Warnings: Dark!Barry, Unhinged!Barry, Protective!Barry? He almost kills you, lol. Language.
Words: 960
A/N: Written from Barry's perspective. Someone puts a hit out on you. I'm actually pretty proud of this one. Enjoy!
𖦹𖦹𖦹
Being a hitman was so isolating sometimes. You could never really tell anyone the whole truth, and if you did, they’d freak out. I mean, seriously it was a job. It wasn’t like I was a serial killer or anything like that. But, the world’s funny that way I guess. As long as the blood isn't on their hands, who cares that they paid you to murder their bastard cheating ex? You’d take the fall, and you’d take the blame.
My phone suddenly buzzed in my pocket, startling me out of my thoughts. Pulling it out, I checked the caller ID. It was an unknown number.
Well, not unknown to me.
“Hello?”
“I’ve got a job for you buddy.”
𖦹𖦹𖦹
I stared down at the hit. All the information, and the fat stack of cash hidden away in the bubble mailer.
“Are you fucking serious?” I looked up, my eyebrows raised.
Fuches didn’t say anything. He sat in the abysmal hotel chair, with his arms resting on his stomach, his eyes closed.
“It’s just a job, Barry. Same as all the other ones I’ve given you.”
I felt my insides boiling over. Walking over to him in heavy strides, I shoved the picture into his face.
“This is a hit on a woman. I don’t fuckin’ kill women.”
His eyes opened slowly, his face observing the photo momentarily.
“What, women can’t be pieces of shit either, Barry? You’re going to do the hit. This guy has paid a whole lot of money for this, and I think we shouldn’t disappoint him.”
I glared at him, throwing the photo at his face.
“Fuck you, man.”
The truth was, I had killed a woman before. I despised it, and vowed to never do it again. This was breaking that promise I had made, and Fuches knew about it. Then again, he never gave a flying fuck, as long as he got paid.
He left as soon as he came, and I spent the next two hours screaming at the wall, and slapping the shit out of my forehead.
It did not help.
𖦹𖦹𖦹
First, I liked to get to know the person’s schedule. When they went out, for how long, when they returned home, when they went shopping, where they went for work and so on. This helped achieve the best strategy for moments of time which would be convenient for me (not so convenient for them).
She would wake up at around 7:30, make her first morning coffee, and dance for about 45 minutes. I learned she had very good music taste.
Then, she would change, and do her skin routine before eating a bowl of garbage cereal (she really needed to start finding some healthier options), and hopping into her car to drive the fifteen minutes to work.
At first, I wasn’t sure what she did for work, as I had never ventured in to find out. All I knew was she went to a legal office, so I could venture to guess she was a lawyer. It was only after I had broken into her house and read some of her files that I understood she was a divorce lawyer, and she focused primarily on helping women who suffered unfairly by their husband’s hand.
After often times, irregular hours at the office, she would return home, cook some pasta, a large glass of wine, and listen to sad music until she fell asleep.
I watched her do this for about a week until I decided I was ready to do the job. It would be quick, and painless, and hopefully peaceful.
I broke into her house for probably about the tenth time, positioning myself in a closet she never seemed to open, and waited.
About twenty minutes later, I heard the sounds of her car driving into the space. Then, the sounds of the keys unlocking her door.
She closed it behind her, letting out a deep sigh.
Fucking, lock your door, woman. I thought, frustratedly. Anyone could come barging in here, if she kept that up.
She landed flat on her stomach, on her futon, lazily toeing off her sandals. A ring later she was on the phone.
“Hii.” I could hear the smile in her voice.
Fuck.
Undecipherable dialogue came from the other end.
“Everything’s good! How are you?”
I kept completely still, uncertain how long this call would last for. I mean, I could do it now, she was completely distracted, but that felt distasteful to not let her finish her conversation. Not to mention, she had such a nice voice.
“Oh, please. Don’t start that now.”
She laughed.
FUCK.
“You should go for it. I mean it! You never know when you’ll get the chance again. Life’s short, y’know?”
Your life would be too short.
That part of my brain began screaming at me again. Both Fuches’ words and my own goddamn conscience.
I couldn’t do this. She wasn't a bad person. She was an amazing person. If I had learned anything the past week was actually how generous and kind she always was. She wasn't a piece of shit. Fuches was wrong.
She finished her phone call. Softly humming, she got up, and returned to the kitchen. My guess was to cook more pasta.
I opened up the closet, and snuck out, silencing gun still in my hand. I knew exactly what floorboards to avoid, and I stepped quietly towards the kitchen.
I could do it. I really could. I had the opportunity. She wouldn't ever know what hit her.
But, as soon as I saw her again, I knew it was hopeless.
She was so beautiful.
So, I walked back the way I came, opened the unlocked door, and disappeared into the night.
𖦹𖦹𖦹
Hope you enjoyed, let me know if you want more like this. I may make a pt. 2 for anyone interested.
KEEP YOUR EYES PEELED [SINGLE] ☆ ~3.5k
barry berkman x gender neutral, hitman!reader
summary after chechan mob boss goran pazar’s death, his right hand man noho hank gives you a job: look out for one “barry berkman”
NOW
There was a boy in Fallujah from your sister platoon. You met him early on so you don’t remember his name unless you dig around for it. No bond forged in the fire of war, or whatever bullshit soldiers-turned-writers say.
The boy sat on a crumbling wall to smoke. He had his helmet off after a skirmish, fresh before the area had been swept. You remembered thinking: That’s stupid. Don’t be a fucking idiot. before the fact.
You still remember the sound. Not the shot, because shots are familiar enough sounds you have no reaction to, but that wet and sucking collapse of a skull after.
They picked up this kid and you kept walking because stopping meant thinking, thinking meant feeling, and really feeling meant you’d be sent somewhere worse than here. White walls. Rubber-soled socks. The works.
So you haven’t been in the business of feeling. Not in the past. Not now.
In the middle of your reminiscing, you spot Barry Berkman—or Barry Block, according to the Facebook profile you found—before he spots you. Good.
That’s the problem with actors, you think. They learn to project themselves and forget to observe. Barry Berkman walks through the Los Angeles evening like a man trying to hold a dream like trickling sand through a clenched fist. His shoulders are stiff and his head is straight forward.
But he’s not scanning rooftops, not checking reflections in parked cars. A Marine who forgot the first thing they beat into you: complacency kills.
You tail Barry from a casual distance of sixty yards. You keep your hands in the pockets of a nondescript windbreaker, it’s a cool evening in L.A. Barry stops at a crosswalk, and you stop to buy today’s paper from a newspaper box. He glances back once in the shutter-flicker of old Marine instinct, but you’ve already turned to study a menu in a restaurant window.
THEN
You met NoHo Hank around summer, when the kids in your neighborhood no longer had to go to school. Ice cream trucks hit suburban corners every hour. It sometimes felt like living in a cartoon.
A mutual acquaintance—a nervous man named Dmitri who smelled like cigarettes and his favorite hooker’s drugstore perfume—brought you to a warehouse in the San Fernando Valley. The job was simple: a Chechen lieutenant had been skimming from the family, and Hank was the one overseeing the order on behalf of Goran Pazar.
You stood in the shadows near the loading dock. Dmitri had told you to be quiet, look professional, don’t make eye contact. You ignored all three instructions.
You expected a brute to show up. Some kind of flat-faced, scarred thug with thick limbs and his knuckles crooked from doling out beatings like Halloween candy.
What you got was a spry man with alopecia. He wore a salmon-colored polo shirt and white slacks. He held an iced latte in one hand, folding his matching sunglasses with his other.
“So sorry about the smell,” Hank said, gesturing at the warehouse floor. “Previous tenants had… how you say… big rodent problem. Not anymore. We fixed. But the smell, it stays. I may buy a Wallflower, you know? From Bath and Body Works.”
“You’re Hank,” you said carefully.
He looked in your direction with a genuine smile. That was the first thing you noticed about him, Hank’s smiles never had to reach up for his eyes, because they didn’t need to. They always began right there.
“Yes, I am NoHo Hank,” Hank tucked one arm of his sunglasses into the collar of his shirt, letting them hang there. “I hear that you are the person who makes problems go away. Dmitri says you are very good. Very quiet. Very… final.” He made a small explosion gesture with his fingers. “Poof.”
“I prefer strangulation,” you said. “Less mess.”
Hank considered this. Nodded slowly. “Very respectful to the surroundings. I like that.”
That was the moment you realized Hank was not like the others. Your other employers wanted violence. Hank wanted results, but he also wanted everyone to get along. His politeness was almost innocent, in a way.
After the agreement had been made, the lieutenant died three days in his bedroom. No mess. You sent Hank an inconspicuous text—just a single emoji of a check mark—and he sent back a picture of a kitten wearing a cape with a smiley face pattern on it.
“Thank you friend!” the caption read.
You didn’t reply. But you didn’t delete the picture either.
BACK WHEN
The Humvee’s engine died at exactly 0300. You sat in the dark with five other Marines, the desert cooling around you like a held breath. No one spoke. The corporal in the passenger seat—a kid from Utah—kept moving his lips in some stupid Mormon prayer.
You stared at the cracked windshield and thought: This is where I die. Not in a firefight. Not saving anyone. Just sitting in a broken truck waiting for someone to notice we’re gone.
You didn’t feel afraid. That had passed. The human body can’t run on fear forever, so it normalizes the environment around it.
But you felt tired. It was strange. It was the same bone-deep exhaustion you’d felt since boot camp, since the first time a DI trying to be a version of S.G Hartman screamed in your face, and you realized you’d made a terrible mistake.
Three hours later, a recovery vehicle showed up. You got back to base and no one mentioned it again. Not even during the moments you’d bitch and moan about USMC supplier bullshit. Too boring, maybe. Too serious.
That was the worst part. No one mentioned a lot of shit ever again.
NOW
You lose Barry Berkman for ten minutes on the third night.
He ducks into a laundromat. You wait outside, leaning against a dumpster, watching the steam-fogged windows. When you go in to check, he’s gone. Back door. Fire escape. You curse under your breath—stupid. You’re a fucking idiot—and then you hear footsteps behind you.
“You’re not very good at this.”
You turn.
Barry Berkman stands only six feet away. He’s not holding anything that could be weapon, but you recognize his stance. MCMAP green belt, probably higher. He’s bigger than you. He could kill you before you got a hand into your jacket for a knife.
“Out,” Barry jerks his chin to the door. He makes no move, so you walk in front of him and to the front of the store. The lights flicker. When Barry comes out, he gestures to the alleyway between this building and a row of storage units.
“I’m good enough,” you say when you lean against the brick wall. “At this.”
“You’ve been following me for a few days, and you could’ve killed me by now.” His voice is flat. Not angry. Curious, almost. Like he’s watching an insect crawl across a table. “Who sent you? The Chechens? The Bolivians?”
“Hank,” you say. “NoHo Hank. He wants you alive.”
Barry blinks. Something shifts behind his eyes—surprise, maybe, or the faintest crack in that numb exterior. “Hank? Hank hired you?”
“Goran’s people want revenge. Hank wants you breathing. I’m insurance.”
Barry’s eyes seem to lose whatever thin sheen of human emotion he felt as this settles in. He nods. “You’re a hitter.”
“I’m a contractor.”
“Same thing.”
You don’t argue. You’ve stopped thinking about what you are. A long time ago, you told yourself you were a Marine, doing dirty work because you needed quick cash. Then you realized that’s what you enlisted, and what you told yourself in Fallujah, too. I’m only following orders. I’m surviving until tomorrow.
Tomorrow keeps coming.
Barry studies you for a long moment. Then he does something unexpected. He squats. The way the guys would when they were sick of standing, but needed to be ready. Barry puts his elbows on his knees, and sighs as he ruffles his dark hair.
“You’re a Marine,” he says.
It’s not a question.
“Was,” you say.
Barry’s mouth twitches. “Once a Marine…”
“Don’t.” Your voice comes out sharper than you meant. “I’m not a Marine anymore. I’m not anything.”
Barry nods like you’ve just told him the weather.
“I dream about my tours sometimes,” he says. “Every night, actually. I just don’t remember what it was when I wake up.”
You nod.
“That’s worse, I think,” he continues. “The forgetting.”
THEN
The second time you saw NoHo Hank was two weeks later. He’d called you directly and said he wanted to meet at a diner in Glendale.
Christopher Cross was on the jukebox. Hank was already there when you arrived, perched on the booth seat with the least amount of cracks in its red pleather. Wearing a lavender sweater. Drinking a chocolate milkshake. The waitress clearly knew him—she called him “sweetheart” and brought him an extra straw without being asked. The waitress clearly knew him—she called him “sweetheart” and brought him extra whipped cream without asking.
“You have a regular spot,” you said incredulously, sliding into the booth across from him.
“I am creature of habit. It is always good to be consistent,” Hank said. “Also, the pancakes here are very good. Fluffy. You want to try?”
“No.”
“You should eat. People who kill for living burn a lot of calories, so they need to eat more. Maintain strength.” He pushed a basket of mini-muffins toward you. “The blueberry is the best. Take one.”
You took a blueberry muffin just to make him stop talking. When he kept his eyes on you, you took a bite. It was nothing special, not great, not horrible.
“What’s the job?” you asked.
Hank waved a hand. “No job. I just wanted to talk. Also, I wanted to show you something.” He pulled out his phone, scrolled for a moment, then turned the screen toward you.
It was a grainy security camera still. The subject was mid-stride with one hand reaching into his dark hoodie. His face was mostly obscured by a baseball cap, but you could see in his posture that he was moving with complete efficiency.
“Who’s that?” you asked.
“Barry Berkman,” Hank said. He said the name like it was something delicate. Something he was afraid of dropping. “He works for me. Sometimes. Well, not for me. For Chechens. But I see him. At the warehouse. He is… how you say… very good at his job. I hope I can get you two to work on a thing together one day. Dream team, as they say.”
You looked at the photo again. “He’s a hitter, too?”
“He is an artist, like you,” Hank said, taking the phone back and staring at the screen himself. His cheeks were slightly pink. “You should see him work.”
“You’ve seen him work?”
Hank’s blush deepened. “You can say that.” He tucked the phone away. “Anyway. How is your muffin?”
“You called me to show me a picture of a fellow… artist.” You cross your arms.
“I called you here because you are interesting and I wanted company. The picture was bonus.” Hank signaled the waitress. “We will have pancakes. Two orders with extra syrup. Do you like whipped cream?”
“No.”
“She will bring the homemade whipped cream on the side. In case you change your mind. And you will, it is very good.”
You watched Hank arrange the silverware in a precise line as he hummed along to the Journey song playing on the jukebox.
“You have a crush on this guy,” you said. “Don’t you?”
Hank froze. Just for a second. Then he laughed loudly enough to gain the attention of all the other patrons.
“Crush? No. I do not have crushes. I am businessman. I appreciate… competence. Barry Berkman is competent. Very competent.” He cleared his throat. “Pancakes are coming. Let us talk about something else. Do you watch any good TV shows?”
You didn’t answer. You just took another muffin.
Hank spent the next ten minutes describing the plot of a reality cooking competition in excruciating detail. You didn’t listen to most of it but you noticed the way he kept glancing at his sleeping phone, the same expression people usually reserve for sunsets and first kisses on his face.
You didn’t say anything. You weren’t cruel.
After that, Hank called you for small things. Not hits. Favors. “Can you pick up package from warehouse?” “Can you drive car to different location?” “Can you watch my friend’s cat for weekend? His name is John. The cat. Not my friend. My friend is also John. It is confusing. But the cat is very sweet. Unlike John.”
You did the favors. Not because you liked Hank—you didn’t like anyone—but because he paid well and never asked about your past. He didn’t want to know where you’d been or what you’d done. He only wanted to know if you could do the next thing.
Also because he was the only person in Los Angeles who remembered to say thank you.
BACK WHEN
Your first kill was a man on a motorbike. You were nineteen. He was coming toward your checkpoint too fast. The sergeant shouted, but you fired without thinking. The bike skid a trench into the dirt path.
When you ran up to the man, he was still alive. He said something in a language you didn’t understand as his hand went for something in his vest. You shot him again, point blank in the forehead.
It was a cell phone.
No one blamed you. The sergeant clapped you on the back instead. “Good instincts, kid.” You nodded. You smiled. That night, you sat in your bunk and stared at your hands for three hours. They didn’t look different. They feel any different.
You never mentioned the cell phone, because no one mentioned most shit ever again.
NOW
The next time Barry sees you, he walks a clear path to a diner and stands by the door until you’re well within earshot. He holds the door open for you.
He finds the booth with the best sight lines.
Neither of you says anything. The waitress brings a hot pot of coffee. Barry stirs creamer into his slowly, watching the white spiral out and pale the drink. You drink yours black because you always have. You don’t trust yourself with small pleasures anymore.
“So Hank,” he says eventually. There’s a small note of disdain there.
“Hank.” You nod.
“He’s… a good guy,” Barry says this to his mug. “Really fucking stupid, but good.”
You watch him blow on the mug before he takes a sip. “He pays well.”
“That’s all that matters to you?”
You set your cup down. Look at him. “You tell me what matters. You’re taking acting classes. You think that matters? Pretending to be someone else in front of an audience?”
Barry flinches. Just a flicker. But you see it. You’re certain if you were a civilian, he’d deflect or yell at you.
“I wanted to feel something,” he says. His voice is guarded. “If I stay like this long enough, maybe I’ll leave it all behind.”
“And how’s that going for you?”
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. You see the answer in the way he holds his coffee—too still, too careful. The same way you hold everything. The same way you hold yourself together when you’re alone in your apartment at 2 AM and the walls feel like they’re inlaid with IEDs.
“I killed a lots of guys,” Barry says. “Not on purpose. Well, yes, on purpose. But I didn’t want to. Does that make sense?”
“Not really,” you say. “But I believe you.”
He finally makes eye contact with you like he’s trying to figure out if you’re lying, or if you’re just as broken as he is.
“Why are you still following me?” he asks. “Hank pays you, sure. But you could’ve walked away. You could’ve taken the initial payment and disappeared. Why didn’t you?”
You think about it. The honest answer is complicated. The simple answer is sitting across from you, wearing a cheap hoodie and the expression of a man who has seen exactly what you’ve seen and is still trying to pretend he can become someone else.
“You’re the first person I’ve talked to in three years who gets it,” you say. “Even when you were about to kill me in that laundromat.”
Barry’s mouth twitches. Not a smile. Something smaller. Something almost human.
“I wasn’t going to kill you,” he says.
“Liar.”
“Okay, I was thinking about it.”
You nod. That’s the thing about people like you and Barry. You don’t need to lie to each other. You’ve both done things that can’t be undone. You’ve both sat in the dark and wondered if there’s a version of yourself that didn’t pull the trigger, or kissed the gun yourself.
You don’t know if that version exists. But sitting in this diner, it doesn’t.
THEN
The bubble tea shop meeting was different. You could tell the moment you walked in.
Hank wasn’t wearing his usual pastels. He was wearing a black button-up and black jeans. His usual smile was there, but it was smaller. More careful. The thick pink straw and the cartoon panda printed onto his bubble tea cup looked absurd.
“You are wondering about outfit,” Hank said as you sat down. He pushed what looked like a mango drink to you. “I am in mourning for Goran. He was… not good friend. He was angry friend. Yelled at me a lot. But he was family, and now he is dead. The other family members, they are very angry and want revenge. They want Barry.”
“Barry Berkman,” you said, curling your hand around the drink he offered. You learned to just take what Hank gave. He tended to deflate a little if you didn’t.
Hank nodded.
“Barry is a good guy.” He paused. Stirred his tea with the straw, making the ice click against the plastic cup. “You know Barry was a Marine?”
“So you say.”
“You were also a Marine.” It wasn’t a question. Hank had done his homework. “So you understand. The loyalty, the brotherhood. The… not being able to go back to normal life, because normal life doesn’t make sense anymore.”
You said nothing.
Hank slid a thick envelope across the table.
“I want you to watch Barry,” he said. “Not to hurt him. Not follow him to the bathroom with a lipstick camera or anything weird. Just watch, and make sure no one from my family finds him. If someone tries to hurt him, you do your… thing.”
He mimed slitting his throat as he smiled. He took a long suck from his tea.
“Why me?” you asked.
“Because you are quiet and you don’t ask questions. And because you were a Marine, he may go easier on you if he catches you.” Hank shrugged. “Also, you are very good at quiet strangulation. That is important.”
You took the money. Not because you like Hank—you don’t like anyone—but because work is work, Hank always pays on time, and you have rent due on an apartment with a leaky faucet you’ve been ignoring for four months.
Also because Barry Berkman was a Marine. There was still some stick call to arms that you couldn’t quite cut out of yourself.
Hank stood up to leave. Before he walked out, he turned back.
“One more thing,” he said. “If something happens to Barry?” The smile finally faded. “You will not need to worry about your rent. Because you will also be dead. And I don’t know how to kill someone nearly, so I will probably have to hire someone. That is very annoying. So please, keep Barry alive.”
He walked out. The little bell on the door jingled.
You sat there for a long moment. Then you finished your bubble tea. It was mango. You didn’t even like artificial mango.
NOW
Your last night in the Marines, you stood on the flight line at Camp Pendleton. The sun was setting. People were crying, hugging, talking about going home to wives, husbands, boyfriends, girlfriends, dogs, cats, the whole shebang. You stood apart. You watched the sky turn orange before purple and black.
Someone near you asked you what you were going to do next.
You said, “I don’t know.”
What you meant was: I don’t know how to be anything else.
You still don’t. But now you have a phone number.
Barry wrote it on a napkin that you folded and put in your pocket. You rejected his offer of a ride home and walked for an hour through streets that felt more foreign than Fallujah ever did.
You know you won’t call him tomorrow.
Tonight, you let yourself believe that you could.
a/n: your regularly scheduled dex content will be back now i prooomiseee
description: after his jealous ex makes a scene, his new girlfriend decides to tell her off for not treating him better
pairing: barry berkman x female!reader
warnings: swearing, lil bit of angst(?), use of y/n
masterlist (one, two, three)
Barry walked in with his arm around another woman, and that’s how everyone in the class knew that things were about to get a lot more interesting.
Barry and Sally had had a pretty messy breakup a few months before that had resulted in Barry considering quitting his acting class. Sally claimed she just couldn’t put in the same efforts into a relationship and her career, and she thought that Barry deserved better, but everyone in the class knew that she broke up with him in a moment of jealousy when an acting recruiter had taken interest in Barry after a play they had put off a few months before. Because of their breakup, Barry had gone into a stupor and missed the opportunity, and Sally seemed absolutely tickled by that.
Then, suddenly, Barry came into class after having missed more than a week and he was much happier than when they had all last seen him. After being prodded by his classmates for a while, he admitted that he had met someone and was going on a date with them after class that night. Everyone seemed happy for him, especially Gene who was glad that Barry was finally back in class. But Sally was very notably not sharing everyone else’s enthusiasm.
Judging by the PDA and the happiness that was absolutely radiating off of Barry, this was his new girlfriend.
“Hey, Mr. Cousineau,” Barry said, approaching the acting teacher. “This is my girlfriend, (Y/N). Is it alright if she sits in to watch today?”
Gene smiled at (Y/N). “Got an interest in acting, young lady?”
She shook her head. “No, sorry, but Barry talks up this class all the time. He swears he has the best acting teacher in all of Hollywood.”
Gene laughed. “Flattery gets you everywhere, sweetheart. You can sit with the others, I just ask you don’t disrupt us while we’re on class time.”
(Y/N) agreed and followed Barry to sit down. His classmates were quick to come sit next to them, all excitedly introducing themselves to (Y/N). She felt a little overwhelmed by all the attention, but she also knew what she was getting into when she came to the class. She had been asking Barry for weeks about coming to watch him during his acting class, but he kept saying he didn’t want to “scare her away” just yet. At first she had laughed at that, but now she was definitely seeing how that might’ve been something he was worried about.
Everyone was so engrossed in the new comer that no one noticed when Sally walked in, and she definitely did not like that.
“What’s going on?” she asked, trying to keep a light tone in her voice but anyone who was paying attention would notice the strain of it.
And that “anyone” was, of course, Barry, who knew Sally like no one else did.
(Y/N) smiled and stood to greet Sally. “Hi, I’m (Y/N). I’m Barry’s girlfriend.”
She held her hand out to Sally, who merely looked at it as if it was diseased. Noticing her expression, (Y/N) slowly and awkwardly lowered her hand again.
“Sally,” Sally responded.
(Y/N) fought the urge to say “I figured”.
“Are you joining the class?” Sally asked.
“Oh, no. I can’t act for shit. I came to watch Barry.”
Sally made a fake sad face. “Oh, well Cousineau doesn’t allow people who aren’t in the class to stay.”
“She got my permission,” Gene said. “Sit down, Sally, now that you’re here we can start.”
The look on Sally’s face could only be described as annoyance. She marched up the stairs and sat as far away from everyone else as she could. (Y/N) sat down next to Barry again. He took her hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. She smiled up at him and leaned into him. She could feel the daggers that Sally was glaring into the back of her head, but as long as she was with Barry she didn’t really care too much. She felt safer with him by her side.
Gene started the class by handing out a script to everyone. He said they were going to do scene work, which meant they were going to assign roles and act out a scene. There were only a small handful of roles within the scene, so not everyone was going to get a chance, but Gene said they would switch and have other people do the roles in the following class. He passed (Y/N) a script just so she could follow along and went on to assign the roles. The big two went to Barry and Sally, while the two smaller roles went to two other male students, Nick and Eric.
“The scene is of two former love birds having a domestic dispute over the custody of their son, who will be played by Eric, and then Nick, you’ll be playing the brother to Sally’s character who is coming to try and defuse the whole situation,” Gene explained.
“Shouldn’t be hard for them,” someone behind (Y/N) muttered.
She tried not to be too upset over Sally getting the lead with Barry, conveniently when the scene was about two exes. It wasn’t like Barry was never going to act with Sally ever during class, and Barry had already told her how Sally was essentially the star of Gene’s class. But she couldn’t help but feel a little uncomfortable with what she was going to be witnessing. At least the scene was ex-lovers and not current.
They set up for the scene on stage, with Barry stood off to the side as he was meant to enter when the scene started. Sally and Eric were stood on the other side of the stage, with Eric on his knees to portray a young child. (Y/N) giggled to herself at how he looked, which earned her a quick glare from Sally. When they made eye contact, (Y/N) slowly sunk down into her seat.
“Okay, and...” Gene said, taking his seat in the front row. “Action!”
Barry walked on and mimed knocking at a door. Sally opened the “door” and asked, “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here for Mike. It’s my weekend with him.”
“Your weekend?!” Sally snapped, her voice sounding a bit more vicious than the words needed to be.
“Cut!” Gene said. “Sally, reel it in a little for now, okay? Your character isn’t lashing out at Barry yet.”
Sally huffed a sigh and nodded. Gene told them to take it from Sally’s line.
“Your weekend?” Sally asked, a lot less angry than before.
“Yeah, that’s how custody agreements work, Julie. You had him for the week, not I get him for the weekend, remember?”
“I told you he was staying with me this weekend. He has a birthday -”
“‘It’s my dad’s birthday’,” Gene corrected.
“Right, sorry.” Sally quickly got back into character to try again. “I told you he was staying with me this weekend. It’s my dad’s birthday, he wants all of us to go spend the weekend at his cabin.”
“You certainly did not tell me that, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”
Sally opened her mouth to say her line, but hesitated. She looked down at her script quickly. Everyone in the room looked at each other, and (Y/N) heard a few murmurs.
“Sally?” Gene prompted.
“Sorry, I lost my spot,” Sally said.
“Do you want to start from the top?” Gene asked.
“No, no, it’s fine. I’ll find it. Uh.”
She was looking at the page for so long that Barry tried to reach over to point out where they were. She jerked her paper away from him and muttered something along the lines of “I got it”.
“Say your line again, Barry,” Gene said, sounding somewhat exasperated.
“You certain did not tell me that, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”
“It’s not my fault that you don’t listen, Sam. I definitely told you that Mike is staying with me this weekend. You can take him next week if you want, but I already agreed to these plans with dad.”
“I can’t take him next week, Julie, I have work. That’s why we agreed on weekend custody for the time being. Who’s going to look after him while I’m working in the evening.”
(Y/N) was engrossed in the scene. Well, in Barry acting the scene, anyways. He was doing really well, even with Sally’s screw ups. She had seen him rehearse at home before, but he did seem to be in his element here. It made her want to see him in an actual play even more than she did before.
At one point, when Sally had fumbled a line again, Barry turned to meet (Y/N)’s eye. She smiled at him and gave him a thumbs up. He smiled back and winked at her.
Sally scowled. “Hey, don’t break the scene!”
“Too late,” Eric said from the side of the stage.
“Really, Sally, maybe we take five to go over the scene alone,” Gene suggested.
“No, I’m fine. It’s her.”
Everyone followed Sally’s outstretched finger to look at (Y/N). She felt her face burn. “I-I’m just...watching.”
“You’re sitting there judging me,” Sally insisted. “I can see it. You’re judging me and it’s fucking me up.”
“Sally, I think you may be over exaggerating a little,” Barry said. “She’s just watching.”
“No. She’s judging me, and I want her out!”
Sally crossed her arms and looked to Gene. She seemed to be the only one in the room against (Y/N). Even Gene looked frustrated with the way Sally was acting. He ran a hand over his face and heaved a heavy sigh, but then surprised everyone by saying, “I’m sorry (Y/N), you’ll have to leave.”
If there was any way to feel even more embarrassed, (Y/N) was definitely feeling it in that moment. The blush in her face from Sally’s earlier claims deepened a lot.
“Mr. Cousineau, that’s not fair,” Barry argued.
“I’m sorry, Barry, but if it will get Sally to shut up and act better, then (Y/N) will just have to go.”
Everyone was still looking at her. She slowly rose from her seat, moving mainly on autopilot as she was too in shock to think about what she was doing. Suddenly, she felt like she was back in high school. Sally was like the mean girl who everyone loathed but followed out of fear of her wrath, including the teacher, apparently. She even looked so smug as (Y/N) started to leave, reveling in her win.
But, as she reached the door, (Y/N) remembered that they weren’t in high school anymore. They were adults, and she was about to act like an adult.
She turned back to say, “Sally, you’re a bitch.”
There was a collective gasp from the students.
Before Sally could respond, (Y/N) continued, “You are a cold hearted, selfish, self centered bitch. You think because you played a few lead roles in stage plays, and had a few five second cameos in whatever CSI is currently on air, that you run the world. But the truth is, you’re just a high school mean girl that peaked before you even graduated.”
(Y/N) glanced at Barry, who was watching her with a shocked look on his face. She wasn’t sure if he was upset at her outburst or just surprised by it. Either way, she couldn’t stop herself now. She was on a roll.
“You never deserved Barry,” she said. “You treated him like you treat everyone else: like a prop to get yourself ahead. When he was no longer useful to you, you dumped him and let him be broken for months. And now you can’t stand that he’s happy again with someone who genuinely cares for him, so you have to try to ruin that. Well, I’ll tell you something, you may have kicked me out, but I’m still the one who gets to have Barry come home to me. You go home to, what, your empty house and one page script for your next miniscule role?”
The room was silent. There was many emotions on everyone’s faces. No one made any move to speak or anything, so (Y/N) took it as her cue to leave. She hurried out the door, leaving the sound of it closing behind her to echo through the room.
The cool evening air cooled down her burning face as she crossed the parking lot to Barry’s car. Once she reached it, she felt the anger subsiding and a slight feeling of guilt crept into her. She didn’t regret what she said at all, but maybe she could’ve done it a better way. Like maybe not in front of Barry’s entire acting class and his acting teacher.
She went to open the car door, but realized Barry had the keys. Obviously, it was his car, but she had been so angry she had forgotten she didn’t have the key. She sighed and leaned against the car. In that moment, the building door opened again. (Y/N) looked up to see Barry was approaching her.
“I’m so sorry, Barry,” she said. “I know I shouldn’t have snapped like that in front of everyone. I was just angry and I refused to let her embarrass me before I left - ”
Barry cut her off by cupping her face and kissing her. She was taken by surprise and pulled away to ask, “You’re not mad?”
“I am the opposite of mad,” he said. “I haven’t loved you more than I did when you were calling out Sally in there.”
(Y/N) playfully raised an eyebrow at him. “Love?”
“You heard me.”
It was the first time Barry had said the big L word. (Y/N) was definitely not going to let him forget that the first time he said it was because she had called his ex-girlfriend down to the dirt in front of his whole class.
“You know I meant every word, right?” she asked. “She never deserved you. You deserve someone who will treat you so much better than she did.”
Barry wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. “I know I do, and I have that now.”
(Y/N) smiled and leaned in to kiss Barry again. She was glad he wasn’t mad at her for her outburst, and she was especially glad she was the one to get to make him happy.
“You should go back and finish your scene,” she said after she reluctantly pulled away from their kiss. “I don’t want you to get in trouble for being gone so long.”
“I told Cousineau to give another classmate my role. And I told him I wouldn’t act with Sally ever again, not even during our big class productions.”
(Y/N) gasped and pulled away from him. “Barry you can’t do that!”
“I can, and I did.”
“But...why?”
“Because you were right about her. She’s selfish and self centered. I refuse to be used by her anymore, or risk having her try to sabotage my potential acting career again.”
She was stunned. She couldn’t believe he was being serious. But also, she felt overjoyed to hear that Barry was finally putting himself first. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him so tightly that she nearly knocked him over. Barry laughed and pried her off of him.
“Want to go to the diner?” he asked. “Then you can come back to my place for the night.”
we need more barry berkman fics please!! i hate there’s a lack of them TT_TT
Anon, you a real one and know what’s up. I was wondering if anyone was gonna ask about Barry fics! I’ve been trying to brainstorm and cook something up, so if you have any suggestions don’t hesitate to send them in!
Summary: You try to sneak away from a work thing to spend the night with Barry.
Pairing: Barry Berkman x hitman!girlfriend reader
tw: smoking, violence, mentions sexual assault & suicide
You’re out at a nightclub. The place is owned by your handler, Diane. Clubbing isn’t really your scene but it’s opening night and Diane asked you to help out. If there are any problems, it’s your job to discreetly fix them.
You went to the club alone. The only reason you didn’t invite Barry is because you don’t want Diane to know that you two are dating. Your handler has a strict rule about you not having relationships with anyone from work and you broke that rule for Barry. As far as Diane knows, you haven’t seen Barry since you completed a hit together a few months ago. You’d prefer to keep it that way for now. She’ll be pissed when she finds out the truth.
Although Barry isn’t here, you’ve been secretly texting him all night. You miss him. You soon realized that you’d rather be with your boyfriend than out at the club, so you decided to leave early. Diane is having a good time schmoozing and boozing. She probably won’t even notice that you’re gone…
When you told Barry you wanted to sneak away, he volunteered to pick you up. He’s on his way to get you now. While waiting for Barry, you go outside to the alley. The club is packed and the music is loud, you just want a quiet moment to yourself.
You lean against the wall and light a cigarette. As you exhale, your entire body relaxes. You know that smoking is bad for you but it feels so good. It’s a nasty habit you hope to quit one day.
You take another puff from your cigarette, when the club’s side door abruptly opens. A man and woman stumble outside. The woman looks very drunk and can barely stand up straight. The guy has his arm snaked around the girl’s shoulder, holding her up. He tries leading her down the alley.
You furrow your eyebrows, immediately suspicious. You have a gut feeling that something isn’t right. The woman is too drunk to even stand, let alone consent to anything. Unfortunately this is a situation you are all too familiar with.
You’ve been in this woman’s shoes before. One time some creep slipped something in your drink at a bar and Barry had to intervene. Your boyfriend stopped the guy from taking advantage. You were grateful that he was there to help. You know that not everyone is so lucky…
Years ago, before you moved out to LA, your childhood best friend was in this position. But nobody was there to step in. She was violently assaulted and never recovered from what happened. She became severely depressed and ended up taking her own life. Not being there to help your best friend is one of the biggest regrets of your life. You could not let something like that happen again. You need to intervene.
You toss your cigarette to the ground and step in front of the creepy man and drunk woman, blocking their way.
“Hey! What’s going on here?” you question the guy.
“My girlfriend got too drunk…” he answers.
He’s lying. You can smell his bullshit a mile away. And then-
“I… I don’t know this guy,” the drunk girl mumbles.
You cross your arms against your chest.
“How can she be your girlfriend if she doesn’t know who you are?” you continue grilling the guy.
“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. I’m taking her home,” he shrugs. He tries moving past you.
You shake your head and keep blocking his way.
“Nah. That’s not gonna happen,” you say coolly.
You try pulling the drunk girl away from the creep but he shoves you off with full force. You stumble back and almost lose your footing. As soon as you regain composure, you punch the guy in the mouth. He drops the drunk woman and you catch her before she hits the ground. She whimpers in your arms.
“It’s okay! I’ve got you,” you reassure the woman.
The man keels over and spits out a tooth. His lip is bleeding. Part of you just wants to beat the shit out of him but your hands aren’t free. And you know that making sure this drunk woman is safe is more important.
“Get out of here,” you order in a low, serious voice.
Then you turn to walk away. You’re leading the woman towards the door when the creep roughly grabs you by the shoulder. He forces you to turn around and face him.
“What’s your problem, bitch?” he confronts you.
“Let go of me!” you scream.
You’re struggling to fight this guy off while holding the unconscious drunk woman. The creep raises hand, about to strike you, when-
Barry comes out of seemingly nowhere and aggressively shoves your attacker to the ground.
“Barry,” you breathe. You knew he was on his way to pick you up, but you’re still kind of in shock that he’s here right now.
Barry coldly stares the creep down. The guy is unconscious. He must've hit his head on the ground when Barry pushed him. You raise your eyebrows at Barry, impressed. Fuck yeah, that’s my boyfriend!
Barry turns to you and his face softens. He steps towards you.
“Are you okay?” he asks with concern.
Before you have time to answer, you hear a familiar voice call out your name.
“Y/N! What the fuck is going on?”
You and Barry turn and see your handler standing by the door. Barry immediately backs away from you. The two of you need to act like you’re not dating so Diane doesn’t get suspicious.
“Diane! Hey, how’s it going?” you stammer.
Diane puts her hand on her hips, rocking a power pose.
“Who is that woman?” she questions you, then eyes Barry, “And is that Barry Berkman?! What are you doing here?”
You sigh, shaking your head.
“I don’t know her name. I was just outside having a smoke break and some creep was trying to leave with her. She looked really drunk so I intervened.”
“Shit,” Diane shrugs.
Diane pops her head back inside the club and calls for a bouncer. One of the bouncers comes outside.
“Get this woman an Uber home,” she instructs the bouncer.
“I saw the people she came here with. They’re looking for her. I’ll bring her back to her friends,” the bouncer replies.
The bouncer approaches you and takes the drunk woman out of your arms. Then he carries the woman back inside the club - leaving you, Barry and Diane outside.
“Ok so that explains the woman. And I assume that guy passed out on the ground over there is the creep. But I still don’t understand what he's doing here…”
Diane’s eyes narrow in on your boyfriend.
“I just had drinks with a buddy at a bar nearby. I was walking back to my car and I heard something going on in the alley. I wanted to help,” Barry lies convincingly. In his line of work, he’s used to coming up with an alibi on the fly.
“Barry was actually the one that knocked that guy out!” you tell Diane, “I couldn’t really fight because I was holding the drunk girl. He really saved my ass back there.”
“Mhmm. Who knew he had it in him?” Diane scoffs.
“Thanks Barry,” you give him an appreciative nod, “It’s good to see you again. It’s been a while...”
Barry nods back, going along with the lie.
“Yeah, uh, not since that job we did together. How have you been? You look really great.”
You shyly smile at Barry and then look down at your feet, trying to hide a blush from Diane. Diane rolls her eyes. She’s no longer interested in this conversation.
“Well I guess all I can say is thank you, Barry.” Diane shrugs and then, “I’d invite you into the club but you aren’t properly dressed. You would never get past the bouncer.”
Barry sighs, defeated. You give Barry a sympathetic look. Diane takes your arm.
“Let’s go back inside, Y/N. I want to introduce you to my art thief friend from Paris. He’s gorgeous and just your type.”
Diane drags you by the arm toward the door. You won’t be able to sneak away with Barry after all. You’re disappointed that your plan didn’t work out. You feel like the universe is working against you. It’s karma. This is what you get for lying to Diane about your relationship. Yeah, bad karma’s a bitch.
You look back longingly at your boyfriend.
“I’m sorry,” you mouth to Barry.
Barry’s face drops as he watches you go inside. The door to the club slams shut, leaving Barry all alone in the alley. He is totally deflated. You should be going home with him right now, not talking with some other guy.
“Art thief?” Barry mutters to himself in disbelief.
Barry leaves the alley and heads back toward his car. While walking, Barry’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He takes his phone out and reads the notification. It’s a text message from you:
Hey babe! I’m so sorry. I don’t know when I’ll be able to sneak out again...
A second message comes through:
You don't need to wait for me
Barry takes a deep breath, trying to figure out how to respond. His mind suddenly flashes to you in the club. Some hot guy is flirting with you and rests his hand on the small of your back. Barry clenches his jaw at the thought.
A/N: This is to go along with this pitch I made. I love Barry & Bill Hader so much & there's, as always, a lack of this man x Male!Reader so I decided to throw my hat in the ring yet again.
Prompt: Istg I'm writing a Barry x Male!Reader where Reader is a bartender at Residuals & when they first see each other Barry gets all confused (sexuality) & Sally tries to keep Barry to herself while Barry slowly but surely falls for Reader instead.
Featuring: Barry being even more confused than he already is, a lot of angst, Barry actually receiving the mental help he needs, etc. ~ Yours Truly
Contains: Gay!Barry Berkman, Actor Slander (HAHA, I mean nothing of what I say, I'm just setting the scene(I'm a former theatre kid)), some lines from the show but I tried to keep it as original as possible. Jealous!Reader, very anxious Barry Berkman
Word Count: 1.2k
[Part 1] |
It was the last day of your work week & you were ready to get home. You liked bartending, it was the bargoers that annoyed you. Actors in Los Angeles were all the same. Selfish, conceited, & boy were they draining to be around. You were polishing a glass when a new group walked in. They all seemed to be following a blonde woman as she listed movies. If this were your first day, you'd be curious, but that's most of what people that attend the bar talk about. You didn't realize when you had applied but the bar was meant for "struggling young actors". If that was told to you beforehand, you likely would've picked somewhere else.
The group sat down at a table in the corner of the room, opposite of you thankfully. They seemed to talk amongst themselves as the man in the middle seat, facing you, looked your way. He seemed to freeze, just looking at you. His brow was furrowed, his confusion seemingly unnoticed as the group chatted amongst themselves. That is until the man next to him tapped him on the shoulder, pointing towards the aforementioned blonde. When he broke eye contact, you tried to look away as well. It was impossible to admit he wasn't intriguing. The man quickly fumbled out of his seat & beelined for you. This time, his eyes were glued to the floor.
He made it to the bar & set his hands down on the mahogany counter that stood between you, only knowing you were in front of him when he noticed the glass you were previously polishing was still sat in your, now still, hands. You set down the glass as he let a moment of silence sit between you.
"What can I get for-"
"Three regular beers, one light, a cosmopolitan, & four bowls of popcorn for, uh-" he stopped his rushed ramblings for just a moment to look back at his table, "I don't see a table number."
You were caught off guard, to say the least, & quickly set down the glass only to replace it with your notepad to write down the order. He didn't look up at you in that moment, slowly shifting his weight back & forth.
You begin to speak as you turn to grab a couple beer bottles, "I saw your group come in, don't worry about table numbers. Here are two beers, I can bring the rest to your table. Popcorn will be ready in a minute."
The man grabbed the beers & hurried off, you followed suit at your own pace. You could vaguely hear the man next to him tease, "What's got you spooked, Barry?"
You set down the beers with a smile, notifying the group about the popcorn as well, before turning on your heel & heading back to the bar. The man next to him, Nick, now gave Barry a knowing look. Sally, the blonde woman, looked up from her conversation to see Barry, sitting in a flustered silence with a light blush forming. He quickly hid his face behind a light beer can. Sally assumed she was already growing on him & smiled to herself before picking up the conversation again.
"What if you did Robert Duvall from Tender Mercies?" She asked, the same smile resting on her face.
"Oh, yes, yes, the one where he's talking with his daughter. You should totally do that," Another woman spoke.
"Or- Or Brad Pitt from fight club!" Sally continued, pointing at Barry as she spoke.
Sasha quickly agreed as you walked up with bowls of popcorn on a tray. Barry turned to the wall, pretending to admire the different art & photos that lined it. You slid the popcorn down the table when Nick, who you knew due to regular attendance, grabbed your arm.
"Hey, Y/N, do you think our friend here could pull off Brad Pitt from Fight Club?" When Nick's hand grasped Barry's shoulder, your new admirer felt like his eyes were ripped off the wall & forced to look up at you.
At least, that's what he'll tell himself. You looked him up & down, which only made him more flustered. You began to tilt your head side to side with a light smile, signifying a maybe, something that seemed to excite Barry.
"I think you could, yeah. What's the name, new guy?"
He awkwardly pointed to himself, "Me?"
"Yeah, all these nerds are regulars. They're probably all up on the wall somewhere."
Only now did Sally process the possibility of you flirting with Barry... & it working! She glared up at you but your focus was all on Barry.
He spoke softly, "My name's Bar-"
"Yeah, I'm up on the wall! Right," she dragged her word as she looked around, "There! See Barry?"
"Yeah, I see it."
A tight-lipped smile tugged it's way into place as you realized Sally had likely already sunk her claws into the new guy, she's done so before. A barely audible sigh escapes your lips.
"Well, if you guys need anything, I'll be behind the bar," with that you returned to your spot behind the bar.
It felt stupid to be upset over a guy you just met but as you watched Sally dance on the dance floor while Barry smiled at her, sealing the night with a kiss on the cheek, you couldn't help but feel a little hurt. It was dumb. It was dumb as he smiled. Dumb as she kissed his cheek. Dumb as he made his way to the exit. Dumb as he paused in the doorway, a drunk friend in tow. Dumb as he turned around.
He turned around? He was moving back towards the bar, towards you. He reached into his pocket as he walked up. Stopping in that same spot, pulling out his wallet. Watch this man hand you some sort of business card. He held out a $20 bill.
"A tip, thank you- for being nice."
"It's nothing, new guy. New around here I assume?" You attempted to make eye contact but his eyes remained glued to the floor.
"Yeah, & I'm- you can call me Barry."
"Alright, Barry, well if you ever need help getting around Los Angeles, I can give you my number," why were you taking this shot? It felt right in the moment.
"Uh yeah, do you have a napkin or something?"
A stupid idea hit you. It's not your place to go writing your number on probably taken men's arms, but you offered anyways. He scrambled to pull up his sleeve on his left arm. You chuckled at his eagerness as you grabbed a pen out of your pocket. He jolted a little when the ink hit his skin, causing you to accidentally draw a small, black line. A breathy laugh left your lips as you began writing again.
"There ya go, give me a call whenever. I'm usually free during the day."
"Thank you," he finally met your gaze, "Y/N. Have a nice night."
"You too!"
Barry returned his attention to his drunken friend & escorted him out of the bar. That butterfly feeling hit you hard at that moment. It wasn't something you should feel, Sally would definitely be upset.
Hell yeah bill hader!! So this is the most random ass mix of characters ever, but can I ask for Barry Berkman, Erik Lensherr, Will Graham, Hannibal (NBC version) with a gender neutral s/o who (this may sound cringey but I am the cringe lord) physical contact helps them feel safe? Like just an arm around their shoulders or something and they're able to relax a little more. (Found out the other day that this is apparently an ND thing, so it explains why that happens to me lmao)
Also completely going of the rails here, but do you write for Chilton or Zeller from Hannibal?
Also I think you write for spn?? So could I add Lucifer from spn to the list of characters for the request if youre comfy with that. If not or if it's too many dw bout it
Also sorry for talking so much this is what happens when you have adhd and are extremely extroverted like me lmao
Hi! I do not write for Chilton or Zeller, I don't like Chilton lol and Zeller was to much of a side character for my taste (though I wouldn't say no to Miss Katz). And no worries for talking to much, I understand! I hope you like it love :)
Barry Berkman
- lovely Barry does not pick up on your need to be touched at first
- but he does love to stare at you and he realizes soon that your demeaner changes a bit when you are touched by someone you trust
- so he decides to give it a go one afternoon
- you look a little stressed, the two of you are at a party for his acting class
- and he just, puts his arm around you and keeps speaking
- you lean into his side and he's surprised at how much he enjoys your touch
- Barry has always been timid about touch but found that touching you and your reaction to it helped him out a bit as well
- so he did it more often than you thought he would, lots of hand holding and inconspicuous brushing against each other
- it helps you both
Erik Lehnsherr
- Erik is even more timid than Barry
- but he is smoother
- he picks up on your desire to be held quite quickly
- and he didn't love public displays of what were weakness to him, but every once in a while he would do small gestures
- he would link your pinkies while someone is speaking, he would stand behind you so that his chest was flush with your back
- he decided it was closer to a sign of strength because of how much you trusted in each other (or had to trust in each other)
- and after he decided that it became easier for him
- and nicer for you
Hannibal Lecter
- Hannibal picks up on it instantly
- he is a good observer after all
- and he will very quickly adhere to anything that you desire
- he isn't quite the type of man to put his arm around you or anything so it's a little surprising when he puts out things like that
- even just holding your hand or keeping his palm firmly on your back
- he can read body language well so he knows when he is and isn't helping
- he is the most able to understand you out of the whole bunch here
- and he will do what he can silently, making sure you are always in a comfortable position
Will Graham
- him too <3
- it works out because touch really helps the both of you a lot
- he is timid about it at the beginning of your relationship but it eases soon after that when he realizes that knowing you're there helps him more than anything
- he would keep his arms around you forever if he could
- lots of hand holding, lots of ignoring Jack and whispering in each others ears about stupid stuff
- it helps
- his favorite thing to do though is trace things into your back
- just silly things, hearts, little I love you's, stars
- but it's distracting enough to help the both of you while also being inconspicuous
Lucifer
- he notices! he just doesn't care <3
- like for a long time he'll tease you with it and think that it's funny
- but then he notices that it might actually help you a bit and...fine he supposes
- but then he has to make a big show of it
- holding hands means he's swinging your arm around
- having an arm around you means he has to make you turn where ever he is turning
- it's never something subtle with him
- he doesn't know how to be subtle, he's the devil!
- so instead he just either makes you feel embarrassed or comforted, no in between
SUMMARY :: After a late night call for help, Barry reveals his biggest secret to one of his most trusted acting buddies.
Riiing! Riiing!
The shrill rings woke you from your pleasant dreams and had you rubbing your eyes grumpily. You grabbed your phone before it could viciously vibrate off of your nightstand.
‘2:01 AM’, read the screen while the name of the caller popped up underneath it. Sighing, you answered the phone.
“Barry?” You questioned, “What — ”
Before you could complete your question, he butted in frantically. “Y/n, I'm hurt. I can't go to the hospital, I can't do this myself. Help me, please.”
Without thinking you agreed to help him. You cared deeply for the man, maybe more than a friend should, especially given the fact that you hadn't met him too long ago.
You could hear the relief in the sigh you received from him. He mumbled out a thanks and told you that he'd be at your place in a couple minutes.
Since he'd be coming over, you decided to get out of bed and get a caffeinated drink to coax yourself out of the sleep that threatened to take you back to your dream world. A few minutes passed before there were a few weak knocks on the door.
Barry had been over quite a few times since you had a habit of hosting small parties, and of course you'd have to invite your friends from your acting class.
You opened the door and almost collapsed under the sudden weight of Barry unintentionally using you to support himself. Slowly, you usher him into your living room, leaving him to close the door.
When you turned back to look at him, he was standing awkwardly, obviously looking for permission to sit on the couch. “You're getting blood on the carpet, just sit down — it's black leather, it's not like it's going to do much.” He stumbled back onto the couch, relaxing himself. “Now show me the source of all this.” You gestured vaguely at his exhausted and injured form.
Barry peeled up his shirt with a hiss, revealing a large gash on his lower abdomen. You stared at his exposed skin for a moment before mentally slapping yourself. ‘Not the time, dumb-dumb’; you could feel the heat rise to your face in embarrassment.
“Don't move.” You demanded, shuffling away to gather some things.
“It's not really like I have a choice.” Barry thought aloud.
Ping ponging from room to room, you grabbed the appropriate items to help the badly injured man on your couch; alcohol wipes, dental floss, a sharp needle, a belt, and a bottle of scotch.
Returning to the living room, you handed off the scotch and belt to Barry. “You can either drink off the pain while I help you, or you can bite down and bear through it.”
Barry began to uncap the scotch as you sat up your needle and makeshift thread. Once that had been taken care of you unwrapped the alcohol wipe and started to clean the area around the wound. He groaned in pain and took advantage of the amber liquor that you lent him.
You got on your knees and took a deep breath to prepare yourself, then started to work on stitching up his injury. Barry winced and sipped on the numbing drink. You had wished you'd taken a swig yourself — your hands seemed unsteady under pressure, but you continued to pull together the sides of the gash.
You tied off the end of the floss and stood back up, stretching before falling onto the couch beside him and snatched the bottle for yourself. One swig of the burning liquid had you sinking into your spot on the couch and letting go to all of the once pent up stress.
“So, Barry, are you going to tell me what made you come to my house at two in the morning covered in blood?” You asked without looking over.
Barry shifted uncomfortably, leaving a solid minute of silence before he gave a verbal response. “Can you promise you won't look at me differently?”
The question slightly confused you, “I don't kn —”.
He had cut you of again. “Please?” he asked in a begging tone.
You thought for a second, before agreeing. “I promise, Bare.”
You could've swore you seen a slight pink tint to his cheeks as he gave a small smile. He turned to you slowly, careful not to split his new stitches, and in return you turned towards him.
“I may or may not get paid to. . . fatally injure certain people.” He spoke lowly, watching your non-verbal response to his confession.
You blinked in shock. “You're a fucking hitman?” You hissed quietly.
Barry nodded, expecting something way more explosive. Although you were pretty collected on the outside, you were kind of scared inside. Not necessarily of him, but rather for him. He could possibly die, or get put in prison, and the thought of losing him terrified you.
You let out a shaky sigh. “You should take a shower - I have some clothes from when my ex used to live with me that should fit you.”
He nodded and slowly stood up. You led him to the bathroom and got him a towel. “You might as well stay the night too,” You mumbled, not wanting to send him out when it was getting close to three AM. “You can take the bed.”
“I'm fine with being on the couch, it's your bed anyway.” Barry countered.
You shook your head stubbornly. “Nope, you're not sleeping on the couch with your injury.”
“We can just both sleep on different sides of the bed,” Barry stated, adding a soft, “if you're comfortable with that, of course.”
You pondered it and ultimately agreed. While he showered, you cleaned up what looked like a crime scene.
You put the things you'd used back and wiped down the couch. You sprinkled baking soda on the carpet to absorb any blood in the fibers, then you made a mental note to scrub it with vinegar in the morning.
After the living room looked semi-presentable, you shut off the light and headed to your room. You dug out a pair of pajama pants, boxers, and a muscle tank, sitting it on the end of the bed for Barry whenever he'd gotten out of the shower.
Now that you had taken care of your tasks, you quite literally hopped into bed and snuggled in under the duvet. Within minutes, you gave into the heaviness of your eyelids, dozing off into a light sleep.
You didn't know how much time had passed, but it only felt like seconds had gone by when you hear Barry come into the room. You kept your sleeping position with your eyes closed, listening to him rustle into the clothes you were lending him.
He called your name quietly, to which you gave no response, making him think that you'd been sleeping; that was only half true. You could hear everything, but your body had turned itself over to sleep. He huffed and turned off any remaining lights. The bed dipped in beside you, the warmth radiating from his skin made you unconsciously gravitate towards him.
Barry froze and flushed, seeing as you'd pretty much cuddled up to his side. It'd be a lie if he said he wasn't enjoying this moment, though.
However, once you'd woken up, you were both an entanglement of limbs. It was oddly comfortable. There was no way you were moving.
Little did you know, he'd already woken up and he wasn't planning on moving either.
