fic: are you kidding me?
Title: are you kidding me?
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Britta, Britta/Jeff
Summary: The hot feeling in her eyes had been threatening to turn into something more ever since she fled the tranny dance.
Spoilers: some spoilers for 1.25 "Pascal's Triangle Revisited"
A/N: written for another drabble meme
The hot feeling in her eyes had been threatening to turn into something more ever since she fled the tranny dance. She could feel something wet just waiting to seep over her bottom eyelid and run down her face, ruining any care she had taken to look nice that night.
"Fuck," she mumbles before she finally picks up a Hershey's chocolate bar and tosses it down on the counter. She can't even look the cashier in the face as she plunks down her money and stomps out of the store.
Her mind's racing as she practically wrestles with her car door to get it open. Damn Greendale and the stupid tranny dance. Damn Jeff and his stupid smug self-centered self. (But the sex was good.) Damn that heinous bitch, Slater, for getting her competitive self so riled up. (Okay, Slater wasn't really heinous.) And most of all, damn her for uttering those three ridiculous words so publicly. (Seriously, I love you?!) Not like she loves him. Maybe. No. Maybe. Oh, fuck.
She practically inhales her chocolate bar as soon as she's inside her car, wrapper included. "God, Britta, get yourself together! At least you didn't cry inside a CVS again, so that's a good start. But most importantly, besides getting back at Jeff for this nightmare, is stop talking to yourself in third person."
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Britta, Britta/Jeff
Summary: The hot feeling in her eyes had been threatening to turn into something more ever since she fled the tranny dance.
Spoilers: some spoilers for 1.25 "Pascal's Triangle Revisited"
A/N: written for another drabble meme
The hot feeling in her eyes had been threatening to turn into something more ever since she fled the tranny dance. She could feel something wet just waiting to seep over her bottom eyelid and run down her face, ruining any care she had taken to look nice that night.
"Fuck," she mumbles before she finally picks up a Hershey's chocolate bar and tosses it down on the counter. She can't even look the cashier in the face as she plunks down her money and stomps out of the store.
Her mind's racing as she practically wrestles with her car door to get it open. Damn Greendale and the stupid tranny dance. Damn Jeff and his stupid smug self-centered self. (But the sex was good.) Damn that heinous bitch, Slater, for getting her competitive self so riled up. (Okay, Slater wasn't really heinous.) And most of all, damn her for uttering those three ridiculous words so publicly. (Seriously, I love you?!) Not like she loves him. Maybe. No. Maybe. Oh, fuck.
She practically inhales her chocolate bar as soon as she's inside her car, wrapper included. "God, Britta, get yourself together! At least you didn't cry inside a CVS again, so that's a good start. But most importantly, besides getting back at Jeff for this nightmare, is stop talking to yourself in third person."