Laser Cats? Laser Cats.

Barry Berkman

Warnings: Language, tooth rotting fluff, Anxious!reader. Anxious!Barry (because she is anxious, lol).

Words: 1.1k

A/N: Just watched The Shining for the first time this week, and got inspired! Please enjoy. :)

𖦹𖦹𖦹

“You want to watch…that?”

His eyes have fallen down to the familiar bright yellow cover of the DVD, which you hold haphazardly between your fingers. 

“Yes…”

The way the word slips out of your mouth sounds more than uncertain, but he’s wondering if it’s due to the fact that you’re uncertain of your choice, or simply that you’re uncertain now due to his tone.

“You’re aware that the movie you're holding is The Shining, right?”

He just had to be absolutely sure, and he felt bad for asking as soon as your face sunk.

“Barry…”

He raised his hands up in defence, raising the metaphorical white flag.

“I’m sorry. I just thought…well y’know…” He scratched at his five o’ clock shadow.

Your brows furrow immediately, sensing where this conversation was going.

“Yes, yes, I know I’m a big fat chicken. No need to remind me.” Your throat tightens slightly. “But…I want to try something new, Bar. Something that’ll stretch me a bit.”

His eyes looked so soft, they might melt right off his face. You facing one of your biggest fears (fear in general, he supposed) was for some reason insufferably cute to him.

“Okay, I get it. Just want to make sure your fully comfortable doing this, we really could watch Two Weeks Notice again, I really don’t mi-”

“Barry!”

𖦹𖦹𖦹

“You really need to invest in a popcorn machine.”

You had been telling your boyfriend for a year now this very sentence since you had started dating, and he still hadn’t done so, for absolutely no good reason.

“Aren’t those things expensive?”

“Not really.”

You raised a teasing eyebrow at him, the popcorn bag in the microwave spinning slowly as it began to grow.

“I’d like to buy the shit that doesn’t cause cancer.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll buy one on Monday.”

“No you won’t. You’ve said that at least five times. It’s going to have to be your birthday present this year.”

“No, I’ll do it, I’ll do it.”

“Right. Suuuure.”

The microwave beeps, and Barry pulls out the bag, burning his fingers in the process.

“Fuck!” He mutters, his fingers dropping the bag on the counter. Thankfully, it wasn’t wide open.

“See? Yet another reason to get one. You don’t have to burn your fingers on a piping hot bag.”

“Would you drop the popcorn machine thing? You’re starting to sound like a walking, talking commercial.”

You laughed at that statement, knowing there was no real bite behind it. He opened the bag, steam pouring out of it immediately. He dumped it into the massive popcorn bowl, already filled with two more bags of the cancer-corn. 

Of course, that wasn’t all. There was a bowl of fruity candy, and a container of chocolate almonds that had also been pulled out of the cabinet.

“Anything else, m’lady requests?” He dipped into so low a curtsy, he could’ve been an upper class lady from a Jane Austen novel.

“The Baroness requires a carbonated beverage.” You play along, because what kind of girlfriend wouldn’t indulge in such fanciful talk?

“As you wish.”

𖦹𖦹𖦹

You were thirty minutes in, and feeling good, despite the uneasy tone of the music. Barry and you snuggled together in the corner of the L shaped sofa, underneath a fuzzy blanket, with sustenance in easily reachable access. Barry would glance at you every few minutes to make sure you weren’t having a panic attack or a heart attack or whatever.

“Would you stop glancing at me, you’re making me nervous.” 

“Right, sorry, sorry.” His head swivels immediately back to the screen, where Wendy and Danny go walking through the maze together.

He’s seen this movie a few times, and he enjoys it, but he also doesn’t get cripplingly anxious at every tense moment on the screen. After all, that would have been rather impractical given his job required him to be calm in very tense and very real situations.

You would grab his hand on occasion, whenever you felt that seeping sense of dread; as if to remind yourself that you were presently only watching a movie, and that this was not reality.

Other moments, you’d squeeze your eyes shut, and dive your face into his warm chest, anticipating something horrifying (given, you had expected that, it was the genre after all). He especially didn’t mind this, as he got to wrap his arm around you, and cuddle even further.

“Hey, hey, there’s nothing to be scared of.” He rubbed circles into your arm gently, urging you to look up again.

And though it nearly physically pained you to do so, the reassuring gentle tone of his voice, made you feel at ease again, and persevere.

He watched as you remained curiously on edge, your eyes widening, stuffing a handful of popcorn into your mouth. He had to hold in the boyish giggle at the look on your face, finding somehow you had gotten even more precious.

“You want some water, babe?”

You pulled at his t-shirt suddenly, when he made the suggestion. 

“You’re a bastard if you leave me right now.”

You hadn’t even peeled your eyes from the screen, to offer him a glare.

“Alright, alright, I won’t move a muscle then.” He wrapped the blanket around the two of you tighter.

“Oh God…no. Get out, Get out!” You waved your arms at the screen, as if it would help Wendy escape from the window. Unfortunately, it did not help.

𖦹𖦹𖦹

By the time credits rolled around, your head was resting on his shoulder, his hand rubbing your back.

“So…?” He inquired, trying to figure out your facial expression. It wasn’t very intuitive.

“Don’t tell me you’re traumatised for life.”

You don’t say anything for a few moments, before turning your head to look up at him.

“I liked it.” There was a small pause before you continued, “A lot, I think.”

His lips turned upwards, an amused eyebrow raising.

“You think?”

You simply shrugged, sheepishly grinning. “Okay…so I loved it.”

He looks less teasing now, and more so…relieved. In truth, he was very glad you enjoyed it, and wouldn’t have nightmares after the fact. The last thing in the world he wanted was to see you jolting awake in fear. He’d had enough experiences himself to know he’d never wish that on you.

You wrapped an arm around his stomach, your chin pressed against his ribs.

“Thanks for indulging.”

He pressed a soft kiss on the top of your head.

“When are you going to learn, I’d do anything for you?”

The sentiment makes you all warm and fuzzy, or maybe it’s just the blanket.

“Besides, I’m really proud of you. You only looked away three times, I counted.”

You smacked him playfully, your own smile widening.

“Aw, shucks Barry, enough.”

“I’ll only stop if you kiss me right now.”

Before he could utter another sentence, you moved forward instantly pressing your mouth against his. You tug at the hem of his shirt, his arms adjusting slowly, and resting against your back. He tastes like butter and chocolate, but you don’t really mind. You’re sure you do too.

“That ought to shut you up.”

“Only if you do it again.”

Oh, brother.

𖦹𖦹𖦹

I'm learning new things about myself every day...🫣 (I may have discovered I had a thing for ax-wielding alcoholics.)

Hope you enjoyed! Let me know anything you'd like to see!

Bill Hader

Warnings: Language, fluffiness.

Words: 1.2k

A/N: Just leaving this here. Please enjoy!

𖦹𖦹𖦹

“I think that was the last one.”

He drops the box rather dramatically on the couch, the other fifty already taking up the entirety of the floor. 

“I thought they’d never end.” He replied, wiping his brow. Your lips lifted in mild amusement, offering him a peck on the cheek.

“Come now, was that so bad?”

“Yes. Yes it was. Why is there so much crap?” He was not truly that annoyed, you could sense it in the lightness of his tone. You simply shrugged in response.

Glancing around, you sighed. While taking the boxes out of the moving van into the house was no easy task, what stood before you was even more daunting: unpacking each and every item out of them, and finding places for everything in an already fairly full home.

You had been dating Bill over a year at this point, and you had made the big decision to move in with him. He already had a home, so it made the most sense to just pack up all your shit and move in with him, rather than find a different location for you both to cohabitate. He had some roots; and you were on your way to growing your own.

He stared at the boxes with the same kind of expression that you held: anticipating the slowness of putting things away and absolutely dreading it. 

“We should probably start.”

“Yeah, we probably should.”

But, no action was made, as you both stared at the pile that seemed to only grow bigger (you knew it was your mind playing tricks on you, but still).

After several minutes of not doing anything at all, Bill nudged you forward.

“You start on that, I’m going to order some greek food in.”

Before you could protest, he was on his heel, and into the kitchen to find his phone.

“Ass.” You muttered under your breath. But, you began to open one of the top boxes which contained an array of old CD’s that your mom let you keep. You never really listened to CD’s anymore, thanks to the internet, but you enjoyed having them anyway. Memories of playing The Cure’s best hits, and you dancing around the family room was the first image in your mind. Smiling, you pulled out some of them, finding a place in Bill’s own library of physical music. 

𖦹𖦹𖦹

You had gotten through about four boxes of items by the time that Bill returned. You were just opening up another one, when you felt his presence immediately behind you. 

“How’s the unpacking going?”

His voice is gentle, as he breathes the words into your hair. 

“So far not too bad. Just getting into some of my kitchen stuff.”

He hummed in response, not moving from his spot. I pulled out a garlic press and my favourite silicone spatula. 

“I need you to move, babe.”

“Gonna need the password.”

You rolled your eyes, turning around facing him. While he may have been several inches taller, you could exude a whole lot more intimidation than he ever could. Crossing your arms you reply, “If you don’t move, you're going to get your ass beat.”

He raised his arms swiftly, gesturing his surrender within seconds. You smirk, knowing that man was a bit scared of you, and you found a lot of satisfaction in that.

As you passed by, you gave him a swat on the butt with the spatula. He gasped, and clutched to his butt, like the drama queen he was. And that always made you laugh.

𖦹𖦹𖦹

You both went through box after box, slowly putting things away, in their new places. You set your toothbrush in the little holder and stared at it for a minute. You had done that on many occasions, when you had come to sleep over the night, but now it was here for good. This would be its spot hopefully for more than a night. 

Hopefully more than a hundred nights.

Hopefully forever. 

“Hey Babe! Food’s here!”

The voice pulled you out of your thoughts, and you exited the bathroom, an ever present smile on your face. You could smell the garlic obscenely well, and it made your stomach grumble. 

Out of the bag came a giant lamb gyro, that you always claimed was the size of your head, some falafel, hummus, fresh pitas, and lemon rice. 

“Did you order extra tzatziki?” 

He looked at you, offended.

“What kind of person do you think I am? Why did you even have to ask?”

He pulled out four sauce cups filled with the stuff.

You grinned, shaking your head. 

“Of course, my mistake. Didn't mean to insult you, your Highness.” You teased right back, and he poked your side making you giggle. 

You both started eating ravenously. I mean, after all the boxes you’d picked up and carried, it was no wonder the both of you were starving. Almost everything was devoured by the end of your meal, as you both fought over the last falafel. 

“I’ll give you five bucks if you let me eat it.” 

“No chance in hell, Hader.”

“Five bucks and a massage?”

“No.”

“Ten bucks, massage and a kiss, final offer…”

“If I don’t get the last falafel, you won’t be getting any tonight.” You challenged, and his response was instantaneous: mouth dropped open in horror, like he was mimicking Munch’s The Scream.

“You wouldn’t dare…”

“You really want to test that theory?”

There was a long silent pause.

He pushed the box towards you in defeat.

You grinned. Works everytime.

𖦹𖦹𖦹

After another hour of unpacking, you both called it a day. You probably hadn’t gotten through more than a fourth of it, but you were both so exhausted you decided it wasn’t worth the trouble of staying up through the night.

You had got outside on the balcony to get a breath of fresh air. It was a warm night, and the stars were especially bright, you could point out more than three constellations.

A sudden arm floated holding a plate.

“Dessert?”

It was some leftover tres leches from a work party you had gone to, and they had demanded you bring the rest home. Guess they figured you were addicted to the stuff, after last year’s party.

You took the plate, turning your head to the arm’s owner. 

“Thank you, sweet pea.”

You had called him the nickname a long time ago as a joke, but he had actually liked it, so it kinda stuck after a while.

“Anytime, schnookums.” 

We watched the sky as it grew more inky black. You rested your head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around you, brushing your arm gently with his knuckles.

“We really need to bring out the telescope sometime.”

He hummed in agreement.

“I really really love you.”

He turned his head towards yours and smiled. Leaning forward he offered you a quick peck.

“What a coincidence, because I really really love you too.”

You could imagine nights like this. On the balcony looking at the stars. Holding each other. Saying I love you way too many times. You could see yourself doing this tonight.

For a hundred nights.

Maybe forever.

And that sounded kinda nice.

𖦹𖦹𖦹

Hope you enjoyed! Please let me know if there's anything else you'd like to see. :)

Barry Berkman

Warnings: Implied violence and murder, Dark!Barry, Unhinged!Barry, Sassy!Barry (does this need a warning?) Language.

Words: 989

A/N: Part 2 to the last one. Barry's POV again. Hope you enjoy!

𖦹𖦹𖦹

I wasn’t thinking straight.

My brain was wired, and I took sharp inhales that were not helping in the slightest. I had just left my mark undisturbed, and surely I would be found out when she arrived on her normal scheduled appointments tomorrow. 

I had to do something.

I shoved my gun in the back of my belt. My hands were oddly sweaty, and I quickly wiped them on my denim pants. 

Think, think, think, Barry. What the fuck do I do now?!

The panic was slowly growing, and I knew it would get worse until I found a solution to my little problem. I could run away, and never return, but that seemed a bit dramatic. Besides, I was hoping to stay in LA for a while. I could lie, and tell Fuches that it was a done deal. I threw that idea aside very quickly, knowing he wasn’t stupid enough to believe that. 

That left me with one thing.

I was going to have to kill the client.

𖦹𖦹𖦹

I didn’t have much time. Luckily for me, when you made the decision to put a hit on someone, a lot of your own information was required. So, finding this guy should be easy. Oh, how incredibly dense people could be sometimes. All it took me was one Facebook search and I knew exactly where the guy lived.

The shit-for-brains worthless son-of-a-bitch was named George. Of all things, I couldn’t imagine someone like him even being in the same atmosphere as that angel of a woman. It made even less sense that the two of them dated.

My guess was he was one of those jealous assholes that when she dumped him, had one of those ‘if I can’t have her, then no one can,’ sort of mentalities. Really mature, dude.

He was single: surprise, surprise. Seemed to really be into cars, which made me like him even less, not exactly sure why. Oh, and he lived in a ‘bachelor pad’. I was looking at it, and trust me, it lived up to its name. Everything about this man screamed ‘I’M A MASSIVE DICK’. That was always nice when I planned on killing someone.

I took a bite of my cereal bar, sitting patiently in my car as I watched his building. He was scheduled to come home in a half an hour, and I wasn’t going to shoot the guy on an empty stomach. I tapped the dashboard in boredom, watching the minutes tick by.

Finally, I saw the model of the car I knew was his, parked in its spot on the street. I watched the slimeball get out of his car, a bag of In and Out in his hand. He looked like a complete loser, to no one’s surprise. He swung his keys carelessly on his finger as he whistled, making his way to the door.

It was time.

As soon as he began opening his door, was the exact moment in which I got out of the car. My steps were precise, gentle as to make sure I didn’t alert his attention. Not that he would have noticed had I been stomping, he paid little attention to detail and seemed to have zero survival skills.

I began to pick the lock as soon as I heard the TV come on, there was a basketball game it sounded like. I entered into the home, closing the door without a single displeased sound from its hinges. I mapped out the area carefully, and slid into the kitchen.

Couldn’t hurt if I got a quick snack first. 

I found some black forest ice cream in the freezer. I mean, he wouldn’t be around to eat it, so why waste? I got a spoon and ate straight from the tub. 

“AW, C’MON!”

The sound nearly startled me into dropping my spoon. I clasped onto it for dear life, realising he must be shouting at the players on the screen. I rolled my eyes, finally closing the tub and setting it back into the fridge. 

I supposed I had wasted enough time.

I stepped into the living room, weapon raised and aimed straight at his head. I took one step at a time, and I loomed closer and closer to the waste-of-air sitting on his couch. I got close enough in which the gun was close enough to touch the back of his head.

“Karma’s a bitch, isn't it, George?”

𖦹𖦹𖦹

She was wearing yellow.

Her hair was up in a ponytail, though some had frizzed and escaped the scrunchie from the rush of the morning.

I had ‘happened’ upon her favourite breakfast nook, just as I ‘happened’ upon bumping into her and chatting for a minute. She was all smiles, and just as nice and sweet as I had surmised. How could anyone have willed this woman to no longer exist in this world was truly impossible to understand.

I asked her to dinner, and she accepted. We went to a Thai place, since I figured she’d had enough pasta to last her a lifetime. She was funny, I recalled laughing several times at her antics.

We kissed at her doorstep, and I went home with butterflies that night.

I suppose I should have expected the phone call the next day, all frantic and distraught.

“Barry, I can’t b-belive it…he’s dead! Oh my God, he’s dead!”

I could hear her snot-ridden sobs, and her hyperventilating. She was traumatized, and I felt slightly guilty that I was to blame for her distress.

To be clear, I had absolutely no guilt in killing the pig, but to her reaction at his passing. He deserved much worse, the motherfucker.

“Hey, hey. Take deep breaths. You’ll be okay. You’re gonna be alright.” I assured her softly.

There was a pause followed by a hiccup.

“C-can you come over? I don’t want t-to be alone tonight.”

I smiled at this.

“Of course.”

𖦹𖦹𖦹

Hope you enjoyed. I disappeared for a minute, but I should be back to frequently posting, lol. Let me know what you think, and tell me if there's anything else you'd like to see.

Barry Berkman

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.

Bill Hader

Warnings: Language.

Words: 1.7k

A/N: Just a little meet-cute at a coffee shop. Enjoy!

𖦹𖦹𖦹

You sat in the same spot you usually did; in the farthest left corner, seat against the window with the pink porcelain shakers. And you came in at the same time you always did, 10:45.

Now, this all could simply be explained through having a rigorous schedule, to make time for everything needed in a day. But, if you were being absolutely truthful, you had terrible time management, which made this excuse improbable. 

So why exactly then, did you get there at the same time, and in the same place? There was actually a very simple explanation to that question.

That was exactly five minutes before he came in.

He always came in after what looked like he’d been on a run, in a tracksuit and the most worn pair of running shoes you had ever seen. He’d stretch a bit before he came inside, and then order a matcha before sitting at the table two across from you.

Okay, that sounded a bit creepy, now that you thought about it, that you knew this man’s exact schedule and order, but when you’d seen it five other times you decided it was a safe bet he was a routine sort of guy. 

And just as he did the past three weeks you’d encountered him, he came in exactly five minutes after you, in that same tracksuit and shoes, his hands on his back, as if he was an old man complaining about his sciatica.

The girl on duty was named Juvie, and he always greeted her by name. It was always strange to you how it seemed nobody noticed who he was. Perhaps it was the lack of makeup, his baseball hat over his unkempt head, or the absence of his hundred different impressions when he talked. 

He bounced on his tippytoes, checking his heart rate and steps on his watch as he waited for the matcha to be set on the counter for him to snag.

“Thanks, Juvie-groovie.”

He put a five dollar bill in the tip jar, as he always did, and then sat down at his table. He was humming the tune to a song you couldn’t decipher, as he began scrolling on his phone.

Now, at this point everything was the same as it always was, and you could just continue to watch him (not in a creepy way, promise) and dig into the book you had spent six months trying to finish.

But, you were feeling daring today.

“It’s nice today isn't it?”

You try to speak loudly, so that he can’t miss your words. He seems to pause, glancing up at me. He noticed you were facing him, so he quickly caught on that you were talking to him.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. It’s like, super nice. Just went on a run actually, and I barely got overheated.”

You figured he was a chill guy, and it really seemed like everything you’d heard about that fact was true.

“Wish running brought me any joy. Asthma's a bitch.”

You replied, surprised that the first thing that came to mind didn’t sound incredibly stupid. He smiled, a small laugh escaping his mouth.

“Well, there’s always walking. Tends to be a little easier on the lungs.”

The suggestion was one that you already did a lot of, but you didn’t confess that.

“Yeah, I love walking. I’ll go for hours, honestly.”

Okay, maybe you did just a bit. 

“Me too. Just give me good shoes and a talking buddy and I’ll be set.”

You smiled, nodding.

“Would you perchance want a talking buddy say around…5:30?”

It was casual. Just a walk. It wasn’t like you were proposing to him. Or even asking him to dinner. But, it was a step in the right direction.

“Um, let me check my schedule actually.”

And he got out his phone again, going to his calendar app. you were genuinely surprised he had taken your offer into consideration. After all, you were sure he knew you knew he was Bill Hader. But, then again, you also interacted with him like he was a human being (which he is). 

“Can we maybe do 6:00 instead?”

Oh, shit.

He actually wanted to go on a walk.

“Um, yeah! Yeah.” you cleared your throat, trying not to sound like a lunatic.

“Cool stuff. What’s your name again?”

For a minute you completely forgot what your name was.

When it finally returned, you told him. 

He repeated it, and you wished he’d say it a million more times.

“I’m Bill. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

Even if he did know, you knew, it felt nice to let the interaction flow as if you were both two normal people who had met in a coffee shop. It made you less anxious anyways.

You came to sit next to him, and you began talking. It was a lot easier than you thought it would be. Not because you felt intimidated by his presence, he’d given every reason in the world not to be, but because he seemed to lead you into a groove that made your thoughts flow through your mouth without much pause. 

You’d decided to exchange numbers, and suggest a meeting place for the expected walk later that day. 

When you’d walked into that coffee shop earlier this morning, you hadn’t expected to leave it with the guy’s number and a promise for more social interaction, but here you were.

𖦹𖦹𖦹

“Wow, you brushed your hair.”

He snorted, letting out a set of giggles. It had been meant to be teasing, and he took it well, thank God.

You began your walk in a park, lots of changing leaves, and a sad muddy pond that seemed to have attracted a surprising amount of geese, a family feeding them handfuls of oats.

“Do you like acting? Seems like it would be kinda stressful.”

His hands in his pockets, he looked down at the pavement, littered with brown rotting foliage. 

“I love it. And, honestly, it’s super stressful, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I get to do something I’m passionate about, and get a ridiculous amount of money for it. I really have absolutely nothing to complain about. Frankly, if I did, I’d be a bit of an asshole.”

He laughed a bit at his own comment, and you followed suit.

“Yeah, it’s a lucky thing, I think. Being able to do what you love. Having the time for it, y’know.”

There was a pause, and you both let the silence be filled with the sounds of twittering birds and small children's shouts.

“There’s a boba place up a few blocks, would you want to…?”

It took no interpretation on your part. He was opening the door to spending even more time. Which was obviously a good sign. So of course you said-

“Yes.”

You glanced at him a few times, and caught him glancing back. You weren’t sure exactly when, your hands gently bumped each other, as you got closer. You finally took initiative, and laced your pinky with his.

“Is this okay?”

You sounded unsure, and a little nervous, because good God, you were. But he didn’t pull away.

“I suddenly feel like I’ve been transported into a Hallmark movie.”

You let out a chuckle at that. He still hasn’t let go, and there’s a small quirk of his lip.

“I feel insulted.” You laugh, nudging him playfully with my shoulder.

“Okay, maybe that came out wrong.” He grinned wider.

You finally crossed a busy street, and there you were, at a tiny boba shop, with no seating, and a handful of people. He opened the door for you like a gentleman, and you curtseyed before entering.

It was a surprisingly fast process, and in a few minutes time, you exited with a brown sugar milk tea, his hand gently on your back, guiding you.

“I can’t believe I’ve never been here, I’m a whore for boba tea.” You say sucking up a few tapioca pearls.

He raises his eyebrows at the comment. “Are you, indeed? Well, lucky I’m here to educate you then.”

You continue down the busy street, not even certain where you were anymore, getting lost by the chaos. But, it didn’t bother you as much as you thought it might. 

You talked about everything: your families, music, hobbies, favourite cuisines, and shows. It amazed you how much you had in common, and you wondered if that was exactly what drew you towards him in the first place. 

No, you had to be honest: it was Bill Hader. The man was funny and charming as he was beautiful. But now, he wasn’t just a face you’d seen on your screen. You saw the human, the normal down-to-earth goofy person that he was. It was something you would have never been able to uncover any other way.

You finally returned to that coffee shop. It was close to home for you, and it was near his work for him.

“Well, thank you. I had fun.” You look up at him; he was probably a solid five inches taller than you.

“So did I.” His hands are in his pockets again, and he almost looks anxious. “Uhm, it feels good to be treated like a normal person every once in a while.”

You laughed at that.

“Glad I could be of assistance then.”

He looks at his shoes.

“So, will we go walking again sometime?”

“I think so.” 

“Alright, well I should…y’know, busy schedule and everything-” He scratches the back of his head, glancing at his watch.

“Yeah! Yeah, of course. Well…goodbye.”

You both stare at each other for a minute, and simultaneously decide to kiss, which leads to you bumping noses instead.

“Ah, sorry! Sorry!” You giggle, covering your nose, face tinting pink.

“No, no, I’m sorry, I should've let you-” 

“Want to try again?” you interrupt his apology.

He nods, smiling brightly.

“Yeah, I think so.”

This time, he leaned forward first, and you met your lips with his. His mouth was soft, and he tasted like coconut, probably from his own boba. It was short and sweet, when you pulled away, a string of saliva was the only thing that kept you attached.

“Goodbye for real this time?”

You both laughed.

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Have a few more ideas in the brain, let me know if you have any suggestions. Thanks for reading! :)

Barry Berkman

Warnings: Tiny bit of angst. Fluff.

Words: 889

A/N: Short and sweet. Please enjoy.

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He was having nightmares.

And while he didn't really talk about it, you could always tell the way he surged upwards, in a heavy sweat in the middle of the night. 

His breaths would come in heavy and strenuous, and afterwards he would shift every five minutes, blankets quickly slipping to one side of the bed.

You knew something was up, and whether or not he would open up to you about it, it did not fade the concern in the corner of your mind.

It happened again, and as he lurched forward, you could feel the way his body was shaking so hard, it seemed like he was near convulsing.

Instead of letting him deal with it alone, you got up, and began rubbing his back.

“I wish you’d tell me what’s going on.”

He doesn’t seem surprised at your alert state, merely inhaling and exhaling until the immediate panic begins to subside.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to wake you.”

His voice is almost incomprehensible, low and cracking from the effort. You sit crisscrossed next to him, your hands trying their best to comfort him in any way you could.

“You haven’t been sleeping the last two weeks. You need to tell me what’s the matter, Barry.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, instead staring at the framed picture on the wall in front of him. 

“I told him to get out of the car…”

There was a shuddering, and suddenly a faint sound of sniffles followed. He was crying. Your brows furrowed further in concern, as you leaned into him, your arms wrapping around him in a tight embrace.

“Barry, what are you-”

But, he’s in no state of mind to be clear about his meanings, his sharp inhales and bursts of weepy noises, makes that evident. So, you hold him. Tightly in your arms, willing all the dark clouds surrounding his mind to go away, and never come another day.

You knew he had PTSD from Afghanistan, which would lead him to have bouts of overwhelming emotion consume him. Perhaps, this was one of those times. But, you couldn’t recall the last time it had gone on for this long. These sentiments he felt now seemed to be new, fresh wounds, and you were unsure what could have exactly brought them on.

All would be answered eventually, you figured. You wouldn’t press him now. All you could do was comfort him. 

“I love you, Barry Berkman. And I will always be here for you, I hope you know that.”

You urge him to rest his head on your chest as his sniffing subsides.

“And I love you for saying it. But, you wouldn’t say that. If you knew everything I’d done.”

His words were layered with guilt, a guilt he would carry with him until the day he died. But, he selfishly hoped that one day maybe, he’d lead a life with some normalcy, in which you would always look at him that way. 

Even if he couldn’t tell you everything.

“Shush. It’s not good to think that way.”

The truth was, you didn’t want to know everything about Barry’s past indiscretions. You were ignorant and blissful, and you knew he would always look out for you the way that you looked out for him. You knew he wasn’t perfect. But, he was perfect enough for you.

“I’m trying, I really am. I want to be a good person.”

“You are a good person.”

Lies and more lies. He knew he was far from being a good person. And truthfully, he wasn’t sure if there was hope for him. But, he listened and believed you anyway.

He finally lifted his head, his eyes searching for yours in the darkness of your room. Desperate for that confirmation, hoping, praying, despite everything that he was, he’d always see that look of adoration in your eyes; the one he craved everyday since he’d seen it.

You kissed him, slowly and gently, lips grazing each other, over and over again. His thumbs brushed the apples of your cheeks, he was always caressing you in one way or another. It made you feel warm inside, you took his touches like you did a large mug of hot chocolate.

“Mmm, Barry?”

“Yes, angel?”

“I mean it. I will always love you. And someday, when you're ready, you can open up to me, and I will still love you.”

Lies, lies, lies.

But he doesn’t argue, his mouth curving into a soft smile. Your words have so much more impact than you think they do, and he tries in every way to remind you.

“And I will always love you. For who you are, for who you’ve been and for who you always will be.”

You held each other for a while longer, slowly lying back down, and looking at each other, occasionally brushing the stray piece of hair out of the other person’s face. It wasn’t long until you fell back asleep, his arms still around you.

He knew deep down he could never ask for forgiveness for the endless lives he had taken. He knew that he didn’t deserve your unconditional devotion, and adoration. He knew he didn't even deserve any sort of peace in his own mind.

But, just tonight, perhaps he was delusional enough to think that everything would be alright.

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Dr. Aaron Conners

Warnings: Language.

Words: 1.6k

A/N: Hey guys, I haven't written fanfiction in a hot minute, so excuse me if this is hot garbage. But, hopefully it's okay and you like it!

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You really hadn’t planned on going out. But the hopeful look in your best friend's eyes made you feel guilty (she was too good at that, you really needed to stop falling victim to it), and besides, you could get out of your shell every once in a while.

“Rosie, I can’t do this.”

You felt ridiculous: after hours of searching through your disaster of a closet all you could find is some periwinkle dress you bought like five years ago. Had you really not gone out enough to have even bothered getting a new dress the past five years?

Guess not.

“Don’t worry about it, honestly. You look cute. Like a churchy-virgin kinda cute.”

“That wasn’t helpful.”

But, you got into the car anyway, because you really needed some onion rings, and a few glasses of Hennessy to take the edge off. 

The bar was one you tended to avoid, due to the popularity and its lack of seating. Most of the time you would end up standing awkwardly, arms limp to the sides as you watched Rosie flirt with two dudes, one intended for you, that mysteriously disappeared after you told the story of shaving your ex’s eyebrows in the middle of the night. 

“Go on then. That guy looks cute.”

You look at her incredulously. “Since when has any guy you claimed was cute, not ended up looking like your uncle’s wrinkly asscrack?”

“It’s weird that you know what his asscrack looks like.”

“Not when he practically mooned everyone at Thanksgiving two years ago it's not.”

You haven’t even gotten one drink in, and they informed you they ran out of batter for the onion rings. You just wanted to go home at this point.

That is until the guy turned around.

And for the first time in the history of the world, Rosie was right.

He was incredibly cute.

Which was her cue to wrinkle her nose.

“Oh, nevermind. I think the hair was deceiving me. He looks like a serial killer.”

That may have been true, but even if he was, he was still very attractive.

“Suit yourself. I’m going to talk to him.”

She looked surprised at this. You never went up to guys in the middle of bars to chat with them. You were always the one psychologically torturing them with your creepy facts until they felt so uncomfortable they called their mom’s to pick them up.

He was tall, at least six feet. Lanky, kinda awkward and nerdy, with soft fluffy looking brown hair. The way he leaned against the bar was evidently him attempting to look cool and casual, but he was horrible at it.

For some reason, you found that even more charming.

“Hey.”

He stopped midway in his conversation with another guy, come to think of it, he looked vaguely familiar, but that was for another time.

“Oh, Hi there.”

It was at this point that you realised how much practice you lacked in this area. Feeling that surge of confidence leave your body, you swallowed nervously.

“I see you’ve got a drink there.”

What the hell were you saying?! Out of all the first things you could say to someone you picked, probably about the corniest. 

“Um, yeah.”

“S’it any good?”

Rosie, please save me! You had absolutely no idea what you were doing. If you left now, maybe he’d forget anything that just occurred the last thirty seconds and try again.

“Er, yeah…pretty good.”

He seemed a bit confused, but he simply waited for you to go on, which seemed to make it even more awkward.

“That’s good…awesome sauce.”

Did you seriously say awesome sauce?! How much of a dork are you?! He looked at you a long moment before he suddenly broke into a smile.

“Did you just say awesome sauce?”

You felt an uncontrollable bubble of laughter escape you, as you covered my mouth.

“I did, I can’t believe I said that.”

He began to laugh along with you, and you felt yourself grow less embarrassed. Oh thank God, he’s a nice person.

After a few more seconds of giggle fits, he raised his hand to shake.

“I’m Aaron. What’s your name?”

You took it, telling him your name. “Honestly, you can probably tell I don’t get out much.”

“Yeah, but that’s alright. I don’t much either.” He paused a moment before speaking up again. 

“Can I get you something to drink?”

He gestured to the seat next to him in which the guy he had been talking to had disappeared from (seriously, where had you seen him before?).

“God, yes. I’ve been trying to get this motherfucker’s attention for the past twenty minutes.” You say sitting down, the chair making spluttering noise. “I swear that was the chair, I didn’t rip one just now.”

He smiled again, his teeth on full display. You decided you liked him most when he smiled, and intended to get him to do it some more.

“It’s perfectly normal bodily function, I couldn’t blame you too much if you did.” He passed the bartender a few bills, and you finally got a drink.

“So, Aaron…what do you do for work?”

He swallows the bit of drink sitting in his mouth too quickly and begins to cough. 

“Oh, shit you okay..I didn’t mean to-”

He waves his hand dismissing my apology, as he clears his throat, eyes watering slightly, as he forces himself not to keep coughing.

“No, it’s fine…another cough …I’m actually a…God, sorry, a surgeon.”

Your eyebrows raise, offering him a napkin to wipe off the spittle on his lips.

“A surgeon? That’s actually really impressive.”

Fuck, he was smart too then. He almost looks shy at the compliment, his cheeks tinting a faint rosy colour. 

“It’s fulfilling, so that’s great.” He scratches his cheek, still looking slightly bashful. “What about you? What do you do?”

You shrug taking a sip of your own.

“Oh nothing as impressive as what you do, I assure you. But, I enjoy it, which not a lot of people can say, so I really can’t complain.” You suddenly realise you’ve been rambling and haven’t even answered his question. “I, um, am a dance choreographer.”

“No, that’s awesome!” He sounds too enthusiastic.

“You’re bullshitting. Don’t make up shit, dude. You’re a surgeon for Christ’s sake.” You grin, catching him in his attempts to make us even.

He raises his hands up defensively. “Fine. Your job sounds super lame. Happy now?”

Your smile spreads, and so does his. 

He really does have a lovely smile. 

You talk for a while more, not about anything deep or philosophical, but you enjoyed it nonetheless. After two more drinks, and a handful of peanuts, you start to feel that warm fuzzy feeling that makes you say everything on your mind.

“You know why I came up to you?”

He paused, peanut halfway to his mouth.

“Not a clue.” There was a cheeky little grin creeping up on his face.

“My friend actually pointed you out. She thought you looked like a serial killer. I thought you looked adorable.”

He looks rather taken aback at the remark.

“Oh. Well…glad to hear you didn’t think I was a serial killer.” 

“No, trust me, you kinda do. But, that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

His brows furrowed. “It isn't?"

“Ah, fuck. That came out wrong.” You began to erupt in another fit of giggles. 

“I only meant if you were, you looked like you’d be one of those nice serial killers.”

He can’t help but feel amused, confused and a bit offended by your drunken truths.

“Well, I assure you, I’m not one of those. Serial killers, I mean. I do try to be nice. At least I hope I am.”

Before he can keep rambling, I put a finger to his lips, and his eyebrows seem to raise comically high.

“Shh. I need to tell you something.”

He nodded, looking like he was intently listening. 

“I want to do this again sometime.”

“Do…what?”

“Spend time. With you.”

He smiles again.

And again, you feel butterflies.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Then give me your number.” He holds out his phone, his contacts open.

You smile, knowing you probably look like a stupid love-sick teenager, but you can’t bring yourself to care at all. 

You put in the number. At least you hope to God, your drunk brain was smart enough to remember it.

He looks down at his phone, smiling still and he types in a contact name, which he refuses to let you look at.

“You should text me. Like right now. I may have given you the wrong number.”

He does and you hear the sing-song ping of my own phone.

“I’m assuming it was correct then.” He grins, putting his phone back into his pocket.

“Seems like it.”

There's a few minutes of silence as you finish your drinks, your eyes turning to Rosie, who has of course, made a friend. She looks a little past tipsy, and was likely to begin dancing on a table if you didn’t come to intervene.

“Um, it looks like my friend might need to go home. So, I should-”

He nodded quickly, placing a few twenties on the table, paying for your tab. “Oh no, for sure. Make sure you both get home safe. You need me to call you an Uber?”

“No, but thank you.” You look like you don’t want to leave yet, as you hesitate jumping off the barstool. “I mean, for all of it. I hate going to the bar, but I didn’t hate it today.”

“Good news for me, then.” His eyes were bright with the kind of hope that made your insides melt. 

As you dragged your buzzed friend out the door, you glanced back at Aaron, his eyes never having left you.

And at that moment, when you entered the taxi, you had a feeling you’d be looking at each other like that for the rest of your lives.

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Let me know if you like this, I'm hoping to write some more.