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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

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You’re Singing To: Peter and Henry

This is a short piece and a good morning gift for @spiffythespook! Her OC Henry and my OC Peter, just having a moment. CW for references to pet whump and two guys being absolute idiots about each other.

Peter had come in to ask Henry a question - somehow, he’d ended up lying on his back on Henry’s bedroom floor instead.

His knees were up and bent so his feet were flat on the floor, half-dozing in a loose long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants with his hands folded over his stomach while Henry laid on his stomach and looked through a book or something up on his bed.

Henry was humming to himself, and Peter didn’t know this song - maybe it was a new one, a song he was writing - but it was soft, and kept him lulled in his doze. The notes Henry was humming skipped up and down in a complicated rhythm, one that Henry never missed a beat on but Peter could never have come up with it.

Sounded like something he was writing - it didn’t sound like any music Peter had ever heard, anyway… and besides, Henry wrote music constantly now, scribbling bars and thoughts down on every spare scrap of paper, playing a little on the piano as he walked past it, losing himself in hours of vocal and piano practice, even beyond what Karen required.

His voice was stronger than ever, but every song he sang was laced with a wounded emotion Peter knew Karen couldn’t hear.

Peter could hear it, though, which was why he was lying on the floor of Henry’s room in the first place. Henry had been humming something sad when Peter had originally walked in.

The song wasn’t sad any longer, but the thing about Henry was that he didn’t really talk much. You had to just be around him for a while, and wait, and maybe eventually he’d answer your questions with more than a single syllable in reply.

“What are you doing?” He asked, without opening his eyes.

“Math,” Henry replied.

Well, okay. Maybe he hadn’t been in here long enough yet.

Peter crooked one eye open to look over and up. Henry was chewing on the end of a pencil, his eyes focused on the book open in front of him. Those eyes flickered to Peter’s, briefly, and for a second Peter felt like something caught him, in a way he didn’t understand.

Then Henry looked away, and the feeling was gone.

“You’re doing math?” Peter asked, certain he’d heard wrong but also just wanting Henry to look at him again, for reasons he couldn’t really name or explain. “On purpose? For fun?”

“I like math,” Henry said flatly. “It gives my brain something to do. I like figuring things out. The library has the textbooks for the classes I was-” His voice caught.

Peter watched the shadow that went across Henry’s face and then was gone, buried behind the mask of calm apathy that Henry wore like armor.

“I had this whole plan… I was going to major in math, and minor in music when I went to college, so I could still keep learning all the things I love, and I just…” Henry frowned and leaned over, scribbling something on a piece of paper, never taking his eyes off the book. “I had a plan, before… this. This was going to be one of the classes I took my freshman year.”

Before she put a collar on me and told me I wasn’t going anywhere.

“I probably had a plan, too,” Peter said, with a shrug. He didn’t know, actually, if he would have had a plan. The contract he’d signed said he was eighteen, but he wasn’t, and they all knew it. Dex had told him, once, that he was sixteen years old still when he was taken into training. That was illegal, that was a crime, but who do you tell?

Call the WRU hotline, Peter thought, and caught a cynical little snicker before it made it out of his mouth. Oh, Madam would love that. What she did to Dex would look like Ring-Around-the-Rosey compared to how she’d react if I called and reported her to her own company.

Henry was looking at him when he opened his eyes again, pencil flat on the paper. “What? What are you laughing about?”

A bit of his red hair had fallen over his forehead, and Peter’s eyes were stuck there for a second, and his fingers twitched. He wanted… something, some vague ill-defined something that he couldn’t seem to hold onto long enough to name it. He felt like this around Henry all the time now, itchy and impatient but not knowing what he was waiting for.

“Nothing,” Peter answered, with a shrug. “Just thinking about, um, how Madam would react if I called her hotline to report that she got me underage.”

Henry snorted. “‘All pets are of legal and consenting age,’” He recited, matching Karen’s tone of voice exactly, and the two of them grinned at each other. “God, even I had to memorize that, and I didn’t even have to do training. Everything they make you guys memorize is just one more big lie.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I’m sure something they taught me is true,” Peter said, faintly, trying to think. He didn’t remember training very well - white walls and white lights and pain and dizzy and sick. Defiance and fear, until he’d been sent to Karen herself as a gift, half-broken and still spitting curses.

Throwing up the meat she fed him, again and again, until finally all it did was hurt him, and he could keep it down.

Peter pushed himself to his feet, and Henry watched him, shifting slightly to lay more on his side. “Are you leaving?”

“No, I’m going to steal your stuff,” Peter said cheerfully, ducking into Henry’s closet. “I don’t get any fancy clothes like you do, I want to look at them.”

“Yeah, go ahead. At least I get to dress nicely,” Henry muttered, penciling the answer to a new question on his paper. His voice became a little muffled as Peter went into Henry’s walk-in closet, the second-largest closet in the house after Karen’s own. On one side, Henry’s casual clothes - button-downs neatly pressed and hung, even his jeans were hung on hangers folded in half, not that he ever really wore them. Folded sweaters in a special dresser just for them. A line of shoes, mostly leather and Karen made Peter be the one to shine everyone’s leather shoes.

“I wish I knew why she hates me so much,” Peter mumbled, looking at the line of suit jackets on the other side, all in colors Karen had chosen for Henry. He and Henry were almost the same size - Peter was on the shorter side, and Sebastian had said once or twice that the Facility training had probably made him skip his last growth spurt, if he was going to have one. He and Henry were almost the same size.

He found one of his favorites of Henry’s - a deep blue but with a kind of pattern in the weave of the fabric, lighter blues that melded and blended and Henry looked amazing in this one, under the performance lights. The last really big WRU party, some kind of charity fundraiser, Henry had worn this one to play piano and sing, and Peter had watched him all night and thought about how nice the blue looked with his red hair.

“I’m really glad you kept your brain,” Peter called out, as he pulled the jacket off its hanger, feeling his fingers slide over the soft fabric, the satin-y lining inside. A secret pocket, with-

There was a piece of paper in Henry’s little secret suit pocket, and Peter swallowed. He… probably shouldn’t have, but he pulled the folded piece of notebook paper out, looking at it.

“Are you?” Henry answered, his own voice slightly sardonic, calm as always. “Because it means I do math for fun, which I think officially makes me the most boring person who lives in this house.”

“You’re not boring,” Peter said, a little defensively, and unfolded the paper to look down at it.

He blinked at what he saw, written in Henry’s careful, angular handwriting, black ink on what paper with blue lines.

Breathe, Henry. It was a note he had written to himself, apparently, to have on-hand for the last performance he had given. Never let them see you care. You’re not singing for them. You don’t sing for her. She isn’t the reason.

You’re singing to Peter.

He swallowed, but it felt like his throat had closed, and he swallowed reflexively, again and again staring in silence down at the paper. At the same time a flush of prickly, strange heat seemed to settle along just under his skin, goosebumps raising and then settling and what did that mean, you’re singing to Peter?

Henry was talking, but there was a rush of sound in Peter’s head and he didn’t hear it. After a pause, memorizing the words Henry had written, Peter folded the paper back up and slid it back into the pocket, a secret to be kept by both of them from each other.

Then he slid the jacket on over his shirt, feeling the slippery-slide movement of the silk lining, the slight weight of the heavier fabric as it settled over his shoulders.

“Hey, did you hear me or not?” Henry asked from outside, and Peter wondered if he was blushing, because his face felt suddenly too warm, uncomfortably flushed. He shook himself like a dog shakes off water, raked a hand back through his short dark hair, and stepped out of the closet.

“No, I didn’t. What’d you say?” Peter asked, tilting his head.

Henry didn’t answer, just stared at him in the suit jacket, slowly pushing himself up to sitting, his eyes traveling over Peter’s shoulders, the way a curl of dark hair rested over the back of the jacket’s neckline, down over his chest and his stomach and then back up to his face.

Peter saw Henry swallow, too.

They met eyes, for just a second, and something felt wrong and terribly right, and Peter was worried if he took a step he’d keep walking right to the bed. Henry didn’t like to be touched, and so Peter mostly didn’t, but he didn’t always mind if Peter was the one who touched him - to ruffle his hair or hug him when he was scared, to hold him when he cried for Dex’s injuries or for his own lost future.

Henry’s eyes locked on his, and the moment drew out. Seconds where neither of them moved. Then Henry cleared his throat. “I said-… I want you to-” Henry’s voice cracked, and he looked away.

The moment broke.

Peter let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“I said, um,” Henry said softly, “That we should go downstairs for lunch pretty soon. Are you going to take Dex some of yours, or should I take him some of mine?”

Look at me again.

“I’ll take him mine,” Peter said, his own voice low. He wanted to take the jacket off and he didn’t, because it kind of smelled like the cologne Henry wore when he did performances for Karen’s friends, and the smell around him made him feel almost light-headed, not quite drunk with it… not that he knew what being drunk felt like.

Please look at me again.

Henry nodded, pushing himself up off the bed, pushing the hair back from over his forehead. “I’ll go ask Seb what we’re having. Probably soup again, Dex mostly eats soup right now, so-”

“Henry.”

Henry froze, his eyes on the wall and not on Peter. “What?”

Look at me again, I want to see if you look the same this time, just look at me.

“How… how do I look in your suit?” Peter’s voice was nervous and a little weak, deeper than he meant it to be but shaking at the same time. Too nervous to hold it back, to not show it. He’d never had Henry’s gift for hiding, Peter’s thoughts were out in the open.

Henry looked at him, but only sidelong, like he was afraid to look him in the eyes again. “You, uh-… you look good,” He said brusquely, and then pushed past Peter and headed out the door. Peter stood there, in Henry’s room, listening to the sound of Henry’s feet on the stairs.

He felt himself sink, and closed his eyes against the sensation of a nervous stone, cold and heavy, taking up residence inside of him where the hint of excited hope had been before.

Peter slid the suit jacket off and neatly laid it on Henry’s bed, letting his fingertips linger on the fabric just over the secret pocket, where the folded note was hidden inside. Maybe it hadn’t meant what he’d thought it had. Henry was too private, he lived inside his head and even Peter didn’t really know what he was thinking most of the time. He didn’t like to be touched, and he wasn’t-… Peter was maybe just too lonely, here.

Reading into things.

He was really good at that, Peter thought, although he didn’t know where the thought came from, or the certainty. He’d been good at reading into things, before.

He hesitated, leaned over to take one last breath of the smell of the cologne that lingered, caught in the fabric and giving off the slightest hint of the way Henry smelled when he sang. Henry didn’t like to be touched, and what Peter thought he’d seen in Henry’s face couldn’t possibly be real.

Just wishful thinking.

He did a lot of that kind of thinking around Henry, now.

Then Peter straightened himself up and headed out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. He could hear Henry talking to Sebastian downstairs - his voice was calm and even without even a hint of the hesitation, the little bit of shake, that Peter had just heard.

Peter stood at the top of the stairs, wanting badly to go down there but wanting to be anywhere else, both at the same time. Then he sighed and turned, heading across the hall and to the right instead.

He’d check in on Dex, and maybe by the time he went back downstairs he wouldn’t be blushing, he wouldn’t feel so constricted by his own skin, and he wouldn’t want so badly to see Henry look at him like that again.

You’re singing to Peter.

Maybe by the time he went downstairs, he’d stop thinking that that note had to mean something that it couldn’t possibly actually mean.

Something he wanted it to mean so badly it hurt.

#henry: better off #peter: courage #drabble #pet whump #referenced pet whump #referenced whump involving a minor #but no actual whump #but two guys #being idiots #about each other #original fiction #someone has a cruuuuush #it's both of them #they both do #captivity #conditioning #forced ingestion of meat #box boy #box boy universe

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valdiis · 7 years

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A Priest, a Rabbi, and a Duck...

(An excerpt from some RP I did some time ago with @insipid-drivel, writing Kelley McMurray opposite her Cassandra. Posted with permission.)

About half a mile down the freeway, a copper Toyota old enough to buy its own alcohol sputtered to a stop on the shoulder. The driver slouched in his seat and let his forehead rest on the steering wheel. The damned thing was too old to worry about airbags anyway.

After his best attempt at puppy eyes - and with that crisp toast shade of brown, he did a mighty fine black Labrador face - several fruitless turns of the key, and a handful of choice epithets in three languages, he resigned himself to the inevitable. The car was dead. Deceased. Pining for the fjords. Dammit. Thin fingers adjusted his collar and then made the sign of the cross over the steering wheel. “Requiescant in pace,” he muttered to the cracking vinyl.

Giving up, he pushed the door open and got out. It was three in the morning. Kelley McMurray should be sleeping, like everyone else who had something useful to do instead of driving down the freeway in the dead of night. He hauled a hard-sided suitcase that had to be twice as old as the car out of the trunk, kicked the metal panel a few times just for spite, and lurched down the road towards the neon glow of salvation named Burger King. “One king is as good as another to a vassal with no home, and an empty vessel needs refilling.” Riddles no one would hear, but at least he thought his own jokes were funny.

Cutting down the ravine, the tall, thin form of a man in slacks and a sweater over a cassock-collared shirt loomed out of the darkness. Black on black, surrounded by black, his face seemed to float down the hillside. If he hadn’t been carrying a terrifyingly avocado-colored suitcase, he might’ve looked intimidating.

Cassandra only blended into the dark of the park a little. Black pants tight to her legs but fitted with many odd straps and pouches was what she wore, along with simple boots good for long walks on hard ground. She wore a grey, ratty long-sleeve shirt that bore the vague symbol of some band she didn’t listen to, but had been a gift from Sal for being kind to him as his conjuror.

It was breezy from the freeway, forcing her to repeatedly brush loose, dark curls out of her face. A strand poked into a mechanical eye, making her flinch and push it away. Fortunately, the eye had no feeling with it, and her only concern was it getting caught in the cogs controlling her pupil.

Beyond that one strange eye, she was a beautiful thing; white as a sheet with heavy eyes that might’ve been considered alluring were it not for the fact that the heaviness originated from too many nights spent sitting up at 3:00am. Comely lips that she often painted red, but had gradually grown out of interest in doing so. She smoked a cigarette that didn’t smell like tobacco, and bore the obvious lump of a hidden gun and knife in her pants.

That mechanical eye gave her no fear against the dark. She could see crisp and clear, and spotted the figure of the approaching man before he spotted her.

When he approached and walked past, she took a bite out of her fries and raised an eyebrow at him - scored with a thin scar. “Car break down?” she asked, flicking her head toward the deceased Toyota nearby. She’d noticed.

The man stopped, letting his suitcase swing forward on his arm without him like a cartoon caricature. He’d been so intent on a paper bag full of potato slivers fried within an inch of their lives that he’d hardly noticed the woman sitting at the picnic table. Finding his balance in the stiff, awkward way of a scarecrow getting used to meat instead of straw, he half-turned to look at her in the light.

This was - very clearly - a woman who didn’t get much sleep.

Stumbling towards her a step like he’d been shoved, Kelley set down his suitcase and held both hands up to show their emptiness. His hands were long-fingered and bony, narrow like the rest of him from the faint concave under his ribs to the tilted narrowness of his single-lidded eyes. Even his hair seemed straight and narrow and fine, black strands hanging heavy down to his shoulders. “If you’d been a snake, miss, I’d be a Pentecostal right about now.”

The voice that came out of that thin frame didn’t belong at all. Like a tuning fork struck, it resonated in the belly, a bass incongruous to the form containing it. Crisp and well-enunciated, but too heavy for so slight a man. “Yeah. I don’t know enough about them to know what’s wrong, but I’m pretty sure when the dials hit red, something’s gone belly up.” His nose twitched. Whatever she was smoking, it wasn’t pot or tobacco, but it smelled strangely welcoming. Like dinner cooking. His stomach howled profanities at him. Speaking of dinner…

She raised an eyebrow at him and drew a long drag from that cigarette. Plumes of smoke from the leaves of dried white sage billowed from her nose like some kind of dragon. For a woman alone in the dark being approached by an unfamiliar man, she was certainly calm. She even sipped at her shake.

“Religious boy walking into a Burger King at three in the morning,” she remarked, eye whirring. “I think you need a Rabbi and a duck to finish that joke.”

She looked back down at the table to grab her burger and take another bite out of it. “You got a phone for a mechanic?” she asked without looking up.

Was her eye making noises? A little furrow formed between the black wings of his eyebrows. “If you cooked the duck first, you’d have a conciliatory dinner. At least, I’m fairly certain duck is kosher where a cheeseburger falls short.”

The billows of smoke didn’t seem to be sending him screaming for the hills; rather the opposite, as he leaned forward with a rabbit’s twitching nose. “Whatever you’re burning smells like dinner and that’s cruel.” So was watching her take a bite of that burger. When was the last time he’d eaten- Sacto? Had he really crossed two state borders without remembering to eat?

Lowering his hands, he huffed and scuffed a shoe - Converse hiding under those boring slacks - against the grass. “No, no phone. I took the last one apart back in Sacramento and haven’t gotten around to replacing it yet.”

Cassandra hummed to acknowledge him and finished the last bite of her burger, the last bite of her fries, and the last sip of her shake. “Maybe it’s what I’m eating that smells like dinner,” she argued, voice dispassionate. “What I’m smoking isn’t much good for food.”

She walked to a nearby trash bin and tossed her garbage away. “Priest?” she finally asked. “I’m guessing strict, old-timer Catholic. You’re skinny enough to say that you don’t eat because fulfilling your mortal desires for food could be considered gluttonous unless you wait until you’re about ready to eat your own leg. You’ve got a mouth like you stare at scripture until your eyes are numb.”

She pointed down at the weird suitcase he carried. “And you’re traveling with only the clothes on your back. Gave up worldly possessions and cash like the good book says, Father?”

“Actually, it sort of smells like turkey with sage stuffing, and that’s a good hearty dinner.” His stomach growled again and he wilted. “Why am I talking about food and not eating it? This is just not fair.” Even as he decried it, he grabbed the handle of his suitcase again. “If you want to analyze me, please do it in full light while I order some fries. The fluorescents are kinder to my skin.”

The assumptions she rattled off drew a grin from his thin lips. “I’m traveling with what I can carry out of a busted Toyota in the middle of the night. I’m pretty sure a harem of indentured servants went out the window when the New Testament came along, so I’m stuck with my own two arms.

“And Kelley, please. Kelley McMurray. ‘Father’ makes me feel ancient.” With his straight black hair, tilted almond eyes, and shallow nose bridge, he looked nothing like someone who would be expected to carry around a name loaded with so much Irishness. Of course, he didn’t look like he should be carrying that bass voice around either. Maybe between the two, the suitcase was all he could handle.

“Fries,” he insisted, turning towards the king of mashed cow, “and a vanilla shake.”

#Kelley McMurray #cassandra #urban fantasy #rp excerpt #writing

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flash-imagines · 7 years

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Title: Goku Saves the Day

Pairing: Barry x Reader

Word Count: 2284

Request: Is it possible to write something about how Barry loses his dog and he meets the reader who reunites him with his animal? But Barry isn't The Flash or has powers.

a/n: So I realize I do a lot of exposition, and also I’ve never owned a dog before, let alone a scottish terrier, so please bear with me. This was a lot of fun to write, please enjoy. <3

Today was not a good day for the assistant CSI. He woke up groggy and late, with the time a blaring red on his digital clock. Jolting up, he stumbled to his closet and threw on the closest thing. His small scottish terrier lifted his head from where he was lying to watch with an unamused stare, and then laid it down on his paws with a whine. Barry gave a quick pat to his head and a promise for a long walk later, he bolted downstairs without so much as brushing his hair or his teeth. He was met with bitter winds and a damp city which made waiting for the bus a nightmare. It was late by twenty minutes. In his anxious wait, Barry realized he had on two different left shoes, and his sweater was inside out.

To make matters worse, he couldn’t even stop by Jitters to grab a coffee from his best friend Iris because of the time. Finally, finally, Barry stumbled into the precinct and gave a sigh of relief. His moment of calm was quickly chased away when Captain Singh caught sight of him.

“Allen.” His sharp voice called out, and Barry was tempted to run.

Wincing, the CSI turned towards him and offered him his best smile. “Captain! You got me at a bad time, I was just going to the lab to-”

“Listen, Allen, whatever excuse you have will have to wait. We have a triple homicide downtown that requires your expertise.” And with that, Singh was off, sipping his coffee and looking as irritated as ever. Joe, who was watching from in front of the stairs rose an eyebrow when Barry turned to him.

“You heard the man, let’s go.” Grimly, Barry nodded.

***********

It was well past nightfall when Barry was able to make it home. It felt like years since he’s been inside his warm home. His aching bones and shivering skin seemed oddly vulnerable to the wind, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep away the cold. Walking in the door, however, he was met with the small black dog excitedly jumping up and on him. The rough bouncing off of his legs made Barry even more exhausted, but he knew he needed to be walked.

“Hey buddy! Did Auntie Iris walk you this morning? Huh? Did she?” With the mention of ‘walk’ and ‘Iris’, the black dog began to do little squirms in the air, and even gave out a sharp yelp of excitement. Barry crouched down and ran his hands through his pet's fur, paying special attention to the base of the tail and behind the ears. Barry’s hands skimmed over the red sweater that Joe had gotten the dog last year. Barry’s matching one was in his closet. “Did you want another walk, Goku? Hmm?”

The dog jumped into face and began licking rather aggressively. For extra measure, he gave a hearty bark. Barry snorted, and stood, going to the coat hangers and swiping his jacket he forgot that morning, and the red leash. “I’ll take that as a yes then, buddy.”

Quickly, he toed off the left shoe on his right side, and put on the original shoe’s pair. After crouching down to put the leash onto Goku’s collar, Barry gave his soft fur one last pat and then opened up the door. The winter air has gone from cold to downright frosty. Barry knew it wouldn’t be a long walk at that point. Even with a sweater on, Goku was already starting to shiver.

The two walked in darkness around the block, the wind freezing. Stopping by the side of the road for Goku to sniff, the small dog went on to the grassy strip between the sidewalk and the road and put his nose to the ground. He walked around in a small circle, nose skimming over a crushed can of soda, and briefly ghosting over the huge puddle in the street before picking a spot by Barry’s shoe that was simply the perfect spot to pee. Barry shuffled a little bit away from him. One of Barry’s hands was in his pocket, the end of the leash looped around his wrist. The other one held his phone as he scrolled through social media. It didn’t distract him from the cold, but it did distract him from the car hurtling down the street. The silver car plowed through the icy puddle with such intensity, that the spray soaked Barry and Goku completely.

Barry was so startled that his hands flew up, accidentally dropping his phone and the leash. In a moment of panic, Goku was off, running down the street, the opposite way of the car. Barry’s blood turned cold as he saw the small dog speed off, the red leash flapping behind him. “Goku!” Barry called out desperately, running right out into the street. It became clear in a moment that the scottish terrier was too fast for him, as he was already out of sight. Des[ite the bright red sweater and leash, he blended into the darkness. “Shit,” Barry cursed under his breath and jogged back to his phone. He needed help.

********

It’s not like you asked to be a stray magnet. Lost cats and dogs just naturally flocked to you. Ragged looking creatures coming up to you, shuddering in cold and hunger, unfortunately was nothing new to you. Walking down the street as night, however, the little whimpering coming from the bushes did take you off guard. Weary, you paused. The whimper pierced the air again, demanding your attention.

With an expert flick of your thumb, you turned the flashlight on your phone on, and stepped closer to the source of the whimpering. Pressed flat on the ground was a small Scottish terrier, shaking, and frightened. You crouched down slowly, and held out your hand to show that you weren’t a threat. Big brown eyes stared up at you hopefully, like you were some savior. Taking in his soaked and muddied appearance, you supposed you were.

You clicked your tongue a couple of times, and motioned towards yourself. Keeping your voice as calm and kind as you could you beckoned, “Come here, sweetie. C’mon! I’ll help you find your home!” Apparently for him, that was enough, as he wiggled his butt a bit before jettisoning into your arms. “Oomf!” You grunted out, as you were knocked back onto your butt. Already the dampness started to seep in. You gritted your teeth.

You stood up as gracefully as you could, but since you were still slightly off balance and had a dripping, squirming black mass in your arms, it was just shy of spazzy. You felt his collar for a tag, and tried to bring it close to your face to see the inscription. The dog licked at your face slyly, and you snorted. Trying to peer at it again, more mindful of his affectionate lapping, you barely made out a name and his address in the dark. “Goku,” The word was strange in your mouth, and you gave the dog a small look. “Really? Goku? Like, from Dragon Ball?” The dog just stared. You shook your head, feeling him still tremble beneath you. Despite his wetness, you unzipped your coat as best as you could, and stuffed him inside, zipping him up. He cuddled into your side with such tender affection, you felt a smile on your face you didn’t know was there. “C’mon, sweetheart. Your owner must be missing you half to death.”

*********

“--No, yes, I know he’s not a human being, but he’s missing and--” Barry was busy pacing his living room, frantically on the phone, that he barely heard the knock on the door. He stilled. “Uh, wait, hold on--” The line went dead.

With a huff, Barry tossed his phone onto the couch. Asshole. The rapping on his door happened once again, and his heart seized. While it was probably Joe or Iris coming to offer support, Barry hoped against hope that it was his dog. He’s had him since the end of high school. He’s been there with him since graduation, going off to college, the heartbreak of falling out of Iris. He’s been there through it all. If something happened to him… Barry shook his head, and threw open the door just as the third knock started.

Standing in his doorway was a shockingly attractive stranger. Barry’s heart squeezed again, but this time for an entirely different reason. A whimper drew Barry away from their mesmerizing, watchful eyes, down to the black furry face peaking out of their jacket. A sudden gasp was pulled from his lips, and his eyes went wide. “Goku!”

The yip back to him was like music to his ears. The beautiful stranger managed the start of a giggle before Goku started trying to wiggle his way out of their jacket. In his desperation, he slammed his head into their neck, and they stumbled. Barry tensed. Well shit.

“I am so sorry! He doesn’t normally-- please come in.” As the stranger struggled to open the zipper with the dog squirming like he is, Barry opened his door wide and stepped to the side to allow them entry. They took two steps in before they finally got the ripper open and the dog flopped to the ground. The humans tensed before Goku bolted up and straight over to his owner. Barry eased to the ground, and hugged the freezing dog to his chest. The anxiety of his dog being lost melted away, his shoulders relaxing noticeably. This is what he was waiting for. He turned his head to look at the stranger who found his dog, the one who brought him home.

“Thank you,” He said thickly. Their eyes that were looking elsewhere suddenly flicked to his. Their eyes were wide with surprise. Barry couldn’t help but get a little lost in them. “Thank you so much for bringing him home. He ran off a couple of hours ago, and I was so worried….” He trailed off, shaking his head and giving a little laugh. He released his grip on Goku. The dog ran off to his fluffy bed in the corner of the room. A small breeze hit his back, and he realized suddenly that he kept the door open this entire time. Barry quickly stood and shut it, turning on his heel and leaning pseudo-casually on the door and looked at them. They shifted their eyes from him, to the door, and uneasily back again. Barry shot away from the door. Being inside a stranger’s home was one thing, but having them seemingly block the door? That’s another.

“It’s no trouble. I have a habit of attracting animals in need. It’s basically my super power,” They laughed out and Barry couldn’t help but smile brightly at them. The laugh was like bells, sharp and clear.

“Yeah, uh, that’s a pretty good superpower.” He ducked his head in embarrassment of his stilted speech, and placed a hand at the back of neck. There was a beat of content silence when Barry realized the state of their shirt, hand dropping. “Oh geez, your shirt is wrecked. I’m so sorry about that.”

Eyebrows raised, they looked from him to their shirt, and back again. Laughter bubbled at their lips. “Are you kidding? This shirt is so old I’m pretty sure dinosaurs were still around when it was made. It’s fine. Plus,” They pulled at the hem of the shirt, and twisted it, to give a good view of the back. “It has this giant hole in it.” They stuffed a couple of fingers thru it and wiggled them, looking at Barry conspiratorily from under their eyelashes. They never looked so attractive as in that moment. Barry let out a laugh from his gut. “See? It’s fine.” They straightened out their shirt, and hesitated. “I didn’t catch your name, but I assume it isn’t Gohan or Roshi.”

Barry straightened out completely in surprise. “You know Dragonball?”

With a shrug, they look embarrassed. “I dabble.”

“I… wow. Ha. I’m uh, I’m Barry by the way. Barry Allen.” He stuck his hand out for them to take. Their skin was cold under his touch.

“I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N….” He tried the name in his mouth, repeating it like it was something holy. “I like it.”

“Thank you,” The not-so-stranger-anymore blushed, releasing his grip. Barry felt his skin tingle from where their hand was. He felt it tenderly spread through his body and he felt warm. How, from just a simple grip? They were exhilarating to him. “I better get going. It’s nearing the time that buses stop going, so….” They trailed off, reluctantly. Barry felt the energy drain out of him. Oh. Of course.

“Well, uhm, thank you again for bringing him back.” Barry moved to the side as they made their way to the door. As they reached the handle, they stilled.

“Barry,” They started, and slowly turned, pink dusting their cheeks. “Would you maybe be interested in going for coffee sometime? Talk about Goku some more? The dog, not the anime character. Although we could totally talk about him too, I guess.” They rambled on, and Barry’s smile grew wider.

“I’d love to.”

“Really?” They asked dubiously. Barry nodded, and they lit up. “Oh. Okay. Maybe Saturday, at 9? Jitters?” Barry’s smile grew.

“Sounds perfect.” Exchanging goodbyes, and giving a wave to the half asleep dog, they left. Barry turned as soon as the door closed and jumped, pumping his arm in the air. The day may have had a shitty, tumultuous start, but the ending was perfect.

#imagine #Barry Allen #barry x reader #reader insert #mod pidge

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