you sunshine, you temptress

“i don’t know how to be the one you take home.”

pairing: brian o’conner x actuallyawkward!reader

tw: angst, heavy themes of insecurity and anxiety, jealousy… brian calling reader ‘baby’ a lot, brian learning that his actions mean nothing if he won’t back it up with his words.

from the beginning, you were unsure of your place within the toretto family. an okay driver, an even more okay mechanic. jesse was the one to make everyone laugh, and no one could quite resist the twinkle in mia’s eyes whenever she asked for a favor. everyone had their niche— except you. even when you were a kid, it felt like you were just a placeholder in the clique. a back-up of a back-up, someone with no real purpose. you know it isn’t fair to be so critical of yourself, yet you do it anyway. ramble, realize, retreat, repeat.

it worsens once brian comes into town. he’s the kind of handsome that makes old ladies swoon; a teenage girl’s airport crush. what sucks the most? brian is… nice. he helps wash up after family dinner, and has no issue taking any kind of shit from vince or dom. brian blends in perfectly within the group, and you’re jealous.

why? why couldn’t you be like him? leon seems to be your only solace. ‘everyone has their own thing, kid. who else could hold down the fort like you?’ you know that’s supposed to cheer you up, but it doesn’t do the trick. who wants to be known as the bystander anyway? stuck between a rock and a hard place, you don’t know how to move forward, or if you should even move forward at all.

it’s another family dinner. you’re stuck with the dishes, while everyone else settles in the living room for some beat cop movie. you’d gone quiet during mealtime, out of the ordinary for everyone yet no one mentioned it. if they even noticed. lost in a sea of your thoughts, you don’t notice how long you’ve been scrubbing at a dish, or how brian creeps into the kitchen. “damn, i think it’s clean, baby. here, why don’t you wash and i’ll dry, deal?” he laughs, and you can feel your heart stutter. sure, you’re friends with brian, but if you can avoid it, you don’t let yourself be alone with him. it’ll either end with you hopelessly in love, or so envious of his effortless existence that you want to stab someone.

you nod, passing off him the dish and continuing to scour at the dinner plates like they personally offended you. it’s not much, but it’s honest work. brian, who is trained to notice every display of body language, takes note. you always seemed to act like this when he’s around. it’s as if you’re performing for everyone, but especially him. his shoulder nudges at yours, “hey. you okay? you seem… off.”

there’s a brief pause. you didn’t expect anyone to call you out, certainly not brian. your lips turn upward in a slight smile, then you shake your head. “yeah, ‘m fine. just tired.” your voice doesn’t carry how it normally would— the lack of excitement is palpable. brian might not be your best friend, but he does know you. you’re always up to move the conversation forward if no one’s making the effort, and you have this kind of confidence that allows you to keep a joke going for far too long. brian shifted, gently taking the plate away from your wet hands and placing it to the side.

his eyes are magnetic, a feat you can’t ignore or pull yourself apart from. “c’mon, baby. i’m pretty but i’m not dumb. what’s goin’ on?” brian asked. you want to give in; to slump against the sink and let your hidden insecurities overflow into reality. it’s not a bad idea, considering that brian seems genuinely concerned. but, what would that make you? you’re already the kind of person who can’t shut up, so why would you add anxiety and jealousy into an officially fucked-up equation? you smile again, and it looks slightly more authentic this time around. you jab at his chest with your finger, “b, don’t worry about it. i promise that i’m fine.” the pair of you relapse into washing and drying again, conversation falling flat. still, brian doesn’t buy your reassurance, even if he doesn’t say anything else.

from that point forward, brian made it his mission to seek you out any chance he had. whether it was crowding beside you on the already full couch, or keeping by your side whenever the group attended a car show. his hands linger even after he’s moved away from you, and he’s the first one to be on his feet if you break away from the group. ‘i think bri’s got a little crush on you! seriously, he doesn’t take his eyes off of you.’ you want to reprimand mia when she mentions it to you, her voice hushed as brian and dom move around the kitchen. it isn’t true, you know it can’t be.

you can’t exactly shake brian off. and before you know it, you find yourself leaning into it. it’s a bad decision, yet you can’t find anything in you that will help you stop. every car show, you pull up in his car— shuffling out of the passenger seat like you really shouldn’t even be sitting there. brian doesn’t care, because he will round the car and immediately sling an arm around your torso; practically gluing you to his side. more often than not, brian crashes at your place when he’s ’too tired’ to drive back to harry’s shop. he lounges on your bed like he’s meant to be in it, and you stay up even later because you’re too invested in the conversation to stop. ‘alright, i’m goin’ to bed. g’night, baby. come and get me if you can’t sleep.’ brian whispered, pecking your cheek swiftly and exiting before you can even react.

this weird, almost domestic limbo lasts for months. everyone thinks that you’re secretly dating, to which dom will make the comment of how you’re not very good at hiding it. it’s not dating, or really anything, if you’re honest with yourself. brian just… gravitates towards you, for some odd reason. this confounds you, and brian seems like he doesn’t even notice. maybe he just doesn’t care.

you remember when the limbo broke. some house party that one of dom’s high school buddies had— bodies packed in tight like sardines. the loud music overwhelms you, and it’s the same for the ménage of empty solo cups and various little baggies of white residue. when you step out on the back porch for some air, flirty giggles cloud your hearing. “you’re not taken, are you? because everyone thinks you and that friend of yours are, like, a thing.” the voice slurs, obviously feminine and potently drunk. there’s a twinge of empathy for her, you wouldn’t want someone to traipse into a trap of someone who’s taken.

you don’t expect to hear brian’s voice. he stuttered a bit, “can’t a guy be touchy anymore? nah, we’re not together. why? you wanna be like a thing with me?”

stupid. so fuckin’ stupid. you knew it was too good to be real. you let this happen. digging your nails into your palms, you inhale sharply. all that work you’d done with brian over the past few months vanished. every time he saw you, he’d make you repeat affirmations to yourself. ‘i belong here.’ ‘i have friends who love me.’ ‘i am not a burden.’ it was never romantic, you know that now. sure, you thought it wouldn’t happen, but there always was this spark of hope that kept you going. that maybe, maybe it would. you were wrong.

brian can’t remember what happened at the house party. all he knows is that he found someone who looks a lot like you, and then it blurs. but, brian notices the distance you’ve created between the two of you. your apartment is no longer a free invitation, and you shut him down each time he asks to stay the night. instead of piling in next to him on the couch, you sprawl out on the floor next to leon. he’s brushed off whenever he offers to help with the dishes. brian just doesn’t know why.

it was late. brian offered to take you home again, and you relent. you’ll have to erase the tallies on a whiteboard in your kitchen— promptly titled ‘days without giving in.’ so much for that! there just seemed to be a glint of hopelessness in his blue eyes that struck at your heart, like he was one rejection away from giving up entirely. to put it plain, you felt bad.

the car ride was silent, save for the low humming of the engine and the radio playing softly. you don’t expect brian to walk you to your door, yet he does. just as you’re about to unlock the front door, brian latched onto your wrist. you can’t look at him, not now. he’s almost breathless, “baby… what’s goin’ on? you don’t let me sleep over anymore and you barely even talk to me. is your anxiety still bothering you? because we can work on it like we used to.” you keep quiet, working with your non-dominant hand to unlock the door and finally escape him. brian huffed, why weren’t you saying something? saying anything?

after fumbling with your keys, you enter the apartment and brian is quick on your heels to find out what the fuck is going on. “y/n. ‘m serious, baby. what’s goin’ on in that head of yours? something’s killing you and i can fuckin’ see it.” his voice is rougher now, less patient and more determined to figure you out. the thing is? you don’t even really know what’s up with you. were you upset about what he did at the party because you liked him? or was it jealousy that he was able to connect with someone like that and you couldn’t? maybe an uneven mix of both— probably 60/40 instead of 50/50.

it takes a moment or two before you break. shoulders start to tremble, and you can feel your grip on reality slip. “i don’t know, brian. i don’t know! this is just the way i am, okay? ‘m self-conscious and awkward, a-and i can’t keep up with you.” you cry, palming at your eyes as if they weren’t welling with tears. brian immediately pulled you close to his chest, murmuring sweet nothings that you can’t decipher. it’s not like it matters. brian o’conner wouldn’t be yours. that’s what matters most.

once your shoulders aren’t so unsteady and the sobs aren’t so strong, brian pulls back to study you. you have this look in your eyes, like you’re torn between two different places. “baby, you don’t have to keep up with anyone. it doesn’t matter if you don’t know how to act. you’re you, and that’s what i want to see.” there it is. ‘if you don’t know how to act.’ how does he not see it? how can he not understand that you’re not trying to keep up with anyone except for him?

you inch away from him slowly, arms crossed over your chest like a defense mechanism. “being me isn’t enough. clearly not for you. cause you seem to want everyone else. and… i don’t know how to be the one you take home.” your voice carries through the silence of your apartment. it’s deafening. brian freezes.

sure, he did all those things for you because you’re a friend, but… brian didn’t know that it felt different for you. it’s not like he didn’t sometimes picture what a relationship would look like. brian just isn’t cut out for romance, and he thought you weren’t either. when he doesn’t say anything, you scoff. “you know what? go home, brian. this whole thing was stupid and i don’t why i even bothered. just lock the door on your way out.” you snapped at him. brian can’t remember if you’ve done that before. you’ve never done it to him, at least.

watching as brian sulks out of your apartment, you slam the door and throw your head back. why’d you let yourself do this in the first place? his skyline revs, and you can hear it speed away. once brian is for sure gone, you pat into the kitchen and stare at the whiteboard on your fridge. the tallies return it, taunting you for failing. and you? you just wipe it away.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

ac speaks!

Firefighter!Simon who meets you when your apartment goes up in flames, breaking down the crumbling excuse of a door to make sure that everyone had been evacuated from the building. Gaz was having a laugh about how someone ‘could sleep through that shit’ as Simon had to wake up this poor girl who just wanted to sleep after her stressful day. Firefighter!Simon who answers all your questions with a gruff tone, navigating through the burning building. On one hand, he’s glad you aren’t screaming and crying about the building but on the other hand he wasn’t used to people asking him questions. You ask him things like his favorite color, his favorite food, how many times he had punched people in the face, and about his opinion on everything under the sun. He was on his seventh ‘you need to stop talkin’, ma’am, yer wastin’ air’ when you started coughing.

When you got to the ambulance, Firefighter!Simon didn’t say no when you asked him to go with you to the hospital. Johnny raised an eyebrow at Simon as he maneauvered his hulking body onto the seat next to you. For some unknown reason, Firefighter!Simon didn’t want you- nosy and kind and pretty you- to be hacking up a lung by yourself in the presence of someone like Johnny. And when your breathing started slowing and you weren’t looking around with bright eyes, Simon let you slide your hand into his gloved one.