#JSchlatt | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

slcmml · 3 days ago

Text

teacher! schlatt & reader. fluff.

★ it starts with curiosity. schlatt isn’t the type to seek out friendships with coworkers, but something about you intrigues him. you’re quiet but not standoffish, reserved but not boring. he catches himself lingering outside your classroom, peeking in to see what weird art project your students are working on. he’ll lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, and drawl, “whatcha teachin’ ‘em today? finger painting?” just to see you get all shy.

★ he teases you constantly. he lives for your flustered little reactions, smirking when you avoid eye contact or mumble a response. but it’s never mean—just his way of pulling you out of your shell. “y’know, i never hear you raise your voice. what do you do when a kid misbehaves? stare ‘em down ‘til they repent?” you roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitch upward, and that’s how he knows he’s won.

★ he’s a bit of a mystery to you? schlatt is loud. and cocky. and a nuisance. but you notice things others don’t—how he never lingers at staff parties, how he prefers one on one conversations over big group settings, how he sometimes looks genuinely relieved when he steps into your quiet classroom after a long day.

★ the staff definitely has a bet going on. teachers love gossip, and your odd relationship is prime material. “they have to be dating.” “no way, they’re just ‘really close coworkers’.” meanwhile, you and schlatt are completely oblivious to the speculation, too caught up in your own little world of being fucking idiots.

★ he lowkey tries to impress you. if you ever mention finding a topic interesting, suddenly that becomes the focus of his next class. “yeah, so today’s lesson is about bioluminescence. which is pretty cool, i guess. not that anyone asked, but y’know, some people might find it interesting.” literally only does this for class so he can tell you about it later.

★ you start to pick up on his social battery? i mean, despite how extroverted he acts, you notice he sometimes disappears during lunch breaks or avoids crowded teacher’s meetings. at first, you assume he just doesn’t care, but one day, you find him sitting alone in his empty classroom, quietly grading papers. you hesitate before stepping in, holding up a coffee. “thought you might want a break.” he looks at you, then at the coffee, then back at you, before exhaling. “you’re somethin’ else, darlin’.”

★ he’s weirdly protective of you. if another teacher tries to talk over you in a staff meeting? he immediately cuts in, backing you up without hesitation. if a student’s giving you a hard time? suddenly schlatt’s popping his head into your room like, “need me to send someone out? jus’ say the word.”

★ neither of you realize you’re basically dating? you spend so much time together, fall into so many easy conversations, and yet, neither of you quite acknowledge what’s happening.

★ schlatt probably teases you about how “art can’t be that hard” almost all the time.

★ at some point you finally call his bluff and tell him to sit down and prove it. he tries to act all nonchalant, but he’s secretly a little nervous because he doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of you.

★ he’s stiff at first. when you hand him a brush, he just kind of stares at it like he’s holding a foreign object. “alright, what am i s’posed to do? jus’... start wavin’ this thing around?”

★ he’s used to precise measurements and structured formulas, so the whole “just go with the flow” thing throws him off.

★ his grip on the brush is terrible, so without thinking, you reach over and adjust his fingers. the second your hands touch, he freezes. you don’t even notice, too focused on correcting his technique, but schlatt is sitting there, completely distracted by the fact that you’re this close to him.

★ he keeps sneaking glances at you. while you’re explaining different brushstrokes, he’s barely listening—just watching the way your face lights up when you talk about art. at one point, you lean in to demonstrate something, and he swears his brain short-circuits for a second.

★ he’s terrible at painting, but you don’t have the heart to tell him. his first attempt looks like absolute garbage—uneven strokes, weird colors, a total mess. but when he turns to you all smug like, “pretty good, huh?” you just smile softly and say, “it’s… unique.” (he knows that means it’s bad.)

★ he actually listens when you correct him. for all his teasing, schlatt really does take your advice seriously. when you gently tell him to loosen up his strokes or blend the colors more naturally, he follows your instructions without argument. he won’t admit it, but hearing you talk so passionately about something makes him want to try—even if it’s just to impress you a little.

★ you wipe paint off his face without thinking. at some point, he manages to get a streak of paint on his cheek. without thinking, you reach up and swipe it off with your thumb. you don’t even realize what you’ve done until you notice he’s completely silent. when you finally look at him, his ears are bright red. “uh—” he clears his throat. “thanks.”

★ he insists you keep his first painting. he knows it’s bad, you know it’s bad, but he shoves it into your hands anyway. “frame it. tell people it’s modern art or somethin’.” you laugh, but later that night, you do end up keeping it. it’s terrible, but it’s his, and for some reason, that makes it special.

★ the whole thing just feels a lot more intimate than either of you expected. it’s just painting, but there’s something about the quiet closeness, the shared laughter, and the little moments of eye contact that make your heart race. neither of you say anything about it, but after that day, something between you shifts—like maybe, just maybe, this whole thing was never really about painting at all.

★ ANYWAY YOU BOTH ARE FUCKING LOSERS BECAUSE LIKE CHARLIE YOU BOTH ARE TOO PUSSY TO TELL EACH OTHER YOU WANNA SWAP SPIT JUST FUCK ALREADY I DON’T FUCKING KNOW

#slcmml posts #this is more like a fic than headcanons??#LMFAO #did i cook #no I’M cooked #also i couldn’t think of a title so it’s kind of lame but wtv #hopefully you like it…#also i wrote a shy reader bc i thought it was cute ntm pls lmk if its cringe.#chuckle sandwich #jschlatt x reader #jschlatt

79 notes · View notes

hufflepuffsthunderdome · 2 days ago

Text

What Did You Do? (Part Four)

Teen!Schlatt x gn!reader <-P. Three P. One ???-> Summary: Teen!Schlatt finally faces you after his fight with your date. Feelings come out in the worst way possible. Warnings: Angst, panic attacks, crying, yelling, fighting, kinda thoughts of not wanting to be alive, kinda slut shaming.

He's barely left his room in days. He just couldn't bring himself to do it. He hasn't eaten, hasn't talked to anyone, hasn't been taking care of himself. The idea of doing anything made him feel exhausted. He just wanted to hide, to waste away lying in his bed, until the world forgot about him, left to rot in his own idiocy.

He was ignoring all his problems for now. Alex and his other friends had called and messaged him a number of times. His parents had been trying to balance disciplining him with a genuine concern for his wellbeing. The school had booked disciplinary meetings, he was pretending their dates weren't red, looming angrily in his calendar, he couldn't even bare the thought of being kicked off baseball.

The only person he cared about at the moment was you. The one person who hadn't reached out.

He knows you know what happened, he's sure Pete told you what he did. The whole school knows according to Alex, everyone talking about the fight, half-true tales mixed with outlandish rumours. He's not sure what's gotten back to you yet.

He wants to see you so badly it hurts, more than anything in the world right now, but he can't bring himself to reach out. He wants to text you, call you, get on his knees and beg and grovel for your forgiveness, but the thought alone makes him feel pathetic. He's been fighting tears every time he thinks about the disappointed look on your face when he didn't share your excitement about your date to the formal, he's sure it's even worse now.

That's all he seemed to do anymore. Let you down.

"All this," his mum's voice echoed in his head when she picked him up, "over a girl."

He feels pathetic when he thinks about her words, about how right she is. He didn't wanna be that guy, the kinda guy to get jealous, to be violent, to be angry. The kinda guy to fight over a girl. The kinda guy to fall for his best friend.

He feels the tears break past his waterline as he lies in bed, staring up at his ceiling as he sobs, chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. He sits up and slumps over, head rested in his hands as he tries to calm himself down.

Fuck why haven't you texted him? Has this done it? The nail in the coffin? He feels like he's gonna be sick as he thinks about it, surely this can't be the last time you'll talk to him. The thought of the last time he sees you being that disappointed look on your face as you watch him run away from you makes his chest heave as his lungs struggle to bring in oxygen.

He sinks to the floor, leaning back against the bed as he attempts to force himself to take in air. He wishes you were here, your sweet concerned eyes looking at him as you take his hand. He clenches his own hand into a tight fist, almost able to feel your hand in his as he tries to concentrate on anything other than his body trembling as he sobs. He wants you to tell him it's ok, that you don't hate him, as much as he doesn't deserve it. He can picture your soft voice as you pull him into a hug, holding him tight as he sobs into your shoulder, telling him he's still your best friend, that you still love him.

"Schlatt," a firm voice calls out which makes him heave a violent sob. He's really lost it, he's hearing you now.

"Jay," it says firmer, a tapping sound making him jump as he wipes away the tears that keep coming from his eyes, squinting as he looks over at his window. He can't move, still struggling to breathe as he sees you sitting on his windowsill, tapping at the glass, the familiar sight filling him with nothing but dread as he closes his eyes tightly in an attempt to stop his crying.

You clamber through the window when you manage to pry it open, rushing over to drop to your knees in front of the sobbing boy as you stare at him in shock. You've never seen him like this before. You've barely seen him cry, let alone sob like this.

The sight fills you with a sense of pain deep in your stomach as you watch him, frozen at the sight of your best friend breaking down. You want to be furious at him, you are furious, you don't let yourself forget that. But as you watch the tall boy in front of you break down, it's hard to see him as the friend who broke your trust, and not just a vulnerable boy who needs you.

You pull him in tightly to you, and hold him as he sobs, rocking him silently as he buries his head in your shoulder. He clings to you, large hands grabbing handfuls of your jumper as he pulls you towards him, afraid that if he lets go you'll vanish and he'll be alone again, drowning.

You breathe deeply with him, talking him down from his panic attack as you attempt to soothe him, "take a deep breath with me Jay," you coo softly, your own eyes filling with tears at the sight of your friend, "you're ok."

It takes a while but he eventually does calm down, his breathing returning to normal, and the tears subsiding as he pulls away, leaning back against his bed as he pulls his long legs up towards his chest. His previous anxiety and dread being replaced by the burn of embarrassment as he curses himself for falling apart like that in front of you.

You both just sit there in silence for a while, you want to yell and Jay wants to apologise a million times over, both of you too scared to be the first to speak. You watch him as he sits there, avoiding your gaze as you take in his splotchy, red, tear-soaked face, wanting to pull him back into a hug and slap him in equal measures.

The silence is deafening, until you take a deep, shaky breath, "we need to talk Jay."

He squeezes his eyes tighter at the disappointment in your tone and nods the tiniest bit. He can't look at you, can't face the upset he's caused.

"You punched Pete," you say bluntly, without even realising it as the words tumble out your mouth, an angry huff following when you remember the reason you came to talk to him.

He stays silent.

"You can't go around punching people," you say as you nudge his arm, trying to get him to face you.

"He deserved it," he says, unmoving as he at least opens his eyes, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

"I don't give a shit," you snap as you stand up, towering over the boy as he finally meets your gaze, your previous concern replaced with anger at his dismissal of you. He shrinks under your angry stare as he quickly looks away again, "you can't punch him."

"And you can't take him to formal," he says in the smallest of a mumble as his eyes dart around the room. He tries desperately to find something to focus his gaze on, but they keep falling back on you, and your gorgeous face, eyebrows raised and lips parted in shock as you stare at him. He has to stop himself from looking at your lips as he feels his face flush, god now's really not the time.

"Oh my god," you say as it finally dawns on you, arms going up to grip your hair as you stare down at him in shock, "is that what this was about? The fucking formal!"

He looks up at you as his face drops, "it's not about the -"

"The fucking formal!" you say, voice dripping with shock horror, as you turn away from him, staring at the window to stop yourself from throttling your best friend, "you punched Pete cause what? You don't have a date? You're j-"

"Don't fucking say it," he snaps, anger bubbling up in his gut again as he stares at you, "I'm not fucking-" he cuts himself off, unable to get the word out, "I just don't get why it had to be Pete."

"Cause he asked me?" you ask as you turn to look back at him, not sounding so sure yourself, bending down to meet his eyes, "cause I like him?"

"You like him?!" he says, his heart sinking as he stands up suddenly, wincing as you jump back from him as he towers over you, "you fucking like him?! I can't believe you like him, I fucking hate him, that dickhead he-"

"I don't care if you don't like him!" you yell as you throw your arms up, getting up in Jay's face as much as you can from the foot shorter than him you are, "He's nice to me! I like him! Fucking get over it!"

"You could've taken anyone else!" He says as he sinks back down on his bed, putting his head in his hands to calm his breathing, "you know how much I hate him."

"I wasn't exactly thinking about you when he asked me," you say, gritting your teeth as you force the lie out. You had been thinking about him, you'd been daydreaming for weeks, hoping he would ask you. Hoping he would finally admit that he liked you, sweep you off your feet like you always dreamed, "it wasn't exactly a huge list I had to pick fro-"

"You could've gone with me," he says, softer now, as he looks up at you, eyes tired and sad as he watches you stare at him, his heart clenching at the way you let out a small surprised breath.

This idiot, you think as you stare down at him, the anger replacing the hope that flutters in your chest once again when you remember what he did. All this could've been avoided if he just asked you, "don't fucking say that!"

"I could've taken you if you needed someone to go with," he mumbles as he stares at the floor, eyes widening when he realised how bad that sounded. He looks up at you as he watches you physically recoil from his unintentional jab, wanting to wrap you in his arms and keep you safe when tears rise in your eyes.

"I'm not some fucking charity case!" You snap as a tear trickles down your cheek, wiping it away as your chest heaves with heavy breaths, "I wanted someone to ask me because they wanted to! And Pete did!"

"I didn't mean it like that-" Schlatt starts, standing up, raising his hand to touch you but dropping it when he sees the way you glare at him through your tears

"God I fucking hate you sometimes," you spit, wiping away hot tears that trickle down your face.

That hits him deep in his gut as he feels like he's just been punched, "you're not exactly a saint yourself," he says back, trying and failing to sound angry as his voice shakes. Fuck why is he still talking?

This makes you cry harder as you turn away from him, "fuck you," you spit weakly, sobs threatening to escape your lungs as you take long deep gasps of air, wrapping your arms around yourself tightly to try to soothe yourself.

"I said sorry," he says as he throws his arms out, "what more do you want from me?"

"I want you to stop punching my date," you yell at him as you turn back, face flushed red, given up on holding it together as you sob.

"And I want you to stop trying to fuck the whole baseball team!"

Schlatt wakes with a start, breathing heavily, to find himself thankfully, sleeping in his own room, years away from the memory of his own stupidity, as much as it still hurt like a fresh wound to think about. He lays back down on the lumpy couch as he brings his hands back up to his face, groaning at the pain that has been brought to the forefront of his mind again from the dream, feeling almost physical.

He was such a dick. That's his biggest regret, how he treated you that night.

It was the worst, if not only, fight the two of you ever had and in hindsight, he doesn't think you ever truly recovered from it. You forgave him, eventually, like you always did, despite his insistent that he didn't deserve it. You were just that kind of person.

After that though there was a tension in your friendship that he now realises is what pushed you away. It's what led you to ultimately choose to move, to escape the weird baggage he created in your childhood neighbourhood. It's what led him to stop visiting, convinced you were better off without him now, with your new life.

He would think about you constantly, looking through your Instagram at the exciting people you met, and the fun things you did, a deep sense of longing every time he saw your smile, knowing you were a thousand miles away, living your life without him. It felt wrong.

He knows that's what did it, that single night of letting his bruised ego win over his love for you is what did it. The reason you're not together. The reason you'll never be together. The reason that now, years on, he still doesn't think he's atoned for.

The reason he'll never be good enough for you

He felt immense guilt every time he'd video chat when he'd see the new way you dyed your hair or the new band shirt you'd show off from some concert you went to. He was no longer your best friend, you were doing these things without him, without even telling him. He couldn't deal with that, so he just stopped talking to you.

Even now he felt guilty still. Guilty for hurting you. Guilty for not trying harder to mend what he broke. Even guilty for desperately wanting a place back in your life even after the hurt he caused you. He was selfish like that. And you were too kind to say no. He knew that.

He couldn't risk hurting you again.

---

Tagging baddies 🫶 @jellybell92 @olive823 @schlattandcompany @imgayandvoreethatsall @aesthetixhoe @mads-hemmo

59 notes · View notes