#schlatt g/t

[the-sussy-imposter2]

Fanart for @cyncerity 's Dads Troubles AU !!!

More under cut!! (Theres a lot)

This last one was an idea i had about this little arcade machine gameboy thing i have. Its like a total of 6 inches tall, and it has 156 games on it- including the OG "sonic the hedgehog" Game! I was just imagining if Schlatt had this in his house, Charlie would be playing on it all day (and probably all of bechtrio, but it would have taken too long to add all of them)

He's died two times already and he isnt even past the first level

[cyncerity]

MORE

dapduo centric this time

[mysterious-gizem]

𝐎𝐝𝐝 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐎𝐮𝐭

Warning/s: ???

Taglist: @da3dm, @gt-mcyt, @coolest-moon

Chapters: Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

"Puffy get out here!"

Schlatt...

The sheep hybrid tumbled down the stairs as she raced towards her front door, she flung her front door open as she was met with her very serious, and rather furious, older brother. The ram hybrid sighed as he stared her down.

"Hey JJ- what brings you here, shouldn't you be with Dream at the docks?" She chuckled trepidatiously, her brother pursed his lips before he began to speak. "The elders are scolding him...he may have crushed some of the wood we were going to use."

The ram let out an exasperated sigh, "Look Puffy, I love my nephew, but..." His words trailed off as he stared at her sister's wide, soft eyes. "I can't keep defending him...Everyone's getting pretty..." Another sigh escaped his lips, "Well- everyone is getting pretty scared; I've heard that he almost stepped on some old lady!" Schlatt was about to continue but Puffy spoke first.

"What am I supposed to do Schlatt? He can't control what's happening to him- and it wasn't my decision for him to be going around doing chores! He's a kid, he should be out playing in the fields, not working in them..." Puffy was tired, she was tired of seeing her son come home exhausted; not exhausted from playing, but rather tired from working.

It hurt her as she watched her child lay on his bedroom floor, having to get rid of his bed and furniture for the sake that he would still fit in his room. She remembered the nights her son would cry relentlessly, begging to be held; yet all she could do was gently hug his leg as fat tears rolled down his face.

Now her brother—one of the few people who caused this to happen to her son—stood in front of her criticizing his mistakes once more, how dare her brother have the audacity to take away his childhood and still complain!?

Schlatt let out another sigh, it snapped the sheep hybrid out of her daze. Both stood in awkward silence as the ram hybrid stared down at her with gentle eyes, while she was resistant to meet his own. The two were having a silent war; that they barely noticed another presence arrive, until they were startled by a shadow looming over them.

"Uhm- Uncle Schlatt? We're—we're done with the docks and they told me to go on break..." Dream sheepishly announced as he avoided eye contact, Puffy's heart broke, her boy, despite the fact he towered over everyone in the flock; looked so, so small. The ram hybrid's lips pursed as Puffy began to speak. "Hey duckling, you hungry?" The blond gave a shy nod, still unwilling to meet her eyes.

"There's food in the dining room, I made it all for you so don't worry duckling." She reassured, Dream muttered a grateful 'thank you' as he ushered himself inside the house; needing to bend down to walk around the house. The sheep hybrid turned around to face her brother again, "Look Schlatt- if you have nothing else to say I have stuff I need to do..." He sighed and shook his head.

"Goodbye JJ."

•~☆~•

"Dream can you get the tools over there?" A disheveled middle-aged man gently commanded the blond which he complied too, "Yes sir..." The child simply responded as he took a few strides and bent down to pick up a box full of tools.

It was another day for Dream, he was helping rebuild the town fountain at the core of their little village; which got damaged after some rogue hybrid went into their village and started throwing bombs, luckily another group of hunters came and escorted the hybrid away before anyone got hurt—the blond was especially lucky he wasn't there to be spotted by the said hunters—he stood at his full height and stared at his surroundings, taking in how much damage the bombs did.

A few patches of the streets were affected due to the obvious holes in the ground, and he expected to fix them sooner or later, it was sadly turning into his new normal, barely anything about this was normal. Another abrupt command made his head snap back toward the ram hybrid, "Go get the bricks over there, it's like laying on a wooden platform so get it all." Dream nodded and spotted the bricks atop a wooden pallet, he quickly rushed over and picked up the crates with his two hands.

He was slowly walking back to the fountain, being extremely cautious with the bricks; he was halfway there when he heard a loud feminine voice let out a commanding yell, "Jack! Elliott! Come back here!" Suddenly two children came running his way he lost his footing as the two children were seemingly playing tag, he yelped as one of them ran in front of him and he almost stepped on them.

He panicked as he tripped backward dropping the bricks in the process, shrill shrieks were heard coming from all over the place as bricks flew in every direction. Dust encompassed the area, in all of the chaos he prayed no one got hurt; a cough escaped his lips, as the dust settled down, the two other kids; who were probably around his age were huddled up together, covered in dust and debris themselves.

He watched as numerous amounts of rams and sheep hybrids ran to the duo's aid, a familiar stinging sensation made itself known; yet in the midst of all the chaos he couldn't even focus on anything, everything felt hazy as he sat there with his head limp and arms shaking. And the weird feeling spreading all over his body.

He felt something protruding in his gums and as the chaos began to settle down he grew.

He cried alongside the townsfolk as they all scrambled to get away from him, at that moment he silently thanked his mom and Bad that they put a spell on his clothing to adjust to his size, no matter how tall he was. Pain shot throughout his body, he could barely comprehend whatever the people were yelling.

Suddenly he ceased his movements and dropped to the ground.

•~☆~•

"Captain Puffy!"

Puffy was having a light conversation with Bad that day, they were simply talking about events of the week, trying to have a good time; keyword: trying.

"Oh Samuel? Why are you in such a rush." The sheep hybrid asked as Bad stood beside her respectfully waiting for them to finish. The panicked ram hybrid who was apparently named Samuel was catching his breath, Puffy patiently waited for the other to speak.

"Your son-" He heaved and took a big gulp of air, "He grew right before our eyes! And—and he fainted, Mayor Schlatt told me to get you." As he finished his sentence Puffy bolted from her spot not even saying a proper farewell to the demon hybrid. She almost tripped a few times as she took one step after another.

Other members of the herd who were oblivious of the situation happening at the core of the town gave her weird looks; some even attempted to follow her. More and more people began gathering to see what all the commotion was about. Puffy's thoughts were scattered everywhere as she yelled at people to move to the side.

All of a sudden she crashed against another figure which she quickly realized was her brother, "Schlatt let me go! I need to see him!" Tears began to form at the corner of her eyes as Schlatt held her back. "Please JJ..." Her voice began to grow quiet as Schlatt quietly huffed. "Puffy...I don't—I don't think you should see him right now."

The sheep hybrid was now letting on soft sobs whilst weakly grasping her brother's arm, she could only register the fact more people kept rushing behind them; she so desperately wanted to see what they were up to, what were they doing to her baby?

•~☆~•

Puffy sat at the foot of her bed, she sobbed so much she started to choke; she began to cough and gag as fat tears kept rolling down her face, earlier that day she waved her son goodbye as he left with a bright smile on his face. Now the day turned gloomy and dreadful.

"M-Mom?"

Her son's broken worried voice forced her to lift her head, for a moment she was scared startled to see a luminous emerald green eye stare at her through her window, she quickly pushed down her fear sorrow and walked over to the window, Dream backed up so she could see his face more clearly as she pushed the window open. It was obvious the poor boy had been crying; his eye's were puffy and red, and he was seemingly trembling.

"Oh baby- what's wrong?" She tried reaching out her hand to touch his face, however he stayed put; unmoving and silent. Puffy had no idea what to do at this moment, she could barely see his face as the sun took cover behind the horizons. The last remaining streaks of light highlighting the saddened features of the blond's face.

His mouth opened hesitantly as he stumbled over his words, "Are you okay mama? I-I'm sorry..." Puffy quickly gestured for him to come closer, "You did nothing wrong duckling, it's okay." Tears came back at full force as the now giant leaned against their house, the sheep hybrid could only reach the strands of his hair as she softly touched it—the blond probably didn't even feel it.

Puffy watched as stars began to twinkle in the sky, both simply fell into the haze of comfort and calm as they simply basked in the feeling of each other's comfort; the sheep hybrid gently felt the blond's soft breaths. She quietly went back to her bed and let the child sleep in peace.

With that thought she laid down and slowly drifted off to sleep aswell.

•~☆~•

"Woah dude! I'm sorry- but you look so cool right now!" Sapnap was gawking at the blond boy's new height, they finally got another chance to hang out and they were more than grateful. Dream sheepishly grinned at Sapnap's antics, he felt elated that the other treated him no differently than he did before, no matter what happened.

"I'm guessing you'll only wear one pair of clothes for now?" The blond nodded along as he tapped his fingers against the grass below him, "Y-Yea Mom said until she and your dad figure something out this is my clothes for now." The hybrid simply shrugged and an idea quickly popped up in his head.

"How about hide and seek?" He grinned widely, "We can even go in the forest so it's fair!" The taller hastily nodded and mustered up the courage to stand at his full height; vertigo smacked him as he stared at the difference of the size of his house to himself. Sapnap quickly snapped him out of his thought with the prompt of a race. The blond happily obliged and carefully sprinted towards the ravenette; albeit the blond being as careful as possible Sapnap could still feel the ground softly shake yet he shook his head and thought nothing of it.

As the two now stood in the midst of the forest, Dream was more fixated on the few small scrapes around his legs caused by the branches, it just gave him another reminder on how tall he was at the moment. Sapnap was the first to break the oddly awkward tension, "How about you hide and I seek?", He chuckled at his suggestion yet meekly nodded along.

In the blink of an eye Sapnap was now propped against a tree with his arm covering his two eyes and began to count down, for a moment the green eyed giant stood completely and utterly still, why? He couldn't exactly say, maybe it was the fact he couldn't exactly think of a place to hide or was it the strange noises her could hear, it heard like other people chatting?

Oh he was definitely losing it now.

He suddenly remembered what he was supposed to be doing and sprinted deeper into the forest to the direction of the mountains, he knew he should watch on how far he was going but surely the small caves and taverns he would spot on the way would be a better hiding spot.

The blond quickly halted as he spotted an opening to a cave on the forest floor, somehow he could hear Sapnap's counts getting closer to zero and he bolted inside the cage; he crawled his way in and situated himself—the cramped space gave him a familiar feeling, instead of uncomfort and uneasiness he felt...safe and warm(he couldn't exactly pinpoint why, his thoughts were pretty jumbled up right now)

Dream felt tranquil, his eyes slid shut and purely embraced the feeling. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, his body fell slack as he leaned in closer to the cavern walls.

It was like he felt truly at peace.

An ear-splitting cry broke his valuable silence, in his groggy state of mind he could barely comprehend where the scream came from; until another wail erupted once more. His eyes shot open and his body jumped at the sound as everything became slightly clearer.

Sapnap?

A rush of memories and emotions overwhelmed him, he was torn between remembering the moment a similar instance happened or rush to see the ravenette; it was like his body was on auto-pilot, none of the movements were his, like a foggy cloud sheilding away his sight.

As his hulking figure reached the sound of Sapnap's screams, he watched as a group of hunters were trying to chain the nether-born as he emerged from the forest all the hunters heads snapped towards him, seemingly just spotting their new prey.

"Stop it you shits those are my horns!"

As if history was repeating itself, his movements were dazed, downright feral.

That day blood coated the forest floors and a giant left the forest with a slightly traumatized hybrid.

•~☆~•

"Dream, you okay?" Sapnap asked as he stood before the giant in the drizzling rain, the blond slowly lifted his head, tears mixed with the rain, the only reason the nether-born was sure the giant was crying was the constant hiccups and sobs he would stutter out as he tried to suppress them. Even with the thunderous claps and heavy winds accompanied with the earth's very tears; it felt so, so silent. Sapnap began walking closer, he was greatly startled when the other scrambled away.

"No—no I don't wanna 'urt you..." The giant was shaking his head side to side while mumbling incoherent sentences with pain and panic laced with every word, his lips trembled as he spoke, "Uncle Schlatt a-and the elders said I should stay away from the flock for a while till—till they solve stuff." Without any thought Sapnap walked closer and held his hand out to touch the other.

"Good thing I'm not part of the flock then." He grinned with pride, Dream thought for a moment. He's right, Bad and Sapnap were never welcomed to the flock nor did they try and be part of it; or atleast that's what he thinks.

Even if his body wasn't as tense as before Sapnap sighed and sat beside blond. "For what it's worth I'll always be by your side bud."

"Pandas..."

The ravenette took a moment to cringe at his own words but kept his attention on the other, "Maybe it's best if I leave you know?" He muttered, "Ever since- well this happened to me, everything just...sucks." the nether-born was slightly taken a back with the sudden mature aura the giant gave, maybe he was spending to much time with the elders...

Sapnap was expecting this, he knew Dream was never truly at peace with the town, he thought long and hard before speaking again.

"Well if you do, I'll—I'll join you."

Was he serious? A soft grin made it's way on the taller's face.

"Thanks Sap."

[borrowing-at-midknight]

You Look Like Hell

You knew better than to leave the walls and go outside in the winter. Despite being hotter than balls the rest of the year, Texas managed to get surprisingly freezing during the couple months it takes a break from acting like one giant oven. When you’d felt how cold it was, you should've turned back. But no, of course not. You just had to get what you wanted. It could've waited, the repairs you wanted to work on weren't urgent, but you're stubborn so of course you didn't wait. Now, you were paying the price.

Over the past five days, it's been getting harder and harder to breathe. It’s not your chest that hurts, thankfully, but your throat and head are killing you. You can't stop coughing. You wish you could, but every time you inhale, your throat dries up and forces you into another coughing fit. The few lozenges that were stashed away for this occasion had been used up the first day and a half of this torture.

You don't know what to do anymore. You can't get to sleep, everything hurts, there's no more supplies for this.

You need Schlatt.

Usually, you avoid asking Schlatt for help. It's not that you don't get along with him, quite the opposite. He leaves things out on the counter for you, you take them, and both of you pretend it doesn't happen. He'll never say it, but he enjoys having you around. If he didn't, you doubt he would’ve offered to bring you with him when he moved south. You'd gotten too accustomed to his extra help back in New York to decline that proposition.

When you eventually force yourself to get out of your bed and make the journey to the kitchen, you try to use the old memories of you and Schlatt to distract you on the way.

You hug your blanket around yourself tightly, too miserable to care about it dragging behind you. Twenty grueling minutes later, you can see the light pouring into the wall’s tunnel. You sigh, sending yourself into another coughing fit, before dredging along the last short distance left. Hobbling out onto the counter, you hear the fridge close and Schlatt scoff, clearly catching sight of you.

“Fuck’s wrong with you?”

You would've laughed if it wouldn't induce more coughing. “Snow.” Apparently speaking hurts as well.

“Snow, huh? That clearly worked out well for you. Nice going.”

As your eyes adjust to the light, you see him looming over you. His hands are planted a foot away on either side, arms leading up, up, up to his face which is nearly straight above you. To save the energy, you carefully slump onto your back and wrap your blanket around you. “Are you gonna help or not?” You croak.

Schlatt’s lips curl into a sly grin. “Not with that attitude. Can't a man get some appreciation around here?” Despite his words, he's already moving away from you and begun digging through the medicine cabinet.

Gratefully, you accept a freshly shattered lozenge, immediately popping a piece into your mouth for a little bit of sweet relief.

“You look like hell, have you had any DayQuil today?”

You flop your head side to side. “Ran out yesterday. Didn't have any NyQuil to begin with.”

Schlatt sighs as he leans down to carefully measure a miniscule amount of medicine into a thimble. “You know, you should use my help more often. I don't like the thought of you going without essentials.” He places the thimble down next to you, then turns to the fridge and pulls out some orange juice.

“Aw, does Schlatt care for the itsy bitsy-” Your sentence is interrupted by a coughing fit due to your attempt at sitting up.

“Get fucked.” Schlatt chuckles as he pours a shot glass of juice and sets it beside the thimble, which he nudges closer to you. He leans on the counter, arms crossed. “I'm just saying. I don't get why you insist on taking care of yourself. It's gotta be dangerous, right?”

You take the thimble and take a big gulp of it, setting it aside quickly so you can chase it with the OJ. “Of course it's dangerous, but I've been doing this my whole life. I just… I know how busy you are. You don't gotta worry about me, big man.”

“I'd worry about you less if you weren't on your own.” He mumbles.

“I'll tell you what. I'll stay out here until I'm better, and then we'll see about me hanging out out here more often.”

Schlatt tries to suppress his smile from taking over his face, but the way his eyes light up betrays his cool demeanor. “Alright, it's a deal. C'mon, I'll get you set up in my room.”

He stands up to his full height, a movement that you doubt you'll ever get used to, as it sends shivers down your spine. His massive hand settles next to you. Not wanting to keep him waiting, you drape your blanket over you like a cape, push yourself to your feet, and waddle your way over to his open palm. You don't have to look up to know there's a smirk plastered on Schlatt’s face as you sit cross legged in the center of his hand.

“Ready?”

“Never am.”

Schlatt chuckles and curls his thumb into his palm to give you a bit more security, then lifts his hand up to his chest and starts walking. “You know I'd never drop you.” This close to his chest, his words rumble around you. It's… surprisingly comforting.

“First time we met you covered me with a red solo cup.” You joke, a smile growing on your face. “I don't know jack shit when it comes to you.”

“Hey, that was years ago. I didn't know what you were.”

“You could've at least used an empty cup.”

“It wasn't even that much! I wasted my Kool-aid on you, and I had to clean it up after. I feel like I’m definitely the one who’s been wronged here.” He snickers as he enters his bedroom and reaches into his closet to pull out a long empty shoe box.

“So sorry for making you dump your drink on me, I'll do better next time.” You roll your eyes.

Schlatt drops the box onto his bed, then suddenly pinches you between his thumb and index finger in order to lift you and place you on his pillow. Your heart drops to your feet and you gasp. You don't usually mind, as it makes things quicker, but he enjoys catching you off guard with it as much as he can. As expected, he's trying to suppress a grin.

“Douchebag.”

As if on cue, he’s already pulled a box cutter from his bedside drawer and clicks it open, pointing it at you first. “Watch your mouth, bitch.” He grins and grabs the shoebox, sinking the blade into the side of it. You watch curiously as he works.

It doesn't take more than a few seconds before he turns the box to show you what seems to be a you-sized doorway carved into the side. He looks proud. “So that the cats can't get to you.”

You smile sleepily. “Good thinking… thank you.”

“Alright, let's get you some rest, huh?” Schlatt takes a moment to look around the room for something to use as bedding, and spots a clean washcloth. He grabs it, folds it in half twice, and opens the shoebox to place it in the corner before turning to scoop you up from his pillow. “I swear I'll work on a better setup, but it'll do for now, eh?” He allows you to scoot off of his hand on your own this time.

When you lay down on the cloth, you can't help but notice how this is already far better than your matchbox setup inside the walls, padded with tissue that you did your best to replace once a month. It must be evident on your face, because Schlatt chuckles and places the lid back on the box.

“I'll take that as a yes.” His voice may be muffled by the box, but it's still all enveloping. “If you want the lid off during the night I can keep the cats out of the room, but only because you're sick. Don't start thinkin’ you're above Jambo, pipsqueak.”

“I would never.” You're already drifting off, sprawled out across the soft, plush cloth.

You can hear him smiling as he speaks, walking out of the room. “Sweet dreams, idiot.”

[slattlicker]

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * F O R G I V E   M E   N O T ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ a jschlatt x reader exes-to-lovers fic · chapter O N E ✦ party apologies ✦ ↳ 3.2k words · angst-heavy · college/uni au ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

✦ written with a female!reader in mind ✦ (but all are welcome to suffer—i mean enjoy ♡)

you didn’t go to the party with him. you didn’t even think he’d be there. but it’s been months since you last saw each other— and somehow, you still ended up leaving together.

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

╭˚₊‧͙⁺˚₊‧͙✧　❛ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓   𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ❜　✧‧͙˚₊⁺‧͙˚₊╮ ✧ alcohol mention / party setting ✧ yelling / heated argument ✧ references to emotional neglect ✧ complicated breakup energy generally ✧ mutual pining with unresolved tension ╰˚₊‧͙⁺˚₊‧͙✧　❛ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃   𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇   𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄 ❜　✧‧͙˚₊⁺‧͙˚₊╯

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

✦ SCHLATT’S POV ✦

the music’s loud. not club-loud—just rich-kid-who-doesn’t-care-about-his-neighbors loud. bass thumping through a house that definitely wasn’t designed for it. led strips blink between cotton candy pink and that harsh, electric blue that makes everyone look like they’re in a fish tank.

it smells like weed, cheap body spray, and someone’s vape juice trying way too hard to be mango.

schlatt adjusts his collar. black button-down, sleeves pushed up, untucked. he hadn’t planned on staying. just a pit stop—show face, nod at some guys he kinda knows, maybe steal a drink and dip before the vibe gets weird.

but then he sees her.

he doesn’t know who invited her. she’s not the type to show up at parties like this.

and especially not looking like that.

she’s wearing a dress he’s never seen before—black, silky, short enough to turn heads. it ties at one shoulder with a little bow that looks like it’d come undone with one tug. the fabric clings when she moves, the hem staying just low enough with each shift of her hips. she’s holding some pink drink in a solo cup, laughing at something, head tilted back just enough to show off her neck...and the simple jewelry adorning it.

and she’s not alone.

there’s a guy standing too close. shorter than schlatt, stockier build, blazer like he just came from dinner with his parents. the kind of guy who tucks his shirt in even when he’s off the clock. probably says “let’s do brunch sometime” and genuinely means it.

he’s talking to her like they’re familiar. too familiar. hand brushing her back like it’s casual.

schlatt sets his drink down without tasting it.

she still hasn’t looked his way. probably doesn’t even know he’s here. and that’s fine. totally fine. he didn’t come here for her.

but then she laughs again—soft, flirty—and drags her nails down the guy’s sleeve like it’s muscle memory.

and then, schlatt’s already crossing the room.

✦ Y/N’S POV ✦

you hadn’t planned to stay long.

it was supposed to be a quick stop—say hi, nod along, maybe pocket a cookie on the way out. but the music’s actually decent, and for once, you look good enough to want to be seen.

the dress had been a risk. cheap silk, shoulder tie, hemline that made your friend raise her brows. you joked that you wanted to feel expensive tonight. maybe even make someone regret something.

not that you were thinking about him. not really.

you take a sip of your drink—too sweet, probably mostly fruit juice and vodka. the cup’s sweating in your hand. you laugh at something the guy in front of you says. ethan? evan? something with an e. he smells like overpriced detergent and keeps calling you gorgeous. it’s harmless. easy. a little ego boost.

and then—

something shifts. that invisible, skin-prickling feeling, like a storm’s about to hit.

you glance up without thinking, scanning the room.

and there he is.

schlatt.

black shirt. sleeves rolled. tall. broad. forearms flexed like he’s either about to punch a wall or shove them in his pockets. his eyes are locked on you—flat, unreadable, but intense enough that you forget how to breathe for a second.

he looks… tense. wound up. like someone stretched him too tight and now he’s holding it all in with nothing but teeth and spite.

you pretend you don’t notice. you force a smile, finish whatever joke evan-or-ethan was trying to tell. you keep your tone light. chill.

but you can feel him watching you.

and the next time you blink, he’s already in front of you.

“hey.”

 low. direct. just for you.

evan blinks. “uh—hey, man. i don’t think we’ve met—”

schlatt doesn’t even look at him.

“you good, sweetheart?” he asks, like you’d called his name and he just now found you in the crowd.

your mouth opens. closes. god. his voice still does that to you—warm and sharp all at once, like a wire under your skin.

“i’m—yeah. just talking,” you manage.

evan shifts, finally catching on that something’s off. “we were actually just talking about—”

“cool,” schlatt says, eyes never leaving yours. “you ready to go?”

you blink. “what?”

he’s already reaching for your drink. gently. confidently. takes it from your hand and sets it down on the nearest table without asking.

then he leans in, voice lower now. “let’s get out of here, doll.”

and… you go.

of course you do.

✦ SCHLATT’S POV ✦

he doesn’t look back to see if she’s following.

doesn’t ask why she is. doesn’t ask if she’s mad, or confused, or about to slap him for pulling that stunt back there. he doesn’t want to know. doesn’t want to risk hearing her say no.

she followed. that’s enough.

the hallway’s quieter. cooler. blue light spills from a strip along the baseboards, pulsing faintly with the music still booming behind them.

he finds the guest bathroom. pushes the door open. looks at her.

she pauses in the doorway—not scared. just sizing him up. like she’s trying to figure out if this is worth her time.

it makes his chest tighten.

she walks in anyway.

click. door shut.

she leans back against the counter. arms crossed, chin tilted, gaze unreadable. not defensive. not soft. just… waiting.

that look alone makes his jaw clench.

“seriously?” he mutters, low and sharp. “that’s what we’re doing now?”

she tilts her head like she’s bored. “doing what, j?”

he doesn’t answer. can’t—not when she says his name like that. not when she’s leaning there in that dress, acting like nothing happened. like he didn’t just watch some brunch-boy put his hand on her back like he had the right.

like he hasn’t been losing sleep thinking about her since the night she walked out and told him to grow the hell up.

she glances down at her shoes. exhales. “didn’t know you’d be here.”

“would it have changed anything?”

that lands. just barely—but he sees it.

“you’re the one who left,” she says. not loud. not cruel. just true. “you don’t get to show up and act jealous now.”

“i’m not jealous.”

she raises an eyebrow.

“i’m not,” he snaps again. “i’m… pissed.”

“at me?”

“at… everything.”

he drags a hand down his face. his jaw’s tight, his neck’s hot, and he’s starting to wish he’d just gone home instead of walking into this party like a dumbass with something to prove.

“he doesn’t know you,” he says, quieter now. “doesn’t even see you. not really.”

she doesn’t bite right away. just meets his eyes and asks, steady: “and you do?”

he looks at her. really looks. “i used to.”

that gets her.

her arms are still crossed, but her mouth opens like there’s something she wants to say. something she’s held in for a while. but it doesn’t come out—not yet.

the silence hangs, thick.

he steps closer. not enough to touch. just enough to feel the shift between them. he can smell her perfume again—familiar in a way that makes his chest hurt.

he doesn’t reach for her. he could. but he doesn’t.

instead, he looks at the tile. breathes out.

“…why’d you even come tonight?” he asks, voice low.

she hesitates. then shrugs. “wanted to feel wanted.”

that fucking stings.

“that guy didn’t want you,” he mutters. “he wanted the dress. the smile. the idea.”

she tilts her head. calm. “and what do i look like to you?”

he lifts his eyes.

and this time, he does touch her—just barely. fingers brushing her jaw like he’s not sure he’s allowed to, but can’t stop himself.

“like someone i shouldn’t have let go.”

✦ Y/N’S POV ✦

you blink.

once.

twice.

then you let out a laugh—sharp and mean. the kind that’s been sitting in your throat for months.

“oh, that’s rich,” you snap, stepping back so his hand falls away. “really fucking rich, schlatt.”

he looks confused. or like he wants to be.

“what—”

“you didn’t let me go,” you cut in, voice rising. “you disappeared. one day we’re making dinner, the next you’re just… gone. no calls. no texts. no ‘hey, i need space.’ nothing.”

he opens his mouth, but you barrel over it.

“you didn’t even say goodbye. do you know what it’s like to wake up and realize the person you thought was your forever just dipped without a word?”

his jaw tightens. “i wasn’t—”

“i’m still talking,” you snap. loud. shaking. your hands curl into fists like they’re trying to hold your ribs in place.

“i begged you to talk to me. to say something. anything. but you shut me out and left me with a mess you didn’t even try to explain.”

he scrubs a hand through his hair, eyes flicking toward the floor. “i didn’t know how to explain—”

“bullshit,” you cut in. “you didn’t want to explain. you just wanted to feel sorry for yourself in peace.”

that one hits. you watch it land. his whole face shifts like he’s been slapped.

but you’re not done.

“and now you show up—months later—acting like you get to be mad? like i’m still yours or something?”

he blinks. quiet. “you’re not?”

you laugh again, dry and bitter. wipe under your eyes with the side of your palm.

“i don’t know, schlatt. am i? because i sure as hell wasn’t the one who walked out.”

he doesn’t answer. doesn’t even move.

and maybe that’s what sets you off again—how he just stands there like he gets to be the one hurting.

“you didn’t just leave. you disappeared. no explanation, no warning. like i was something easy to toss.”

he starts to protest—“that’s not—”

“don’t,” you snap. your voice cracks a little, but you keep going. “you didn’t even try. you just decided i wouldn’t get it. that i’d be something weighing you down.”

his jaw tightens. still nothing to say.

“you really think i wouldn’t have stayed? wouldn’t have sat through the ugly stuff with you?”

silence.

you swallow hard, blinking up at him.

“what about me was so hard to love that you ran from it?”

“i was scared,” he mutters, eyes on the floor.

you say nothing. let him sit in it.

he swallows. jaw clenched. “scared of how much i wanted it. you. us. all of it.”

his voice gets quieter. rough around the edges.

“it felt too good, alright? like... there’s no way something that good doesn’t crash eventually. and if it didn’t—then shit, that meant i was the one who’d probably fuck it up.”

he finally looks up at you. “so yeah. i bailed. because being the asshole who left felt safer than being the asshole who stayed and ruined it.”

you don’t say anything at first. just watch him. arms crossed. you wait him out.

then: “and now?”

your voice is quieter. but you’re not making this easy. he doesn’t get easy.

he swallows. shifts on his feet.

“now i know i wanna stay.”

you raise your eyebrows a little—but say nothing.

“i don’t mean, like, crash on your couch,” he adds, quick. “i mean—actually stay. try. show up. even if i don’t have all the answers. even if i’m still figuring out how not to screw it all up.”

he runs a hand through his hair, breath shaky.

“i kept telling myself i’d come back when i was better. when i had my shit sorted. but it never happened. and the longer i waited, the more i thought—what if i come back and i’m still not enough? what if you see me for real and realize it was a mistake?”

he finally meets your eyes.

“so yeah. i bailed. not because i didn’t care. because i cared too much, and i thought i’d ruin it. and if i waited long enough… maybe you’d stop waiting on me. maybe i could pretend you were fine.”

there’s a beat.

“but you weren’t. were you?”

you stare at him, unflinching.

“no shit, schlatt.”

he nods, jaw tight. he deserves that.

“i’m not asking to get back together. i know i haven’t earned that. i just… i didn’t want me disappearing the way i did, to be the way you see me for the last time.”

his voice doesn’t shake. it’s low. steady.

“i’m not saying we have to go back to anything. but if there’s a part of you that wants to see what i’m like now—without all the bullshit—i’ll be around.”

you let out a slow breath.

you should say no...or better, fuck off. you really should.

because you remember exactly how bad it hurt when he left—when you had no idea what you’d done wrong, when you kept rereading old messages trying to pinpoint the moment he started pulling away. you remember having to act normal when people asked about him. you remember pretending you were fine long before you were.

but you also remember the version of him that looked at you like you mattered. who sat on your floor eating cereal straight from the box while you edited essays. who talked to you like you were the only one in the room, even when you weren’t.

and now he’s standing here—awkward, guarded, trying. not perfect. not even close. but trying.

that’s what gets you.

not the apology. not the speech.

the trying.

so you say, “alright.”

your arms stay crossed. you’re not smiling. but your voice loses its edge.

“that’s fair.”

you look at him straight on.

“we’re not... fixed. still exes. still figuring shit out. but if you’re serious about showing up—cool.”

a beat.

“i’ll believe it when i see it.”

✦ SCHLATT’S POV ✦

she said “that’s fair.”

she said “i’ll believe it when i see it.”

and somehow, that was the best-case scenario.

schlatt walks next to her in silence, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, trying not to overthink the fact that she didn’t walk away. she could’ve told him to fuck off. could’ve left him standing in that hallway. but she didn’t.

she’s not smiling. her arms are still crossed. but her voice had softened, just a little. that counts for something. right?

he doesn’t know.

the night air’s cold. he barely feels it. everything in his head is still spinning—things he should’ve said, or shouldn’t have said, or said too late.

was he too honest? not honest enough? did he actually sound like someone who’s changed, or just a guy trying not to lose something he already threw away?

he doesn’t know that either.

a couple drunk kids on bikes swerve past them on the sidewalk. she moves in closer without thinking. he shifts, automatically, keeping pace. it’s stupid—he’s not doing anything, just existing beside her—but the instinct to protect is still there, low and stubborn in his chest.

she doesn’t say anything about it. he’s grateful for that.

there’s music coming from a lit window up ahead. piano. off-key. he recognizes the chords from some half-forgotten pop song, but the sound still makes something in his chest twist.

he sneaks a glance at her. she’s staring straight ahead, expression unreadable. not cold. just somewhere far off in her head.

he wants to ask if she’s okay. he doesn’t.

instead, he says the first thing that comes out of his mouth.

“you still write in the mornings?”

she nods. doesn’t look at him.

“you still got that dumb little duck lamp?”

there’s the smallest pause. then: “yeah.”

he nods too. like that’s enough. like that confirms something he didn’t realize he needed to hear.

he doesn’t picture her often—not on purpose. but now he can’t help it: her legs curled up in bed, that lamp casting yellow on her face, her hand moving fast across the page.

it hits him how much he missed that. not the romance. just... her. the version of himself that existed when he was around her.

✦ Y/N’S POV ✦

you reach the front steps of your building and stop.

he stops too, hands still in his pockets, looking at the ground like it might tell him what to say next.

you don't offer anything.

you're not sure how you're supposed to say goodbye to someone who just cracked himself open in front of you. you’re not even sure if it was real. maybe it was. maybe he’s just good at saying what people need to hear.

but... it didn’t feel fake.

you’re still sorting through it. still holding pieces in your hands, not sure which ones are worth keeping.

he clears his throat, like he might say something else.

you beat him to it.

“i’m heading in.”

it’s not mean. just final.

his shoulders shift. he nods.

you don’t say goodnight. you don’t wait for him to walk away.

you just swipe your keycard, open the door, and let it close behind you.

the hallway light flickers, like always. you don’t turn it on when you step inside. just lock the door behind you and kick off your shoes in the dark.

your room is quiet. still. like it was holding its breath waiting for you.

you cross to the bed, flick on the duck lamp.

the glow is soft. familiar. it used to make you feel safe.

now it just makes you feel... full. in a way that’s hard to name.

you drop onto the edge of the mattress like your legs gave out.

you take off your earrings. set them on the desk.

undo the zipper on your dress. push it off your shoulders.

go through all the motions like muscle memory.

and then—out of nowhere—your throat catches.

no warning. no build-up. just wet eyes and a chest that won’t let you breathe quite right.

you wipe your face with the back of your hand like that’ll fix it. it doesn’t.

so you let it happen.

you sit there in your stupid little duck lamp glow, wearing an oversized t-shirt and smudged eyeliner, and cry.

not loud. not dramatic. just… release.

because tonight wasn’t supposed to be about him. it hasn't been about him for months.

but, your heart is still getting caught up on him.

✦ SCHLATT’S POV ✦

he doesn’t linger outside her dorm. the door shuts, and that’s it.

so he walks.

the cold cuts through him, but he barely feels it. his brain’s too loud.

she didn’t slam the door in his face. didn’t curse him out. didn’t forgive him either. but she said it was fair. said cool. said she’d believe it when she saw it.

that’s not nothing.

that’s a chance.

he runs it back in his head—how she looked at him, the sound of her voice, the little ways she let her guard drop without meaning to. that edge. that fire.

god, he missed that.

he rounds the corner toward his building, and something else flickers up behind his eyes—quick, out of nowhere:

her leaning out his passenger window, flipping someone off for cutting them off in traffic. her hogging the covers. her dragging him to the farmer’s market at 9am because “schlatt, you said you wanted to eat better, now get up.”

he exhales. sharp. almost a laugh.

it’s like the memories are bubbling back up now that he’s let himself look.

and they don’t make him want to crawl into bed and cry, strangely.

they make him want to get her back.

not with a big speech. not with flowers or bullshit.

with time. with proof. with action.

she said she’d believe it when she saw it.

alright.

let’s give her something to see.

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

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * E N D   O F   C H A P T E R   O N E ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ chapter two will include comfort & softness, hopefully... ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

[squinch-depraved]

jschlatt or Ted nsfw alphabet please? 🙏

aight here's schlatt i'm having a lot of fun doing these so i hope y'all are enjoying

A (aftercare- what they're like after sex): i think he's super, super attentive. like he will not leave you alone until he's sure you're all taken care of and cleaned up

B (body part- their favorite on themself and their partner): he likes his chops because you always say they feel good when you sit on his face, and on you he likes your tits

C (cum- anything to do with cum): he loves cumming in you for sure but also down your throat

D (dirty secret of theirs): steals your underwear after sex quite often (see this post for more)

E (experience- how experienced are they): he's had a few partners and knows what he's doing but will still make sure to listen to you and your reactions so he knows what works with you and what doesn't

F (favorite position): riding him with you, like, burying your face in his neck. it feels so intimate and he loves it

G (goofy- are they serious? humorous? etc.): occasionally goofy but tries to keep things either romantic and sensual or rough and carnal. like he'll joke every now and then but doesn't make a point to be funny sometimes it just happens

H (hair- how well groomed/does the carpet match the drapes?): will trim occasionally to keep things neat but like doesn't care too much about it

I (intimacy- how romantic are they?): i feel like he can be very romantic when he's not being super intense like i feel like he really enjoys soft and sweet sex with his partner

J (jorkin' it- how often?): have u heard how much he talks ab gooning like it has to be at LEAST once a day

K (kink/s?): breeding, lactation, feederism (slightly), mommy kink

L (location- favorite place/s to have sex): he's a simple man- bed, couch, or over a counter

M (motivation- what gets them going): arguing with you/seeing you argue with someone else, rlly domestic moments with you like seeing you take care of the cats or watching you cook

N (no- turn offs, dealbreakers): anything in public or at his desk/in his streaming area, recording him is also a no go

O (oral- prefers giving, receiving? skill level?): y'know, i was gonna say giving but i really feel like he would prefer receiving (he's still amazing at giving head don't get me wrong)

P (pace- fast & rough? slow & loving?): if he's being romantic, it's gentle and so, so full of love, but if he's in a different mood it's fast and hard

Q (quickies- their opinion on them): does them for you whenever you need them but like he said in that one sleep deprived clip it takes him forever to cum so like. it's all for you. i can totally see him making a game out of it and trying to get you to finish faster each time

S (stamina- how many rounds? how long do they last?): literally as long as you need him to. if you really tried, you could prob make him cum in, like, an hour? but it takes a lot of work

R (risk- are they down to experiment?): i mean, he will for you, but nothing in public, no recording anything, and don't even think about telling anyone the kind of things you get him to do for you because he'd be so embarrassed

T (toys- do they own toys?): owns a wand for you, a bluetooth vibrator, and a few plugs. (whether they're his or yours i'm not saying)

U (unfair- do they like to tease?): extremely unfair if provoked!! if you behave yourself, you'll be fine. but if you're a brat he's gonna absolutely break you

V (volume- how loud they are): usually soft moans and grunts if he's in charge but get him in sub mode and he'll whimper and whine for you nonstop

W (wild card): not surprising at all but he loves subbing and being pegged

X (x-ray- under their clothes): approximately 8 inches, uncut, has a vein running along it that drives him crazy when you run your tongue along the length of it

Y (yearning- how high is their sex drive?): a bit above average, can go whenever you need him but requests it himself at least every other day

Z (zzz- how quickly do they fall asleep afterwards?): once you're all clean and taken care of he is out like a light dude he passes tf out and you gotta deal with his snoring

[jshattmypants]

ted with some sweet praise while fucking you slow mayhaps?

thank you!!

-🌟

yes yes yes!!!!! i went a little crazy at the end oops!

nsfw mdni!!

ted pumped in and out of you at a gruelingly slow pace, his thick cock hitting your g spot every time (as it always does.)

the little moans that came out of his mouth just made you more needy for him to go faster but he refused.

“teddy please go faster”

“nope. you’ve gotta sit like a good girl and take it slow for me love.” he let out another moan in sync with you, still going so slow and letting out soft praises

“such a good girl-mhmmmfuck”

“your pussy is so good baby god fuck.”

“mhm just like that baby just look at my face while i fuck your perfect pussy”

your stomach grew tighter in warmer knots with every word of praise ted uttered out of his sickly sweet lips.

“oh fuck ted- mmmhm i’m coming”

you uttered as you felt yourself coming to an orgasm when ted pulls out abruptly and looks at you.

“you really thought i was going to let you cum? you’re very funny, y/n”

you pouted and looked at him sadly.

“you’ve gotta earn that orgasm lovely. now get up and bend over my desk.” he ordered.

you obliged, obviously, and got up and bent over his desk, your legs shaking.

he turned on his computer, opened discord, and called schlatt and looked into his webcam, only your ass was showing over his tall body behind you, gripping your hips.

as schlatt answered, ted and schlatt both started laughing as they had planned this earlier, since schlatt was in texas.

ted rammed back into you, a loud moan escaped your lips as you looked at the screen and schlatt, who’s left hand was moving at a fast pace up and down under his desk.

ted continued to ram into you, a gasp escaping once or twice from his lips.

he finally let you unravel on his cock, your shaking moans and his hands still gripping your hips as schlatt looked on his monitor at this glorious scene.

schlatt tipped his head back, listening to your moans, as he came and you saw his cum shoot up his black t-shirt.

ted finally moaned out “fuck i’m cumming doll” as he pulled out and came on your ass.

it took a minute to recuperate after all of that, but once you did, you un-bent over ted’s desk, smiled and waved goodbye at schlatt, and walked out of ted’s office, a smile painted from ear to ear on your fucked out face.

[ohbabydollie]

Mmmm, perverted unpaid intern!schlatt..... yummy plz....

pls he was so yummy in unpaid intern, im going feral

let’s say you were ludwig’s assistant, dressed in a little pencil skirt and tight button up.

schlatt watched when you would walk over with a slight bounce in your step, little notebook in hand and smiling softly. when you look over to schlatt and offer him a shy wave and smile. he can’t help but start imagining you in different ways.

he starts wondering if you’ll offer him the same cute smile if he asks you to go through his desk drawers for that damn flashlight he has.

if your tits always jiggle like that when you happily get ludwig his redbull and let him know the meetings he has to attend.

these thoughts go through his head all day and everytime he sees you. they go on until the end of the day, that’s when he realizes he has you alone, all to himself with no supervision or anyone to interfere.

the thought alone has him starting to feel dazed as he calls you over and you come bouncing innocently over, tits and ass jiggling with the same smile you had before.

“yes Mr. Schlatt?” you ask politely

“no, no, Mr. Schlatt is my father, please call me Jay” he says with a charming smile “Speakin’ of my father, y’know he owns part of the company?” schlatt asks you

“oh really? that’s very nice, um, Jay” you say softly

“yeah, it is isn’t it?” he says almost innocently “it’s real nice, especially when i feel like an employee isn’t doing their job just right, i can get them fired” he chuckles making you laugh nervously in return

“so, i’ve noticed that you work really well, really really well” Schlatt’s right hand goes up to the top of your head and runs, stopping at the bottom of your head “you take orders, do your job, make sure Ludwig is doing his job, you’re great..”

“t-thank y-” “i wasn’t finished” he states twirling the ends of your hair between his middle and forefinger

“you’re so pretty..It would be a shame if someone told my father you weren’t doing your job adequately. If someone believed for a minute that you do good, but were wasting company resources on something a computer could do”

“w-what?” you ask almost stumbling back in shock “you wouldn’t!”

“oh but i could” his eyes linger on the end of your skirt before returning to your eyes “it wouldn’t be hard, a little text can have your career over by” he looks at his watch “4:15…unless..”

“unless what?” you ask worriedly, not wanting to lose your job

“unless you can prove yourself useful to me” he advised with a grin “it’s 3:45 right now, i suggest you bend over right now if you wanna continue being employed that badly”

That’s how you find yourself in this position, bent over his desk, a few buttons ripped off your shirt causing your tits to spill out and rub against his desk. Most of the items that would be on top of his desk are all over the ground in front of you and your brand new tights are now no longer wearable. Your skirt too, it’s being ruined by your wetness running down your thighs as Schlatt sets a brutal pace making you come undone.

his hands are digging into your hips, you try to bite into the arm of your shirt to hold back moans but schlatt removes one hand off your hip and pulls your head back by the hair.

“don’t try to hide those precious sounds from me princess” he growls as you let out a moan

“yessir!” you moan out while schlatt tugs in your hair, pulling you closer and causing you to arch your back against him “f-fuck!”

“shit princess, you’re squeezin’ me like crazy” he says going harder causing you to get louder

“gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum!!” you cry as he purposely goes deeper with a grin.

“yeah? you’re gonna cum all ‘round my cock like the slut ya are? yeah?” he groans into your ear while hitting your g-spot causing you to see stars.

“yes! yes! gonna cum all around your cock! fuck! please” you beg “make me cum please, please!”

Schlatt smiles bringing a hand up to your neck, squeezing softly as your mind goes blank with pure pleasure. Schlatt releases his load inside you with a soft groan and pulls out softy, sitting down and letting you sit on his leg until you’re able to collect yourself.

He pressed a kiss to your temple “did, so good for me” he says softly, letting out a soft yawn “now go get me some coffee” he says as you nod, getting up with wobbly legs and walking to the break room as cum starts to drip down your thighs.

maybe you do get to keep your job, at least for now.

hope i did good nonnie >_<

[blushk1tten]

12 days of kinkmas 2024 ꨄ day 1

it came without ribbons (bondage)

you shuddered pleasantly as the soft, velvety ribbon that typically adorned your presents wrapped around your wrists, schlatt using the ribbon to move them over your head, then behind your back. it made him chuckle, and look down at you with a small smirk. “enjoying it already?”

your cheeks grew warm, and you nodded. the idea to use ribbons in this way came to you after reading a particularly spicy scene in a holiday book. you had been nervous to ask schlatt, but it didn’t take much convincing for him to agree. in fact, you suspected he was thrilled, and would guess that he had been researching the past few days.

he confirmed your suspicions when he began to murmur the steps under his breath, still handling the ribbon and you with delicate precision. you couldn’t help but tease him a bit. “don’t slip up.”

in response, schlatt hooked the ribbon and tightened it, finishing up the bit just under your breasts. however, it also tightened the ribbon gently brushing up your spine that kept your wrists tied together. at the firm feeling, you couldn’t help the soft whine that escaped your mouth. schlatt chuckled again, securing the knot. “what was that, toots?”

this time, you stayed quiet. it didn’t help you any though, with schlatt moving on to tying the ribbon above your breasts. the gentle, soft brush of the ribbon against your skin sent tingles down your spine, and when the ribbon gently tightened, the feeling only increased. your breasts were now firmly yet carefully secured between the ribbon, looking just like a present.

schlatt seemed to agree as he moved back in front of you, “i think this is the best present i’m getting all year.” he grinned, reaching out to pinch one of your nipples between his large, warm fingers.

“jay!” you squeaked, unable to do anything with your hands secured. not that you minded; you loved when schlatt played with your nipples, and he knew it too.

“yeah, toots?” he sat down on the bed and pulled you into his lap, now gently circling your nipples.

you couldn’t help but whine again, though it turned into a gasp when he replaced his fingers with his mouth, sucking at and nipping your breasts. meanwhile, his fingers moved down to your bare pussy, feeling the slick already gathering, “i want your fingers.” you begged as he traced your entrance.

he pulled off of your breast and chuckled. “you’re gonna have t’ be more specific.”

“schlatt!”

he chuckled again, but gave in. “okay, okay. calm down.”

with that, he carefully pushed two fingers in. the gentle stretch was familiar and welcome, especially as schlatt began to thrust his fingers in and out. his fingers were crooked slightly as well, searching for your g-spot. you were completely at his mercy due to the ribbons securing you.

a gasp escaped you as he finally found your g-spot, and you arched your back slightly. the ribbons tightened against you momentarily, forcing your breasts outward even more and catching schlatt’s attention. “shit, toots. you look so fuckin’ pretty.”

he picked up the speed of his fingers, and began to use his thumb to rub your clit. that had you tugging again, this time tightening the ribbon around your wrists. you wanted to touch him so badly, to cling to him as you came on his fingers. instead, you opted for riding his fingers, moving in one of the only ways you could.

between that, his battering of your g-spot and the attention he was giving your clit, you were close. he knew it too, a pleased smirk on his face as he watched you fall apart.

“jay, ‘m close.”

he grinned, eyes sparkling mischievously as he watched you. “yeah? you gonna cum on my fingers while you’re all tied up like a good girl?”

you nodded, riding his fingers with more fervor now and begging. “please jay. so close!”

schlatt knew just what would push you over the edge, and added a third finger. the stretch was amazing, and the additional finger added more pressure to you g-spot. it only took a few more bucks of your hips and thrusts from schlatt to have you coming all over his fingers.

as you rode out your orgasm, you continued to gently ride his fingers. your body arched, so all of the ribbons tightened against your wrists and chests. the added pressure made your head go fuzzy, and by the time you came back to it, schlatt was gently removing his fingers from inside of you and laying you down on the bed.

“you did so good f’ me, toots,” he smiled, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking your cum off of them. “you always taste so sweet.”

you returned the smile, shivering slightly as he began to undo the ribbons. “happy holidays to us.”

schlatt chuckled. “yeah, yeah. happy holidays to us.”

[greeniscosmic]

Here's the video! For the chug one I think

https://x.com/bloxycola24/status/1918515884387074298?t=OZwBxR6RLaFLsu6y__AGHg&s=19

Please tell us how the show went, both parts. I am so curious how Tommy's stand up worked and how schlatts Big Problem was solved by the doctor himself. Like a review!

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR IMMORTALIZING THIS OH MY G OD YIPPEE SMILES REALLY WIDE AT U ❤️

as for the show itself!!!

i wouldn't really describe it as a comedy stand up??? it's more like a comedy theater performance! for the first half, he mainly quiped back and forth with the whole audience (which was funny), and for the second half, he quiped back and forth with both schlatt and the audience!!!

the solution to schlatt's Big Problem was unfortunately unclear to me (mainly because i was worried about my friend) but from what i remember, i think it was solved by tommy telling schlatt to live alongside his problems rather than run away from them. at least, i think that was the solution??? idk if anyone else has any recollection of the ending of the show, please let anon and i know!!!

[cathers-world]

PREFERABLEY ALL SCHLATT CUZ BIG FELLA IS A CUTIE XX

https://twitter.com/DaddyyRough/status/1673286778432761859?t=QIKHQ8GmHSU2rm1puC3O2w&s=19

https://twitter.com/18SexualFun/status/1653746478660157448?t=z61WDg67iXhUQD0YtPVusQ&s=19

https://twitter.com/SensuaIslut/status/1665796758620839938?t=5xWXMRoJ7dLFvpWQJKHXXg&s=19

https://twitter.com/TheExotticOne/status/1677416747991793664?t=dl9g3AmgipEql8Oa1SyMbg&s=19

https://twitter.com/dfs_813/status/1689142007082405888?t=OloksWMTq_-26zk58EPQ-g&s=19

https://x.com/perfectgoonerx/status/1702103112658440244?t=gkZo-7amkzrPL8TwV3pzPQ&s=09

https://x.com/perfectgoonerx/status/1715488063923933405?t=hUYUdkKMGinygAwgxw8mhw&s=09

https://twitter.com/perfectgoonerx/status/1703190276335153265?t=xSovAMdso-vN6sGffsOvaQ&s=19

https://twitter.com/perfectgoonerx/status/1701739969671495746?t=J4KTGyItij6rLaEFuzRfow&s=19

https://twitter.com/perfectgoonerx/status/1698541420385120464?t=9kQeOdNBRVW3oBSJAXg9lg&s=19

https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5e4b221c218bd

https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5bc640b56b554&pkey=

(girl for this one I thought imagibe being on the machine team, him eyeing u up the entire time then when people start to mix into fuckin he sets in nd goes straight to you)

https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5d237f8b65fb4&pkey=

https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph61eb211b54bcc&pkey=

https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph639e3113a3763&pkey=

(A NO.1 FAV‼️‼️)

https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph62ba08ee23abb&pkey=

https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=6400105b83a1f&pkey=

https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=63de2af7d3567&pkey=

https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5f803b6764c1a&pkey=

https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5da68c39a2d43&pkey=

(love love love this one)

https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5fffb75f9197c&pkey=

(cuties but there's no sound 🤬🤬)

https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5f7d5ab43dbff&pkey=

https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=648288b232ee0&pkey=

(there's so much faffing about and I HATE anal bit military schlatt.🙏🙏)

IF THERES MORE GOOD ONES ILL SEND EM THROUGH DOLL

🩷🎀

WOOF WOOF WOOF

[cyncerity]

In your Dads Troubles charlie and schlatt story, it was mentioned that charlie was introduced to the idea of being eaten when he walked in on schlatt eating tubbo, and i just wanna know- how did he react??

Like, did he freeze in shock? Did he faint?? Or maybe he screamed and started running for the tunnels?? Or less likely but even better, what if he started yelling and fighting schlatt to get him to spit tubbo out? Like im losing my mind over this, i have to know how they managed to explain that to him and how he had to cope with the idea that everything he thought was kind of sort of a lie.

- the-sussy-imposter2

OHHHH GOOD QUESTION

I think he would fight. He was raised with the very basic “be scared of humans” rule that all borrowers were, but unlike almost everyone in his colony, he never had a personal bad experience with borrowers. His first time meeting a human was Schlatt and Schlatt gave him a kazoo.

All this to say that his fight or flight when it comes to humans is 110% fight because he doesn’t truly comprehend how dangerous humans actually can be.

Charlie is also fucking feral. I like to imagine that before joining the colony in the apartment he was an outside borrower, the kind to physically wrestle a squirrel for an acorn. He has no self preservation. He is surviving on luck, upper body strength, and sheer stubbornness.

I very much think that Charlie would find some way to try and attack Schlatt; like i think he’d see Tubbo get swallowed (probably at night cause he likes to sleep in Schlatt’s stomach when it gets cold) and Charlie would lie in wait until Schlatt fell asleep then climb to his face to try and trigger his gag reflex. Then after that fails and he wakes Schlatt up comes all the kicking clawing and screaming about faking everything and killing his own son. And it’s effective, 1: because Charlie is crazed and 2: because he’s got the kind of tail that’s basically a 5th limb, so i imagine him carrying like a stick with it and just smacking Schlatt in the eyes lol.

Schlatt, to his credit, is smart enough to know that nothing he’s gonna say in that moment is gonna change Charlie’s mind and frankly he doesn’t wanna deal with Tubbo’s whining if he spits him out since he’s already asleep. So he does the next best thing and calls Quackity, telling him to get Tommy. I mentioned in like one post from 2 years ago that once, while Tommy was really tired, Tubbo kinda coerced him into agreeing to get nommed with him, and I think this whole situation would be after that happened. So Charlie gets jarred™ while Schlatt makes that call and starts putting neosporin on the scratches Charlie left.

Tommy eventually shows up and explains that not only is Tubbo fine, he actively seeks out getting eaten, and Tommy himself has been nommed multiple times and vouches for its safety. Charlie tries to apologize but Schlatt is more laughing at the absurdity of it and apologizing that he hadn’t told Charlie prior since he never knew how to bring it up. He brushes off the apology since if Charlie had seen that and chosen not to do anything, he probably would have been more upset. After all, he wants people around who care about Tubbo, especially other borrowers. He knows that he’s not everything Tubbo needs; he doesn’t know enough about his son’s species to teach him any sort of culture or how they navigate the world. Charlie does: he knows the rules of being an indoor and outdoor borrower, and he’s one hell of an uncle. Tubbo loves him, and Charlie clearly loves him back.

[mysterious-gizem]

𝐎𝐝𝐝 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐎𝐮𝐭

Warning/s: ???

Taglist: @da3dm, @gt-mcyt, @coolest-moon

Chapters: Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

"Momma..?"

The sound of his voice was so small, quiet, barely above a whisper. Puffy's heart continued to shatter. Watching Dream struggle with his height, he used to be so free, running around without a care in the world, but now. Puffy looked up at him; a young boy who was terrified of even taking a step.

She took a shaky breath, the sun was blinding; she could only imagine how Dream felt having to stay outside all day in the hot sun, even right now, his massive frame shielded her from the rays and engulfed her in shadow. Then she replied, with the softest and most caring tone she could muster.

"Yes duckling?" She smiled, ofcourse she should, she couldn't allow him to see her trembling lips or how her eyes darted left and right. She stared straight up at him, reminding herself, this is her son, she had nurtured and cared for him from the day he was left in her house. She could see Dream shuffle as if he was nervous or ashamed; he avoided her gaze and bit his lip. Puffy could tell something was bothering him.

"What's wrong?" She asked, her tone soft, and loving, "C'mon duckling, I'm sure whatever it is you need to tell me, it'll be fine." She reassured and Dream let out a sigh, his hand was over his stomach and it dawned on Puffy she might not want to hear what he has to say after all.

"I-I'm hungry, again..."

Dammit-

It had been weeks since Dream had gotten that random major growth spurt and alot had change, to Puffy's dismay. Besides the fact the villagers were even more terrified, the blonds eyes were brighter than Puffy remembered, his teeth were slightly sharper than she liked. But the one that had the most impact(in her opinion), was the hunger her boy had.

Puffy could tell the food she had been spending hours on making just weren't- enough for him anymore she had to quadruple her portion servings and even if Dream said he wasn't hungry anymore, she knew his stomach wasn't satisfied. She didn't even know if she was feeding him the proper diet!

Puffy couldn't complain, she knew that, Dream was only asking for food; a natural thing every living thing needed, but it was taking a toll on the sheep hybrid, physically, mentally, and financially. Her thoughts were abruptly cut off when Dream's stomach growled and he looked away bashfully.

Puffy hated it.

She shook her head and smiled up at him, "What would you like to have duckling? I can try making some soup if you'd like?" Dream smiled softly giving Puffy an earnest nod.

His smile, another thing Puffy lost, Dream had always been a happy-dandy child, a kid that faced the world with curiosity and a bright smile; just like how any other kid should be. But ever since that day in Sapnap and Bad's house, it was like he lost his spark- the flame was there, Puffy believed it was; it just wasn't burning as bright right now, soon it would spark again, yeah...

The sheep hybrid dissappeared into their home, immediately heading to the kitchen to work. She sighed as she saw the disarray in her kitchen; she had been too exhausted to clean it and figured that she'll need to use it sooner or later, so to her there wasn't any point to cleaning. She began preparing any necessary items for the meal she would prepare, humming to distract herself.

Dream sat outside, patiently waiting beside the window to the kitchen, he could someone hear his mother's soft humming and if soothed him in a way that made him shut his eyes and let out a tiny, almost unnoticeable smile. Soon enough the delicious aroma wafted through the air, and Dream felt giddy with excitement. So much so he didn't notice Schlatt walking up onto the doorstep until he knocked and jolted Dream to look at him.

The ram hybrid seemed to acknowledge his presence and tried giving him a smile. Dream could hear his mother's footsteps and soon enough the door swung open with Puffy wearing an apron. She seemed shocked, not expecting for her brother to drop by so suddenly. Schlatt coughed and began explaining the situation.

"Soo- Puffy, I need Dream's help over by the farm." The sheep hybrid immediately frowned but let him continue. "The animals escaped, some of them are just over by the pasture, but a few have started to wander into the village and forest." Schlatt smiled, not registering that Puffy might've been cooking for Dream. "Well actually I'm currently making lunch- maybe afte-" She was abruptly cut if when Schlatt grinned and clapped; not to loudly but enough to shut the sheep hybrid's mouth.

"Perfect, you're still making it, right? Dream can just eat after." Schlatt continued to stare at Puffy; after all, Puffy hadn't exactly told him of how hungry her baby boy was getting, she didn't need anymore issues. But she was determined of finding a way to let Dream eat soon. "Well- does it have to be now? I think Dream really needs to eat soon, maybe afte-"

"It'll be fine, c'mon Dream!"

Dream shot a small frown at her but all Puffy could do was smile and nod; and prayed the job would be done quick. The blond quickly scrambled to stand up, and followed his uncle. It was terrifying to see, ofcourse, most wonder what he'd be like as an adult. But Puffy had a different thought in mind, she worried for her son; but still continued cooking for it to be prepared when he got home.

He was scared.

He didn't know what happened.

He didn't mean to-

He didn't mean to hurt it!

To...to-

...eat it.

Guilt coursed through his veins, he was walking back home; as slow as possible, he didn't wanna face his momma yet. Not like this, with the lingering taste of calf in his mouth, and bits of blood staining his teeth red.

He was in shock, he never intended to hurt it, much less eat it. But- he was so, so hungry. He hugged himself as his feet went on auto pilot, dragging him back to his house. He whimpered as the moment replayed in his head.

He was just helping them...luring the animals back to their pens, lifting them up from time to time...

He blinked.

He spotted a calf, wander into the forest and chased after it.

His stomach churned as the vivid memory' flashed before his eyes.

Soft meat, and hard hooves, accompanied with so, so, so much blood..

His breathing became rapid as he saw his house coming into view. Dread coursed through his veins as he even remembered the casual conversation he and uncle Schlatt.

He emerged from the forest, no calf in sight, a look of confusion on his uncle's face.

Five...

"Hey bud, where's the calf?"

Four...

"I—I lost it, they ran away-..." He gulped.

Three...

"Oh okay, it's just one calf, right?"

Two...

He gasped...He didn't notice...Uncle Schlatt didn't notice; the faint blood on his lip and his red stained fingers that he had tried to wipe off, but the tint still stayed.

One...

"Okay, Dream, go on and head home, thanks for the assist buddy."

Moments later he reached his house with his momma already outside waiting to greet him.

"Hey duckling! How was herding the animals, it wasn't to hard, was it?" She smiled softly at him, he wished she didn't, he couldn't accept such a kind gesture, not after...after what he did. He sighed and mustered enough courage to reply.

"It was- okay." As the words left his lips a bitter taste was left in his mouth. He was silent, watching and waiting for his momma to catch him lying, mentally preparing himself for a scolding or worst, but it never came...

Instead Puffy nodded, a cheery smile on ehr face at all times. "That's good duckling, I'll go get the food, yeah? You must be tired." He watched, as she rushed into the house and later came out with a big pot; well- big to her, to him it was more of a bowl.

"Eat up duckling, I already took my share!" Not a hint of dishonesty was in her words as she set down the pot on a wooden table placed outside. A huge wooden ladle, was the substitute for his spoon as he sat criss-crossed on the soft grass. Taking the ladle into his hand.

"Thank you momma.." He meekly replied as he reveled in the taste of the soup she prepared, he loved her home cook meals; considering she learned just for him...He remembered the time's she mentioned that she only used to cook simple meals and dishes, as it was the quickest way to cook. And then mentioned that she went around the town to ask for help on how to cook from the other ewe hybrids for help.

It warmed his heart knowing his mother loved him so dearly.

That's why she can never find out.

The sun rose high over the sky, a fresh new day presented itself, mistakes of yesterday, left in the past; well...most.

Dream had a restless night, his mind haunting him of the events of the day before. Puffy still wasn't awake which left him, empty and overwhelmed. He began to sob and shake, yearning for a touch of affection, he wanted his momma, or- or Sapnap, but he knew very well he couldn't just barge in and seek comfort, could he?

He shook away the idea, he didn't wanna be anymore of a burden.

At this moment he just wanted to know what he was, he didn't want to keep finding out new things about himself. He missed waking up under a stable roof, he missed sleeping on an actual bed...

He missed being in his momma's arms.

His hands reached to hug himself, as he cradled himself; a sob leaving his lips, it was a pitiful. He hated the rush of emotions he felt at the moment, he desperately wanted to believe this was all just a nightmare, that he was still the same height as his momma and he'd wake up, and see her warm face smiling down at him as he laid on his bed.

But no-

The universe was playing some cruel joke on him and he seethed with anger.

Not just at the universe- but apart of him was mad- at—at his momma.

He shook his head, he couldn't hate his momma, it was wrong, oh so, wrong. She had done so much for him, she took him in and cared for him, so what, she lied about one tiny thing, he was okay!

He wanted to be okay...

His stomach growled and he groaned in annoyance, but as if she knew, Puffy came out of the house and greeted him.

"Goodmorning duckling!~" She smiled, "How was your sleep?" Her smile made Dream guilty as he grimaced. "It was good." He lied through his teeth, the sheep hybrid seemed to sigh, "Well I prepared breakfast, c'mon and eat!" He took a deep breath and mustered up the happiest attitude he could and skipped towards the food, which his momma already graciously prepared.

Last thing he wanted to do was give her another problem.

Puffy watched as his son eagerly ate his food, a warm smile on her face, her moments of calm and contentment dwindled after his many incidents, in her mind the less he knew the better, oh how wrong she would be.

Dream spent every waking moment, working, panicking, it was driving him insane...

Maybe enough to drive him away...

[borrowing-at-midknight]

Four years of my life has been spent simping over Schlatt and now that I've finally gone and made a fic with just him I'm gonna go bury my skull in the dirt o7

[baka-monarch]

driving me kinda crazy but i remember like years ago there was a fic where Tubbo was a borrower who only a few people knew about, and Tommy has him in his pocket when he’s exiled from L’Manberg so when he’s shot down and loses his items, Tubbo gets lost too. So Schlatt finds him, introduces him publicly which Tubbo hates cause he’s a borrower and he’s supposed to be a secret, makes him a cabinet member/pet and then he gets killed at the festival (i don’t remember how exactly). It’s at least 2 parts, maybe more, it’s been a while.

sorry this is in such massive detail i just vaguely remember reading it on your blog so idk if you wrote it or reblogged it, but i figured since this one is old you’d have the best chance of knowing what i was talking about since you where in the mcyt g/t community before I was

-Cyn

I didn't write it, but im pretty sure i reblogged it from

Well im bad at remembering urls but im pretty sure they're writing a fic with tiny Joel and Skizz now i can see if i can find em? Idk, sorry

[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.