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melo-yello · 3 years

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📚School Struggles📚 w/ 💥🪨KiriBaku💥🪨 HeadCanons

Pairings: KiriBaku X Black!Reader

Summary: College AU! Reader falls behind in course work, and won’t tell anybody. But Kirishima and Bakugou find out.

A/n: I’m an adult who went most of my life with undiagnosed learning disabilities so this would just be comforting to me. Lil angst! Lots of fluff. Implied ADHD and Dyslexia.

📕🖊 First tests are handed back in four of your eight classes.You’ve failed all but one which you barely passed. You are asked stay back as yet another professor suggests you find a tutor

📕🖊You’re lowkey offended. You’ve never needed a tutor before. Up until recently your performance in other areas compensated for your less than stellar academics. You were in gifted courses all your life. You would just hafta try harder

📕🖊 Kiri and Baku are saving a spot in line for you by the time you meet them at the cafe when you shove the thoughts of failure out of your brain and perk up to your usual self

📕🖊 Kiri’s face lights up as soon as he spots you. “Over here, Babe!” He beams flagging you down. Like it was hard to make out the giant red head in a crowd. Especially with the large lean, continuously pissed blonde scowling at everyone right by his side.

📕🖊 “Hey,Dumbass.” Baku smiles slightly and pulls a hand from his pocket to offer you a hug and a kiss on the temple

📕🖊 Kiri pulls you by your waist into his torso kissing your forehead “What took you so long?” He asks letting you free from the vice grip he had on your curvy hips

📕🖊 “I got a lil turned around again.” You lie pulling Bakugou’s free hand into yours then lean into his shoulder. There’s something very comforting about how warm he is all the time. You wanted to snuggle into his back but PDA really isn’t his thing and you are already pushing it

📕🖊 “It’s a big campus, Teddy, you just have to get used to it. You just transferred. Me and Eiji can take turns walking you from class to class until you get the hang of it, you know?” Baku says trying to read your eyes. He could just feel something is off. Your box braids and the angle itself saves you from any further scrutiny.

📕🖊“You guys, gotta be pretty sprung to do that for me, ya know.” You quip smirking up at him then over to Kiri. “Fuck you too, Teddy Bear.” Baku huffs smirking *maybe he was wrong, unlikely* “Yea basically, Pebs. Liking who you date is super manly.” Kirishima laughs grabbing his tray.

📕🖊 You three finally sit in a small wrap around booth. Bakugou taking the middle spot today. You do your best to not zone out and hyper fixate on your test scores by making sure to laugh at Kiri’s jokes and nod along with Baku’s venting

📕🖊 You slide your fork in and out of your picked over food as you strategize how to fix your current problem without alerting your boyfriends. Before you knew it your table is quiet with two crimson gazes fixed on you

📕🖊 “You’re quiet today, L/n.” Bakugou says fixing you with a deeply fierce gaze which was his way of looking concerned. Sharpness of your actual name drew you from your thoughts in a instant. “Hmmm I think Kats has a point, L/n Y/n.” Kirishima says in between slurps of his smoothie. His red eyes practically dripping with curious concern

📕🖊 You make a quick split decision between the truth and charm. “Wow, my government. I must be in real big trouble.” You pout trying to flirt your way out of a more serious conversation. You poke out your plush bottom at Kiri while slipping a hand onto Baku’s inner thigh and gently squeezing before hitting him with the same seductive pout

📕🖊 Big Mistake!😳 Bakugou’s vermillion eyes widen before becoming instantly stern as he grips your wrist tight enough to hurt. “The fuck are you doing?!! I was being serious, Y/n! And in public?!! You’re fucking priceless!” The ash blonde hisses with angry pink cheeks. Guilt washes over you when you snatch your wrist back. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to...talk about it.” You mumble. “Then use your fucking words!” 😤 Bakugou kisses his teeth and stands so Kiri lets him out. “He’s just a little embarrassed, Pebble. I needa talk him down. You can find your next class right?” He sighs watching Baku storm out

📕🖊 “Yea. I’m sorry. Tell him, Kiri. Please.” You squeak sheepishly grabbing your stuff. “He knows but I will. He’s mad about other stuff.” He nods following after Bakugou

📕🖊 It’s intimidating to compete with their history at times. You couldn’t bring yourself to just dump all your issues on them

📕🖊 You’ve only been dating since summer and Kiri and Baku have been dating since their senior year in high school year. You guys are starting your junior year and are still learning each other.

📕🖊 You get lost a couple times before finding the right building. The noise in your head going nearly at light speed to wrap all the problems you’re having. The professor passes the test you’d spent majority of last night and early morning studying for. You felt confident until it was in your hands.

📕🖊 You chew the pen top trying to finish up the last 7 short answer questions when then alarm for 5 minutes left is given. You panic not even having started the true false section on the last page. You scribble down answers just as time up is announced across the classroom

📕🖊 Defeat washes over while you shuffle out the door. You reach in your pocket to dig out the card for Student Accomidation Services your World Civ professor gave you. Maybe this was something simple as a “processing problem” as she had explained when you visited her during office hours

📕🖊 A throat clearing pulls you from your thoughts. You jump stuffing both hands into your jeans card and all. Bakugou stood unreadable propped up on a wall only a few steps away from you. “Eiji, thinks we need to talk about the cafe. Plus he doesn’t get out of lab til 3:45, so you’re kinda stuck with me.” Bakugou mumbles offering his palm as an olive branch.

📕🖊 “He’s probably right. I don’t mind just you, Tuff Guy. I really am sorry though, Katsuki.” You sigh interlocking your fingers with his. “I know, Teddy. I wasn’t really mad about that anyways.” Baku concedes as you two stroll down the hall. “I didn’t hurt your wrist earlier, did I?” Baku asks softly opening the door and meeting your eyes with gentle concern. “Nah, You didn’t, King Explosion Murder.” You laugh giving his hand a firm squeeze before kissing it

📕🖊 The walk to your dorm is quiet and peaceful. He lets you settle your school bag before speaking again “I just feel like you’re still trying to hide parts of yourself from us, especially me,” He says looking into your eyes now, “Like you’ve been pulling back. Eijirou thinks I’m looking too deep, but I doubt it. I know I can be a little rough and mean sometimes...well a lot of the times. I’m not easy to get along with. But you know you can talk to us when you’re upset or if something bothering you... if I’m bothering you. I don’t like you feeling like you have to pretend to be ok if you’re not.” Baku finishes crossing his arms tightly across your chest.

📕🖊 You dig your nails into your palms mercilessly. You open your mouth to reply and reassure him but the words won’t come. Baku notices what you’re doing to your hands and steps closer to take them into his. He rubs slow circles into the backs of them. Hot tears pool at the corners of your eyes as you try to find your voice. “Kats, I’m...I didn’t me...I...Of course you’re not what’s bothering me.” you croak out just as tears roll down your face and Baku pulls you to his chest.

📕🖊 Your breathing hitches and you just let yourself be disappointed, confused, frustrated, and upset about the last month and a half of struggling and wondering why you couldn’t tell anybody and why no one was even noticing. But He did. Baku had noticed. He rocks gently as you tremble in his arms rubbing firm circles in your lower back.

📕🖊 You two stay like that for what seems forever. Once your breathing evens out Baku’s hold relaxes. He kisses both your temples.You reluctantly let go , so you can pull wrinkled failing test pages from your backpack. “Please don’t laugh at me, Suki.” You peep placing the cause of your meltdown in his hands not attempting to have your puffy eyes met his red ones. Lifting your chin so you’re looking him in the eyes. “Come on, Teddy Bear. I wouldn’t dare.” He nods with the most serious face

📕🖊 Bakugou is quiet for a while as he leafs through the exam papers. “Why didn’t finish any of them?” He asks “Time. I’m a slow reader.” You mutter back. “I’ve seen you doing homework for two of these courses and passing those, what’s happening?” Baku says staring in disbelief at the scores at the top of each exam.

📕🖊 You swallow the lingering fear of judgement. You place a hand at your temple to remind yourself of Baku’s earlier tenderness. “I get anxious. It gets so much harder to read when I’m that worked up, and I can barely focus once I start forgetting answers...I know it’s just a test. I guess...That sounds dumb, doesn’t it?” You sigh shrug off your own explanation.

📕🖊 “Nope. Not dumb at all. Sounds like test anxiety to me. I struggled with that in high school . I didn’t know you were a slow reader, Teddy.” Baku says pulling your hand before you can dig your nails into it. “Yea. One of my professors thinks I have dyslexia and ADHD...but I’m not stupid sooo.” You hum rocking on your heels “That is not what either of those words mean, and I know you know that, L/n.” Bakugou growls he absolutely hates when you or Kirishima talk down on yourselves. “Yea but it feels like it though.” You sigh biting your lips

📕🖊 Before Baku can say a word, Kiri swings the door open. “Babes! Have you two hotties missed me?” The red head shouts coming through the door way smiling until he sees your puffy eyes and tense posture. “Bakugou Katsuki, I know you fucking didn’t?!!” Kiri questions suspiciously leaning down to rest his chin on your shoulder and wrapping a protective hold around your waist.

📕🖊 “The Absolute fuc-” Baku’s defensive rant is cut short as you kiss the hand holding yours to quiet him as you answer Kiri “No Eiji, he didn’t. I’m flunking like half my classes.” You huff meeting his eyes with quivering lips trying your best not to cry all over again

📕🖊 Kiri is stunted into complete silence. The only thing he can think to say is an apology to his boyfriend for jumping to conclusions. Last time he checked your GPA’s a lot more impressive that his. “How the fuck is that even possible? You transferred into the honor courses.” Kiri says completely baffled moving to where he could see your face.

📕🖊 You explain to your boyfriends all the things that have been tripping you up and confusing you. You detail how hard studying has been as far as staying focused and actually understanding lengthy test questions

📕🖊 Kiri has a million questions at first but stops half way through after Baku grabs your overnight bag and leads you out the door. “You’re gonna freak her out all over again, Shitty Hair, if you keep going at her like that.” He could tell you were getting overwhelmed, and might cry again “My bad, Pebs.” Kiri says kissing your cheek as he follows behind

📕🖊 Once you get back to their apartment and Baku askes for your help making dinner. He has you read the directions and ingredients to him. You stumble through most of it, but that doesn’t stop him from praising you as soon as you finish. He has since learned you and Kiri do best when told how well you’re doing vs his typical shouting method

📕🖊 The three of you set an assessment time with the Student Disability Services on campus that doesn’t conflict with the Boys’ schedules, because they insisted that they’d both be there to support their baby and wouldn’t take your bullshit excuses for an actual reason to miss it

📕🖊 Kiri helps you make flash cards for your next test. If he remembers nothing else from Baku’s tutoring sessions the importance of repetition is drilled into him...among other things. Each time you ask him how that went he’ll just shudder. “It was the most intensely terrifying experience of my high school career, and we fought villains pretty regularly.” Kiri deadpans before grinning like the Cheshire Cat and covering his head. “You’re full of fucking shit, Shark Week! I’m the best tutor you assholes could hope for.” Baku yells pushing Kiri’s face into his pages of notes.

📕🖊 The night before your disability assessment you find yourself tossing and turning at like 4:45 in the morning. Kiri repositions pinning you in place so you face Baku’s back. You trace soft shapes into him just before he flips meeting your eyes. “Lil early isn’t it, Babygirl?” He whispers brushing away a few stray box braids covering your face. You don’t bother answering and instead offer him your palm and he takes it without hesitation interlocking your fingers with his. “Nervous?” He hums when he feels the steady trembling of your hand.

📕🖊 “Katsuki, what if there’s nothing wrong with me? What if it’s just me? What if I’m just...” you trail off not sure if you want him to hear how much this subject shakes your confidence. Bakugou moves close enough for your foreheads to touch. “If you’re just not smart? Not even possible. Whatever it is me and Kiri will help you go beyond. I know this is scary, but every first usually is.” Bakugou smiles softly

📕🖊 “Bbbbbuuut maybe I’m just du-” You attempt to argue until a sharp nip on the side of your neck where Kiri was peacefully nuzzled quiets you. “Nope. Not a chance. Pebble, don’t talk shit about my girlfriend again.” He mumbles in a gravelly half sleep voice. He settles again and snakes an arm around hips as he tugs Baku into you with the other. You open mouth your more to defend yourself but KatSuki just bops your nose as he closes his eyes, “You heard, the sexy ass red mountain. You’re fucking smart. Go back to sleep, Kay?”

📕🖊 “Kay.” You sigh digging your face into the crook of Baku’s neck. You lay there out argued but feeling overwhelming loved, so you chose to let them win the debate. The boys hardly agree on most things so they were totally probably right about this one anyways.

📕🖊 You are on a very very short list of people who Bakugou Katsuki repeats himself for. Like boy lets you “huh?” the fuck out of him. He will often cup your face or hold your hands if he needs tell you something important b/c he understands you’re a tactical learner

📕🖊 Best believe that all your future successes in classes big and small will be celebrated you getting taken out for icecream and if it’s a graded paper they’ll put on the fridge like you’re in grade school. You find it a little embarrassing but it really makes you feel like you’re making progress

📕🖊 Kiri brings your favorite snacks for study sessions so he can reward you for right answers and staying on task. You call it “childish” at first until he shrugs “Oh my bad we can try something els-” about to put them away. “Noooooo no those are my favorites.” You nearly jump over the table. Kiri has a shit eating grin the rest of the study session

📕🖊 When giving directions from the passenger seat both Kiri and Baku typically do a good job of remembering you need them to point left and right

📕🖊 If you’ve had long day in tutoring and homework and you guys are watching anime Bakugou will read the subs to you. Sometimes if he’s in a particularly good mood he might even imitate a voice or two

📕🖊 Kiri would politely let you ramble about one of your niche interests and will help you get back to your point when you get lost in a tangent

📕🖊 Don’t let these two hear you call yourself “dumb” or “stupid” Kiri will just act like he can’t comprehend what you’re saying like deadass “Pebs, speak English please. Nope not catching that, Babygirl. Did you say you were a smarticle particle? An intelligent ass motherfucker?! Oh, of course you are!” While Baku is more like “Sorry what was that? I thought I heard a very accomplished and creative thinking ass bitch say something? A incredibly capable ass bitch say something?A smart ass bitch say something?” Your only response is yes and then you get a forehead kiss

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minor-solemnity · 3 years

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Invention and Intrigue pt.4

Tag List: @jinxqsu @naps-and-lemons @riddles-wifey @mainlynonsense @cakesarecute

You look at him and see raw, unfiltered ambition, power and intellect combining to create a formidable young man who won’t be satisfied until the world is remade in his vision. You also see the way he looks at you, as though you are something precious and fierce and delicate and dangerous in your own right. He isn’t afraid of violence, you think he might enjoy it, but when he touches you, he’s gentle and careful. Protective and maybe a touch possessive.

You still spend a lot of your evenings with Tom. The only difference being that he touches you more often seems to reach for you without conscious thought or effort. You’ll be sit side by side and his fingers will tap rhythmically on your upturned palm. He’ll kiss your cheek after he’s walked you back to your common room and when he leaves, he’ll pause before letting your hand drop from his, as though he has to consciously remind himself to let you go. For someone who so rarely displays joy in physical proximity in public, he is surprisingly demanding behind closed doors. You’re charmed.

In public, you both keep your distance. You smile at him politely in the halls and he nods in acknowledgement in return. You like it this way. It makes the moments when his guards drop that much more satisfying, and honestly, you’re not sure you’d be able to stand Melanie’s excited gushing if she were to find out that you were dating.

There’s also the matter of his Slytherin cohort.

If you were a more idealistic person, you would probably be annoyed by the fact that he keeps his distance. You would probably question what you are to him. If he viewed you as something fun to pass the time with, but not good enough to be seen in public with. You’re not an idiot, no matter how much you might act like it sometimes; you know that your blood plays a large role in why he is so keen to keep your budding relationship a secret.

But you aren’t a more idealistic person and therefore you understand perfectly that his friends (though really, you’re not sure if you can call the boys he spends time with his friends) would likely abandon him if they knew about you. You’re honestly not sure how Tom even managed to build such a loyal following in the first place. You’ve not spoken about it, but you’re aware that Riddle isn’t a pureblood surname.

And so you spend two glorious months sheltering your relationship from the world, wrapped safely in your shared love of magic and the possibilities it holds and, more often than not, the green blanket that Tom had gifted you.

It’s on one of these nights in early summer, when the sun has only just started to set, and you’re making the most of the warmer weather that it all goes horribly wrong.

Tom leaves you in the entrance hall because he is Head Boy and apparently that means he has responsibilities that don’t include walking you back to your common room. You’re halfway up the steps to the first floor when the stunning jinx hits you. Distantly you hear footsteps and then there is a shadow looming over you and a familiar loud cackle ringing in your ears before everything fades to darkness.

You come to in a classroom you vaguely recognise as the one that Tom had taken you to when you’d kissed for the first time. You spare a moment to appreciate with grim irony that you weren’t wrong in your prediction that going into the dungeons would lead to (a probably very painful) death. Lestrange stands in front of you and your heart starts hammering when you see he’s holding your wand loosely in one hand whilst his own is pointed directly at your chest. You glance at the door behind him, wondering briefly if you try and make a run for it, but Lestrange is bigger, stronger and faster than you and without your wand, you are more or less helpless against him. “People like you contaminate everything,” He spits. You know exactly what he’s talking about. He must have seen you with Tom, must have realised what you were to him. By the looks of it, he isn’t best pleased. In fact, his aristocratic features practically distort themselves under the weight of his disgust.

Lestrange raises his wand and you are preparing yourself to welcome death with open arms when the door slams open. Tom is a rigid pillar of anger. There’s absolutely nothing behind his eyes and whilst he isn’t the most expressive person under normal circumstances, it’s nothing compared to the blank, cold rage that you see in him now. In front of you, Lestrange stills, something flashes in his eyes that you think might be fear before it fades. “Stay out of this, Riddle, if you know what’s good for you,” He says, and he’s angry, yes, disdainful and haughty, but you don’t miss the slight hesitation in his voice.

Tom doesn’t either because the mirror that is his expression cracks and a slow, cruel smile twists his upper lip. He looks terrifying and you’ve never been more grateful to see him. “Put your wand down,” He says, and it’s soft, cajoling, completely at odds with the predatory gleam in his eyes. “Put your wand down and look at me.”

And the thing is, Lestrange does. If you were unconvinced of the sway that Tom holds over his peers before, you aren’t any longer. You think that they would walk through fiendfyre if he ordered them to. Tom doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move a muscle. He isn’t even holding his wand and a thought begins to form in your mind that he might just tell Lestrange to leave. You hope he doesn’t. You don’t care if it’s cruel of you, but you want him to suffer.

Lestrange makes a strange choking noise, and it takes you a moment to realise that he’s trying to suppress a sob. For a moment, you wonder how Tom is managing it without his wand but then you remember the book he’d been reading months ago and your wonder morphs into shock and then awe. Legilimency.

With his back turned to you, you can’t see what’s playing across his features, but his hands are shaking and your wand clatters to the ground. Seeing the opportunity for what it is, you dart forward and scoop it up, immediately feeling safer and less afraid. Tom motions for you to join him, and for the first time since he appeared something resembling human emotion flashes across his face. As soon you’re close, he wraps an arm around you and presses his mouth against the top of your head in a vague approximation of a kiss. From where you’re now standing, you can see Lestrange’s expression all too clearly. His features are no longer distorted in disgust but rather in anguish. Eyes wide and unseeing, he shakes in front of you, any sense of superiority reduced to ash.

“Leave.” A single word. An order, a command and Lestrange is scrambling out of the room. It’s only when you can no longer hear his footsteps that your breath hitches and you begin to shake. You’re not sure how long you stand there, face buried in the folds of Tom’s robes, his hands rubbing gentle, comforting circles against your back, but finally, you begin to calm down enough to disentangle yourself from him. He leads you back out of the dungeons and towards safety.

When you get to the entrance hall, Tom turns and offers you his hand. “Walk with me.” His eyes are still hard, as though he still hasn’t shaken the cold contempt he’d exhibited earlier.

He must see the trepidation play out across your face because his expression softens marginally, dark eyes searching yours almost imploringly. Slowly, tentatively, you reach out and curl your much smaller hand in his. The dry warmth of his skin seeps through you, calming you in a way that you’re not sure is entirely advisable.

Six months ago, you had thought of Tom Riddle as an enigmatic, child prodigy. The finest wizard to step through the gates at Hogwarts since Albus Dumbledore himself. A portrait of politeness and charm. Now you look at him and see raw, unfiltered ambition, power and intellect combining to create a formidable young man who won’t be satisfied until the world is remade in his vision. You also see the way he looks at you, as though you are something precious and fierce and delicate and dangerous in your own right. He isn’t afraid of violence, you think he might enjoy it, but when he touches you, he’s gentle and careful. Protective and maybe a touch possessive.

It’s an intimidating thought, to say the least. To feel safe and assured in his presence is probably akin to self-destruction, but here you are: walking, hand in hand, through the rose garden.

“You know, I thought I had a good idea of what my future would look like,” He murmurs, running his thumb across the back of your hand. You hum noncommittally because your suspicion that his interest in the darker aspects of magic isn’t entirely academic is now confirmed. He has plans for his future, and now, you suppose, he has plans for yours too. “I think that the future might look very different from now on.”

“How so?”

“I’ve decided to take Slughorn’s advice and go into politics.” The words themselves don’t surprise you. Tom’s ambition, his intelligence, his ruthlessness all spell the beginnings of a lucrative career in politics. What surprises you is the fact that this wasn’t his original plan. But then you think about how you even came to know him and what drew you to each other in the first place and you begin to understand that Tom’s plans likely never constituted anything you could call legal. “When I first came to Hogwarts, I knew immediately that if I wanted to get anywhere in this world, I would have to ingratiate myself with the old families. They’re the ones who hold the real political power in this society. They’re the ones who have the final say on what legislature passes and what fails before it even reaches the Wizengamot. I’ve worked hard to… cultivate a loyal following, purebloods who will carry out my will without complaint.”

That still leaves you though. You’re not so modest that you’re unaware that you are, at least, a factor in Tom’s change of heart but that still doesn’t erase the unspoken issue that Lestrange’s actions had dragged into the light. “They might complain if you were to be seen with me, Tom. They will complain.” You sigh and regret for a future that has not yet come pass fills you. You can see it now, Tom, as Minister for Magic (because you cannot imagine that he would settle for less) with a beautiful pureblood wife to give him credibility in the eyes of a traditionalist society. “As you said, they’re the ones with the real power.”

“You misunderstand me.” He says and he leads you to a bench where you both sit. He turns his body towards you, sitting so close that your knees knock against his. He doesn’t let go of your hand, instead, he interlaces your fingers, holds it against his chest. You don’t want to hope that maybe this isn’t the end like it surely must be, but you find yourself hoping nonetheless. “They’re weak,” He says plainly. “They’re weak and they’re frightened. Lestrange attacked you from behind and stole your wand because he is afraid of you. I would burn their entire world to the ground for you.” He pauses and then smiles, slightly sinister, slightly cruel, entirely lovely. “As it stands, I merely intend to irrevocably change it. They will follow if they know what’s good for them.”

Melanie says that you’re dramatic, but you don’t think you hold a candle to Tom. Conviction and sincerity blaze across his face and you can’t look away. You pull the hand which is still wrapped tightly around yours to you and kiss his knuckles. “I'll be with you every step of the way.”

END

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

A/N: Tom becomes minister for magic - his political enemies always seem to mysteriously disappear or otherwise change their minds. Reader makes sure that no one can prove anything tho. The Statute of Secrecy is dismantled and integration is in baybee.

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle imagines #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle fic #minific #harry potter #harry potter fanfic

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early2000smovieimagines · 3 years

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Meeting and Dating Fred Weasley

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- It’s sort of hard to ignore the Weasley twins, isn’t it? Tall redheads who play on the Quidditch team and are always bringing attention to themselves in one way or another? Little hard to miss.

- Speaking of being on the Quidditch team, that’s how the two of you first meet which, depending on what house you’re in, means that you either met during tryouts for the Gryffindor team or after/during a game against Gryffindor.

- The competitive and teasing Weasleys are going to mess with you either way but how they; mainly Fred, tease you somewhat depends on which house you’re in.

- The teasing which occurs regardless of what team you’re on includes: them playfully telling you not to screw something up, Fred smiling and insisting that you’re doing something wrong, him giving you compliments he jokingly pretends to not want to admit, etc.

- If you’re on the Gryffindor team then he’ll have more of an excuse to be around you and be more touchy, ruffling your hair, picking you up in a hug when you guys win a game, softly pushing/bumping shoulders with you, etc. Him and George are the bane of your existence and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

- It’s after one of your games that he finally asks you out. If you’re on the other team then you’d probably have to lose for him to do so, so sorry about that.

- He comes up to you and cheekily says “good game y/l/n” before asking “think you’d want to celebrate with me at Hogsmeade this weekend?”. This means that you either happily agree or teasingly ask what you’re celebrating, reminding him that your team lost.

“Why, you’re celebrating another great fight against the ultimate victor, of course!” He answers in an exaggerated voice, tossing his hair back while sticking his noise in the air.

“Alright, alright, sure. I’ll go with you to Hogsmeade.” You laugh in reply as the two of you walk towards the school.

- So yes, your first date takes place in the little village near the school. He keeps his arm around you as you walk in the snow together and talk. He also probably drags you to the joke shop which, knowing him, you probably should have anticipated said visit. He’s just as cheeky as always but hey, that’s what you like about him, right?

- The two of you share your first kiss about a week later, right before you go to get ready for another game; or at least before he does. He’d playfully asked for a little good luck kiss and you’d pressed one to his cheek. He hummed, saying that he “might need a little more than that”, giving you a grin as he pulls you in by your collar and presses a kiss to your lips.

“That’s better.” he’d said before sending you a wink and running off to get ready, leaving you standing there flustered yet happy.

- And just like that, the sneaky, secondhand robe wearing redhead had officially stolen your heart.

- Tons of pda. He’s a touchy boy and he loves loving on you; he can never get enough of it.

- Fred’s used to sharing affection and attention with a bunch of other people so he’s always eager to have yours. Surprise him with a hug or a kiss on the cheek and he’s a happy boy.

- His hand is constantly on your thigh. Sometimes it’s purposefully placed there, other times he’ll just rest it there without thinking after he pats you on the leg.

- Hugs from behind. He loves to whisper things in your ear or duck his head down to brush his lips against your neck, making you giggle and squirm as he holds on tight.

- Temple kisses.

- Teasing words leading into kisses. He likes making playful comments, his face moving closer to yours before he finally connects your lips.

- Sweet, soft kisses. He’ll just keep going in for another as you’re half distracted, doing so until you finally giggle and softly push him away.

- Him stealing kisses from you before you can do anything, either on your lips or somewhere else. He likes quickly giving you a peck before running off with George to do something.

- Lots of snogging.

- He can cuddle you in just about any position and be happy but he has a particular fondness for when you lay in the crook of his arm with his head resting against yours.

- He always pulls you to sit down next to him whenever you’re in the great hall together; or wherever else you can be together.

- Him lounging between your legs; especially when you’re with your friends. He likes resting the back of his head on your stomach/chest and feeling you wrapped around him.

- Soft looks. He acts like this cheeky menace all the time but he’s really a softy when he’s with you. George gives him smug and amused looks when he catches him looking at you like you’re the moon.

- He likes calling you things like pretty girl, lovely, and sweetheart.

- Flirting and pick up lines. Usually you flirt with someone when you want to date them but not Fred. No, Fred started really flirting with you after you became a couple.

- Teasing; in every sense of the word. Poor girl, you’re never left alone.

- He thinks spooking you is highly amusing. He likes seeing you jump or jolt at his sudden appearance, loving the way you slap his arm and whine at him.

- Pranks, both getting them played on you and helping him play them on others.

- Getting roped into things. He’s the ringleader of most of the twins shenanigan's so its only natural.

- Mini competitions and bets. He’s a competitive boy and he likes that determined look on your face; and bragging to you or watching you brag when one of you wins.

- Passing notes in class.

- Sneaking around the school together using the marauders map and his sheer knowledge of the school.

- Getting to keep his old sweaters when he outgrows them. They’re the only piece of clothing that he can really give you, considering everything else can go to his siblings.

- Sometimes, you’ll get him a little gift and he won’t be able to stop smiling for the rest of the day. He cherishes it; especially when you aren’t there to see. Occasionally, he’ll just hold it in his hands and smile when he’s alone in his room.

- Snowball fights and snowman building.

- Being dragged into Zonko’s shop whenever you go to Hogsmeade.

- Study dates. He usually gets very distracted by you and just tries to persuade you to go do something more entertaining. He’s never been a big fan of academics, not unless he’s trying to mess with you and teasingly not pay you attention when you want it.

- He probably likes writing stupid stuff on you or your things, stuff like “Fred’s property” or “Gryffindor rules”, etc.

- Celebrating with him after he wins Quidditch games and being invited to join his family whenever they go to professional ones.

- Compliments and flattery. “How is my beautiful girlfriend”, “have I told you how amazing you are today”, most of the Weasleys know how to get what they want through flattery and he’s no exception. He also just likes making you flustered.

- He believes in you more than anyone else. He knows exactly how impressive you are and what you can do.

- Visiting the burrow whenever you can.

- Molly loves you; especially if you try to keep Fred out of trouble. You’re like another daughter to her once she sees that you’re a good match and a good influence on her lovely little man.

- George third wheeling a lot or having double dates with you; when he does manage to get a girlfriend. Although, it’s not really third wheeling when it’s Georgie, is it? He’s just a part of you.

- Getting to hear all about their new products and how they work, occasionally helping them come up with things or explaining why they wont work/testing them out. He gets sort of shy when you earnestly call him brilliant.

- Visiting him at the shop and possibly working there if that’s what you want to do.

- Him trying to impress you with his tricks and fishing for your praise. Once again: a bit deprived of attention; though that’s not Molly’s fault.

- He can certainly be a bit of a jerk but he’s always there to comfort you and make you feel better. It’s what older brothers do best.

- Jealous boy. He’ll always clench his jaw when he sees you smiling or laughing with someone else. He’ll come over and kiss your head, interrupting the two of you and asking “what’s going on over here?” when he thinks they’re getting a little too comfy. He’ll definitely prank the hell out of someone if he learns they made a move on you.

- Protective. He’s an older brother to a younger sister, it’s in his blood to watch over little ladies that he cares about; even if he gives you hell from time to time.

- The two of you don’t really “fight” but you do bicker quite a bit, though that’s usually resolved fairly easily since you’ll pretty much just move on and forget about it. If you do fight fight then he’ll usually try to play it off and insist that the issue isn’t a big deal which doesn’t help his case.

- If he was in the wrong then he’d give you an “okay, okay, I’m sorry” but it’s usually a bit too late at that point. He’ll give you a little space before he comes around and gives you a proper apologize, acting too cute for you to stay mad at him.

- If you’re in the wrong then he’ll be serious for once, arguing with you until it’s settled and you apologize/agree to never do it again. Only then will he let out a breath and an “okay” and wait a minute before pulling you into a hug.

- Lots of I love you’s, usually sung out playfully. He loves hearing you say it to him too; even if he only shows it by failing to stop himself from smiling.

- The two of you have a long and happy life together. He knows that you’re the one for him and is eager to start a little army of hellraisers with you.

#hp imagines #hp imagine #hp headcanons #hp headcanon #Fred Weasley imagine #Fred Weasley imagines #Fred Weasley headcanons #Fred Weasley headcanon #harry potter imagines #harry potter headcanons

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wheresmynaya · 3 years

Text

Hate to Date Ch.9 | Brittana

A/N - Lots to process, hey? I’ve been seeing in the reviews all the guesses of who will develop feelings first (& the few that are convinced they’ve already figured it out lol). It’s always interesting to see what y’all are thinking! Anyways, thanks for “tuning in” each Friday & thanks to those who have gifted me a coffee through ko-fi too. While I’m still in Lockdown 6.0, it’s really the little things that make a big difference. Until next time! 💙

Available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) & under the cut!

“Okay,” Santana huffs as she turns to the blonde. “I know Artie’s your friend and you’ve got history and all but fuck that guy. Seriously, what the hell was that?”

Brittany nods along sadly, “I figured you’d say that once you met him.”

“God,” Santana shakes her head still coming down from wanting to cause bodily harm to him. “He really is a tool. Like the balls on him, complimenting you in front of your girlfriend. What a dick!”

“Yeah,” Brittany scratches at the back of her neck. “I told you he’s changed a lot.”

“You mean he used to be less of a dick at some point?”

“Surprisingly, yeah,” Brittany replies. “He won Most Brilliant Brainiac last year and now he thinks he’s God’s gift.”

Santana scoffs, “A gift that needs to be returned.”

“Stop,” Brittany scolds lightly. “He’s still my friend.”

“Well you sure know how to pick them.”

Brittany frowns and Santana instantly regrets uttering the words. Sometimes her mouth runs faster than her head can filter and by then it’s too late. Usually she wouldn’t feel bad about speaking so honestly but there’s something about the way Brittany pokes out her bottom lip like that that makes Santana falter.

“Sorry,” Santana says guiltily.

Brittany looks to Santana and nods, “I know he’s not the easiest person to get along with now, but he does have his moments.”

“Does he? I mean, what is the appeal?” Santana questions genuinely. “Because the personality is not a winner. I don’t even see him with a hot piece like me for arm candy.”

Brittany chuckles, “Yeah. I’m surprised about that too. I thought he would’ve brought two dates just to show off.”

Santana scrunches her nose in disgust, “It would take more than two dates to change my mind about him. Why does your team keep him around?”

“They love him. He’s so knowledgeable about so many things. He’s perfect for academic decathlons,” Brittany shrugs. “But I’m not sure how long it’ll last. He’s a great mentor but he’s gotten so critical of everyone, even me.”

“Especially you,” Santana corrects. She starts to feel heated all over again, “I can’t believe the way he spoke to you. Who the fuck does he think he is? Like sure, I can find you a little hard to swallow sometimes and it’s annoying how you’re just naturally great at so many things but I’d never say the things he did.”

“Honestly, I’ve heard worse things,” Brittany reasons. It sounds as though she’s trying to be lighthearted but the look on her face is anything but and that breaks Santana’s heart a little. “Artie’s criticism is nothing compared to what people used to say about me growing up.”

Santana frowns, “That doesn’t make it okay though. You know that, right?”

“It’s fine. I’ve got tough skin.”

“That’s not the point,” Santana sighs. “You shouldn’t have to take that kind of crap from anyone.”

“Sometimes you have to,” Brittany replies. “Sometimes you just have to take it and do the hard work in silence. Let the success speak for itself. Getting caught up in what everyone thinks is exactly how I lost my way before, so I’m not going to do it again.”

Santana shakes her head. She gets it – she really does – but it doesn’t make it any less okay.

These little glimpses of Brittany’s childhood really make Santana feel for her. She was fortunate enough to have parents and teachers who encouraged her studies – sometimes in an overbearing ways – but at least she had the support.

For Brittany, it seems like all odds were against her and for some twerp like Artie thinking he gets to be another one of those little voices making Brittany doubt herself really grinds Santana’s gears. He’s the worst kind of manipulative.

“It’s fine, really,” Brittany adds upon Santana’s silence. “I can take it when it’s coming from a friend.”

“Friend?” Santana laughs dismissively, “We’re not even friends and I’d never put you down like that.”

Brittany looks at her curiously and it makes Santana feel suddenly self conscious. Maybe her honesty has gotten her trouble yet again?

“Really?” Brittany asks.

Santana doesn’t hesitate, “Well yeah.”

Brittany’s shoulders ease a little and Santana takes that as a sign to continue.

“I was seriously this close to slapping him upside the head,” She says. “I may be many things and people may have occasionally called me a bitch from time to time, but even I wouldn’t stoop to the level he’s on. I wouldn’t put down my friend.”

Brittany’s brows rise, almost out of disbelief.

Santana wants to ask what that look is, but she’s a little nervous about the answer so instead she averts her attention to the dancefloor. She keeps her eyes roaming the crowd, avoiding meeting Brittany’s gaze.

“He’s just a little blunt,” Brittany attempts to reason again.

Santana shakes her head, “Whatever it is, you’re better off without him.”

Brittany sighs, “I just, I still care about him. I know I shouldn’t, but I don’t know. Have you ever felt that before? Wanting to hold out hope for someone to change?”

Santana’s anger dissipates for a second. Those words resonate with her and drudge up an unwanted memory. Has she ever felt the way Brittany does? The blonde has no idea…

Upon her silence, Brittany continues.

“You probably think I’m crazy but,” Brittany lets out a tired sigh. “Maybe I am. I just wish there was a way to bring back the real him – the one that took the time to show me around when I was new here. You know, the one who cared.”

Santana softens, because she knows the feeling all too well and it sucks big time.

“Don’t we all,” She mumbles.

Brittany looks to her, brows raised. Santana finds herself meeting Brittany’s gaze again and it’s like with one look at her the truth is impossible to hold back.

“How long do we have to suffer before we realize they’re not coming back though?” Santana asks. “What if that’s who they are now? This uncaring, unloving, unfazed ghost of a person we can’t even recognize anymore. That’s all we get and we’ve just got to deal with it and…and move on.”

Brittany looks at her curiously.

Santana averts her gaze to the crowd again, “Once again we have way too much in common for my liking.”

“What do you mean?”

Santana sighs, “I mean, you should just cut your losses now before it’s too late.”

Brittany smirks but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, “Clearly you’ve never been in love before. It’s a bit harder than that. Not that this is love, I don’t know what this is.”

“It’s not love, that’s for sure.”

“Like you’d know,” Brittany jokes lightly.

Santana has the urge to laugh.

She’s almost forgotten that Brittany still doesn’t know that much about her past, because if she did she’d would know that Santana, of all people, knows what it’s like to be in love with someone you wish you weren’t.

“Well, I know it’s better to be told straight up about how you feel rather than to always wonder what went wrong or what could’ve been,” Santana finds herself saying. “But sometimes we don’t get that luxury. Maybe it’s just better to let it go and move on.”

“Or maybe he’ll finally snap out of it and see what he’s been missing now that I’m in this fake relationship with you.”

Santana’s surprised by Brittany’s honesty. The blonde looks surprised that it escaped her, but the two just stand there staring – trying to grasp the gravity of what they’ve both revealed.

Brittany’s using Santana to win over Artie; it’s almost laughable and yet, Santana can do nothing but stare in disbelief. She gets it though; she’s desirable, completely out of someone like Artie’s reach. Dating her would be enough to rattle anyone with eyes so it makes sense.

She knew Brittany was cunning, but it still surprises her. At least Santana’s reasoning for doing all of this has to do with her future, but Brittany? What’s Artie have to do with hers?

Santana scrunches her nose as her head starts filling in the blanks to that question. She pictures Artie in her place beside Brittany; them holding hands as they make their way to class, them making dumb googly eyes at each other at the library, them being this unstoppable power couple because of their success in academic decathlons.

It’s gross.

But who is she to pass judgement? She’s doing all of this because she couldn’t hold down a relationship to save her life, she’s in no position to judge Brittany’s.

And it’s not like this is the first time she’s been used like this before. Some of the girls she has been with only need her for a night, a way to get back at an ex or to make someone jealous. If anything, she’s become kind of an expert when it comes to being the middle-woman.

What’s the difference knowing Brittany’s doing the same? She supposes there isn’t one.

“Well, I guess I’ve found the real reason why you agreed to do this,” Santana says to fill the silence. As the words leave her, there’s an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Brittany looks away and replies, “I guess so.”

There’s a long pause where the two of them look anywhere but at each other. Santana’s gears are moving a mile a minute just trying to figure out the why of it all while Brittany’s – Brittany’s a mystery.

Santana glances back at her curiously, watching her profile and suddenly wanting to know more. How could someone be so blindly hopeful? Who knows if she’ll ever get that answer, but until then she still has to fulfill her obligation to Brittany tonight.

“Well, if this is what you really want to do then,” Santana pauses – trying to shake off the surprise and get back into the zone. Tonight’s about Brittany and being her perfect fake girlfriend and what Brittany wants, Brittany gets. “Then we’ve got to do this the right way. Really show him what he’s missing.”

Brittany quirks a brow, “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Guys like him always want what they can’t have,” Santana says simply. “It’ll be so easy.”

“And what do you suggest?”

Santana smirks, “Just follow my lead.”

Santana’s lead ends up involving lots of flirting. Her goal was to help Brittany make Artie jealous, but she secretly kind of likes the uncomfortable look he gets anytime he happens to glance their way. He’s not so cocky and arrogant now!

It only gets worse when Brittany offers Santana a dance.

They find Mike and Tina again on the dancefloor and the couple waves to Santana and Brittany happily before getting lost in the music again. Santana and Brittany do the same, but it takes them a second before they find their synchronicity.

Afterall, this is their first time dancing together – things are bound to get a little awkward.

Thankfully, it’s all upbeat stuff – songs that are easy to groove to and they find their rhythm a couple songs in. The couple keeps it tame for the most part, almost forgetting what all of this is for, until they notice Artie watching again from a distance.

Brittany notices him first and starts dipping her hands lower and lower down Santana’s back, letting them settle low around her waist. It has Santana’s heart rate spiking until she catches on and starts letting her hands roam too.

“Poor guy,” Santana jokes when she catches sight of him. “He has no idea what he’s started.”

Brittany chuckles although she shakes her head, “It’s almost mean.”

“Fuck him,” Santana shrugs before turning her back to Brittany. She reaches back with one hand settling at the base of Brittany’s neck. “It’s his loss. Isn’t that the point of this?”

“You’re right,” Brittany nods. She leans into the crook of Santana’s neck, “His loss.”

Brittany then sets her hands on Santana’s hips, strong and steady, and pulls her in close so that their hips fit snuggly. It surprisingly tugs at something deep and dormant within Santana and she finds herself leaning into it, rolling her head back to rest against Brittany’s shoulder.

With the way Brittany’s rocking into her along with the beat, Santana has to bite her cheek to keep from making a noise. Who knew someone who spends most of their day in a musty library could move like this? Santana’s a little starstruck to say the least.

She can’t remember the last time she danced with someone like this and she starts to feel the effects of the alcohol and a tiny bit of desperation because it’s been such a long time. It’s actually sad how tightly she’s wound up. She’s sure she’d probably snap from just a touch which is so not her style, but she knows she’s not in the right kind of company to finally break.

She’s on the job; Brittany’s a job and there’s no time for mixing pleasure with work.

But damn, does it feel good when Brittany’s hands squeeze at her hips. Or when she rocks into her so smoothly along with the beat. Or how it sends shivers all over her when Brittany whispers into her ear – she’s not even saying anything risky but God it doesn’t matter.

And even if all of this is for show, Santana’s so deprived of this kind of affection that she doesn’t care – Brittany can use her all night if she wants.

Santana doesn’t begin to notice where her thoughts are taking her until she spots Artie wheeling away.

“He’s leaving,” Santana notes as she turns in Brittany’s embrace.

Brittany’s hands go to rest against the small of Santana’s back, “Do you think he gets the idea?”

Santana smirks and looks up at Brittany, “I think everyone gets the idea.”

A blush starts to bloom as blue eyes dart bashfully away, “Sorry. Was that too much? I was just following your lead like you said.”

“It’s fine. It’s the most action I’ve had in awhile,” Santana jokes.

Brittany gives her a unimpressed look but Santana’s smile only grows because of it.

The music shifts to something slow, old school Elvis. Santana recognizes the instrumental instantly; Maribel and Eddie’s first dance song. Honestly, it’s most couple’s first dance song – apparently you can’t get any more creative than Can’t Help Falling in Love.

She attempts to find her exit, but they’re surrounded by couples now. It would cause way too big of a scene to try and escape, so she goes with her only option. She lets Brittany take the lead and they start to sway.

Santana’s fingers thread at the back of Brittany’s neck while the blonde’s hands fall to Santana’s hips. They do the slow side-to-side move, but the sudden closeness has Santana feeling oddly shy. It’s bringing back memories of school functions and dancing awkwardly with dates she never wanted.

“You really miss it that much?” Brittany asks softly while they sway. “All the hook-ups?”

Santana sputters a laugh, unsure of how to respond, but one look at Brittany has her realizing that the blonde is genuinely asking. Her smile falters and she goes back to looking everywhere but inquisitive blue eyes.

“You gonna shame me for it again?” Santana asks jokingly.

She hates how quickly things between them can feel way too personal for her liking. Even more so, she hates how easy it’s starting to be to want to open up more around the girl.

“No, I was just curious,” Brittany shrugs. “This probably isn’t what you’re used to doing at a place like this.”

“I’m not usually at places like this.”

“You know what I mean,” Brittany replies. “Parties or clubs or whatever. You wouldn’t be slow dancing with a potential lay. You don’t seem like that kind of girl.”

Santana scoffs playfully, “Well once again, you don’t know me at all. Slow dancing is my jam, it really gets the girls hot and bothered.”

Brittany quirks her brow, “Seriously?”

“Of course not,” Santana chuckles. “I’m usually out of there by the time the slow songs come on. They’re not my style.”

“Knew it.”

“But it’s not horrible,” Santana dismisses as they continue to sway. “I wouldn’t say slow dancing with you is at the top of my list of the worst things I’ve ever had to do.”

Brittany looks surprised, “Oh really?”

“It’s in the Top 5 for sure,” Santana jokes. “But it’s not number one.”

“You’re too kind,” Brittany jokes.

“I try. But hey – you’ve surprisingly got rhythm, Pierce!” Santana compliments. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a dancer.”

Brittany laughs, “There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

Santana chuckles, “First the little thing you’ve got for Wheels and now this? I don’t think I can handle anymore surprises for the rest of night.”

Brittany rolls her eyes, “But you’re having fun?”

Santana shrugs, trying to be dismissive but her smile gives her true feelings away. She’s at a fancy place with great music and free alcohol looking fly as hell and one of her missions for the night is to piss off a chauvinistic douchebag – fun is an understatement.

“It’s not the kind of ragers I’m used to,” Santana teases. “But yeah – I’m having fun. Dancing with you is fun.”

Brittany’s face fills with a grin, “Yeah. I think dancing with you is fun too. It’s a bonus that Artie gets a little peeved as well.”

“That’s probably my favorite part,” Santana agrees and they continue dancing for a little while longer.

Santana finds that messing with Artie is child’s play, but it’s oh so satisfying.

Santana and Brittany take turns pretending to whisper sweet nothings into each other’s ear once they get to their assigned table. They find it easy to giggle along with one another when their sweet nothings are really just lame pick up lines that would never work in real life. But they say it in these ramped up seductive voices and that makes it all the more hilarious.

Meanwhile, Artie sits across from them with a sourpuss look on his face.

Maybe they’ve gotten away from the point of all this – that being to make Artie jealous – or maybe it really is working? Whatever it is, Santana can’t find it in her to reel them back in, not when it’s this much fun.

Dinner is served not too long after and Santana’s amazed once again by the spread. There’s giant cuts of filet mignon atop a colorful array of fresh Spring veggies. There’s oysters and huge lobster tails and extravagant towers of shrimp! The organizers clearly spared no expense with the menu and Santana excitedly awaits her dinner as the waitstaff start to come around to top up everyone’s wine glasses.

Santana watches as dishes are set down in front of everyone, all alternating between seafood and steak and the occasional vegetarian option. Everything looks so damn good and she glances next to her, wondering what Brittany will get.

“I ordered the shrimp,” Brittany tells her just as the plate is set down. “I got you the steak. I hope that’s okay? I wasn’t too sure.”

“Classy,” Santana nods as her plate is set down too. The garnishes make it look like artwork and she’s almost too afraid to touch it. “God, this looks so good. You didn’t mention there was free food too. This place is heaven.”

Brittany chuckles as she reaches for her cutlery.

While everyone eats, there’s quiet chatter amongst the table.

Santana’s so glad that Mike and Tina are around, at least that’s one couple that she doesn’t mind. Most people are pretty pretentious – all I’m so much smarter than you because I know random shit about random shit – and it makes Santana want to roll her eyes so hard but she doesn’t for Brittany’s sake.

Unlike Santana, Brittany gets along well with everyone and somehow sees past the horrible personalities. That’s not too surprising considering how she feels about Artie though.

Then again, maybe Brittany was right about there being a nice guy underneath all that ego because when Artie does finally get to talking to her again – he’s not a dick. They talk excitedly about comics or something and Santana notes the way they both light up.

For once, there’s a glimpse of him being a decent human being and maybe – just maybe – Santana sees what Brittany does.

But he’s not off the hook just yet, not after the way he started off the night. She doesn’t want to rock the boat though, so she quietly eats her dinner and plays the role of perfect fake girlfriend just like she said she would. This night isn’t about her, it’s about Brittany and she’s going to do her best to keep it that way.

A while later, dessert begins to be brought out as a few speeches are given up on stage. The announcer talks about the many prestigious teams in the room and how talented everyone is judging by their high percentages. Most of it goes over Santana’s head, not really interested in how academic decathlon clubs work but what does spark some interest though is when the awards start getting presented.

There’s a kind of anticipation that settles over the room and Santana looks around noting just how many clubs are in attendance. She had no idea academic decathlons were a thing until this year, but to see everyone so on edge as they await the reveal of this year’s winner really puts things into perspective for her.

When Santana glances to her side, she finds that Brittany’s got her eyes squeezed tight and her fingers are crossed on both hands. As she looks around the room, she sees club members look similarly – hoping and praying.

The Brainiacs happen to come in Second Place in the overall thing, but Brittany stands and claps along with everyone else despite things not going her team’s way. Santana watches her and smiles because this girl really is just so pure. Here she is clapping and pumping her fist in the air as the first place team take to the stage. Nothing about it is forced because she’s genuinely happy for them and that amazes Santana.

She didn’t think people like Brittany actually existed and yet there she stands.

The lead up for presenting the award for Most Brilliant Brainiac is much more anticipated.

Santana looks around the room as it seems like everyone’s on the edge of their seat. It’s almost comical, because it’s basically an award for the biggest nerd in the room and these people actually want it.

Still, Santana listens quietly.

She notices Artie fixing his dumb bowtie and checking his teeth in the reflection of his silver spoon as if he already knows what’s coming. She so hopes he doesn’t win just because of that. She doesn’t care who it goes to, she doesn’t care if it’s an even bigger tool than him – if that’s even possible – all she cares about is watching the guy get the biggest reality check known to man.

Suddenly, she’s on the edge of her seat just like everyone else.

“This year the award goes to,” The announcer pauses for dramatic effect.

Santana’s still waiting for the name to be called out, but the spotlight shining directly beside her is answer enough.

“No way!” Brittany beams. She doesn’t know what to do with herself, she just looks from side to side making sure that the spotlight is on the right person. “Me? It’s me?”

“Come on up, Miss Pierce!” The announcer gestures proudly.

Their entire table turns to applaud. Santana notices Mike with the biggest grin on his face as he claps while Tina’s snapping picture after picture for her article.

Brittany’s in awe as she makes her way onto the stage, the crowd roaring with applause as she goes. When she gets to the podium, the man hands her a gold trophy shaped like a brain and then presents her to the room.

“Here she is, folks! This year’s Most Brilliant Brainiac! Give it up for Miss Brittany S. Pierce!”

Before she realizes it, Santana’s on her feet in a second and claps so hard her hands start to sting.

“That’s my girl!” She shouts and pumps her fist in the air.

Brittany must hear her from the stage because she ducks her head bashfully at the shout out, her cheeks going a little pink as she soaks in the applause.

Santana glances over at Artie who barely claps. She rolls her eyes at him, because he yet again shows his true colors. How he flies under the radar is a mystery to her, but Brittany’s not around to hold her back this time.

So she points a threatening finger at him and rubs a little salt in his ego.

“Take that, Professor X! You suck so bad!”

Artie looks a little scandalized, but he keeps his mouth shut as Brittany absorbs the limelight. She looks at her trophy like she can’t believe its hers and Santana swears she sees those pretty blue eyes start to well with tears. This time they’re happy tears though and Santana’s so relieved for that!

A moment later, Brittany’s making her way back to their table with her new trophy in hand.

“Look! It’s so heavy,” Brittany giggles as she shows off the award to Santana.

Santana smiles fondly. Only Brittany could be this proud about being the dorkiest dork in the room. She doesn’t know what it is about the way she looks, the way her eyes light up to match the brilliance of her smile, the way they seem to be even bluer than usual.

All she knows is that she can’t help but pull Brittany in for a deep kiss.

She can feel the way Brittany stiffens in her arms at first before relaxing – the kiss takes her by surprise too, she can only imagine what Brittany’s thinking.

Alarm bells ring but then she feels a cool hand touch her cheek and suddenly everything stops because she’s being kissed back.

Brittany’s kissing her back.

It’s soft and gentle and when Santana pulls away, she’s swears she sees stars.

All Santana’s thinking about is the way Artie spoke to Brittany earlier, how he scolded her like a child. She thinks about Brittany’s parents and how they never truly supported her until recently. She thinks about the stories Brittany’s told about her experiences in high school and her time at MIT. She thinks about how after all of that, Brittany’s still maintained her kindness.

Brittany’s better than her, she’s so much better than everyone here, and she doesn’t even know it.

And maybe Santana’s just really proud of her – that’s why she kissed her? Maybe she’s just really into her whole fake girlfriend role right now? Maybe she’s just super committed and she’s finally matched Brittany’s level of going above and beyond?

That’s got to be the explanation for it, because no way she’ll admit to it being anything else.

“I’m so proud of you,” Santana quickly says. “Way to stick it to those guys.”

Brittany blushes, “I really didn’t expect anyone to vote for me. I hope they’re not mad.”

“Fuck them if they are!” Santana retorts. “You worked so hard for this. If they can’t be supportive of you then they don’t deserve you as a teammate.”

Brittany relaxes upon hearing Santana’s words, “You mean that?”

Santana smiles and nods like it’s simple, “Well yeah. You’re a genius, Britt.”

Brittany grins again and looks down at her trophy bashfully, “I’m also Brilliant.”

“Yeah, that too,” Santana chuckles.

They go to take their seats when they realize everyone’s kind of staring at them still. Santana doesn’t care all that much, Brittany deserves the recognition. She finds a kind of joy in making sure she knows it too.

“Seriously though, congrats,” Santana tells her. “You really earned it.”

Brittany ducks her head before leaning closer and whispers low enough so only Santana can hear. The move makes Santana’s heart suddenly race as she’s reminded of their time on the dancefloor earlier.

“Is that you talking or my fake girlfriend?” Brittany asks.

Santana bites her lip as she ponders that. For the first time, it’s kind of hard to tell. This arrangement is like being on-call; you never know when they have to slip into character so now it’s second nature and maybe it’s finally starting to blur the lines which Santana didn’t think would ever be possible.

But just to be safe she says, “I’m a pretty good actress. Aren’t I?”

Brittany only smirks as they both start to giggle and admire her new trophy while Artie stews in his jealousy.

They spend the rest of the Ball taking pictures with Brittany’s trophy for the school magazine and hitting the dancefloor once again.

Obviously, the dancing is the best part and by now everyone’s got a good buzz going with the amount of booze in the place. It’s surprisingly a good time – one of the best Santana’s had in months and it’s even more surprising that it’s in Brittany’s company.

If you would’ve told her at the start of the semester that this is where she’d be right now, she wouldn’t have believed you at all. Never in a million years would she be caught dead in a place like this, but it’s funny how things change – how relationships evolve.

Just tonight, she walked into this Ball wondering if she even stood a chance up against Brittany’s wrath. She really messed up, she knows that, but all of this is new territory for her. She’s not used to looking out for anyone else other than her family and Puck, but she’s starting to get it now.

If Brittany was anyone else, Santana probably wouldn’t have cared about her hurt feelings the other night. She would’ve let the girl go without a second thought because who has time to put up with the drama, but this relationship has her doing a lot of things she normally wouldn’t.

It’s reintroducing her to things that have been long forgotten and Santana doesn’t really know how to feel about that. It’s drudging up the old Santana; the vulnerable, the gullible, the sensitive one who has no place here now.

It’s a lot more than she signed up for, but she supposes it’s only natural to have those feelings start to resurface again when they’re both so committed to playing their roles perfectly. If anything, it’s a reminder that once upon a time Santana really was perfect girlfriend material.

And tonight, she gets to live out that little memory.

Maybe if her heartbreak didn’t harden her, maybe this is what she’d be like? Maybe she’d actually date a girl like Brittany? Maybe she’d stop selling herself short just like Puck said? Maybe she’d stick around long enough for something real to happen?

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

It always takes Santana by surprise that when she gets to thinking like this, it’s always in the presence of Brittany. This girl; Santana knew being with her would be a challenge but not like this. She can’t hold it against her though, after all this is her idea and really it could be so much worse than what it is.

They don’t really owe each other anything, they’re just pawns in their elaborate games – but here they are dancing the night away without a care in the world and for once things feel fine.

It’s a nice break from all that heaviness from earlier.

And for a moment, Santana doesn’t think it’s all too bad. The whole possibility of being friends with Brittany thing; when it’s like this, it really isn’t the worst thing ever.

She might actually kind of like it.

Other than Puck, Santana doesn’t really have that many people she’s close with. She doesn’t have many people she’d consider friends. For the past two years, maybe even longer, she’s kept people at an arm’s length.

After everything, she’s just not into getting close to anyone anymore. Letting people into her shit sounds like a lot of work and kind of terrifying.

What if they don’t like what they find? What if she’s too much? What if they decide to leave too? What if it changes her again?

It’s too big of a risk. It’s best that she does the leaving instead. It’s the only way she can keep some type of control on things, because no way she’ll let anyone go for a joyride with her feelings again.

She likes to keep her circle small, but being around Brittany starts to make her wonder. What’s the harm in trying?

A thought like that makes her laugh though; that hopefulness is a direct result of hanging around Brittany way too much.

“It’s so hot in here! Why’s it so hot?” Brittany sighs and wipes at her brow with the back of her hand. Her cheeks are flushed and sweat glistens in the hollow of her neck deliciously.

Santana averts her eyes when she realizes she’s staring.

“You’re dancing up a storm, that’s why!” Santana teases.

“Because it’s so much fun!” Brittany does a twirl then starts to sway when she stops. “The dizziness…not so much.”

“Maybe don’t spin around like that?” Santana suggests playfully. “You want to go outside? Get some air?”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Brittany nods but just before she follows after Santana she runs back to the table. “Mike! Mike, watch my trophy!”

Mike drunkenly nods and gives her a thumbs up.

“Thanks! Okay, let’s go,” Brittany tells Santana and leads the way out.

They end up going to the grand steps Santana walked up earlier in the night and take a seat by one of the columns. The air is crisp and refreshing compared to the stuffiness inside and it’s such a relief. They rest their heads back and soak it in.

“You see Artie’s face when I won?” Brittany giggles.

Santana smirks, “Oh yeah. That prick; I was hoping he’d lose. Makes it even better that it was to you.”

“I know I shouldn’t think it but,” Brittany pauses to take in a deep breath before letting it out in a sigh. “I’m glad he lost too. Maybe it’ll bring him down a notch.”

Santana chuckles, “Hopefully it’ll bring him down a few notches. That guy is a piece of work. I still can’t believe you’re into him.”

Brittany ducks her head and sighs again as they fall into a comfortable silence.

Even if Brittany doesn’t show it, Santana can feel something’s gone unsaid.

They haven’t talked about the kiss from earlier, but maybe there’s nothing that they need to talk about? They’re out in public, it goes without saying that they have to do what normal couples would – like kiss when your girlfriend wins an award.

Why would they need to talk about it? It’s not like it was the first time they’ve ever done that. Then again, when Santana gets to thinking – the last time was New Year’s Eve.

Maybe Santana’s just overthinking it all? This is why she doesn’t do relationships or feelings – real or not! They’re confusing and annoying and she doesn’t want it.

God, she wishes she was on Brittany’s level of tipsy. That would make things so much easier!

“You know when we were talking before, you said that we’ve got too much in common,” Brittany mentions awhile later. She keeps her eyes turned up to the sky as she asks, “What’d you mean by that?”

The question takes Santana by surprise as she tries to remember their conversation from earlier. When she does, she wishes that she didn’t. It’s not a subject she loves talking about, nor does she love revisiting its memories, but for some odd reason she can feel her safeguard wavering.

“I guess I was in your place once with Artie,” Santana replies. “Sort of.”

“You were into him too?”

Santana chuckles at the joke, “No way. I mean, I fell for someone I shouldn’t have.”

“What happened?”

Santana pauses, wondering if she wants to go down this road. The only other person she’s ever talked about all this to is Puck and that’s only because he was partly involved. She’s done her best to bury every feeling, every memory, but there’s something about Brittany that has Santana opening up just a little more.

“There was a girl a long time ago,” Santana finds herself saying before glancing Brittany’s way. “The one from the picture in my room back in Lima.”

Brittany nods and quietly encourages her to continue.

“She was my best friend growing up,” Santana says. “The only one who ever understood me. We were close, closer than friends should be. Eventually, I wanted to be more – make things official.”

“You?” Brittany asks in disbelief.

“I know, shocking,” Santana jokes through a sad smile. “She said she wanted it too, but she was afraid. She wanted to keep things hidden, keep us hidden, and I…I loved her so I followed along.”

Santana feels her chest tighten with that long-forgotten pain, but then Brittany’s hand finds hers. She squeezes softly at her hand and suddenly the feeling isn’t so bad.

“She kept saying one day it’ll be different,” Santana goes on. “One day we won’t have to hide, one day we’d just run off together, but until then we had to pretend. It sounded like a good plan and I felt so strongly about her, so I waited. I watched her get into relationships with guy after guy just to keep people off of our scent, off of her scent.”

“The older we got, the further in the closest she went. It was like she forget that it was all a cover and the life she was living was a lie.”

Brittany nods sympathetically.

“I ended up coming out midway through our Junior year,” Santana says. “I thought that maybe if I went first then she’d see that it was okay, but it kind of had the opposite effect. Something happened, maybe her parents divorce or something else? I don’t know, but she changed and not in a good way. I was out and proud but it was hard when the girl I loved wasn’t. It kind of felt pointless but I kept waiting for her.”

“By Senior year, I started to lose hope. I guess she did too because it stopped being about us running off together. Instead it was only her doing the running,” Santana continues. “While everyone was making their big plans for college, she was a mystery.”

She starts to feel that annoying lump in her throat forming and swallows it back.

“All I knew was that she was getting out of Lima by any means necessary,” She says with a deep sigh. “She was so closed off though, spiraling even. I had no idea what her plans were anymore. No one did. I just didn’t think that it involved stealing my shot at a scholarship.”

“Wait, what?” Brittany frowns. “What scholarship?”

“My school had this partnership with Harvard,” Santana answers half-heartedly. “An alumni or whatever is a big wig there and has this scholarship aimed at students with extraordinary promise in law. It’s such a waste, really. No one usually goes for it because no one ever dreams of getting out of there nor would they dare go to law school, but getting out of Lima was always our dream. With her family background, she could get in easy but me? It was a little harder. That scholarship was my only shot and she took it.”

“How’d she do that?”

Santana shrugs, “It’s always been a mystery. Out of the entire school, we were the only ones who even cared enough to look into it. We agreed before that with my GPA and personal goals that I’d have the better chance of getting it, but that was before things changed. It’s no coincidence that she got in and not me. I ticked every box when it came to the type of candidate they were looking for.”

“You couldn’t tell the organizers about it?” Brittany asks. “Have them kick her out or something?”

Santana sighs, “I couldn’t do that to her.”

“Why not? Santana, that’s seriously unfair. This is your education, something you’re so passionate about.”

“I know,” Santana answers dejectedly. “Believe me, I know. But, I was young and in love and stupid. I still had hope for some reason, hope that she’d snap out of it? I knew she took her parents divorce really hard and things had changed for her in terms of getting into Harvard with their help. Maybe she needed the scholarship more than me?”

“Even so, that’s not the way to go about it. That’s not fair to you.”

“True,” Santana nods. “But a part of me figured that maybe once she got in and got settled, she’d be okay? Maybe we’d be okay again. Maybe getting out of Lima was something she needed way more than I did? I guess I was wrong though.”

Brittany looks to Santana apologetically but Santana hates that look. She hates being seen as anything but confident and sure and unwavering.

“See? Told you I’m not selfish,” Santana tries to joke to ease the tension.

It doesn’t really change the way Brittany watches her though.

“Yeah, I guess you were right.”

“Surprise,” Santana lets out a weak chuckle as she averts her gaze. “It sure did backfire though. Huh?”

“Have you heard from her since?” Brittany asks. “Did she ever apologize?”

“Hell no,” Santana tries to laugh off the pain. “She didn’t even stick around for our graduation ceremony. She just packed up and left. No goodbye or anything.”

“Wow,” Brittany shakes her head. “How could someone who’s supposed to care about you hurt you like that?”

Santana finds herself smirking as she looks to Brittany. She has no idea she’s in the same sort of situation with Artie. It’s always easier making sense of things when it isn’t your problem though she supposes.

“Anyway, it’s whatever,” Santana waves off. “It’s been two years and I still wonder why the hell I gave up a Harvard education for a girl. Love makes you do dumb shit, it’s the worst.”

Brittany goes to squeeze Santana’s hand again, “I’m so sorry, Santana.”

Santana keeps on her brave face, “It’s fine.”

“It isn’t.”

Santana knows, but she just shrugs. What’s the point of feeling sorry for herself now?

“I guess what I was meaning earlier is that,” Santana continues. “Maybe this thing between you and Artie; it’s better for you in the long run if you spare yourself the heartache and accept that people change. Sometimes it’s for the worst and you can’t do a thing about it. It is what it is, you know? You can wait but it’s only wasting your time in the end – take it from me.”

Brittany nods and they both rest back against the column again, sitting in each other’s company in silence. It’s like Brittany’s taking in all that Santana has said while Santana attempts to pack up all those little memories she’s just drudged up and stuff them away.

“People change for the better too though,” Brittany mentions quietly. “Sometimes all that patience and time you put into waiting ends up being worth it.”

“Maybe,” Santana nods. “I just don’t know how to be that optimistic anymore. I’m too tired.”

“I get that,” Brittany replies and leans her head against Santana’s.

Santana finds herself leaning against Brittany too, relaxing against each other in a peaceful balance. Another comfortable silence settles over them and Santana’s thankful for it. After opening up to Brittany, she doesn’t think she can handle anymore of these heart to hearts.

Another reason she keeps to herself, talking about feelings is exhausting.

“You know…I didn’t say it before because I was still kind of mad at you,” Brittany mentions softly. “But I’m glad you changed your mind about tonight. I’m glad you’re here.”

Santana smirks, feeling a giddiness flutter in her chest that chases off the remaining heaviness there. “Yeah well, picturing you suffer here all alone with these losers wasn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be. Thought I’d come see it for myself.”

Brittany snickers and pokes lightly at Santana’s side.

“Sounds like you might be taking a liking to me,” Brittany teases.

Santana scoffs playfully, “God no.”

“I mean, if you really wanted me to suffer you could’ve worn something that would make you look a little less…”

Santana glances over to find Brittany stumbling on the right word. The hesitance makes her smirk.

“Hot? You were going to say hot.”

Brittany rolls her eyes, “I wasn’t.”

“Sure,” Santana teases. “You can admit it, Britt-Britt. You think I look fine as hell.”

Brittany shakes her head although she begins to blush. “You always this full of yourself?”

“You should know the answer to that by now,” Santana quips as she rises to stand. She strikes a sexy pose while Brittany continues to sit before her. “Come on. Would you really rather I turn up here looking a hot mess? I wouldn’t be doing a very good job of being arm candy.”

Brittany’s eyes rake up Santana’s body, taking in all her perfection. Just like the powers of her cheerleading skirt, Santana’s dress works wonders all the same.

“I guess not,” Brittany admits.

Santana grins, “That’s what I thought.”

“But you’re not just arm candy to me,” Brittany teases sweetly.

Santana instantly rolls her eyes and holds out her hand to Brittany, “Let’s get back in there. I think it’s time for another drink. I can still taste your Chapstick from earlier.”

Brittany giggles as Santana pulls her up, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

#Hate to Date #Brittana #Brittana Fanfiction #Enemies to Lovers #Fake Dating AU

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wizkiddx · 4 years

Text

Nothings changed at all

ooh my first lil one shot on here?!?! not really sure how I feel abt this one but hey ho we move.

summary: 2 years have passed with 2 people living completely separate lives. That’s until Paddy the matchmaker gets involved by not liking exams.

“Y/n?…. Y/n?” Brought out of her ferocious typing, Y/n dragged her attention away from the screen infant of her and looked around the coffee shop to identify the owner of the voice. Sure enough, standing opposite her was an adult and teen who both smiled excitedly at her.

“Nikki! Pads!” Y/n exclaimed while she jumped out of her seat to hug Nikki first, then Paddy. “Wow it’s been ages! You want to join me?”

“Yeh that’d be great!” Nikki smiled already pulling out the free chair opposite, while Paddy stole a chair from a nearby vacant table and pulled it up next to Y/n.

“God you look so grown up since I last saw you!” Nikki grinned, but her eyes held a little surprise making Y/n giggle. It had been at least 2 years since she’d seen the Hollands, and life had changed tremendously for her.

“Yeh well 24 and a qualified doctor now so it’s all happened. But speaking of… what the hell have you done with my fake baby brother Paddy?”

The three spent 40 minutes just catching up with each other, it felt like some weird family reunion. Nikki knew she would be told off by her other sons for ‘consorting with the enemy’ but Nikki really did like and miss her. It was more than clear Paddy did too. Y/n had practically been a part of the Holland family for three years while her and Tom were together, it was fair to say they had all got used to having her around. So when Nikki saw this elegant, grown young woman sat in the coffee shop she couldn’t help but say hi.

They chatted about everything… well almost everything. There was a large gaping hole in the conversation though, where casual references to Tom would usually lie - but neither felt comfortable broaching that subject with the other. Not yet anyway. Y/n could not believe that paddy was in year 11 and taking his GCSEs, in her head he was still the hyperactive young boy who loved to play spies.

“We only came out today to give this one a break from his revision did we?” Nikki spoke kindly towards her youngest, Y/n raising her eyebrow at the tone.

“Yeh I just proper hate maths and I know I’m going to fail it-“ Paddy sighed, suddenly feeling the need to twist his empty hot choclate mug round and round, clearly nervous just talking about it. He clearly wasn’t especially gifted academically and in a school system where talents for the arts and less ‘mainstream intelligence’ isn’t celebrated - he was just considered a write off.

“We’ve been looking for a tutor for him but… well you know at this point in the year so is everyone.” There was almost a look of resignation in Nikki’s face, quite clear that Paddy had already given up. Y/n knew she had to offer, her history of tutoring meant this would be just like any of her other clients and she knew the curriculum inside out and back to front.

“Well you know… only if you want… but I still do tutoring when I have the time?”Looking cautiously between the other occupants of the little table, she wore a kind smile. It would be weird - yes. Tutoring her ex’s brother. But he didn’t have to know, and the Hollands had always been a second family to her.

“Mum can she? Please I really need help and-“

“Only if you have time Y/n, sorry I dint mean to guilt you or anything?”

“No no you didn’t! But I would love to, you know Paddy’s always been my favourite Holland!” Nikki laughed at that, nodding her head as she looked deep into Y/n’s eyes.

“Well then, no harm in trying right?”

///////////////////////////////

Y/n the tutor was a massive hit. Paddy’s confidence almost instantly sky rocketed, with Y/n’s familiarity with him she knew exactly how to approach different subjects and get the best results. She would come over twice, sometimes three, times a week - but there was never any issue since Tom was away filming with Harry, meanwhile Sam and Dom were sworn to secrecy. The one hour sessions quickly evolved into staying for dinner just so Sam could practice from his cooking course. Then there was a little extra tutoring of english too, then a glass of wine or so.

Then came the actual exams. A terrifying process not only for Paddy, but everyone else associated with it also. Somehow though, they all made it through alive and without the excuse of tutoring it just became an invite to dinner once a week. Just ‘because’. Nikki and Dom would love to say they only offered because Paddy wanted her there, but truth be told they all enjoyed her company. Especially with two of their sons on the opposite side of the world, it was nice just to have that familiarity again. She would go to the pub every now and again with Dom and Sam and just generally was a part of the families day to day life.

Then came the night before Paddy’s results.

As expected Y/n had been invited round for a barbecue that evening, with the Hollands and some of Paddys friends families. The whole thing was just a distraction for Paddy who was nervous beyond belief. He really needed to pass to go on to college and chase his dreams of going to university. He couldn’t afford to cock up, even at the tender age of 16. So fair to say a jovial evening where the word ‘GCSEs’ was banned - it was exactly what the boy needed. Everyone sat in the garden chattering away happily, enjoying the glorious and rare British sunshine.

Sam popped inside to go to the loo, but on his way was dragged by unfamiliar hands round the corner into a study room. He shrieked in fright, before his eyes widened in recognition.

“Missed us?” Harry smirked as he let go of his twin however he was immediately pounced on by Sam, who had of course missed his twin brother for the half a year he’d been away. Next he turned to Tom, the both of them laughing as he hugged his older brother, Sam having to hide his surprise at his bulkiness. The new role obviously had him working out a hell of a lot.

“What are you doing here anyway?”

“We got some time off and mum said Pads is terrified so we thought we’d pop in for moral support.” Harry exclaimed, clearly very proud of themselves for organising it for their littlest brother.

“ Does anyone know?”

“Um… well you…now” Tom couldn’t hide his mischievous grin, making Sam shake his head at his over excitedness “So what’s going on? Is it a party or something?”

“I’ve just done a barbecue for Paddy friends families… you remember Jack? Another guy called Zak and then two girls too-“

“Ah cool so we will just walk out and surprise him?” Harry asked and Sam was about to encouragingly agree, until something struck him.

“I…um…Tom there’s something you need to know.” His voice was deadly serious and Harry noticed the warning tone; Tom always oblivious didn’t catch on so quick, just scoffed and asked why.

“While you’ve been away…. Paddy had tutoring to help and um well… Y/n-she’s here.” Tom closed his eyes and shook his head, taking a breath and gulping it down before looking intently at Sam.

“She…she what?”

“Mum bumped into her in town and she got Y/n to help Paddy with maths. I don’t know… she’s here for Paddy and well…”

“Mum knows that we aren’t speaking right?” Sam nodded in defeat, taking a small step back from his brother “and she still…she still did this?”

“You were the other side of the country and you know how close Paddy and Y/n were. And by the way she worked it looks as if she might’ve made him pass which would be a miracle in itself! So please can you just be civil?”

“It has been like 2 years Tom” Harry, very unhelpfully, felt the need to input - earning him a glare from both of his brothers. Tom just shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot, eyes glued to the floor.

“Yeh…I mean we are adults” His words were stuttered, as if his brain was desperately trying to force out words his heart completely disagreed with. Harry and Sam knew of course, they knew their brother never really had got over his first love. With a sympathetic smile Sam led the way out of the study room.

It was fair to say to Holland’s were ecstatic about the twos return, Paddy’s face had been the most priceless because although he was 16 - he still really was an overexcited little kid. The whole garden energy skipped about twelve levels when they walked in, Paddys friends and families also a little excited to see ‘spiderman’ in real life. Yet Y/n… she was less pleased. Sam had instantly come over to her asking if she was okay. Which she was. Unlike her ex, Y/n had properly got over him and had serious relationships since. She just felt awkward for him, she was in the way of a family reunion, she was the sceptre at the feast. Bless Sam for keeping her company, they sat on the outdoor furniture in the corner and just chatted, while Mr centre-of-attention relished all the love from his family. She knew she should leave, so leaned closer to Sam to barely whisper. “I’m gonna go now”

“Y/n you don’t have to, Pads still wants you here and-“

“Sam could you give us a minute?”

Interrupted by the oh so familiar voice, Y/n smiled nervously at him, before giving Sam a side eye saying it was okay for him to leave. Swapping seats Tom sat down in Sams seat, running a hand through his hair nervously.

“Look Tom I was just going to go so you guys can have a proper reunion and-“

“Please stay. Paddy wants you here and tonights about him so?”

“That’s very kind of you but...well you made it clear we couldn’t be friends. I don’t want to intrude and-“

“That was years ago and I was being naive. For paddy please?”

“Tom I….I’m-“ Stopping promptly as she was interrupted.

“staying yes I agree. Now come on he’s looking…” Tom lowered his voice as he motioned over to Paddy standing with Sam, who appeared to be watching the exchange between the two ex lovers intently “so pretend I said something funny, laugh and then we can go mingle”

“Hard to imagine… you have no sense of humour” She smiled sarcastically, before throwing her head back laughing - as if she had said something hilarious. Tom knew he had to join in, however much he tried to hide the grimace at her remark.

“ You haven’t changed at all” He muttered under his breath following her as she stood up and headed back towards the main group.

“Oh but I have” Tossing her head to look back at him, flowing hair flicking round too “I’ve learnt my worth.” Her words were dripping with sass and a little passive-aggressiveness, but all Tom could think was how amazing she was, how much he had missed that little smirk she did while flicking her head back round and pull Paddy in for a side hug.

////////////////////////

The evening flew by, all of Paddy’s friends and their families went home, yet Y/n stayed and chatted with the Hollands as if this was completely normal. They had all long since migrated into the sitting room while the sun was setting, playing some board games of Paddy’s choice - his results long since forgotten early that evening. Truth be told, Y/n really enjoyed catching up with Harry and although they hadn’t really had any personal conversations- seeing Tom and taking the piss out of his uselessness at the games was also very enjoyable. After her and Paddy’s turn ended Y/n excused herself to go to the toilet but instead of going straight back to the living room she went to grab herself a glass of water.

“Oh Y/n… I was meaning to catch you” The soft and very very familiar voice startled her a little, the warm tone sending shivers down her spine as if a reflex. Turning round to see Tom leant against the counter with a small smile.

“Well what’s up then?” She tried not to be too open too quickly, as much as her heart just wanted to skip the small talk.

“Just wanted to catch up, it’s been a while and just feel like we should be friends since my family seem to sort of adopted you” She scoffed at his statement, very obviously rolling her eyes, a little annoyed.

“And who was it that didn’t want to be friends huh?” She raised an eyebrow and this was Toms turn to scoff as he looked down at the ground.

“Yeh yeh I deserve that… shall we just skip past the blaming me huh?” The cockiness wasn’t hidden in his voice and that made her laugh, clearly not that shy. In fact he was terrified, but wanted to look as if he didn’t care, like he was flippant.

“Alright Spiderman, so how’s life?” …

The truth about their break up was quite simple. Tom had got too busy and had stopped making time to their relationship. Y/n grew tired and had had enough, which he completely understood. He’d tried to promise more effort, flying back for extra weekends but they both new they were hollow, it wouldn’t be maintained. Their last meeting hadn’t been an angry shouty one, rather just depressingly sad. They’d both been upset, recahingn a mutual conclusion it was just the wrong time. Which they had both agreed with... but one thing they hadn’t. Tom thought it was like dangling a carrot in front of his face, having Y/n still present in his life. He had given her an ultimatum, they either keep going on together p as a couple or they would become strangers. And that’s where it had been left 2 years ago.

They spent the next half an hour or so, chatting away as if nothing had ever happened. It felt normal again, all jokingly catching up about the most ridiculous things - the low hum of the left on radio in the background. That was until a certain song came on the radio - it was ridiculous, the most insane unlikely eventuality to happen. Their old song.

Of course that would happen. Y/n released a breathy laugh and Tom’s grin just grew and grew across his face, slowly transferring into a smirk. He stood up from leaning across the counter, that Y/n was now sat cross-legged on top. In his ever so dramatic movie like style, he rounded the counter to her side, and held an arm out to her.

“Dance with me”

“Tom that’s-“

“Oh come on, dance with me!”

“You’re ridiculous”

“I know. So dance with me?”

“Tooommm” She drew out his name in refusal, but her body said something else as she slid off from the counter - delicately landing on tiptoes as she lowered herself down.

“Just come here, for old times sake” He grabbed her hand and pulled her close to him, transferring his hand to hover at her waist, not touching until she gave him a small nod in permission. Hesitantly she knew where her hands were supposed to go and slowly drifted them up to round his neck, but balanced her forearms further on his collarbones so she held her own hands rather than gripping his neck as was natural. They slowly moved in unison, just slightly rocking from one side to another - Tom’s eyes locked on hers.

“So are you happy?” Something about the way he said it made her internally shudder. It was the pure care, all his sarcasm and cockiness stripped back to expose himself just for this moment.

“Um yeh… I don’t know feel like I’m starting to figure out this whole ‘life’ thing.” She smiled up at his chocolate brown eyes, while he seemed to absorb all she said.

“And he treats you well?”

“He?” She narrowed her eyebrows in confusion, cocking her head to the side slightly.

“Oh er… before you said that ‘we’d moved out’ and I just assumed-“

“Ah um yeh I moved in with someone but he’s not in the picture anymore… got the bed to myself again” Tom thought she didn’t seem very affected by it yet still felt guilty for bringing it up.

“I’m sorry… er how long? Are you okay?”

“Yeh I really am. A year and a half so we taught each other a lot, but it was mutual. We’re still friends.” Smiling, Y/n watched as Tom nodded minutely and they drifted to silence, listening to the song bringing back all sorts of memories. “What about you? Got yourself a super model I assume?” She didn’t mean to ask that. Because why did she need to know? She didn’t care about that. Did she? Tom chuckled nervously before replying.

“Umm no. I haven’t really dated anyone since… just all the travelling and everything doesn’t really work with the dating scene.” His voice was quiet, as if hiding something, and he couldn’t meet her eyes looking at the floor.

“Oh… yeh I get that” Unconsciously letting her hands slip back, connecting with the back of his neck- instantly making him meet eyes with hers again. They just stared at each other, still swaying from side to side as the music flowed. He didn’t want this moment to end. And secretly… neither did she.

“I can’t take you seriously when you look at me like that” Breaking the intensity, nervously Y/n giggled, leaning away - but Tom’s arms, still on her waist, kept her from going anywhere.

“Like what?” His eyebrows raised, enjoying her nervous flush present on her cheeks a little more than he should.

“Like nothings changed” She all but whispered, the gap between the two almost magically diminishing. The pause was long as Tom tried to formulate the idea he so wanted to get across.

“ Maybe that’s because… right now I have exactly the same feelings I did two years ago… that maybe I want so badly to kiss you?” His voice was barely audible at the point, but their faces were barely centimetres from each other; noses hovering side by side as his lips brushed hers. He didn’t want to push her, yet at the same time one of his hands moved to her cheek - gently cupping it as his eyes flicked between her wide eyes and pink flushed lips.

“Maybe… maybe you should kiss me then?” The tension was palpable as she drew out her words, purposefully teasing him a little. Because she wanted to keep him on his toes. When her heard her suggestion she had to stop herself from giggling at the smile that instantly grew across his face, the way his pupils grew in shock . Safe to say he didn’t reply, instead slowly and delicately pressing his lips on hers. She reciprocated tentatively and deepened the kiss bit by bit. Her hands now running through his hair on the back of his head, Toms other hand now on the small of her back - closing the distance completely, their bodies connected. It didn’t last long before she pulled away the most seductive smile on her face, while Tom subtly tried to regain the breath that had been knocked out of his lungs.

“We should go back” She whispered, while running her thumb over his left flicky eyebrow that always intrigued her. Suddenly his eyebrows furrowed in concern, worried he had made her feel uncomfortable. Instantly recognising this, she calmed his nerves very simply by pressing a fleeting kiss on his lips once again, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the living room.

As soon as they entered Y/n and Tom both realised how long they’d been in the kitchen. The game long since abandoned, probably waiting on one of their returns at their go, the rest of the Hollands now all sat lounging on different areas of the sofa - who all immediately looked up as they shuffled in. Luckily the lights were dimmed for the movie playing on the TV screen, so that no one would see her blushing cheeks. She sat in the middle of the sofa which only paddy was on, and Tom followed sitting next to her - but not too close that it would be suspicious . No words were exchanged throughout, though Nikki did exchange a knowing look with Dom - who had seemingly finally learnt when to keep his mouth closed. Both Y/n and Tom pretend to fix their full attention on the film for a short while, even if both their brains were whirring away with very very separate thoughts to any critical analysis of the storyline.

After about 10 minutes though, Tom pulled his leg up, just so it was obscuring the view to the sofa opposite and took the opportunity to clasp Y/n’s hands in his. Slickly, even though she wasn’t expecting the contact Y/n didn’t react her eyes still trained on the TV. However, Tom didn’t miss the small upward tug on her lips as she squeezed his hand back. No one noticed.

Except Paddy.

Paddy from his vantage point on the sofa he was sharing with the two, peered over subtly as he went to the loo - and a massive smirk appeared across his face. He might just’ve got his sister back.

#tomholland #tom holland x reader #idk how to use tags #idk how to use tumblr either #pls help #tom holland fluff

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moonflower-31 · 4 years

Text

I Won't Forget You - Spencer Reid x Reader

(This is gonna be a series, so keep an eye out for this one if you like it.)

Summary: So imagine you're in the CM universe if you will. And you're just graduating from the academy. You're looking to join the BAU. You have hyperthymesia, the ability to never forget anything. Except for rare occasions. After the final exam, you run into one Dr. Spencer Reid. Eventually, you get accepted to shadow the BAU on a trial run as an agent. But you have a past that may endanger those you work with. Also, you love Spencer. Cause who doesn't?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader (this makes sense only for storyline, sorry 😞)

Masterlist

Please leave comments! I love reading them ❤ 💕

~~~~~~~~

Nervous. So dreadfully nervous you were and am. But here we are. No turning back now.

"Hello, cadets. And welcome to your final exam for your graduation. We hope all of you do well. The FBI, as you know, has many branches. 56, to be exact. We hope that for those of you who pass, that you'll find your calling in one of our offices. For those of you who don't, don't fret. We always allow you to retake the last semester and the exams. The FBI is in desperate need of new agents." The speaker in front of me is seriously loud. Though you don't dare speak up about it.

Associate Deputy Director Gail Franklin spoke with such elegance. She obviously has had practice, you think to yourself as you watch the grey-haired woman speak atop the raised portion of the testing room. You couldn't count how many people even if you tried. And you don't forget anything.

"Psst!"

You groan quietly and try to ignore your idiot but golden-hearted friend who couldn't sit still.

"Psst! (Y/N)!"

You ignore him again, focusing on Franklin's closing commentary.

"I wish you all good luck. Please refrain from beginning your exam until all test-takers have received their tests. Thank you." She then proceeded to turn and begin her trek out of the room, the click of her heels being the only reminder she was even here.

"Psst-! Come on, (Y/N/N)!"

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. Finally, you turn your head and give your dear friend a very annoyed look. "What is it, Gabe? Like seriously, you couldn't sit still through one teansy tiny lecture? From the ADD herself?" You tease, pulling out a #2 pencil from your bag. Sure, most everyone will be using pens, but you remembered that the test scanners prefered graphite.

Gabriel whined teasingly at your jap. "No fair, (Y/N/N)! I just wanted to talk to one of my best friends. That too much to ask?" He sassily remarks, flipping his floppy golden-brown hair.

You rolled your eyes and couldn't help but feel a smile form on your face. You loved him like a brother. But that also meant he annoyed you like one too.

"You couldn't have waited till she was done?" You couldn't help but question him further. It was one of his weaker points. Under pressure, he tended to get uncomfortable.

"Nope." Popping the 'p' he blew a kiss at you. "Anyway, how prepared do you think you are for this test? I almost made it an all-nighter trying to cram everything in again. Fuck me and my terrible memory." You grinned and giggled under your hand.

"Gabriel, I told you, if you ever needed help studying I would be there. You're gonna do fine."

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Easy for you to say. You didn't even have to study with that god-given gift of a memory you got."

You bite the inside of your cheek, faking a slight chuckle. Everyone thought remembering everything was a superpower. Sure, if you call superpowered headaches and occasional dizzy spells a super-side-effect.

So, yes, you had the 'gift' of having hyperthymesia. The disorder where you never forgot anything. Of course, there were a few rare occasions, like you could only remember a handful of memories from before you were four. But other than that, you had nothing from your earliest childhood. It made you feel semi-normal.

"It isn't a gift, Gabe. It's only a gift in the academic field. And I'm lucky to have a 'genius' IQ." You huffed in response to Gabriel's little comment.

"Yeah yeah, but you have a filing cabinet for a memory. So why study? You have it all up there." He asks, taking the test packet from the assistant that had finally made it to him.

"Studying, as a science, is a great way to improve your memory, quicken your speed of processing data and important information, and you stretch your mind's capacity for learning. Also it helps me understand a topic better. Just like anyone else."

You take the packet from the assistant and widen your eyes slightly at the size. It was massive. At least the size of your tiniest textbook. You could almost hear Gabriel whimper next to you as he saw how big the packet was. At least you all had three and a half hours. And it wasn't required to get through all of them. Just try to do your best on the written response ones.

You turn to Gabriel and hold out your fist. "Good luck."

Gabriel sighed and gave you a smile before pumping his fist gently against yours. Soon after he made a dramatic explosion noise that only you could hear. You roll your eyes and shake your head again, turning your full attention finally to the large test in front of you.

Here goes nothing, you tell yourself.

○●♡●○

Remarkably, you think you did okay. Of course, you finished the test in the first hour and a half, but who's counting? Certainly not you.

You rub your aching wrists from so much essay work as you exit the testing room. Even with an unbeatable memory like yours, your hands were still human. So they hurt like a bitch.

You sigh and take a quick seat on the bench outside the room, probably sticking out like a sore thumb in a crowd of other cadets who weren't in your graduating class. But you tried not to pay it any mind. You were used to being the 'odd man out'.

You check your phone and smile down at the message your other friend, Iris, had sent you. She wasn't testing for the FBI like you and Gabe. No she was a barista with some mean skills at mixing new drinks. She wanted to open her own cafe and Gabriel and you wanted to support her. She'd been there for you every second of the last five years. You owed her at least a little thanks.

When you look up, you couldn't help but notice a tall, lanky looking man with long, curly hair walking towards you as he looked for…something. You couldn't tell. Probably a map. He had a gun holstered on the side of his belt along with a blurry ID you couldn't read from so far away. But it looked like it said FBI.

You stifled a soft snicker. This guy could say he was a teacher's assistant and if he didn't have the gun on him, you would've believed him.

And that's when you caught his eye and instantly you recognized who this lost puppy was. More specifically, who he belonged to.

"Hi, uh I'm Dr. Spe-" he began, looking a bit nervous as he began to introduce himself.

"Dr. Spencer Reid. From the Behavioral Analysis Unit. I've heard of you." You accidentally interrupt. "Sorry. I don't forget names easily. I don't forget them ever, really."

Nervously, you rub your hand on your neck, waiting for his response. And surprisingly, it wasn't one you expected.

Spencer widened his eyes a bit in wonder that someone knew of him that he hadn't met before on a case. And she knew which branch he worked in. He blushed a bit, growing a tad tongue tied.

"S-sorry, I'm Cadet (L/N)."

Spencer raised an eyebrow. He wondered why you didn't give him your first name. But he didn't pry. It was your personal business. And besides, it wasn't like he needed to know your first name.

"U-uh yeah, actually. I-I wanted to ask you if you knew where I could get a glimpse of a map. Just so I can find my way around. I'm here for a 'lecture' that I'm helping give the graduating class of FBI agents." He couldn't help but brag a tiny bit. "It doesn't start for another 3 hours, but I like to be prepared."

You smiled up at this tall nerd. And an incredibly cute one at that. He was so out of place you sympathized with him. He was basically you. In like, every academic scene you've ever been in.

"Understandable. I'll be seeing you there hopefully. I'm a part of that class." You grinned. "But yeah, here's the map," you say, pulling up a digital map on your phone. Spencer leaned over your shoulder and looked it over. You couldn't help but shiver slightly at the sound of his breathing so close to your ear. It felt eerily calming.

"Really?" He asked after he pulled away from your shoulder. "T-thank you for the map, by the way." He adds last-minute. You giggle gently and nod.

"Yep. The test only started an hour and about 45 minutes ago, so I gotta wait a little while." Groaning playfully you shrug at him, crossing your arms to get more comfortable. You wouldn't lie, he was seriously cute. Of course, you'd seen him before on your secret internet dives. But in-person was so much better than sitting behind a screen gawking over a photo. An ID photo no less.

"You already finished?"

There it was. The immediate doubt of your intelligence everyone had when you accidentally showed your smarts. You sighed. "Yeah. Kinda hard not to with an IQ of 167 and a memory that pretty much never fails." You shrugged nervously, looking away as you braced yourself for his incoming doubt.

"Oh. Hyperthymesia, right?" He inquires. You blink a few times and look at him like he just said something so foreign you didn't know how to respond.

"U-uh...y-yeah. It's rare, but I got it. How'd you know?"

"It was more of an educated guess. See, you bite the inside of your cheek when you're nervous," he points out. You in fact, were biting your cheek as he spoke. "And you seem unintimidated by me despite knowing of my position. You only grew nervous when I mentioned anything academic. Which proves to me you're used to being the smartest kid in the room. And having to explain why every time." He finishes, leaving you a gigantic puddle of impressed and embarrassed that he had profiled all of that from only a few minutes from conversation.

"Geez, didn't expect to get profiled today. You're really good at it, you know. Well, I mean you would be. 'Cause you w-work for the BAU." You begin to ramble, groaning internally for suddenly turning into an awkward blob in front of this professional.

Spencer smiled a bit wider and let out a soft laugh. "So, y-you want to work for the BAU?"

You look at him puzzled for a moment before you remember that he'd been profiling you for the past five or so minutes. "Right, profiler…" you mutter. "Y-yeah. It's kinda been a dream of mine for years. Police officer never really appealed to me. I wanted to get into the real deal. Catch the hard criminals. Give myself a challenge, you know?" You rattle off, realizing just how comfortable you'd grown to Spencer in the short conversation you've had.

Spencer nodded. "It was always a dream of mine as well. I was kinda groomed for it." He admitted. "S-so… any jitters at all? Did you know that t-the common feeling of nervousness or 'butterflies' is actually caused by the reduced blood flow to the abdomen. Your stomach's sensory nerves sense the lack of oxygen and blood and it produces the fluttery feeling you get before a test or before a big performance."

You smile brighter. "Really? I never thought of that. I always just thought it was a signal your brain sent or something. That's interesting. I'm kinda glad I won't forget that."

Spencer felt his surprise increase again. You hadn't cut him off. There was no 'Sorry I asked' or awkward asking if he always did this. You actually listened. And you wanted to hear more! He didn't think he'd ever find someone willing to listen.

"H-heh…" Spencer chuckled. "W-well did you know that most people will forget 50 percent of the information you've been taught in one hour will be forgotten? A-and in 24 hours more than 75% of the information is gone. That's why studying is so important. It helps retain that information so it doesn't 'slip' as easily." He begins to rattle off again, quite glad he found someone who actually wanted to hear his statistics. It was a good cover for his nervousness about talking to this incredibly gorgeous woman.

You tilt your head in interest, laughing gently. "That's what I keep saying! Yet everyone always asks 'Why study if you remember everything?'" You exclaim, making a whiny voice expression for the impression of absolutely every bully you'd had ever.

A darker skinned man, who was much more gifted physically walked over as you and Spencer continued your conversation. He wrapped an arm around Spencer teasingly and nodded to you.

"Hope this pretty boy ain't bothering you baby girl." He greets. "He's great once you get to know him."

Spencer just looks annoyed at this man's sudden presence. "Seriously, Morgan? We were actually having a conversation before you butted in." He grumbled annoyedly. Then you remember the face. This was SSA Derek Morgan. You'd seen him in some pictures with Spencer. He wasn't too bad looking. In fact, you knew Iris would climb him faster than a squirrel did a tree. But Spencer was a bit more your type.

Morgan raised an eyebrow and smirked at you. "Oh really? So now pretty boy's talking to girls?" He teases, letting Spencer free from his suffocating hold. He then extends a hand out to me. "Derek-" he started.

"Derek Morgan. SSA from the BAU. Yeah, I know about you." You grinned. He looked you up and down a bit in the same interest that Spencer had. That soon was replaced by a confident smile.

"So you know of me." He said in a clearly flirtatious tone. "Don't tell me you've been searching up my pictures in your freetime, babygirl." He flirts.

You roll your eyes and take his hand, shaking it firmly. "No, I haven't. Though I have heard of you from my classes. But if I'm honest?" You begin. "I'm really wishing I could forget that comment." You sassily respond. He laughed.

"No one ever forgets, Babygirl." He grinned.

Spencer sighed and turned to Morgan in annoyance. "Morgan." He deadpanned. You looked towards him and giggled a little. It was clear Spencer had wanted to talk to only you. Maybe it was something to do with the statistics. You had a feeling that he felt he was finally being listened to.

"What? I'm just introducing myself to one of the new cadets." He insists, raising two hands up in defeat.

"Did you just profile me without my permission?" You ask him with fake offense. He laughed.

"Did I need to ask, sweetheart?" He asks. You chuckle.

"Guess not." You shrug.

"What's your name, beautiful? A pretty face has got to have a pretty name." He flirted.

"I'm Cadet (L/N)."

Morgan raised an eyebrow, fully ready to ask why the hold-up on your first name when Spencer thankfully saved you an explanation.

"She didn't share it with me either. Probably a mode of trust." He explains. Morgan shrugged.

"I'll find out eventually. You'll give it away." He insists.

"Uh huh, sure I will." You tease.

"Reid, Morgan, we need to prepare." You hear a third voice call the two men away from you. You stand a bit on your tiptoes to get a good look at who it was that was speaking.

Aaron Hotchner walked towards the three of you almost with a purpose. So much confidence in one man.

"Who is this?" He asked.

"I'm Cadet (L/N), Agent Hotchner. It's a pleasure to meet you." You greet, holding out a hand to him. Hotch raised an eyebrow at you in interest before shaking your hand in earnest.

"It's a pleasure to meet you as well. I've heard of your excellent grades and work in your studies. I hope to see you among the enlistees requesting the BAU." He greets, letting his hand fall back to his side.

"That's the plan, Agent Hotchner." You chip pleasantly. Morgan seems genuinely surprised.

"Wait, you're interested in the BAU? Profile me." He insisted. You blush from the sudden spotlight.

"W-what?" You ask.

"Morgan, that's enough." Hotch warns.

"Leave her alone, Morgan." Spencer expressed.

"No, it's fine." You assure. "Well, from the looks of your attire compared to your colleagues, I'd say you hate wearing formal clothing. Prefer to be comfortable. Your consistent flirty personality is mostly a show, as you wouldn't really flirt with someone you just met the way you flirted with me. So you either have someone in mind, or have a partner at home. And besides that, the way you greeted Dr. Reid proves you think of him as a younger brother, and you treat him like the brother you never had." You finished, a pleading voice in the back of your head screaming at you in hopes that you hadn't gone too far.

Instead of being offended, Morgan began to smile and grinned, clearly impressed. "She's actually pretty good." He comments to Hotch, glancing to Spencer and then back to you. "You'd make a good profiler." He compliments. You smile happily and full of relief at him.

"I sure hope so. Anyway, you should probably get going to the auditorium. The mics are a pain to tune and figure out, so I'd get it done now." You giggle slightly.

Spencer nodded and smiled at you. "T-thank you, again. Cadet (L/N)."

You couldn't help but blush a tad as he said your title. "Of course, Dr. Reid. Anytime you need directions." You tease.

Morgan raised an eyebrow. "What about me?" He teased back. You mock think about it for a moment before you reply.

"Sorry, I think you can figure it out, pretty boy." You joke, winking at him. He smiled brightly at your sass, chuckling a bit.

Hotch then got your attention very easily. "It was a pleasure to meet you again, (L/N)."

"You too. Good luck on the lecture." You bid them all fair well and turn around to take your seat again.

"Ooh, somebody's in looove~!" You hear Gabriel sing in a sing-song voice. You chuckle and shake your head.

"I am not in love, Gabriel. You just started eying the pretty boy I was talking to. You know, handsome black guy?" You tease.

"Hmm, yeah, probably. But seriously. I saw you looking at that other kid, the professor's-aide-looking guy, like he was a mountain of sugar. And I know sugar." He teased, sipping a coke he had obviously bought after the test.

"Oh shut up. Have you heard from Iris yet?" You ask.

"Nope. She's probably busy over at The Bean. We should go visit. Tell her about your rendezvous with Mr. Teacher's aid." Gabriel snickered.

"No, we are not telling Iris anything. You know how she gets. She gets all protective, and then nobody wants to go out with me cause they're all scared of her." You groan, stealing his coke for a moment.

Gabriel smirks at you. "So you admit that you like him?" He teases. You immediately realize your mistake and groan, covering your reddening face.

Gabriel chuckled and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. "Come on, sugar-tits. Let's get out of here for a lil' bit. Come back for that 'lecture' in like an hour." He teased. You bring your hands away from your face and sigh.

Did you really like him? Maybe. It was probably just an internet crush. Nothing more. It wasn't like it could get worse.

#spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #criminal minds family #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds

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nesswritings · 3 years

Text

A surprise. Goshiki’s red face from running halfway across campus was all you could focus on as he walked back with you to the volleyball gym. It had been quite the scene when he interrupted your conversation after school with your friends, the classroom door nearly falling off in his excitement. Several apologies later, and your excuse of him being a clueless underclassman and focused far more on volleyball than academics, and here you were.Walking near his side, keeping step with the younger boy as you let your mind wander. Graduating with the other third years in less than a week, the familiar trot of the horses helping to break up your thoughts. After years of attending Shiratorizawa, after countless volleyball practices and matches that you would manage, after comforting the boys through the highs and lows, it would all come to an end in a few days. Final goodbyes would come and everyone would part for their own paths, only to hope to come in contact once more. “Wait, Goshiki, why do you need me?”

“Well, you see, senpai…” The boy trailed off, trying to find a good excuse. It was Tendou’s idea, the entire surprise, and he had been shocked at the revelation. The little puppy crush he has would remain, but his heart would accept it. Nothing was truly right. “It’s a party! Tendou-kun said you liked parties an-”

“You believe Satori?” It was almost ridiculous, but you decided you could follow along and play the role. The volleyball club had always accepted you, even when you came out to them after the ‘school scandal’. Your parents wouldn’t forgive you anytime soon, but that hardly mattered when you had close friends and a plan to ask your crush on a date. She was perfect, and you’d give anything to hope she felt the same way. “Don’t worry about me, just take me to the gym, will you?”

The confetti came down before anything else, with Tendou’s laugh echoing in the small enclosed space. His arms were around you quickly, with Goshiki pushed aside to make way for him. He had dubbed himself as your best friend after your first week on the team, and he still refused to give you much space or lay off the affection. It isn’t friendship if people don’t question whether or not we’re dating, Tendou once said, only giving a wink off to Ushijima. It was memories like that you would miss when you were separated.

Tendou only seemed upset at the lack of touch on your side, his smile falling for a minute before putting more of his weight on you. Neither of you would fall, but he wanted to be close, wanted to get into your mind. “You seem awfully happy for someone who’s been mourning graduating and leaving this place behind. Not even pushing me off, best friend,” he lamented, a dramatic hand to his forehead. “But, happy pride to our favorite manager. Semi, where’s the cake?”

“Shirabu has it! I’m not your maid or anything!”

“And I am?” Shirabu questioned, his glare falling on Semi who only returned one back. He placed the box on the table, easily flipping it over. “I know we all love y/n, but do we really need a cake focused on them when there’s more gay people on this team?”

“And that, little Shirabu, is cruel, because not everyone is gay. There’s plenty of other synonyms you could use, I’m sure they’re in that smart brain of yours.” Tendou scolded, not letting his tone drop into anything too serious. “Besides, we want to thank them for all their hard work over the years. Ushijima ordered it, right?”

There was only a nod from the captain, with Tendou soon breaking the silence and beginning the celebration. Pride, graduation, a final thank you to you. Nothing too out of the ordinary, outside of the gift at the end. A team photo, and a separate gift from the third years that you were only allowed to open once you were back in your dorm for the night.

But that was sidetracked, as you somehow found yourself spread out with them in the quad as night fell. The stars twinkled, with an old hoodie of Ushijima’s handed to you as you shivered. You smile to thank the stoic man, pulling on the worn fabric. Most likely the last time you’d be met with his scent, with the warm items he passed onto you whenever you seemed cold. It was his special way of caring. “So, what is everyone doing after graduation?”

Semi blinks up at the stars, only giving a shrug at the question. There was so much to do and so little time. “I think I’m going to start a band.” He scowled at the laughter, blindly reaching his hand out to swat at Tendou and you. “Stop laughing, I can play the guitar, and I can sing. But I guess I’d also congratulate Shirabu for all this..hard work.”

“You’re muttering, Semi-Semi.” It was a tease, your smile growing at the prospective. They were finally a true team, having gone through thick and thin. “Satori? Ushijima?”

“I’m going to play volleyball.” A simple answer from a simple man, an answer with no room for questions. They could all contemplate and hope that he’d have a good love story with Tendou, but there was no telling.

“I wanna go to Paris, become a baker or something. If I become famous, you guys will have to come and visit me. But if any of you become famous, you can’t forget about me.”

“I promise, at least,” you interrupted Semi’s useless answer, letting your head rest on Tendou’s shoulder. “I’m not sure what I want to do yet. Just graduate, and then I’ll see.”

“Hey, y/n, a little birdie told me that your crush likes you. You should ask her out tonight.”

A little birdie..? You blinked at Tendou as the words finally set up, springing up to run after the lanky man. “Satori Tendou, get your ass back here! I’m gonna kill you! I can’t believe you know this, it’s homophobic!”

“Gotta catch me, shorty!”

The other two men only watched the two of you run around like idiots, exchanging nods as a sign of respect. Gay magic, Tendou once called it, and this must have been what it was.

#haikyuu!!#hq!!#haikyuu x you #hq x you #shiratorizawa #haikyuu imagines #tendou satori #haikyuu manager #lesbian manager + team support??#makes brain and heart go BRRRR #🌈.drabble #pretend there's no mistakes #work keeps biting my ass

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dreaming-of-assclass · 3 years

Note

CURSED MINDS THINK ALIKE BAHDJSNSKS

“I’ve never felt like this about anyone before!” Feat Okajima suddenly Discovering he likes Hayami because of her personality and not bcz of her appearance or whatever

While accepting she won’t like him back and... angst lmao? Or no angst you decide haha :eyes:

If anyone is confused, this came from both me and Nao thinking of a Valentine’s prompt for Hayami/Okajima 😂 aka the ship we love in a serious way and a crack way lmao.

This turned out be more of an introspective character study lol, but I hope I did it justice, bestie <3

Word Count: 1,694 words

In all fairness, Okajima mused to himself, it’s not like any part of this year went like planned.

Getting sent to Class E was a punch in the gut, for sure. There was no denying that, not after the laughter from his former classmates or the yelling he had to hear from his mom once he broke the news to her.

He’d been expecting a year of slacking, if he was going to be truly honest. He’d already reached rock bottom, no use in wasting his time and energy trying to get back into the main campus. Not when he was an average student, at best.

Fooling around during lessons, being labelled the class clown, hanging out with his friends, admiring his female classmates, overall having a good time. That was what he believed would await him in the dingy old building of 3-E.

Instead, their teacher was replaced by a giant yellow octopus who moved at Mach 20 and was gonna destroy the world, and it was up to him and his 25 classmates to save it.

Yeah. Big change of plans.

Okajima found himself actually being motivated to work, more and more everyday. He felt...excited to go to school everyday and feel better about himself, and his academic capabilities. He loved contributing to assassinations and proving himself a valuable member of the class.

But there was one part of him that didn’t quite go away for a while.

He sighed. His inexplicable love of female anatomy. That was the...polite way to put it. His classmates would phrase it as “his insufferable pervertedness.” Which was totally fair.

It was really shameful how he’d acted for a long time. His defining trait had been born from a life of being raised by his father, as well as the tiny voice in himself screaming for attention. To get noticed in some way, even if it earned him ire and scorn.

For a while, Okajima wasn’t sure how to interact with others beyond showing his perverted nature.

And looking back now, that was such a cowardly excuse he used. It had taken him way too long to realize that.

Okajima hated how he used to be, and his eyes were awakened after the girls in his class explained to him what was wrong. How his actions made them feel insulted and uncomfortable.

He painfully recalled the sharp sensation in his chest that formed to a lump in his throat at hearing their words.

It was never his intention to hurt them.

Okajima vowed to change that part of himself, and it was much easier than he thought it’d be. Looking back, it seemed like most of his problems in general came from overthinking.

The year was almost to an end now, and it was early February. Okajima had made a lot of progress, and he was happy to know how much he’s changed. How he had better, more honest relationships with his classmates now.

Well...there was still a bit of an issue...

Hayami.

The issue was Hayami.

Of course, not in a literal sense. Okajima could never think of her as that...not with the way she pushed back her bangs while reading, when he’d catch her watching cat videos in class, or the occasional times she’d laugh at his jokes...

He groaned to himself. I really do have it bad, don’t I?

As shocking as it sounded, he’d never had a crush before. Not on a girl, at least. Since there was that one boy in sixth grade who he-

Back to the topic, lusting after girls didn’t count as crushes, he realized belatedly. All of the objects of his admiration were solely for their looks, really.

But...somehow Hayami was different.

Like yeah, she had a banger body in his opinion, the perfect dancer build. But even before he’d had a change of character, that didn’t quite catch his attention as much as it usually would.

His favorite part of Hayami would always be the core of who she was. How she didn’t take bullshit from anyone. How she worked so hard, more diligent than anyone he’d ever known. How she kept a cool head all the time and was so reliable.

He just loved that she was tough and unapologetic for it.

The first time she’d responded to one of his stupid comments with a sharp, fierce glare, Okajima felt a thrill run through him. Partly out of fear, of course, but mostly out of...curiosity.

She was so different, so mysterious. He wanted to know more about her. And since they were seatmates for the year, that gave him some opportunities.

He was the first to know of her love for cats. He’d caught her looking wistfully at pictures of them on her phone, and he wisely kept that observation to himself. And a few days later, he gifted her with a cute cat-themed stationary set, claiming that his mom mistakenly bought it.

The way Hayami’s eyes lit up as her lips curved up in a small smile, a whisper of “thank you” falling off them was extraordinary and made Okajima’s heart leap.

Hayami’s other quirks soon added to his feelings towards her. He loved seeing her fidget with her pigtails absentmindedly. How she doodled pictures of cats on the side of her notebook. The way her feet created a small rhythm against the wooden floor, counting to a beat. How she looked like a complete badass during P.E class, loading her gun and shooting with it effortlessly.

Okajima sighed, his arms falling atop his face as he lay in bed. These new...romantic feelings were overwhelming, to say the least. He felt like voicing his thoughts, just so someone- anyone could give him advice. His dad and brother were absolutely out of the picture, though. So the most trusted people were...

He reached over and grabbed his phone, dialing a familiar number.

“Alright, dude. You said you were going through a crisis.” Mimura leaned back into his beanbag seat, popping a piece of candy into his mouth. “What’s up?”

Okajima leaned down slightly, his forearms resting onto his knees. “Well...it’s not really a crisis. It’s just...something new that I’m not used to.”

Sugaya raised an eyebrow from his spot on his bed, glancing up from his pencil in his hand he’d been observing. “I swear, if this is puberty-related-”

“It’s not! It’s more like, my feelings towards something has changed and I’m not sure why.”

“Shoot.”

Okajima took a breath then released everything in one go.

“I have a crush on Hayami and it’s not just for her appearance. I really like her personality. I think she’s a total badass who can step on me and I’d love it. But I also think she’s adorable and I wish I could get closer to her. But I know there’s no way in hell she’d ever like me back, so I’m just accepting that and...yeah.”

His friends’ eyes widened simultaneously, as Sugaya dropped his pencil and Mimura paused, holding his candy mid-air. The look they exchanged was almost comical, so Okajima let out a shaky laugh. “Uh...guys?”

Mimura snapped back to reality. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just...surprised.”

The artist hummed. “Yeah...I mean, don’t get me wrong. I knew you’d fall in love or whatever someday. But your crush is what surprises me...”

“Yeah, why Hayami?” Mimura chimed in.

Okajima frowned slightly. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean...she’s pretty scary,” Sugaya replied.

“And emotionally unavailable,” Mimura added.

“She’s super reserved.”

“Kind of...bitchy on her worst days-”

“Okay!” Okajima raised his voice, irritably. “Are you two done? Did you even hear what I said earlier?”

“No because you said it all really fast in one breath.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, smartass, there’s so much more to her that I really adore. And I don’t think it’s right to...when you like someone, you accept every part of who they are. You shouldn’t pick and choose what you like about them.”

His friends glanced at each other again. “I guess you have a point,” Sugaya admitted.

Okajima sat back with a sigh. “I’ve never felt like this about anyone before,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Like...all I wanna do is see her smile and be happy. I wanna make her laugh. Seeing her every morning is enough to make my day. I know it sounds dramatic but...”

Mimura frowned at him. “Would you ever confess? Maybe there’s a chance that she-”

The photographer cut him off. “There isn’t.”

“Dude, you don’t-”

“Even if she did, I wouldn’t want us to be together,” Okajima replied. He gave his friends a thin smile.

“She deserves so much better than someone like me.”

Okajima stopped in front of the door, his hand hovering above the knob. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the thundering sound of his own heartbeat.

It was just another typical day. Or, as typical as a day could be given the circumstances of their class.

And yet, voicing his ambivalent feelings last night gave way to a heaviness that settled deep into his chest. It weighed him down and brought a crushing sensation to his throat as well, like it was hard to breath.

“It’s just in my head,” he muttered to himself, finally turning the doorknob.

Stepping into the classroom almost felt like a dream. He stood briefly as if in a daze, holding his bag. A second passed and he moved mechanically towards his seat.

All around him, his classmates were getting ready for the day. Setting up their desks, gathering around to chat, some were eating a quick breakfast. It didn’t matter: everything just blurred around him anyways.

He set his bag down and began pulling out his supplies. The words fell from his lips in an excited greeting, a grin automatically forming on his lips.

“Good morning, Hayami!”

She turned in his direction, her hand resting elegantly under her chin. Her lips quirked up into a small smile as she returned his greeting. Her tone was casual yet genuine and it sent electricity through him.

“Morning, Okajima.”

Yeah. She deserved only the best.

And it wasn’t him.

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therenlover · 3 years

Text

Five More Minutes (aka A Ten Minute Break with Imaginary Zemo)

(So uh, this is a weird little writing project I did. It’s kinda experimental and a deep dive into my messy little brain, so that’s that. I hope you guys like it, because it was just a warm up, but I decided to post it cause it didn’t turn out half bad. Sorry that it’s uber specific to me, lol)

Synopsis: A writer imagines her muse as she struggles through anxieties and self loathing. Sometimes it’s easier to pretend you’re being cared for than it is to care for yourself.

Rating: T

Warnings; Swearing maybe? Vague references to depression and general trauma

Word Count: 2000~

------

Zemo walks through the door while I’m taking a break.

He’s soft around the edges, watching me with a gaze that seems intent on telling me he doesn’t approve of whatever it is I had done this time. I simply regard him with a quiet nod and let my eyes drift closed once again. The bed is warm below me but a cool spring rain pours down heavy and hard outside the open window. I like to write with the breeze flowing. It helps me focus on more than wanting to sleep. This is a break, though; a small allowance of time where I can fold my hands behind my head and relax without worrying about my next deadline. I stretch my legs out further, recumbent, as he sits at the end of the bed.

“Look who decided to come back home,” I taunt him, “How long has it been? A week? Two?” The bitterness is a farce, a facade I put up more for my own benefit than his.

Helmut sighs before he replies, “I shall always return when you call me, Schatz,”

“It doesn’t feel like you will.”

“Despite that, it is true,” Slowly, from behind the darkness of my still-closed eyes, I hear the soft clink of china. Interesting… I let one eye open just a sliver to peer down the bed. Helmut is sitting there, eyes full of that special adoration he holds just for me, and in his outstretched hand, he holds a steaming cup of tea. Hedging my bets, I begrudgingly set my laptop aside and reach down to take it from him. Something is better than nothing and I haven’t had water in hours, maybe days. He knows that all too well. Why else would he have brought tea?

The first sip is taken silently while Zemo simply gauges my reaction to his presence. He and I both know that I can be… picky when it comes to his affections. If they come at the wrong time I am almost certain to deny him. This time, though, he arrived at a just-right place between sleep and work that allows me to give in to his endless and thorough affections. The tea is warm and sweet, and I finish the cup less than a minute after he handed it to me.

That makes him smile. It’s infectious. Less than a minute later I’m smiling with him. In a simple moment, all the ice that had built on my heart in the wake of his absence had melted. All it took was some good tea and his presence, strong and constant at my side, to ease the discomfort from weeks apart.

Helmut is the one to break the silence.

“Did you get my gift a few nights ago?”

I nod, sitting up a bit to scoot to the end of the bed. “You were the one who dropped off dinner?”

“Of course it was. I’m here to aid you, my love,” for an instant he pauses, something akin to jealousy flashing across his face, “I may be… absent sometimes, but no one else here can help you the way I do. I don’t really see why you keep them around, quite honestly. Most of them are selfish pri-”

“Helmut,” I warn him, and he backs off. He always does if I ask him to. His loyalties lie firmly in my comfort and my comfort alone.

“The point is, you are mine and mine alone to care for. If not always, then when I can,”

“Well, I appreciate it,”

A practiced hand makes its way to my bare knee, exposed by my shorts. I don’t complain. Helmut is here to help, and if rubbing away the aches caused by the rain is what he wants to do, I have no objection. His digits massage it with care. The constant steady pressure is grounding. To ease the process I beckon Helmut further up onto the bed. In just a moment of shuffling, I find myself between his legs with my back to his chest as he restarts his gentle probing of my knee. I let my head rest against him and just breathe. There’s a peace to it.

Neither of us feels the need to move.

Somewhere outside the room, we can hear Andrea begin to practice his violin. The sweet sounds are more relaxing to me than they are to Helmut, who hates the reminder of his housemates, but he can’t deny that the boy plays well. He would like to think, though, that he plays better. I don’t pick favorites, but it’s one battle that I wouldn’t want to miss, should things come down to it.

We stay like that for a while, him massaging my aching joints while I use his broad, soft chest as a pillow, but eventually, he speaks again. We both know what’s coming. I’m just not quite ready to acknowledge it yet. He always broaches the subject when it’s time.

He knows I couldn’t do it if I tried.

“You’re pushing me out again,” his voice is a low hum, “why must you always push me out just when I’ve gotten close to you?” He presses soft kisses to my hair as I sigh. It’s my turn for words but I know I can’t say them. Not to him and not to anyone else. Instead, I let myself turn cold again.

“Maybe if you were more useful, I’d keep you around more often. Besides, you’re a grown man. You can come and go as you please. If you wanted to stay, you would,”

“We both know that’s not true,”

Helmut’s right. He always is. That doesn’t mean I ever listen to him, but when he softly coos in my ear about eating or resting he’s always right, I always need it. Sometimes I think it would be better if I gave in. I never do though, it’s not worth the fallout that would follow.

Still, I let myself get a bit closer to giving in this time. Just close enough that I won’t feel so raw once he’s gone again. A modicum of extra comfort can be allowed from time to time if used sparingly, and I take the word sparingly very seriously.

“Five more minutes,” I whisper into his warm skin, “Please, I just want five more minutes,” It’s not a question, it’s a plea, and not to him. No, it’s a plea to the universe, to the cruel god that separates us…

To myself.

Helmut removes his hand from its place rubbing out the aches in my wrists and lets his arms wrap around me, encasing me in his warmth and holding me tight to his body. He’s warm. So, so warm against the frosty chill of my own skin.

“Of course, Schatz. I will always have five more minutes for you,”

If Helmut had his way, he’d have every minute of my day. He doesn’t, though. He can’t. Five extra will just have to do until he finds a way to creep back through my door and into my good graces. Then we will have five more minutes again and again until there’s nothing left of us and no more minutes left to spend. Until then, the game goes on.

Outside, the rain pick’s up its pitter-pattering into a full downpour.

The water comes in through the opened window, but neither of us moves to close it. Water damage doesn’t matter where we are anyway. Especially not when the timer is ticking down.

I cry when I croak out words again.

“I don’t understand why I can’t let you stay,” I say, throat dry with angry tears, “I don’t understand why I do this to myself,”

It’s a lie, we both know exactly why I push him away, but Helmut bites his tongue. We don’t speak of those things, the things that creep deep in my mind and pull the strings of my marionette. That’s not his job. Part of me wishes it was.

Instead of trying to explain away my reasons for doing what I do, though, Helmut simply holds me tighter. “Someday, you won’t have to. You will be happy, Schatz; happy and free to rest whenever you feel the need to. I may not be here to see it, but it will happen, and when it does you’ll know just how proud I am of you,”

“You promise?”

“I promise,”

His heart thuds heavy under my ear, his weight a constant against my shoulders. If I close my eyes tight enough I can hear him humming a tune. The clock ticks down the seconds till his departure. I cling to him for every last second that I can.

“Should I send someone else in when I leave?” He asks softly.

I shake my head no.

“Not even Laszlo?”

“Not even Laszlo,” I sigh. What I don’t say is that the pain of his absence will numb me of everything once he’s gone. What he doesn’t need to know can’t hurt him. Instead, I offer up some half-assed explanation from nowhere, just to make myself feel better about the lie. “He only helps me write the academic stuff. Fiction isn’t his wheelhouse,”

“Ah,” Helmut whispers, and as he does I can feel him start to shift away. Five minutes always pass too fast in the arms of a lover. I wipe my tears as he collects my teacup. “When will you call me back to you,”

“Soon, I hope,”

“But when?”

He asks not for himself, but for me, because he knows what happens when I don’t call him back to me. He’s seen it in the circles rimming my eyes and the ribs that jut painfully from my skin and most of all in the wheezing coughs and winces that escape my lips when I breathe too deep. It’s my choice to make, though, and mine alone.

I hate that I can’t give him a straight answer.

“Maybe tonight, if I’m lucky, you can come in and hold me while I sleep,” It’s an empty promise, just short of a lie. It doesn’t matter though. It’s as close to the truth as I can bear to acknowledge for myself when my eyelids droop lower by the second. Unfortunately, I probably won’t sleep at all.

“No dinner?” There’s no disappointment in Helmut’s voice, but I wish there was. Instead I’m met with acceptance. he knows me well enough that there is no fighting my self destruction, only easing it.

“I’m too behind,” I explain, “It would take too much time. This break was already pushing it. I have three fics to finish by Friday and if I don’t…” The consequence went unsaid.

Helmut nods, stoic. “I shall see you again when you call on me next, Schatz,”

With that, he’s gone again and I’m alone. The chill from the rain sinks deep in my bones as I scrub the remaining tears and sleep from my eyes before grabbing my laptop again. Maybe if I worked a little harder, I could manage to sleep through the night or eat a whole meal. Helmut would be back then, as real as I could will him to be, to serve as a reminder and a companion through it all.

The words on the screen seem like a foreign language. Sleep that has evaded me for days threatens to creep into my mind but I shove it out forcefully and turn up the brightness. Sleep won’t help me now, not with the aching in my heart that screams at the slightest bit of rest. The ache doesn’t have a name like the self care does, or the softness or the anger or the book-smarts. The ache is just me.

The rest are too, but less so. They’re easier to accept that way.

I push on.

Just a little more work… just a couple more tens of thousands of words…

Alone again and wetted by rain and tears, I weep and write.

------

a/n: Basically, Helmut is a personification of my ability to care for myself. I always want to, and I resent myself for not doing it more, but I just... can’t. Andrea and Laszlo are both also technically representative of feelings in my brain, but those feelings aren’t specified here. I hope you enjoyed that weird little ramble, though! It was nice to deep dive into my brain in a weird way and do some good, old fashioned therapy writing. I’m a slut for a good extended metaphor.

#jac rambles #jac talks about zemo #I don't blame you if you don't read this #technically its a reader insert I guess #even if its an uber specific one

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beware-of-you-98 · 3 years

Text

sad childhood jj hcs

warnings: mentions of suicide, emotional detatchment, bullying and grief... yeah...

even before ros dies, jj is the odd one out in her class

she goes to school in a small town where everyone knows everyone’s business

everyone knows jj’s dad is sleeping with their biology teacher

everyone knows he’s gone from home for days, weeks, maybe even months at a time, leaving his wife alone to care for jj and ros

jj’s not even mentioned by her last name by her peers

she’s just referred to as “jennifer, the girl who’s dad is sleeping with our science teacher”

she keeps her head down, sticks to her small group of friends and tries to ignore the teasing

(she comes home in near tears more often than not and goes straight to ros for comfort)

ros makes promises to take jj to their grandparents farm after really rough weeks and always comes through on that promise

sometimes, ros just takes her out of the house and into town because, on the rare occasion their dad is home, he’s fighting with their mom

ros becomes more distant as the weeks pass by

she no longer makes promises to jj about taking her to their grandparent’s farm

she doesn’t take jj out of the house when their parents are fighting

ros isn’t even home most of the time for jj to go cry to

ros gives jj her favorite necklace as a gift one day as an apology for her behavior (jj thinks so, at least)

ros hugs her just a little bit tighter that night and makes jj promise that she’ll get out of this town when she’s older

jj pinky promises to keep her sister’s word

three days later, jj finds ros floating in the bathtub, water crimson red, her body stiff and chest still, the blade from their dad’s razor still gripped in her hand

jj’s dad leaves for good after that

he stays for the funeral and then leaves in the middle of the night

jj never sees him again

at school, the bullying only gets worse

jj is no longer “the girl who’s dad is sleeping with our science teacher”

she’s just “jennifer, the girl with the dead sister”

the people who she thought were her friends distance themselves from her because she’s too sad all the time

jj panics and learns to just take the verbal abuse in stride

because if she doesn’t have her friends, then she has absolutely no one in her corner and that terrifies her

jj sleeps in her sister’s bedroom most nights

she can’t help herself: it’s the only way she feels she can be close to ros again

(her mother catches her one night and screams at her until her throat is raw and her voice is hoarse)

(jj learns to sneak out of her sister’s room and back into her own before her mother wakes up)

in eigthth grade, she takes up soccer

she pushes herself to her very limits, often ending practice with really sore limbs and a pounding headache

she even stays on the field until the sun sets because she’s determined to avoid home as much as possible

her sister is gone and her mother, an empty shell of her former self, seemingly resents her for something beyond her control, why would she ever want to go back?

she walks home in the pitch blackness, hiding behind bushes and trees if she hears a car coming so that no one sees her

jj learns to take care of herself; waking herself up in the mornings and walking three miles to and from school, she cooks herself breakfast and dinner and, on the occasion, she’ll make up a pot of coffee for her mother

she picks up cans on the side of the road on days she doesn’t have soccer practice and turns them in for cash so she can buy herself new cleets and a uniform

she pushes herself really hard during soccer season, becoming better and better each practice and game

jj’s easily got the best stats on her team, and the school has garnered a bit of a reputation as extremely hard to beat because of her

her mother never shows up to any of her games, but jj decided that it’s fine

she’ll play for herself

she’ll keep her promise with ros to get out and far away from this small town no matter what

if the rules in the district weren’t so strict, jj knows she would easily be on the varsity team as a freshman when she reaches high school

at one of her very first games, she notices a scout from the university of pittsburgh watching her

jj plays her best game that night, beating out all her previous records and setting a few new ones for the high school

the scout comes up to her after the game and pulls her aside to talk to her

she’s offered a scholarship right on the spot and takes it without hesitation

over all four years of high school, jj works her ass off athletically and academically

her classmates don’t know her as “jj with the dead sister or the absent, deadbeat dad”

they know her as “jj, the best soccer player east allegheny has seen in almost twenty six years”

jj graduates with a 4.0 and ranks number 5 overall in a class of over 300 students

her mother doesn’t show up to her graduation but she could care less

she kept her promise to ros, she’s finally getting out of this small town, and that’s all she ever cared about

#criminal minds #jennifer jareau #jennifer jj jareau #sad headcanons :/#just headcanons tho #probably not very canon compliant but idc #tw mentions of suicide #it’s sad until it’s kinda not #oof

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angelisverba · 4 years

Text

so precious, if only you knew

in which y/n thinks her brother’s best friend sees her as a little sister, and Jason, her brother’s best friend, thinks she’s too cute for her own good.

word count: 9k give or take some :D

pairing: y/n, and her brothers best friend, Jason (from the snl skit)

notes: inspired by project x. that’s all.

When Jason and his friends were in their freshman year of high school, they made a pact.

To have a party.

A party so big, everyone got laid. A party so big, celebrities came. A party so big, the police feared it.

One where they would loose their virginity. Get drunk so they couldn’t remember how they lost it (although, now it’s too late ‘cause none of them are virgins). And maybe, just maybe, participate in the illegal consumption of illegal substances such as drugs and or alcohol.

At the time of their promise, it was unknown if this party would be any sort of celebration, or just for the hell of it. The four, gangly, skinny, face-full-of-acne, boys had been so fueled by the simple idea that they just had to make their party so legendary future alumni could only imagine imitating an ordeal as great as the one they created. As time passed, they argued over who’s birthday, or what holiday would be the cause of, as it had come to be named, G.C.B.B. Get Crunk and Bone Babes. Pronounced gee-sea-babe, because somehow the two b’s had morphed into ‘babe’. GCBabe, in the end, was endowed to Jason when he made a bet that he would score the winning touchdown and win the league for his high school during his junior year. Andrew and Kent, slightly peeved but more relieved that they had a reason to celebrate (they’d settled on Jason’s birthday), and had shifted their focus to the hows, when, wheres, and whats of the situation.

This was the only thing they ever talked about the closer it got to the date, Feburary 1st, and everything they did revolved around spreading the word, obtaining booze, weed, and whatever else they planned on having. Andrew, who’s uncle so conveniently ran a radio station, not only announced a message himself on said radio station, but also convinced his uncle’s dj coworkers to email any celebrities they knew.

Kent, more on the brainy side of things, was working on the booze and drugs. He snuck into the school and used that machine they had to make student id’s and created a fake state id for himself. He would buy booze in a store where workers didn’t know him. Maybe drive 30 minutes to the next town for beer and the lot. His cousin had told him not to worry about weed and the sorts, as long as he received payment.

Jason, ever the spoiled brat, would pay for everything. Even if it was his birthday.

No, no, because it was his birthday.

The thing is, his parents were going out of town to celebrate their anniversary, which just so happened to fall on Jason’s birthday (what a wonderful gift to Jason’s dad), and had given him a generous sum of money to make up for the fact that they wouldn’t be there to celebrate his 18th birthday party. So, he had the house, the money, and the birthday to celebrate.

“YOU’VE HEARD IT ONCE BEFORE, AND YOU’LL HEAR IT AGAIN TILL THE END OF THIS SCHOOL’S TIME,” yelled Andrew, who stood on the back of a golf cart, megaphone in hand while Jason and Kent drove him up and down the lunch tables, “PARTY AT FUCKING JASON’S HOUSE, THIS SATURDAY. MISS IT, AND YOU’LL DIE.”

“Andrew!”

The cart came to a stop in front of a very disgruntled-looking y/n, Andrew’s sister. She stood comically, with her hands bunched up into tiny fists at her hips, lips in a frown at her brothers actions. “Are you trying to cause a riot? Miss it or die,” she mocked, pulling a funny face and cocking her hip to the side as she does so, “Yeah, think I’d rather die, thanks. Now shut up and put that cart back before they take away your senior privileges.”

Kent laughs, and Jason, leaning with his forearms crossed on top of the steering wheel, snickered into his wrists.

“Well, I’ve got news for you sissy,” said Andrew, his tongue poking out at her playfully, “Coach Barnwell let us borrow his cart, and all the snitch staff is in a meeting, so I’m not gonna get into trouble,” He makes and L with his forefinger and thumb, pressing it on his forehead, “Loser. Now, scram. Go study for chem or... something.”

Y/n laughed at her brother, knowing that he was only joking with her, and flipped him off. She walked away with, as Andrew said, her chem book tucked underneath her arm, and shut herself in a little nook at the library for the remainder of the lunch period. Away from the ‘get crunk and bone babes’ nonsense, god knows she heard enough of it at home. Jason this, and GCBabe that. Sheesh, it was terrible. All she ever wanted to do was study and do her homework in peace... and maybe steal a few glances and Jason here and there.

But we don’t have to talk about that. What y/n really needed to do, was study for the chem test she had on Friday. Tomorrow. She was the best in her class, always raising her hand to answer a question, but for whatever reason, she just couldn’t get the hand of stoichiometry if she didn’t have a sample problem in front of her. She didn’t want to have to, but grades mattered, so all day she had been thinking of way to cheat. How to write what she needed. Which letters to shorten. Where to hide the slip of paper.

She’d done it before.

Cheat on a test, that is. The pressure there was to ensure good grades, well it was an insurmountable force. Her entire life, her parents told her academic success led to success in life, and you don’t want to end up homeless under the bridge do you, y/n?

She didn’t. It was her biggest fear. Studying hard for a nice home and car, and enough money to support herself and her kids was a constant thought in the back of her mind.

It’s because of this that the tip of her nose was always stuck in a book, her fingers always wrapped around a pencil that transcribed notes in her neat writing. It was all she knew.

Because it was all she knew. It was no surprise to her parents when she pulled all-nighters to study for tests. Or when she declined offers to eat dinner out because ‘mom, I have a test to study for’ or ‘dad, i really need to finish this essay’. That night, was no different. Y/n stayed up to study, her thumb pink because of all the pages she was flipping through. Her wrist her from forcing her writing to be as small as it could, so she could fit all she could on an index card she cut in half.

In the morning, Andrew cheered a loud, “WHOOP! WHOOP! MY SISTER ISN’T SUCH A GOODY TWO SHOES AFTER ALL!” when he saw her place the card up her shirtsleeve after she put her seat belt on. Y/n, had she had the energy, would’ve pushed his shoulder, but instead chose to take a nap during the measly 15 minutes it took to get to school. Her head jostled against the headrest with the cars movements, and she almost cried because she couldn’t doze off. Somewhere along the way, she felt fingers against the side of her face, cradling her head. She jumped, startled, but she heard Andrew say,

“Relax, its Jason. Picked him up cause he needed a ride to school.” and she was out like a light.

Andrew got out of the car once he parked, and Jason circled around the passenger seat so he leaned over the console, with his palm still on the other side of her face. He rubbed up and down her forearm to wake her, murmuring, “We’re here, y/n. S’time to wake up.”

Y/n woke up disoriented, starting with a deep breath and her eyes blinking open slowly, looking around and landing on Jason, who was smiling at her tenderly. She smiles back at him, tilting her head to the side as she does so. She hopes he can’t hear how fast her heart is beating.

“Good morning,” she said to him. The warning bell rings not long after that, and she turns away from him to reach for her backpack. Jason grabs his own backpack, too, swinging it over his should and stepping out of Andrew’s car. Andrew stands at the front of the car, texting someone on his phone while he waits for Jason and his little sister to step out.

“C’mon guys. Big day today!” yelled Andrew. It seemed as if he was always yelling. His voice, ebullient and clear, held an electrifying energy today, amplifying itself to the max. He whooped and hollered, locking his car carelessly and comically skipping away, but not before turning back and blowing a kiss in Jason’s general direction, yelling, “This is for you, big boy!”

Y/n snickered at her brother, and at Jason’s shocked face. “That was for you, big boy,” she repeated after he brother.

“You forgot the kiss,” he said, pouting and pointing his chin down at the floor. Her heart doubled over in her chest, and she struggled to contain her swoon.The little 13 year old in her, having been the first time she ever felt anything for Jason, squealed like a banshee, and the rational 17 year old in her, shushed her by taping her mouth closed. Having seen Jason’s blonde, skinny, cheerleader girlfriends, she knew it would never happen. Jason was only nice to her because she was his best friend’s little sister.

That was all she’d ever be.

“Oh I have no doubt you’ll get plenty of those tomorrow,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. When she noticed the groups of students getting smaller and smaller, she started walking away, eager to get to class and not be late. She’s only taken three steps when Jason calls out her name.

“I know you’ll do great on your test today,” and he has the goofiest smile on his stupidly handsome name and y/n just wants to go over there and slap him for making her heart to pirouettes.

“Thank you,” she said, and turned to walk to her class.

Jason felt as if he was in one of those indie movies. But, the ones from the 80′s. Ironically, he’s leaned up against the car, one foot propped up, hand clenching the singular strap he wore on his left shoulder. Entranced, he stared after y/n as she walked away, brows dipped over his eyes and his leg bouncing jitterishly.

When he was 16, a sophomore, and she a freshman, he’d stumbled upon her on a rainy spring day. He’d been on his way home from his (now ex) girlfriend’s house, and she was huddled underneath a large birch tree, the canopy thick enough so she wasn’t getting wet, but the winds strong enough that she was chilled to the bone. Her knees were banged up, and her ankle was twisted. Jason remembers asking her what happened, and she said nothing, instead jumping into his arms when he knelt down beneath her. He remember hissing because she was so cold, her clothes soaked through. She’d whispered to him a weak don’t tell my parents, please take me to your house, and he did. He took her to his house, carrying her because the poor thing had to hop on one foot. This was around the time he was bulking for wrestling, so he didn’t have a hard time lifting her and carrying her the rest of the way.

She fell asleep on his bed wearing a pair of his sweatpants and his hoodie after she took a warm shower. They never talked about. Not even once. But Jason swears that every once in a while, the skin of his neck still burns where she pressed a kiss to it after he got in bed next to her because she was ‘still cold’.

Since then, Jason harbored feelings for her. His yearning of her dainty hands to press against his chest while she cuddled into him was squashed every time he heard Andrew yell at another guy in the locker room for sexualizing his sister.

It was a dangerous game he played. Sneaking looks at her in car rides to and from school. Wanting to kiss her like he did then. And when she wore plaid school girl skirts, he wanted to press her up against the wall and hold her by the throat while his tongue snaked into her mouth. All while he sat next to Andrew.

He knew that one day, he’d say fuck it all and do it. He wasn’t an idiot. His back burned when she stared a him from her kitchen isle while he played video games with Kent and Andrew in the living room of her house. He knew every little thing she tried to pass as discreet, because he did the same thing too.

One day, and one day soon, he’d say fuck. it. all.

Y/n was very nervous.

Well, she always get nervous when she’s getting ready to take a test but, today was different. She was on edge, leg bouncing and head pounding. She was stressed. Her english teacher had assigned a paper that was due at midnight, and her math teacher had given her a surprise quiz she knows she failed. And this test was her chance to bring her B+ to an A-. Not to mention, if she got caught, she’d be sent up to the office with a referral.

“You have until the end of class to complete this exam. If you fail to complete before the class period, you will be granted five minutes after the bell. You may begin,” the teacher, Mrs. Prowe, sat down after the little announcement, and turned her full attention to an adult coloring book she had set up on her desk.

Y/n stared at the first question for a solid 2 minutes before any of the information actually sunk in. To which does He belong? a. metals b. metalloids c. non-met....

The first few questions are always easy. Review from past chapters, all of which y/n understood. The first page, front and back, were a breeze. She bubbled in circled on her answer sheet without hesitation. The back side, however, was a different story.

Her palms began to sweat at the sight of brackets and subscripts on letters. Her pencil started slipping. Y/n’s heart started to race, the edges of her eyes blurring. Don’t cry, don’t cry. Fuck. The note card. She took it out with no second thoughts. Within seconds, she had finished the first problem. It was almost exactly like the example exercise she had copied down, only the letters had been changed; different elements. Halfway through the period, the teacher announced how much time was left, and y/n was nearly done.

On the last page, however, was one problem she knew she wouldn’t get. It was one of what the teacher called ‘irregulars’, because you needed to follow certain rules that pertained to the elements or whatever the heck it was. She stared at the paper with her eyebrows raised, and all the dreadful feelings she had felt before tumbled back. Her pencil began to slip, her eyes began to blur. Shit, shit.

The bell rang. She didn’t want to doddle any longer, cut she needed to answer this last problem, and she didn’t fucking know how. Her leg was near violently shaking, the table quivering with her movements. Her breathing grew tight, and she figured, she could lose one point. Knowing Mrs. Prowe it wouldn’t matter because that last one is most likely worth half the test. Y/n felt herself go rigid, body nearly frozen as she walked against student traffic to place her test on the teachers desk.

She was the last to exit the classroom. She did so with her head hung low, her feet dragging slowly on the tiles. Lips trembling, fighting to hold back tears.

That was how she bumped into Jason. Shoulders drooping and eyes shining wet. She bumped into his chest so hard, she would’ve fallen back if he didn’t catch her.

“Y/n?” He asked after he stumbled back a bit. He’d seen her coming, and he was looking at her, ready to smile when she looked up, but she hadn’t. “What’s wrong?” He followed her gaze to try and make eye contact with her, but she shifted her eyes to the floor, and let the tears slip.

“Y/n? Y/n? Hey, look at me,” Jason’s voice was desperate and panicked because he wasn’t really sure what was wrong. Y/n started to curl in on herself, her hands coming to clutch opposite shoulders. When she didn’t look up at him, Jason gingerly lifted her chin up with his curled forefinger. “What is it?”

“It’s too much. I-I,” was all she managed to whisper before she started crying, she body swaying with sobs. Y/n knew, she knew she was crossing the same lines she had that rainy spring day, but she needed to feel her arms around him. She needed to feel secure.

So,

she took one step forward, and wrapped her arms around his neck awkwardly, Not a full millisecond passed, when she felt his arms encompass her, a secure bind around her waist. His chin propped on her head, on his hands rubbing up and down her back, and she had her face tucked into his neck.

“S’okay, y/n. You’re okay,” He cooed into her ear, making ssh-ssh noises every now and then.

Slowly but surely, y/n felt herself come down from the self-destructive place she put herself in; the knot in her throat untangled. She began to retract her arms from Jason’s neck, when his arms tightened around her. She stilled, unsure of what to do.

For a second, Jason had forgotten his situation. Why he couldn’t get close to her. He was so close to saying fuck-it-all. He wasn’t sure what held him back. Maybe it was her teary eyes. Or the fact that a teacher had come out of their classroom. But, he cleared his throat and pulled away from her, stuffing his hands in his letterman jacket to avoid reaching out to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

“Sorry about that,” she said, sniffing and attempting to laugh to brush off the back that she had a mini-breakdown in his arms. “I-”

“It’s okay, y/n. Don’t apologize. I just want to to know what had you so upset,” Jason said, his words coming out slowly to make sure that she truly understood how much he meant them.

“It’s just,” she sighed, “school. It’s a lot.”

He scoffed, “I bet. You do so much. More than you give yourself credit for, I think. Deserve a break.”

“This weekend; s’gonna be my break. Yours too, no? Are you excited?” She confessed, turning the other way and beginning to walk. She was sure that Andrew was waiting for them at the car. Jason walked alongside her, as soon as she started moving.

“Yeah. It’s been all me, Kent, and Andrew have wanted since freshman year.” Jason stops talking for a minute, and scrunches one side of his face.

“But?” Y/n prods. Looking at him out of the corner of her eye. He scratched the back of his neck, and his jacket inflates where his bicep flexes. Jason notices her looking, and smiles at her while giving her a side-eye look. Blushing, she turns her face straight forwards, like that didn’t just happen.

“But, some of the novelty has worn off if I’m being honest.” When she hums, almost knowingly, he adds quickly, “Don’t tell Andrew or Kent I said that.”

She giggled, and murmured, “You’ve kept my secrets, I’ll keep yours.”

Jason, surprised at her subtle acknowledgement of what happened nearly 2 years ago, turns to look at her, shocked. He wants to say something. Anything to get her to say more, but he sees Andrew and shuts his gaping mouth.

“There you are- hey, y/n, are you okay?” Andrew’s chesire cat grin drops from his face when he sees that his little sister’s face is splotchy and swollen red from past tears- a look he recognizes all to well from the times she’d come into his room in the middle of the night asking to be held.

“I’m good,” she smiled at her brother, a sad smile that revealed she wasn’t okay, but didn’t wanna talk about it. “Let’s go home.”

Their ride was full of quick gibber and banter over tomorrow. How thing would go down, who they hoped to see and, in Andrew’s words, fuck. What music they would play, etc. etc. Y/n laughed at their enthusiasm under her breath. As much as she loved her brother, he could be such an idiot sometimes

They dropped Jason off at his house, which was being prepped by Kent by the looks of it. His car- a red corolla- was parked in Jason’s strip of a driveway. Andrew promised he’d be joining them later that night, and pulled out.

He pulled the windows up, and turned the music off. Then, he said,

“Y/n, what happened?” Andrew, as much as he was a fuckboy an party animal, cared about his sister if he cared about anything at all. Maybe a little too much.

Pushing air past her lips, “I’m fine now, Andy. I promise. That stupid chem test really had me going, that’s all.”

“Are you sure, y/n? No one was bothering you?” Andrew looked at her quickly, hesitantly turning away from her to look at the road.

“Andy, I’m okay.” She reassured her brother.

Jason wasn’t a bother.

Saturday morning, y/n woke up to an eerily quiet house.

A difference to the pasts months. She’d gotten used to Andrew yelling ‘GET CRUNK BONE BABES!” all over the house. Hell, their parents knew of the entire party ordeal, and were quite skeptical about it. Knowing their son, they didn’t try to stop him, they just told him time and time again to ‘be safe, Andrew.’ So many nights he had come home excited and drunk, and shown them videos on his phone of what had occurred at whoever’s house he’d been at before

Their dad, in fact, had watched the videos with amazement, and never bashed on anything other than the fact that he shouldn’t be drinking when he wasn’t the appropriate age for it yet. Y/n and Andrew were lucky to have such laid-back and relaxed parents that focused much more on safety and well-being rather than the semantics of it.

As y/n crept down the stairs in her silky pj’s (a christmas gift from her 26-year old aunt who liked to shop at Victoria’s Secret), the murmurs of her parents in the kitchen became louder and louder.

“Heard it on the radio, for godsakes,” said her mother, laughing as she stirred whatever liquid she had in her mug.

“I wonder if Jason’s parents know, about the whole thing,” said her dad, his back was to her, facing his wife.

“They must, I mean, it’s the only thing these boy’s have wanted since they started high school, Jason proba- oh hey, y/n!” Her mom smiled wide when she saw her step off the last stair. At the mention of his daughter’s name, her dad turns around, and y/n can see that he has a mug in his hand too.

“Good morning,” y/n croaked, her voice froggy early in the morning.

“Big day today, no?” Her dad teased.

“I guess so,” she murmured, taking a seat on the kitchen counter and drumming her knuckles on it. Her mother makes her a small plate of what was left over from their breakfast, eggs, bacon, and a slice of toast with jelly. Picking up the slice of toast, she takes a small bite out of it and pulls out her phone from her back pocket, and starts scrolling through her social medias. It consists of people’s dogs, food, photos of Brad Pitt, and....

Her brother had posted a snap from the night before. A short video, not even 3 seconds long. Jason heading into one of the rooms in his large house, with a girl trailing behind him. She wore shorts that barely covered the swell of her butt, and a bikini top. It was captioned crudely: pre-birthday head for the birthday boy.

“Y/n?” Her dad, or maybe her mom, she didn’t know. Her stomach started twisting, a sour taste settled in the back of her mouth. A weird underwater filter covered her ears, making it seem as if her head was underneath the water, and her parents were speaking to her from above the surface.

Forcing a smile onto her face, she hummed a response, not taking her eyes off her phone screen. It was weird, the feeling that overcame her when she spotted Jason with another girl. Every time, the same thing. Nausea on her tongue, a heat covering the back of her neck and ears, and a dreadful feeling settleling in the pit of her stomach.

“So, you’re going tonight then?” One of her parents asked.

Taking a few seconds to think, taking into consideration what she could be doing instead of watching Jason....”No, I don’t think so.” Her voice is sure, and strong, loaded with finality.

A load clink of ceramic against marble echoes in the kitchen. She looks up from her phone then, placing it on the counter face down. Her mother was staring at her with her lips pressed together in a hard line. “And why not?”

“Because a party isn’t my scene, mom.” Y/n responds tentatively, alarmed at her mothers hard and inquisitive tone. Her dad stood quietly watching the interaction, stepping to the side to that there was nothing on between y/n’s line of vision.

“And how would you know that if you’ve never been to the one. You’re brother loves them! And I think that you need this break. Andrew told me what happened yesterday. You need to let loose, y/n.” Her mother argued, her words going from agitated to coaxing. “Go to this party.”

“No.” y/n said, looking at her mother straight inn the eyes. She didn’t want to go. She wanted to spend a calm night at home,, all cozy in her blankets with a book, and not having to look at Jason with a pain in her chest.

“Fine,” said her mother, taking her phone out of her pocket.

“Thank you,” responded y/n, relieved. Her dad nodded, and opened his mouth to speak, when her mom said,

“If you don’t go, Andrew can’t either.”

Both y/n and her dad gasp. Her mom was lifting her phone up to her ear, the dial tone ringing in the room.

“N-no, you can’t do that! Andrew’s gonna be so upse-”

“Hello? Andrew? I’m doing good sweetie, uh, listen. Your sister doesn’t want to go to the party, so you can’t go either. However, if YOU MANAGE TO CONVINCE THEN YOU CAN GO,” Y/n’s mom’s voice raises to cover her brother’s protests, “THAT’S FINAL. GOODBYE.” Yn’s mom hangs up the phone and places it next to the kitchen sink.

Not even a full second later, while y/n stares mortifies at her mom and dad, her phone starts to blare the theme song to The Simpsons, the ringtone for her brother.

She picks it up with her jaw still dropped. She answered the phone.

“Y/n! Y/n, PLEASE. WHAT’S GOING ON? PLEASE COME TO THIS PARTY, Y/N, DON’T DO THIS TO ME, Y/N...” her brother’s voice fills the room even when she doesn’t have him on speaker. he’s begging her, his voice truly distraught.

She knows she has no other option that to agree. She couldn’t do that to her brother, not when it’s the only thing he’s talked about for the past month. She wasn’t mean enough to do that to him.

“... FOR TWO WEEKS. I’LL DO ANYTHING, PLE-”

“OKAY! I’ll go, fuck,” Y/n yelled back, exasperated and defeated. She pinched the bridge of her nose, and stares down at her plate, not bearing to look at her mom and dad.

“Thank you! Oh my god, thank you. I’ll pick you up at 5, so-”

Y/n hung up on him. Glared at her mom, and the went to mope until 5 in her bedroom.

Somewhere along the line, moping turned into pre-party prep. She turned her speaker up all the way, and sang at the top of her lungs. Y/n was going in with the mentality of drinking and keeping to herself. Observing, or locking herself in on of the rooms and fall asleep. She was dreading it, but wouldn’t deprive her brother of this because it meant so much to him.

Her parents tried coming in several times, and every time she refused to open her door.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, she thought to herself, I’ve got this.

Once it got closer to 5, she put in some jeans and her favorite t-shirt. A faded purple short-sleeve with a smokey image of Prince on it. She totally didn’t wear it because every time she wore it, Jason complimented her on it.

It was 4:57 when Andrew knocked on her door.

“Y/n, y/n, y/n, my sister whom I love so much, can you please-“ he’s knocking rapidly on her door, and y/n throws on a green knit sweater at last minute before opening the door, and her brother knocks right on her eye.

“Ow!” She helps, the hand that wasn’t holding her shoulder bag reaching up to cover her eye. Andrew gasped, and started to repeatedly apologize.

“I’m so-“

Y/n, irritated and upset, held up her palm and shook her head. “Just shut it. Please.” Andrew tried saying something, and y/n just pushed past him, staring ahead coldly, “lets go.”

Her previous attitude about this party had returned. She was mad and couldn’t be more bothered to attend. A tiny part, deep in her heart, ached and pulsed wildly. She wasn’t really sure how the night would end, and she didn’t like that. She wanted to know that by 10, she’d be falling asleep after a bubble bath, or reading a book safely in her bed.

Not drinking and partying with nobody she knew (none of her friends-the little she had- were going). And she was damn sure that Andrew wouldn’t stick around the entire night. No, he’d be eager to be at all places at once, included in all the action. All. The. Action.

They walked to Andrew’s car in silence, she strutting and fuming with attitude, and he, with his head bowed and cowering like a shunned puppy. Sure, he was older, bigger, taller, buffer than y/n, but when she was mad, he became a scurrying mouse who bent at her command. Not because she was mean or anything like that, but because Andrew loved her and he wanted to see her with a smile, and he figured listening to her was the first step.

So, he shut the fuck up, and followed behind her, listening closely in case she ordered something else. To clarify, y/n didn’t order. She said things. But Andrew (again) loved her and took those sayings very seriously. It wasn’t like she was the Wicked Witch of the West with a whip in her hand. It was more like she was a disappointed mother, and he her kid who loved his mom and didn’t want her to be upset at him anymore. Their dynamic was like that.

Not even a full 10 minutes later, Andrew was pulling into Jason’s driveway, and pulling into his six-car garage, next to Kent’s car. Pulling the key out of the ignition, he sat for a moment, not turning to look at his sister.

He didn’t have to.

Without glancing at him, she said, “I want a margarita... please.” Then, she turn to look at him with a tiny smile; a piece offering. She’s forgiven him. And she has. Well, she wasn’t angry at him to begin with, but her irritation is gone.

Andrew laughed, his head thrown back and his ha, ha, ha’s bellowing. “Yes, ma’am. Strawberry or Mango?”

“Both.” Y/n opens the door to the car, and walks through the garage door that leads to the house. The doorway opens into the kitchen, where Kent and Jason are seated on the kitchen isle, a blunt mid-pass from Jason to Kent.

She stops in her tracks, eyes wide at the smell, and the smoke exiting in grey ropes out of Jason’s lips. Andrew pushes past her like nothing, and opens the steel fridge to look for fruit. Jason grins, a slow and lazy spread of his spit-slicked lips. Kent coughs after he inhales.

“Hellooo y/n,” Jason sing-song’s, drawing out her name and laughing. Kent snickered.

“Long time to,” Kent makes a c-shape with his hand, “see,” and bursts out laughing.

“Gimme some of that, dickheads.” Andrew makes a ‘come here’ motion with his fingers.

Y/n fakes a gasp, and hoists herself up onto the counter. She’s been surprised, and a tiny part of her itches because marijuana is a drug, but she can’t really do anything to stop them. They’re half gone and if she said something, she was a party pooper. Tucking her legs underneath herself, she takes a long look at Jason’s kitchen. She’s been in it plenty of times before, when his mom invites her and her brother other for dinner, or breakfast. She’s even helped prepare meals.

But it never gets old.

It always look bright, the lights on the ceiling shine in a way that fills the space, and the reflection off the cream marble glint against the steely surfaces of all the appliances. Toaster, fridge, sink, stove, all a grey color. There was an oven built into the wall, and another right next to it to cook pizza or bread. The kitchen isle in the middle was 7 steps long (she counted once) and 4 steps wide. There was a stove on the counter, and a sink next to it. Jason sat next to the stove, and Kent in the alcove that stretched and transformed into the sink up against the wall.

“... bringing booze and 6, and says he’s got Snopp Dog as DJ. Ben is on back up DJ, or alternate if Snopp wants to.” Kent says, coughing and waving a hand in front of his hand as he does so. Y/n’s ears perk up at his revelation, and her head turns in a peculiar motion.

“Wait, wait, did you say Snoop Dog?” She says, the top half of her body leaning forward. Andrew looks up from his task at the blender, dunking in cut strawberries with ice.

“You heard right, sissy. Snoop Dog!” whooped Andrew, pumping his arm in the air.

“Jesus Christ,” Y/n murmured underneath her breath, shaking her head.

“Raise your hand if you’re staying to fix this place up tomorrow,” said Jason, lifting both of his arms up in the air.

Kent crosses his arms as if he were in a straight jacket, and Andrew laughs and says, “Jason the party keeps going tomorrow.” He presses a button, and the machine starts blending, the loud noise blocking out whatever Jason said next. Whatever it is, Andrew and Kent catch it and bend over laughing, while y/n just watched in confusion.

Once the machine stops, Andrew pours the thick, pink substance into a sugar-rimmed glass, and gives it to his sister. Y/n takes it from him, and looks over at all the ingredients next to the machine because she hadn’t seen what kind of alcohol he put in it. She sees a squat bottle with a green sticker and a cork top; Ciroq.

It’s when she’s puckering her face after her first sip, that the first group of people come in. Andrew and Kent spring forward to answer the door, and Jason just watched them push each other to see who would get there first. Her and Jason are alone in the kitchen, and even though she sees perfectly clear where Kent and Andrew are, she seizes this as her chance to ask Jason what may be her only chance for a stress free night.

Climbing down, she walks over to where Jason sits,and poked his jean clad thigh. “Jason?” She tries not to let her eyes linger on the spots where his plain white shirt pulls tight across his chest, his pectoral muscles rippling. His blonde hair is unruly today, parting down the middle so strands of hair glittered in front of his green eyes.

“Mmm-oh! Yes?” He said, his eyes blinking owlishly at her, slow reflexes when you’re high and all that.

“Is it okay if I lock myself in your room? Or a guest room? Please, I just d-” she started to explain herself when he interrupted her.

“Yes.” Jason placed his hand on her shoulder in a comforting manner, his eyelids drooping a little further than they already were.

“Yes?” She asked, surprised.

“Yes. Si. Oui. Andrew told me what your mom did. And I’m sorry. You can lock yourself in my room. I’m the only one with the key.” He said. Jason stretched, yawning and raising his hands over his head, the bottom of his shirt raising up and revealing the hard lines of his abdomen, the two lines that form a ‘v’; a make shift runway to what lies underneath the waistband of his pants. Y/n, having seen only one other penis, a leaked celebrity’s nudes, is surprised to see that Jason’s doesn’t have a ‘happy trail’.

Clearing her throat, she said, “Thank you. I’m going up there now, okay?” Y/n backed out of the kitchen, Jason’s nodding at her and turning his attention, and what a surprise this is, the blondes that had just walked in with a few dudes who carried packs of beers in their arms. The girls, five of them, all looked like barbie dolls in bikinis.

Rolling her eyes, y/n trudged up the stairs and walked down the hall to Jason’s all-to familiar room. She entered again, into the place she had mulled over many nights in a row.

Jason’s room would be her sanctuary, like it had been that one rainy spring day.

It was just like she remembered it.

For a teenage boy, Jason was very neat. He had a bamboo four poster bed, with Japanese art covering the space above his puffed-up white pillows. His comforter was the same eggshell color of his walls. In front of his bed he had a record player, and a wooden box with records in it. He had a mahogany bookshelf as well, every crevice stacked with books, straight across, and sideways in the spaces between books and the self above it. His room faced the backyard, and y/n had a clear view of the pool and the people that gathered around it. Jason had a window ledge large enough that he could sleep in it comfortably, and judging by the looks of it, he had. There was a tartan quilt and quilt laid out messily on the expanse of it, a book titled Norwegian Wood open with the pages-side down next to the pillow.

His room smelled like him too. No clothes lay scattered in any place, but his scent permeated the room. Sandalwood and vanilla; his musky and sweet scent of boy.

Y/n kicked off her shoes at the foot of Jason’s bed, and set her barely-even-touched margarita on his bedside table, next to a pair of clear lens glasses. That’s funny, she thought, I didn’t know Jason wore glasses.

She tucked herself into his bed, lifting the comforter out of its tucked position, and nestled tightly into the warm cocoon. Taking a deep breath or Jason, her eyes shut themselves, and snapped back open seconds later. Did I lock the door?

Fuck. No, she didn’t. She had to get back up and lock it. Jiggled the knob for extra measure, just to make sure it was locked. Once she was satisfied,she returned to the bed, and tucked herself in. Her eyes were closing once again, when the thrum of the bass in whatever rap song it was blaring the house, shook through Jason’s room.

No matter. She was out like a light not even 5 minutes later, Lulled to sleep by the smell of Jason.

Jason, Kent, and Andrew were having the time of their fucking lives.

Andrew had forgotten all about y/n after Jason told him she was in his room, and had downed a total of 6 body shots, all on different people. He lost track of how many people took shots on him. Cloud nine, this is what cloud nine is. He was everywhere and nowhere. Try looking for him and you’ll only catch his shirt-tail because he was already moving on to the next scene. If you saw a flipped red solo cup, then he had been there. He was absolutely reveling in the mass of sweating bodies. His yelling inn the cafeteria had paid off.

Everyone and their fucking mom came. He’d seen everyone he knew from school, and twice the amount of people he knew from school that he didn’t recognize. True to his word, his friend had brought Snoop fucking Dog, and he was up by the pool, dj-ing with five towering giants surrounding him. This only brought more attention. The party had spread out to the streets.

Kent was out of his mind, with how high he was. Don’t tell his mom, but he didn’t know what drug it was making it look like the guy passing the blunt had an elephant head. The lights made him feel like he was in a galaxy, sitting on the rings of Saturn with two topless babes under his arms. He sat with a ring of boys in the den, where you couldn’t see past your nose with how much smoke there was in the air.

And Jason? Shit, Jason was having a really hard time getting his dick up. He was in the pool with more than TWENTY topless babes he was supposed to be boning. It was his birthday after all. Andrew had posted a sign on the shallow end of the pool that said ‘only naked babes allowed’, and would appear every five seconds to remind said ‘babes’ to “TAKE YOUR TOP OFF!!!”

No matter how hard he tried, Jason just couldn’t get hard. The girl who pressed her tits in his face- a real 10 really, with bee stung lips and all- was starting to get confused, and Jason was starting to feel like a real tool.

There he was, his party was crazy, police having been chased off, a racoon being passed around on a leash, Snoop Dog having a literal concert inn his backyard, and far off in the distance there was the shinning light of a news helicopter. And he wasn’t having it.

He did for the first hour. Did some shots, smoked more weed, grinded on some people, got grinded on. Someone had inflated a whole-ass bouncy castle next to his garage, and it was filled with nothing but naked girls (which also did nothing for him). And it was fun seeing it build up. It gave him a bit of a heady adrenaline rush, knowing that ll these people where there because-

“So are you gonna let me give the birthday boy, his birthday present?” said the girl who was topless on his lap, her voice sultry and velvety smooth. She was licking a stripe up Jason’s throat, her hips swiveling against his groin.

Jason, still wearing his clothes, jeans and white shirt and all, looked up at his bedroom window, and what he saw made his heart crack in two. Y/n, his precious y/n, was looking at him with horror, tears painting her cheeks not unlike the way they had yesterday in the hallway, and a hand cupped over her mouth. The other hand was lifted up to her ear, and Jason saw that her mouth was moving.

She was on the phone.

He started to feel dirty, like slime. Guilty, was more like it. He realized then that the reason why he couldn’t get hard is because the girl in his lap wasn’t y/n. And seeing her, in his room all alone and in pain, made him feel like scum.

Pushing the girl off without remorse, he said, “No, I don’t think so.” He ignored the girl’s protests, and also whatever the hell Andrew yelled after him. Jason looked straight ahead, striding with intention to his room. It was difficult, with all the bodies and high-fives and bro-slaps he had to give on his way up the stairs, but he made it. He was dripping all over his floor, but he made it.

He hesitated, placing a hand on the door. As the bass of This is How We Do It vibrated through the wall and against his hand, he wondered what would happen when he opened the door. He wanted to console her. Ask her what was wrong, even though he had a large inkling he knew why she was upset- that it might’ve been his fault.

Jason dug his hand into his pocket, using his fingers to peel apart the cloth because it stuck together, and felt for the key to his room. Once he found it, he fed it through the lock, and turned it, the door giving away a sliver to which he was able to peek inside.

Y/n was on the phone. She was sitting at his window ledge, on her knees, still looking out. She hadn’t heard him coming in. Shutting the door closed behind him, Jason held his breath and listened.

“Am I an idiot?” she squeaked, sniffling to the other person on the line. “Why? Well, isn’t it clear. Donna, he’s constantly surrounded by all these skinny, tall blondes, and I’m not like that.”

Jason’s eyes widened. His heart felt as if an arrow had been shot through it.

“I’m so stupid, really. How could I ever think-”

Yes, yes?

“-that Jason could like me?”

He was appalled. Frozen in his tracks, because god did she really think like that? How could she not realize it. She was so precious; all Jason ever though about. If only she knew. If only she knew-

Well, the thing is- and it might be the weed talking, but- she could know. Jason didn’t have to keep it from her anymore. He could tell her. Fuck it. Fuck it all.

“Y/n?” He said. Clearly, not loud enough because she didn’t turn around. He walked to her, close enough that his knees pressed against the ledge of the window seat, and close enough so that he could grab her wrist.

She yelped, surprised, and whipped her head around. When she saw it was Jason, even though he was smiling a dopey, sweet smile that made her want to fall into a puddle, her face fell into one of mortification. He took the phone from her hand and hung up, tossing it on the pillow.

“Oh, y/n.”

“Jason, I-” Her cheeks flushed. Her words died in her throat, her tears frozen on her lips.

“I like you, y/n. More than you know.” And his clothes were wet sure, but it didn’t matter because fuck. Fuck it all. Jason pulled her up, wrapped a hand around her waist, and kissed her.

A soft, gentle, press of his lips against hers, their noses bumping. She squeaked and tensed, her fingers squeezing his biceps. His thumb rubbed circled to the sliver of skin that peeked from the place where her shirt rode up.

He pulled away from her, and she leaned forward with her own lips puckered, whining because he pulled away.

“I’ve been wanting to do that, for so long, you know?” He told her, placing her back down on the ledge, while she stared back up at him dreamily.

“Why didn’t you?” she asked him.

“Because Andrew would beat me to a pulp,” he said, laughing. “But it doesn’t matter anymore.” Jason reached for the bottom of his shirt, and pulled it over his head, y/n watching with cheeks flaming at the way his skin rippled and tightened with every movement. After a beat she says,

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’d rather get beaten to a pulp, than be away from you any longer.”

super proud of this. THERE WILL BE A PART 2!!

much love, -abigail

#Harry Styles #harry edward styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurbs #harry styles fic #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles soft #harry styles smut #harry styles smut oneshot #harry styles fluff oneshot #harry styles writing #harry smut #harry swriting #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry oneshot

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beca-mitchell · 4 years

Text

brain is in the back seat (heart's in drive) (1/1)

Summary: Life has a way of not working out like the movies. Not like Beca likes movies anyway. Beca and Chloe’s first kiss.

Word count: 4,125 words.

Fic title from the song "the movies" by Nightly. Part of the daylight au. As always, many thanks to @asimplefavors for letting me cry at you re: this fic which I’ve been sitting on forever. I’m just glad it’s done.

Read below or on AO3.

* * * * *

LOCATION: Brookline, MA MONTH: March AGE: 15/16

* * * * *

Beca hates movies, so it makes sense that she’s kind of getting the feeling that her life is turning out like one.

After the Winter Formal, Beca kind of just wants things to go back to normal, not that she really has a baseline for that anymore.

It also doesn’t really help that she has to endure Valentine’s Day amidst all her peers. If there’s something people never really grow out of, it’s the excessive gift giving and over-emphasis on the quantity of candy grams received in one’s locker on that specific day.

...And it further didn’t help that Beca had quickly shoved the Valentine’s card she had been planning to give to Chloe into her own locker upon seeing Tom walk down the fall with his arm snugly around Chloe’s shoulder, a small bouquet of roses pressed into her arms. Beca had thought it inappropriate at the time—figured Chloe didn’t need extra Valentines when she was so obviously taken...even though it had been their tradition for years.

And of course, the fact that Chloe hadn’t given her a valentine either. That was telling enough. Not that Beca gave her much reason to, with how much avoiding she had been doing since January.

That February break that follows immediately after is one of the most relaxing breaks Beca has ever experienced. She spends most of it sparsely replying to texts from Chloe and begrudgingly visiting her father and his family for the short break.

It’s the time apart (again) that really only cements that the nauseating feeling in her stomach is because she’s not getting over her feelings for one Chloe Beale anytime soon.

The more selfish part of her—the part entirely consuming her heart—doesn’t really want to give up on her feelings, but the rational part—somewhere between her heart and her head—knows that she’s just setting herself up for more heartbreak, if the Instagram updates from Chloe and Tom are any indication. It’s horrible, really because they’re not even together in person. Beca knows this solely because she knows Chloe’s family takes a trip to Stowe every February break for a ski trip.

It’s like the social media back and forth is just designed to hurt her. The little comments they leave on each other’s photos. The hearts. The inside-joke emojis.

She knows rationally that her thoughts are spiralling and it’s entirely untrue that Chloe would ever want to hurt her purposefully. It’s just that, well, Beca wouldn’t blame her. She knows that her avoidance of Chloe over the past few weeks has been more than obvious and less than desirable.

So when Beca sits down with her father and his new family, the sensation of being replaced never really gets old even if she knows that she has no real right to feel that way. But it’s hard, looking around her and feeling so out of place, and then knowing that when she returns home, the one person who she had always considered the literal embodiment of home is also starting a new segment of her life in which Beca has no real place.

And even sitting in her father’s home in New Haven, she imagines what it would be like to blurt out that she’s in love with her best friend—a girl—simply to see the disdain cross his face like a shadow. It would be enough to make her forget about her current plight. Plus, she’s just so tired of feeling like shit all the time.

She sees it, in all honesty. Like her mind has two screens, she sees the mildly foggy memory of her father saying something disparaging against homosexuality on one screen while the other gleefully rolls imagined footage of Beca sweeping his pretentious dishes off his dining table and declaring her love for her best friend, the very girl she grew up next two for the past eleven years.

Still, as appealing as that sounds and looks, she bites her tongue and listens to her father spout off something about psychology or some other academic topic that Beca has zero interest in. She would normally be texting Chloe, but she just can’t bring herself to pick up the phone.

Chloe doesn’t text her either.

It all sucks.

February break sucks.

She sucks.

Her thoughts follow her all the way back home to the desolate wasteland she calls home (classic Boston-in-February weather) where her mother (shockingly) greets her with a hug and the promise of a sit-down meal. The thought warms her for a moment before Beca remembers that her mom probably just feels guilty without really wanting to do anything. Not even apologize for being absent. Emotionally distant. Neglectful. Beca’s sure the list could go on.

As she sits at the dinner table thinking about a myriad of things floating around her mind in an attempt to distract herself including the dreaded first day back at school, the assignments she should probably work on, seeing Chloe again—

Her fingers twitch towards her phone on instinct.

She draws back with a flinch, resisting the urge to mindlessly text Chloe even though it’s what she wants most in the world at the moment. Quickly, she spares a glance at her mother who hasn’t looked up from her own plate.

With a sigh, Beca furrows her brow and returns to staring sullenly at the table until it is an appropriate enough time to retreat to her room.

The next day passes without incident. Beca decides to walk to school early instead of catching a ride from Chloe’s brother like she normally would. She’s not sure what the point is. Chloe will just figure out a way to corner her later regardless.

Even with that in mind, Beca isn’t expecting to see Chloe sitting on her bed when she opens her bedroom door. In fact, she’s kind of expecting her room to be exactly as she left it that morning before heading out for school—empty, her bed unmade, and cold.

But now—

“What are you doing here?” Beca asks, harsher than she intends. She swallows, willing herself to reign in her emotions as best as she can.

“Your mom let me in,” Chloe says softly. Her palms glide briefly over Beca’s bedspread before she’s pushing herself off the bed and moving awkwardly to the middle of Beca’s bedroom. “I…hope that’s okay?” she asks hesitantly, like she is no longer sure of her place in Beca’s house; in Beca’s life.

Beca steadies her grip on her backpack for a moment before dropping it to the floor unceremoniously. “It’s fine,” she says finally, trying to ignore the way her heart pulls and tugs at the mere sight of Chloe—Chloe, out of her school clothes and wearing comfortable loungewear. Chloe, with her hair down instead of up in a ponytail. Chloe, whose lips are slowly spreading into a hesitant smile. “I just…” Beca blinks, turning to walk to her desk quickly to be safe. Distant. “Why are you here?” she asks again, softer.

“I…” Chloe takes a deep breath, but she thankfully does not seem to move closer to Beca in any capacity. “Are you mad at me?” Chloe asks with a delicate softness that only makes Beca’s heart ache more.

In her mind’s eye, she plays out the variety of expressions Chloe could possibly be wearing. An expression designed to elicit the highest amount of sympathy in a willing audience. Outwardly, Beca stares hard at the notebook on her desk, reaching out to run her finger along the spiral. “No,” she murmurs. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Did I…” Chloe sighs, like she can’t quite bear to finish that question. But Chloe, as resilient as ever, pushes through, though she doesn’t finish the question. “Beca, please just look at me.”

Beca bites her lip but she complies nonetheless, taking her time to drag her eyes up to Chloe’s face.

She hates that she immediately wants to break into a smile upon simply seeing Chloe’s face—a natural by-product of the happiness she usually feels upon seeing her best friend’s face, though her more recent emotions have obviously been veering towards the romantic.

But more than all of that—more than the positive emotions—she hates the hurt she sees there, especially knowing that she had actively contributed in some way.

“Did I do something?” Chloe asks rather quickly. Nervously. Her hands come up to grip her own arms, hugging herself. “Did I do something to you to make you…”

“To make me what?”

“Like this,” Chloe says quickly. “Like you can’t stand being around me.”

It’s not you, Beca thinks. It’s me and I’m so sorry. “It’s…nothing,” Beca says evasively. “I…” Her eyes narrow as her brain catches up with the rest of her emotions. She fully processes that Chloe is in her room. After school. On a nice evening. “Didn’t you have plans today? With Tom?”

A blush rises on Chloe’s cheek at the mere mention of his name, as usual. And as usual, Beca finds herself reacting viscerally with something akin to nausea. “I cancelled,” Chloe admits. “I wanted to see you. It’s been a while since—”

“—Well, you’ve seen me.” Beca tries not to let some of the acidity seep into her tone because Chloe doesn’t deserve it, but it does anyway. Too late. Beca sighs. “I have homework to do.”

Chloe brightens. “Great! So do I. We can do it together.”

Chloe’s chipper tone, while normally something that Beca finds charming and attractive, grates on her nerves today. Beca glances at Chloe out of the corner of her eye. It’s then that she notices Chloe’s full backpack resting on the floor by her feet. “Don’t you have to do it with Tom? Like you guys normally do? He made that pretty clear.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Chloe says in a tone that Beca can’t identify. She doesn’t know if she has the energy to identify anything at this point.

Beca grits her teeth. “I still think you should go.”

“Why?” Chloe challenges. When Beca doesn’t respond, Chloe continues, this time with an angry tone. “Do you know how worried I am about you? What’s going on? Why are you avoiding me? Is it Tom? Did he say something to you?” The way Chloe says his name then is so distinct that it makes Beca’s ears perk up. It reminds Beca of so long ago—of Chloe immediately demanding the names of people who had hurt Beca’s feelings.

Her own knight in shining armor.

Beca exhales noisily and finally meets Chloe’s eyes head-on. “Chloe, no. We’re not doing this right now.”

Blue eyes flash like lightning. “Oh, well at least you’re looking at me now.”

“Chloe,” Beca says, exasperated at the bitterness in Chloe’s tone. It is absolutely well-deserved, but the sting makes Beca’s hackles rise nonetheless. “Come on.”

“No, I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s been going on with you.” Chloe literally stomps her foot on the ground. “I swear it, Beca Mitchell.”

Chloe kind of looks like she might stomp her foot again. Instead, she crosses her arms and stares at Beca defiantly.

It’s like the dam breaks all at once. Beca bursts out laughing at both the sight and the sound. “Did you just—? A foot stomp? Really?”

Chloe freezes, like she isn’t quite sure what’s going on. “Oh, I…” The mild confusion in her eyes causes Beca to smile again, unable to hide her own adoration for her best friend even if she tried.

(Which she has been. Trying, at least.)

For a moment, it is finally silent in Beca’s room. Chloe’s stance softens and she is suddenly staring at Beca with a different kind of expression on her face. “What?” Beca asks, not realizing that she has the tiniest smile on her face still.

“There you are,” Chloe says affectionately. “My favorite smile.”

Beca blinks, feeling the sudden urge to cry. All kinds of emotion well up inside her, each warring for some kind of dominance; each warring for attention. Beca feels like Chloe is really looking at her for the first time in a while.

It also occurs to Beca that they’re finally alone and Beca has no idea what to do.

“Stop,” Beca says quickly. She averts her gaze. “Stop doing that.”

Chloe’s confusion is immediately visible. New tension grows palpable between them. “Stop doing what?”

“Stop…” Beca gestures wildly. “Doing those things. Saying those things that make me…” she trails off, licking her lips. The air feels thick. Difficult to breathe. “Stop,” she whispers.

Her heart races uncomfortably, like what Beca imagines a heart attack to feel like. Or if she’s being less dramatic, what she imagines a panic attack to be.

“Beca,” Chloe murmurs. “You can talk to me. Please, you’re scaring me.” She steps closer, right in front of Beca. Beca sees Chloe’s annoyingly cute socks in her line of vision and slowly lifts her head. “Hi,” Chloe says softly upon catching Beca’s eyes with her own. “Beca,” she starts. “It’s okay.”

Is it? Beca thinks. Will it ever be?

It’s then that Beca realizes how close they’re standing. How nice Chloe smells. How much softer her sweater looks up close. The very light freckles on Chloe’s face, now faded compared to how prominent they had seemed during the summer months.

I love you so much, Beca thinks, her traitorous mind breaking down every last confine as usual. I don’t know what that means, but I know that it’s true.

Beca isn’t sure what comes over her then.

(She kind of knows, but still. It’s easier being ignorant to her thought processes.)

In reality, it feels like the oddest fog passing over her brain while her heart beats with startling clarity. Her fingers graze Chloe’s cheek before she realizes what is happening and her lips meet Chloe’s with force that surprises both of them. Beca feels the tension leave her body immediately replaced by the most peculiar warmth—a warmth that fills her chest unexpectedly and so wholly that her body all but sags into Chloe’s.

To her surprise, just as she is about to pull back, Chloe’s hand comes up to cup the back of her head while the other hand curls around her hip with, Beca realizes with a jolt of fire to her chest, stark possessiveness and protectiveness. For a few blissful moments, Chloe’s lips move in tandem with her own, as soft as Beca always imagined. The initial shock of experiencing her first kiss wears off, but…

Chloe is kissing her back. Chloe is kissing her and Chloe is not moving away except—

She does.

Chloe finally moves back, their lips separating with suddenness and abruptness that leaves Beca reeling.

“Oh my God,” Beca says immediately. Her throat feels tight and her voice is high and rough with the fear that courses through her body. “God, Chloe, I—”

“You just kissed me,” Chloe interrupts. Her voice trembles even as she continues. “You kissed me, Beca.”

There is something more than accusation in her tone. There is a hint of desperation that Beca recognizes all too well and further, something almost foreign in terms of their interactions with each other. Chloe has never sounded unsure or insecure when talking to Beca. The fact that she did just then breaks Beca’s heart a little bit.

“I’m…” Beca swallows. Pushes down the emotion threatening to spill over. She isn’t even sure what there is to really say. All she can think about is how Chloe pulled away first—essentially pushed her away. It stings more than Beca had anticipated even though it had been what she entirely expected. “I know. Chloe, please, just listen."

“I’m dating Tom,” Chloe responds immediately. “I’m dating Tom and I can’t…you can’t just spring this on me and just…” Chloe’s eyes well up with tears and Beca feels her own eyes sting at the sight. “I can’t cheat on him.”

“We didn’t,” Beca says quickly. Desperately. “Chloe, please, can we just…” Beca feels the last false shred of happiness finally crumble away as she sees the despair in Chloe’s eyes.

She doesn’t feel the same way.

She never did.

She was just caught up in the moment.

“I don’t know what I expected,” Beca says in a small voice. “Fuck,” she murmurs, running her hands through her hair. “I’m sorry.”

She feels so fucking embarrassed.

Chloe hesitates. “Beca, wait.”

“No, you should just go. You should go and just.” Beca turns back to her desk and grips the edge of her chair tightly. “Just go do your dumb homework and go be with your boyfriend. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I just need time—”

“Chloe, now.”

The way Beca’s voice rings around her bedroom weighs heavier than the silence that follows. She thinks she hears Chloe sniffle once, but she can’t bear to look. She can’t bear to see Chloe’s expression and even more viscerally, the metaphorical imagery of Chloe finally crushing the last pieces of her already-shattered part as she leaves Beca’s bedroom.

The door clicks quietly, but the sound still makes Beca jump. Unfortunately, not like a movie, these end credits close out with nothing more than a whimper from her own mouth.

She finally allows herself to crumble, finally unable to outrun the magnitude of her emotions.

Not like running had worked very well before.

* * * * *

Chloe I shouldn’t have left, i’m sorry

That’s the text message Beca receives the next morning.

Beca I wanted you to go

It’s one of the few lies Beca has ever told Chloe over the span of their eleven-year friendship.

Beca I’m sorry too

She bites her lip at the added-on text, sending it on impulse because she doesn’t want Chloe to be upset with her. Whether she’s apologizing for the kiss, for her feelings, or for chasing Chloe out of her bedroom, she’s not sure at this point.

It doesn’t matter, however. Chloe doesn’t reply; doesn’t even call her out on it.

* * * * *

Beca goes a few days with some relative quiet in her life. She drags herself around aimlessly doing her best not to be too rocked with guilt and discord as her mind traitorously replays the kiss at unfortunate moments.

“Beca, wait!”

Beca does her best to steady herself and she takes a breath. It does feel like self-sabotage, knowing that Chloe is equally likely to spend time at this specific spot—their spot—so Beca supposes a part of her wanted so badly to just see Chloe’s face again. Just to see if Chloe would be disgusted or upset with her.

All she sees is desperation written across Chloe’s face. The same desperation that had been on Chloe’s face just a few days ago in her bedroom. Since then, Beca had been avoiding her as best as possible, weaving around people whenever the opportunity presented itself (which was often, due to Beca’s smaller stature).

Beca had never been so grateful for crowded high school hallways. Blending in and being nearly invisible never felt so good.

“We need to talk,” Chloe says quietly. “You know we do.”

“There’s…” Beca presses her fingers tightly into the metal bar in front of her, unable to look at Chloe directly. She should have expected Chloe to come here. Self-sabotage, she supposes. “Nothing to talk about.”

“That’s crap and you know it.”

Beca refuses to acknowledge that. “I can’t right now, Chlo.”

“Please,” Chloe says, a bit closer than before. “You…” Chloe sighs. “You can’t just kiss me like that and—and—” Biting frustration seeps into her tone. “I shouldn’t have left you alone like that,” Chloe whispers after a moment of silence. “But there’s no way you can just expect me to ignore what happened between us.”

Beca takes a brief moment to marvel over how Chloe somehow manages to be good with words. Or at least that she manages to get words out at all. It’s something Beca envies.

“I’m trying so hard to understand, Beca,” Chloe murmurs, taking a step closer.

Beca continues to focus on anything but Chloe. “There’s nothing to understand. I made a mistake. You can forget about it.”

The air seems to still around them. Beca can hear the shouts of their peers, sharp and crisp in the brisk, chilly air.

Finally, Chloe responds, voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want to forget about it, Beca.”

That makes Beca look at Chloe. She twists so sharply and quickly that she think something cracks in her neck, but she brushes off the brief twinge that runs through her body. “Why?” she asks, hating how weak her voice sounds. “You should, it’s for the be—”

“I don’t want to forget about it,” Chloe repeats, firmer than before.

“Why?” Beca asks quickly as curiosity and hope win out.

Chloe says nothing, simply watching Beca with a near-inscrutable expression. Finally, she sucks in a breath. “Why did you kiss me?” she asks, in lieu of responding, like it’s all the response Beca needs. The challenge in Chloe’s voice is familiar. It makes Beca’s heart race. She resists the urge to reach out and grasp onto Chloe’s forearms or shoulders to steady herself. Instead, Beca forces herself to keep her eyes on Chloe steadily.

In that moment, Beca just wants Chloe to steal the words right from her mind. She wants Chloe to speak so she doesn’t have to—Chloe has to know at this point. She has to know, there’s no real reason for her not to know. It becomes evident that Chloe isn’t going to let her off the hook so easily. Beca sighs. “You know why,” she finally murmurs. “You know,” she presses.

Chloe’s eyes flash with emotion—finally something akin to the familiar passion that Beca has come to know over the years. It sends Beca’s heart into a tangle of emotions as she attempts to steady her own breathing. She could go on. She could keep talking. She feels the urge—she recognizes it in its rarity—course through her with startling sincerity. You know why, her own words echo back at her. Tell her, she begs herself. Please.

I like you.

I’m in love with you.

I love you.

“Then you know why, too,” Chloe finally says after a long silence.

Beca’s eyes must do something—she feels some muscle in her face twitch—because Chloe takes an immediate step back after the words leave her mouth.

“Chloe,” Beca breathes, like it’s the first breath of pure air she has taken in and expelled in a long time. Tom, Beca thinks frantically. But Tom is—it can’t be—

“I—I should go. But—um.” Chloe shifts, drawing her lower lip between her teeth as she assesses Beca once more. Beca doesn’t dare breathe, wondering if Chloe is going to kiss her—whether Chloe will kiss her first this time. Or if Chloe will hug her. Or if Chloe will say more. She longs to ask more questions, say more words, but she’s too afraid of the thick air between them suddenly.

Chloe finally takes a breath; she finally takes a step back and lifts her hand in a half wave, like she realizes she needs to leave. “I have to go,” she repeats. “But I...Beca,” Chloe murmurs. She lifts her hands together, like she might take the necessary steps to close the distance between them, but she casts Beca a sad expression, clenching her hands into fists and drawing them close to her chest. It is so vulnerable and unexpected for Chloe that Beca has no idea what words could possibly come out of her mouth then. “Don’t give up on me.”

That alone steals Beca’s breath from her once more. She can do nothing more than nod, because how can she even fathom the thought. It had been nice to indulge in the possibility of not loving Chloe Beale—not being with her, even as friends—but this reality, however half-formed is more than Beca could have ever dreamed of.

With that, Chloe finally twists and darts away from under the bleachers. Beca watches her go with bated breath, and when she finally exhales, she watches the way the air condenses in front of her, like a flurry of thoughts and emotions finally making themselves known in Chloe’s wake.

She breathes, allowing herself to think of their shared kiss in Beca’s bedroom just days ago. Maybe even a week now.

“I won’t,” she replies, speaking to nobody except the ghostly presence of the memories past, present, and future.

And she finally feels like the future—whatever sequels may follow—might not look so bleak.

fin.

#bechloe #now i see daylight #pitch perfect #fanfiction #beca mitchell #chloe beale #au #high school au #my fanfic #mine #text #queue

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tk9336 · 3 years

Text

My Curatorial Internship at MSI Part 2

In a very bittersweet conclusion, I finished my internship this past Thursday. It culminated in a visit Friday, August 6th with my family and friends getting a VIP tour of the Museum of Science and Industry, Chicago. My younger brother and his Australian co-worker flew in from D.C. and we picked them up from O’Hare on the way to MSI. We met with Director Kathleen McCarthy first thing after getting and to my utter disbelief got us onboard U-505 as a thank you for all my help this summer. She then let me run the tour onboard a German U-Boat... I am still feeling beyond honored for a privilege like that. She then let me give the tour of Collections and it really brought my short time with MSI full circle. I was asked to continue working on a project regarding a “Reichkriegsflagge” flag someone emailed us that they believe is linked to U-505. So as you can imagine I am thrilled... I broke down the history we have on the flags MSI has in storage and on exhibit. I emailed no fewer than four separate institutions; the German Maritime Museum, the US Naval Academy Museum (who has U-505′s actual War flag it was flying when captured in 1944), the Smithsonian, and to Keith Gill who was the chief Curator of U-505 when it was restored and interred in it’s final resting place within the 37 million dollar McCormick Foundation Exhibit.

What will follow is Weeks 7 - 9:

Week 7: 7/19-22/2021

Monday: I was not feeling well and decided to email Voula at 8AM as I got back home from the train station. I am glad I made this decision because I had a stomach that was in knots and there was plenty of material to work on from home. I worked on the U-505 artifacts list.

Tuesday: I came into the office and had my normal weekly meeting with Voula at 10 AM. We discussed the past week and the week ahead. Fortuitously since I had finished the massive transcription I was available to help on a more pressing issue that came up. The U.S. Navy was coming to give inert certificates and certify any munitions we had that still needed them. This was great because it was an opportunity to work with the Registrar Deanna, and do registration/collections management work. I got half way through the huge U.S. Navy loan files. I will continue next week in office, as tomorrow I am not working but will be on location.

Wednesday: I am not working Wednesday, as I am taking a long time friend and his family from my organization, the 501st Legion downtown. I will hopefully get to show them what I do in Collections; my office, the staff who are in my department and a brief walk through storage. I can't wait to see their faces... they have been following the posts I have been making to share my excitement of this incredible opportunity. The visit went well, and the parents Neil and Andrea are big World's Fair fans (both Colombian Exposition and 1933 Century of Progress.) They were former patron members of MSI before COVID.

Thursday: Working from home I was tasked with making a list of the artifacts on exhibition from the transcription of the U505 exhibit. So taking out the artifacts and making it into a separate word doc that I am sure helps the team when needing quick reference to what is on the floor.

Saturday: I continued the work from the U505 artifacts list and now am porting it to a excel workbook which seems to be the preferred file extension used by Kathleen and Voula (and perhaps Collections in general). Not strenuous academic work (since I already did that) but a lot busy work plugging, copying, pasting, etc.

Week 8: 7/26-29/2021

Monday: I came into the office today and resumed my work on going through the large U.S. Navy loan folders Deanna gave me in a effort to find relevant materials on the German, and American torpedoes as well as a Soviet Cruise Guided Missile, the "STYX." I gathered all my materials and presented them to her, and she looked through and helped me reduce the gathered documents for the most relevant to inertion. I found an actual donation file for the STYX to MSI from the Navy... not everyday you find a piece of paper saying this million dollar, surface to ship missile from the Cold War. This took me to the end of the day.

Tuesday: I came into the office and had my weekly meeting with Voula. This would be our last in person meeting as she is going to Greece with her family this Friday. I made sure to really emphasize how much this opportunity meant to me and that I was going to go the extra mile to wrap up all my projects and try to be as much use to MSI as possible. I had finishing helping Deanna yesterday with the inert reference materials to help her with the U.S. Navy guys coming in next Monday.

Wednesday: I worked from home since I have no shortage of stuff to work on. Voula tasked me with writing labels for the Fire Fighting artifacts I that I made a long project of at the beginning of the internship. Since I created all that in a long, well organized word doc, I can then, like a professional curator, work from my research to create 1-2 sentence labels for each item. I will take that and then input it into a excel workbook which seems to be the preferred file extension for reference purposes.

Thursday: We had another MSI Zoom round-table, and this time we how to brand, and what branding means professionally speaking, and to Museums like MSI specifically. Thankfully being Zoom was able to attend while working from home, which is an absolute godsend (in regards to not having to commute to Chicago, from Wauconda, IL... not that I don't like being at MSI- the commute is long.) I continued buttoning up and polishing all that I worked on so far. This isn't the normal college assignment where I don't re-read it once and make quick improvements (being honest here!) I re-read them about 3 times each, as I am very proud of what little I can contribute to MSI.

Week 9: 8/2-5/2021

Monday: I worked from home buttoning up and polishing all my work for MSI that I've done this summer in addition to finishing the label writing for the Fire Fighting artifacts list. I will port that into a Excel workbook like the U505 artifacts list, just to be consistent (as providing a word doc copy as well.) Long day in front of the computer... I worked roughly 10 hours. I just really want to leave a good, and lasting impression on MSI as a show of the supreme gratitude I have for them and this opportunity.

Tuesday: Today I came in feeling a little bit disappointed it is my last week, and endevour to take as much advantage of it as possible. With my Zoom meeting with Voula (who is in Greece right now) we discussed any last questions I had, and she wanted to say that she will be available as a reference and contact for me going forward which means the world over. Today is my day to talk, and work with the Registrar Deanna. She let me know my work on the Russian Cruise missile STYX was very helpful to the gentlemen from Navy doing the inert certifications. That felt really good. Kathleen also forwarded me a project involving one of the flags of U505! The very SAME one I took a photo with learning how to handle textile artifacts. I am over the moon, call it fate that I sought that flag out earlier. (As a former Combat Arms 11Bravo serviceman, holding the captured colors of an enemy combatant captured in combat is nothing short of incredible. So much so the words escape me. A significant emotional experience for me, personally.) We handled the additional two flags, both of which are the correct dimensions for being a port flag, meaning it was flown in dock, and around friendly waters when not on patrol. We handled both, and I took photos showing the measuring tape next to the artifacts to certify these are what they appear to be, the real McCoy. I will follow up with the author of a book about Hans Goebeler, one of the U505 sailors and find out more about this additional Reichskreigflagge he signed! To be entrusted to do this by Kathleen is very empowering. To help Deanna she had me scan all the Black Creativity Juried Art files from 2020 from artists. These were receipts of artwork we kept, or returned. The scanner allows you save files in it that are available to the department computers via wifi. If she has to pull a receipt on a artwork it is catalogued. Not the most exciting work, but work that needs doing. Glad I got to get a flavor of what it entails to be the registrar and put on a different hat, albeit a simple busy-work one for me to get a grasp at how her work differs from the curators.

Wednesday: I had to work from home this day because of issues with my car. Normally not an issue with the battery but with my dad being out of town for work I didn't have a back up vehicle. I still had plenty to work on to finish up.

Thursday: This is my last scheduled work day for the Curatorial internship at MSI. It is completely bittersweet, bitter that it is over, and sweet in the way that I have all these contacts and incredible experiences under my belt. I have a tour scheduled with Mike Welsh whose in charge of facilities, buildings and grounds. Additionally we will have the opportunity to do a in person round table with Chevy Humphrey, President and CEO of MSI. The day began with a little party/meeting hosted by Kathleen for the new assistant curator, registrar and preparator to help with the projects being undertaken by each position. We also celebrated my last day which was very nice. I got to help unpack a 3D photo studio that was massive, and will be a big help photographing these artifacts for cataloguing and being put online. The meeting with Chevy went well if a little underwhelming because I was the only one asking questions! But, hard to pass up a mostly 1:1 dialogue with the CEO and President of MSI. I came back to collections in which Kathleen presented me some gifts from MSI in appreciation of my help for the summer. What a grand and wonderful experience.

Friday: I took my Family, family friends Mike and Kathy, as well as my visiting younger brother the Assistant director of marketing and communications for Atlas Network in DC with his Australian co-worker Vale to see MSI from top to bottom. It began with Kathleen getting us ONBOARD U-505 and let me give the tour. I had never been so honored, and not to mention the onboard for the sub is temporarily closed for COVID. This meant the world, and it was so very cool to share this with my family. It's one thing to talk about a German U-Boat... it's another to be inside a REAL one. She then took us to Collections and again let me give the tour in Storage and was very generous with her time. I then took them to the Henry Crown Space Center, then into the Smart Home Park to grab a drink. I took them to the Science of Storms exhibit and then used the special staff elevator to speedily get me back to Collections to use my work laptop to do the final meeting with Studio Institute. I had to leave the meeting right near the end because we needed to get home and take care of our 14 year old dog Ziggy, and equally old visiting Griffin. It was great to share my presentation with the rest of the Chicago/Memphis interns. This was the first time Chicago was included on the program and I believe the stars aligned to put where I am today, and what I got to do this summer. Thank you. I will try to make an album on Tumblr of images of my internship this summer and I took them with a storyteller’s eye. It’s a pretty cool linear progression of what I found over the course of the internship!

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santodomingos · 4 years

Photo

╰ * BIOGRAPHY ━━ APPLICATION ━━ TIMELINE ━━ WANTED CONNECTIONS .

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME. Bellamy Santo Domingo.

MEANING. Fine friend, handsome companion.

REASONING. The name was hand-picked by his grandfather, before his passing. He gave no explanations, but a small poem was written in his notebooks regarding this particular name.

NICKNAME(S). Bell, Bee, Bella, Santissimo (with teasing undertones).

ALIAS. Benvolio.

BIRTH DATE. 8th of October, 1994.

BLOOD TYPE. AB-.

AGE. Twenty four.

ZODIAC. Libra sun, Scorpio moon, Pisces rising.

GENDER. Agender. He doesn’t speak much about this, however, as he was raised in a very traditional and conservative family.

PRONOUNS. He/him. Bellamy has a feeling he’d be more comfortable using “they/them,” however, since he fears possible reprimands, especially from his father, he only ever attends to these pronouns when around people he considers safe.

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION. Panromantic.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION. Demisexual.

NATIONALITY. Italian.

ETHNICITY. Spanish, Japanese, Indigenous Brazilian.

RELIGION. Roman Catholic, with some Zen Buddhist influences.

CURRENT LOCATION. Verona, Italy.

LIVING CONDITIONS. Bellamy lives in a comfortable but rather small apartment in the San Zeno neighborhood, close to the Basilica di San Zeno Maggiore.

AFFILIATION. The Montagues.

THREAT LEVEL. Moderate to high. Proceed with caution.

BACKGROUND

HOMETOWN. Verona, Italy.

SOCIAL CLASS. Upper class.

EDUCATION LEVEL. Law Bachelor (University of Verona), currently studying for a Master’s Degree, with a specialization for International Law (started in the University of Rome, will conclude it in the University of Verona). Has presented many international symposiums, for his extensive research in the field. Has a summer course in the Hague Academy of International Law and many academic honors tied to his name.

FATHER. Celestino Santo Domingo, another generation of the family raised for war. Often called the best torturer inside the Montague ranks, he has served Damiano and his name since he was only a teenager, and became known as Lo Sciacallo di Verona. The Santo Domingos also have a traditional vineyard & winery, to cover most of their shady dealings, and are well respected amongst the townsfolk.

MOTHER. Cordelia Asahi Santo Domingo, née Oliveira. Daughter from an immigrant family, ended up in the mob to try and pay off her parents’ debts. Cold and ruthless, was mostly known for being a strong tactician.

SIBLING(S). None. Cordelia went through a second pregnancy when Bellamy was five to six years old, however, she ended up having a miscarriage. This was very hard on both of his parents, and was one of the reasons why Celestino hardened up his up-bringing of Bellamy.

BIRTH ORDER. Only child.

CHILDREN. None.

PET(S). A calico cat Bellamy himself rescued named Lucky. She is partially blind.

OTHER IMPORTANT RELATIVES. Balthazar Santo Domingo (deceased) and Reyna Santo Domingo, née Salazar, grandparents from his father’s side. Francisco Oliveira and Ayumi Oliveira, née Yamamura, grandparents from his mother’s side. His father has at least three siblings, and Bellamy has plenty of cousins.

PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS. Bellamy has never dated, although his father did try to make him date one of his friends’ daughter. Other than that, he has maintained a clean record, although he has had some romantic encounters that never went much farther than a few dates.

ARRESTS? None, although he has both run from the police & rescued some of his friends from it quite a few times.

PRISON TIME? No.

OCCUPATION & INCOME

PRIMARY SOURCE OF INCOME. Montague soldier and bodyguard.

SECONDARY SOURCE OF INCOME. Research scholarship.

TERTIARY SOURCE(S) OF INCOME. Family funds, originated from the vineyard and winery, from which Bellamy takes a small percentage of. He saves them up and applies them as he sees fit. Bellamy also gathered some income from publishing articles.

SPENDING HABITS. Bellamy hardly ever spends his money on himself. He has very little physical belongings, excluding his books. He only splurges on his loved ones and, even then, he is more particular to meaningful gifts, no matter how small.

SKILLS & ABILITIES

PHYSICAL STRENGTH. 8/10. Bellamy has been trained in martial arts since he was a child, and he is constantly exercising (it shows).

OFFENSE. 6/10. As much as he knows how to cause damage, this is merely a matter of preference, as Bellamy tries to avoid direct and immediate action, to not cause much harm to himself and others.

DEFENSE. 9/10. This, again, is the result of his ideological vision for peace. He much rather stay on the defensive, and he is good at being a shield.

SPEED. 7/10. He is a big guy, there’s only so much he can do.

INTELLIGENCE. 8/10. Bellamy, albeit raised in a family of warriors of the best kind, also has a tactician as a mother, and was gifted with the soul of a philosopher. He has above average intelligence, can self-teach himself anything he puts his mind to, and is quick to analyze a situation.

ACCURACY. 7/10. His aim wavers, although not by lack of training. His father is very pushy with gun use, but Bellamy is not very fond of it, by the surprise of many. If he is forced to use a gun, he goes for non-fatal, but incapacitating, shots.

AGILITY. 8/10. His background as both a dancer (yeah, that’s a secret) and a martial arts connoisseur has provided Bellamy a lot of grace in his movements, and he has a good control over his body.

STAMINA. 9/10. Intense training since childhood does pay-off. He can go all night long, baby :eyes:.

TEAMWORK. 7/10. I mean, listen. He can work well in groups, but people tend to underestimate him and the way he does stuff a lot, which can be quite annoying to Bellamy, especially if we’re talking life-threatening situations. As long as you trust his abilities, he can work well with you.

LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN. Italian, Portuguese, Japanese (his first languages, proficiency), Spanish, French (mild proficiency), Latin, Classic Latin, Greek, German, Dutch (self-taught, he can understand and read, but not speak them very well).

DRIVING. He can ride both cars and motorcycles, having one of his own. He can manage to change tires and doing basic repairs, if needed be. His mother taught him how to jump start a car.

SWIMMING. Bellamy loves to swim, and it remains one of his favorite activities to this day.

PICK A LOCK. One of the first skills his father taught him.

FIGHTING. Judo, Krav Maga, Muay Thai, Kickboxing, Aikido.

SKILLS. Combat knives, stealth, negotiation, diplomacy, basic medic skills, knowledge of the law, parkour.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE & CHARACTERISTICS

FACE CLAIM. Marlon Teixeira.

EYE COLOR. Caramel.

HAIR COLOR. Brown.

HAIR TYPE/STYLE. Long hair, often messy. Bellamy doesn’t cut it often.

VOICE. Bellamy has a deep, comforting voice, best described as the perfect timbre for singing lullabies or reading poetry. He is a baritone.

GLASSES/CONTACTS? Bellamy uses reading glasses, as not to strain his eyesight.

DOMINANT HAND. Naturally, it was his right hand. However, his father made him train both of them for combat and shooting purposes, so he is now ambidextrous.

HEIGHT. 184cm or 6 feet.

BUILD. Athletic, with well-developed muscles, since he has been physically active since his childhood.

SKIN TONE. Bellamy has a healthy tan, which gives him a golden glow.

TATTOOS. He has one tattoo, and it is very well hidden on the side of his hips (yes, it’s a secret. yes, it’s thexy).

PIERCINGS. None.

MARKS/SCARS. Bellamy’s whole body is covered in scars, both big and small, from strenuous training, abuse, and self-harm.

USUAL EXPRESSION. Bellamy is often serious, but he can easily soften up his expression as soon as someone searches for an emotional response from him. He smiles easily, although these are not his most honest expressions.

CLOTHING STYLE. Bellamy has a very simple and modest style, with functionality being the key element. His wardrobe is filled with neutral colors.

JEWELRY. He wear a ring his grandmother gifted him at all times, but in a necklace. Bellamy also always carries his grandfather’s rosary with him.

PERFUME. He doesn’t use any, but his shampoo smells strongly of vanilla and strawberries.

DIET. Bellamy tends to skip some meals, as he often doesn’t take care of himself very well. His diet, however, is very healthy and balanced. He avoids red meat, often eating only fish. He does have a big sweet tooth, but he is pretty good at controlling himself.

PHYSICAL AILMENTS. None, but he has a slight bone malformation on his left hand that has been corrected with surgery.

PSYCHOLOGY

JUNG. INFJ, the Advocate (Ni - Fe - Ti - Se).

ENNEAGRAM. 9w1, the Negotiator. Tritype: 925.

MORAL ALIGNMENT. Neutral good.

ARCHETYPE. The Caregiver.

TEMPERAMENT. Melancholic.

ELEMENT. Earth/water.

PRIMARY INTELLIGENCES. Verbal-linguistic, bodily-kinesthetic, interpersonal.

VICE. Envy.

VIRTUE. Temperance.

APPROXIMATE IQ. 124.

MENTAL CONDITIONS. Chronic depression, insomnia.

SOCIABILITY. Bellamy is very approachable and is also a great listener. He won’t often start interactions, but he knows how to navigate through people and the way to get to their hearts.

EMOTIONAL STABILITY. Moderate to low. Bellamy is way too good at repressing his own emotions, but this often leaves him spiraling after some months.

ADDICTION(S). He isn’t the type of person to be easily rendered by addictions of any kind, as he tends to be very careful with most things. Bellamy smokes, but even then, his packs of cigarettes often take months to finish.

DRUG USE. Bellamy uses sleeping pills with some frequency, and he is now taking Fae’s Blood as well, in order to fight his smothering feelings of depression and hopelessness.

ALCOHOL USE. Bellamy does not drink often, as he has a very low alcohol tolerance. He only drinks alone in his apartment, while reading a book and getting ready for bed, or in the company of people he really trusts.

PRONE TO VIOLENCE? No. Bellamy opts for violence as a last resort, although he does have certain berserk buttons that can make him act differently.

MANNERISMS

SPEECH STYLE. Bellamy is very careful with his words, weighing them in before anything rash can come out of his mouth. He is never loud, and tends to approach most conversations with a persuasive tone to it, often offering a compromise to easily gain over others. He is very empathetic in handling information people offer him.

QUIRKS. Drinks tea after every meal. Can only sleep well if he has someone by his side (when he doesn’t, he hugs a plush bear he got as a gift many years ago). Has extremely quick reflexes and doesn’t take very well to sudden and abrupt approaches.

HOBBIES. Reading, swimming, painting, horseback riding, cooking, chess, gymnastics, running, learning new languages, going to museums and art galleries, dancing.

HABITS. Goes to church at least three times per week, although he often doesn’t attend masses anymore. Doing stretches and yoga once he wakes up and before bed. Drinking tea after every meal.

NERVOUS TICKS. Bellamy has trained himself to become unreadable, but he still messes around with his hair, depending of the situation at hand.

DRIVES/MOTIVATIONS. To keep his loved ones safe and protected.

FEARS. Being worthless, unloved and abandoned. Seeing his loved ones die or get harmed. Failing to meet up his family’s expectations and subsequently disappointing them.

POSITIVE TRAITS. Wise, protective, loyal, diligent, nurturing, humble, just.

NEGATIVE TRAITS. Self-sacrificing, insecure, passive, repressed, can have sudden outbursts of emotion, hypocritical, self-destructive.

SENSE OF HUMOR. Bellamy doesn’t often cracks up with laughter, and he is not one for sarcasm, either. He has a subtle sense of humor, you could say, and he only lets himself go and enjoy some fun when feeling absolutely safe.

DO THEY CURSE OFTEN? Not at all. Bellamy is very polished in his speech, and he is a wordsmith of sorts. He will hardly ever curse.

FAVORITES

ACTIVITY. Horseback riding.

ANIMAL. All of them. Bellamy is just a big animal lover.

BEVERAGE. Red or rosé wine.

BOOK. Persuasion, by Jane Austen.

CELEBRITY. Bellamy knows absolutely nothing about celebrities, and I mean nothing.

COLOR. Regarding clothing, Bellamy prefers neutral tones (white, grays, and browns, especially). In general, soft orange is his pick.-

DESIGNER. He is a thrift shopper! No money to expend on futile things, especially for himself!

FOOD. Sukiyaki.

FLOWER. Sunflowers.

GEM. Moonstone.

HOLIDAY. Easter.

MOVIE. Princess Mononoke.

MUSICAL ARTIST. Chopin.

SCENT. Spices, herbs, natural scents in general.

SPORT. Fencing.

WEATHER. Soft rain in a warm day.

#self harm tw #abuse tw #mentioned only on the physical section/scars!#╰ * xiii . development ━━ ad meliora .#╰ * o . dossier ━━ sic gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc .#╰ * v . graphics ━━ ars longa ; vita brevis .

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