Lab teamwork with Holtzmann
holtzmann x reader where the reader has a sleeve of tattoos and in general just really badass and holtzmann thinks that she's hates her cause she doesn't talk as much around her and holtzmann confronts her one day and the reader tells her it's bc she thinks she's cute, and has anxiety and had no idea if she liked girls & holtzmann just kisses her?? sorry if this doesn't make sense 😬
This was super awesome and inspiring so props to whoever sent this in! Been thinking a lot about education and stuff lately so that’s the direction this went in. Hope it works :) (for the record, I have never caused a fire at school... :P) ((it may have happened one time))
You flick strands of hair behind your ears as you try to focus your attention on the professor, who stands at the front of the lab trying desperately to explain safety procedures and group-work to the less cooperative members of your class. She waves her hands in exasperation, stressing that “if we only have one fire in class today, it’ll be a goddamn miracle”.
This draws a slight chuckle out of the entire class, but your attention is elsewhere, on the woman sitting at a bench a row in front and to the right, with blonde hair, eclectic fashion sense. She keeps looking at you and you make an effort not to meet her gaze. She’s probably the most intelligent person in this class, which is really saying something about her, seeing as this is a fairly select group of the best and brightest science students at your university.
You see her eye your bare arms, turning around in a sly attempt to appear as if she is stretching. You cannot quite read her eyes, and in this attempt to gauge her emotions, your eyes meet. You’re unsure of what she’s thinking, as she presses her lips together and raises her eyebrows slightly at you. You attempt to give her a friendly half-smile in return, but before you can really do anything, your lab partner elbows you impatiently, handing you some paper to write on as she dictates your lab report.
Too distracted to resist her bossiness, you comply and begin scrawling down her words, trying to pry your thoughts from the pretty and intriguing woman in your class. You wonder what she’s thinking when she looks at you. How was she looking at you? Might she like you? Or perhaps she just doesn’t really care. Just being friendly. Your lab partner drags you into conversation and soon you are chatting animatedly about the experiment, your weekends and other trivial matters in your life, you thoughts not quite leaving the girl as, from the corner of your eye you see her head turn as if she’s waiting for something. When it seems as if she too is absorbed in the exercise and ceases to grant any attention to you, you feel your heart sink a little for the rest of the class.
The next week there’s talk of some group work. A thesis, combining the research of two groups, four people, and your lab partner is already gesturing to the blonde girl and her partner to join the two of you. You’re familiar with the boy who partner’s the blonde woman, though introductions had never been made between you and the blonde woman. She walks over confidently, stretching out a hand to you in a way which seems oddly familiar for a ‘formal’ greeting.
“Call me Holtzmann,” she says with a grin, energy bubbling off of her. “Or you can just call me.”
You feel heat rise to your face but noone seems to notice, as instead you let the other two take charge of the assignment, only speaking to correct them on some incorrect information. Several time you catch Holtzmann eyeing you, yet you say nothing, do nothing, as her very gaze makes you feel as if you’re at the apex of a roller coaster, about to go over the edge. You’re not quite sure whether you like roller coasters but you definitely know that roller coasters and Bunsen burners have no business associating with one another. So you attempt to ignore her, only stealing quick glances at the slight furrow between her eyebrows as she thinks, the messy scrawl she uses in her brilliant calculations and the deftness of her fingers as she turns pages or gestures wildly with her hands as she explains new concepts to your teammates. (You fail miserably at ignoring her, instead basically dismissing the task at hand as you become increasingly smitten with Holtzmann.)
The two weeks allocated to finish the assignment go by, the four of you meeting up in the library, or for milkshakes, to finish work and discuss theories, all the while you manage to barely say two words to Holtzmann, though your eyes are familiar with every curve and angle of her face. One day she’s late to class and as the rest of the three of your group set about finalizing and editing your paper, you take charge for the first time, standing over the two of them as they edit out commas and polish grammar on the final copy, ready to hand in the next day to your professor. It has to be perfect, much of your grade is relying on it to be so, and as Holtzmann is not here right at this moment, your entire attention is focused upon getting it just right. Slight nods are the main communication you get from the pair as you polish it and the next thing you know, a hand is on your shoulder. Holtzmann stands next to you, reaching out to make contact with your bare shoulder as she scans the writing on a computer before your lab partner. You can feel the heat radiating off of her, smell the faint seductive smoky scent of her, combined with a light citrus that must be her shampoo and this consumes you. She opens her mouth to speak and your gaze has narrowed to only encompass her in the world around you.
“It’s per -“ All of a sudden you are aware of this effect she is having on you and you step away, her hand dropping to her side mid-sentence.
“-fect. It’s perfect,” she says, her brow furrowing as she obviously notices your sudden withdrawal from her touch.
“Well you did most of the calculations and [Y/N] is an absolute whiz with the report, so I dare say we’ll be getting a brilliant mark on this!” your ab partner says with a grin, and a slight knowing glance between you and Holtzmann.
“Yeah it’s pretty darn good, if I do say so myself,” says your other friend, reaching out to give the whole group a light high-five. You dodge this, slinging your bag over your shoulder and taking the computer from the desk, calling behind you that you’ll bring in a hard copy to the professor tomorrow morning. Only one person has to be there to hand this in and you volunteer to do this tedious job just so you can leave and catch your breath.
“Hey, [Y/N]!” you hear as your exit the door and round the corner. You do not stop. You do not pass go, nor collect $200. You head straight home, trapped in the prison of your mind, obsessing over your interactions between yourself and Holtzmann, and why the hell you’ve been acting this way. How can one person, who you’re not even sure is interested in you, have this much of an effect over you?
Barely rested from obsessing ost of the night, like the adult you are, you turn up a minute before class ends, presentation neatly displayed in a clear folder and perfectly printed up. You hand it to the professor, flustered, who confirms she received your digital copy and thanks you, commenting that the brief glance she gave it looked highly promising. You smile faintly in response, and having collected everyone else’s work, she slips it into her briefcase and exits the room, saying a quick goodbye to you, and Holtzmann. Holtzmann? You hadn’t even noticed her when you walked in.
She stands leaning against of the benches, arms folded and lips pursed. The usual aura of energy which surrounds her is absent, as she purses her lips and looks at you expectantly. You give her a small awkward wave, suddenly keenly aware of how you’re dressed and how you didn’t brush your hair this morning. You see her eyes graze up and down your body and she runs a tongue over her lips, seemingly thoughtful.
“Holtzmann,” you say with a nod in way of greeting.
“[Y/N],” she responds, mimicking your nods before standing up straight and fixing you with her gaze. You feel that roller coaster tumble in your stomach at this and wait for her to say something else.
“What’s your deal?” she asks, walking over to you. “I’ve been getting this weird vibe off of you the entire time.”
She’s studying you as if you’re some curious experiment or specimen which she doesn’t understand, but maybe she wants to. “You’re smart, you have ideas. You’re not exactly shy from what I’ve seen. But it seems as if you hate me.”
At this you can feel the anxiety in her and what it takes for her to be able to say this to you. All of a sudden you feel completely guilty but she has advanced towards you with each word and is now so close you can hardly think.
“You’re cute,” you manage to get out, but you say this as if the words are poison on your tongue. You can see that she doesn’t receive this sentiment as it’s intended, in her body language and how she backs away slightly.
“I- I like you?” you say, furrowing your eyebrows and not meeting her eyes.
“Is that a question?” she says, a touch of humour breaking through the confusion in her voice.
“No, no. It’s a fact,” you say, trying to express yourself with at least a smidge of eloquence, and failing. “You make me nervous and I like you. Obviously this isn’t something I’m good at dealing with.”
“No kidding,” she says, reaching out a hand to linger lightly upon your forearm, tracing the intricate patterns of your tattoo. She does this instead of meeting your gaze, perhaps giving you a little space within your head to straighten (A/N: HA!) your thoughts out.
“I’m just a really anxious person and have a massive crush on you. There, I said it. And I’m really sorry if that makes you uncomfortable or anything, I don’t know if you’re into girls, or me or-”
All of a sudden she cuts off your rambling by standing toe-to-toe with you, hands placed lightly on your arms and planting the sweetest of kisses on your mouth. Legs turning to jelly, you reach one hand out to hold onto her, yet this turns into a deeper embrace, and the other to brace yourself against the bench behind you.
She deepens the kiss and you involuntarily let out a soft moan, which sends a smile to her lips. Your shoulders relax and all of a sudden your book bag crashes to the floor with a loud bang. She pulls away, leaving you feeling a little disappointed. She sees this look on your face, more able to read you now and smirks.
“You know, I do think that this goes against the lab safety procedures, in some way. It’s getting hot in here, we don’t want to start a fire,” she says with a wink, reaching down to pick up your bag and handing it to you. You accept it and return her smile, accompanied by a blush.
“Yeah I guess you’re right. How about we go someplace else?” you suggest.
“My apartment is a ten minute walk from here,” she says heading towards the door. You take her offered and follow her out of the room, unafraid of getting burnt by the flame that has sparked between the two of you. Perhaps you do like roller coasters...
