#jschlattimagines

I am currently writing a fanfic on Wattpad about our handsome boy Schlatt. I wanted to post on here to promote it and hopefully bring some of yall over!

Current chapter count- 29

Current word count - 47,000

@ mitchskiii on Wattpad

Angst / comfort / new beginnings / schlatt loves donuts / abuse mentions / starting over / schlatt finds himself / short story / baker to doctor / medical school / baking / youtuber schlatt / you are the oc /

𝓜𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓮 didn't leave her hometown to run away-she left to survive. Med school was her way out, her way forward, and her way to forget. But when her grandmother's bakery begins to fail and her mother reappears with her addiction, Madeline is pulled home before she's ready.

𝓢𝓬𝓱𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓽 has everything people admire but none of the passion he craves. Torn between loving and resenting his career, Madeline's return forces him to confront the life he chose and the one he might still want.

Started: January 10.2026

Completed: July 17.2026

@ mitchskiii on wattpad

Or

I have a new FF out on Wattpad

Description

𝓜𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓮 didn't leave her hometown to run away-she left to survive. Med school was her way out, her way forward, and her way to forget. But when her grandmother's bakery begins to fail and her mother reappears with her addiction, Madeline is pulled home before she's ready.

𝓢𝓬𝓱𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓽 has everything people admire but none of the certainty he craves. Torn between loving and resenting his career, Madeline's return forces him to confront the life he chose and the one he might still want.

Wattpad - Mitchskiii

Angst / comfort / new beginnings / schlatt loves donuts / mature themes / starting over / schlatt finds himself / short story

𝓜𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓮 ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The Uber ride was almost as agonizing and slow as the flight itself. Baylor University in Texas all the way to Long Island, New York. My head buzzed with a relentless series of thoughts, each one louder than the last. How could I help Momo while I was still in med school? Could I even help at all?

My thoughts zigzagged wildly—from this is good, you needed a break to oh my God, I'm going to fall behind. School hours, rotations, lectures—how was I supposed to keep up with the curriculum from across the country? The guilt sat heavy in my chest, pressing down with every mile marker we passed.

The driver finally slowed, tires crunching against the curb, before coming to a full stop.

I looked up.

The bakery sat on the corner like it always had, its brick exterior worn but familiar. The sign above the storefront, Sweets & Treats, glowed softly, one of the letters flickering like it was fighting exhaustion. The front windows were dark now, chairs stacked on tables, the smell of sugar and yeast still clinging stubbornly to the air even hours after closing.

Above it all, a single apartment window glowed warm and yellow.

Her home.

The building showed its age. Cracks webbed through the bricks, and the metal fire escape sagged slightly, groaning when the wind passed through it. A hand-painted Closed sign hung crookedly on the bakery door, swaying gently. I sighed before opening the car door.

As I hauled my suitcase from the trunk, my shoulders aching, I saw her.

Momo stood at the top of the narrow staircase that led to the apartment above the shop, porch light on, cardigan wrapped tightly around her like armor. She looked smaller than I remembered, but her eyes were just as sharp.

"Mimi," she greeted, using my childhood nickname. Her voice carried easily through the quiet street. "Come in, dear. It's cold."

I laughed softly, shaking my head as I dragged my suitcase toward her. "Momo, it's really not cold."

She waved me off, already turning to unlock the door. "You've been in Texas too long."

The stairwell smelled like cinnamon, burnt sugar, and old wood. Every step creaked under my weight, protesting the late hour. The warmth of the bakery below rose up through the floorboards, wrapping around me like a memory I didn't realize I missed so badly.

The apartment itself was dim, lit by a single lamp in the living area. The familiar scent of baked goods mixed with something more fragile dust, age, and the faint medicinal smell I tried not to acknowledge. My chest tightened.

Memories flooded in, uninvited.

The night the cops dragged my mom out through this very door. Momo standing between them and Vinnie (mom) like a shield. Helping my mother down from a high at the kitchen table, hands steady even when her heart must have been breaking.

I shook my head, forcing the images away.

"How's school going?" Momo asked as she led me down the short hallway. Her steps were slower now. Careful. "Sorry, it hasn't changed much since you left. But feel free to do whatever you want with the room."

The room I used to call mine sat at the end of the hall. Same narrow bed. Same slanted ceiling. Same window overlooking the darkened street below.

I smiled. "It's perfect. Thank you."

"I think I'm going to head to bed, okay?" I added quickly. "Long day. Long flight."

"Of course, dear." She squeezed my arm gently before closing the door behind her.

I set my suitcase on the twin bed and exhaled. Pulling out a pair of pajamas, then my stuffed monkey. Even at twenty-eight, I couldn't sleep without him. I placed him carefully on the pillow like he belonged there, then unpacked the rest—sheets, my own pillow, blanket.

I had definitely overpacked. But I knew Momo. I knew the state of the apartment, the way she put everyone else before herself.

As I smoothed the sheets over the mattress, guilt crept in, slow and heavy.

You let her live like this.

You always said after med school, then you'd help.

I swallowed hard, staring at the ceiling.

I guess I was wrong about how much time we really had.