nelz.ᐟ

[nellywhe]

⋮ ⌗ ┆ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Maybe we get married one day,

but who knows .ᐣ.ᐟ 一 緒

꒰ ꒰ masterlist · rules & requests · phone line/inbox

nellywhe ·  she / her ·  pink ·  nightwings wife ·  malcolm todd ·  yves ·  childish gambino ·  saiki k ·  percy jackson ·  newjeans ·  formula one

ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵)...new writer

©nellywhe all rights reserved : do not modify, repost, plagiarize, or claim my work as you own without my consent

[nellywhe]

Hiii! I love your fics sm!!❤️

Ok, so could you maybe write about fem!reader being in a film with Aryan so she and Walker kind of know each other but have only talked like once or twice over FaceTime but Walker has a huge crush on her (she also has a crush on him ofc just not as obviously) and is always asking aryan to set them up. Eventually, they meet at the premiere of the movie !reader and Aryan are in together and Walker is really nervous to meet her and asks her out.

I’m so sorry this is so long, I just thought this was a really cute concept (and I would write it myself… but I’m so bad at everything it's ridiculous 💔)

heyyy... i'm sorry it took so long but i made it!!

screams of love.ᐟ

[nellywhe]

screams of love .ᐟ

summary: Having a crush on a certain blonde curly-headed boy whom your co-star happens to know who has been secretly trying to set you up together... And meeting him at your movie premiere

pairings : walker scobell x fem!reader

word count : 2.2k

a/n : sorry i haven't been writing as much... it was mostly because of school, thank you for the request!! the title has no correlation to the story but i thought it would be nice because reader is in scream..

You’ve had crushes before.

They usually come and go quietly—passing interests, fleeting admiration, the kind that fades the second real life demands your attention. This one doesn’t.

This one lingers.

Walker Scobell exists on your phone screen more often than you’d ever admit out loud. In interviews you swear you’re watching for “industry awareness.” In press clips you tell yourself are just background noise while you fold laundry or wait for your food to reheat. In fan edits you scroll past slowly, pretending you’re not rewinding the same three seconds where he laughs and ducks his head like he’s embarrassed by his own charm.

He’s funny in an unforced way. Awkward without trying to be. Warm in a way that doesn’t feel curated or polished or manufactured for cameras. You’ve noticed the curls, obviously. The laugh, obviously. The way he presses his lips together when he’s thinking, like he’s trying not to say the wrong thing.

It’s just a harmless celebrity crush, you tell yourself.

Unrealistic. Distant. Something that exists safely behind glass, separated from you by schedules, teams, and the kind of industry walls that don’t usually crack.

Except now you’re starring in the seventh installment of scream—one of the biggest horror franchises of the decade.

And Aryan Simhadri—your co-star, your friend, your personal menace—is sitting three feet away from you on set.

And he knows Walker.

The set around you is cold in a way that seeps through layers. Marble-polished steps curve up into looming archways, the walls painted in stormy shades of grey and blue, like the sky right before a bad omen. Everything smells faintly like fog machines and coffee that’s been reheated one too many times.

Horror films are funny like that. All tension and fear on camera, all waiting and quiet between takes.

You’re sitting on the edge of one of the steps, costume heavy on your shoulders, boots scuffed from hours of standing in the same place. Scream VII is huge. People grew up with it. People have opinions about it. People will absolutely have opinions about you.

Aryan drops down beside you, shoulder bumping yours easily, familiar.

“You’re smiling,” he says.

“I’m allowed to smile,” you reply without looking at him.

“You only smile like that when you’re thinking about something you shouldn’t be.”

You sigh, leaning back on your hands, staring up at the rigged lights overhead. “I hate that you know me.”

“I love that I know you,” Aryan corrects immediately. “And I definitely love that you’re thinking about Walker again.”

You groan, tipping your head back. “I’m not.”

“You absolutely are.”

“It’s just a crush,” you insist. “A very unrealistic, very unimportant—”

“A very obvious celebrity crush on walker,” Aryan finishes, grinning.

You drop your hands over your face. “Please stop saying his name out loud. On a set. Where sound carries.”

Aryan laughs, completely unbothered. “Relax. I’ve known him forever.”

You peek at him through your fingers. “I know. Percy Jackson. Two seasons. Maybe even a third. You’ve told me.”

“Good,” he says. “I’d be offended if you didn’t remember my resume.”

“I remember,” you mutter. “Unfortunately.”

He turns his head toward you, eyes lighting up with an idea you already hate.

“Which means hypothetically…I could text him right now.”

“No,” you say instantly, dropping your hands.

“Hypothetically,” he repeats.

“I would simply pass away.”

Aryan studies you for a second, like he’s weighing something. “You’d survive.”

“You don’t know that.”

He pulls out his phone anyway.

You glare.

“I’m not doing anything,” he says innocently. “Just… catching up.”

Your mouth opens to argue, but someone calls your name from across the set. You’re needed back on your mark. Another take. Another scream. Another perfectly timed reaction.

You stand, brushing off your costume, but your brain is already spiraling.

Because if Aryan is texting Walker?

That makes him real.

That night, you’re curled up in bed, lights off, laptop balanced precariously on your knees. A compilation from an old Percy Jackson & the Olympians press tour plays quietly, volume low enough that it won’t wake anyone.

Aryan pops up in more than one clip—standing next to Walker, laughing at something off-camera, leaning into the conversation like they’ve done this a hundred times. The familiarity between them is obvious. Easy.

You pause the video.

You’re being ridiculous.

Your phone buzzes.

Aryan:you up?

You sigh.

You:yes unfortunately

Before you can send anything else, your phone starts ringing.

Incoming FaceTime: Aryan

You answer, already suspicious.

His face fills the screen, too close to the camera, poorly lit like he didn’t plan this at all—which somehow makes it worse.

“Hey,” he says. “Quick question.”

“Why do you look guilty.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

He glances off to the side. “So. Hypothetically.”

“Oh no.”

“If I were to accidentally press the add-to-call button—”

Your screen splits.

Walker Scobell appears.

Your soul leaves your body.

“Oh—hi,” Walker says, clearly mid-thought, eyes widening when he realizes who he’s looking at.

You stare at the screen, heart slamming against your ribs. “Hi.”

Aryan freezes. “Wow. Technology is crazy.”

“You did this on purpose,” you whisper.

“Define purpose.”

Walker laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh—sorry. I didn’t realize—”

“No,” you say quickly. “It’s okay. I just… wasn’t expecting it.”

“Same,” he admits. “But—hi.”

“Hi,” you repeat, quieter.

Aryan watches the two of you like he’s witnessing a masterpiece. “Well,” he says, “since we’re all here—this is my favorite crossover episode.”

Walker snorts. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You love me,” Aryan says. “Anyway, I’ll mute myself.”

He does.

He does not hang up.

Walker shifts slightly, clearly nervous now that it’s just the two of you speaking.

“So… Aryan tells me you’re filming the final movie.”

You nod. “Yeah. Still doesn’t feel real.”

“Scream meant a lot to me growing up,” he says honestly. “No pressure or anything.”

You laugh softly. “Oh, I’m already crushed by the pressure.”

That makes him smile—genuine, warm, unguarded.

“Same,” he says. “Different projects. Same feeling.”

The call doesn’t last long. It’s gentle. Careful. Just enough to make your chest ache when it ends.

Aryan finally drops off the call, grinning like he’s just won a bet.

A few days later, your phone lights up again.

✆ Walker is calling…

You sit up instantly.

You answer.

“Hi,” he says. “I hope this is okay.”

“It is,” you reply. “Hi.”

“This time, Aryan isn’t here,” he adds, sounding relieved.

“Thank god.”

He laughs. “I wanted to talk again. You were really easy to talk to.”

Your heart flutters. “You too.”

You talk longer this time. About filming nights that stretch too late. About growing up on sets. About how surreal it feels when something you love becomes something people expect things from.

By the time the call ends, you’re smiling at your dark screen.

This is no longer hypothetical.

Walker does not do subtle things.

He tries. He really does. But when he likes someone—really likes someone—it shows in the way he asks too many questions, in the way he pretends not to care and then absolutely does.

And he has liked you for months.

It starts quietly. Aryan mentions you one night, casually, like it’s nothing.

“She’s cool,” Aryan says. “Really talented. Funny too.”

Walker hums, half-listening at first, scrolling on his phone. But then Aryan adds, “She’s in the new Scream movie. The seventh one.”

That gets his attention.

Walker looks you up out of curiosity. Just curiosity. That’s what he tells himself.

Then he watches an interview. Then another. Then a clip from set. He notices the way you talk about the franchise like it’s something you respect, not just a credit. The way you answer questions thoughtfully instead of rushing to sound impressive.

He notices that you don’t feel unreachable.

“So,” Walker asks one day, trying to sound casual, “what’s she like?”

Aryan looks at him over his phone. “Why.”

“No reason.”

“Uh-huh.”

Walker asks more questions after that. If you’re nervous about the movie. If you like crowds. If you’re seeing anyone. He pretends they’re random. Aryan pretends not to notice.

Eventually, they’re on FaceTime late one night, Aryan sprawled across his bed, Walker pacing.

“You like her,” Aryan says suddenly.

Walker scoffs. “No, I don’t.”

Aryan raises an eyebrow.

Walker sighs, shoulders dropping. “…Okay. I do.”

It’s not casual. It’s not just because you’re pretty or famous or part of a big franchise. It’s the way you talk. The way you listen. The way you seem grounded in something that can so easily make people float away from themselves.

So when Aryan suggests the “accidental” group FaceTime, Walker agrees instantly.

He practices what he might say. Then forgets all of it the second your face appears on his screen.

After the second call—the one Walker starts himself—there’s no pretending anymore. He replays it in his head afterward. The way you laughed. The way you didn’t rush him. The way the conversation felt easy instead of forced.

By premiere night, Walker is genuinely terrified.

He stands just inside the theater entrance, suit neat but collar adjusted for the tenth time, hands fidgeting despite his best efforts to look calm. The building hums with energy—voices overlapping, cameras flashing, the low buzz of excitement that comes with something people have been waiting for.

Aryan stands beside him, infuriatingly relaxed.

“You’re going to be fine,” Aryan says.

Walker swallows. “What if it’s awkward?”

“It won’t be.”

“What if she doesn’t like me in person?”

Aryan looks at him, expression softening just a little. “She already does.”

Walker’s heart jumps. “She—really?”

Aryan smiles. “Trust me.”

Before Walker can ask anything else, the atmosphere shifts. The noise grows louder. Camera flashes speed up. Someone calls your name from the entrance.

Walker looks up.

And that’s it.

You walk in beside Aryan, confidence effortless, dress dark and sleek, perfectly fitting the moody tone of the franchise. You look like you belong here—like the lights were waiting for you.

But when your eyes meet Walker’s, your expression changes.

Softens.

Recognition. Surprise. Something warm and unmistakable.

Love at first sight is supposed to be dramatic.

This isn’t.

This is quiet. Immediate. Like everything clicks into place without asking permission.

Aryan subtly steps away from both of you, pretending to check his phone like he hasn’t orchestrated this entire moment.

Walker takes a step forward before he can overthink it.

“Hi,” he says, voice softer than he means it to be.

You smile. “Hi.”

Up close, it’s even easier than FaceTime. His presence feels grounding, familiar, like the calls were just previews for this. Like the distance was the only thing missing.

“You look amazing,” Walker says, then immediately winces. “Sorry—that was probably—”

“Thank you,” you say gently. “You look really nice too.”

The tension drains from his shoulders instantly.

“I’m really glad it’s you,” he admits quietly.

Your heart skips. “Me too.”

You end up walking the carpet together without planning it. It just… happens. When photographers start calling out, asking for pictures, Walker looks to you first—always checking.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

You nod. “Yeah.”

He steps closer, not rushing, just enough. Your arms brush. The photo is taken.

Later, it’ll be everywhere.

People will call you the IT couple. Say it’s soft launch energy. Say it looks like the start of something straight out of a movie.

Right now, it’s just you and him, smiling a little too much, hearts beating a little too fast.

Inside the theater, you sit side by side. The movie plays, but neither of you is fully focused on it. You whisper comments under your breath. Share small smiles when a scene lands particularly hard.

At one point, Walker glances over—and catches you already looking at him.

He smiles.

You don’t look away.

When the credits roll and the lights come up, Walker exhales like he’s been holding his breath all night.

Outside, the crowd thins. The air cools. The noise softens into something manageable.

Walker slows, then stops walking entirely.

“Hey,” he says.

You turn to him. “Yeah?”

“There’s something I wanted to ask you,” he says. “I didn’t want to do it over FaceTime. Or rush it.”

Your pulse picks up.

“Okay.”

He takes a breath, steadying himself. “Would you want to go out with me? Like—after this. No cameras. No expectations. Just… us.”

You smile, warm and certain. “I’d love that.”

The relief on his face is immediate. “Really?”

“Really.”

Before either of you can say anything else, a black limo pulls up smoothly beside the curb, like it’s been waiting for its cue.

Aryan reappears out of nowhere, beaming. “Your ride,” he announces proudly.

Walker laughs under his breath. “You planned this.”

Aryan grins. “Of course I did.”

The limo door opens. Walker looks at you, suddenly shy again. “Ready?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He offers his hand—not flashy, just hopeful. You take it.

The door closes behind you, shutting out the rest of the world. City lights blur past the tinted windows as the car pulls away from the theater, from the premiere, from everything loud and overwhelming.

Walker leans back, glancing at you with a soft smile. “Tonight was kind of unreal.”

You nod. “In the best way.”

The limo turns the corner, disappearing into the night—toward a date you don’t need to see to know is going to be perfect.

©nellywhe all rights reserved : do not modify, repost, plagiarize, or claim my work as you own without my consent

[nellywhe]

Its just a game-boy, and i'm not trying to play .ᐟ

summary : playing fortnite with lara, yoonchae and megan—who was barely there.

pairings : ✶ lara raj x fem!reader

word count : 0.6

“LARA, HELP!”

Your voice cuts through the call, fingers aggressively clacking against the left key and arrow keys, trying to ward off the character attacking you.

Lara doesn’t even hesitate. “I’M TRYING,” she snaps back, laughter threaded through her voice like she’s enjoying this far more than she should. She cups a hand around her mic, lowering her voice theatrically. “Manon, please revive my sweet little baby before she proves once again that I carry this relationship.”

“HEY!” you protest, swatting at her arm out of pure habit, even though she’s sitting across the room and definitely not within reach. “I am right here. And I am not bad at the game.”

"chat, i promise i am NOT bad at fortnite" you insist to the plethora of people watching you through twitch,

Manon laughs instantly, the sound bright and easy, like she’s been waiting for this exact moment. “You say that every match,” she says, amused. “And yet, here we are.”

Yoonchae hums softly in agreement. “well,” she adds, calm as ever, “Manon has a point.”

“Wow,” you say, offended but not actually upset. “Betrayed. All of you. Especially my own girlfriend.”

Lara gasps. “I defend you constantly,” she says, feigned anger. “This is me being nice. I could be way meaner.”

“You are literally never nice to me in fortnite.”

“That’s because I love you,” she replies immediately, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Manon makes an exaggerated gagging noise. Yoonchae just shakes her head, though you can hear the smile she’s trying not to let slip through.

Despite the chaos on screen, the mood in the stream softens. The game fades into background noise.

“Okay, okay,” Manon says after a moment. “You’re up. But next time, maybe don’t wander off alone?”

“I wasn’t alone,” you argue. “I was with Megan."

“Megan?” yoonchae asks “where is she?”

“Megan?” the group calls her, only to be met with her being muted and her reboot card a distance away from your character.

“Oh..” you say

“how did you not notice” Lara mutters.

You can hear her shifting in her chair, probably leaning forward the way she always does when she’s half-focused on the screen and half-focused on you. The chat catching it immediately.

"Awww"

"You guys are cooked"

and some messages a-like flood the chat.

Yoonchae clears her throat lightly. “We’re fine,” she says. “No need to stress. Just… stay close.”

You do. Not just in the game, but in the way you instinctively drift back toward Lara, like it’s muscle memory. The chaos settles, the tension loosens, and the four of you fall into an easy rhythm—less scrambling, more confidence. The kind that sneaks up on you when everything suddenly starts clicking.

At some point, Lara lets out a satisfied little laugh. “You know,” she says, voice bright with victory already half-claimed, “one day, you’re going to play a match where I don’t have to save you.”

You scoff. “Unlikely. You’d miss it.”

“Please,” she replies. “Rescuing you from your own bad decisions is my calling.”

“And yet,” you say, grinning, “you never let me actually lose.”

“That’s because I’m generous,” Lara says. “And because we’re about to win, and I refuse to let you fumble that.”

Manon laughs as she moves in beside you. “She’s been like this all match,” she says. “Very confident. Almost suspiciously so.”

Yoonchae pings the last area. “Final squad,” she says calmly. “Stay together.”

You do—close, coordinated, somehow unstoppable. The last fight is fast, messy, and over before your nerves can catch up. A flurry of movement, one final push—

Then the screen slows down

Victory.

For half a second, no one speaks. And then—

“I TOLD YOU,” Lara shouts, triumphant jumping out of her chair. “BITCH DON'T CALL ME”

You laugh, adrenaline still buzzing. “Oh my god. We actually did it.”

Manon cheers, clapping once. “I carried!”

Yoonchae exhales, amused. “Good work, everyone.”

Lara leans fully into her smugness now. “See?” she says, smiling. “We did great. I’ve got you—always.” still high off adrenaline.

You roll your eyes, smiling anyway. “You’re unbearable.”

“And yet,” she replies easily, “you love me.”

“Unfortunately,” you say, fond, “yeah.”

Manon groans. “Please log off before I have to hear this again.”

The stream doesn’t end right away. No one rushes to leave. The victory screen lingers, but it’s not the point anymore. The real win is the way the four of you sit in that moment—laughing, teasing, comfortable in the knowledge that you did it together.

And Lara, still smug, still warm, still yours, makes it very clear she’s never letting you forget it.

Lara stretches audibly. “You good?” she asks you, voice gentler now, stripped of all the teasing edge.

“Yeah,” you say. “I am.”

“Good.” A pause. Then, softer, “Text me when you get off. I wanna hear about your day without explosions.”

Your chest warms at that, something small and steady settling in. “Deal.”

Manon yawns. “I’m grabbing a snack. Anyone want anything?”

Yoonchae laughs quietly. “You always ask that like we live with you.”

“Emotionally, you do.”

You smile to yourself, leaning back, letting the moment linger. The game is still open, the call still connected, but it feels less like playing and more like existing together—comfortable, familiar, safe.

And honestly?

That’s your favorite part.

©nellywhe all rights reserved : do not modify, repost, plagiarize, or claim my work as you own without my consent

i thought that i'll include that....

[nellywhe]

i NEEED more walker content cs the walker fics have been the same since 2024🫩🫩

yes!!! that's why i've started writing, be the change you want to see

kiss me thru the phone .ᐟ — see you when i get home

a morning with the younger Scobells and walker.ᐟ

[nellywhe]

░   ◟ ♯   rules & requests

‧₊˚ ┊ 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

what i won't write for .ᐟ

self harm     ⌇    cnc (rape etc)     ⌇      smut     ⌇      original characters     ⌇    dark content     ⌇     incestuous behaviour     ⌇     age play     ⌇     age regressing     ⌇     poly relationships     ⌇     male reader

what i will write for .ᐟ

fluff ⌇ angst ⌇ gn!reader ⌇ fem!reader ⌇ hurt/comfort ⌇ song fics ⌇ if you have a request and its not on the list then send it right to my inboxx .ᐟ

[nellywhe]

kiss me thru the phone .ᐟ —see you when i get home

summary : a series of events where aryan finds walker watching edits of you, in which aryan has to of course make fun of him for it .ᐟ

pairings : walker scobell x famous!gn!reader

word count : 1.2k

Baby, you know that I miss you, I wanna get wit' you Tonight, but I cannot, baby girl, and that's the issue

Aryan had been talking for so long that Walker was starting to wonder if he needed to blink manually.

“—and then he had the AUDACITY to say I should’ve ‘planned better,’” Aryan says, pacing Walker’s trailer like he owns the place, which he kind of does at this point. “Like, oh, sorry, I didn’t realize the universe scheduled my entire existence in google Calendar.”

Walker hums in response, nodding vaguely, eyes locked on his phone.

He’s not even pretending to listen.

“Walker,” Aryan says slowly.

Walker doesn’t look up.

“Walker,” Aryan repeats, louder.

Nothing.

Aryan stops pacing. Turns. Stares.

“…Walker.”

Walker jolts like someone just yelled his name during attendance. “What. yeah. sorry. what?”

Aryan squints. “You weren’t listening. At all.”

“Yes I was,” Walker says immediately, way too fast.

“Oh yeah?” Aryan crosses his arms. “What was I just ranting about?”

Walker opens his mouth. Pauses.

“…Life?”

Aryan gasps. “That is INSANE behavior.”

Walker panics. His thumb slips, the phone almost falling out of his hand as he scrambles to lock it and shove it under his leg.

“I wasn’t doing anything,” he blurts.

Aryan’s eyes light up. “Ohhh, that’s crazy, because people who aren’t doing anything do not say it like that.”

Before Walker can react, Aryan lunges forward, yanking the phone straight out from under him.

“HEY—” Walker reaches for it. “Give that back!”

“Nope,” Aryan says, already tapping the screen. “You forfeited phone privileges when you ignored my emotional monologue.”

The screen lights up.

A video is paused mid-frame.

Thirty seconds long. Clean transitions. Soft glow effects. A perfectly timed beat drop.

And right there, smiling slightly at the camera—

You.

Aryan freezes.

“…Hold on.”

He tilts the phone. Scrolls.

Another edit.

Then another.

Then—

“Oh my god,” Aryan breathes. “Walker.”

Walker groans, face burning. “Please stop.”

Aryan clicks into a folder.

There are a lot of videos.

Aryan’s grin grows feral. “This is not a coincidence. This is a PROBLEM.” his say pointing to walkers phone

Walker tries to grab the phone again, but Aryan hops back onto the bed, cackling. “Nah nah nah, I’m not done.”

He reads the folder name out loud.

“‘My love.’”

Silence.

Then Aryan absolutely loses his mind.

“BROOO,” he laughs, bent over, clutching his stomach in laughter. “YOU ARE IN A RELATIONSHIP AND YOU’RE STILL THIS DOWN BAD??”

Walker throws a pillow at him. “Shut up!”

Aryan dodges it easily. “I’m just saying, if I were dating someone this hot, I’d be insufferable.”

Walker glares. “I am insufferable.”

“Oh, I know,” Aryan smirks. “You literally watch these edits every night like it’s a bedtime routine.”

“They’re comforting,” Walker mutters.

Aryan gasps dramatically. “Oh my GOD. You’re whipped.”

Girl, you know I miss you, I just wanna kiss you But I can't right now so baby, kiss me through the phone (kiss me through the phone)

There’s a knock at the door.

Walker’s already on his feet before his brain fully catches up, moving a little too fast down the hallway. He opens the door—

And you barely get a chance to say hi before he’s pulling you in.

His arms wrap around you tight, immediate, like it’s muscle memory. Your face ends up pressed against his hoodie, his chin dropping to rest on the top of your head as he exhales, long and relieved.

“Hey,” you laugh softly, arms coming up around him. “Miss me or something?”

He doesn’t let go.

“Shut up,” he mutters, squeezing you just a little tighter. “I had a long day.”

You grin, hugging him back just as hard. “That bad?”

He nods against your hair. “Aryan emotionally destroyed me.”

You pull back just enough to look up at him, but his hands stay on your waist, thumbs absentmindedly rubbing like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“Hi,” you say again.

His expression softens instantly. “Hi.”

He leans down without thinking, pressing his forehead to yours for a second before pulling you back into another hug, somehow closer than before.

“C’mon,” he says quietly. “I missed you.”

And honestly?

You’re not complaining.

I'll see you later on (later on) Kiss me through the phone (kiss me through the phone)

Aryan does not drop it.

He physically cannot.

Walker should’ve known better than to assume that information like that would stay contained.

The three of you are in the kitchen later that evening. Walker grabbing a drink, you leaning against the counter scrolling on your phone, and Aryan perched on a stool like he’s waiting for his moment.

Which he is.

“So,” Aryan says casually, way too casually.

Walker freezes.

You look up. “So…?”

Aryan grins. The kind of grin that means someone is about to suffer. “Did you know your boyfriend has a folder of you on his phone.”

Walker groans immediately. “Aryan.”

You blink. “A folder of me ?” your eyebrows furrow together.

Aryan nods enthusiastically. “Oh yeah. A dedicated folder.”

Walker points at him. “You’re nineteen years old. Please act like it.”

“No,” Aryan says instantly. Then he looks back at you. “It’s called ‘my love.’” he puts in quotation marks

There’s a beat.

Then you slowly turn your head toward Walker.

“…My love?” you repeat.

Walker’s face goes bright red. “Okay, hear me out—”

You smile. Not teasing. Not embarrassed.

Just soft.

“That’s kinda adorable,” you say.

Aryan slams a hand on the counter. “THANK YOU.”

Walker looks betrayed. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am,” you say, stepping closer to him, fingers hooking lightly into the sleeve of his hoodie. “I just didn’t know I was that appreciated.”

Walker mutters, “You weren’t supposed to find out like this.”

Aryan snorts. “Oh please. You save edits of them like they’re emergency supplies.”

You glance at Aryan. “Wait—edits?”

Aryan lights up again. “OH MY GOD. They don’t even know the HALF of it.”

Walker tries to interrupt. “You are done talking.”

Aryan barrels on. “ Like those ones with that 'poster boy' audio”

You laugh, leaning into Walker’s side. “Is this true?”

Walker sighs, defeated. “Maybe.”

You grin up at him. “So that’s why you have 20 million reposts.”

“You stalked my reposts?,” he gasps.

Aryan makes a gagging noise. “You two are actually disgusting.”

You squeeze Walker’s arm. “In a good way though.”

Walker smiles despite himself.

Aryan hops off the stool. “Anyway,” he says, backing toward the door, “I’m gonna go before this turns into those cringy love budget love story's . But just know—” he points at Walker “—I will never let you live this down.”

Walker flips him off affectionately.

Aryan laughs. “Love you both. Even if you’re unbearable.”

And then he’s gone.

The door clicks shut.

Silence.

You look at Walker.

Walker looks at you.

“…So,” you say slowly, eyes sparkling. “my love, huh?”

Walker groans and drops his forehead onto your shoulder. “I’m never recovering from this.”

You laugh, wrapping your arms around him. “I think it’s sweet.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” you say. “But now I’m a little jealous.”

He lifts his head. “Jealous of what?”

“All the edits you watch instead of me,” you tease.

He smirks slightly. “You’re right here.”

You tilt your head. “And yet.”

He pulls you closer. “You win.”

You grin. “Good answer.”

You both migrate back to the couch, collapsing into your usual spots. You immediately curl into him, legs draped over his, head tucked under his chin.

Walker’s arms wrap around you like muscle memory.

You glance up at him. “You know I’d save edits of you too, right?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you say innocently. “Might even make a folder.”

He laughs softly. “What would you call it?”

You think for a second. “Favorites.”

He groans. “You’re evil.”

You smile and snuggle closer. “But you love me.”

He tightens his hold just a little. “Unfortunately.”

You hum contentedly. “Liar.”

Walker presses his cheek against your hair, smiling. “Yeah. I’m obsessed.”

You relax fully against him, smug and warm and very aware that Aryan is never letting this go—but honestly?

Worth it.

©nellywhe all rights reserved : do not modify, repost, plagiarize, or claim my work as you own without my consent

[heavyserenade]

Visit Original Link

[nellywhe]

░ ◟ ♯  masterlist

key : ✷ writers pick, ✶fluff, ✦angst.

→ singers / artists

manon bannerman

nothing yet...

sophia laforteza

at the foodcourts with katseye & sophia

daniela avanzini

nothing yet...

lara raj

Its just a game-boy and im not trying to play — playing fortnite with lara, yoonchae and megan—who was barely there. and getting a victory royale

megan skiendiel

nothing yet...

yoonchae jeung

nothing yet...

→ actors

walker scobell

a morning with the younger scobells and walker

more to be added .ᐟ.ᐟ

[themoongirls]

260123 | ibaekilho.official instagram post ✨️

[nellywhe]

a morning with the younger Scobells and walker.ᐟ

summary : walker is reluctant to wake up but you strike a deal with him and he practically jumps out of bed

pairings : walker scobell x fem!reader

word count : 1.2k

“Mmh…”

The sound slipped from Walker without a thought behind it, low and tired, his voice still tangled in sleep as his face pressed into the warmth of your neck. His arms were wrapped securely around you, not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough that it was very clear he had no intention of letting you go anytime soon.The kind of hold that happened purely on instinct. The heavy duvet engulfed the two of you, tangled around legs and shoulders, sealing in warmth while the cold Pennsylvania morning lingered just beyond the bedroom walls.

The room itself felt suspended in quiet, soft gray light filtering through half-drawn curtains, shadows stretching lazily across the floor. The air smelled faintly of clean sheets and something familiar, comforting. Walker shifted slightly, blonde curls brushing your skin, his weight settling more fully against you as if he were trying to become part of the mattress itself.

“Walker,” you murmured softly, voice gentle as it disappeared into his hair. “We need to get up.”

He responded with a small sound of protest, barely more than a hum, and instead of answering, his arms tightened. When you tried to move — just a little, just enough to sit up.His body followed automatically. He dragged you right back down, one arm looping more firmly around your waist like his subconscious had decided you were not allowed to escape.

“No,” he muttered, forehead pressing into your shoulder. “Too cold. Too early. Not happening.” He whined, his golden curls brushing against your neck

You sighed, but there was no frustration in it — only fondness. Outside, a car passed somewhere down the street, the sound distant and muted, but inside the room, time felt slower. Softer. Safer. His breathing evened out again, warm against your skin, and for a moment, you let yourself stay still.

Just existing.

That was when the bedroom door creaked open.

Walker’s sister — Leena, stood in the doorway, clearly prepared to say something loud and annoying — until she froze mid-step. Her eyes moved slowly over you both: the tangled blankets, Walker half-asleep and clinging to you like could vanish in an instant, the peaceful stillness that filled the room.

She blinked.

Then smirked.

Leaning against the doorframe, she watched for a second longer, amusement turning into something fond. With an almost silent click of her phone camera,she quietly backed out and gently pulled the door closed again.

Some moments were just too cute to interrupt.

Back on the bed, Walker shifted again, completely unaware. He nuzzled closer, mumbling something incoherent, and you couldn’t help the small smile that formed.

Eventually, though, time refused to be ignored.

 “Baby, we neeeed to get up..” you whisper to walker, your fingers start to softly caress his hair.

“But I am awake,” Walker mumbles, his grip tightening on you and his body lays still on top of yours—well except for the occasional peck that leaves on the side of your neck.

You smiled slightly, tilting your head just enough to rest it against his. “baby,” you said softly. “What if we make a deal?”

walker hummed, eyes still closed, but his grip loosened by just a bit. “A deal?”

You nodded. “We get up now. Just for a bit. And later…” you whisper the last part to him.

That did it.

He was quiet for a moment, breathing slow, like he was letting the idea settle. Then he shifted, lifting his head just enough to look at you, eyes still heavy with sleep but focused now.

“Really?” he asked quietly.

“Really.”

A small smile tugged at his lips—not big or dramatic, just soft. Content. He nodded once, like he’d made up his mind.

“Okay,” he said gently. “Yeah. We can do that.”

He loosened his arms and sat up slowly, stretching with a quiet sigh, the duvet sliding down with him. There was no rush now.

You laughed quietly. “You were always going to get up.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But I like the deal better.”

You push yourself off of walkers bed. The cold air hit immediately.

“I hate mornings,” he muttered, dragging a shirt over his head and rubbing his face.

“You say that every morning,” you replied while slipping into some black adidas sliders.

“And every morning I’m correct.”

By the time you made it downstairs, the house felt fully awake. Sunlight poured into the kitchen, warm and golden, lighting up the counters and cabinets. The smell of coffee filled the air, rich and comforting.

Leena was already there, leaning against the counter with her phone in her hand. The second she saw the two of you, her face lit up.

“Well, well, well,” she said. “Look who finally decided to get up,”

Walker groaned. “Please don’t. We were sleeping,” he said flatly.

She raised an eyebrow. “Sure. Sleeping.”

Walker dropped into a chair, wrapping an arm around your waist. You laughed softly as his sister moved around the kitchen, pulling out plates and ingredients with way too much energy.

“And here we see Walker,” she narrated dramatically, “running on approximately three brain cells and emotional attachment.”

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Walker said.

“I thrive on this,” she replied.

That was when another voice came from the hallway.

“Oh my god,” Tanner — his brother said, stepping into the kitchen, eyes still half-closed. “They’re finally downstairs?”

Walker stiffened. “Do not start.”

Tanner looked between the two of you, then smirked. “So that’s why the house was quiet.”

“Absolutely not,” Walker said immediately.

 Tanner leaned against the doorway. “Dude, you were gone all morning. That’s suspicious behavior.”

“We were sleeping,” Walker repeated.

Tanner nodded slowly. “Uh-huh. Sure. Sleeping.”

Leena burst out laughing. “See? It’s not just me!”

Walker looked between them. “Why do I live here?”

“For our entertainment,” his brother replied.

Breakfast started coming together—toast popping, eggs sizzling, coffee pouring—and the teasing became a full family event.

“So,” Tanner said casually, “does he always cling or was today a special occasion?”

Walker nearly dropped the spatula. “You were not there.”

Tanner grinned. “Didn’t need to be.”

Leena added, “He’s a stage-five clinger.”

“I am not,” Walker protested.

“You literally refused to let them get up,” she said.

“That’s called affection.”

“That’s called attachment issues,” Tanner said.

You laughed as Walker buried his face in his hoodie. “I hate both of you.”

“Love you too,” they said in unison.

As breakfast finally hit the table, the energy shifted into something warmer. Plates clinked, sunlight climbed higher, the teasing softened into comfortable noise. Walker leaned back in his chair, foot brushing against yours under the table like second nature.

Tanner noticed. “Oh wow. The foot thing too?”

Walker glanced down. “It’s not a thing.”

“It’s absolutely a thing,” Leena said.

Breakfast stretched on slowly—coffee refilled, toast shared, laughter easy. No one rushed. No one hurried. It felt like one of those rare mornings where time didn’t matter.

Walker rested his elbow on the table, chin in his hand, eyes softer than they had been all morning.

“Worth it,” he murmured quietly.

Leena rolled her eyes. His brother smirked.

“Yeah,” Leenar said. “It kind of is.”

“And annoying,” Tanner added.

Walker smiled anyway.

And for a long, sunlit, teasing, warm moment, the house felt full—of noise, of laughter, of comfort, of the kind of love that shows up as jokes and chaos and shared breakfast tables.

The kind that makes a house feel like home.

©nellywhe all rights reserved : do not modify, repost, plagiarize, or claim my work as you own without my consent

[nellywhe]

At the foodcourt with katseye & sophia laforteza .ᐟ

summary: going to the foodcourt with the kats and being left with Sophia only for a bit before you meet some fans

pairings: sophia laforteza x genderneutral!reader

word count: 0.5k 

a/n: can be read as a platonic or romantic fic !!

The foodcourt – the place where you find yourself and the members of katseye after a long day of shopping. Bright lights reflecting off the beige floors, orders being barked out from the kitchen, and overlapping conversations buzzing around the mall. You and the rest of Katseye gather near a shopping cart with a few items in it, Sophia's bags dangling from your wrists while the others carry their own. The energy split cleanly down the middle.

“So,” Megan says, already half-smiling, “food or one more store?”

The vote is quick. Perfectly even. Fifty–fifty.

“Food wins,” Sophia decides, pointing at the empty tables. “Because I physically cannot walk anymore.”

The youngest of the group race off instantly, laughing as they take off and calling dibs on seats that may or may not exist. Their excitement cuts through the noise. You stay behind with the rest of the kats (Lara, Sophia and Manon), lingering in a loose circle. There’s a quiet pause — comfortable, tired. Then, almost a word, Lara and Manon slip away, drifting through the small crowd like they planned it all along

That leaves you and Sophia. 

“Thank you,” Sophia murmurs, her hands tapping on a nearby table. Her eyes focused on one of the tv like kiosks, “what do you mean?” you ask her. She nods to the bags in your hands. “Oh, it's no problem” you say like it's second nature

Before you even ask, her fingers are already trailing on the kiosk desk, their glowing screens inviting you and Sophia over

“Do you want anything? My way to repay you” the raven-haired girl says in air quotes. Her fingers already tracing the screen, you turn to look at the screen seeing what she’s ordered “you don't have to pay,” you tell her, she ignores you and adds your normal meal “Sophia, I’ve already said its fine–” you begin to say before you get interrupted 

“Um, excuse me?”

You turn to see a small group of girls hovering nearby, one of them clutches their phone nervously. “We’re really sorry to interrupt,” the girl says. “But we’re huge fans.”Sophia’s expression softens immediately. “Hi,” she says warmly. “You’re okay.” The others drift back over without thinking, forming a line in front of the group. “Do you want a picture?” one of the yoonchae asks, already smiling.

“Yes..please,” someone says, laughing in disbelief. After a few photos and thank-yous, the fans step back. “Thank you for being so kind,” one of them says.

“Make sure you eat something good,” Sophia replies. “The sushi platter is.. gnarly” Lara says in an almost robotic tone.

When they leave, the group exhales together. Manon returns, holding up a drink. “Okay,” she says. “I missed something, didn’t I?”

“Just our faces on the internet girl,” Daniela jokes. Sophia looks at you, smiling. “Alright,” she says. “Let’s order before those screens convince me to buy everything.”

You nod, turning back toward the glowing menus as the moment settles into something warm and normal again.

©nellywhe all rights reserved : do not modify, repost, plagiarize, or claim my work as you own without my consent