeted floor, a decorated black table nestled between them. The set was simple, designed to ensure that viewers’ attention would be on the two actors, not distracted by anything flashy in the background.

But your eyes wandered upon seeing those sharp blue eyes meet yours across the room. His lips tugged into a small smirk as he registered your presence.

Your heels clicked against the floor, sinking into the plush carpet beneath your shoes as you made your way toward him. You summoned up all the charm and confidence you had, giving Drew a saccharine smile and extending your manicured hand.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m Drew,” he greeted, his large, rough hand meeting yours in a soft shake. You only had a moment to admire the sheer size and power of his hand before he withdrew it to his side.

A small blush crept up your cheeks, hopefully hidden behind the foundation meticulously applied earlier in the day. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve been looking forward to this,” you admitted, your eyes flitting up to meet his. The dark lashes framing your gaze locked with his, an unspoken energy buzzing in the air between you.

Drew’s smirk softened, his blue eyes flickering with curiosity. “Likewise. You were incredible in Barbie,” he said, his tone warm but with an underlying admiration.

Your lips curved into a modest smile. “Thank you, that role meant a lot to me,” you replied, your voice quiet, reflective. “But I have to say, I’ve been hearing so much about your new project, Queer—I’m really excited to see it.”

Drew chuckled softly, a light blush creeping up his neck. “It’s definitely been a wild ride,” he admitted. He was about to expand on his opinion before the film crew instructed the duo to take their seats. 

Drew gestured for you to take a seat first, nodding towards the area. You sank into the red armchair, crossing your legs, inadvertently making the hem of your dress rise. You watched as Drew settled into the chair across from you, giving you the chance to fully inspect him.

He was dressed in a matching navy pinstripe suit with a cream undershirt. His legs stretched long in front of him, posture relaxed, but his eyes were intensely fixed on you as if studying your every movement.

He rested his chin against the palm of his hand, his blue eyes never moving from your figure. “So, finally face to face with the exceptional Y/N Y/L/N.” He began, readjusting his position in the chair. 

You breathily laughed “Wow what an introduction.” You smiled softly, your eyes flickering from his eyes, darting down to his lips and then back up again. “It’s hard to believe honestly. I’ve admired you and your work for so long. I feel like I’ve been waiting for this moment longer than I realised.”

“I just call it like I see it.” Drew’s smile grew warmer, his eyes flickering with an unknown spark. “But you know I was just thinking the same thing. It feels like we’ve both been running in separate circles, but somehow, here we are.”

You cocked your head to the side, the smile never leaving your face. You crossed your legs over the other and leaned slightly forward “Well if we’re giving out title, I guess I should return the favour. The incredibly talented Drew Starkey.”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair before shaking his head lightly. “Hard to compete with Barbie herself.”

“Well you could pass as Ken.” You retorted, your eyes lighting up. He had this way of making you feel at ease, even though there was a whole camera crew filming you, watching you every move all you could think about was this beautiful man in front of you who made you laugh at every turn.

Drew laughed, the sound deep and genuine “I’m not sure I’ve got the abs for it.” He joked. 

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as you fought back a grin “I think you’d be just fine.” The words escaped before you had permitted them, bringing the second and certainly not the last blush of the day.

His eyes light up with amusement. The ait between you two holding quiet electricity–the kind that settled in stolen glances and unspoken thoughts.

“So,” you continued, shifting the topic before the heat in your cheeks betrayed you again. “Tell me about Queer, I haven’t managed to watch it yet but I’ve heard it’s one of your most challenging roles yet.”

Drew nodded, his expression turning thoughtful “Yeah, it’s… different from anything I’ve done before, a period piece. The story is raw, really personal and significant. It follows this guy, Lee,in the ‘50s as he struggles with identity, his relationships. It’s messy and heartbreaking, but also really beautiful.” 

You listened intentionally, caught up in the way his voice softened as he spoke and the passion in his eyes. “That sounds incredible. I think films that really shed light on hard topics are lovely. It’s what the key to acting is, it's truly storytelling. Especially for those who weren’t able to tell their own story.”

Drew nodded and the shine in his eyes confirmed that he admired your words. “I couldn’t have said it better.”

A few moments of prolonged eye contact lingered between the two of you, only broken by being signalled to speak. 

“So, Miss Barbie. Tell me how that was like.”

You interlaced your fingers on your lap, gathering your thoughts to translate your thoughts in the best way. “Every role that I have the privilege to bring to life is an honour. But Barbie really spoke to me. As many other girls, I played with barbies growing up.” You laughed elatedly, recalling your memories. “ Barbie just seemed so… perfect, she was something that I looked up to. Even if I didn’t look like her it was so encouraging to see all of her careers and journeys. There are countless things that I loved while making this movie but it was truly inspiring to have so many strong and individual women in one space. The movie explores topics of patriarchy and male superiorism, something I'm sure every woman has unfortunately experienced before in their life. But then it shows how women come together, it isn’t a hateful jealous relationship, like how it is constantly portrayed in the media but it was true sisterhood. And god don’t even get me started on America’s speech or ‘What was I made for’, I’ll just start bawling.”

“Right,” Drew started, “I remember when I watched Barbie with my sisters the look of… feeling so totally understood was astounding from them, it hurt that this was something they could relate to. But it’s so powerful and impressive how you represented women all around the world, validating feelings they may have been harbouring.”

You met his gaze, your fingers absently tracing shapes in your dress. “Yeah,” you murmured, holding the weight of his words for a moment longer before letting out a light-hearted sigh. “Wow, that got deep fast.”

Drew tilted his head, scratching the back of his head with a smile “I guess you bring it out of me.”

You shook your head lightly at his antics “So, tell me something shallow about you. Balance things out.”

He chuckled, leaning back “Alright, um… I have an embarrassingly extensive collection of sneakers. I don’t even wear most of them, but I keep buying more.”

You gasped dramatically “Drew Starkey, a sneakerhead? Who would have guessed.”

He held up his hands “I contain multitudes.” 

“Alright, my turn. I have an unhealthy addiction to lipgloss. If I leave my apartment without at least three in my bag, I go crazy fighting out what I’m missing.”

You felt Drew’s gaze flick to your lips, his smirk lazy but unreadable. “I noticed. Looks good on you.”

Your breath hitched slightly before you played it off with an eye roll “Very smooth, Starkey.”

He grinned, “I try.”

The crew began moving around the set, adjusting the cameras, but you barely noticed. The energy between you two was magnetic—effortless. It wasn’t just scripted conversation or polite industry chatter. It was real. And if you weren’t careful, it could become something even more dangerous.

But right now, you weren’t sure you minded.

[newobsessionweekly]

Aftershock

Main masterlist | The Rookie masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Tim Bradford x younger!reader

Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: You’re a bold, confident civil engineering student, used to taking control on construction sites. But when an earthquake hits while you're in charge of your father’s site, you meet LAPD Sergeant Tim Bradford. You clash, you work together, and slowly, something deeper begins to spark.

A/N: I have the second part almost ready so it'll be here soon!! Also is you have some ideas for this mini series, feel free to drop it in my box! Feedback is always appreciated!! I hope you like it! Lots of love, bubs! Stay safe! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Warnings: Earthquake/emergency scenario, mild injury, panic attack (comfort follows), age gap, not proofread

Word Count: 4k+

It starts like a whisper—barely-there tremors under your steel-toes as you walk the perimeter of the new mixed-use high-rise downtown. You've spent the last half-hour barking into your phone, coordinating crane placement and checking load-bearing support numbers. You’re dusty, focused, and completely in your element.

Until the earth moves for real.

You don’t hear it before you feel it. The tremor roars upward through your boots like a live wire. The scaffolding groans. A metallic shriek pierces the air. Then it happens.

The world shudders. A cacophony of screams. Cement rains down. You drop to your knees and roll, instincts kicking in, sheltering beneath a shipping container propped on steel beams.

Earthquake.

It only lasts seconds—long ones—but the aftermath feels like a war zone. You crawl out coughing, your lungs filling with grit and fear, but your brain is firing on pure adrenaline. You're not just some student or supervisor. You’re the boss’s daughter. And he’s out of town, which makes this your site.

Your chest heaves, but your eyes are already scanning. Where's the crew? Who’s accounted for?

“Luis!” you shout, dodging fallen equipment. “Jen! Mateo!”

Two workers emerge from a cloud of dust, one limping, another coughing blood into his glove. You guide them to the open lot beyond the scaffolding, mentally mapping the layout. Six missing. Maybe more.

And then, over the scream of sirens, two figures cut through the dust—uniformed.

The man in front moves like he was born in boots. Tall, broad shoulders, determined jaw. There’s something sharp and no-nonsense about him, like he’s the human equivalent of a battering ram. Behind him, a quick-footed brunette surveys the site with wide, alert eyes.

“LAPD!” the man shouts. “Is anyone hurt?”

“I’m fine!” you yell back over the noise. “There are still people inside!”

He reaches you in seconds. “You need to move—this whole site could still collapse.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you snap. “This is my father’s project. He’s out of town. I’m responsible for everyone here.”

“Name?”

“Y/n Y/l/n. Civil engineering student. Site lead for the day.”

“Sergeant Tim Bradford,” he grunts, scanning you. “This is Officer Lucy Chen.”

Chen gives a small nod and immediately moves to triage the injured worker. Bradford, however, keeps his full attention on you.

You don’t miss the way his eyes rake over you—not in a creepy way. He’s taking stock. Assessing damage. Dirt on your face, small gash on your arm. His brows tighten.

“You were inside?”

“Under that scaffolding.”

“You shouldn’t be standing.”

You fold your arms. “Well, I am.”

“You need to let us handle this.”

“No. I know this site better than anyone. I helped design the layout. There’s a crawlspace beneath the west scaffolding that no one else knows about. If anyone’s still in there—”

“You’re not trained for rescue ops.”

“I’m trained to know what’s safe and what’s about to fall on your head.”

His jaw ticks. “I don’t have time to babysit you.”

“Then don’t. Keep up.”

You step past him, and for a beat, he just stares.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters. “You’re like if a Barbie Doll had a death wish.”

You toss him a grin over your shoulder. “Grumpy and unoriginal. Cute.”

He follows, grumbling something under his breath about stubborn civilians and lawsuits.

The two of you reach the compromised scaffold, and you crouch beside the twisted beams. Bradford stops behind you, way closer than necessary.

“Let me go first,” he says, voice low, eyes scanning overhead.

“I’ll fit through easier. You’re built like a linebacker.”

You feel his breath on the back of your neck as he leans down.

“And you think I’m letting you crawl into a death trap alone?”

You glance at him, only inches away. “So you do care.”

He doesn’t move.

“Protocol,” he says stiffly. “And… you’re bleeding.”

You look down at the gash on your forearm—dirt-caked but shallow.

“Didn’t notice.”

“I did.”

He steps forward and gently takes your wrist. His touch is unexpectedly careful—rough hands, but soft grip. He pulls a cloth from his vest and dabs at the wound. You watch his face as he works. He’s so serious. So guarded.

“I’m going in first,” he says, not giving you a chance to argue.

You don’t push it this time. He’s trying. In his own way.

You both drop into the crawlspace, the air thick with dust and heat. Your shoulder brushes his arm as you squeeze through. Close. Too close.

You hear it before you see it—a cough. Faint, raspy.

“There,” you whisper. “Under that beam.”

Bradford nods. “Stay low.”

The man’s pinned, conscious but trapped under a slab of drywall and steel piping. You approach carefully, testing for weight, and give Tim a look.

“If we shift the load here, I can drag him out.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

His hand grazes your back as he shifts to position. Again, he’s close. Protective. Your skin sparks where his fingers press.

He moves the slab, and you reach under, tugging the worker free with all your strength. It takes effort. You grunt, digging your heels into the ground. Bradford leans forward, adds his strength behind yours. The worker slides out.

You sit back, panting.

“You okay?” Tim asks, wiping sweat from his temple.

You nod, heart pounding—not just from the rescue. From him. From the way his hand didn’t quite leave your lower back.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Thanks.”

He meets your eyes. For a second, everything around you disappears.

And then his radio crackles. “Bradford, update?”

“We got one out,” he replies. “Sending location for medical. Continuing sweep.”

As you crawl back out, he places a steadying hand at your waist, guiding you up the incline. You feel the heat of it even through your shirt. It lingers. He doesn’t rush the touch. Neither do you.

Once you’re out, the EMTs swarm. The worker is taken. Chen updates the map with accounted-for crew.

You press your hands to your thighs, catching your breath.

“How many are left?” Tim asks.

You scan your clipboard. “Two. Maybe three. Could be hiding in the south exit shaft.”

“Is it stable?”

You pause. “Barely. But I can get us in.”

His eyes narrow. “You’re not invincible, Barbie.”

“And you’re not my boss, Grinch.”

He exhales hard. “Fine. But I go first this time. You stay on my six.”

“Yes, sir.”

He gives you a look. You wink.

You both make your way through the wreckage, ducking twisted rebar and beams. At one point, you trip on a loose plank. His arm shoots out, wraps around your waist.

You freeze.

So does he.

You’re chest to chest, his hand splayed across your back, your fingers gripping his vest.

“You okay?” he asks, voice a touch lower now.

Your throat’s dry. “Yeah. You?”

He doesn’t answer. Just watches you for a moment, then slowly lets you go.

You keep moving, but now every time your fingers graze or your arms brush, it feels intentional. Loaded.

You find the last two workers behind a jammed gate. Tim breaks the lock with a metal pipe, and you help the shaken men out. One thanks you. The other looks at you like you’re a superhero.

But the adrenaline has started to fade.

The full weight of it all—the noise, the near-deaths, the responsibility—presses down.

When you step away from the others, your legs buckle just a little. Bradford is there instantly.

“Sit,” he says, catching you by the arm.

You nod slowly, dropping onto a low wall.

He crouches beside you, reading your face. “It’s catching up to you.”

You swallow. “Yeah.”

“You held it together. You did everything right.”

Your breath hitches. “I didn’t… I didn’t think. I just moved. But what if I missed someone? What if—”

“Stop.”

His voice is gentle but firm. He places his hand on your knee. You flinch—but not from fear. From how it grounds you.

“Look at me.”

You do.

“You saved people. You helped us. You didn’t hide. You ran toward the danger.”

Your lip quivers.

His hand slides to your shoulder. His thumb strokes your collarbone, just once.

“You’re allowed to feel it now.”

And that’s all it takes. The panic hits like a wave—hard and fast. Your chest clenches, eyes burning.

Tim doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you into his chest, wrapping both arms around you. You bury your face in his shoulder, fists curling in his vest.

“It’s over,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re safe.”

His hand slides into your hair, combing gently through it. The motion is soothing. Familiar. Like he’s done it before. Or maybe just dreamed of it.

“You don’t have to be strong right now.”

You tremble in his hold. He doesn’t pull away.

“I’ve got you,” he adds. “Okay?”

You nod against him. When you finally look up, his hand lingers on your cheek.

“Didn’t think you’d be the nurturing type." you say, voice hoarse.

He chuckles, voice rumbling in his chest. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my brand.”

You lean back just enough to see his face.

And something shifts between you.

A quiet moment in the eye of the storm.

“I still think ‘Grinch’ suits you,” you whisper.

“And I still think you’re high-maintenance.”

“Excuse me?”

“Only a Barbie Doll would coordinate a rescue effort and sass a cop in the same breath.”

You smirk. “Maybe I’m both.”

The moment stretches. You’re both still, holding onto something neither of you fully understands yet.

Then a shout breaks the spell.

“Y/n!”

You turn. “Dad!”

Your father is running across the rubble-strewn pavement, suit jacket flapping, eyes wild.

You stand, and he pulls you into a crushing hug.

“I’m fine,” you gasp. “We’re all fine.”

He cups your face. “I got the alert mid-meeting and left immediately.”

You hug him tighter. “I had to take charge.”

“And you did,” he whispers. “I’m proud of you.”

You feel a shift behind you. Turning, you find Tim standing quietly, watching the scene with a measured expression. Your dad notices him too.

“You,” he says, crossing over. “You pulled her out.”

“Sergeant Bradford,” Tim replies, shaking his hand firmly. “Just doing my job, sir.”

Bradford looks at you. And he gets it.

You’re not just another young woman on-site. You’re his daughter. His pride. His heart. And you’re damn good at what you do.

Daddy’s princess—with steel in your spine.

He watches you hug your dad again, whisper something that makes the older man smile. And Tim’s jaw tightens, just slightly.

Lucy appears beside him, sipping water.

“She’s a powerhouse,” she says.

“Yeah,” Tim replies, watching you like he can’t look away. “She is.”

“You gonna ask for her number?”

He snorts. “She’d probably write it on an OSHA citation and tell me to lighten up.”

“You could use someone who challenges you.” his rookie shrugs.

Tim glances back at you—still in that vest, still a little scraped up, but glowing with that post-adrenaline shine.

Maybe he could.

[kaeraesketches]

✨I just realized that I never shared this here! This is a partial shot of my frame for the #EveryFrameOfEden project! The whole project should be ready to go within the next few weeks, then I can share the whole frame ☺️.

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✨ I really enjoyed doing this frame…and while I would’ve added more whimsical elements to it, something about trying to match details to photos is so relaxing for me. I can just get into the zone and stay there for hours. With everything that’s happened in the last couple of months, I needed a soft place for my brain. Anyway, I hope you guys like it! Please let me know what you think in the comments!

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(P.S. if you like process images and WIPs, I’ve got bits for this one posted over on Pa🌳on. There are some fun extras over there for just a couple bucks a month, and it goes toward supporting my work ☺️! The l!nk is in my bi0! 🙏🏻💜)

[idkdudethisisntpermanent]

Blurred Lines

jenna ortega x female reader

summary: You and Jenna, best friends and actresses, are cast as lovers for the first time, tasked with bringing a romantic chemistry to the screen. But as scenes unfold, the lines between acting and reality begin to blur.

word count: 2.1k

a/n: This was actually the first Jenna story I wrote!

————

What are you thinking so hard about? Jenna asks plopping down in the director's chair next to you.

After being best friends for years, you and Jenna have finally gotten the opportunity to work alongside each other on your latest film Lovestruck, a romance film where you two are playing the lead couple.

You. You wanted to say, but you were 8 years too deep in the friendzone to truly say what was on your mind. "Just the next scene," you smile at her tiredly.

Her eyes light up, "I've been looking forward to this scene for so long!  God just look at that view Y/n!  I'm so jealous of Lalya," she sighs, referencing the character she's playing in the film. "Just who wouldn't love to be confessed to here," your co-star finishes looking over at you with sparkles in her eyes.

When your manager gave you the script for this project, you could only laugh at how much the story paralleled your situation with Jenna.  You were playing Quinn, a girl who has been in love with her friend for years, but couldn't do anything about it.  Eventually the mixed signals and watching the one she loves be with others got too much, and Quinn angrily confesses by the lakefront during a sunset; the view Jenna was fawning over just a minute ago.

You could only wish that the aftermath of any potential confession of yours could resemble the one in this film. Layla ends up reciprocating Quinn's feelings and it's a happy ending.

Unfortunately the universe isn't as perfect as an angsty teen romance, and is rather a sick minded individual who gets a kick out of meddling with people's lives. For years you and Jenna have auditioned for the same projects to play friends, enemies, even sister's but why is it that the one project both of you manage to land is this one?

"Y/n/n!"

Startled, you look over at the girl who's been trying to get your attention for all this time while you zoned out. "Y-yeah sorry. You're right. It would be a dream to be confessed to here."

She hums and stands up before placing a hand on your shoulder looking intently into your eyes, "I'll see you on set after the break, hope you bring your A game Y/l/n," she winks with a smile before walking off.

Jenna walks over to Andrew another actor working the film and immediately starts laughing and touching his arm in conversation.  You couldn't help but roll your eyes, but you also couldn't tear your eyes away from the scene that always happened to unfold in front of you.

It hurts you beyond belief watching your best friend interact flirtatiously with other people. Having to hear about rumoured boyfriends and especially having her not deny them. The mixed signals you got from the girl wasn't any help either, like what was that hand on the shoulder just now? The wink?!

You walk away trying your very best to calm yourself down before your big scene. Jenna frowned as she watched you walk away and towards your personal trailer.

————

The director calls everyone to set and has prepared to shoot the big confession scene. The crew helps you and Jenna find your places and fixes up any imperfections in your clothing. As you stand before your co-star you're hit with a strong wave of emotions. The 20 minutes you spent in the trailer wasn't much help, and now as you watch Jenna who is looking at you curiously, you make a realization.

You may never confess to Jenna. How could you? This friendship was the greatest you've ever had and you were aware of the fact that friendships like this one, don't come easy. It would be insanely stupid of you to confess your love and single-handedly lose a gem like Jenna completely. The more you thought about it, the interactions between Andrew, the rumours with Percy, and countless other boys, the more helpless you felt. There was no way she could feel the same.

"You okay?" the gentle voice you've come to love speaks.

You're silent.  She looks at you with her big doe eyes that you've come to love, but at this very moment you hate so much.  The concern in her eyes is pushing you off the edge.  You hated it.  You hated how her caring nature has only gotten you falling tenfolds harder. Why does she have to be good to me, why does she torture me like this you ask yourself.

"Y/n/n."

You look away, refusing to look into her eyes, scared of the emotions you'll find in them, scared of finding out how much more you could fall in love with her in this moment, so you settle on the view of the sunset.

The director begins a 10 second countdown to cue in the start of the scene and you're still looking at the sunset pondering. This may be the only time that you'll ever speak the words of a confession to Jenna. Yes, to her it'll be you performing the script, Quinn speaking these words, but she doesn't have to know that you will mean all the words you speak with every fibre of your being.

A light smile plays on your lips as you think about the performance you're about to give and how it should get you nominated for all the acting awards in existence. The lines of Quinn and Y/n have blurred, and you are playing no character other then yourself.

You won't be acting.

"Action!"

The scene begins and you start marching away from Jenna like the script told you to.

"Wait- Stop!" Jenna says frantically grabbing on to your arm.You roll your eyes, shrugging her off and continue walking.

"Why do you insist on hurting me?" She shouts, following the script.  You stop walking and pause.One beat. Two beat. Just like the script instructed. You turn around, glaring at her with more intensity than the script demands, "Me? Hurt you? That's rich coming from you."

Jenna hesitates, caught off guard by the seriousness in your voice, but quickly recovers, staying in character.

"Yes you asshole! I invite you to the lake house, and all you do is ignore me!"  Groaning into your hands, you speak your next line.  "Layla. You're joking right?"

"No Q, I'm not.  Do you even care about me?  It's my fucking birthday, and you're acting like I'm not even here, sulking in one of your moods and embarrassing me in front of my friends!"

"Then what am I?"

"What?"

You laugh, running your hands through your hair, struggling to keep your emotions in check.

"If those are your little fucking friends, then what am I to you?"

Jenna acted taken aback like she was supposed to, "My friend? My best friend? I don't know that's not the point! Wh-"

You cut her off, "But it is the point!"

You break the script.

You blink hard, letting the tears that were building up before the scene fall down your face.

Jenna had a look in her eyes that you've never seen before it was confusion and something else you couldn't pinpoint. Being the amazing actress that she is, she improvs her next line, so the scene can get back on track.

"Here you go again not wanting to address the real issue," she rolls her eyes.

You decide to stick to the script with tears streaming down your face. "I can't keep doing this anymore Layla," the words carrying the weight of years of hidden feelings. "Watching you with them, pretending I'm fine when I'm not. I can't just be your friend anymore."

Jenna's eyes widen, her character momentarily forgotten as she registers the raw emotion in your voice. "Quinn... what are you saying?"

You take a deep breath, letting it all out, the pain, the frustration, the love. You're about to do it and you hope that just for a second your performance will blur the lines for Jenna. "I'm saying that I'm in love with you, and I have been for a long time. And it kills me every time I see you with someone else, knowing I can't be the one to make you smile like that."

The silence that follows is deafening. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, waiting for her response, both in character and out of it. The director's voice seems far away as he doesn't call cut, letting the scene play out naturally. For a moment you start to think that Jenna has forgotten her line, she's supposed to say, "For how long?"

But she goes off script.

She takes a step forward so she's only a foot away from you and takes your trembling hands (that you didn't even realize were shaking) in her own, an attempt to calm you down.

Jenna, as Layla, steps closer, her own tears glistening in the fading light. "Why didn't you tell me sooner, Quinn? Why did you let me go on thinking we were just friends?"

Your voice cracks as you respond, "Because I was scared. Scared of losing you, scared of ruining what we have. But I can't keep pretending anymore."

Jenna reaches up, gently cupping your face with her hands, her touch warm and soft. "You idiot," she whispers, her voice trembling. "How could you not know? How could you think for even a second that I didn't feel the same way?"

Her words hit you like a ton of bricks, and for a moment you forget that you're on set, that this is all supposed to be a performance. It feels too real, too raw.

"T-then what about everything I see? All those guys?" You say staying true to the script, but you couldn't hold your tongue and add, "The rumours? The interactions I always see?"

Jenna clearly seems taken aback by your addition to the script, and opens her mouth and closes it, at a loss for words.

You can't help yourself and continue, "Do you have any idea what it's like to watch you with other guys? To see you flirt with everyone else and feel like I'm just...invisible?"

Jenna's heart races as she realizes the depth of your feelings, the lines between the script and reality blurring completely.

Jenna continues, the rest of the scene now being pure improv. With tears in her eyes, "I wasn't trying to hurt you...Q. I wanted you to notice me. To see me the way I see you.

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. Jenna's voice is trembling, her gaze locked on yours, and for the first time you realize she's not just playing a role. She's confessing, right here, in front of everyone.

"I've been in love with you for so long," you get out through tears, "But all I've ever seen is you with them... like I don't even exist."

The shorter girl steps closer, dropping the last remnants of her character. Her hands reach up to cup your face, her touch gentle and filled with unspoken emotion.

"I didn't know how to tell you, Quinn. I was scared, so I tried to make you jealous, provoke you into action, hoping you'd finally do something. I-I was hoping you'd see how much I care. How much I...love you.

Your breath catches, your heart pounds in your ears, and you break character completely not caring anymore, in a trembling voice you ask, "You really feel the same way?"

Jenna nods, tears spilling over as she smiles, a mixture of relief and vulnerability in her expression.

"Yes, Q. I've always felt this way. I was just too scared to admit it... but not anymore."

You blink, struggling to process what's happening. This wasn't in the script—none of this was. But it's real, and it's happening now.

You smile through the tears, "Then let's stop pretending, Jenna. No more games... I'm yours if you'll have me.

Jenna lets out a small, tearful laugh, pulling you into a tight embrace. The cameras are still rolling despite your name drop, but none of that matters anymore. She pulls back just enough to look at you, her eyes shining with a love that's no longer hidden.

"I've always been yours. Always."

In that moment, you lean in, pressing your lips to hers in a kiss that's filled with all the years of longing and love you've both kept hidden. When you finally pull away, you're both breathless, tears of happiness mingling with the raw emotion of the scene.

The director calls "Cut," but neither of you moves, still lost in each other's eyes. For a moment, the set is silent, the crew unsure if they've just witnessed the best acting of your careers or something far more real. But you both know the truth—and it's better than any script that could have been written.

[jade-jini]

“You can bully me all you want, Uchinaga”

Bully! Aeri x Bully! reader

Promt: Aeri is the exception to every rule you have. You guys grow closer, and what do you learn from that? That just because she’s your bully doesn’t mean that life is easier if she’s not around. A continuation of this. @mxl633 there you go as promised. There y’all go guys 😭

Genre: smut, fluff, slight angst.

TW: this sht’s like +6k😭

“Ah! Shit, Aeri, what did I do now?” You asked the girl behind you, who had pushed you violently against the wall of the bathroom, making you face it. You didn’t waste time and teased her, your ass against her body right away.

“Don’t play dumb with me, y/l/n. You know what you did.” Aeri said, grabbing your waist to control your moves.

“If you’re referring to how I took your notebook for science class, then I’m sorry baby but I needed your answers” you told her with a giggle.

“No I wasn’t talking about- wait. Motherfucker you took my notebook?!” She said, stopping you right there to check her bag. “Y/n!” She complained.

“I’ll give it back!… after I get the answers” you promised.

“You’re such a brat” she clicked her tongue, putting her hands under your shirt to play with your chest. A soft long moan came out of you, making Aeri giggled “you like being touched there a lot, don’t you?”

“Shut up…” you groaned, hating being teased about those things.

“Do I stop, then?” She threatened, already moving her hands away, and you groaned once again.

“Don’t stop! it feels good~” you almost begged. Anybody would think that you haven’t been touched in a long time when in reality, Aeri and you fucked basically everyday.

“This will feel better” she started, undoing your pants, and getting one of her hands inside your underwear “oh wow, so wet already? It really turns you on to get risky like this, huh? Exhibitionist much?” She said, playing with your pussy lips. “I heard from a friend that you’ve been bullying the president of the physical chemistry tutoring club”

“Don’t lie, nerds don’t have any friends” you teased her in between your agitated breathing, giggling at your own comment. She clicked her tongue again, and pinched a part of your inner thigh, hard “fuck! That hurts, Aeri!”

“Then shut the fuck up and listen.” She ordered. “You either stop that, or I’m beating you up”

“Why do you care so much about that loser?” You asked, a frown forming on your face. The guy Aeri was talking about was just basic nerd guy n.74, why would she care about him at all? Was something going on?

“I don’t, but their club and one of the clubs I’m part of are doing a project together, and every time this guy is late because you, dearest, decided to do something to him, it slows us all down” Aeri explained as she rubbed the zone where she pinched to ease the pain. “So you either stop it, or that pinch will feel like a soft kiss compared to what I’ll do to you, ok baby?” She said in that fake nice voice she had that caused you shivers. When you didn’t answer, you grew impatient and started pinching you again, making you hiss in pain.

“Ok ok , Jesus. I’ll stop!” You answered “you have my word. Now can you please play with my clit ‘cause what are you doing, Uchinaga?!” you demanded, already frustrated ‘cause she just kept toying with your pussy.

“Shut up.” Aeri ordered, grabbing your throat with the hand that was previously on your chest, softly choking you. “such a fuckin bully, y/n. they didn’t do anything to you and you bother them.”

“I don’t recall you needing a valid reason to bother me even during the days that I behave.” You said between soft moans as you felt Aeri’s fingers finally giving your clit the attention you needed.

“That’s because you’re an asshole and a bully even when you don’t move. So it’s only fair I give you a lesson to remind you.” The Japanese girl sped up, wanting to hear your voice going to higher ranges. As you started to shiver in her arms, you rested your head back on her shoulder, biting your lip trying to contain the noises you wanted to free. Aeri’s hands traveled to the edge of your pants, and she pulled them down with your underwear, one hand going back to teasing your clit. Fast, then slow when she could see that you were getting close. She kept edging you, then depriving you of your pleasure.

“Stop doing that, I wanna come…” you whined, slapping her other hand. This earned you a hair pull, and a slap on the face.

“I decide when you come, not you. When are you learning this?” She said harshly, making you whimper in annoyance, and making her roll her eyes in result, to then slap your ass. “Fucking brat.”

“Fuck you, Aeri. you call ME a bully when you're the asshole- Ah! Fuck..!”

"Ahh there we go, take it like a good girl, bitch." She cooed you, as she started to roughly move two fingers inside your pussy. She didn’t warn you, she didn’t prepare you, but you were dripping wet so, you didn’t even need any of that.

“W-was it so hard to do that.. 5 minutes ago? Fuck.. feels so good~” you moaned sweetly, loving the way Aeri’s fingers filled you up. You put your shirt up, playing with your tits.

“Is it so hard to not be an impatient little slut?” She asked sarcastically.

“Yes, actually. I thought you’d.. fucking.. know- shit.. - since you’re an expert at being one..” you spoke through your moans and cries, making Aeri huff and speed up both hands as she turned you around and her lips captured your nipple, softly biting but intensely sucking on it, making it even harder to contain your moans. And for a second, you completely forgot you were supposed to. “Fuck… Aeri.. harder please…” you said without controlling your volume, and she had to kiss you to shut you up.

“It’s like you’re trying to get caught” she said against your lips, moaning against your mouth too. She kept fucking you. Deep. Hard. Rough. Until tears were falling from your eyes ‘cause of the intense delicious sensations. You came having to bite her shoulder as she was kissing your neck in order not to scream her name. She hissed at the pain, but she wouldn’t dare to stop you. Aeri loved making you come so hard that you have to bite her like this. As she helped you calm down from your orgasm, she asked again.

“So, no more bullying the presi?”

“I don’t appreciate you talking about some dude while we’re having sex, you know?” You answered after catching your breath, feeling your mood going back to bad as the previous conversation resurrected.

“Aww, jealous?” She teased with a smile, deep inside her finding it somehow endearing that you were jealous.

“Fuck off Uchinaga, you wish”. You huffed while pushing her away.

From “oh my god stop, leave me alone! You’re so annoying!” in public, to “fuck y/n don’t stop baby please… you’re so good…” when it was only you and her. The fact that Aeri and you were now fucking didn’t change how much you annoy each other, it just added more tension. Tension that you both create and you both help each other get rid of. Whenever you weren’t having it with Aeri’s attitude, you’d grab her wrist and get her to your guys’ private spot on that empty bathroom that nobody uses, or even your car, fucking some sense back into her brain. It’s not like it would stop her from bullying you, but you’d tire her up so well that she just didn’t have any energy left for anything.

Most of the time, it was Aeri not having it with you. You were still pretty much the worst (and best) part of her days; Making her notebook disappear, teasing her during class until the teacher has to stop you guys from fisting each other’s face (lol), making her almost trip with your foot. Girlie was constantly making sure you weren’t nearby before trying to walk without looking down.

“You fucking bitch. All day, y/n. You tried to make me fall on my face all fucking day.” Aeri spoke through her teeth, anger flowing through her voice as she pushed you to fall on your own bed. You smiled in excitement, as she started to crawl your way.

“Hey it was only fair, you gave me a headache yesterday with the amount of times you hit my head!” You defended yourself “you’re a real pain in the ass, Uchinaga, you know?”

“Pain in the ass, huh?” She said, a mischievous smile growing on her face making you gulp ‘cause no matter the context, whenever Aeri smiled like that, it meant that it was gonna hurt.

And that’s how you ended up with your ass up and your face against the pillow, biting it and slowly taking every inch of her strap (the strap she made you buy her). Your hands were tied up behind your back with your own tie, and your pillow was already covered on your own saliva.

“How does that feel, huh? Little slut…” Aeri would tease, as she pulled the knot of the tie that held your wrists together. Your brain was so fucked up that you could barely form any coherent thought.

“It hurts s-so good… fuck~ more Aeri..” you’d say in between sobs and whimpers, and the Japanese girl got so aroused by the scene in front of her that she could do nothing but fuck you deeper against your mattress, calling you names that pushed you closer and closer to your climax each time, “pathetic slut” “you’re such a whiny pathetic puppy, aren’t you?” “You like this, don’t you? Getting fucked like a whore. My whore.” until you were nothing but a passed-out mess.

Sometimes you were more patient, though, and waited until the end of the day so you could take her home with you and do anything you wanted with each other in either her or your bed. And Aeri would never say it out loud, but her favorite place to do it was your bed, 100%. She knew that you particularly didn’t like taking your hookups to your house, let alone your own room (but she wasn’t just some other hookup), so the fact that you LOVED when she went to your house? Yeah, I don’t know but she enjoyed that information a little too much. She liked being your exception to so many things. Your breaking point. Even your weakness, whether you’d admit it or not. And she knew it was mutual, you guys are just too stupid and stubborn to admit it to each other unless it’s between moans as your bodies embrace each other during a steamy session.

Going back to those hookups. Surprise no surprise! You stopped seeing other people. I mean, the main reason why you were in that slut era was because you were trying to get rid of that need that Aeri caused on you, but nobody was ever enough. Now, you had the girl herself, to enjoy. To relief you from everything that she herself caused. Why would you waste your time on anybody else?

However, you were wondering how did Aeri come to be the exception of your rule of no bringing people to your room. You had even gone to the extreme of fucking people in a car in a parking lot, just so you wouldn’t bring them to your personal space. To the one place where you could feel vulnerable and safe. And here she was, yet again, riding your strap. Her tits bouncing in front of your face. One of her hands on your throat, choking you softly, and the other resting on your stomach as her body slapped against your lap.

“Fuck, fuck… gonna come again..” she moaned loud, her frowning face showing how she was so focused on reaching her orgasm one more time. One of the multiple reasons why you liked bringing Aeri home was because of the freedom you had of being as loud as you wanted. You grabbed her hips and made her sit on the toy harder, helping her reach those sweet spots inside her that you knew so well now “Fuck! y/n!” She said as she came on top of you, some of it getting on your thighs. The whimpers Aeri was letting out as she rode her climax were making you feel things in every part of your body, wanting to make her ride you for hours (even though you’ve been fucking since you left school hours ago and it was already dark night time). The girl collapsed next to you, clearly tired after such intense and long session. You removed the toy, taking note on cleaning it later, and you turned around to see Aeri; her skin shinning sweaty, her messy hair, her eyes closed and mouth slightly open as she tried catching her breath. You loved this look on her, you’d ruin her until her nails make your back bleed and you can’t feel any part of your body if it meant seeing her like this at the end of the night.

“What are you looking at, loser?” She said, her chest still going up and down.

“I like when you look a mess like this, in my bed…” you softly whispered, leaning down to leave a kiss on her lips. You tried deepening it, but Aeri put her hands on your chest and softly pushed you away.

“Hey don’t get too excited again, ok? I literally can’t feel my legs anymore.” The Japanese girl groaned with a pout as you laughed and squeezed her thigh. “Stooop, it feels weird”

“Fine fine, I’m sorry” you said while still laughing. Aeri simply rolled her eyes and did her hair into a messy bun before putting her glasses back on. You couldn’t believe it and part of you wanted to punch yourself for this but, oh my god didn’t she look extra hot with those nerdy glasses on. Messy hair, glasses, no makeup, and Aeri would have you drooling for her every single time.

“I can feel you staring, y/n”

“Your boobs are out, what do you want from me?”

————————————————————————

“Hey you, I’m cold.” Aeri said the moment she got out of the shower, with only a pair of panties on while she finished drying some parts of her body. You looked at her, like asking her what was she expecting from you. And she looked back at you, like telling you ‘mf get me clothes or something’. You normally wouldn’t let your hookups use any of your clothes, no matter if they ask for it. But as we already know, Aeri is your exception to everything.

“You can use that hoodie, if you want” you suggested while pointing at your favorite sweater (one that you washed the day before and just used to take a nap), trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. You wanted to try something. As you see her putting the piece of cloth on, your heart decided to be stupid and started to beat fast. Why did the view of Aeri with your clothes, your favorite hoodie, cause this on you? You preferred not to think about it.

“Ew, it smells like you” Aeri said faking disgust, but in reality, one of the things she liked the most about you was how nice and sweet you always smell, and the warm feeling of your clothes covering her body was causing just as many things on her “you need to do your laundry and shower more often, nasty ass”

“Oh fuck off.” you told her, making her giggle. Fuck. Her laugh was sounding too cute right now. She was looking too pretty. You turned around and pretended to check your phone, trying to deal with the blush on your face and your accelerated heartbeat. You didn’t wanna deal with your feelings. With no feelings at all.

“So.. let me know whenever you’re ready for me to take you home” you said and got no answer. As you turned around, you heard a soft breathing, and saw how the girl in front of you was completely passed out already. “Aeri? Aeri, hey.” You called, but it was useless. She wasn’t waking up any time soon. You sighed, and didn’t really have the heart to properly try to wake her up, so you jus let it be, and laid next to her to try and get some sleep too. You stared at her, and wondered how somebody who’s so mean when they’re awake can look so sweet and calm while asleep.

Anybody else? You would’ve told them to get ready to take them home or to simply leave before they even think about the idea of spending the night. But not Aeri.

Yeah… Not Aeri.

As you walked down the hallway, you were looking for Aeri. You were supposed to take her home so you guys could work on your project together (post about this coming soon). You knew that after her last class, she had meetings with one of the nerdy clubs she was part of, so you went to the science department to get her. However, you remembered this after you and your friend walked through half the campus trying to find the Japanese girl.

“I can’t believe THEE y/n y/l/n is searching the whole campus trying to find a nerd” Yujin said, as she walked next to you. Her practice had just finished, and she was killing some time before Wonyoung’s last class ended “And what’s worse, a bully-nerd. What an interesting hybrid your girl is” you stopped abruptly, making her crash into you. “Hm? What?”

“Don’t get confused, Yujin. She’s not my girl.” You told her, not wanting not even the idea of it getting in anybody’s head, although hearing somebody referred to Aeri as your girl made your heart jump in excitement.

“Yeah? Then why are you so serious about finding her? I doubt is to bother her, you said you had too much homework lately.”

“I told you, Yujin. We got a project together. The sooner I find her, the sooner we finish it, and then I don’t have to see her. At least not outside of school.” you said, trying to act like you weren’t spending almost every hour of the day with Aeri.

“It must be a really important project for you to care like this”

“It is. Now shut up and lets go, I think her club is this way.” you said. You guys walked down a hallway, checking the names and numbers next to the doors.

“Smells like loser in here…” Yujin said covering her nose, making gestures like she wanted to puke.

Yujin abandoned you after saying that she couldn’t stand the “smell of nerds and losers”, which made you roll your eyes ‘cause you knew damn right she just got bored and was gonna try to find her girlfriend. You sighed, and decided to just let her go, as you stood in front of what seemed to be the classroom where Aeri’s clubs were meeting up. By this hour they should’ve been done already, and if they weren’t you didn’t give a fuck ‘cause you were more important.

As you entered, the first thing you saw was Aeri laughing and smiling vividly, which made a smile escaped you as well.

“There you are-” you started, but once you opened the door a bit more, you froze. You noticed somebody holding her hand and her chin. Nobody else but that fuckass President loser guy that you disliked so much. The reason you disliked him (that Aeri didn’t know), was because you knew his dumbass was into her. You weren’t stupid, the girl was good looking, not only for a nerd but for any type of person, Aeri was very attractive. You knew a lot of people probably liked her, but the way he looked at her. And what’s worse, the way she seemed to have so much respect and admiration for him. Sometimes you even noticed Aeri’s eyes shining whenever he was giving some stupid speech.

You weren’t one to understand these feelings. You never learned how. It scared you. And you hated that it scared you. So what did you do to deal with feeling vulnerable? You’d get angry. You’d succumb to rage. In any other occasion you would’ve dealt with it by pounding on somebody, hard until your pain was gone and it transferred to them, but you gave other people up the moment you started sleeping with Aeri. And she was the reason of these (what you consider) negative feelings. So you couldn’t go to her for it. Not when she was the one making you so jealous. So vulnerable. So scared.

So angry.

Both Aeri and the guy turned to you, same as some other classmates who noticed your presence.

“What is y/n doing here?” You heard one murmur, panic in her face “oh God, are we getting beaten up right now?! I didn’t bring my first aid kit today”

Aeri’s smile disappeared as she saw you and put distance between her and the presi, as if her body knew automatically that she wasn’t supposed to let nobody else touch her.

“There you are, presi” you continued with a fake happy tone, pretending you initially were referring to the guy “have you been hiding from me?” You asked sarcastically as you wrapped his shoulders with one arm roughly, still bitterness emanating from your words. He groaned a bit at the abrupt move, knowing it wasn’t easy to free himself once you got him like this. Aeri’s eyes were on you, silently warning you.

“We talked about this, y/n” she whispered to you, honestly surprised, but mostly annoyed at your attitude “Leave him alone. ” she warned, but you ignored her.

“Listen, y/l/n.” He started, faking some bravery, but still some stuttering in it, making him look even more pathetic “i don’t know if you know but, I’ve been working out, so as a warning, let me go know, and I’ll forgive your shenanigans against my person, deal? I wouldn’t want to have to hurt a girl.” He said. This guy was sad. Like he really thought bro. You freed him and pushed him in front of you, almost making him trip.

“Oh really? I’d like to see you try, presi. You need to warm up if you’re working out so hard. Maybe practicing with a ‘little girl’ will help. Come at me, C’mon.” You dared him, and you could hear some of his stupid ass friends that you’ve bothered before encourage him. Peer pressured and nervous shitless, he weakly tried to swing your way, but missed miserably, making you laugh. This hurt his ego, making him get angrier, and a decent slap across your face resonated in the room, surprising everybody in the room, including him and you.

For a second, Aeri almost jumped and beat the shit outta him herself, but you were faster. A single punch to his face got the guy falling to his knees. You didn’t think you hit him so hard. Until he looked up and you noticed how much blood was pouring from his nose. In that moment you panicked. Everybody seemed even more surprised now, and two of his friends rushed him back to his feet, checking on him.

“I think she broke his nose, damn. We need to go to the nurse’s office” a tall guy said, trying to clean some of the blood.

“That’s embarrassing, dude” a girl whispered to him as the three of them hurried out of the classroom.

Aeri was staring at you, speechless of what just happened. You couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but you could read one emotion in her eyes: disappointment.

“Ok we need to fucking talk, y/l/n” Aeri stated, starting to walk outside the room and expecting you to follow her, which of course you did.

————————————————————————

“What the fuck, y/n. You didn’t need to do all that” Aeri started once she was in front of you. Her tone serious, more than other times. You could feel the shivers going down your back but you ignored them, stronger feelings dominating your mind at the moment.

“Didn’t you see what he did?! He hit me on the face first. And why do you care so much about him? He’s just some guy!” You responded, your tone hard and careless about who heard your conversation. Some students on the distance heard you and if they didn’t know better, they would assume it was a couple arguing. Aeri looked at them with those eyes that say “get lost, now.” And watched them run away from the scene.

“Lower your fucking voice.” she threatened calmly “Nothing’s about him, even though I can’t believe you really sent him to the nurse’s office. It’s about my club. I told you, when he’s not around it takes longer for everything to get done. *I* have to take care of a lot of stuff whenever he’s not there. And it’s hard! He takes care of a lot of important stuff you know?”

“It surely does sound like it’s about him” you argued, looking somewhere else while you crossed your arms in front of you. You didn’t like how the conversation was being about that loser. She didn’t even ask you if the slap hurt or if you were ok.

“It’s about my academic work, and that’s something I’m not letting you fuck around with, y/l/n, ok?”

“You’re not the boss of me, Aeri, I can do whatever I want, don’t fuckin forget that” you said as you walked to her. Aeri wasn’t having none of your nonchalant-bitchy act.

“Oh my god, I fucking hate you. You’re such a pain the ass.” she said in between teeth as she grabbed your shirt’s collar, trying not to punch you already. Any other day her words wouldn’t have had affected you, but today you weren’t having it. You felt tired of feeling so unimportant to her compared to other people around her.

“Yeah? Plot twist, baby. I fucking hate you too” you said, while harshly freeing yourself from her hold. “Since the moment you came here, since the moment I met you, my days have been nothing but misery. You are insufferable in levels I can’t even comprehend. I’m tired of wasting my time on you, shit would be better if I never met you, Uchinaga.”

Aeri didn’t expect you to say all that. Your words seemed to have genuinely hit her harder than any punch or kick or slap you guys had given each other. She didn’t have any come back. She just stared at you. Her big eyes were shining, and you swore tears were starting to appear on them. And for the first time, you felt regret for the words you said to her. Regret for hurting her. But you couldn’t take it back. Your breathing was heavy, as you stood in front of her, waiting for a reaction.

“If you’re so tired, I’ll stay away. If you really don’t wanna deal with my shit then I’ll leave you alone.” She said, and started to walk back to the classroom. You followed her, trying to stop her, grabbing her by the wrist. But she didn’t let you touch her.

“Aeri, wait.” You said, almost sounding like you were gonna beg her “I don’t know where that came from. Wait, c’mon don’t leave, don’t be like that”

“No I’m sure you know where it came from, you sounded very genuine. I’ll leave you alone, y/n. But you do it too.” And like that, she entered the room. You tried opening the door, but it was locked. You knocked hard, but there was no use and you knew it. You sighed, and decided to just go home.

“What the fuck. Fucking dumbass.” You told yourself as you walked.

“I didn’t even do anything!” You heard from a guy who had his head inside his locker.

“Fuck off, Mark! This is a private conversation!”

“With… yourself?”

“Yes mf, with myself!”

Aeri and you didn’t talk much after that fight. Neither of you understood your own feelings, let alone each other’s actions. You could’ve, if you just talked. But healthy communication wasn’t something you guys had. That’s the type of things couples do, and you weren’t there.

Aeri was in her room, sitting in front of her desk as multiple books and papers spread open on top of it. She was trying to study, trying yet again to get you out of her mind. But it seemed to be a much harder challenge than she expected, specially when you two still had a project together to finish. Notes with your handwriting were in front of her, and she’d reread them over and over again. Every time her phone made a sound, her heart jumped, hoping that it was a message from you. After these happened several times, she decided to mute her phone. But it was worse, ‘cause now she was checking it every couple of seconds, to see if there was any notification. But nothing. Not one word from you. She was starting to get so upset. Not at you, but at herself. she couldn’t believe she was missing an asshole like you.

“Why am I so attached to you?” She asked out loud, as she looked at her lock-screen: a picture of you that you took the time you snatched her phone to fill her phone with selfies. “You drive me crazy” she continued, as her finger softly toyed with the edge of the phone. She stared at your picture for a while. “I can’t believe your stupid ass got me missing you. You out of anybody I could be feeling whatever this shit is for”. Aeri sighed and closed her books , deciding that she’s had enough for today and needed some sleep.

————————————————————————

You felt guilty.

You were tired of being angry. You were tired of that rage. It was never supposed to get to this point. You knew you were an asshole. I mean, you went around being annoying and bullying people. But it never got to the point of sending somebody to the nurses office. You always just tried to have fun teasing some losers! You never meant to cause that guy such harm, and you never meant to say all those things to Aeri. You guys have literally beaten each other’s asses. Insulted each other with some mean ass names several times. Yet, it felt like the first time you crossed the line.

When you saw her eyes, and how genuinely hurt they looked, it did something to you. It reached your heart. “God fucking damn it. Whyyy?!” You said out loud, frustrated while fidgeting with a little football pillow that Ryujin gave you for your birthday as you sit next to your window “Why her?! If I was gonna be stupid and care about somebody, why couldn’t it be anybody else? Some nice popular guy or something like that. Now I’m here like an idiot feeling sad about insulting a nerdy bitch who literally bullies me.”

You fucked up and you knew it. You had to do something. That was more than clear. Distracting yourself was useless. You did anything you could; watched any movie, tried doing your homework (and giving up after 2 minutes), FaceTimed your friends (and telling them you were tired and were going to sleep after 5 minutes), you even thought about contacting some random person and see where that goes but, you discarded that idea right away. There was no use. You wanted Aeri. And Aeri only. And it wasn’t gonna get better the more you waited.

You knew having this bully in your life was hard, but not having her? It was truly insufferable. It was impossible to deal with. Within what was right between you guys, you needed to make things right again.

You needed to apologize.

“Oh I’m gonna throw up.” You said, rushing to the bathroom while covering your mouth.

The next day, you tried to avoid seeing Aeri during the whole day, succeeding for the first time. It seemed she wasn’t very interested in finding you either. You even missed the class you shared with her that day, finding a quiet spot to think about what you were gonna say. You needed to give a good apology, one that would let her know you were truly sorry about what you said and that you didn’t mean those words at all. At the end of the day, though, you knew you were gonna have to improvise because your feelings were a mess. And they could only get back in place once you had those pretty eyes in front of you once again.

“Ea, that was such a cheesy thought, you know?” You said to yourself, shaking your head at that thought.

Once you heard the bell that indicated classes were over, you rushed to Aeri’s locker. Thankfully, you were able to catch the girl before she left.

“Hey!” You called, getting next to her.

She clearly seemed surprised to see you, maybe even a bit happy and hopeful, but she quickly composed herself not wanting to show you any feeling besides disinterest and even a bit of disgust. So, the Japanese girl fixed her glasses and just continued getting her stuff from her locker, without even acknowledging your presence.

“C’mon, don’t play the ‘pretending I don’t exist’ game, I come in peace. I really need to talk to you” you started, a calm tone in your voice.

“Are you going to apologize to the guy?” She questioned, crossing her arms in front of her and impatiently tapping the floor with her foot. You had one chance to answer correctly.

“What?” You sounded confused, “No, who gives a shit about t-“ and there you went answering like shit.

“That’s everything I needed to hear. Bye” she said, closing her locker and starting to walk away.

“Aeri wait a minute, c’mon” you started walking, following her from behind.

“Fuck off, y/n. I have a meeting. Now *I* have to lead both clubs until Roger’s nose gets better because he looks so stupid breathing through his mouth that the other members aren’t taking him seriously” she answered clearly frustrated, not stopping and not even looking back.

“Just listen to me, please. I’m sorry” you asked in such a soft tone that she couldn’t ignore. Aeri stopped abruptly, thinking this school finally gave her early dementia ‘cause no way you said sorry.

“What?” She asked as she turned back to face you. Seems like you were on the right path, but she still looked like she didn’t trust you, so you continued.

“I’m sorry about the way I acted. I know I shouldn’t have done what I did to him, specially after I said I would leave him alone. I know your club is important to you, and I know we’re always making each other’s life harder and messing with each other. And that’s fun! But I’m not one to be breaking promises when I did give my word. Or to mess with stuff that is truly important for people who are important to me.”

“I’m important to her?” Aeri thought, slowly processing how you were opening up to her like this, her heart beating faster every second.

“The truth is, I miss you. Every time you leave me, I don't know what to do” You continued, just letting your feelings flow through your words, as much as your heart allowed it “I just can't stop wanting you. I don't know what else to say but please, forgive me.”

Aeri didn’t know how to respond to all this. She honestly never thought you’d apologize to anybody, let alone to her. It took her a couple minutes of consideration to decide whether she’d forgive you this soon. But fuck. She missed you too, and she didn’t know what to do without you around to mess with her, in every way you knew how to.

“Fine” you heard her say as you looked at your shoes, honestly expecting her to just leave or worse, humiliate you about opening up like that.

“Fine?” You said looking up fast, not believing your ears. “So.. you forgive me?” You asked, a clearly tone of hope in your voice.

“Yes, dumbass. I forgive you.” The Japanese girl said, almost giggling at your childish (and cute) expression. Your smile and your shiny eyes making you look so cute and excited “but you gotta apologize to Roger too”

“Oh that’s his name?” You said, realizing you never even cared to know his name or anything about him at all lol

“Yes, y/n. That’s his name.”

“Damn, crazy how little I cared about that…” you murmured and Aeri clicked her tongue, starting to walk away. But you quickly stopped her grabbing her by the wrist “ok ok I’m sorry! that apology’s something I’ll consider how to do later, ok?” You told her, and she sighed, knowing that was as much as she could get outta you “now, how do I know you Foreal forgive me?” You asked, still a bit unsure of everything.

“Well I’m still here talking to you, instead of making you walk around campus butt ass naked with words like ‘pathetic, loser, simp, bully’ etc. written all over your body. Which maybe I should, actually…” she answered, looking at the ceiling and her face showing a thinking expression as if she was seriously considering this option, which she probably was.

“Hmm… how about one of these?” You offered, as you opened your arms, trying your best not to show how nervous you were of showing this affectionate side that she’s never seen. It caught her off guard making her just stare at you, a concerned and unsure look on her face, but she couldn’t keep those walls up in that moment. She missed feeling you. So she buried her face on your neck as she let you wrap her in your arms, hugging you by your shoulders.

“You’re so annoying, you know ?” She told you, and you could feel her lips against your skin. You giggled, and held her tighter by her waist.

“So are you, baby. So are you.” The petname made her face hotter than ever.

“Don’t think that because we’re hugging I’ll stop bullying you, you still deserve it”

“If it’s you, you can bully me all you want, Uchinaga” you told her, kissing the top of her head. You guys almost couldn’t recognize yourselves nor each other, processing this situation. Such a new sensation, but it ultimately warmed both of your hearts. It felt good. Really good. Even if it scared and confused you. You caressed her long dark hair, and she raised her head to look at you.

As you guys locked eyes, you gave her a mischievous smile and moved your eyebrows up and down, silently asking for something. Aeri rolled her eyes and smiled, just to finally give up and kiss you deeply. She really missed your lips. The feeling of you next to her. So she savored this moment as much as possible.

Suddenly you heard an exaggerated gasp behind you guys, making you separate yourself and turn your heads violently. There, your three friends and Aeri’s cousin were completely perplexed, mouth and eyes open as they stared at you. An intense silence took over the six of you, until

“I called it. I literally called it. Pay me, Rei!” Wonyoung said, a smile of ‘I told y’all so’ spreading through her face as she extended her hand to the younger Japanese girl, who just clicked her tongue and gave her some cash. What the heck lmao they bet on y’all.

“I can’t believe my eyes, cousin. You’re dating your own bully.. slash victim?” Rei questioned her, looking you up and down, making you feel weirdly shy ‘cause isn’t this kid somebody you used to tease?

“Yeah y/n/n, you’re Foreal dating your own bully?” Yujin asked you, still not believe what she just witnessed.

“No no no it’s not like that-“ you tried explaining but got cut off by your other friend.

“Are we even surprised I mean, these two are either always together or they disappear so much lately and at the same time, they probably go around fucking at every chance” Ryujin said, giggling at her words.

“How did you know that?” Aeri confronted, a frown on her face “did you tell them something, you idiot?!” She accused you, while hitting your arm. You put your hands up in surrender.

“I didn’t say anything to anybody!” You defended yourself, nervous at the accusations. Meanwhile, Ryujin’s expression changed from entertained to once again surprised.

“Wait- that’s what you guys actually do?!”

“No! It’s not like that.” Aeri tried lying, her brain rushing for some excuse.

“Yeah? Then what’s with that purple hickey right here, cousin?” Rei asked with a raised eyebrow as she pointed at a spot on Aeri’s neck.

“What?! Oh my god y/n I told you not to leave marks in visible places!” she said as she checked herself in her locker mirror, not finding anything.

“PFF you don’t have anything, She was just messing with you. But that reaction speaks for itself” Wonyoung said, looking up from the bills she had in her hand, trying to make Yujin stop trying to take them “babe back off, last warning”

“Haaa hahahaha” you heard Rei laugh while pointing at you guys’ red faces.

Aw man…

“Actually, it was me who called it, so that bet money should go to me” you heard your science teacher from behind your friends, sounding really proud of himself. How long has he been there??

“Well I ain’t giving you shit, mister Kim. I hope you know that.”

[monster-effer]

Christmas Time in the N109 Zone – Sylus x reader

Summary: Can you bring Christmas cheer to the N109 Zone? There’s only one way to find out. Content: Fluff, Sylus and reader are dating, reader is the MC, Christmas cheer (1.3k wc) A/N: I was not planning to write a Christmas fic, but I couldn’t help myself once “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” by Brenda Lee played on Spotify shuffle. I hope y’all are having a lovely holiday season no matter which holiday you may or may not be celebrating! Please enjoy <3

You were on an important mission. Your objective was to bring Christmas cheer to the N109 Zone, specifically Sylus’ place. Since you lost your grandma and Caleb in one fell swoop, you’ve struggled to feel any sort of Christmas cheer around this time of year.

With this plan in mind, your first step was to bring this up to your boyfriend Sylus. After you explained the reason behind your new project, Sylus’ crimson eyes softened, and he nodded in agreement. He would give you anything you asked for, and often things you didn’t think to ask for.

Over the days leading up the holiday you’ve drip fed bits of Christmas cheer into Sylus’ life and home.

December 20th:

You insist that Luke, Kieran and Mephisto join Sylus and you for Christmas photos at the local mall with Santa. Sylus huffs at the suggestion but after some insisting, relents because he can’t say no to you. You try to hold in laugh when the twins relentlessly tease their boss as you all wait in line for photos.

It is a little awkward trying to figure out where everyone will go for the photo. Eventually, you and Sylus end up sitting on the red rug at Santa’s feet, Luke and Kieran are sitting on one of Sant’s legs each while Mephisto perches himself on Santa’s left shoulder.

The resulting picture is silly and heartwarming. Right before the camera flashed Mephisto let out a festive "sqwack!" which caused you to glance up at him with a smile. Sylus is warmly gazing at you with a small smile on his face. Luke and Kieran are wearing their masks but with the addition of elf hats on each of their heads while they hold up bunny ears behind Santa’s head.

You make sure to have several copies in assorted sizes printed out before you leave the mall.

December 21st:

Sylus to comes with you for last minute tree shopping. Initially you were resigned to the idea that only thin, sad looking trees would be left. But a Christmas miracle occurred because you scored a HUGE, 10 foot tree that would fit perfectly under the high ceiling in Sylus’ living room.

Transporting the tree was the next obstacle, but luckily this was resolved with a generous tip from Sylus. And the tree was delivered later that day. Once the tree was placed in the designated corner of the living room, you could enact the next phase of operation: Bring Christmas Cheer. The decorating.

December 22nd:

The morning after bringing home the Christmas tree, you brought over some ornaments, garland, and an eerily familiar looking crow tree topper that you found while browsing online.

You…may have gone overboard with the three boxes of decorations you brought over but you wanted the entire living room to look festive. After having breakfast together, you, Sylus and the twins divided and conquered the decorating tasks as Christmas music played softly in the background. The twins were handling decorating the mantel above the fireplace and hanging up Christmas lights.

You focused on decorating the tree with Sylus. He decorated the upper parts of the tree that you could not reach because the tree was massive. Once you were satisfied with the decorations on the tree, Mephisto took it upon himself to seize the crow tree topper and plop it perfectly onto the point of the tree to finish it off.

December 23rd:

On this day, everyone went their separate way to buy, and wrap presents. You spent the day strolling through Linkon city’s downtown area and the N109 zone trying to drum up ideas of what to get everyone.

So far, this is your progress:

Luke and Kieran: matching ugly sweaters and red, festive crow masks commissioned from 303’s workshop in the N109 zone.

Luke: Crow shaped ice molds since you always catch him crunching on ice no matter the season.

Kieran: Supplies for dart making.

For Mephisto: a shiny Reindeer bauble because he loves collecting little trinkets.

The only person left on your list is Sylus. What would be a good gift for a man that could buy himself anything? You wander around for hours before dejectedly thinking about getting him something generic like a Christmas themed lotion set.

But your eye catches the glint of a beautiful picture frame inside of a photo shop, and you realize you have found the perfect gift for your boyfriend.

December 24th:

In anticipation for Christmas being tomorrow, you requested everyone’s presence at Sylus’ home.

You put on your favorite Christmas song playlist, while you all arrange your wrapped gifts under the tree. After they are all placed, you start baking some gingerbread cookies in Sylus’ kitchen.

While the cookies are sitting on a cooling wrack, you put on some classic Christmas films. You and Sylus cuddle on one of the couches while Luke and Kieran chase Mephisto around the room trying to place a teeny, tiny Santa hat on his head. (They were not successful)

During your childhood, it was a Christmas tradition to stay up until midnight before opening the presents. You try your best to do so, but you are no match for the Christmas movie marathon and Sylus’ body warmth. You end up dozing off.

The next thing you remember is being gently nudged awake. Opening your eyes reveals Sylus looking down at you amusedly. You glance at the clock on his fireplace mantle, and it reads 11:58 pm.

December 25th (midnight):

You smile softly at Sylus and get up to stretch. Then you spot Luke and Kieran cuddled up together and asleep on another couch. After waking them up and summoning Mephisto, you exchange gifts just as the clock hits midnight.

Luke and Kieran enthusiastically rip open their gifts. They both briefly pause as they unearth the identical masks you had commissioned for them, they unceremoniously stand up and run out of the room together. They return a few minutes later proudly wearing their new crow masks. “Thank you, Ms. Hunter,” they say in unison.

Mephisto caws happily as you roll another sparkly bauble his way. He quickly nips it in his beak and flies off to add it to his ever growing pile of trinkets.

You watch in nervous anticipation as Sylus begins to unwrap the gift you handed him. What you bought him is not the most expensive or luxurious gift, but you hope that your intentions shine through.

Once he’s removed all the wrapping paper, he takes a moment to silently scan the titanium picture frame. The frame holds multiple photos of you and him the past few months you’ve shared together.

Finally, after what felt like the world’s longest pause, he looks directly into your eyes and says, “Thank you for this sweetie, I’ll hang this up in my bedroom so I can see it when I fall asleep every morning.” Sylus’ smile is soft in a way you rarely get to see. His usual barriers and walls are down as his appreciation for the gift and his affection for you is clearly on display.

You heart is filled with gooey warmth as you look around the living room. Your gaze reaches the tree then realizing you are the only one who has not opened their presents. You received an astonishingly ugly sweater from Luke and Kieran and a crow plushie “from” Mephisto. Sylus hands you a small black box that holds a beautiful gold locket. When you open the locket a photo of you and Sylus looking blissfully happy greets you. Your grin is bright as you ask him to fasten it around your neck.

You wouldn’t forego all the chaos you had to go through to create the memories made with this chaotic bunch. This year, Christmas has officially made its way to the N109 Zone.

[boopiemadz]

[History project]

No crash AU

Here's the Travis fluff you all were so patiently waiting for! I went with option B :) enjoy!

(sorry for the super un creative title)

---

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as Mr. Kennedy paced the front of the classroom with his clipboard, his voice flat as he read off names. “You’ll be partnered up for the Colonial Economy project, presentation and research paper, due next Monday. No exceptions.”

“Martinez and [Y/L/N],” Mr. Kennedy called out.

Your eyes flicked up.

Travis Martinez sat in the third row, lazily spinning a pencil between his fingers. He didn’t react right away, but when he finally looked up, his gaze met yours.

There was something unreadable about him. Not shy, not cold exactly, but like he kept the world at a low volume on purpose. You’d seen him around school, usually lurking by the vending machines or zoning out in the back of class, and of course, you knew his dad: Coach Martinez, who ran your soccer practices like a drill sergeant.

“Hey,” you said once Mr. Kennedy released everyone to start planning. “Guess we’re stuck together.”

“Could be worse,” he replied. You laughed under your breath. “Could it?”

“Are you free after school?” he asked. 

You hesitated. “I’ve got practice. Your dad runs us pretty hard.”

Something flickered in his expression, annoyance, maybe, but not at you. “Right. Forgot you’re one of his.” You smirked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he said, “We’ll figure something out.” Mr. Kennedy clapped his hands and dismissed the class. You gathered your stuff slowly, watching Travis disappear into the hallway without looking back.

---

Practice had been brutal, you pulled your shin guards off with a groan and chucked them into your duffel bag. The sun was dipping low behind the trees, casting everything in that golden, eerie light that always came before a storm.

Most of the girls were already heading out, half-limping, still laughing about something dumb from drills. You spotted Travis by the fence near the parking lot, arms crossed. He looked like he’d been standing there forever, headphones around his neck, eyes somewhere a million miles off.

You grabbed your water bottle and headed over, giving him a small nod.

Before you could say anything, his dad’s voice barked across the field:“Travis! C’mon, don’t stand around like a zombie, grab cones.”

 “I’m talking to someone.” Travis contested with a snarky tone.

Coach Martinez came striding over, looking mildly surprised to see you standing next to his son. “[Y/N]” he said, nodding at you. “You’ve got a solid right foot. That pass to Lottie today? Beautiful. Keep working on that.”

You smiled awkwardly. “Thanks, Coach.” He looked between you and Travis. “Didn’t know you two were… friends.”

Travis groaned. “We’re not.”

“We have a project together,” you added quickly, shifting your weight. “A project, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Travis said, a bit too fast. “History. School. That’s it.”

Coach smiled like he wasn’t buying it. “Well, why don’t you just come back to the house, then? You can work on it there. It’s gonna storm anyway. We're having frozen pizza.”

Travis looked like he might spontaneously combust. “No,”he said quickly. “We’re good. We’ll figure it out later.”

“I’ll stay out of your way.” Said coach, “I said we’re good,” Travis muttered, eyes narrowed. You could feel the secondhand embarrassment radiating off him.

You coughed, trying to ease the tension. “It’s fine, really. I don’t mind, if it makes it easier.”

Coach gave you a friendly pat on the shoulder like this was all going so well. “Smart and athletic. You’re a good influence on him.”

“Dad,” Travis hissed.

As you followed them toward the car, the wind picked up, leaves dancing across the pavement. The sky above looked heavy, like it was about to break open.

You wondered what the hell you'd just walked into, but for some reason, a part of you was curious to see what Travis Martinez was like when he wasn’t just a shadow at the edge of your life.

---

The drive to Travis’s house was mostly silent, except for the sound of the blinker clicking too long at a turn and the low murmur of Micheal Jackson on the radio. You sat in the backseat, still damp from practice, your bag shoved between your feet. When Coach finally pulled into the driveway, he cut the engine and glanced at you in the rearview mirror. “Didn’t realize you two were history buddies,” he said flatly.

“We got assigned the project,” Travis muttered. Coach Martinez let out a humorless snort. “Lucky you,” he said dryly. “She’s one of the few on varsity who actually listens.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the compliment, but also by how his tone shifted, just sharp enough to cut, and it was aimed at Travis, not you. Travis didn’t respond. Just climbed out of the car and slammed the door a little too hard.

Inside, the house smelled faintly like oregano and laundry. Travis kicked off his shoes at the door and disappeared down the hall without a word. You hesitated. Coach turned to you as he took off his jacket. “You’re early to every practice, run like hell, and don’t whine when I push you,” he said. “If he had half your drive, I’d…” He shook his head. “Anyway. Go on.”

You gave a half-smile, awkward and unsure, then made your way in.“Travis?” a woman’s voice called from the kitchen.

His mom stepped out a second later. She had warm eyes, and dark clipped-back hair. She gave you a polite smile, then blinked at you like she was trying to place you.

“Hi,” she said. “I don’t think we’ve met?” Before you could answer, Travis trudged back into view and mumbled, "Mãe, ela joga no time. O pai é o técnico dela."

His mom raised an eyebrow. Then, in Portuguese: "Ah, entendi. Ela é bonita. Ela é sua namorada?" Travis groaned. "Mãe, não. A gente só está fazendo um projeto de História." She smiled softly, clearly amused at her son 's suffering. “Okay, okay.”

“Sorry dinner’s not real dinner,” she added to you in English. “Just frozen pizza. Nothing fancy.”

“That’s totally fine,” you said quickly. From the hallway, another voice perked up: “[Y/N]?” You turned and smiled. “Javi!”

He looked taller, older, but still had the same grin. “I haven't seen you since the summer!”

You gave him a hug, you had volunteered at a summer camp last summer, Javi was one of the kids you led at the soccer camp, he was always your favorite.

Their mom chuckled and disappeared back into the kitchen, calling out one last time, “Door stays open!” Travis groaned and motioned you toward the hall. “Come on.” You followed him, but before you reached his room, his dad called after you: “[Y/N] Don’t let him slack off. Make him do his share.”

You turned to respond, but Travis was already pulling his door open, muttering, “Yeah, thanks, Dad.”

---

Inside, the room smelled faintly of old cologne and pencil shavings. Posters half-tacked to the wall, unmade bed, a couple of books on the floor. Travis flopped down in the chair by the desk and ran a hand through his hair.

You dropped your bag near his bed and raised an eyebrow. “So… this is your natural habitat?”

You and Travis were quietly working on the project, the occasional rustle of papers and soft hum of the room filling the silence. Travis was still distracted, his eyes drifting outside, but you were trying to keep focused.

“I think if we add more dates to the timeline, we can make it flow better,” you said, breaking the silence. “Like, more context for each event?”

Travis barely nodded in acknowledgment, still staring out the window, the flickering lights casting shadows across the room. “Yeah, sure,” he replied in a low voice, his tone almost absent.

You tried to push through the awkwardness, hoping that maybe the project would lead to more conversation, but it felt like pulling teeth. You took a deep breath, thinking maybe you’d just power through it and get it done.

Eventually, you decided to call your mom to figure out when she planned on picking you up. You stood up and walked over to the kitchen where the landline sat on the counter. Picking it up, you dialed her number, tapping your foot impatiently as you waited for it to ring. The line crackled for a moment, but you finally heard her voice.

“Hey, Mom, it’s me,” you said. “The storm’s getting pretty bad, when do you think you're going to come pick me up?”

Before you could finish, Mrs. Martinez came into the room, glancing at you with a concerned look. She could hear the storm beginning to pick up outside, the wind howling, the rain hammering at the windows.

“Oh, it’s getting pretty rough out there,” she said with a frown. “Maybe it’s best if you stay here for the night.” You gave her a slightly surprised look. “I don’t know, I don’t want to trouble anyone. I’ll just wait for it to pass, and wait for Mom to come get me...”

As if on cue, your mom’s voice came through the phone, crackling slightly with the storm interference. “It’s too dangerous to drive in this weather hun, I'm afraid Mrs. Martinez is right. Stay there for the night. It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

You hesitated, glancing between Mrs. Martinez and the phone. “Are you sure, Mom? I can just…”

“No, no. Stay there,” your mom insisted, the line cutting in and out a little as the storm worsened outside. “It’s better to be safe. Don’t worry about coming home tonight.” You nodded slowly, feeling a bit awkward but grateful for the reassurance. “Okay. Thanks, Mom.”

You hung up, turning to face Mrs. Martinez, who was watching you with a friendly, almost maternal smile. “Well, looks like you’re staying the night then,” she said warmly, as if it was no big deal. “We’ll set you up on the couch, and you can relax while the storm blows over.”

The atmosphere inside the house was charged, a heavy silence hanging between you and Travis after his mom suggested you stay the night. After a while Mrs. Martinez pulled Travis aside to talk to him outside in the hallway. You could overhear their conversation but couldn't understand exactly what had been said as they were arguing in Portuguese. 

Mrs. Martinez looked at her son, her voice steady but firm. "Travis, ela vai ficar aqui. Não podemos deixá-la sair nesta tempestade. Você sabe disso."

Travis crossed his arms, frustration evident on his face as he shifted in his seat. “Mãe, isso não faz sentido. Ela pode ir embora quando a tempestade passar. Não é como se fosse tão ruim assim.”

Mrs. Martinez didn’t budge, her eyes narrowing slightly as she stood up, her voice taking on a sharper edge. “Você não está entendendo. Está muito perigoso lá fora. Não vou deixar ela sair. Ela vai ficar aqui.”

Travis looked away, rubbing his hand through his hair, clearly agitated."Mãe. A gente mal se conhece e você quer que ela passe a noite aqui..."

Travis 's voice, though soft, carried frustration. “Você não entende. Isso é estranho, mãe.”

Mrs. Martinez 's response was firm and unyielding. "Eu sei o que é melhor, Travis. Não se trata de você. Trata-se de ela ser uma pessoa segura, e não dos seus sentimentos."

You could hear Travis 's feet shuffle as he paced, his voice growing louder with annoyance. "Eu só... eu não sei. Não quero que ela fique aqui, mãe. É desconfortável."

Mrs. Martinez sighed, her tone shifting to something softer, though still firm. “Você precisa parar de ser tão teimoso. Você não pode sempre afastar as pessoas, Travis. Isso não é sobre você, é sobre fazer o que é certo. Ela vai ficar aqui porque é o que precisamos fazer.”

Travis was silent for a moment, likely processing, before he muttered something under his breath. “Está bem... Você venceu.”

The door to the room opened, and then he came back into the bedroom. Travis’s posture was still tense, but there was no more protest. Mrs. Martinez, on the other hand, smiled warmly at you.

---

The rain outside hadn’t let up, and the power had since gone out. Travis's room felt extra quiet, just the dull drumming of water on the windows, and the warm flicker of the candle his mom had set on his desk. You were both crouched on the floor, backs against the bed, working mostly by flashlight.

The project was almost done, you glanced sideways at Travis. His face was lit by the candlelight, serious, focused, his lashes casting shadows under his eyes.

“You’re not as mean as you look,” you said suddenly. He looked over at you, brow raised. “Thanks… I think?” You shrugged, smirking. “You’re quiet. People always assume quiet means rude.”

“I’m not quiet,” he said. “I’m just not loud.”

“Oh wow,” you deadpanned. “That’s so profound.” You nudged his knee lightly with yours. “So, is this the part where we pretend we’re friends now?”

“I mean…” He glanced over at you. “You’re staying over. Might as well.” You blinked, caught off guard by how casual that sounded. The mood had shifted, just a little. He wasn’t as closed-off anymore, not all grunts and shrugs. His voice had softened, and so had his posture. You could tell the guard was coming down.

“I like this version of you,” you teased. “The non-grumpy one.”

“I wasn’t grumpy.”

“You literally argued with your mom in Portuguese so I wouldn’t sleep on your couch.”

Travis laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “That wasn’t about you.”

“Oh no?”

“No. It was about me being stuck in awkward situations I didn’t ask for.” You tilted your head. “So… am I in an awkward situation?” He looked at you then, really looked. “Nah. Not anymore.” Something warm settled between you.

You didn’t say anything for a few seconds, letting the silence stretch. Not the bad kind. The kind that made it feel like maybe something small had shifted. You leaned your head back against the bed frame. “You know what would make this night less cursed?”

He gave you a look. “If the power came back on?”

“Okay, yeah. But also, if we made a blanket fort.”

He snorted. “A fort.”

“Yup. Couch cushions, old quilts, the whole deal. Make it an adventure.”

“You realize we’re not six.”

“Exactly. Which means we can make it better than a six-year-old would.” He hesitated, then smirked. “You’re seriously gonna make me do this?”

“I’m seriously already planning it in my head.” Travis sighed, but he was still smiling. “Alright. Let’s build a dumb fort.” You grinned, hopping to your feet. “It’s not dumb. It’s cozy. And you’ll thank me later.” As you padded out into the dark hallway toward the living room, you heard him mutter behind you, “This is so dumb.”

But he followed you anyway.

---

The living room was dark, except for the occasional flash of lightning through the windows and the flickering candlelight. Travis stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, arms crossed, while you got to work like it was a mission.

“Okay,” you said, hands on your hips. “Couch cushions, quilts, chairs. We need at least one flashlight and maybe a lantern if your mom’s got one.”

“You act like this is a military operation.”

“Travis,” you said seriously, “blanket forts are an art form.” He stared at you, deadpan, but you saw the edge of a smile tug at his mouth again. “Alright, general.”

Between the two of you, you managed to drag in a few pillows from the storage closet, stack some chairs on either end of the couch, and drape thick quilts overhead. Travis helped, mostly by handing things to you while pretending not to care, though you caught him adjusting the corners and securing a wobbly chair when he thought you weren’t looking.

By the time you crawled inside, it was warm and dark and way more impressive than you expected. “This is actually kinda sick,” Travis admitted, ducking inside with the slightly cold frozen pizza his mom had luckily starters to make before the power went out.

You gasped. “You admitted you liked it.”

“I said kinda. That’s not the same.” You grinned and grabbed a slice of the half-warmed-up frozen pizza.  Javi peeked in from the hallway, grinning like this was the coolest thing ever. “This is so cool. Can I…?”

“No,” Travis cut in. “Go back to your room.”

You both sat back against the couch cushions, legs stretched out. The storm was still roaring outside, but the fort made it feel far away, like the two of you were kids again, hiding from the world. After a while, you finished eating, and Travis reached over to grab something from under the coffee table, a small stack of old board games.

“You serious?” you said, eyeing Sorry! and Uno like they were ancient relics. “My mom hoards these,” he shrugged. “It’s this or actual conversation.” You grabbed Uno. “I’ll kick your ass.”

“You wish.”

A few rounds in, the teasing got louder, the laughs less guarded. Travis started doing ridiculous voices. You accused him of cheating. He denied it but was definitely cheating. Every time he slapped down a Draw Four, you groaned dramatically and hit him with a pillow.

By the end of the third game, you were both lying down, heads side by side, feet tangled up in the mess of blankets. “I didn’t think you were funny,” you said, stretching your arms above your head.

Travis turned his head. “I didn’t think you were this weird.”

“Thanks?”

“It’s a compliment.”

---

The fort had quickly turned into the most comfortable space in the house. Travis had settled near the back of the fort, flipping through a magazine. You were lounging on your side, looking for something to tease him with.

You spotted it, the CD case on the floor. He'd left it just out of sight, but the shiny surface of the Green Day album caught your eye. A small, innocent thing, but you didn’t care. You picked it up, holding it in your hands.

He groaned, shifting toward you. “Come on, give it back.” You slid back, holding it just far enough out of his reach. “Nah, I think I’ll keep it for a little while longer.”

Travis grinned, clearly not going to let this slide. “Alright, if that’s how it’s gonna be...”

Without warning, he lunged forward, his hand grabbing at the CD case. You yanked it away, but in the process, you lost your balance. He was already too close, his body tumbling into yours as he overextended his reach. In a moment of clumsy desperation, he landed on top of you, his chest pressing against yours with a soft grunt.

For a brief, breathless second, neither of you moved. Travis was frozen, his arms braced on either side of you, his face inches from yours. His hair, normally messy, was slightly more wild, a few strands falling into his eyes. And it wasn’t just that. It was the fact that you could feel everything now. The heat between you, the way your heart skipped a beat as you met his gaze... and you noticed something else, too.

Travis had a... well, an undeniable reaction. You were both so close that you could feel it growing against your leg, and your stomach flipped with sudden nervous energy.

He hesitated, his expression flickering with uncertainty, before he finally pushed himself up and sat back. His hand brushed against your side as he moved, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his muscles tensed, his body still so close to you.

You took a moment to collect yourself, trying not to acknowledge the way he had fallen on top of you, how his weight felt against your chest, how his body was so warm.

“Uh, sorry,” Travis muttered, his voice low, a little too soft. He was trying to act like it was no big deal, but you could see the flush creeping up on his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s fine,” you quickly cut him off, though your own heart was racing. You sat up, trying to brush it off, but it wasn’t as easy as you hoped.

Then, Travis cleared his throat, leaning back against the pillows. “So, uh, are we just gonna sit here in silence, or...?”

But even as you moved on, you couldn’t help but notice how he was sitting, the way his shoulders were broad and the way his t-shirt clung to his chest. He was leaning back against the blankets. And then it hit you.

Travis Martinez was actually... hot. You didn’t mean to think it, but the way the light hit his face and the way his muscles were just subtle enough to make you notice, you couldn’t pretend you hadn’t noticed it anymore.

“Hey, uh, you good?” he asked, snapping you out of your thoughts. He was looking at you with a raised eyebrow, as if he knew something was off. “Yeah,” you muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “Fine.”

Travis just stared at you, not pressing the issue, but still seeming like he was waiting for something. He smirked lightly. “You sure?” You shook your head, trying to hide the sudden heat in your cheeks. “Yeah. Let’s just... let’s finish the project.”

The air between you two had shifted again, but this time, you didn’t really know how to deal with it. So, you both just fell back into the rhythm of the project, quiet, easy banter, a few laughs, and still the occasional look that made your heart race.

---

The night had grown quieter, luckily the power had come back on after the whole CD fiasco. The fort had become the perfect retreat, a cozy little corner of the world away from everything else. You and Travis were sitting cross-legged, taking the opportunity to kick back and relax. The movie, a cheesy '90s romance, was playing in the background, but you were too distracted to really focus on it. You had been wearing your soccer gear all evening, but when his mom offered you some of her clothes to change into, you reluctantly agreed. After all, you didn’t want to be stuck in your sweaty uniform the entire time.

The bathroom was just down the hall, and you slipped in to change into the oversized pair of pajamas that Mrs. Martinez had given you. When you looked at yourself in the mirror, you noticed the shirt that was baggy fell way too low, so you used a hair tie to tie it up in order to make it look like less of a dress, and the bottoms were loose but hung low on your hips, the waistband just barely staying up. The fabric was soft, the shirt with a slight V-neck, and it fit just right, comfortable, yet undeniably more... flattering than you anticipated.

You didn’t think too much of it, just needed something comfortable, but when you emerged from the bathroom and walked back toward the fort, something felt different.

Travis was sitting in front of the TV, but when he saw you, his expression froze for a second. His eyes widened slightly, as if he’d just noticed something he hadn’t before. You tried to ignore the sudden flutter in your chest as you walked past him, but you could feel his gaze lingering on you.

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile curling on your lips. “What? You’re not used to seeing me not in soccer clothes?” He snapped out of his daze, quickly looking away and clearing his throat. “Uh, no, I just, uh, I didn’t expect you to... I mean, you look…" He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair as if trying to gather his thoughts. "You look... good.”

You couldn’t help but grin, the way he stumbled over his words making it all the more amusing. “Thanks” Travis just nodded, his face still a little flushed. He didn’t say anything more, and you didn’t push it. Instead, you sat back down on your side of the fort, curling up with a pillow in your lap, trying to ignore the little twinge of nerves in your stomach. It was just Travis. 

The movie played on, the soundtrack of cheesy romantic scenes drifting in the background. Travis stretched out on his side, getting comfortable in his own pajamas, loose blue plaid pants and a fitted, faded T-shirt. He looked relaxed, but there was something about him tonight that made you notice the way his chest looked in the shirt, how his muscles flexed as he shifted. You found yourself glancing at him more often than usual, your heart racing a little more than it should.

At some point, the movie’s predictable plot started getting to you. You rolled your eyes and stretched out, still trying to ignore the tension building between you two. Travis seemed to sense it too, though, his eyes flicking over to you as he adjusted on the floor.

He gave you a sideways grin. “You don’t look too convinced by the movie.” You shrugged, trying to keep it light. “It’s just... it’s so cheesy. Like, who falls in love in a rainstorm like this? It’s a total cliché.”

Travis’s hand brushed yours as he moved slightly, and both of you paused for a moment, the electric spark of touch hanging in the air. His fingers lingered just a second longer than necessary, but neither of you said anything.

You shifted, trying to play it cool, but when you moved your hand closer to his, accidentally, maybe, you could see the hesitation in his eyes. And then, without a word, he slowly, subtly reached for your hand.

You didn’t pull away. You let him.

He laced his fingers with yours, and you could feel the heat of his hand against yours. Your breath hitched, a flutter going through your chest as you tried to ignore the surge of excitement in your stomach.

Neither of you said anything. The cheesy romance movie continued, but it felt like the entire world was silent now, save for the sound of the rain and the occasional rustle of the blanket. His hand was warm in yours, and for once, neither of you seemed awkward about it.

---

The movie played on in the background, but neither of you were paying much attention anymore. Your hand was still intertwined with Travis’s, but you could feel the tension slowly shifting between you both. You shifted closer, leaning against him a little, testing the waters. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his arm moved, subtly at first, and then he wrapped it around your shoulders, pulling you even closer. The warmth of his body felt natural against yours, comforting in a way you hadn’t expected.

You let yourself sink into the moment, your head resting on his shoulder, the quiet beats of his breathing syncing with your own. He didn’t say anything, but you felt his fingers gently trace patterns on your arm, as if he wasn’t sure how to act but wanted to be close, too. And you liked it. You liked how natural it felt, how easy it was to just be with him like this.

Neither of you said anything for a while, just watching the movie as the rain continued to tap against the windows, the occasional rumble of thunder making the air feel even more cozy. Every so often, you’d glance up at him, your eyes meeting him for a split second, only to look away again, heart fluttering in your chest.

When the movie finally ended, the soft glow of the TV light was the only thing illuminating the fort. You realized, almost too late, that you had fallen asleep. Your head was still resting against Travis’s shoulder, and you hadn’t even realized how tired you were until you felt the gentle pressure of his hand on your shoulder, waking you.

“Hey,” Travis whispered softly, his voice barely audible, “you fell asleep.”

You blinked, groggy for a second, and then straightened up, surprised to realize how long you’d been out. “Oh, I didn’t mean to, sorry. I guess I was really tired.”

“No problem,” he said with a soft chuckle. His voice sounded a little different now, lighter, more relaxed, like the air between you two had shifted in the last few hours. “You were really cozy, though. Must’ve been the rain.”

You smiled at that, shifting to sit up a little straighter, but then he shifted, too. His eyes locked with yours, and there was something in the way he looked at you now, something different than before. The teasing, joking tension from earlier was gone, replaced by something a little deeper.

“Travis?” you asked softly, unsure if it was the right time, but the moment felt like it was pulling you in.

He didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he moved closer, just slightly, and your breath caught in your throat. The space between you two was small now, and his hand gently cupped your chin, tilting your face up toward his. His thumb brushed across your lower lip, and for a heartbeat, you both just stared at each other, heartbeats racing.

Before you could even fully process what was happening, he leaned in slowly, his lips brushing against yours with a soft, gentle pressure. It wasn’t urgent. It was a question, and you both lingered there, testing the waters. And when you didn’t pull away, he kissed you again, this time, deeper, with more certainty.

The kiss wasn’t just a kiss. It felt like everything you’d both been holding back, the awkwardness, the hesitations, the quiet moments faded away. Now, there was no more space between you. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, and you didn’t pull away. You leaned into him, letting yourself feel every touch, every shift in the way his body moved against yours. It felt natural, like you should have been doing this all along.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, your faces were inches apart, and neither of you knew what to say at first. Travis ran a hand through his hair, his gaze slightly unfocused. “I… I didn’t think that would happen tonight,” he muttered with a nervous laugh.

You smiled, your heart still racing. “Neither did I. But I’m glad it did.”

Travis grinned at that, his thumb brushing across the back of your hand where it still rested in his. He took a breath, a more serious look in his eyes now. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while. But I didn’t know if…”

“If I felt the same?” you finished for him, raising an eyebrow. “Well, now you know.”

He chuckled softly. “Yeah, now I know.”

There was a brief pause before you both spoke at the same time.

“I…” Travis started.

“You..” you started.

And then, as if nothing else mattered anymore, he kissed you again, this time slower, more deliberate. You both lost yourselves in the kiss, the world outside the fort disappearing as everything else faded into the background. It was just you and him now.

The funny thing is, the two of you got so carried away you never finished the project.

Mr. Kennedy gave you a C-, but for some reason it didn't matter, because you had gotten something much more important than an A, you got him.

[slattlicker]

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * B O Y   W I T H   T H E   G R E E N   F O L D E R ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮a high school au jschlatt x reader oneshot ↳ ~8.2k words · sfw · slow reveal, soft feelings, super anime-esque ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

✦ written with a female y/n in mind ✦ (but all are welcome to enjoy ♡)

there were noodles. there was boba. there are A LOT of feelings.

✧ ⊹ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ⊹ ✧

the classroom’s warm.

sunlight seeps through the window beside him, spilling over the desks and floor like honey. it hits the back of your head perfectly. too perfectly. and it’s making it impossible to think.

you’re just sitting there, twirling your pencil like you don’t know you’re driving him insane. like the light glinting off your earrings and the soft breeze ruffling your uniform skirt aren’t the most life-ruining things he’s ever witnessed.

schlatt’s supposed to be taking notes. but instead, his notebook is a battlefield of emotions: your name scribbled over and over again, in every style imaginable.

mrs. y/n schlatt. mr. and mrs. schlatt. y/n ♥ schlatt

one doodle has a banner. another has dramatic little wings and sparkles. there’s even one with a cowboy hat on the “s” because, for some reason, his brain short-circuited into yeehaw mode during third period.

he’s sick.

he knows it.

but god, he’s in love.

every little laugh, every time you bite your lip in thought, every time you tap your pen against your notebook—he memorizes it. hoards it. his brain’s just a slideshow of you.

because he tried talking to you once. in freshman year. some dumb group project. he stuttered over his own name. you smiled politely. offered to take the hardest part of the worksheet. didn’t even flinch when he knocked his pencil case off the desk.

you were nice.

which, unfortunately, made everything worse.

because you’ve always been nice. to everyone. you don’t just say good morning, you say it like it matters. you remember birthdays. lend people your charger. always have a pen.

you are, objectively, popular. not in a loud way—more like… effortlessly magnetic. people orbit you. they want to sit with you at lunch. they want you on their group projects. they want to be the reason you smile.

and schlatt? he’s tall and awkward and weirdly good at calculus. he plays bass in a band that’s never played live. he sits by the window because it’s easier to zone out during lectures. he’s the guy who trips over his own feet walking into class and then apologizes to the floorboards.

so yeah.

he doesn’t talk to you.

he writes you letters instead. pages and pages of them. some serious, some stupid, all tucked into a battered green folder in the bottom of his backpack. he’s never given you one. probably never will.

but he keeps writing them.

just in case.

and today—today was supposed to be like all the others.

he was going to watch you from afar. write down how the sunlight hit your hair. maybe draft a sonnet or two about your handwriting. normal, harmless, delusional things.

but then the bell rings—sharp and sudden—and schlatt jumps like it personally offended him. his pen flies out of his hand. his notebook slams shut. he starts packing up fast, head down, heart already racing.

he’ll go to the library, he thinks. or maybe the band room. he needs to get this down while it’s still fresh in his head. he’ll write a new letter. maybe the best one yet. maybe he’ll even sign it this time—

“hey.”

your voice.

his whole body freezes.

he looks up, slow. like maybe he imagined it. but no—you’re standing right there beside his desk, one hand on your hip, the other holding your bag. head tilted. smiling.

and oh god, he’s going to die.

he swallows hard, clutching the straps of his backpack like a lifeline. “h-hi.”

“wanna have lunch with me? i was gonna sit on the bridge today. maybe pick something up from the store instead of the caf.”

there’s a pause.

schlatt, in his head: this is it. this is the moment. say yes. just say yes. you’re literally in love with her. you’ve imagined marrying her in at least three different countries.

…and still, somehow, nothing comes out.

his mouth opens—then closes. then opens again. like a fish. a love-struck, socially inept, dying fish.

he swears his heart is beating in italics.

you asked him. you asked him. not the guy who sits behind him, not one of your pretty friends, not even as a joke. him.

and you’re waiting.

his brain, meanwhile, is throwing chairs. screaming. dialing 911.

“uh—i—uh,” he stammers, voice cracking like a damn glow stick. “y-yeah. i mean. if you—if you want. like—yeah. sure. cool.”

nailed it.

you blink. your mouth twitches. then you smile—wide, amused, like you heard every beat of that inner breakdown and found it a little endearing.

“cool,” you echo.

he’s still frozen. still clutching his backpack like it might launch him into space.

you reach out. take his hand.

he jolts like you touched him with a live wire.

you don’t flinch. don’t tease. just lift his hand slowly to your lips and press a kiss to the back of it. soft. casual. intentional.

“see you in a bit,” you say, as if he isn’t about to melt into the floor.

and then you turn, walking toward the door—your hair catching the sunlight, cherry blossoms drifting past the window like it’s the climax of some coming-of-age romance.

he stands there.

blinking.

buzzing.

then, very slowly, he sinks back into his chair.

and mutters, “holy shit.”

he’s not going to the library. he’s not writing anything. he’s going to walk across that bridge and pray he doesn’t pass out.

✧✧✧

he doesn’t go to the cafeteria.

he barely remembers how he got out of the building—just that he didn’t trip, and he didn’t throw up, and his legs kept moving even though his brain had short-circuited completely.

you kissed his hand.

you kissed his hand like it was normal. like you just go up to someone and do it on the regular.

he adjusts his backpack strap and rounds the corner by the main gate, trying not to overheat—and there you are.

waving at him like an idiot. like you're happy to see him.

the afternoon sun hits your hair. your skirt swishes. you’re beaming, weight rocking on your heels, a little bento sticker still stuck to your phone case.

“hey!” you call out, jog-walking the few steps toward him. “i was starting to think you bailed.”

“i—no—i wouldn’t—i just—” he fumbles over his words immediately, cringing as they trip out of his mouth like falling bricks. “i was coming. i came. i'm here.”

you laugh, already turning toward the sidewalk. “good. because i’ve decided i’m craving boba and noodles.”

he blinks. “...that's a pretty big lunch.”

“it’s the lunch of lovers, schlatt!”

he chokes. “wha—”

you grin up at him, teasing. “kidding. it just sounds better than cafeteria pizza.”

(he’d eat cafeteria pizza off the floor if you asked, but…you don’t have to know that.)

“i figured we could walk to the corner shop for the noodles, and then stop by the bubble tea place near the bus stop,” you say, looking up at him like it’s all the most natural thing in the world. “that okay?”

he nods, too fast. “yeah. yeah, totally. of course.”

your fingers brush his for half a second before you adjust your bag on your shoulder. he feels it all the way down to his spine.

you don’t seem to notice—just keep walking ahead a little, humming some song he doesn’t know, totally unbothered.

and schlatt… well, he tries to remember how to walk like a person.

✧✧✧

the noodle shop is small and warm, tucked between a flower kiosk and a dry cleaner. the windows fog slightly from the steam, and the scent of broth and garlic hits the second they step inside.

schlatt lets you order—because of course he does—and you flash him a quick grin before telling the cashier:

“one big bowl of the special. extra everything. two spoons.”

he blinks. two?

you’re already walking toward a corner booth, flopping down with a satisfied sigh and tugging your sleeves up to your elbows. he follows—awkward, lanky, trying not to knock anything over—and sits across from you.

the bowl arrives five minutes later, massive and gleaming. golden broth, handmade noodles, floating scallions, slices of pork and egg and chili oil glistening on top. the whole thing smells like heaven. two smaller bowls are set beside it, along with chopsticks and a little metal ladle.

you grin. “communal style. is that okay?”

he nods, too quickly. “yeah. totally. communal. love that.”

you snort, ladling broth into your own bowl and tugging noodles from the pot with practiced ease. schlatt mimics you awkwardly, his chopsticks nearly slipping out of his hand twice before he manages to scoop a modest serving.

“hope you’re hungry,” you say, grinning. “i know i am.”

he nods. “y-yeah. totally. starving.”

which is… half-true. he is starving. he always is by lunch, especially after skipping breakfast (again), especially after third period (the longest in human history), especially when he’s nervous (which he always is around you). but he’s barely touched his small bowl, dragging the noodles around like he’s being graded on etiquette.

you glance at him. then at his bowl.

“you eat like someone’s watching you through a window.”

he jolts. “what?”

“you’re starving,” you say simply, already scooping a few more noodles into his bowl with your chopsticks. “but you’re being weird about it. no one’s judging you. just eat.”

he blinks. “you don’t have to—”

“yeah, i do. that’s kind of why i invited you.”

that makes him freeze.

you keep assembling your own bowl, tipping in extra garlic and chili oil like it’s second nature. still not looking at him when you add, casual as anything:

“you always look like you’re about to eat your notebook by fifth period.”

he stares.

“i figured you skip breakfast,” you continue, calm and matter-of-fact. “and the cafeteria lunches aren’t exactly made for guys like you. so. i figured i’d get you a real lunch. or… y’know. split one. even if it’s more of a 20-80 kind of deal.”

his mouth opens, then closes. “o-oh. thanks.”

you glance up, smiling faintly. “it’s all good. as long as i get all the fishcakes.”

and then you’re back to eating like nothing happened.

meanwhile, schlatt’s brain is screaming.

you noticed him. not just in the polite, surface-level way classmates notice each other—but really noticed. enough to clock his eating habits. enough to care. enough to invite him to lunch. buy food. share a bowl. use your own chopsticks to top off his plate like it’s normal.

he slurps a few noodles, still trying to play it cool. still trying not to inhale the whole bowl like he hasn’t eaten all day—which, honestly, he hasn’t. he’s a big guy. he eats a lot. but right now, he’s eating like a victorian orphan in a candy shop, wide-eyed and grateful, because the girl he’s head-over-heels for just casually said she wanted to be the one to make sure he's well fed.

and now she’s laughing at a dumb pun she made about scallions. and bumping his foot under the table when he doesn’t respond fast enough. and brushing her fingers against his when she passes him a napkin.

you’re mid-bite when you ask it—simple, offhand, like you’re just passing time.

“so... do you go out a lot?”

schlatt’s chopsticks stall just short of his mouth.

he blinks. chews. swallows. “uh. like… with people?”

you raise an eyebrow, grinning around the rim of your water cup. “yeah. like… friends, dates, whatever.”

schlatt tries not to choke on air. “oh. uh. not really. i mean—sometimes. mostly with charlie or travis or, like, for gaming stuff. not really… dating.”

not really ever.

his brain is already short-circuiting. because what the hell kind of question is that? why would you ask that unless—no. no, don’t spiral.

you hum, popping a piece of tofu into your mouth. “mm. i kinda figured. you’re hard to read sometimes.”

he fidgets with his chopsticks, nervous now that the spotlight’s back on him. “why’d you figure that?”

you shrug, like it’s obvious. “i don’t know. you don’t talk much in class. you’re always drawing or writing stuff. people assume you’re quiet ‘cause you’re shy, but i think you’re just private.”

he stares at you.

you look back, relaxed, legs swinging slightly under the bench. like you’re not unraveling him.

“you’re not wrong,” he mumbles.

you smile—genuine, warm. it makes his stomach flip. “so. what would you do if someone confessed to you?”

schlatt freezes.

his mind leaps to the green folder. the dozens of unsent letters. the way he almost included pressed cherry blossoms in one. he’s not equipped for this.

“uh. what kind of… confession?”

you laugh, tipping your head. “you know. like one of those corny schoolyard things. letter in your locker. gift on your desk. ‘meet me after class, i like you’ kinda thing.”

his ears go pink. “i… i don’t know. probably combust.”

you giggle into your hand. “nooo. you’d be sweet. i think you’d be nice about it.”

you say it like you know. like you’ve imagined it. which—god. maybe you have…?

“have… you gotten a lot of those? confessions, i mean,” he asks, trying to sound casual, but it comes out strangled.

you shrug again, fiddling with your napkin. “some. i usually know it’s coming, though. they get all nervous, leave notes. sometimes i get snacks or keychains. last one tried to give me a frog plushie.”

“a frog?”

“yeah. i like frogs. it was actually really cute. i still talk to him.”

schlatt’s heart plummets. he picks at his noodles, half-listening, half-mourning his already nonexistent chances.

you still talk to that guy.

of course you do. you’re nice. you’re charming. you probably keep a perfectly organized box of old love letters, too, just to make sure no one’s feelings get thrown out with the recycling.

he swirls a bit of broth in his bowl. “so… what kind of guy do you like?”

you pause, mid-sip, giving him a look that’s not quite teasing, not quite surprised. just curious.

he tries to keep his voice neutral. “i mean—you get, like, confessed to all the time, right? so you’ve gotta have, like… a type.”

“i guess…” you rest your chin on your hand, spinning your chopsticks between your fingers. “i like guys who are tall. really tall. like... have-to-duck-through-doorways tall. not lanky-tall, though—like, big-tall. broad.”

schlatt clears his throat, sitting very slightly lower in his seat. tall. he is so tall.

“and i think it’s cute when they get blushy for no reason,” you say, absentmindedly stirring your noodles. “like, i’ll just say hi, and they look like they ran a mile.”

schlatt stares down at his bowl like it just personally betrayed him. his face is already hot—he can feel it, the flush creeping down his neck—and he desperately hopes the lighting in here is dim enough to hide it.

you hum, smile curling soft at the edges. “oh, and guys who write stuff. not like, ‘oh, i journaled once because my therapist told me to,’ but real stuff. like, hamilton-level pages on pages on pages. letters they never send. scripts they never show anyone.”

his grip tightens on his chopsticks. the green folder in his bag practically burns a hole through the canvas. his brain flashes with the line he scrawled at 2 a.m.—'your laugh should come with a warning label. dangerous levels of adorable.'

“i literally fall for the ones who overthink everything,” you say, voice light, totally unaware that you are currently cracking him open like a lobster shell. “like, the type who thinks ‘how was your day’ is a trap. just spirals and spirals and then lies awake all night dissecting the conversation.”

he is absolutely being read for filth.

“and maybe someone who video games?” you add, lifting your water to your lips. “but not like, ‘screams in the headset and doesn’t shower’ gamer. i mean the kind who plays after class, maybe streams sometimes. doesn’t make it his whole life - it’s actually just for fun.”

he swallows. hard.

you glance at him over the rim of your cup. “i love techy guys, too. but not in a ‘new iphone’ way. like, give me physical media. give me vhs tapes and dvds and that one shelf of old movies no one wants to lend out. someone who loves watching movies about how good life is when you slow down..”

he thinks he might throw up.

because this is... this is him. every single word. somehow he’s been peeled apart, laid flat on the table, and described like a character in your story. and you’re just—talking. so casually. like this isn’t the most intense thing anyone’s ever said to him without actually saying it.

he pokes at a chili flake with his chopsticks, voice hoarse when he finally manages, “sounds like a pretty specific guy.”

you smile. shrug. “yeah. kinda impossible to find.”

you sip your water.

he stares.

he does not sip anything.

because his entire body is malfunctioning and he’s 98% sure he’s being toyed with by the universe, or something.

✧✧✧

the walk to the boba shop is short—but it feels longer with you beside him.

you keep pace just slightly behind his stride, your shoulder brushing his arm now and then. he notices. of course he notices. he starts adjusting his steps, trying to match yours, but then that feels too obvious, so he goes back to normal, which means you keep doing this little half-skip to keep up.

he doesn’t say anything. but he’s thinking about it.

he’s thinking about how small your hand looked around his when you kissed it. how your shoes make that little click every time you catch up to him again. how he probably looks like your bodyguard. or your older brother. (god, no—never mind. what is wrong with him, ugh!)

he clears his throat. “hot out today.”

you hum, squinting up at the sky. “mhm. feels like a brown sugar kind of day.”

he swallows. “with oat milk?”

you blink at him. “yeah.”

“you usually get it on hot days,” he mumbles.

you tilt your head, smiling. “you’ve been watching my boba orders?”

“no—! i mean—not like that. just… you ordered it last week on the school trip. and during midterms. and i saw you after my rehearsal that one time.”

“totally not tracking it, huh?”

“i just have a good memory,” he mutters.

you snort. “alright, memory boy. what do you think i’m getting today?”

he glances at you. hesitates. “brown sugar, oat milk, extra pearls, light ice.”

you grin. “ding ding ding.”

his ears turn pink.

when the shop comes into view, you both pause outside the door. it’s small and sunny inside, vines creeping down from the window ledge, a tiny chalkboard sign listing the seasonal specials.

“your turn,” you say.

schlatt raises a brow. “huh?”

“you guessed mine. let me guess yours.”

he opens the door for you. “you won’t get it.”

“wanna bet?”

he huffs. “sure.”

you both step into the cool, tea-scented air of the shop, and you immediately turn to the cashier with a smile. “one brown sugar oat milk, extra pearls, light ice—and a taro, half sugar, with egg pudding and no ice.”

schlatt freezes.

you glance back. “did i win?”

he blinks. “how did you…”

you shrug. “you ordered it after the fall pep rally. and after finals. and that time you bombed your calc quiz.”

he stares at you.

you raise your eyebrows, smiling. “i've got a good memory.”

he doesn’t say anything. just watches as you pay before he can even reach for his wallet. again.

and when you turn to wait at the pickup counter, looking utterly unbothered, he’s pretty sure he’s going to have a full-blown meltdown.

you guessed his order. you remembered details about his life he didn’t even know he’d revealed. you’re standing next to him in a sunlit boba shop like this is a date. his heart is being strummed like his bass guitar.

the drinks come out with a soft ding, and you’re the one to grab them, handing schlatt his taro without ceremony.

“thanks,” he mutters, wrapping his hands around the plastic covered cup like it might anchor him to earth.

you plop down on the little bench outside the shop—half in sun, half in shade—and kick your feet out with a satisfied sigh. he follows, careful to keep a bit of space between you. not too much. just… enough to think straight. kind of.

you take a long sip of your drink, then glance at him over the rim of your straw. “you know, your order says a lot about you.”

he blinks. “what?”

“boba orders. personality test. super accurate.”

he raises an eyebrow, skeptical. “you’re joking.”

“nope.” you tap your straw against your lid. “taro’s a classic comfort flavor. safe. steady. a little nostalgic. and you ordered it with egg pudding, which means you’re secretly a softie.”

he opens his mouth. closes it. “that’s…”

you smile, smug. “true?”

“i was gonna say bullshit.”

you cackle. “same thing.”

he watches you sip again, straw clicking against the ice, and tries not to get distracted by the curve of your smile or the way the sun catches in your lashes.

you continue, casual as anything. “also, no ice means you like control. you want things how you want them. predictable.”

“i don’t like brain freeze.”

“control,” you say again, nodding with mock-seriousness.

he scrunches his nose. “fine. what’s your flavor say about you, then?”

“brown sugar, oat milk, extra pearls, light ice?” you echo. “easy. i’m adventurous, but emotionally grounded. extroverted. likes to have fun. sucker for texture. totally down to stir the pot—” you lean in, eyes gleaming. “—but only when i know i’ll win.”

he chokes on a laugh, taking a very long sip of his drink to recover. “that sounds fake.”

“it’s science, actually.”

“remind me never to let you psychoanalyze my lunch order.”

“oh, i already have,” you say sweetly. “you took exactly three bites before slowing down to take a sip of water. that means you were trying to be polite. which means you were raised right. but your eyes kept drifting to the bowl, which means you can be food-motivated, and that’s probably half the reason you agreed to come.”

he groans. “please stop.”

“also means you’re big,” you continue, cheerfully ignoring him. “like, obviously you’re tall, but you’ve got a big appetite. big frame. big heart. big… everything.”

you pause, smile twitching, like you’re trying not to laugh at your own implications.

he goes pink. again.

“stop analyzing me,” he mumbles, slurping violently at his straw to hide it.

“you’re the one who guessed my drink first.”

there’s a beat of silence—quiet, but warm. the kind that settles when two people are sipping the same kind of sweet and the same kind of slow, letting the buzz of the afternoon soften everything around them.

“wanna walk a bit?” you ask, tilting your cup toward the road. “before we gotta go back?”

he nods. “yeah. yeah, okay.”

you both rise. the bench creaks. his cup’s half-empty already—nerves and thirst don’t mix well—and he silently curses how fast it’s already gone.

you’re beside him again, shoes clicking lightly against the sidewalk. your pace is slow. measured. there’s a corner up ahead shaded by cherry trees. some leftover petals scatter along the edge of the sidewalk. he watches your hair move in the breeze, the way you shift your drink from one hand to the other, and something about it—about you—feels so close and so far at the same time.

he wonders if you can hear his heart from where you stand.

and then you say, “hey.”

he looks at you.

you’re already looking at him.

“you know what i think?” you ask, voice a little quieter, smile a little smaller.

he shakes his head.

“i think…” you swing your drink slightly by your side. “i think you’d be a really good boyfriend, for someone. if they were what you wanted.”

his brain bluescreens.

you don’t wait for a reaction. just keep walking, sipping, like you didn’t just set off an internal nuclear event in his chest. like it’s just a passing comment. like the sidewalk didn’t just tilt thirty degrees beneath his feet.

✧✧✧

he’s still trying to reboot his entire nervous system when you both reach the school gate.

the cherry blossoms are thicker here, brushing against the chain-link fence. it’s warm now—late afternoon golden, the kind of heat that makes everything feel like it’s glowing softly. your hair’s catching the light again. your drink is almost gone. your hand brushes his again.

and he’s reeling.

you’d be a really good boyfriend.

you said it like a thought. like an observation. like something you already believed.

he’s never walked so straight in his life. never thought so hard about the placement of his arms. his fingers. his breath.

and then someone calls your name.

loud. nervous. fast footsteps behind.

“hey! hey, y/n, wait up—!”

you turn. schlatt does too.

there’s a boy. not from your class, he thinks—maybe first year. shorter than you. holding something behind his back. his tie is crooked and his cheeks are bright red, and he skids to a stop a few feet away from you, panting.

“i—i wanted to—”

you blink. “oh.”

the boy shuffles. brings his hands forward.

a box. wrapped in silver paper with little frogs printed on the sides.

schlatt’s stomach drops.

“i made these,” the boy says quickly. “frogs. well—not real frogs! candy. little gummies. i, uh. i heard you liked frogs? so i… um. i do too. i mean—i like you. i like you.”

schlatt stands still. silent. watching. entirely unsure what to do with his hands, his drink, or his existence.

you take the box gently, fingers brushing the kid’s.

you’re smiling.

but it’s not the same as it was a second ago.

schlatt notices it immediately. the smile’s softer. kind. warm, but distant. there’s a wall in it. a barrier. it’s practiced.

“thank you,” you say. “that’s really sweet.”

the boy laughs—high-pitched and anxious. “so, um—does that mean—?”

“i’m really flattered,” you say gently. “but i don’t think it’d be fair to say yes when i don’t feel the same. i hope that’s okay.”

the boy blinks. his smile falters, but he nods. “oh. yeah. i mean. yeah.”

“i like talking to you, though! i hope we can still do that.”

“…yeah. i’d like that.”

you nod. and just like that, the whole thing’s done.

you watch him walk away. then turn back to schlatt like nothing happened.

but something is different.

he sees it the second your eyes shift. the moment the kid’s out of earshot, something in your shoulders slumps—not much, not dramatic, just enough to notice. your smile doesn’t fall exactly… but it changes. less performative. less curated. less like the school’s favorite girl handling the situation with grace, and more like…

more like you.

your gaze flicks toward schlatt’s for only a second. then down at the ground. you exhale.

“always feels a little shitty,” you say, voice lower now. “even when you do it right.”

he doesn’t know what to say. not yet. he’s still watching the way your hand curls around your basically empty cup tighter. the way your mouth twitches like you’re trying not to frown.

“not ‘cause i feel bad saying no,” you continue. “but it’s just—tiring, i guess. being someone people like so much. it…doesn’t feel real.”

his stomach twists.

because this—this version of you? it’s so far from the bright, easygoing persona everyone sees. it’s not bubbly. not bulletproof. it’s quiet. honest. like you’re letting yourself stop performing.

and it’s hitting him all at once: the way you looked at that kid—kind, but detached. how fast you stepped back into the role of you, the version people expect.

and then there’s him.

the weird, shy kid who stumbles over his own sentences, who didn’t say anything clever or flirty or impressive all day, all year—and yet you invited him to lunch. shared your noodles. walked in step. remembered his boba order. kissed his hand. talked to him like you weren’t trying to be liked—just trying to be close with him.

and before he even registers it, before he can run the moment through the hundred mental checks he usually does—

“wanna come over?”

you blink. “huh?”

oh no.

his heart immediately slams against his ribs. “i mean—! you don’t have to, it’s just—uh, my house is, like, five minutes from here? and my mom’s probably not visiting today. i mean—not in a bad way, i just thought, like—if you weren’t busy, or—”

you’re staring at him. not weirded out. just… surprised. and a little amused.

he starts spiraling.

“i have snacks,” he adds, like that’ll save it. “and movies. and air conditioning. if you—like air. and conditioning.”

oh my god, he thinks. i’m going to eat drywall.

you smile. and tilt your head again, that same unreadable expression on your face.

“…yeah,” you say softly. “i’d like that. i'd really, really like that.”

his stomach does something inhuman. his brain is already short-circuiting, imagining you on his couch, in his space, next to him.

and then—

“oh,” he blurts. “i—i meant after school. not like—right now. unless you wanna skip. not that i’m asking you to skip. that would be irresponsible. i respect education. i just—yeah. after school.”

you snort. “relax, valedictorian. i got it.”

“i’m not valedictorian.”

“yet.”

you start walking again, totally at ease once more, sipping the last of your boba like he didn’t just fumble through seventeen disclaimers. he follows, stunned. lightheaded.

and now, not only does he have to survive the rest of the school day—he has to do it knowing you’re coming over afterward.

god help him.

✧✧✧

the final bell rings.

schlatt barely hears it.

his whole day’s been a blur—barely coherent notes, teachers asking if he’s feeling alright, charlie throwing paper at his head when he completely spaces out during group work. he’s just been counting the hours. the minutes. the seconds until the end of the day, until he can breathe again, until he sees you again.

he heads to the getabako—the rows of wooden cubbies where everyone stores their shoes—trying to act normal, trying not to look like he’s just run a marathon fueled entirely by nerves and caffeine-free anxiety.

and then he sees you. already there. already waiting.

you’re crouched by your cubby, switching your indoor shoes for your regular ones, hair slipping over your shoulder. you glance up when you hear him, and your whole face lights up like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“hey,” you say, easy and familiar. “i figured i’d catch you here.”

his stomach flips. “you… were waiting for me?”

you nod, shifting your weight as you close your cubby. “well, yeah. i realized i don’t have your number. or your address. so i figured i’d just walk with you.”

he blinks. “walk with me?”

“to your place?” you say it like a question, like you’re checking to make sure he hasn’t changed his mind. “unless that invitation from earlier was just, like... heatstroke-induced.”

“no! i mean—yes. yes, it was real.” he fumbles with his laces, nearly trips over his own foot. “you can totally come. i just—yeah. i should’ve given you my number or something.”

you laugh. “you were a little busy malfunctioning.”

he flushes. “was not.”

“were too,” you grin, bumping your shoulder into his as the two of you walk toward the school gate together.

he ducks his head again, heart thudding like crazy, barely noticing that he’s started smiling.

you’re halfway down the path to the school gate when schlatt’s eyes flick toward the bike rack. his old rust-red frame is still there, locked up in its usual spot, tucked behind the hydrangea bushes that never get enough sun.

he hesitates—just for a second.

you notice.

“what?” you ask, glancing over.

he shrugs, half-smiling. “was just thinking about walking. didn’t expect company.”

you follow his gaze. “that your bike?”

he nods.

you tilt your head, thoughtful. “you always ride home?”

“usually,” he says. “it’s quicker. my house isn’t that far, but—”

“then let’s ride,” you interrupt, grinning as you step ahead and unloop the lock before he can stop you.

he blinks. “wait—you wanna ride? like, both of us?”

“sure,” you say, as if it’s obvious. “i’ll hop on the pegs.”

“the… pegs?”

you gesture behind the seat. “yeah, dork. you’ve got ‘em. you think i can’t balance?”

“i—i didn’t say that,” he stammers, fumbling to adjust the handlebars and kick up the stand. “i just didn’t think you’d wanna—”

“i do,” you say, already stepping around to the back of the bike. “now c’mon. pedal, chauffeur.”

he stares as you adjust your bag, step in close, and rest your hands lightly on his shoulders. there’s a quiet confidence in the way you move—like this isn’t new to you, like you’ve done it before, but never with him.

then you push up onto the pegs in one smooth motion, settling behind him, the warmth of you suddenly pressed against his back.

close. so close he can feel the shift of your weight, the soft exhale of your breath brushing his neck as you lean in and murmur—

“try not to crash, romeo.”

he doesn’t. but only because he pedals like his life depends on it.

✧✧✧

when you arrive, schlatt hops off the bike first and immediately fumbles with his keys, nearly dropping them twice. you tilt your head at him, amused, as he shifts his bag and mumbles something about “just a sec.”

he cracks the door open a few inches, peeks inside like he’s preparing for battle, then turns back to you. “uh—can you wait out here? just for, like… two minutes?”

you blink. “sure?”

he nods, already disappearing inside with a frantic “thanks!” before the door clicks shut behind him.

inside: muffled chaos.

there’s the sound of shuffling papers. a clatter of something hitting the floor. a chair screeches against the tile. a cabinet slams. you think you hear the microwave door open and close three times in a row.

you wait. patiently. leaning against the railing of the narrow walkway, shifting the weight of your backpack and holding the bike upright. seems like schlatt keeps it inside with him…doesn’t seem to be a bike rack outside the complex.

inside, schlatt is moving like a man possessed—sweeping crumpled papers off his desk, yanking dirty shirts off the back of a chair, trying to stuff all evidence of an unsupervised teenage existence into drawers, corners, anywhere.

the living room looks half-decent. the kitchen? he doesn’t even bother. the living room matters most. and maybe, his room.

he flings open his bedroom window to let in air, runs a hand through his hair, and takes exactly one deep breath before opening the front door again.

“okay,” he says, trying to sound calm, like he hasn’t just done a five-minute triathlon. “you can come in.”

✧✧✧

it’s small—but not cramped. a little studio-style place with a connected kitchen and living room, clean enough to suggest he’d panicked and straightened up just before you got there. the couch is worn but comfy-looking, and the tv’s flanked by a stack of vhs tapes and half-finished notebooks.

as you walk in, you pass an open door—just a glimpse into his bedroom.

the lights are off. bed half-made. a hoodie draped over a desk chair. you catch the soft hum of a fan and the edge of a cluttered nightstand before you move on.

the bathroom’s tucked inside, past the bed—ensuite, apparently.

“sorry,” schlatt mutters, kicking off his shoes and nervously smoothing down the hem of his shirt. “i cleaned a little, but—i wasn’t expecting, like… company.”

“it’s cute,” you say, setting your bag down by the couch.

his head snaps up. “it is?”

you nod, already wandering toward his vhs pile like you’ve been here before. “has personality. lived-in. smells like cinnamon gum and laundry detergent. very you.”

he clears his throat and nearly trips over a laundry basket trying to make room on the table. “you, uh—you wanna do homework? i’ve got snacks. water. sodas. i think there’s tea—”

you glance at him over your shoulder, smile teasing. “boring.”

he blinks. “what?”

“homework. c’mon. it’s friday. you really invited me over to finish worksheets?”

“i—i didn’t—”

you sit down on the couch, pat the space beside you. “let’s play something.”

he pauses mid-step. “like… video games?”

you tilt your head. “like truth or dare.”

a beat.

he looks like you just challenged him to a duel.

“truth or—?” he coughs. “that’s… elementary school stuff.”

you shrug. “only if you’re boring about it.”

“i’m not boring.”

you raise a brow. “then sit down and prove it.”

he does—like a man on his way to the electric chair.

the couch dips under his weight, and for a second you both just sit there, close but not quite touching, the space between you electric. you tuck your legs under you. he fiddles with a frayed thread on one of the couch cushions.

you grin. “truth or dare?”

he shifts, clearly panicking already. “…truth.”

you lean in just slightly. “were you surprised that i said yes when you invited me over today?”

he goes still.

then: “yes,” he says, barely above a whisper.

you smile, slow and satisfied. “thought so.”

his ears are bright red. “truth or dare?”

“truth,” you say, without hesitation.

his mind goes blank for a second. then: “why me?”

you blink. “why you what?”

“why’d you ask me to lunch today?”

you pause. not in hesitation, but consideration.

then you say, very simply, “i wanted to.”

and you lean your head back against the couch like it’s nothing. like you didn’t just lob a stick of dynamite into his chest and light the fuse.

he swallows. “your turn again.”

you smile. "dare or dare, schlatt?"

his breath catches. “that’s… not how the game works.”

you tilt your head, grinning. “is now.”

he stares at you. stares a little too long. and then, cautiously—like he’s stepping into a trap he wants to fall into—he says, “...dare.”

your grin widens. “i dare you to let me sit on your lap.”

he chokes. actually chokes.

“wha—here?! on my couch?!”

you raise your eyebrows. “is there another couch i don’t know about?”

he opens his mouth. closes it. glances around the room like he’s hoping to find an escape hatch behind the vhs tapes. but there’s nothing. just you. just this moment.

and oh god, you’re already moving.

you shift forward, like it’s the most normal thing in the world—and settle across his thighs, knees tucked beside him on the cushion. he’s stiff as a board beneath you, arms frozen at his sides like if he moves an inch, the universe might implode.

you look up at him, smirking. “you okay?”

“uh-huh,” he says, very unconvincingly.

you lean in just slightly, voice dropping. “you sure? you’re not internally combusting or anything?”

“i’m fine,” he says, squeaky and desperate.

you laugh. you actually laugh, and it’s so warm and real that he forgets how to breathe for a second.

then you lean back—just enough to rest your head on his shoulder, hands fidgeting lightly with the edge of his sleeve.

“you’re warm,” you murmur.

he is. he’s burning up, actually.

“is this… the dare? did i do it?” he manages.

you hum. “mhmm.”

“okay,” he says. “cool. normal.”

“totally normal,” you echo.

and then—so casually it kills him—you add, “feel free to ask when you’ve caught your breath.”

he swallows. feels his forehead sweating. but he nods. "dare or dare, y/n?"

“dare.”

it’s not fair—how confident you are. how steady. you say it like you’ve already won something. like you know exactly what you’re doing sitting on his lap, fingertips brushing his sleeve, your head so close he can smell your shampoo.

schlatt, on the other hand, is trying to survive.

his brain scrambles for something. anything. not too soft. not too bold. not too weird. but also not boring. you’re sitting on him like you belong there. he has to come up with something that makes you stay.

“i dare you…” he starts, brain blanking entirely.

you wait, one eyebrow raised, perched so confidently on his lap you might as well be sitting on a throne.

and then—he panics.

“i dare you to… put your face really close to mine.”

you blink. but you don’t laugh. you don’t tease. you just grin. slow. foxlike.

“oh?” you say, all innocent. “really close?”

he nods, stiff. “y-yeah.”

“like this?”

you lean in, stopping barely an inch from his face.

he can feel your breath now. warm. sweet. brown sugar type of sweet. sees the little flecks of color in your eyes.

“or closer?” you whisper.

he’s not breathing. he’s sure of it. his hands are hovering again—not on you, not off you, just there, like he’s buffering.

you shift. slow. smooth.

one leg swings over his lap, settling on the other side of his hips—and now you’re straddling him. facing him. close enough that your knees bracket his thighs, your hands rest lightly on his shoulders, your nose barely a breath from his.

he forgets how to exist.

you smile. “my turn, right?”

he nods. barely.

“dare or dare, schlatt?”

his voice cracks. “dare.”

your grin sharpens. sweet and devastating.

“i dare you,” you whisper, “to confess already.”

his brain—his entire soul—short circuits.

you’re watching him like it’s nothing. like you didn’t just strip him emotionally bare. like you haven’t been unraveling him all day with every shared sip, every soft glance, every perfectly-aimed, casually-spoken dagger.

“i—uh—”

“c’mon,” you tease, tilting your head. “unless...you don't like me?"

he opens his mouth. closes it. his hands flutter uselessly at your sides before finally, finally landing gently on your hips.

“y/n,” he says, soft and wrecked.

his hands are trembling a little where they rest on your hips. his mouth opens—then closes again, like he’s trying to catch up with the weight of what he wants to say. but when he looks at you, really looks at you, it just... spills out.

“i like you,” he starts, breathless. “i mean—i’ve liked you. since the first week of school. since you sat by the window and got mad at the vending machine for eating your dollar.”

his voice is soft, shaky. but he keeps going.

“i like you so much it physically hurts sometimes. like—like, i’ll be in the middle of math class, staring at a graph, and suddenly i’m thinking about the way you tie your shoelaces. all braided up.”

you blink back what he thinks are tears. he swallows hard.

“i write about you,” he admits, eyes wide. “not in, like, a creepy way—but in this really stupid, sappy way. i write poems about your handwriting. i’ve drafted letters about your laugh. i—i know how you take your tea. i know which boba you order when it’s hot out. i know you hum when you’re thinking really hard, and that you only wear your hair clipped back like that on rainy days.”

your breath catches.

he laughs, just barely—more like a nervous exhale—but it’s wet around the edges, like his chest can’t quite hold everything in.

“i know it’s ridiculous,” he whispers, eyes locked on yours. “i know i’ve barely said a full sentence to you before today without turning into a puddle. but i’ve thought about you. so much. not in a daydreamy, fairytale kind of way. in the real, little ways.”

his voice gets quieter. more tender.

“like how i wonder if you’re sleeping okay when you yawn through first period. or if you’re stressed when you chew your pen cap. or how your nail polish changes color when you’ve had a rough week. i just… i care. so much. more than i know what to do with.”

his fingers twitch gently at your waist. his eyes search yours—wide and hopeful and aching.

“i think you’re brilliant. and cool. and funny. and a little scary in the best way. and i never thought i’d be lucky enough to sit nearby you—let alone have you in my lap, looking at me like i didn’t just overshare myself into oblivion.”

a beat.

“i think you’re the best part of my day. every day.”

he shudders, his shoulders dropping – like a huge weight has been taken off of him. but his eyes linger on you, searching for that same fake smile you gave the freshman earlier today.

you stare at him. and then, slowly, you smile. your real smile.

your voice, when it comes, is quiet. honest. almost a whisper.

“i liked you first.”

his breath hitches.

“i mean—first first.” you laugh, soft and self-conscious. “first day of school. before anyone had even learned your name. you sat behind me, and you dropped your pencil three times, and i just... i knew.”

schlatt stares like he can’t believe the words are real.

“i thought you were cute,” you admit, cheeks heating. “and tall. and weird. and kind of grumpy-looking, but in this really endearing way. and then i saw your notebook—covered in dumb doodles and scribbles and little pixel hearts—and i was done for.”

he blinks. “wait, what—”

“i watched you go red every time i looked at you. i thought, oh. that’s what a crush looks like.” you grin, ducking your head. “and i waited, schlatt. i waited so long for you to talk to me.”

his mouth opens. closes.

you lean in, forehead brushing his. “all those other guys, the ones who gave me flowers and candy and love letters—i turned them down because none of them were you. i didn’t want some perfect confession. i just wanted you. fumbling, awkward, way-too-tall you.”

he lets out a broken laugh. “are you messing with me?”

“i’m not,” you whisper. “i used to make excuses to pass by your locker. i figured out your class schedule. i wanted to talk with you more, without using homework as an excuse.”

schlatt looks like he’s about to combust. “you stalked me?”

“lightly,” you clarify, giggling. “i call it strategic observation.”

his hands curl a little tighter at your waist, grounding himself. “you’ve liked me this whole time?”

“i like you, schlatt. present tense. deeply. disgustingly.” you shift in his lap, just a little, voice softening again. “i thought you’d never confess. i was this close to doing it myself.”

he stares, eyes wide. face flushed.

you’re still in his lap.

still staring at each other.

still suspended in this moment of soul-baring, reality-shattering honesty—and schlatt, for a second, looks like he might short-circuit all over again.

he blinks. once. twice. his hands twitch on your waist.

and then he blurts, “wait—wait, wait—hold on, this is real? like—this is happening? you—you like me? like, for real? not just like ‘hey, you’re kinda funny sometimes,’ but like—like-like?”

you open your mouth to answer, but it’s already too late. the spiral has begun.

“i mean—god, you’re literally in my lap right now,” he rushes on, voice gaining speed. “you’re saying you’ve liked me since the beginning and i’ve been sitting in class writing poetry like some 18th-century wench with a disease and—you already knew? you could tell?!”

you laugh, but he keeps going, eyes wide, rambling now.

“and i didn’t even know how to start talking to you, because you’re just—you, and i’m—me. and today wasn’t even supposed to happen. you weren’t supposed to invite me to lunch. you weren’t supposed to know my boba order or kiss my hand like that or sit in my lap, and now you’re here and you’re saying all that, and i think i’m having some kind of stroke.”

you blink at him.

then you sigh.

then you grab both sides of his face.

“schlatt.”

he freezes.

you lean in, forehead pressed to his. your voice is low. steady.

“i had to dare you to confess.”

he just stares.

you lift your brows. “do you know how embarrassing that is? i literally had to make up a game just to get you to say something. i am sitting on your–”

he kisses you.

it’s warm and soft and slow—the kind of kiss that says i wanted this for so long, and maybe also, i’m so sorry that i’m really bad at picking up signals.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, breath shaky. “you’re right,” he mumbles. “you had to go through all that just to get me to admit i like you. and i guess i just… didn’t want to waste more time asking if i could kiss the girl who already likes me back.”

you blink at him.

he looks wrecked in the sweetest way. flushed and wide-eyed and still trembling a little, but there’s a spark there now—something bolder underneath all the softness.

you blink again. then laugh, breathless.

“oh, now you grow a spine?”

he ducks his head, hiding a grin against your collarbone. “shut up.”

“no. this is so unfair. you’re supposed to be the shy one.”

he groans. “i am the shy one.”

you grab his face and press your lips to his—firm and smiling and a little triumphant. tilt your head and kiss him again.

and again.

and again.

because you can.

because you want to.

because finally.

[chimielie]

hello hello lia! for your unsent project prompts if all your slots haven't been filled yet:

to: tsukki. i regret not being brave enough to tell you back then. now i keep wondering what we'd be like today if i had been.

excited to see what you do with this  🤩

“This is my boyfriend,” you introduce Tsukishima, bowing your head and biting your lip. You can feel the absence of his hands as palpably as if he was holding you tight enough to bruise. Your parents must assume that you’re a nervous wreck introducing your new relationship to them after so long insisting that the Tsukishima boy you talked about so often was only a friend. That he’s being respectful, his hands at his sides as he bows stiffly.

You wish he wanted to touch you. You wish you were introducing a real relationship to your family, truly bringing home someone you could look at openly with stars in your eyes.

Tsukishima’s just doing you a favor, you remind yourself. He’s helping you avoid yet another awkward dinner where your family tries to set you up with someone you don’t like at all.

He’s the solution to a problem he unknowingly created; if you were able to feel for anyone but him, you wouldn’t have to do this.

“That’s correct, we met working at the museum,” he’s saying when you zone back in. “We brushed hands over the artifact restoration table. It was very romantic.”

His tone is so deadpan, you watch your parents blink at him for a moment, trying to determine whether he’s joking or not. Eventually, they just laugh it off uncomfortably, and you suppress your own giggle in your throat.

“Clearly, you two are a good match,” your mother shakes her head. “I could never guess what’s going to come from your mouth growing up.”

“L/N is very funny,” Tsukishima says, and it’s your turn to squint, searching for the lie in the lines of his face, the tilt of his mouth. “I have a hard time controlling myself when we’re together at work.”

Your mind immediately goes to a number of foul and evil places, picking apart every clench of his jaw, every brush of his shoulder against yours, every lazy double-edged remark that has left your cheeks heated and your professionalism flustered in the long time you’ve worked together.

Your father ignores the innuendo of the second sentence entirely and zooms in on the first.

“So formal,” he says. “You’re still referring to each other by last name?”

You freeze, glancing up at Tsukishima.

“We thought it’d be better to err on the side of formality,” you trail off. “I was really nervous. Tsukishima was kind enough to indulge me—”

“I wanted to show you that I’m serious about this,” Tsukishima interrupts. He puts a hand on your shoulder: it’s a clumsy touch, unnatural, but the insanity of this declaration forces you to look up at him in shock, your cheeks blushed, giving you the appearance of a smitten, real-relationship-having truth-teller. You’re shocked to realize he’s already looking at you, unblinking even as the glare in his glasses flickers with the restaurant candlelight.

“So sweet,” your mother gushes. “We’d be lucky to snag a son-in-law like you.”

“Please,” Tsukishima snorts, his most derisive voice coming out. You only hear this passive-aggressive tone when your boss is being particularly slow about sending out paychecks or when museum patrons are rude to you. “I’m lucky every time Y/N chooses to even look at me.”

You lie awake that night, the sound of your name rolling over his tongue looping through your mind. Beside you, he’s already sound asleep, his glasses folded on your childhood nightstand. Everything feels wrong, the sheets rubbing your skin raw, your body feverishly hot.

You had almost told him how you felt, back when you had first realized how you felt about him. You had written a letter and slid a packet of dinosaur stickers into the envelope, an embarrassingly sappy admission of weakness.

You had been jumpy the whole day, hands shaking when you looked at him, wobbling on your feet like a newborn fawn. Eventually, it had culminated in accidentally knocking over an Edo-era pot you had been piecing together, shard by shard, the fragments of it scattering across his workspace.

You had expected a scolding, a snappy comment, at least a joke. Instead, he had sighed wordlessly and kept working without ever mentioning it. On your end, the thought of him being angry in the few long seconds you spent staring at him, horrified, over the artifact’s debris, unnerved you so much you had never gotten the courage to try again. You were clearly unprepared to face rejection.

He’s sleeping far on the end of the bed, nearly falling off. You shiver slightly and wonder if he’d always say your name like that, reverent and warm, if you’d been brave enough to ask him to.

[worlds-end-discotheque]

This isn’t a fully finished thought-project yet so please bear with me but I’m pretty sure Cuno is the one paying the bills for the de Ruyter apartment.

Or at least he’s trying to.

When you go into Cuno’s apartment, the first thing you realize is the chain and the warning about the electricity. From what we know about how Cuno protects his shack (and the state of his inebriation-comatose father) we can safely assume that Cuno’s the one who chains the door closed whenever he leaves. Obviously, no one in Martinaise would want to leave their home open for any reason, but the apartments clearly have deadbolts installed in the doors— so the chain is an extra measure. Cuno can’t have anything being stolen, even taking the extra effort beyond confidence in his own intimidation to chain it up.

The apartment has two rooms: Uuno’s bedroom, and the living room. Uuno’s bedroom consists primarily of the bed, the clothes line, presumably a dresser or some end table-like surfaces. Plenty of room for his substances and shit.

The living room has the sofa, which is clearly covered in Cuno’s clothing and a makeshift sleeping setup. The risqué pinup on the wall is basically confirmation that this is Cuno’s “space,” not something that he and his dad alternate or share. The L-Couch is Cuno’s bed, bedroom, and dresser, effectively.

Which leads us to the tiny desk. The items on the desk are minimal, but crucial: Cuno’s speed with the straw, Cuno’s textbook and homework, a lamp, the stack of bills, and an open phone book.

We’ve established already that Cuno and his father do not share space. Cuno is already a territorial kid, established by his limited safe zones in his own home. He wouldn’t leave his damn homework out somewhere where his dad could access it; the fact that the homework exists means that beneath his attitude, Cuno clearly has a deep level of care for his schoolwork and at least a desire to complete it. With how terrified he is of his father, there’s no way in hell Cuno would leave his schoolwork out in a place that his father could damage it or get angry for it. Which essentially confirms that the desk is Cuno’s space only.

The speed has its little straw, making it convenient to sip on consistently while doing work at the desk. (I do this with my water tumbler.) especially if you’re at the desk for a long time. With the open phone book, it’s clear that Cuno is at least trying to find the numbers for the companies that the bills are coming from. It’s not just a pile of mail on the desk— he’s doing research into it. Gathering phone numbers to take outside to one of the payphones. The desk is organized, business-like, unlike anything Cuno is— except for how he deals.

Which leads me to my last bit. Cuno’s insistence on selling you shit. Obviously, the best way for this kid to maintain a steady supply for his own addiction is to be a dealer. However, for a 12-year-old boy with a substance addiction in the world of DE where there’s nothing else to do, that level of self-control is absurdly high. There’s a meticulousness to it that betrays a primary aspect of Cuno’s approach: business. Cuno isn’t doing it for popularity, for “cool” points, and if his focus was only his own addiction then he would likely just steal them, take it all for himself. He’s not supplying his dad, that’s for sure. On top of that, he’s got a side hustle selling clothing and other crap he picks up, enough to try and pitch it to Pigs— repeatedly. There’s a lot to buy off Cuno, and it’s the one thing he repeatedly brings up in dialogue options, aside from insults. He wants you to know he’s willing to do business. He needs the money. Because the bills are stacking up, his dad could die any minute, and now he’s got Cunoesse too. (It’s not confirmed if she stays in the apartment with him, and I’m inclined to think not, considering the chain, his fear of her too and the fact that she stands on the other side of the fence than him— there’s a special separation there. There’s also no trace of Cunoesse-noted belongings nor a second space to sleep indicated on the couch; shivers, empathy, none of the skills speak up when inside the apartment about anyone but Cuno and his dad. At the same time, this is again unconfirmed).

I lost what I was talking about here, but the point is. Cuno breaks my heart and I want to adopt and take care of him so badly. It’s one thing to be a delinquent kid, it’s another to be a 12-year-old delinquent kid trying to pay your own damn bills in Martinaise. Fuck, man. I love this kid so much. He breaks my heart.

As much as I yap about my old man yaoi, I think Cuno is my favorite character in DE. He’s just… I need to take care of him. God help me. I wanted to kill his dad so badly. Sigh.

Anyways. That was my thought project. Thought Cabinet just adopted Cunology.

[missbellie]

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So High School- Sae-Byeok

-What will she be like if she was in High School with you? (ABC)-

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A, Assignment anxiety - She is a very calm person, so she doesn't have all that anxiety.

B, Bored in class - She is not the best student, but she likes to pay attention in class, so she is rarely bored in class.

C, Cafeteria chaos - She hates the chaos in the cafeteria, so she brings her lunch from home ready-made.

D, Detention - Never. She's so quiet that rarely anyone but you notices her, so she doesn't pick fights with anyone.

E, Exam stress - She doesn't get too nervous, she believes in her potential to get at least a good positive

F, Forgotten homework- She often forgets her homework, so she always copies hers while the teacher is in the room correcting it.

G, Grades panic - As I said, she is an average student, and she is happy with that, because she doesn't panic.

H, Hated by someone?- As I said, she is very quiet, so she is completely indifferent to others.

I, Incomplete assignments - She leaves nothing incomplete, either she does it or she doesn't.

J, Just one more minute (before the bell) - The best time for her, really. She left the classroom at the speed of light

K, Knowing nothing on a test- She keeps trying to copy from you, and keeps nudging your knee so you can pass the answers to her.

L, Late to class - She's always late, always.

M, Missing classes? - It's a no for her. She only thinks about the possibility of missing class if she knows you're going too, otherwise she'd rather face classes than not spend the day with you.

N, Nervous for a presentation- She doesn't even get nervous when she hasn't studied. She's a good talker so she develops the subjects very well.

O, Organization?- Not much, but she organizes herself in her mess

P, Places she likes to be- She loves being with you on the playground, in the stands, or just walking around the school holding you close. But she certainly prefers being outside of school with you.

Q, Quitting group projects (mentally)- She hates groups. If she could, she would do the work alone, or just with you. Because she is so closed off, she often mentally gives up on doing group work.

R, Reply to teachers? - No way, she rarely speaks in class, and if she does it's to answer some question the teacher asked. She's certainly not a troublemaker.

S, Sleeping in class? - She doesn't usually do it, only in chemistry class sometimes.

T, Talking in class? - When you sit next to her, she completely loses focus on the teacher and keeps talking to you the whole class, sometimes getting some looks from the teacher.

U, Unfinished notes - Her notebook is a complete mess that only she understands. There are lessons where she doesn't copy anything, others where she makes a minimum effort.

V, Volunteering?- She hates to be noticed, so that would be a big no.

W, Weekend homework sadness- She hates getting homework for the weekend because that's usually the only time you have to be alone together.

X, X-tra credit desperation- She is slightly uneasy knowing that she may have to make a greater effort to get better grades, but in the end it all goes well.

Y, Yawning in morning classes- If there's one person who yawns the most in morning classes, it's Sae-Byeok. She always looks sleepy, with her arms crossed and yawning.

Z, Zoning out in classes?- Certainly. Zoning out is something which she certainly does. She stares at the teacher with her frowning face, but her mind simply doesn't work, and neither do her ears.

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I thought it would be easier😭 the time I spent here is no joke man💔

ANYWAY, I'm writing an imagine of No-eul, and then I'll write a request that's pending.

Hope you like it, even if it is extremely small and simple

Xoxo!

[oizysian]

An Eggcellent Boy | Elizabeth Olsen

Summary: Y/N has a school project that she’s deemed stupid, but her partner might just change her perspective on the whole thing.

Word count: 3k

AN: Happy birthday to my number one fan! Thanks for always supporting me ❤️

“Now, listen up, students! Today is a very important day! Today we’ll be giving each senior a sophomore to partner up with for a week to take care of your egg babies.”

A collective groan came from the crowd of high schoolers listening to the announcement. Yet another way to torture the students, I thought as I leafed through the little pamphlet they handed out.

“‘Your baby and you.’ This is so dumb.” I mumbled to myself, stuffing the leaflet into my backpack.

“When you meet with your partner, you must take care of your baby, make a plan for your baby’s care, and log it all in your journals.”

I rolled my eyes and continued to doodle in my notebook, not the slightest bit interested in the project. Who even cared about babies?

“You will meet with your partners and get your eggs today …”

As the Health teacher droned on about the specifics of the project, I zoned out. I had too many other things to worry about other than stressing over some egg. I was failing math and all I wanted was for Tom Sullivan to finally ask me out.

The bell rang and I packed up my things and got ready to head to my next class. I threw my bag over my shoulder and trudged out, nearly bumping into a group of girls walking in the other direction.

I growled under my breath and looked back at them, a blonde girl doing the same and looking back at me. I couldn’t deny the fact that she was beautiful, probably one of those preppy cheerleaders, not someone I’d ever be friends with.

I huffed and continued walking, pretending to be unbothered by the group of girls that no doubt thought they were better than me. I opened the door to my next class and took a seat in the back, not really wanting to be bothered with this class either. I just wasn’t in the mood to be in school.

I took out my notebook and started doodling again, thoroughly done with school for the day. While the English teacher spoke about Shakespeare and the complexities of his work, there was a knock at the door. An aide came in, looked down at her notes, and then called out one name.

“Y/N Y/L/N?”

I looked up from my book, hesitating before slipping my notebook into my bag and getting up and following the aide out. She was silent for a moment as we walked before clearing her throat and speaking.

“I’m taking you to meet your project partner and to get your egg.”

It took all my self control to not roll my eyes at her words. This stupid egg thing was getting out of hand.

We walked until we made it to the Health room and she opened the door for me, waiting for me to enter before entering herself. Inside was the girl I saw earlier; the preppy cheerleader. Oh, great, I thought to myself, THIS was going to be my partner?

“Y/N, this is Elizabeth, the senior that’s going to partner up with you for this project.”

“Hi.” I managed to bite out, trying to not sound as disinterested as I actually was.

“Hi!” She greeted me with a bright smile.

Goddamn her, she was beautiful and she was nice.

“Choose your egg, and follow all the guidelines in the pamphlet handed out earlier and you’ll both do fine.”

I looked from Elizabeth to the eggs, which were in cartons on the table. They were literally just … eggs. There was nothing special about them.

“You wanna choose?” I asked her and she nodded, walking over to the table and looking over the eggs before finally picking one from the back.

“What should we name him?”

I blinked at her, my eyes moving from her to the egg in her hands, and shrugged.

“I, uh, I don’t know. Why don’t you choose?”

“We should choose together. ‘Cos it’s our baby.” She said with a smile and I couldn’t help but smile back.

“How about … James?”

“James? I like it. Little James.” She gave the egg a tickle and my heart melted at the sight.

“Okay, girls, you can go now.” The Health teacher said and we walked out together, standing in the hallway awkwardly.

“I already know what we can put our baby in.” She said proudly, looking down at the egg in her hands.

“Oh yeah? What?”

“Let me take him tonight. I’ll bring him in tomorrow and then you can have him, okay?”

I looked at her for a moment before nodding.

“Alright. Do you want my number just in case James has an accident?” I teased and she nodded excitedly.

“Of course! I’ll call you if something happens.”

I sighed, waiting for her to get out a piece of paper and a pen so she could write down my number. I didn’t think she’d actually take me up on my offer.

She handed me one of her notebooks and a pen and I flipped it open to a blank page, jotting down my name and number and then handing it back to her.

“Great.” She said as she looked over the page. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N!”

She smiled at me then turned to walk away before turning back.

“When do you have lunch?”

“Fourth period.”

“Perfect, me too. I’ll see you then.”

She gave me a small wave then walked away with James, leaving me in the hallway, staring at her retreating back. What was I getting into?

•

The next day at school almost everyone was paired up or carrying around one of those damned eggs. I had pretty much forgotten all about it since Elizabeth had taken James - the egg. It was an egg, not a baby.

When lunch rolled around, I was pretty exhausted by my previous classes and the idea of working on this egg project. I had Health third period and all we talked about was our eggs.

I grabbed my tray of food and sat down at a table far in the back of the room. I just wasn’t in the mood to socialize.

“Hey!” A cheerful voice greeted me and I looked up to see Elizabeth with a lunchbox of sorts.

“Hey.” I greeted back, poking at my food with my plastic fork.

“I brought James.” She placed the lunchbox on the table and sat down. “You can take him tonight. He’ll be okay.”

I looked at her expectantly, blinking wordlessly.

“Where is he?”

She gently tapped the box and slid it over to me.

“You put it in a lunchbox?”

“It’s a mini cooler!”

I pulled the cooler towards myself and opened it. Inside James was nestled in what looked like a nest, surrounded by little handmade decorations. I couldn’t help but smile at the sight. She had put so much effort into this and I barely wanted to be bothered.

“It looks great.” I complimented it, closing the cooler over so James could keep cool.

“Thanks.” She smiled. “I thought that a cooler would be the best place for him. I’ve already heard some people had their eggs crack because they just put them in a regular old box with no cushions.”

“Guess they already failed the project.”

She nodded, placing her chin in her hand and watched me eat.

“How about we get together after school to work on our paper?”

“We’ve only had him for a day.” I said softly.

“Yeah, but we’re supposed to keep track of him every day for a week.”

“How much can we track? He’s just an egg.”

She giggled and shrugged. She probably thought this project was just as ridiculous as I did. She reached for her bag, unzipping it and pulling out the project pamphlet.

“We still have to give him a face. I figured you could do that tonight. Or we can do it after school together.”

“Together sounds nice.” Why did I say that?

Her cheeks flushed a slight pink hue and she continued to read.

“Then after the week is up, we have to reflect on the project; say if we were good parents or not, and if our feelings about the project changed from beginning to end.”

“This is so dumb.” I let out a chuckle and she nodded.

“I know, but this counts for more than half of our grade.”

I rolled my eyes and put my fork down. At least my partner wasn’t a complete idiot.

“They just want to torture us, forcing us to carry around an egg. An egg.”

“At least he can’t move.”

I nodded in agreement, tapping my fingers on the top of the cooler.

“What else do we have to do?”

“Didn’t you read the pamphlet?” She asked with a smirk and I shook my head.

“I barely even looked at it.”

She smiled and shook her head, looking over the paper in her hand.

“We also need a birth certificate. Do you wanna do that?”

“Sure.” I paused. “In that case, he needs a full name, right? I chose his first name so you can choose the middle.”

She nodded.

“Whose last name should he have? Mine or yours?”

“Why not hyphenate it?”

“That’s a good idea!” She seemed pleased.

The bell rang and she stuffed the paper back into her bag, zipping it up and putting it on her back.

“So, I’ll see you after school? We can meet by the gym.”

“Sure. I’ll see you then.”

She smiled and waved, getting up from the table and leaving. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and looked down at the cooler. Why did she have to be so nice and pretty and smart? Why was this affecting me the way it was? I was straight and she was just my partner for this stupid project.

The rest of the day went by quickly and I couldn’t wait to go home. That was, until I remembered I was going to meet Elizabeth by the gym. Shit.

I trudged over there, James in hand, and waited. It wasn’t long before I realized someone was still inside the gym and I peeked in.

Elizabeth was playing volleyball with another girl. I watched quietly as she confidently struck the ball, making the other girl run and fall trying to hit it back.

She cheered, jumping up and down as the girl got back up.

“You beat me again.” The other girl spoke and Elizabeth nodded happily.

“I have to be competitive. I have three older siblings.”

I smiled, watching her do something she clearly enjoyed and was obviously good at. After she had calmed down, she noticed me, smiling and waving as she made her way over.

“Hey, Y/N. Sorry, I got caught up in the game.”

“It’s fine,” I assured her. “I didn’t know you played.”

“Only for fun.” She looked down at the cooler in my right hand. “How was James today?”

“Good?” I was unsure if she was being serious or not. “He’s an eggcellent little angel.”

She slapped my arm playfully, giggling at my awful attempt at a joke.

“I’m gonna go get changed, I’ll be back in five minutes.”

I watched as she walked back into the gym, heading into the locker rooms. Something about her was captivating and I couldn’t deny it. She was kind, beautiful, athletic …

Wait, I was straight. Why was I getting starry eyed over a girl?

“Hey, you okay?” Elizabeth asked and I shook myself out of my head, nodding at her.

“Yeah, I’m good.” I raised up the cooler. “Wanna get started on the paper?”

“Yeah, sure. Let’s go to the library.”

“Okay,” I gestured for her to walk ahead of me. “Lead the way.”

She walked ahead of me, excitedly making her way down the hall towards the library. I watched as her hips swayed, her backpack hung low on her back, her hair tied in a loose ponytail - just every little detail had me hooked. I did not have a crush. I did not.

She looked back at me and smiled, holding the door open for me to enter first. Admittedly, I had only been in the library once or twice, and never for more than a few minutes. I walked in and waited for her, and she led me towards the back where we sat in a secluded corner.

“Okay. James.” I placed him on the table and she reached over to open his top. “What kind of face should we give you?”

“A happy face. With a blush.”

“That sounds cute.”

She dug around in her bag and pulled out a sharpie.

“Do you wanna do it?” She held out the sharpie to me.

“Sure!”

I took it from her and picked up James carefully, popping off the top, I scribbled on his face, doodling a little happy face with a blush. When I was done, I turned him around so she could see him and she covered her mouth in happiness.

“He’s beautiful!” She carefully took him from my hands and I put the cap back on the sharpie. “Our beautiful son.”

It was my turn to blush. Her words heat up my cheeks, the use of ‘our’ instead of ‘my’ really got to me. I placed the sharpie down and unzipped my backpack, pulling out some paper and a pen.

“Okay, his name. James …”

“Liam.”

“James Liam Y/L/N …” I looked at her expectantly.

“Olsen.

“Olsen. Done. He was born October 26th and his parents are Y/N Y/L/N and Elizabeth Olsen.”

She smiled and nodded excitedly.

“This is perfect. We’ll meet up every day and take notes on James and by the end of the week, we’ll be pro parents.”

We met up every single day at lunchtime and after school, dressing James, taking photos of us and James, and almost acting like a married couple. After a while, we would just talk about ourselves and we got closer and closer as each day went by.

I hated to admit it, but I was definitely developing a crush on Elizabeth. It wasn’t hard. She was perfect. Sometimes I found myself just staring at her as she spoke about her day with James or her family life or the different sporting events she was attending. I knew she couldn’t feel the same way about me, so I just fantasized and kept my feelings to myself. It was just a crush, it would pass.

We were working on our final paper when our hands touched as we both reached for the same pen. We stared at each other for a moment before giggling. I let her take it and dug around in my bag for a spare.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?” I hummed as I looked over my notes, flipping through the various pages of actual notes and just doodles.

“I think you’re really funny and really nice.”

“I think you are too.” My brain decided at that moment to malfunction, leaving that as the only response I could muster up.

She smiled and returned her attention to her paper. Did I just reject her? Was she coming onto me? I bit my lip in thought, staring down at the blank page I had flipped to.

“Must be interesting.” She teased and I snapped out of it, looking up at her confused.

“What?”

“Your paper. You’re staring so intently at it.”

I looked from her to the paper and chuckled nervously.

“Ah, yeah, that. Real riveting stuff.”

She shot me one of her dazzling smiles and I felt myself getting deeper and deeper into trouble with her.

I watched as she wrote in her notebook, her tongue pursed between her lips in concentration, her brow furrowed as she scribbled and jotted down her notes.

“Elizabeth …” I said softly, getting her attention.

She looked up at me expectantly and I froze.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?”

“N-nothing. I was just gonna ask how your paper is going.”

“It’s going okay. I’m up to the part where I have to write what I liked most about the project.”

“What did you like the most?” I was curious.

“Working with you.” She said bashfully.

My eyes shined with hope as she looked across the table at me.

“That was my favorite part too.”

“Yeah?” She asked shyly, smiling brightly.

“Yeah. I really like you, Elizabeth.”

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and gnawed at it gently before speaking again.

“Would you … do you wanna get ice cream? After all this?”

Did she just … ask me out? I stared at her for a moment before nodding vigorously.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

She looked at the clock on the wall and sighed.

“I guess it’s time to go.”

“Already?” I whined, looking at the clock myself.

“Yeah, I know how you feel.” She chuckled as she packed her things up and I did the same, but slowly; I wanted to spend as much time with her as possible.

“You can take James.” I said softly, putting my bag on my back. “I know you wanna spend time with him before they take him away.”

“I do.” She smiled and approached me.

I looked up at her and licked my lips nervously. Why was I so nervous? She put her hand on the cooler that was sitting on the table in front of me and then bent her head down, pressing her lips to mine ever so slightly.

It was shock that hit me first. I couldn’t believe it was actually happening! Forget about Tom Sullivan - I had Elizabeth Olsen.

I took her face in my hands and kissed her back, smiling when she realized I reciprocated.

We pulled away after a moment and I couldn’t stop the goofy smile that was now plastered on my face.

“I’ll see you tomorrow? After school?”

I nodded, “Definitely. After school.”

She took my hand and James and we walked out of the library. This project was probably the best thing that ever happened to me, despite my distaste for it at first.

We walked to the front of the school, hand in hand, and only parted when we had to go our separate ways.

“Tomorrow?” She asked again, nervously and I nodded.

“Tomorrow.”

I gave her a peck on the lips and she lit up, giving me one back before letting go of my hand and walking off towards where she lived. I watched her retreating back and I smiled to myself.

“All because of an egg.”