Imagine- One-Shots of characters across the fandoms

April Fools Fem Reader- Carl Wheezer (Jimmy Neutron: Boy Genius)

WARNING: CRINGE RISK

Carl's Wheezer's Cheesy Love Story

Carl Wheezer, the bespectacled boy with a penchant for all things cheesy, had never been on a date before. But when he met Y/N, his heart did a somersault, and he knew he had to ask her out. Y/N was the new girl in Retroville, with a smile that could melt even the coldest of cheese.

They agreed to meet at the Candy Bar, a quaint little place known for its retro jukebox and neon lights. Carl arrived early, fidgeting with his pocket protector and adjusting his suspenders. He had rehearsed what he would say a hundred times: "Hi, Y/N. I'm Carl. Would you like to share some nachos with me?"

When Y/N walked in, Carl's heart skipped a beat. She wore a polka-dot dress that matched the candy-coloured walls of the bar. Her eyes sparkled like caramel swirls, and her laughter was as sweet as cotton candy. Carl stood up, knocking over his milkshake in the process.

"Hi, Carl," Y/N said, her voice like a soft cheddar. "I'd love some nachos."

They sat in a booth by the window, the jukebox playing old-school tunes in the background. Carl ordered a plate of nachos, and extra cheese, of course. Y/N sipped her strawberry milkshake and looked at him with curiosity.

"So, Carl," she said, "tell me something interesting about yourself."

Carl blushed. "Well, I collect cheese wrappers," he confessed. "And I've memorized every cheese-of-the-month from the last five years."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Cheese-of-the-month? That's unique."

Carl leaned in, his voice barely audible over the jukebox. "This month's cheese is gouda-feta," he said. "It's a blend of creamy gouda and tangy feta. The perfect balance of flavours, just like us."

Y/N laughed, and Carl's heart swelled. They talked about everything—favourite movies, science experiments gone wrong, and the mysteries of black holes. Y/N was smart, funny, and surprisingly knowledgeable about cheese.

As the evening wore on, Carl recited a poem he had written just for her:

In the land of curds and whey, Where cheddar dreams and brie hearts sway, There blooms a cheese so rare and fine, Gouda-feta, our love's sweet sign.

Its crumbly whispers, like moonlit nights, Its tangy kisses, like stolen delights, In the Candy Bar's neon glow, Our cheesy love begins to flow.

Y/N blushed, her cheeks the colour of aged parmesan. "Carl," she said, "that's the most beautiful cheese-related poem I've ever heard."

Carl leaned across the table, their fingers brushing. "Y/N," he whispered, "you're my gouda-feta. The missing piece in my cheese platter."

And then, under the flickering jukebox lights, they kissed—a kiss that tasted like melted mozzarella and felt like the sweetest fondue. The world outside disappeared, leaving only Carl and Y/N, two cheese enthusiasts lost in each other's arms.

As they pulled away, Y/N smiled. "Carl," she said, "you're my favourite kind of cheesy."

And that's how Carl Wheezer, the boy who loved cheese more than anything, found his perfect match at the Candy Bar in Retroville. From that day on, they shared not only nachos but also a love that was as warm and gooey as a grilled cheese sandwich.

And so, in the heart of Retroville, where science and romance collided, Carl and Y/N's cheesy love story began—a tale of gouda-feta, laughter, and a kiss that would forever taste like love.

The night air was crisp as Carl and Y/N stepped out of the Candy Bar. Their fingers brushed, and Carl's heart raced. He had never felt this way before—like a grilled cheese sandwich in a panini press, all gooey and warm.

"Thanks for the lovely evening," Y/N said, her cheeks still flushed from their kiss. "I had a great time."

Carl nodded, his mind racing. He had to keep the momentum going. "Y/N," he stammered, "would you like to come over to my place? I have something to show you."

Y/N's eyes sparkled. "Sure, Carl. Lead the way."

They walked through the quiet streets of Retroville, the moon peeking through the clouds like a wedge of Swiss cheese. Carl's house was a cosy little place, filled with the scent of old books and microwaved macaroni and cheese.

As they entered, Y/N's eyes widened. The room was a llama wonderland. Stuffed llamas of all shapes and sizes adorned the shelves, the bed, and even the ceiling fan. Carl had collected them over the years, each one with a name and a story.

"Meet Larry," Carl said, holding up a fluffy llama with button eyes. "He's the oldest. Got him when I was five."

Y/N giggled. "Larry looks-wise."

"And this is Tina," Carl continued, pointing to a llama wearing a tiny sombrero. "She's my fiesta llama. Loves salsa dancing."

Y/N sat on the bed, surrounded by llamas. "Carl," she said, "why llamas?"

Carl blushed. "They're like cheese," he explained. "Quirky, unexpected, and always surprising. Plus, their fur is soft, just like a good brie."

Y/N picked up a llama with rainbow-coloured yarn hair. "What's this one's name?"

"That's Sir Fluffington," Carl said proudly. "He's my knight in shining wool. Protects me from nightmares."

Y/N laughed, and Carl's heart swelled. He had never felt so comfortable with anyone. It was like sharing a secret stash of cheese crackers with a friend.

"Carl," Y/N said, her voice soft, "you're different. In a good way."

Carl sat next to her, their knees touching. "Is that a cheesy compliment?"

Y/N leaned in, her lips brushing against his. "Maybe," she whispered. "But I like cheesy."

And then, in the glow of a llama-shaped nightlight, they kissed—a kiss that tasted like cheddar and felt like home. Carl's heart soared. Y/N was his gouda-feta, his cheesy muse.

But there was one llama left—the special one. Carl reached under the bed and pulled out a llama with golden fur and twinkling eyes.

"This," he said, "is Llamoura. She's my favourite."

Y/N gasped. "Llamoura?"

Carl nodded. "She's the queen of all llamas. And I want you to have her."

He placed Llamoura in Y/N's hands. Her eyes filled with tears. "Carl," she said, "this is the sweetest gift."

And then, in a room filled with llamas, they kissed again—a kiss that tasted like love and felt like forever.

As Y/N held Llamoura, Carl whispered, "You're my gouda-feta, Y/N. My cheesy love story."

And Y/N smiled, her heart melting like a fondue pot. "And you're mine, Carl. My llama-loving, cheese-obsessed boy."

And so, in the warm glow of Carl's llama-filled room, their love story continued—a tale of nachos, poetry, and a kiss that would forever taste like gouda-feta and llama-shaped dreams.