— [ Bricks & Bitches — Daniela Avanzini ]
[ Chapter one || Masterlist || Chapter three ]
— #Synopsis :: Daniela tries to embarrass you but only ends up more obsessed when you don’t flinch. She shifts from public games to chasing your attention, pestering you until she gets your number.
Detention forces the two of you into close quarters, where teasing turns into heated tension and an almost-kiss.
— #Paring :: Daniela Avanzini x Masc G!P Reader
— #Warning :: strong language, suggestive/sexual tension, bratty teasing, forced proximity.
The cafeteria was Daniela’s stage.
Every lunch period was the same: the doors swung open, and she’d walk in like she owned the place — which, in a way, she did. Her table was always full, her outfit always perfect, and her laugh always just loud enough to draw eyes.
But lately, her stage had been compromised.
Daniela sat at the head of her table, manicured fingers tapping against her iced latte. Her eyes drifted, as they always did now, toward the back corner of the cafeteria. And there you were: earbuds in, tray untouched, calmly hunched over a neat spread of Lego pieces. Not hiding, not performing, just existing like the rest of the room didn’t matter.
There were whispers. Snickers. Even admiration. Yesterday, Daniela had overheard two juniors giggling about how “cool” it was that you didn’t care. Cool. As if being oblivious to the social ladder was somehow more impressive than ruling it.
It made Daniela’s teeth clench.
“You’re staring again,” Sophia said smoothly, picking a grape from her salad with delicate fingers.
Daniela snapped her gaze back to her friends. “I’m not.”
Manon grinned, messy and earnest. “You are. It’s kinda cute, honestly. Like a crush.”
Daniela nearly choked on her sip of coffee. “Excuse me? A crush? Please. I don’t get crushes. I get attention.”
Sophia arched a brow, her smirk slow and knowing. “Mhm. And yet, here we are. Day three of you obsessively tracking the Lego girl.”
“She’s not Lego girl,” Daniela snapped, then immediately regretted giving you a nickname. Manon burst into delighted giggles.
Sophia just leaned back. “So what’s your plan? Keep staring until she notices you, or finally do something about it?”
Daniela exhaled, sharp and annoyed. The truth was, yesterday’s hallway and class encounters still burned in her chest. You hadn’t flinched, hadn’t swooned, hadn’t even tried to impress her.
And Daniela Avanzini was not used to being dismissed.
Her fingers drummed faster on the plastic cup. “Fine. Maybe I will do something about it.”
Manon leaned forward eagerly. “Like what? Oh! You should sit at her table. That would be iconic.”
Daniela shook her head. “Too obvious. Besides, she’s stubborn. She’ll just… ignore me again.”
Sophia tilted her head. “Then embarrass her. That’s your specialty, isn’t it? Pull her off her little Lego pedestal in front of everyone.”
Daniela smirked at that, her confidence flaring back. Yes. That was her arena. Public humiliation, controlled and sharp, with her clique backing her up and the cafeteria watching. She’d done it a dozen times before, and no one had ever recovered from her verbal precision.
Her gaze drifted back to you, head bowed over your bricks, earbuds shutting out the world. You looked so… unbothered.
Daniela’s smirk deepened. “Alright. Today, we remind everyone exactly who runs this school.”
Manon clapped her hands, delighted. “Yes! Drama!”
Sophia only sipped her water, eyes glinting. “Careful, Dani. What if she doesn’t break?”
Daniela scoffed, rising to her feet, smoothing her skirt with practiced grace. “Everyone breaks. She’s no different.”
But as she crossed the cafeteria, her pulse thrummed harder than she wanted to admit.
Across the room, you clicked two small Lego beams together, content in your world. You didn’t notice the ripple of attention following Daniela’s strut toward you, her heels clicking like punctuation marks.
The queen bee was about to sting.
The cafeteria hum lowered as Daniela Avanzini crossed the room.
It was instinct — the ripple of eyes, the pause in conversations, the quiet expectancy that came whenever the queen bee decided to move outside her orbit. Sophia and Manon flanked her like satellites, their expressions telling two different stories: Sophia smirking with amused detachment, Manon buzzing with giddy anticipation.
Daniela’s heels clicked against the linoleum as she stopped at the far table. Your table.
You didn’t look up right away. You were too busy aligning two tiny Lego tiles on a miniature rooftop. Earbuds still in, head bent, focus absolute.
That lack of acknowledgment made Daniela’s jaw tighten. She cleared her throat, loud enough to turn heads nearby.
“Wow,” Daniela drawled, sugar and venom twined perfectly in her tone. “You really do this every day?”
You slid an earbud out, glanced up at her with steady eyes. “Do what?”
Daniela gestured broadly at the spread of colorful bricks. “Play with toys. At lunch. In public. Bold choice.”
A ripple of laughter ran through the cafeteria. Not harsh, but eager — the crowd always loved one of Daniela’s takedowns.
You, however, only tilted your head. “Better than gossiping about people who aren’t in the room.”
The ripple turned into a soft, startled laugh — at her.
Daniela blinked, momentarily thrown. She recovered fast, forcing a smirk. “Cute. But tell me, do you ever actually eat food? Or is your diet strictly plastic?”
More giggles. Manon covered her mouth to hide hers, eyes darting between you both like this was the best entertainment she’d had in months.
You set down a Lego piece, met Daniela’s gaze directly. Your voice was calm, almost bored:
“At least I’m building something. What do you do, besides tear people down just to feel taller?”
The cafeteria went dead silent for half a second. Then the laugh broke — louder, sharper, rolling across the room.
Daniela’s face went hot. Too hot. She never got laughed at. Not here. Not anywhere.
Sophia’s smirk widened, her voice low but audible enough for Daniela to hear: “Checkmate.”
Daniela’s pulse thundered. She wanted to snap back, to slash you down with something cruel, something final. But your eyes held steady, calm as ever, like you weren’t even trying to win. Like it wasn’t a game to you at all.
And somehow, that made her feel smaller than the laughter ever could.
You leaned back, slipping your earbud in again as if dismissing her. “Anyway. Have a good lunch.”
Then you went back to your bricks.
The dismissal was absolute.
Daniela stood there frozen, cheeks burning, the cafeteria still buzzing from your dry comeback. Manon’s giggles bubbled uncontrollably, Sophia arched a brow like she was watching a car crash she couldn’t look away from.
For the first time in years, Daniela Avanzini had been outplayed.
And the worst part? Instead of hating you for it, her chest ached with something far more dangerous: want.
The walk back to her table was the longest thirty seconds of Daniela’s life.
Her chin stayed high, her strut flawless — she refused to give the cafeteria the satisfaction of seeing her sweat. But every step felt like nails dragging against her nerves. The laughter still lingered in the air, buzzing in her ears, replaying your dry words over and over.
At least I’m building something. What do you do, besides tear people down just to feel taller?
It cut deeper than she wanted to admit.
She slid gracefully back into her seat, flipping her hair, pretending nothing had happened. Manon practically bounced beside her, face lit up like a kid at Christmas.
“Oh my God, Dani, that was amazing. Like— I swear, I thought she was gonna choke, but she didn’t even blink. She’s fearless. She’s—”
“Enough,” Daniela snapped, sharper than intended. Manon fell quiet, though her grin didn’t fade.
Sophia, of course, was harder to shake. She sipped her water with leisurely calm, gaze fixed on Daniela like she was a puzzle. “Well. That didn’t go quite the way you planned.”
Daniela’s smile was icy. “It went fine.”
Sophia arched a brow. “Did it?”
Daniela stabbed at her salad, appetite gone. “Please. I wasn’t even trying. If I wanted to crush her, I would’ve.”
Sophia’s smirk only deepened. “Mhm. Funny. Looked more like she crushed you.”
Daniela’s jaw clenched. She wanted to argue, to say something cutting, but the words wouldn’t form. Her pride screamed at her to deny it, but deep down, she knew Sophia was right. You hadn’t even tried to fight back with malice or cruelty. You’d just… flipped her words on their head. Calm. Effortless. Untouchable.
And the worst part? It didn’t humiliate Daniela the way she’d expected. It fascinated her.
Her eyes flicked back across the cafeteria, to where you sat quietly finishing your Lego rooftop, earbuds back in, as if the confrontation hadn’t even happened. Everyone else still whispered about it, replaying the scene, but you were already in another world.
Daniela hated it. She hated that you’d turned the tables. She hated that her heart was still pounding. And she hated, most of all, that some twisted part of her… wanted to go back.
Not to win. Not to reclaim the spotlight.
But just to hear what you’d say next.
Manon nudged her, whispering with a mischievous grin, “Admit it. You like her.”
Daniela glared. “Shut up.”
But her blush betrayed her.
The rest of the day was torture.
In class, Daniela caught herself doodling bricks in the margins of her notes. Bricks, of all things. She shook her head violently, snapping her pen.
In the hallway, she nearly walked into a locker because she was too busy scanning for you.
At cheer practice, she missed a count, earning her a rare correction from the coach. That never happened. Ever.
You weren’t even trying, and somehow, you’d thrown her entire rhythm off balance.
When she finally collapsed into her bed that night, makeup scrubbed off, lights dim, she let out a frustrated groan and buried her face in her pillow.
She didn’t lose. Daniela Avanzini did not lose.
So why did it feel like the only game worth playing was the one she was already losing to you?
Not angry at anyone in particular — angry at herself. Angry at the way her stomach had twisted all night, replaying your face, your voice, that maddeningly calm comeback that had sent her crashing down in front of her own kingdom.
She should’ve been over it. Normally, by morning, any minor social hiccup was forgotten — scrubbed away with a new outfit, a new snide remark, a new performance.
Because she hadn’t just been embarrassed. She’d been dismissed.
And Daniela Avanzini didn’t get dismissed.
By second period, she was already scribbling on her notebook, not notes but lists. Tiny, looping questions scattered across the margins:
What would it take to make her react?
Would she flinch if I sat next to her?
Would she care if I ignored her?
She didn’t even notice Sophia’s sharp eyes catching the page until the girl leaned over with her signature smirk.
“Plotting your next move already?” Sophia murmured, low enough that only Daniela could hear.
Daniela snapped her notebook shut. “Mind your business.”
Sophia leaned back leisurely. “If it involves Lego girl, it’s everyone’s business now. The whole cafeteria saw what happened yesterday.”
Daniela gritted her teeth. The memory stung, but her chin stayed high. “Yesterday was nothing. I was going easy on her.”
Sophia chuckled softly. “Sure, Dani. Keep telling yourself that.”
By lunch, Daniela had a plan. Not a full one — more like a series of experiments. Little ways to poke, prod, see what made you tick. If embarrassing you didn’t work, maybe something else would.
Her clique trailed behind her as usual, but this time, Daniela veered away from her usual seat at the head of the room. She didn’t march straight toward your table, either. That would’ve been too obvious.
No. She took the long route, circling the cafeteria so it looked casual when she passed by the back corner where you sat.
Sure enough, there you were again. Same tray, barely touched. Same spread of bricks. Same total focus, earbuds tucked in as you balanced a miniature tower piece against its base.
Daniela slowed just enough to let her shadow fall across your table.
“Careful,” she said smoothly, voice honey-sweet. “Wouldn’t want your little toy house to collapse.”
This time, you did look up right away — and the look you gave her wasn’t flustered or defensive. Just flat.
“It’s not a toy. It’s a modular build. There’s a difference.”
Daniela blinked. That was… not the reaction she expected. “…Right. Sure.”
You went back to clicking pieces together like she hadn’t spoken.
Her friends were watching. The people at nearby tables were watching. She couldn’t just slink away. So she pulled out a chair — bold, uncharacteristic — and sat down directly across from you.
Sophia arched a brow from a distance, settling into their usual table with Manon, clearly entertained.
Daniela crossed her legs, smoothed her skirt, tilted her chin. “You know, most people would kill to have me at their table.”
You didn’t even look up. “Then you should probably go sit with them.”
Daniela’s mouth opened, then closed.
The cafeteria around you both seemed to buzz louder, as if people could feel the tension stretching, taut and strange.
Her pulse skipped. For the second day in a row, she was losing the rhythm — not because you outshouted her, not because you groveled, but because you didn’t care.
And somehow, that only pulled her deeper in.
She leaned forward, lowering her voice, her smirk curling back. “You’re really something, you know that?”
You finally met her eyes, steady, unimpressed. “So I’ve been told. Now can you move? You’re in my light.”
Daniela blinked, thrown off for the third time in two days. And then — to her horror, to her thrill — she laughed.
Not her calculated laugh, not her performance. A real one. Short, sharp, and startled.
And that was when she knew: embarrassing you wouldn’t work.
The next week was chaos for Daniela — not the usual, delicious, carefully controlled chaos she stirred up in the halls, but something far more dangerous.
Everywhere she turned, there you were: at your locker with your earbuds in, head bowed over instructions; in class, absently sketching Lego layouts instead of taking notes; at lunch, lost in your bricks like the world outside didn’t exist.
Boys usually tripped over themselves to hold her books. Girls fought to be in her orbit. Teachers excused her attitude because of her charm. Daniela had never had to work for someone’s attention.
But you? You gave her nothing.
And somehow, that nothing was intoxicating.
She spotted you at your locker between second and third period, bent over a booklet of Lego schematics, thumbing through pages like you were cramming for a final exam.
Daniela leaned one shoulder against the locker beside yours, hair perfectly in place, lips glossed to perfection. She tilted her head, voice dripping with false innocence.
“Wow. You read Ikea manuals for fun now?”
You didn’t look up. “Ikea’s amateur hour. This is advanced engineering.”
Daniela’s lips parted — a retort poised on her tongue — but nothing came out. Advanced engineering? Who even talked like that?
She let out a short laugh, masking her stumble. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Thanks,” you muttered absently, turning the page.
Daniela stared, caught between wanting to roll her eyes and wanting to snatch the booklet just to see what was so captivating.
Instead, she pushed off the locker, flicking her hair. “One of these days, Lego girl, I’m going to make you actually look at me.”
You finally glanced up, deadpan. “Congratulations. You just did.”
Then you closed your locker and walked away.
Daniela’s mouth hung open for a beat too long.
You were sprawled across a library table, pieces arranged in neat rows, focus absolute.
Daniela sat across from you without asking, sliding into the chair with a practiced elegance. She propped her chin on her hand, eyes glittering.
“Don’t tell me you actually brought Legos to the library.”
You didn’t look up. “Don’t tell me you came here to do homework.”
Daniela smirked. “Cute. You think I’d waste time with homework.”
Silence. You clicked two pieces together. She drummed her fingers against the table, expecting you to say something. Anything.
When you didn’t, she leaned forward. “You know, most people would kill for my attention. But here you are, treating me like background noise. I should be offended.”
“Then be,” you said simply.
Daniela nearly choked on her own breath. “Excuse me?”
You looked up at last, expression flat. “If it bothers you that much, be offended. Won’t change what I’m doing.”
The corner of your mouth twitched — the faintest ghost of a smirk — before you returned to your build.
Daniela sat back, heat creeping into her cheeks. She hated this. She hated that you of all people made her blush.
And she hated, most of all, that it thrilled her.
By now, the cafeteria was buzzing with rumors. Everyone had noticed the shift: the queen bee orbiting around the Lego nerd. Some called it a joke, others a bet. But Daniela knew better.
This wasn’t a game anymore. This was obsession.
She slid into the seat across from you again at lunch, ignoring the stares, ignoring Sophia’s sly smirk from across the room.
“You know,” Daniela said, leaning close, “people are starting to talk. Wondering why I keep wasting my time with you.”
You shrugged, not even glancing up from your instructions. “That’s their problem.”
Daniela’s jaw tightened. “You really don’t care, do you?”
“Nope.” Click. Another piece locked into place.
Her pulse raced. She wanted to scream. She wanted to shake you. She wanted… she didn’t even know what she wanted.
So she tried a new angle. Leaning closer, her voice dropped into a low, velvet tone. “Give me your number.”
You finally looked at her, brows raised. “Why?”
Daniela’s smirk sharpened. “So I can annoy you when you’re not at school.”
For the first time, you actually laughed — soft, low, genuine. And it hit her like a bullet straight through the chest.
You scribbled something on a scrap of paper, slid it across the table.
Daniela blinked. “Wait… really?”
You shrugged. “Figured you’d keep asking until I gave in. This way I can mute you if I need to.”
Daniela’s heart hammered. She should’ve been insulted. She should’ve tossed the number back at you with a snide remark.
Instead, she tucked it carefully into her pocket like it was gold.
Her smirk was shaky but triumphant. “Careful, Lego girl. You might just be playing with fire.”
You went back to your build, unfazed. “Then don’t get burned.”
Daniela bit her lip to hide the smile threatening to take over her face.
For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t the one in control. And for some reason… she liked it.
Your phone buzzed against the desk for the fifth time in two minutes.
The fact that you did reply at all — even if it was minimal — made her worse. Daniela lived for it, staring at her screen like a girl possessed, fingers hovering over the keyboard, heart skipping whenever the little dots appeared.
But all the texts in the world couldn’t prepare her for what happened Friday.
Daniela sat slouched in her chair, arms crossed, glaring at the clock. Detention was beneath her. Normally she’d charm her way out of it, but today she’d mouthed off one too many times in class, and the teacher hadn’t been in the mood for games.
She was already seething when the door creaked open.
Backpack slung over one shoulder, hoodie rumpled, Lego instruction booklet sticking out of the pocket like always. The teacher barely glanced up from his paperwork. “Skipping class again? Sit. No talking.”
Daniela’s lips curled. Of course.
You dropped into the desk directly in front of her, earbuds dangling around your neck. If you were surprised to see her, you didn’t show it.
She leaned forward instantly, whispering. “Well, well. Lego girl’s a delinquent. Who knew?”
You didn’t turn around. “Don’t talk to me.”
Daniela smirked. “Oh, come on. This is fate. You, me, and sixty minutes of quality bonding time.”
“More like sixty minutes of you running your mouth.”
Her grin widened. “You love it.”
Silence. You flipped through your booklet. Daniela tapped her pen against the desk, relentless.
“So what’d you skip for? Building your toy castle?”
You finally turned slightly, eyes glinting. “Better than detention for mouthing off like a toddler.”
Daniela’s jaw dropped — then she laughed, quiet but real. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re mean.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
You froze, eyes narrowing. “What?”
Daniela covered quickly, smirk sliding back into place. “Nothing. Just saying — detention’s more fun with you here.”
Your stare lingered, sharp and unreadable, before you turned back to your booklet. But Daniela didn’t miss the faint pink creeping up your ears.
Her chest tightened. Victory.
The room stayed quiet, the only sounds the ticking clock and the scratch of pencils. Daniela spent the whole time leaning forward, whispering comments just loud enough for you to hear.
“Bet you’ve never broken a rule in your life before this.”
“You know, we’d make a hot ‘bad influence’ couple.”
“You’re ignoring me, but your ears are red. Cute.”
Finally, you spun around in your seat, eyes flashing. “Will you shut up for five minutes?”
Daniela’s smirk faltered — not because she was scared, but because of how close you suddenly were.
Your face was inches from hers. Your glare sharp, your voice low, your body leaning over her desk.
The air between you crackled.
Daniela’s lips parted, a thousand snappy comebacks on her tongue — but none of them came out.
Because for the first time, she wanted something else.
Her gaze dropped to your mouth.
And she swore she saw your eyes flick to hers, just for a second.
The clock ticked louder. The teacher coughed from his desk, flipping a page.
And still, Daniela held your gaze, heartbeat hammering in her throat, every instinct screaming to close that tiny gap.
But you pulled back first.
“Stop talking,” you muttered, turning around.
Daniela’s smirk returned slowly, shakier this time.
“Oh, Lego girl,” she whispered, voice low enough that only you could hear. “We’re so screwed.”
Her legs bounced beneath the desk the rest of detention, every nerve on fire.
And when the bell finally rang, you were gone before she could catch you in the hall.
But her phone buzzed that night.
You: You’re insufferable.
Daniela grinned at her screen, fingers flying across the keyboard.
Daniela: And yet you’re texting me first. Admit it — you like me.
Daniela: Already did. You were in it.
Daniela threw herself back on her bed, grinning like an idiot, heart pounding as she waited for the dots to appear again.
For once, she didn’t care who won the game.
She just knew she didn’t want it to stop.
Taglist :: @bookkeepersnook @buzzinuconn @apollosworld @kianthegirlkisser @skz-xii @wwwlpgs @kristalag @gwscloq @gnavnizi @spiderx18 @dallssi @rdfgfv @sondrsx @ortegalvr @let-zizi-yap @prosnale105 @rockstargabs @loverdanis @meisodanon @levilash @gablmk @devarajah @shhhmyshowson @dreamingst99 @bloobdzedaj @whatsgoignon @jadasmp4 @marvelwomen-simp @variantauxx @iamconfusedrightnow @imasimpfornatashamaximoff @imasimpfornatashamaximoff @menace-of-a-cupid @mal1024 @bisexualmassive @culuvr
