#so he leaned more heavily into his puerto rican side

[aceforwhatevenisthis]

it’s the way that earth-42 miles can pronounce perfect spanish (he said Morales with no american accent) but our miles can’t

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Stark’s New Intern” Chapter 22

"Tell her be free, baby spread your wings Got your legs in the sky like a plane Let me guide that, I'm the pilot Can't nobody see you, 30 thousand feet On your knees in them Prada's Make the freaky shit come up out her…"

August Alsina—"Planes"

Twenty-Five Billion.

That was the annual revenue intake of Stark Enterprises.

The man himself was worth around thirteen-billion.

Erik sat on a stool inside a cavernous airplane hangar in Santa Ana watching Tony receive a touch up to the make-up he was wearing for the new Forbes cover he was shooting. The third richest man on the planet allowed a fussy ginger-haired man dab liquid foundation on Tony's heavily tanned face that was enduring a bit of sun damage from playing golf in Calabasas all weekend.

Erik scrolled through his work touchpad dropping notes to Pepper who was on vacation in New Zealand and wouldn't be back for three weeks. Although she was thousands of miles away, Pepper had a morning chat with Erik every day since the moment she left, and expected daily debriefings of Tony's antics.

"Turn to your left now Mr. Stark."

The photographer, Carmella, was a young Puerto Rican beauty with glossy blue-black tresses and sunburned dark pecan skin. She had been flirty with Erik when she first arrived at the hangar, parking her red jeep Wrangler near Erik's Porsche. The moment Tony arrived with his private driver, she got down to business, introducing herself and guiding Tony through the types of shots she wanted to take.

Tony's media team arrived to handle his make-up and hair and Erik hung back to make sure Boss Man stayed on schedule. They had to fly to Orlando, Florida soon after for a tech conference and Carmella was joining them for more candid shots.

Tony indulged her for she was one of the hottest photographers around and he wanted his newest Forbes cover to show a sophisticated side to himself and not just the playboy antics he was known for outside of the business. An hour into the shoot, the Forbes magazine interviewer showed up, a blue blood stiff who looked fifty but was only thirty when Erik checked his credentials before allowing him to approach Tony.

"Mr. Cormac, would you mind sitting over here," Erik said, directing him to an empty folding chair near him and the media team.

Tony switched out the dark blazer he wore for a lighter one at Carmella's suggestion and Erik witnessed their shared flirty banter. Tony could barely keep his eyes off of her legs that were gloriously displayed in the purple shorts and sandals she wore.

Tony served face in various contrived poses outside and inside his jet, and once they reached the allotted time given for the Forbes photographer, Cormac took over and interviewed Tony inside the plane. Erik sat across from them as Carmella snuck a few more candid shots.

Erik stepped off the plane to stretch his legs and Carmella followed him.

"You seem really serious," she said.

Erik looked up from his cell and eyed her.

"It's just work," he said.

Her eyes glanced over at the jet then back at him.

"So, Stark…is he single?"

Every damn time.

Erik gave a tired sigh.

"You see a ring on his finger?"

"No."

Erik looked back on his phone and texted Pepper an update on the interview.

"Attitude," she said.

He cut his eyes back to her and took in her face. She was a looker.

"Do you need to get anything from your car? We're leaving in thirty minutes," he said.

She nodded and walked away toward the private parking area.

The pilot arrived and Erik took his seat on the jet. Carmella sat across from him so that she could face Tony. Once they were in the air, Tony gave her a tour, and soon enough that tour ended in the back where his sleeping quarters were.

Cormac was busy typing on a laptop and seemed enamored of being on a plane with Tony. The security team assigned to the trip watched movies on individual chair screens.

Erik's touchpad chirped and the vid call came from Devika. He swiped his screen.

"Hey, is Tony available? He's not answering the jet phone."

"W'sup?"

"Sherrilyn Stein wants to speak with him asap. It's about the Monaco trip. Please have him call her right away."

"Will do."

He stared at her face. Her hair was flat ironed and styled a little differently. Her make-up looked overly done too.

"Where you going?" he asked.

"Girls Night."

"Hmmm-"

"What?"

"Nothin'. You look good."

Her eyes fluttered from the compliment but then she grew serious.

"How is it going?"

"Good. Pepper stays on me all the time. For someone on vacation, she can't seem to relax and leave work behind. When do you leave for your vacation?"

"I'm going to work part of Friday, but I officially start my time off Friday night. I have a red-eye to Vegas and my cousins will meet me there."

"Have fun."

"I will."

He stared at her. He missed hanging with her, but not being in a sexual relationship made them closer at work. He liked that change even though he could still look at her and feel all kinds of crazy urges. She looked happier too and whatever feelings went unspoken between them didn't cloud their interactions.

"I'll let you go. Pass the word to Tony."

He ended the call and slipped to the back of the jet. The soft hum of the plane obscured his footsteps. He wanted to be discreet, but the door was slid partially open and he could see Carmella riding Tony in reverse cowgirl. Her top was pushed up and her breasts bounced wildly as Erik's eyes dropped down to look at her vaginal lips sliding up and down Tony's sheathed erection. She began to slow grind on him and purposely pulled back her wet folds so Erik could see more. He felt his body reacting a little bit, but he pushed it aside and turned his head.

"Boss Man, you need to call Sherrilyn Stein," he said before walking away.

Ten minutes later, Carmella returned to her seat with a look of dissatisfaction on her face. When Cormac glanced at her, she quickly stood up and took the seat in the front right next to Erik. She seemed irritated. Cormac popped in some earbuds and turned off his overhead light. The humming vibration of the jet settled over everything. Erik put away his touchpad.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked.

She looked away from him.

"Sorry for asking," he said before staring out of the window.

"Rich guys can be pretty selfish," she grumbled.

"He didn't rock your world?" Erik teased.

She ignored his comment.

Erik smirked.

"He did have to take an important call."

"In the middle of fucking me?"

"Business is business."

"Rude is what it is."

"He's not a billionaire for nothing. He stays on the grind."

"Still rude."

"Y'all could've at least shut the door all the way."

"You liked what you saw though."

"I've seen a lot of pussy."

Carmella's neck tilted to the side.

"How old are you?"

"Old enough."

"You like being a smartass."

"I like being direct."

"I could tell you liked what you saw. You were staring hard."

She fidgeted in her seat.

"You still horny?"

He laughed softly when he saw the frustration still on her face. She didn't say anything, just tugged on the bottoms of her shorts.

"Lemme guess, he came and you didn't. Left you hanging."

Bingo.

The slight grimace on her attractive face told him everything. What a waste.

He decided to mess with her for fun.

"That's what you get for running after him."

"I didn't run after him. We had a connection."

"A connection. I see. You took the tour and then fell on his dick."

She couldn't hide the smile on her face.

"Money makes any dick attractive," he said.

"It's not just money, he's crazy gorgeous—"

"Was the dick good?"

She turned her body toward him.

"It was better than I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"A decent screw. Everything is heightened on a plane of course."

"Of course."

"You just sound so….so…."

"So what?"

"Smarmy."

"Hmmm. If you say so."

Her eyes took in his face and then she stared at his lips. He let the tip of his tongue dart out and then he looked away from her while stretching his legs. When he glanced at her again, she was looking at his chest, and then her eyes slid down to his crotch.

"He's probably done with his call by now. Maybe you should go back there and see if he can make you cum."

"Too much of a bother. I'm comfortable up here now."

"Bet your pussy is still swollen."

Her mouth fell open in shock and he watched a slow flush of color darken her already sun-bronzed complexion.

He let his hand slide on his crotch and he squeezed himself just enough so that she could catch it. She squirmed in her seat. He leaned closer to her. She was his height so he didn't have to shift too much.

"Show me your pussy. Lemme see if it's still juicy."

She gasped then, her eyes darting away from his for a second before she was staring at him again with her lips parted.

Staring at her face he saw wanton desire there. It was making him feel strong arousal. His dick strained against his slacks. The bulge was growing and Carmella could see it.

"Pull your shorts off. Lemme see that fat puss."

She whimpered and her hands unbuttoned her shorts. She pulled them down without fear. Everyone else was in the back of the jet.

"Yeah, that pussy still ready," he whispered, "what happened to your panties?"

"Still in the back," she panted.

Licking her lips, she watched him adjust his dick and then squeeze it.

"You left your panties on his bed?"

"Yes."

"Did you do that on purpose?"

He squeezed his bulge again and his dick rose up stiffer.

"No."

"I think you did, so you'd have an excuse to go back there. Do you want to go back there?"

She shook her head no.

"When you were riding his dick you pulled your pussy lips open so I could see all that pink. Open your pussy for me now."

She was quick to peel back her folds.

"Oh, you wet-wet. Is that for him or me?"

She squirmed harder in the seat.

He reached down and pinched her clit.

"Answer me."

"Yes...you."

Carmella had nice lush red lips and small dark eyes with black eyeliner giving her haughty 50's bedroom chic. From her dark hair to her dark eyes, and small dark thatch of pubic hairs at the top of her mound, she was sexy as hell and it didn't surprise him at all that Tony took to her so fast.

But she had flirted with Erik first, so now he was going to play with her a little longer.

He tugged on her clit and she gave a soft moan, her inner labia spreading open wider from her own deepening arousal. So warm and sticky.

"Play with your pussy. Lemme see how you touch yourself. You like me watching you. I know you do..,"

She rubbed her fingers around her engorged clit and he lifted the armrest between them so he could face her better. She kicked off her shorts and lifted her legs onto the wide seat. He rubbed himself and it turned her on. Her pussy became wetter.

He reached for the loose blanket that sat up against his hip and placed it between them in case anyone woke up and came toward them.

"You look wetter than when you were fucking Tony," he said.

Her eyes grew tight.

"You wanna see my dick?"

She nodded.

He lifted up and glanced behind his seat. They were good to go.

He unfastened his pants and pulled out his erection and Carmella's mouth really fell open and he saw her pussy contract and open up with more pink for him to see.

"Look how wet you are," he growled as he moved closer to her so she could see how big and stiff he was.

"Bet you wish you were riding me, huh?"

"Yeah!"

"Going up and down on my dick."

"Big Black dick…" she whimpered.

Oh. It was like that.

Could be a general observation. Or it could be some fetish shit.

At that moment, he didn't care. His pole was rock hard and ready to spit, and she had a needy pussy that was neglected by selfish dick and a man who could care less if she was satisfied.

He stroked himself slowly so she could savor every inch of what she wouldn't get. Twisting his fingers under the fat cap of his glans, he teased her further with his words until she was sweating and ready to cry.

"You'd let this Black dick nut in your pussy raw, huh? You seem like the type that would let me do that. Get deep in your pussy and make a mess…"

Her head pressed into the headrest and her toes lifted up. Her fingers ran up and down her slit teasing her clit. She was about to break and he wanted her to go down hard.

"Would I fit in your pussy? You look really tight. I'd hurt that pussy good. Stretch you all the way out. Bet you'd take it like a dirty bitch, huh?"

The slick sound of her fingers had his balls pressing up tight in his pants. Only his stiff shaft was visible in his hand. He fisted himself faster. He could see tears wetting her eyes. She wanted to explode on top of his dick

"You want me in your pussy?" he hissed low into her ear.

"Yeah! I want that big dick in me," she panted in his ear.

If he had access to a condom, he would probably lift her up and slam her down on his dick, but his belongings were under the plane.

"I'ma show you how much cum I'd put in your pussy," he grunted.

Holding his left hand down near his waist, he stroked hard on his dick while taking quick glances at her glistening wide-open folds.

"…show you how much cum…shit…oh, shit…all in your pussy girl!"

The rush at the base of his dick made his body jerk toward her and he splashed an obscene amount of cum into his hand. Grinding his teeth together to keep from yelling out loud, his ejaculate splashed onto her thighs. He reached down between her legs and smeared his hot semen all over her pussy. She exploded and he sat back to watch her pussy contract with his cum dripping all over her mound. Her body flopped in her seat and her eyes rolled back in her head as she worked her clit to milk every last earth-shattering orgasm out of her body. Keeping her mouth shut tight, the only sound that was heard was harsh inhales and exhales coming through her nose.

When she finally calmed down, she patted her vulva and played with his semen.

"Satisfied?" he asked.

Carmella laughed then covered her mouth. She licked cum from her fingers and pulled her shorts back on. Covering herself with the blanket, she watched him fasten his pants back up.

He stepped away from her and went to the restroom to urinate.

After washing his hands, he stared at himself in the mirror. He wanted to cum in Carmella's face. The compulsion to nut on her and have her down on her knees was strong. She had bounced on Tony's dick and tried to play Erik like some unlucky dweeb, but now the tables were turned. Tony had used her for quick stress relief, and he wanted to do the same just to teach her a lesson about teasing him as if Tony was worth a damn. It was petty.

When he returned to his seat, he had already lost interest in her. She slipped away to clean up her pussy and find her panties, and when she returned, he pretended to be asleep and leaned his head against the window. He felt her leaning her head on his shoulder for the rest of the flight.

When they landed in Orlando and got settled in their hotel rooms for the evening, Erik received a call on his cell phone. It was an overseas number he didn't recognize.

When he answered the phone, he recognized the voice.

"Mister Erik Stevens. I hope I haven't called you too late in the evening."

It was Francesco Grimaldo.

The Prince of Monaco.

Erik rubbed his chin.

"W'sup," he said.

"I'm ready for our rematch."

Erik stared out of his hotel room window. The midnight hour had him antsy.

"Bet," he said.

Chapter 23 HERE.

###

Tag List:

@fd-writes @soufcakmistress  @cherrystainedlipsbaby​

@tclaybon  @thadelightfulone​

@allhailqueennel​  @bartierbakarimobisson @cpwtwot​  @shookmcgookqueen​ @yoyolovesbucky​

@raysunshine78​ @the-illlestt​ @terrablaze514​  @l-auteuse​ @amirra88​ @jimizwidow​  @janelledarling​

@chaneajoyyy​  @sweetestdream92  @purple-apricots​  @blackpinup22​  @hennessystevens-udaku​

@scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade​ @bugngiz​ @stariamrry​  @honeytoffee​ @meilintheempressofdreams​

@tyees​  @eye-raq​  @writerbee-ffs​  @chocolatedream30​  @childishgambinaa​  @mygirlrenee​ @thewaysheis​—awkward

[artificialqueens]

Notebooks & Post-it’s - Chapter 3 - (Branjie) - Thankyoumissvanjie

A/N: so here ya go. Let the smut commence. That is all I have to say.

“What do you want?”

“We needs to talk. I see your lil sour patch children face, you gotta get it together. This moping and drinking is you being a stupid ho. Where that professional Canadian who don’t drink and smoke at?”

“What would you know about that?”

“I ain’t blind. So talk to me!”

“You’re the last person, I want to talk to,”

Brooke was seething. Her rage barely contained as she danced her way through “Queens Everywhere”, grateful that she in this particular choreography didn’t have to acknowledge Vanjie’s existence.

How she had gotten through the meet & greets, and danced her way through her numbers, was a mystery to her.

Everything inside her was filled with the memory of that kiss. Those lips.

How they had felt like coming home.

Her heart was screaming at her, beating out a rhythm of love and anguish. Her lips still tasted of Vanjie, and reminded her of all she had lost.

And it made her angry.

Why?

Brooke was barely hanging on by a thread, heavily helped along by a few shots of vodka and heavy smoking.

So why now?

They had broken up almost 6 months ago. Vanjie had clearly moved on, as she should. She wanted someone who could commit and Brooke was seemingly not that.

So why was she toying with Brooke and her feelings?

Did Vanjie think that Brooke didn’t care, that she was over her?

As the song finished and Brooke got into her final pose, she felt relief, fear and anger. She kept her pageant smile on her face as she bowed and thanked the audience. Counting down the seconds until she could return to the safety of her dressing room.

Reminding herself that this time she would lock that door.

Yet, the moment the curtain closed, she was pulled in four different directions. Brandon Voss wanted to go over the Werq schedule, while Nina wanted to check up on her, and Yvie had an idea for a new number they could do together.

It meant that she got back to her dressing room later than she wanted.

Thankfully it was blessedly empty, which made the process of getting out of drag quick and quiet.

Removing her makeup had always felt slightly therapeutic to her, as it made her transformation from Brooke to Brock became complete.

Having talked to Brandon and Yvie, Brock more calm, but here in the quiet of the dressing room, his mind filled with snapshots of what had happened.

How they had been so aggressive with each other, pushing and pulling, biting and grabbing.

The familiarity of Vanjie’s lips.

The complete and utter euphoria of holding that perfect and small body in his arms once again.

How Vanjie had kept her eyes closed for just a second longer after Brock had ended the kiss.

“Fuck. I am such an idiot” Brock sighed into his hands.

“Sure boo, I coulda told you that. Why you be thinkin’ it now, tho’?”

The unmistakable sound of José’s voice filled the room.

————————

“Sure boo, I coulda told you that. Why you be thinkin’ it now, tho’?”

Seeing Brock startle was more satisfying than he thought possible. The sudden jerk of his whole body as he swivelled around on his chair, mirroring the position José has found him in a couple of hours ago.

However, this time neither of them could hide behind multiple layers of makeup, padding and different names.

They were just José and Brock here.

“Jesus, Papi. What the fuck?” José’s heart skipped a beat at the nickname - he hadn’t heard that since they had broken up. It made his chest fill up with an emotion that was too difficult to analyse now.

Brock’s face froze as he realised what he had just said, making José blurt out the first and best thing he could come up with, so the nickname wouldn’t be played off as a joke.

“Why you be skulking down here in this lil stardom dungeon. You too good for the rest of us, now that you got a smart blinging crown and all them coins, Hytes?”

He was stalling, he knew that. But actually talking with Brock about that kiss and what the fuck it meant, was daunting.

“Voss wanted to speak. Why do you care?” The mask was back in place as Brock looked at him with a disinterested look.

Fuck.

“Just talking, mami. Why so tense?”

“Don’t”

“Or what? I ain’t scared of you, Miss thing.”

“What do you want?”

“We needs to talk. I see your lil sour patch children face, you gotta get it together. This moping and drinking is you being a stupid ho. Where that professional Canadian who don’t drink and smoke at?”

“What would you know about that?”

“I ain’t blind. So talk to me!”

“You’re the last person, I want to talk to,”

“Well I don’t want to look at your moping face either, but we don’t always get what we want, Mary… so suck it up”

“Shut up.”

“Bitch, what did I just tell you. We need to be adulting instead this middle school drama.”

“No. Shut. Up.”

“Or what? What’d ya gon do, mama? Yell at me? I know how that goes, I ain’t scared of that, so… what?”

______________________

With two quick strides Brock was in front of José, making his back hit the closed door. He could feel his blood boiling, as he looked down into José’s eyes - towering over the smaller man.

Brock banged his hands into the door on either side of the tiny Puerto Rican’s face - effectively caging him in.

“I said. Shut. Up.” The words were hissed, and if asked Brock couldn’t even tell you why he did what he did next. But as José looked defiantly into his eyes, a surge of heat filled his stomach and with no thought for the aftermath Brock leaned down and kissed him with all he had.

In a split second the world turned technicolour and all Brock could feel and think was José, José, José.

His small hands were grabbing the red sweatshirt that had become synonymous with Brooke Lynn Hytes, trying to gain the upper hand.

But Brock had height and size in his favour, as he crowded the younger queen, trying to pour all his hunger, want and fury into the biting kiss.

José gave as good as he got, as his hands roamed underneath Brock’s shirt. Nails clawing at his chest, leaving behind angry red marks.

The kisses were bruising, teeth biting.

The only thing that could be heard was the desperate grunts and moans of the two of them.

Brock’s hands wandered down to José tight jeans, knowing that he had a tendency to go commando after a gig.

“Brock… what are you?”

“Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.”

For a few seconds all the existed was José’s eyes as Brock stared into them, searching for an answer. This was the edge. And either they would stop this now or they would plunge into the deep end of something they both knew was stupid.

A minuscule nod was all Brock needed as his hand grabbed José hard cock. Slowly but surely working his hand up and down, spreading the slight amount of precum that had gathered at the tip.

“Fuck”

The soft gasps coming from José took Brock back to a different time, a time where these gasps weren’t tainted by history and anger.

Back when this was a sign of love and not… whatever clusterfuck of bad decisions this was.

He started to kiss his way down José’s neck, biting and licking. Leaving behind his mark as a way to prove that this had actually happened.

“Don’t move.”

Brock stared intently at José, as his left hand held the smaller man’s hip in a bruising hold, pushing his back flat against the door.

He let go of his dick, instead opting to gracefully get down to his knees, pulling José’s pants down in the process, leaving them around his ankles.

Brock looked up into his eyes, seeing a mixture of emotions that were difficult to identify. But his dilated pupils betrayed how far gone José really was.

They might not have been good as a couple, but they sure knew their way around each other’s bodies.

Leaning closer to his goal, softly blowing air onto the tip of his cock, Brock detoured before his lips made contact and instead placed wet and filthy kisses on the soft and caramel coloured hips. Biting and sucking. Wanting to leave as many marks as possible.

He was waiting. Knowingly.

“Fuck. Brock… plea-“

Before José had even finished his plea, Brock took him in his mouth, almost groaning with the pure pleasure of getting to do this again.

Shit, he had missed this.

He took him deep and sucked hard. Wanting to dominate, needing to be the only thought going through the smaller man’s mind.

His left hand kept pushing José against the wall, making him immobile against the pleasure that Brock was bestowing upon him.

The groans and moans didn’t seem to reach his ears as he focused on his task. The feel and taste of his ex making his mind flood with memories.

Hands found their way into his hair, pulling and gripping, trying to direct Brock, to make him go deeper and faster.

Not that he listened. He was in control. He knew how to play José. Knew what made him tick better than most.

He also didn’t want this end, knowing that this was an improbability in itself, and that it would mean nothing to José, the moment it was over.

As the moans and groans became louder and mixed with the sucking sounds of Brock, he knew that his partner was getting close. So he pinched the skin on his hip and took his cock deeper, almost choking.

“Fuck, shit- I’m”

The sudden spurt of salty liquid in his mouth made Brock swallow, milking José for all he was worth as he slowly turned soft in his mouth.

As Brock leaned back, mouth once again empty he looked up. Staring into those beautiful brown eyes. Pupils blown, breathe hard.

I love you

Was what Brock really wanted to say. But he wasn’t a complete idiot.

“That was a mistake.” Just a regular idiot.

“... yeah. Felt good tho’. Fuck, mami.”

José smiles wryly down at him, grabbing the hand at his hip, signalling to Brock, that he should get back up.

Which he did. And in the process of getting back onto his feet he felt his protective armour clicking back into place. The wall was back and the fire that had run through his blood mere minutes ago was replaced with an icy flow of indifference.

“This cannot happen again.”

“Why you tellin’ me that, mami? You the one who instigaga- ininist… you just sucked my dick dry and you making me out to be the bad guy. No ma’am. This ain’t me. This you, Miss Hytes.”

“I don’t care who started it. I am ending it”

“Seems to be a specialty of yours, boo.”

“Fuck you!”

“You just did.”

[thatesqcrush]

Love on an Elevator Pt.2

Barba. Reader. An elevator and then some. CW: NSFW for language, sex and spanking.

Tags: @lifeisbetterwithbarba

****

“Oh for fucks sake,” Barba exclaimed. He reached into his pocket and tried to dial his phone while hitting the emergency button on the elevator panel. His phone beeped - no signal.

“No signal either,” you state looking at your phone.

“How can I help you?” a voice came over the elevator speakerphone.

“Hi, this ADA Barba and detective Y/N - we are stuck in the elevator. Sergeant Benson is upstairs,” stated Barba.

“Don’t worry - we will get you out ASAP,” the voice on the other side replied.

“Well it looks like we’re stuck here for a bit,” you stated. “Might as well get comfortable.” You plopped onto the ground and crossed your legs.

Inwardly you were squealing. Alone with Barba. This would fuel your fantasies for weeks. You watched him in the blue light. He appeared ethereal.

“I guess I could keep prepping you in the meantime.”

“Por favor, can we please not?” You plead. “I mean, you can,” you corrected yourself. “I’m sorry. This is all new to me; this is hard.”

Barba sat next to you. He smiled gently, and you had to refrain from resting your hand on his face, wanting to wipe the worry lines from his eyes. “Just doing my job.”

You nodded. “I know.”

“¿Donde aprendiste a hablar español?” Barba asked, reaching up to remove his tie completely. He unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt and you could see his undershirt and a few of his chest hairs.

“My high school boyfriend was Puerto Rican. So I learned Spanish. Then I studied abroad in college. In Spain, Mallorca in fact. After graduation, I lived in Spain for two years before coming back to join the academy.” Barba hummed in appreciation.

“You think it’ll take long for them to get us out? You reached up and unclipped your hair, letting your hair fall down. You tussled your hair, massaging your head.

You felt Barba’s gaze on you. “See something you like?” you teased with a wink.

If the lights were working correctly, you would have seen Barba blush.

Barba cleared his throat and stood up. “We don’t have time for this,” groaned Barba. “I hope this doesn’t take long.” While he was equally as pleased to be stuck in the elevator with you, it just wasn’t a good time with the upcoming trial. He needed to focus. The case was tough. You were still pretty green. He needed you in tip top shape.

But close to you like this... he couldn’t focus. His eyes made way down to your exposed collarbone. He wondered what it would be like to taste you there, nibble and leave a love bite. He groaned, pushing the thought away - what would you want with him, someone 12 years your senior.

Barba hit the emergency call button again. “Hello? How long is this going to take?” he asked exasperated.

The intercom sounded, “We are working on it as fast as we can. But it may be another hour or two. FDNY is on their way with maintenance.”

“An hour or two?” Barba asked incredulously.

“I think I have a granola bar and a water in my bag. Maybe some candy,” you stated.

“No thanks,” Barba replied, sitting back down next to you, shoulder to shoulder, one leg outstretched and the other pulled up to his chest.

The elevator seemed small and warm suddenly. His cologne wafted over you; scents of bergamot and sandalwood filled your nostrils and you could feel your panties dampen. You looked over at him and could see the hint of a 5 o’clock shadow. You wondered how his scruff would feel against your thighs.

‘Make a move’ your inner-self ordered. You giggled. Barba looked over at you, brows furrowed. He licked his lips and that was all it took. “What’s so fu—?”

He never got to finish. You leaned over and pressed your lips against his. Barba groaned, and opened his mouth, returning your kiss. He stretched out his leg and pulled you into his lap. His hands ran up and down your thighs, squeezing your ass as you hungrily kissed each other. His tongue danced with yours and you could taste a combination of coffee and mint. You ground yourself against Barba and you could feel his cock harden. Barba lowered his mouth to your neck, placing feverish kisses down to your collarbone, where he sucked gently, causing you to grind further down.

A voice boomed on the intercom. It was Liv. “Barba, Y/N - are you guys alright? We are getting you out as soon as possible.”

Breaking away, you looked into his green eyes, running your hands through his hair. Barba smirked.

“We’re good Liv,” you replied before kissing Barba again.

You grabbed his hands and placed them on your breasts, which felt heavy against your clothes. You kissed him again, and Barba squeezed your breasts. He slipped his hand under your shirt and tugged your bra down, moving to pinch your nipples. You sighed in content, lifting your shirt and reaching around to unclasp your bra. You moved Barba’s hands and removed the offending piece of clothing. Barba lowered his mouth to your breasts, cupping one mound of flesh and running his tongue over your pebbled flesh. You sighed contently and began to mutter nonsensically.

You reached down, palming Barba’s erection through his pants. “I want you,” you whispered.

“I am yours, cariño,” Barba breathed. At that moment, the elevator jerked and the lights came back on. The elevator began to move up again and you scrambled off Barba, hastily looking for your bra. You found it in the corner and you shoved it in your bag.

“Y/N...” Barba began. You looked up at him, blushing, suddenly at a loss for words.

“I... I...” You sputtered.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened to Liv, a guy who you presumed was maintenance and two members of the FDNY.

“Hey! Are you two okay?” Liv asked.

“Never better, right Y/N?” Barba replied looking at you with a small smile.

You nodded, placing your hands on your hips. “So back to prep I guess?”

“I think that’s enough for one night,” said Liv. “Maybe pick up in the morning. Maybe at Barba’s office?”

“Or now,” you countered, turning around facing Barba. “I really think we were onto something,” you winked. “But maybe we will take the stairs.”

��

Twenty minutes later you and Barba were in a cab heavily making out like teenagers under the guise of heading to 1 Hogan Place. Instead, you both were heading to your apartment which wasn’t far off.

“You’re incredible,” Barba whispered in your ear. “I’ve wanted this... you... for awhile now. I just didn’t think...”

“Oh no, no. Como te necesito,” you replied, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. The cab pulled to a stop in front of your apartment and Barba handed a fifty to the driver. “Keep the change.”

Once inside, you bounced up the stairs. Barba appreciated you from behind and quickly followed, giving your butt a a small smack. You squeaked looking over your shoulder and Barba gave you a smoldering look. After letting the two of you inside your apartment, you made a quick show of taking off your skirt, leaving you clad in your shirt and black thong. Barba picked you up, wrapping your legs around him.

“Bedroom, to the right,” you ordered in between kisses. You leaned over and began sucking on Barba’s earlobe and he groaned in appreciation. You two landed in a heap on your bed. Barba continued grabbing handfuls of your ass, while you peppered him with kisses. He played with the thin fabric that separated your two cheeks, running it through his fingers.

“You’re so wet,” he growled, flipping you over onto your back.

“All you,” you cooed, sitting up slightly to take off your shirt. Barba sat up, taking your just about naked body in.

“Preciosa, tan bella,” he whispered, admiring you. You reached down to your thong, slipping your hand under the thin fabric and rubbed yourself shamelessly without ever breaking eye contact.

“Fuck,” Barba grunted. He stood up and removed his shirt and pants. You could see the bulge in his boxers and it made you more wet. Barba stood at the foot of the bed and pulled you by your legs. Kneeling, he draped your legs over his shoulders. Barba inhaled you, and began to run his tongue through the thin material tasting you.

“Rafael...” you whined and Barba nipped your thigh in response.

He used his fingers to push your thong aside, tasting you as you are. “Hmmmm” he hums, his nose pressed firmly on your clit.

You cry out again as he continues his oral fixation, eventually using his fingers to thrust in and out of you. You writhe under his hand, your hips rising to fuck his face.

Barba reaches his free arm over to keep you steady. He feels you tighten around his fingers and he quickens his manipulations.

“You like that?” He asks, his tongue flicking your clit.

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck, fuck, don’t stop,” you moan while cupping your breasts and tugging on your nipples.

“I won’t stop cariño. Cum for me darling,” Barba breaths.

“Rafael,” you wail as you come all over his hand. He looks up at you, smirking, pleased with himself.

“You taste fucking delicious,” he compliments, sucking on his fingers. He dropped his boxers and you smiled at the sight of his cock. Barba stroked himself and you could see some precum dripping.

“I want to taste you,” you sigh. “Please.

I want to suck your cock.” You roll over and reach over to take his cock into your mouth. Barba groans and runs his hands through your hair. You let him out of your mouth to spit into your hand and take him back into your mouth, using your other hand to stroke him and cup his balls.

“Coño,” Barba swore. “Such a good little cock sucker.”

You hummed at the compliment and the vibrations caused Barba to twitch in your mouth. You continued to suck and flitted your tongue at the spot where the head meets the shaft.

“Keep that up and I will cum in that pretty little mouth detective.” Barba groaned.

“Oh no, counselor,” you breathed. “You’re going to cum in me.”

You push Barba back onto the bed, climbing over him. You two kiss hungrily and Barba smacked your ass. You squealed in delight.

“Condom...in the... drawers,” you pant. Barba reaches into your nightstand and grabs a condom, making a mental note of your vibrator for next time.

“All fours,” he orders and you quickly oblige. You hear foil tear open and the sound of the rubber rolling on.

Barba kneels behind you, steadying himself. He rubs his cock up and down your entrance, teasing you.

“Please...” you beg. “Fuck me, please.”

“Who am I to deny you, cariño?” Barba replies, guiding himself into you. You both moan at him filling you. While he wasn’t the largest man you’d been with, he was certainly the thickest and you nearly came at the sensation alone. He began to thrust into you, the rhythmic sound of skin on skin filling the room. You frantically grabbed at the pillows in front of you.

“Oh God, Rafael, fuck you feel so good. Yes, yes, yes,” you chant. “Harder, don’t stop.”

Barba thrusted harder, smacking your ass with each thrust. “You feel so good,” he crooned. “So wet, so tight.” You moaned in pleasure. He wrapped a hand in your hair and pulled gently.

“I am going to...” warns Barba, his thrusts becoming more frantic.

You bite your lip, trying to keep yourself from screaming. Barba reaches around to rub you to climax.

“Rafael fuck, I am going to cum...” you babble incoherently. “Y/N!” shouts Barba, stiffening behind you as he reaches his own climax. You both stay there, basking in the moment.

Barba peppered your back with kisses. “That was wonderful.” He pulled himself out and you whimpered in protest. Barba laid on his back and pulled you to him, covering your bodies with your sheet. He kissed your temple as you stroked his chest hair.

“I’ve wanted that to happen for a long time,” you sighed happily.

“Same mi amor. I just didn’t think you’d reciprocate. I am so much older than you.”

“Listen viejito,” you tease. “I know what I like, and what I like is you. A whole fucking lot.”

Barba chuckled. “Rest up. We have prep in the morning.” You groaned and kissed Barba deeply before the two of you fell asleep in each other’s arms.

{FIN}

{Translation: Donde aprendiste a hablar español? = Where did you learn to speak Spanish? Preciosa, tan bella = Precious, so beautiful. Coño is slang for damn. Viejito - slang for little old man}

[wonderlandmind4]

Delicate Stages Chp 16

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x OFC Ana Rios

Summary: Bucky Barnes agrees to participate in Deprogramming Sessions. What he gets is not anything like he expected.

Warnings: Language, mild anxiety, trigger words an over use of coffee consumption. 

Words: 4.6k+ apparently I can’t make a short chapter. Enjoy :) @justreadingfics

@nerdyandproud9 @buffy-morgendorffer-01

***

Ana remained in her room for most of the day. Her anger at Bucky subsided, admitting to herself that maybe she was a little rash in reacting the way she did. It wasn’t Bucky fault for questioning her like he did. She understands realistically, despite saying how much Bucky does trust her, his underlying lack of it in people is deeply rooted and doesn't just disappear after a few months. The crushing remorse on Bucky's face had pierced through her heart, made her own stomach twist in knots. 

Bucky wasn’t aware of her brother, of course he would be utterly inquisitive to see if Ana had in fact performed a Deprogramming Session prior to him. He would want to know the success rate of it. Bucky had zero knowledge of Alex, hence why most of her anger had dissipated. At least towards him. 

Her anger still burns hot towards Agent Sharp. As much as Ana would loved to find him and land a solid punch on his smug face, she doesn't. Instead, Ana channels that anger through boxing later that evening. Thankfully, no one is at the gym when she arrives, and she throws punches as hard as she can against the bag. She unleashes her strength, quick jabs, harsh kicks, until her muscles are burning with extortion and sweat is dripping down her body. 

Ana pants heavily, chest heaving up and down, then sinks to the floor from exertion. Light rattling echoes throughout the empty gym, overhead lights flickering. When Ana pushes herself up to look behind her, the row of punching bags are shaking, chains quaking. Allowing her eyes to fall shut, she slowly inhales while counting. Focusing her energy in, she wills herself to calm down. Hones it in until her heartbeat is one steady rhythm, then exhales. The rattling chains cease, the lights steady.

Shaking out her arms as she stands, Ana rips the boxing gloves off. She flexes her hands, her own energy making her blood tingle to the tips of her fingers. Physical effect of her energy hasn’t happened for a long time; clearly her emotions played a factor into the the slight outburst.

It's been hours since she’s been by herself, no one bothering to check in on her. Ana briefly wonders if Bucky told people she didn’t want to be bothered, or if her own energy was radiating off of her that thickly. Either way, she's grateful for it, for she doesn't run into anyone on the way back to her room. She spares a glance towards Bucky's room, the door shut, and wonders if he understands why she requested space.

Bringing up her past, especially her brother's past is a darkness that will always haunt her. It's been seven years since his passing, but Ana has been living with her guilt for just as long. Jared has no idea what he was even talking about, and to fill Bucky's head just to play a malicious game is despicable.

Ana reaches her own bedroom, pulling the little specifically made pin key from her shoe to unlock it. After she showered, taking her time and allowing the searing water and steam to calm her, she finally emerges from her solitude. The delicious aroma of food cooking on the stove fills her nose, makes her mouth water from hunger. She did just spend a good ninety minutes burning her own energy. Vision is in the kitchen pulling out plate while Steve and Wanda are lounging on the couches, engrossed in a movie. Ana opens her mouth to speak though she’s immediately cut off.

"Arroz con gandules." Vision answers her unspoken question. "With tostones."

Ana perks up. "What's the occasion?"

"Someone got invested in someone else's favorite dish." Steve informs

Ana turns her attention to him, confused. Steve shoots her a smirk, like he knows something she doesn't. Wanda raises her eyebrows, shrugging innocently, her expression anything but. Once again, Ana goes to ask a question when Vision beats her to speaking.

"Sergeant Barnes requested you meet him on the patio after your shower." Vision informs her.

She begins to putting the specific dinner together. Ana takes two steps back peering through the large window, and Bucky is in fact, sitting outside. The sunset colors the sky in bright oranges and soft pinks, a stunning background for the man offering her a tentative smile. It's the nervous biting of his bottom lip that makes Ana move her feet. 

"Thanks." Ana says to Vision.

She ignores the two pairs of eyes, burning with curiosity, as she passes them. The glass door slides open easily, stepping out into the crisp air, and sliding the door shut behind her. Ana spots Ezra stretched out on the patio soaking up the last bit of sunlight for the day. She pauses to bend over, scratching his ear, then opts to sits the chair on Bucky’s right. His hands are hidden under the table. she quirks an eyebrow.

"Did you research popular Puerto Rican dishes?" Ana inquires.

Bucky shrugs sheepishly. "Possibly."

She rubs her lips together to ward off a smile. "Did you cook it yourself?"

"Maybe. Maybe with some help."

"Are you trying to make up to me by cooking my favorite dish that also happens to be popular in my heritage?"

"Yes."

Ana can't help the swell of her heart. She can no longer contain her smile. "Bucky-"

"This too." Bucky cuts her off. He brings his hand from under the table. 

Ana's mouth drops. He slides a giant jar of Nutella over to her. "You didn't have to get this. Or make dinner."

"I just wanted to make sure we're alright." He says quietly, he seems bashful. "You're becoming one of the closest friends I have, Ana. I don’t want to mess that up, but I really...I really felt like I fucked it all up today. That's my own fault."

Ana reaches over to gently touch her fingers to his wrist. "It's not, Bucky. You didn't know, how could you have? You didn't fuck anything up."

Bucky drops his eyes to the table. "So you weren't avoiding me the entire day? I just imagined that?"

"No, that-" Ana blows out a breath. "That wasn't avoiding you. That was me...coping." Bucky looks up, perplexity in his gaze. "I can get pretty hot headed when it comes to emotions."

"Haven't noticed." He quips, like he can't help himself.

A breathy chuckle startles out of her mouth. Ana lifts her hand gently tugging on the end of his hair, dropping her hand back down. "As I was saying. I can get pretty passionate, and some times it's best for me to be alone. Get it out and process why I'm so angry or hurt. I was more angry at Jared than I was hurt by you. I was pissed because he made you think..."

Ana shakes her head. She is still reeling over that. "You know I lost my brother. It was one of the hardest things I ever had to go through after my parents. For Jared to corner you, fed you false information about something so personal, giving you an implication. It pissed me off. That isn't your fault, Buck. That's Jared being a prick as usual."

Bucky nods in understanding. "He really seems hate you, Ana. How come?"

Leaning back in her seat, Ana sighs, "I honestly have no idea. One day we were fine. We had a good work relationship, you know? Chatted daily, worked on some projects together. The next day," She shrugs, "he just started hating me. I couldn't tell you why."

"I don't like him."

Ana notices the way Bucky's jaw clenches. Makes the line of the bone look even more strong and profound. The icy tone of his voice makes Ana glad she's not on the receiving end of it. A strange fire burns blue embers eyes, shadows the hard set to his mouth. It clicks in Ana's head.

"That's a lie. You hate him." She calls him out. "You hate him because he hates me."

"Not to mention he is a complete jackass."

Ana laughs. "I appreciate your hatred on my behalf, but he's harmless. No need to get hostile, Fullmetal."

He tilts his head. "That's a new one." 

"Fullmetal Alchemist. He’s this kid with a metal arm and leg." Ana explains. "It's a popular Japanese animated show. Which now we need to watch because you'd really appreciate it."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Dinner is ready!" Wanda calls from inside, voice muffled through the glass.  

"We're okay though?" Bucky checks. The insecurity seeps into his tone.

"Yeah, we're fine." She reassures him. They both get up from the table, Ana grabbing the jar. There's only one store that sells the fifty ounce size. “Did you go to Luna Bakery for this?"

"Oh." Bucky says lightly, sliding the door open. He steps aside to allow Ana to pass him before he follows. "Right. The guy at the counter told me to give you something, but I misplaced it. Sorry."

He doesn't sound sorry. Ana narrows her eyes suspiciously. "What was it?"

"I don't really remember." He answers, taking a plate Vision hands him and giving it to Ana.

There's a quiet snort from behind Ana. She turns and Steve is right behind her, abruptly looking away. His amused expression is a sign he knows exactly what Bucky had misplaced. She quirks her eyebrows at Steve but he simply shrugs, the shit. Ana spots Wanda on the other side of the kitchen island, snickering into her hand.

"What was it?" Ana whispers.

"Beats me." Steve evades quietly.  

"Annie, get your food before it turns cold." Bucky tells her, gently grabbing her elbow with his left hand and pulling her in front of him. He releases his hold quickly.

"Stop calling-"

"You that, I know, I know, darling. Eat up."

Ana doesn’t find out from anyone what the baker wanted to give her. She gets distracted by the taste of the  food that is pretty close to how her mother used to make it. She can't believe Bucky took the time to make her favorite dish and go to the bakery in town. All to make sure they were good and everything forgiven. She's abruptly struck by how good of a heart Bucky has, she already came to this conclusion, she only hopes one day soon, he can see that himself.

Later, as Ana pulls the trash bag out of the bin, something flutters to the tile. Upon closer inspection, the paper has a series of ten numbers and a name on it in vaguely familiar handwriting. It's a phone number. The thing the baker gave to Bucky to be passed along to Ana was his phone number. She stares at it for a moment. Then she picks it up, crumbles it and puts the paper back into the trash bag. She ties it up, and throws it away.

***

"So." Ana starts curtly. 

She hands Bucky his coffee mug, watching as the bridge of his nose scrunches up. As if he anticipates what she is going to say; and he calls her the mind reader.

"Stage two?" Bucky asks knowingly.

Ana decided to proceed with the next stage, given that Bucky had two good days in a row. His energy remained steady, calm. He seemed to have slept through both nights, as did Ana. She’s confident Bucky is ready to take on the next step. She believes in him, knows that he can conquer this. That same drive burns bright within him, lighting his eyes up with a fight, even if he isn’t aware of it.

"Yes. If you're alright with that, but I think you're ready." She tells him. She slowly sips her own coffee, gauging his reaction.

Bucky eyes his left hand, twisting his wrist around twice. His muscular chest rises and falls steadily as he takes grounding breaths. When he looks back at her, she sees nothing but determination.

"I'm ready." Bucky states confidently.

***

Once the flimsy, leather restraints are strapped over Bucky's arms, Ana ignoring his glare of warning, she takes her spot by the table. She knows if something were to really happen, there are more than the belts to keep him restrained. Bucky probably already figured it out, in fact, Ana knows he has, but there is more protection hidden in the room. The table Ana leans against is a testament to that. The bracelet Tony gave her is in her back pocket, just in case, and Ana doesn't solely wear her heeled boots just for a fashion statement.

Someone shifts in front of the door, Ana lets her eyes float over to Max. He is one of the only guard she had hand picked to be on watch. She's known Max for years now. She trusts he won't pull his trigger unless directly ordered by Ana. When they make eye contact, Max subtly lifts his chin up. Ana glances up and over her shoulder, spotting Simon Mills through the second floor window. 

Gritting her teeth, she focuses her attention back on Bucky. He is staring at her. Powder blue irises a shade darker, briefly wonders if those shadows in his eyes is due to his anxiety. Ana offers a reassuring, confident grin. He takes another deep breath, returns her smiles and nods.

"Remember, Bucky," Ana reminds him, "if you aren't hundred percent ready, I won't proceed."

"I am." Bucky promises with conviction.

The air flutters around her skin, caressing her with a slight tinge. She can feel his nerves, but she takes his word for it. Ana turns her back on him, only to pull a small gold key from her belt. She unlocks a thin drawer embedded in the table, pressing her thumb to the little keypad as well. The table top slides open, pulling out the red book with the black star. It feels heavy in her hands, the weight of what it contains settles uncomfortably in her stomach. God she wishes she could burn this horrible journal, she will once she memorizes the last two words.

Ana carefully opens the book, flipping to the page that holds the horrible Winter Soldier trigger words. Every crinkle of the pages nearly makes her cringe. Slowly, Ana faces front again. She notices Bucky's eyebrows twitch, his throat bobbing, but he remains focused. He nods once. Ana drops her eyes to the first word briefly, then looks up. She never thought that taking Russian in school would lead her to speaking these words fluently.

"Zhelaniye." She utters the word; hates how harsh it sounds falling from her lips. Ana keeps a careful watch on his expression. Bucky inhales another deep breath, eyes locked with hers. His head twitches just slightly. Ana waits a good twenty seconds, slow but not slow enough, before she says the next trigger word.

"Rzhavyy."

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut briefly, giving in. He cracks his eyes open, just enough to gaze at her through his eyelashes, like he is forcing himself to focus. His chest rises and falls a more rapidly. His bottom lip is trembling, and his left hand grips the edge of the armrest so hard it screeches under the weight. 

Those are the reactions that make Ana snap the book shut, leaving it on the table. She cautiously advances towards him, hands held open to convey that she won't make any sudden movements. She can sense the mental pain and terror radiating off his skin now, tainting the air. Ana takes another step towards him, can see the fear in his half lidded eyes, when Bucky speaks.

"Don't." He whispers harshly, his flesh fingers flexing. "Don't come closer."

Ana halts. "Bucky."

Bucky's eyebrows twitch, he shakes his head. "Don't wanna hurt you."

"You won't." Ana promises. "I'm not continuing." She slides her right foot closer, then her left. "Tell me what's happening, what are you feeling?"

Ana's eyes shift to his left arm, the metal looking blurry, as if...as if he's shaking. Silver plates shifting, clicking together. Slowly, she stretches her right hand out, fingers just inches away from his metal knuckles. Bucky makes a jerky movement, his arm kept in place by the restraints. Ana nearly retracts her fingers from being startled by the movement.

"Don't touch it." Bucky warns lowly. "I- I feel..."

Realization dawns in Ana's brain. She would be lying if she said she hadn't noticed the way Bucky acts around her when she's too close to his left arm. How he always keeps it pressed to his side, tries not to voluntarily touch her with his hand. How he winces when his reflexes react and he uses his left arm. Bucky has been cautious this whole time around her.

"Are you going to hurt me?" Ana asks, moving her hand forward.

"I-I don't know." His metal fingers dig into the chair.

"Yes you do. Bucky, do you want to hurt me?"

"No." His arm is quivering harder.

"Then you won't. I trust you. Talk to me, Bucky."

Bucky shakes his head again, jerky little movements. He takes a ragged breath in, squeezing his eyes shut. "Discomfort. In my head. Sending signals."

"To your body?" Ana finally places her palm over his fist. The steel cold, almost stinging her skin.

Bucky's eyes snap open, usually so incredibly blue, are murky with haunted memories. Ana watches his gaze flicker into another emotion, and she realizes with a start, it's fear. Fear of what, exactly, is unknown to her. Fear that he doesn't think he can get through this? Fear that he's back with Hydra? Fear that Ana will fail to help him now that he knows she failed her brother?

"Ana." Bucky exhales, his voice deep, gritty in his throat. "It will hurt you."

The phrasing of what he said doesn't sit right in her stomach, but Ana has another thing to focus on at the moment. She places her open left hand firmly against his chest. She feels the dark energy surrounding his body, buzzing closer to skin, poisoning the air around them. She feels a prickling laced within it, as if little needles were stabbing at them. Ana thinks it's the mechanical workings of Bucky's left arm. The metal slates shift minutely as he involuntarily flexes, though both arms are trembling again.

Concentrating on the charged air surrounding them, Ana inhales slowly. Usually, she'll close her eyes, focus solely on the energy, but with terror ridden irises peering helplessly into hers, she keeps her gaze locked with Bucky. Ana sends whatever sense of positivity she has his way. Sends her feelings of trust, of courage, of reassurance to him instead. Takes that energy he's omitting and twists into something that is more relaxed, calm. 

"What-" Bucky breathes. Ana can feel it shift the air. "What are you doing?"

"Trying you calm your nervous energy." Ana informs him softly. "I believe you won't hurt me, so I'm trying to convey that to you. Tell me what's going on in your mind, if you can."

"Confusion." He utters with a frown. His eyes are beginning to clear a little.

"You said your brain is sending signals?"

"I'm half expecting to break the belts."

"Strong little Winter Snowflake." Ana murmurs.

A strangled noise falls from Bucky's lips. "You're distracting me."

"Good." She feels the air beginning to shift out of darkness.

"You shouldn't be this close." He warns. The trembling of his arms has stopped altogether.

"You won't hurt me."

"How do you know?"

"You would have already done it."

Bucky's clenched metal fist finally drops. Fingers limp against the armrest. Ana takes her chance to squeeze his hand. He doesn't return the gesture, and she figures it's because he feels defeated. She doesn't understand why, since he just got through another session without too much incident. 

"I think you have too much trust in me, darlin’." Bucky whispers. 

"I think you have too little trust in yourself, Snowflake."

Bucky chuckles. He chuckles and the mood in the air shifts abruptly. Ana catches herself on the armrest for a moment, not expecting that, but she quickly uses the energy to fully expel the dark one. Bucky's heart beats beneath her palm, now steady, if a little fast, beat. Ana smiles despite herself, despite the mood they were just in a few seconds ago.

"How'd you feel?" She inquires.

"A little better. A little...nervous."

"Of what?"

"Hurting you." He repeats. His is voice so soft Ana nearly misses it.

"Bucky-"

Bucky shakes his head once more. His eyes are shinning with clarity now. It makes the knot forming in Ana's stomach subside. She wasn't scared of him or his arm, just his energy was making her uneasy. 

"This arm has done so many things, Ana." Bucky confesses, finally breaking his gaze. He looks down at his fingers.

"You have two arms." She reminds him.

After what is a very long time to still be touching him, Ana removes her hands. She goes to undo the restraints, watching as they fall away from his arms. Bucky doesn't move, so Ana put both her hands back on is left arm. One on his wrist, the other on his bicep.  

"Hey, Bucky. Look at me." She waits until he does. "I'm not afraid of this. I am not afraid of you."

"You should be." Bucky counters bitterly. "You should me terrified of every part of me." His words make her heart ache. "This is a part of you, but this arm doesn't make up who you are. You, Bucky, are not just this arm. Try not to associate it with every horrible thing." He frowns, mouth pinched at the corners. "It's destructive. I'm destructive." Ana trails her hand from his biceps, up to his shoulder, and over to the center of his chest. "No you're not. Not anymore."

Bucky stares at her for a moment longer. Then his lips twitch up and he covers her hand with his right palm. Ana smiles back at him. She lifts his metal hand to their eye line. She has to make him see what she has noticed.

"Do you realize how gentle you are with this arm?" Ana asks rhetorically. "You caught my laptop without breaking it. I've seen you pick up Ezra because he tries to attack your feet."

Bucky huffs a laugh under his breath. 

"Don't think I haven't noticed how cautious you are around me, Bucky. You've caught fruit with this hand without bruising it. If you really wanted to hurt me, or anyone, you would. Prosthetic limb or not. I believe you will not willingly hurt anyone here."

Ana moves her left hand from his, gently poking at his chest. "This, that thing beating inside your chest. That is what makes you who are are. Not your arm. Understood?"

Something flickers in Bucky's eyes. He lifts his metal hand, catching a few strands of hair that have fallen over Ana's shoulder. He moves the hair back behind her ear, his fingers grazing her skin. The touch is so delicate, so light, it causes a shiver throughout Ana's body; makes her heart flutter. The air between them suddenly feels thick.

Slowly, Ana pulls back, straightens up. "I think we're finished for today. You did well, you worked through it."

"All you, Ana." Bucky exhales. He leans forward, wrapping his metal fingers around her scarred wrist. "I don't believe you have failed anyone."

Her breath stutters in her chest and her lips suddenly feel dry. She wets her bottom lip with her tongue, notices that Bucky's haze shift down for a moment before his eyes come back to meet hers. A smile spreads across her mouth, she can't help it. It's nice to hear that someone doesn't think she failed, even if she doesn't believe it herself.

Loud banging of a metal door shutting heavily startles them both. The noises causes Bucky to stand quickly, moving in front of Ana, his stance squared and shoulders taut. Ana blinks at his back muscles that rippled beneath his blue shirt as he moved. As alluring as it was to watch, she realizes that Bucky is shielding her away from whoever or whatever made the noise. She files it away in her brain, because if Bucky was falling into the Winter Soldier, he wouldn't have done so. A surge of hope fills her heart.

"Impressive." A voice speaks. 

It’s condescending. Ana steps around Bucky's defensive form, noticing Simon Mills, followed by Agent Erik Woods. She narrows her eyes at them, moving in front of Bucky instead. Simon is the head of the Psychological Evaluations Department and hasn't hidden the fact that he is unhappy about Ana's sudden override of his authority. He makes a note to mention at least something about it during briefings. 

"Interesting methods you have there, Agent Rios." Simon continues, a patronizing smile on his lips. "Agent Woods here would like to know if he could evaluate Sergeant Barnes now?"

Ana arches her eyebrow, crossing her arms. "What? Is he too afraid to ask me himself?"

Woods glares at her. Ana feels Bucky shift behind her, and the air that was once calm, begins to turn anxious. Ana needs to shut this down before everything he just worked through is thrown back several steps. 

"It's just a question, Rios." Erik snips, tapping his fingers against his iPad.

"It's not your job to perform any evaluation with him. I'm afraid the answer will be no." Ana replies. 

Bucky shifts again, coming closer to Ana that she can feel the heat radiating off his body. He's becoming more and more anxious. Abruptly, she recalls the story of the last time someone wanted to "evaluate" him. It ended with an impostor forcing Bucky to trigger into the Winter Soldier.

Ana continues, already reaching behind her to grab Bucky's forearm. "You evaluate these sessions from up there, that is your job. This is mine, and I do not appreciate you coming and trying to take over. Now, if you please excuse us. We're going to be late for something important."

Ana doesn't bother to wait for a response, she just begins walking toward the door, towing Bucky along behind her. Max lifts his own brows when he opens the door for them. Ana just shakes her head as they pass him. Max stays behind, shutting the door and Ana is grateful that he can tell she didn't want them to follow.

***

She continues to lead Bucky out of the lab, through the hallways and the entire building before releasing his arm. She stops halfway between the work facility and their living compound, spinning around abruptly. It turns out to be better in theory, because her face nearly bumps into a solid chest. Ana places her hand in the middle of Bucky's sternum, gently pushing herself back. She drops her hand.

"Are you alright?" She questions, noticing his skin a little pale.

"Fine." Bucky answers, pushing his fingers back through his hair. "I'm fine. Just- no one else is allowed to do this session but you right?"

"Right. Nor are they allowed to evaluate you personally. The goal, besides the obvious, is to make you feel safe and comfortable. I'm sorry if they just jeopardized that."

"They didn't." Bucky assures her. He puts his right hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. "How about you, Ana? I see that muscle twitching."

Ana chuckles. "Annoyed, but what else is new with them." 

He smiles at her. "As long as you're sure."

"I am. Come on, let's go get some food."

They start walking to their living space, Bucky dropping his hand as they go. Ana notices he stays on her right, walking a little too close to her. However, she doesn't miss they way is left arm brushes against hers. It's the first time it's happening without him immediately pulling away. His knuckles brush lightly against her own, and the cool touch of the metal seems to ground her. Keeps her irritation at bay.

"Hey, Bucky." Ana pipes up after they reached their home.

"Ana." He counters, unlocking the door with code and thumbprint. He holds the door open for her.

"I'm proud of you. I think you did a great job." She beams up at him. He turns bashful all of a sudden. It's a rather new look for him.

"It's all because of you." Bucky tells her.

"It's because of you." Ana corrects. 

"Whatever you say, sweetheart."

*****************************************************************************

Previous   Next

[primrose-path-of-dalliance]

rating: General Audiences characters: Keith (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) additional tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Autistic Keith (Voltron), ADHD Lance (Voltron), Paramedic Keith (Voltron), Chance Meetings, it's a hospital parking lot!, Lance owns a bright blue convertible from his college days, cheesy black skinny jeans get soaked and teach Keith a lesson in clothing choices on rainy days, also there's an umbrella, One Shot, Mentioned Hypothetical Car Accidents, Unresolved summary: Rainy days suck. Especially when they involve getting nearly run over by a maniac in a lighting blue car. word count: 1836

Sometimes, Keith’s glad he goes the extra mile to regularly haggle for a parking spot—one in the row located most conveniently close to the hospital building. (Medical professionals bargain so many things in exchange for favors. Or chocolate. Or coffee.) Such as today, as he sighs and turns up the speed of his windshield wipers again, his favorite playlist turned up to blastissimo against a backdrop of hammering rain.

It’s pouring so heavily that the city around him’s been reduced to tall gray smudges, thunder rumbling in the distance even through his music, and he can already imagine the accidents that might get called in before the storm’s end. Keith taps the side of his steering wheel pensively as he turns into the parking lot. Most of them are car accidents, and half of them aren’t pretty.

But then he reaches his parking spot and he thinks, How about a rear collision with a trunk that looks like a metal sandwich?

Someone has parked in his spot.

Keith stares at the nondescript blue sedan as if glaring harder might make it disappear and takes a mental note of its cheery New York license plate. If it belongs to any of his coworkers, he will find out, and there will be hell to pay.

There’s an umbrella in his back seat, of course, but he’s still irritated as he drives away in search of space. That was his parking spot, dammit.

He eventually pulls into what might as well be half a mile away on the other side of the lot, and Keith grumbles as he steps out with his umbrella into the storm and slams his car door shut behind him. Hospitals and their shitty parking space. Even standing still, he can already feel stray drops of rain pattering against the fabric of his jeans, the inch-thick currents of water trying to seep their way through the soles of his boots. This is exactly what he wanted to avoid.

A bright blue convertible speeds past right in front of him—dangerously fast, he can tell in the split second he registers it in his field of vision—and splatters his lower half with a deluge of cold asphalt water.

Great. Just fucking great.

Keith grumbles louder as he aggressively shoves the discomfort into the back of his mind, a few choice curse words aimed at the owner of that ridiculously vivid blue car, and starts striding through the storm. The faster he can get inside, the faster he can change into his uniform and hopefully leave his soaking pants somewhere in a closet to dry.

“Hey! Hey, wait—!”

Keith looks back with a frown to see a man splashing his way hurriedly towards him, stuffing his keys in a pocket of his bright orange raincoat. He glances back further and spots the blue convertible directly behind the stranger, parked only a few spaces away from his own, and scowls.

Ah. The driver of that neon blue car.

He’s tempted to start walking even faster—but the chafing is already horrible, and his hesitation’s cost him. The man’s too close now to make an escape possible, and Keith lets out a long breath before turning fully to wait for him.

He’s overestimated the orange of the man’s coat in this rain, at least; the color of his car hadn’t helped. He can see that it’s a bit faded actually, this close up (perhaps it’s old?), and paired with matching orange galoshes scuffed up at the toes. The stranger’s brown hair lies plastered on his scalp, making his head look comically carrot-shaped, and he’s panting by the time he reaches the shelter of Keith’s umbrella. It’s not terribly big, and Keith finds himself shifting away a fraction as Blue Car Man ends up closer than he’d like.

“Thanks,” Blue Car Man says, and runs a hand through his hair. “For waiting up. I forgot my umbrella.”

Keith doesn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes at him, leaning away a bit further, but against his wishes, his scowl relaxes from an ‘are you fucking kidding me’ to a mere ‘I really have to deal with this?’; tufts of Blue Car Man’s hair are sticking up where he’d dragged his fingers through like a terrifying, award-worthy case of bedhead. “Sure. You soaked my jeans.”

Blue Car Man cocks his head, clearly confused, and Keith clarifies, “Your car. You drove right past me—way too fast for a hospital parking lot when it’s raining, by the way.”

His face immediately looks a bit horrified. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, glancing down at Keith’s black jeans and seeing that, yes, they were indeed soaked through. “I’m really in a hurry right now. My sister’s giving birth. It’s seven weeks early.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Can we start walking?”

Without another word, Keith starts walking towards the hospital again, and Blue Car Man follows quickly. Labor and delivery isn’t exactly his area, but he knows that seven weeks premature means alarming things, and he can’t exactly hate a complete stranger—who seems to be around his age—for a pair of wet jeans. Although speeding around a hospital parking lot is unequivocally a terrible idea. He has enough trouble delivering patients without maniacs in lightning blue cars thrown into the mix.

“Really sorry about the pants again,” Blue Car Man says suddenly. (He should really stop calling him ‘Blue Car Man.’) It’s accompanied by jingling, and Keith looks over to see the car keys back in the man’s hands. He seems to be fidgeting with them nervously. “Why are you here? You don’t seem to be hurrying for anything.”

“I work here.”

“Oh.”

The stranger fiddles more with his keys (stimming?), glancing up ahead to the hospital with a tight frown, and Keith takes the opportunity to study him more closely. He’s a few inches taller, judging by how he’s hunched over slightly to stay beneath the spokes of the umbrella, and his sharp, currently frowning jawline tapers into a narrow chin. His fingers match his features, thin and nimble, and his skin is a soft, dusty brown that reminds him of a couple of his Puerto Rican coworkers. But then the man suddenly turns back to him as he’s looking back up, and Keith slides his eyes away so fast—catching a glimpse of pensive, dark blue eyes—that he’s one hundred percent sure he was obvious as hell.

There’s a beat of silence, and then the man asks, “You don’t happen to work at wherever does childbirth, do you?”

Keith shakes his head, painfully aware of the man’s gaze on him, and subconsciously he leans away again an inch. “EMS. I’m a paramedic,” he adds after a second, in case he doesn’t know what EMS means.

“Oh. Must be a pretty crazy job.”

“Yeah.”

They fall into silence as they close in on the hospital entrance, and Keith glances back at the man again for a quick second. Fortunately, he seems to be distracted with his thoughts, still playing with the keys in his hands (probably stimming).

Unfortunately, he’s good-looking, and Keith can already hear his brother’s voice in his head, accompanied by his smiling, supportive face. Come on, it nags teasingly. Ask him out. Give him your number. It can’t hurt. He says no, you never see him again. He says yes, well... What do you have to lose?

But he knows exactly what he has to lose. His first few attempts at dating were good enough signs for him to know that it’s really, really not his thing. People stay inconsistent and difficult to figure out, third dates are either a myth or they eventually get fed up with each other, and frankly he never wants a repeat of Joshua again. For all Keith knows, this stranger would end up thinking that he’s “just a confused straight girl” too.

They reach the sheltering overhang, and Keith snaps his umbrella shut with little fanfare.

“Take the first right, then follow the signs to the maternity ward,” he says as thunder rumbles around them. “Whoever’s at the desk should be able to help you out.”

Something big seems about to slip out of his grasp—and Keith shouldn’t even care this much about some stranger he just met who soaked his jeans in essence of parking lot asphalt. He doesn’t even want a boyfriend. Maybe he’s just being stupid. Or maybe the universe will do him a kindness for once, considering everything else that’s happened so far today.

The man nods, slipping his car keys back into his pocket. “Okay.”

Keith shakes water off of his umbrella and raises an inquisitive eyebrow when he notices the man looking at him, still standing nearby. His chest tightens up, and he doesn’t know if it’s in fear or hope.

After a long second, the stranger holds out a hand to him and smiles, almost apologetically. “Thanks for the help, man. And the umbrella space. My name’s Lance.”

Keith returns a wry smile and shakes his offered hand, trying carefully to mimic the same amount of pressure. The man—Lance’s grip is soft and warm in the chill of the morning storm, and he knows he’s filing away far too many details. “Keith. I hope your sister and her baby end up all right.”

The smile grows into something grateful, and that’s what’s about to slip away. That smile. “Thanks. And I’m still really sorry about your pants.”

With that, their hands return to their sides, and Keith shoves his into a still-dry pocket of his jeans in search of the same pressure, flicking the umbrella in his other hand in an echo of sensation. Words are right on the tip of his tongue (“It’s fine. Hey, I know you’ve got a big emergency and this is kind of a bad time, but let me give you my number—”), but then the man offers him one more crooked quirk of the lips before turning away and pushing past the hospital doors. His faded orange raincoat flaps around into the first turn right, and Keith gives his umbrella one last vigorous shake as Lance disappears from his life just like that.

“Well, goodbye, I guess,” he says aloud to that empty hallway past the glass doors.

He shakes his head, bemused at his own silliness, and instead grins a little at Lance’s expense once he realizes that the man will probably be bursting into the maternity ward with hair that looks like a little kid tied it up in five different pigtails, then attacked it with hairspray. Maybe he should’ve warned him before he ran off.

Keith ties up his umbrella and takes the first left, walking with deliberate steps to avoid squeaking his boots. He needs to get to work—and, he remembers with an irritated sigh, track down whoever stole his parking spot today.

God, are his jeans soaking wet. He has to change soon, before the chafing drives him mad. Thank you, Lance.

[undercovermcdfan]

Care to share some cute vylance dad au hcs

Some cute, quick headcanons: • Laurance prefers coffee in the morning while Vylad is strictly tea, because he doesn't want return to the days of being heavily addicted to coffee. But because of this, it takes him longer to "wake up", so early morning, don't be surprised if he's just stumbling his way through; it's cute and it's funnier when side-by-side with Travis who's exactly the same. • On vacation, they always look for opportunities to just... nap together. The kids are usually left with Zianna if she tagged along or a sitter or Zenix when he's old enough-- and like parents they are, they return to their room and just sleep feat. some spooning and cuddling • What started the "engagement" talk was once when Vylad was sleeping over (eye emoji) at the house and found the process of Laurance wishing his kids to sleep very cute. He lightly teased how when he became their father too, he still wouldn't match up to Laurance and rather than laughing, Laurance paused with a smile. "When?" Vylad flustered and Laurance asked him if he seriously thought about joining the family. He nodded and tried meeting Laurance's eyes but met with the brightest beam and him leaning in for a kiss because you just wooed the man, Vylad. • The two actually share another language with each other beside English-- French! Vylad's more fluent than Laurance in this au, but when they want to discuss things yet not wanting the kids to understand, they spoke it. Also Vylad has the habit of having affectionate nicknames for the kids in French as well as the two uses popular, loving phrases from it towards each other. Side note: Vylad knows the most languages in the household thanks to his background & world travel; this includes him knowing Farsi, Urdu, Swedish, Malay and Mandarin Chinese (tho he says his dialect in it is terrible). Laurance knows Arabic with an Algerian dialect, Spanish with a Puerto Rican accent and can speak French but always struggled with reading it. The kids pick up a various of languages, Travis with the most and Isabel with the least (learning Spanish). Zenix regrets learning French because now he understands his parents. #dad au, #headcanon, #prompt

[hooliganrehab]

Bruno Mars Doesn’t Walk....he glides

It’s as if he’s perpetually ready to perform a Motown-style choreography set in front of tens of millions watching the Super Bowl (which he has done twice in the past four years)—even easing his way into a suburban L.A. pizza parlor, where moments earlier, his sexy, chart-topping 2012 hit, “Locked Out of Heaven,” was on blast, as if anticipating his appearance. Mars just has that aura. His outfit is straight Fania-era salsa/blaxploitation swag—Gucci cap over his curls; sunglasses; an open shirt, floral and teal; tan shorts; dress shoes (no socks, to accentuate those smooth legs); and minimal gold jewelry. He orders a plain slice, which he sprinkles with garlic powder, and a root beer. It’s obviously a joint he frequents, since he knows all the fellas by name, and the workers aren’t taken aback by the superstar in their midst. He walks to an open booth, wolfs down his food, controlling his urge to eat six more slices, he jokes, and proceeds to be the smoothest cat to ever have lunch at an old-school checkered-tablecloth pizzeria.

Mars learned about charm, confidence, and estilo early in life. “My whole sense of rhythm is because my dad was teaching me bongos as a kid,” he says of his father, Pedro Hernandez. “He’s an old-school working musician, so that’s where the pinky rings come from, the patent-leather shoes, the suits, and the pompadour. It all stems from watching my father. I remember at the time, me and my sisters would be a little embarrassed when he would take us to school in his big-ass Cadillac. No one had Cadillacs in Hawaii. But my dad would show up in some boat-looking Caddy wearing some silky shit, and we’d run out into the car as soon as possible. And here I am wearing the swap-meet gold, driving Cadillacs,” he says with a laugh.

Take one quick look at Mars’ recent music (the omnipresent Mark Ronson collaboration “Uptown Funk,” which amassed more than 2 billion YouTube views, the fourth-most ever, or his critically acclaimed 24K Magic) and his style (“pinky rings to the moon”), and it’s easy to see that his persona is not only inspired by his father but delivered as a conscious ode to Latino and African American masculinity. Brown and black men have long dealt with the stereotype of being hot-blooded, suave, savage animals lusting after anything with a pulse. Now Mars, 31, is embracing the Latin Lover archetype (if you’re not treating your girl right, we’re Mr. Steal Ya Girl) and giving anyone who’s offended a big middle finger. Mars’ dominance in pop culture takes on even greater resonance now, when the leader of the free world has called Latino men “rapists,” “drug dealers,” and “bad hombres.”“I hate that we’re even having a conversation about injustice in America,” he says of the current climate of social unrest. “That we are having a conversation about this in 2017; the same conversation that’s been had decades and decades ago.”Yet Bruno Mars doesn’t want to drown you with his wokeness; he just wants to make you shake what your mami gave you. The man is a musical genius—he writes, produces, sings, dances, plays instruments, and puts on arguably the best performances in the universe.

“Remembering when he was just my little brother looking up to me, staying by my side, playing music together, throwing around a football, just doing everything together—those were great times,” says Eric “E-Panda”Hernandez of his hermano and band leader. “Now he signs my paychecks, and he is my boss. I’m beyond proud of the man he has become.”But before he was Bruno Muhfuckin’ Mars, he was E-Panda’s lil’ bro, Peter Hernandez, born and bred in Hawaii to a beautiful Filipina and Spanish mom and Puerto Rock and Jewish papi from Brooklyn. His childhood musical career is well-documented on YouTube— at 4, he was the cutest Elvis Presley impersonator ever, performing with his family for oohing-and-ahhing tourists in Waikiki. As the years passed and his skills developed, Mars found himself dealing with racial-identity issues in the multicultural 50th state. “Growing up in Hawaii, there are not too many Puerto Ricans there,” says Mars, “so because of my hair, they thought I was black and white.”

The idea of not being easily categorized is something Mars has dealt with his entire life. When he moved to Los Angeles at 18 to make a serious go in the music industry, record label executives asked, “What are you? Are you urban? Are you Latin?”“There are a lot of people who have this mixed background that are in this gray zone,” he says, leaning forward to make his point. “A lot of people think, ‘This is awesome. You’re in this gray zone, so you can pass for whatever the hell you want.’ But it’s not like that at all. It’s actually the exact opposite. What we’re trying to do is educate people to know what that feels like so they ’ll never make someone feel like that ever again. Which is a hard thing to do. Because no one can see what we see and no one can grow up with what we grew up with. I hope people of color can look at me, and they know that everything they’re going through, I went through. I promise you.”All that to say that Mars is prouder than Manny Pacquiao to be Filipino, loves Hawaii more than Don Ho’s children, and, well, is as boricua as Marc Anthony eating a plate of arroz con gandules during his Todo a Su Tiempo era. Critics and those confused by his multiracial roots have insinuated that he’s ashamed of his Taino roots, truly a load of chupacabra crap, says Mars.“My last name is Hernandez. My father’s name is Pedrito hernandez, and he’s a Puerto Rican pimp. There’s no denying that.”“I’d love to clear that up in Latina magazine,” he says, raising his voice. “I never once said I changed my last name to hide the fact that I’m Puerto Rican. Why would I fucking say that? Who are you fooling? And why would anyone say that? That’s so insulting to me, to my family. That’s ridiculous. My last name is Hernandez. My father’s name is Pedrito Hernandez, and he’s a Puerto Rican pimp. There’s no denying that. My dad nicknamed me Bruno since I was 2 years old. The real story is: I was going to go by ‘Bruno,’ one name. Mars just kind of came joking around because that sounds bigger than life. That was it, simple as that. I see people that don’t know what I am, and it’s so weird that it gets them upset. It’s an oxymoron—the music business; like the art business. You’re making a business out of these songs that I’m writing. And how are you going to tell me that this song that I’m writing is only going to be catered to Puerto Ricans or to white people or only Asian people. How are you going to tell me that? My music is for anybody who wants to listen to it.”

An incredible number of people want to do just that. Mars’ combined sales for his first three albums are more than 100 million, along with his 2013 Moonshine Jungle Tour and his upcoming 100-date 24K Magic World Tour, which begins in late March and sold more than a million tickets in one day. Concertgoers will be treated to the Mars stage presence—an aura influenced by his family and the greats: Michael Jackson, James Brown, and Prince. Needless to say, Mars’ music is undoubtedly black.  

“When you say ‘black music,’ understand that you are talking about rock, jazz, R&B, reggae, funk, doo-wop, hip-hop, and Motown. Black people created it all. Being Puerto Rican, even salsa music stems back to the Motherland [Africa]. So, in my world, black music means everything. It’s what gives America its swag. I’m a child raised in the ‘90s. Pop music was heavily rooted in R&B from Whitney, Diddy, Dr. Dre, Boyz II Men, Aaliyah, TLC, Babyface, New Edition, Michael, and so much more. As kids this is what was playing on MTV and the radio. This is what we were dancing to at school functions and BBQs. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for these artists who inspired me. They have brought me so much joy and created the soundtrack to my life filled with memories that I'll never forget. Most importantly, they were the superstars that set the bar for me and showed me what it takes to sing a song that can get the whole world dancing, or give a performance that people will talk about forever. Watching them made me feel like I had to be as great as they were in order to even stand a chance in this music business. You gotta sing as if Jodeci is performing after you and dance as if Bobby Brown is coming up next.”It’s refreshing to hear a pop star say it loud and proud: black music is American pop culture. Latinos and African Americans aren’t just connected by the racism and dis- enfranchisement we’ve dealt with historically; we’re also connected by our music and traditions. We hear it in J Balvin’s reggaeton heaters and in Rihanna’s Caribbean patois, as well as in the eloquent, piercing words written by Ta-Nehisi Coates and Junot Díaz. We’re one. And Bruno Mars combines the best of all of our aspirations and goals into one super artist.Above all, the world has to thank his parents for nurturing his talent at an age when most kids were still using pull-up diapers. While his pops gave him his style, his mom, Bernadette San Pedro Bayot, gave him his heart. After each performance, Mama Mars would call or text to congratulate him on another gem or to say to get some rest. The memory of her sudden death in 2013 from a brain aneurysm still shakes him.“The woman who taught you to love, showed you what a woman is supposed to be,”

says Mars, his voice trembling slightly for the first time during an interview where he’s been all smiles and laughs. “When that goes away, a little more than half your heart goes away with it.”

THEY SAY IT’S HARDER TO LOSE A PARENT AS AN ADULT BECAUSE AT THAT POINT YOU’RE PEERS, YOU’RE FRIENDS. EVERYTHING CHANGES, NOTHING WILL EVER BE THE SAME.“You just gotta know that she’s with me everywhere I go,” he says. “It’s some- thing that you can’t imagine—the pain and the things that you keep going back to: ‘I wish I would’ve done this or said this.’ You just have to see life differently. It shows you the real importance of life. Nothing else matters in this world but family and your loved ones.”When asked if his music has changed à la Kanye West when he lost his mother, Donda, Mars pauses. “I don’t know how to answer that question,” he says. “My life has changed. She’s more than my music. If I could trade music to have her back, I would. I always hear her say, ‘Keep going and keep doing it.’”  

Mama Mars certainly did an amazing job. Mars’ longtime girlfriend, model Jessica Caban, definitely reaps the rewards of his having such a great mother. Mars isn’t big on sharing about his life with Caban, but social media paints an adorable #relationshipgoals idea of their courtship.I got this fire in my blood. For me, you gotta keep up

It’s all in. It’s ‘I’m going to love the shit out of you, and I’m going to fuck you up later,’” says Mars jokingly, laughing about his attraction to Latinas, obviously with Caban in mind. “It’s all in. And that’s what keeps that fire going.”

As he wraps the interview, which felt more like two bros shooting the ish, Mars dips through the back of the pizzeria, jumps in his black Cadillac and pulls to the front. He asks this reporter, “Where you going? Maybe I can give you a lift.” “Downtown L.A.,” the reporter says. “Oh! You better Uber that shit!” Mars says with a smile. It was expected. Not because Mars is too Hollywood, but because where he’s going, not many have gone.

[itsclydebitches]

Summary:

“Good things come to those who wait… provided they know what they’re waiting for.”

Moments in Barry and Cisco’s lives as they slowly and surely fall in love. It’s simultaneously the easiest and most complicated thing they’ve ever done.

(Part of the “Worth the Wait” series.)

Fandom: The Flash (TV show)

Words: 18,392 (so far) 

Warnings: None

Pairings: Barry/Cisco

This Section: Cisco deals with the fact that trivia might not be the only competition he’s entering tonight... 

Where to Read it: Below the cut or on AO3 (AO3 recommended for formatting)

Fierce Competition

Cisco recalled with the abruptness of a car crash that he really wasn’t the wooing type.

Let’s face it, in the obligatory ranking system that was life he wasn’t exactly on the top ten Soulmate list. Or twenty. Fifty. Cisco wasn’t even in the freaking running. He was a Puerto Rican American with too long hair, too short a body, and absolutely no muscles to speak of. (He still hadn’t forgiven Barry for just waking up with abs, that bastard). His family had always been too poor, too brown... and Cisco had always been too smart for the rest of them. It had been made abundantly clear to him in school that being a nerd—even a genius nerd—would never score him any points. Working at STAR Labs should have been the revelation. Here they are! My people! Revealed to me at last! But even those people turned out to be assholes (Hartley), or snobs (Ryan in bio-tech), or just incapable of getting over the fact that the world’s foremost mechanical-engineer might choose to wear novelty t-shirts on a daily basis (literally everyone Cisco had ever met, with the exception of Dr. Wells. He could appreciate the man’s simple attire even if it was perpetually stuck in an emo-teen stage.) The point was he’d never been a catch and Cisco saw no reason why that would change now. Especially for someone like Barry.

It wasn’t like he was luring in small fish here. He was going after the goddamn white whale.

You know, minus the leg eating, murderous intentions.

“This analogy isn’t working,” Cisco muttered. “I’m losing my mind.”

He’d been losing a lot more than that. After his weird-ass (yet surprisingly uplifting) conversation with Dr. Wells, Cisco had gone to hide out in his workroom instead, under the guise of being productive. Rather, he was really just pacing between the door and his Sleep Depravation Cot, pulling at his hair and reciting an endless stream of, “Oh holy fuck, dude, what have you gotten yourself into” because honestly, what the hell was he supposed to do now? Be himself?

“Ha!” Cisco finger gunned an imaginary audience. “Like that’s ever worked.”

The only other option then was to be better. To somehow be more for Barry.

Cisco thought he could do that.

He just needed a little help.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he whispered even as he sat his butt down in the chair and jabbed at his laptop until it decided to cooperate. Info was just a few keystrokes away, even if Cisco did cringe at his own search choices.

In for a penny though, and all that crap.

“Hey there, Cosmopolitan. For the love of God please help me.”

***

Primp before going out and keep on the cool side. Confidence is practically catnip to men!

***

Barry was practically jumping out of his skin.

He knew he’d always looked a bit like a caffeinated junkie (if they had a thing for soft sweaters and the occasional bowtie), but it had gotten so much worse since the accident. He hadn’t known how to describe it until Cisco gave him the words: “Things didn’t slow down, dude. You were just going so fast that it only looked like everyone else froze.” And that’s how it was now, twenty-four seven. He might not always be using his superspeed, but Barry was constantly aware of just how slow everyone was. People walked at a molasses pace, car rides were pure torture (even more than they’d been before), he could stretch a blink into a five minute performance and oh my god just do it, just do it already.

Barry’s life was a Shia LaBeouf meme and it resulted in a lot of fidgeting. Sure, there was a lot going on in Jitters already—colorful decorations, people milling around in costumes, mounds of company-approved snacks, a judges table loaded with prizes—but even amongst all that Barry felt like he stuck out. He was currently rattling the table slightly with his bouncing knee.

Eddie leaned and caught his eye across the table. “Easy there, Allen. You okay?”

“Oh yeah, fine. Just excited.” Barry got a smile going because, well, that was true enough, wasn’t it? He was excited.

Eddie grimaced though. “I’m not. Did I tell you guys I’m not much of a trivia person?”

“Yep. Over nine-thousand times!”

Eddie stared. “I just missed some reference, didn’t I?”

“Yep again. Check out Dragon Ball Z sometime.”

“...I’ll be sure to do that.” His tone made it very clear that Eddie was going to do nothing of the kind and Barry chuckled. He had to admit, Eddie was a pretty chill guy once you got to know him, a lot more relaxed than Barry had first assumed. They could be friends. If only there wasn’t that pesky little problem of—

“There she is.”

Barry recognized that tone as well. Sure enough he turned as Iris walked through the front, somehow managing to make Jitter’s sticky floors look like a runway. She wasn’t in anything out of the ordinary—jeans, lightweight sweater, nothing, Barry hadn’t seen her in a million times before—but each time he did it might as well have been a new experience. That pesky thing about everything seeming too slow? Yeah, Iris slowed things down to the max... but Barry didn’t mind in the least. She was glorious to watch. She was everything he’d ever wanted.

Everything Eddie wanted too.

Barry tried not to grimace at the kiss they shared—and he largely succeeded. Iris hugged him and that, at least, felt familiar.

He’d missed this while he was in his coma. He couldn’t remember that he’d missed it, of course, but Barry knew he had.

“Look at this place,” Iris said. She raised her arms only to let them drop heavily, seemingly overwhelmed by the coffee shop’s transformation. “Can you believe they got this all set up in a few hours? If Becca put half as much effort into serving people as she did decorating she might actually make a half-decent waitress.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Eddie stage whispered and the three of them craned necks over the crowd to get a good look at Becca. Tall, stocky, and with a permanent ‘resting bitch face,’ she looked more like ex-special forces than someone who served up coffee every day. Iris and Eddie exchanged exaggerated looks of horror while Barry chucked a pretzel at them.

“She’s nice,” he insisted.

Iris pulled a face. “You think everyone’s nice.”

“She gives me free blueberry muffins!”

“Because no-one else wants them, Barry. They’re awful.”

“Are not,” he said petulantly, tracing his finger over the tabletop. It pulled a laugh out of Iris, just like Barry knew it would, and he grinned in triumph.

Score one for him. That’s right, it didn’t even matter who Iris dated because Eddie would never have this, the intimate, easy-going conversation of those who’d known each other for forever. A part of Barry felt guilty about starting up a ‘competition’... a larger part of him really didn’t care. He’d dated others after all, a fair number actually, and none of them were Iris. Besides, didn’t he deserve something good for once? His mom, his dad, missing out on the particle accelerator launch (which had honestly been a tragedy at the time), getting struck by lighting of all things, and now he was giving himself to the city not just as an forensic scientist, but as a freaking superhero too. It wasn’t like he was asking for a reward exactly... just something. A karmic IOU maybe.

Barry looked at Iris’ enraptured expression and thought that maybe the universe was actually looking out for him now.

Or not. Turns out she wasn’t looking at him.

“Wow,” Iris breathed.

Barry wrenched in his seat and then very nearly fell out of it. Because Cisco stood in the doorway and he, he…

...‘wow’ was right. Barry had never seen Cisco looking like that before.

Words like “vision” and “unexpected” were warring in his head. Cisco wore pressed black slacks and slick shoes that made him look taller than he actually was (Barry was sure). Cisco still had one of his trademark graphic tees on (reading “Got Trivia?” in curled, fancy script) but it was accompanied by a grey, tailored jacket that probably cost more than two months of Barry’s rent. Cisco had clearly just shaved—he could smell faint traces of the cream from here, like cedar-wood and eucalyptus fused together—and his hair had the fluffy look of a recent wash, braided neatly and hanging over one shoulder. Barry’s hands twitched in his lap.

He wanted to touch Cisco’s hair. More than that, he wanted to actively run his hands through it, like some sap in a rom-com, because Barry was sure that it would be soft and tangle free and look absolutely fantastic if it was a mussed up a bit.

Which was a crazy thought all around. Not because Barry was wrong about the look—Cisco would be stunning with some well-crafted bedhead—but the fact that he was thinking about this at all. Barry couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought about a guy like that, even briefly. It had probably been back in college, the four years he’d been separated from Iris and actively aware of what it meant to ‘experiment.’ Not that it had been experimentation for long. Not that coming out as bisexual had made him love Iris any less. It was just another aspect of his identity—alongside “scientist” and “son” and ironically “brother.” As far as Barry was concerned that attraction was a dead end because who could he want but Iris? She was already his everything.

So. This was just a simple, entirely objective analysis that Cisco Ramon looked stunningly hot in that outfit. Barry could deal.

“Barry.”

He jerked, the world speeding up and suddenly Cisco wasn’t across the room, he was there. Right there in front of Barry, close enough that the cedar-wood was overwhelming and he could see the tiny, decorative stitches on that jacket. Somehow Iris had gotten a hand on his shoulder, shaking Barry to try and grab his attention and wait, when exactly had all this happened? The three of them were staring at him like he’d lost his mind—which maybe he had—because a good chunk of time had obviously passed without Barry noticing. He clacked his teeth together and realized with dawning horror that his mouth had been hanging open for god only knew how long. There was a bit of drool on his chin.

Barry hastily wiped it away. He sat back so he was leaning against the table, his whole body feeling jittery. Right. Objective observation:

The world had slowed down for Cisco too.

Shit.

“Heeeey,” he said. “You look... good. Really good.”

Cisco started to smile, that bright grin that Barry was beginning to associate with the lab and candy-colored lips, until it suddenly slipped away. Barry blinked, feeling oddly bereft. In its place was a smirk that crawled onto Cisco’s face, settling there unnaturally. He raised a hand flippantly.

“Duh. You don’t really think I always wear crap t-shirts and jeans, do you?”

“Um, no?”

“Exactly.”

Cisco cast Barry a look he couldn’t quite decipher and slid onto his stool. It might have been a suave move if he hadn’t sat so fast, over balancing and nearly toppling to the floor. Eddie caught him at the last second, keeping Cisco upright by grabbing him by the lapels. Barry couldn’t help it: he laughed at the comical look of horror on Cisco’s face. He noticed and shoved Eddie off him, too rough.

“I’m fine,” he snapped and sat up straight. Cisco folded his arms over the table, then in his lap, before finally resting his chin on one hand and tapping the fingers of his other along his knee. Cisco stared out over their heads while Barry and Iris exchanged concerned glances. Eddie just looked pissed.

“You’re welcome,” he said. Cisco ignored him.

“Hey, we’re super glad you could make it. Here,” Iris grabbed hold of the tiny chalk-board with their team name on it, shoving it towards Cisco. “Maybe you can make sense of this nerd nonsense. Help us non-geniuses out. E = MC Hammer?”

Barry groaned. “C’mon, Iris. Because E = MC squared. And MC Hammer. And can’t touch this. I’ll have you know it’s brilliant and the hour I spent coming up with it was well spent.”

Eddie’s smile was coming back—and his eyebrows were reaching his hairline. “I’m really not sure it is. Brilliant, I mean. Or worth it.”

“Exactly.” Iris nodded seriously. “I mean, how ‘brilliant’ can something be if no one gets it?”

“I get it!”

“You’re not normal, Barry.”

“Okay, fair, but Cisco gets it too, right Cisco?”

Barry had been watching him from the corner of his eye and Cisco definitely got it. His eyes had lit up the second he’d seen the board and he’d bitten down hard on his lip, clearly stifling a laugh. Barry had known that he of all people would appreciate the pun... but the second he asked it was like Cisco disappeared. Barry watched, a little stunned, as the bright-eyed amusement was snuffed out and Cisco adopted that stiff manner again. It was weird. Like he couldn’t remember how to sit right. Cisco gave the board a disdainful once-over and shrugged.

“It’s fine I guess,” was all he said.

“...alright then,” Eddie muttered and hid behind his coffee.

Barry felt that tone. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but the initial punch of seeing Cisco all dolled up was fading, replaced by the worry that he didn’t actually want to be here. After all, he looked bored as hell and a little grumpy to boot. Five minutes in and Cisco was just... sitting there, not commenting on the decorations or asking about the competition. While Iris tried to strike up another innocuous conversation with Eddie Barry leaned a bit to the right, into Cisco’s space.

He placed a hand on Cisco’s arm and felt him jump. Barry’s fingers tightened. “You okay?” he whispered. A quick glance confirmed that Eddie and Iris were otherwise engaged. Or at least good at faking it. Cisco was just staring at Barry’s hand though and he snapped it back, suddenly self-conscious. “Look, do you want to leave?”

“With you?” Cisco blurted.

What?

“What?”

At Barry’s puzzled look Cisco’s cheeks developed a warm glow and with his hair pulled back Barry could see the tips of his ears turning red. He wasn’t sure why, but Barry felt his own body reacting in sympathy, making what was apparently now an awkward situation ten times worse. The only difference was he was pale as milk and had the fire truck coloring to match. This happened whenever things got weird. Barry was sure he looked like an idiot now.

He didn’t want Cisco to think he was weird. Of course, Barry was, but that was kind of beside the point. Bad weird. Creepy weird. The kind of weird you gave a side-eyed look at before hastily crossing the street. He really didn’t want that from Cisco and holy shit he was spiraling, what even was the conversation again?

“You can go,” Barry clarified. That didn’t seem to make things better. “I mean, I kind of pressured you into this? Maybe? So if you want to take off I’m not gonna be like, upset or anything. You just look...”

“I look...?” Cisco echoed, leaning in just a bit. The t-shirt beneath his jacket was a little large and it dipped, giving Barry a fucking wonderful glimpse of Cisco’s chest.

‘Hot,’ his brain supplied and Barry mentally shrieked, stabbing at it with an imaginary fork.

“...bored,” he finally said. Barry’s mouth had gone dry and it was with the courage of the Assuredly Doomed that he reached back up to pat Cisco’s shoulder. It was warm, firm, and stupidly soft from that jacket. Barry kept patting him like a loon. “You look bored, man.”

Cisco stared. “I’m not.”

“No?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“I’m... sure, Barry.”

“Okay. Um, glad to hear it?”

“Oh thank god!”

The four of them jumped out of their skin, Barry catching the guilty look that flit across Iris’ face (oh hell, had she been listening? Of course she was listening they were right there) when Felicity flew into view, heels clacking and her arms coming up to smoosh Cisco hard against her chest. Barry could still make out the tight black dress she was in though, complimented by some fine, silver jewelry. Cisco floundered in the embrace as Felicity dug her chin into his head.

“I thought I was the only one,” she whispered. “Oh, Cisco, you are a life safer. I got here and thought, ‘Wow, Felicity. Great work! Way to totally overdress for this, you loser,’ but now look at you.” She pulled back to indeed look at him, giving Cisco such a sultry once-over that Eddie choked. “You look great.”

“...Thanks.”

Except Cisco didn’t sound very happy about the compliment. One would think he’d be thrilled with a woman like Felicity giving him her stamp of approval... or if he wasn’t into that (was Cisco into that?) Barry would have bet on an, ‘aw shucks’ grin and a fistpump in thanks, because this was Felicity Smoak, hacker extraordinaire giving him a compliment—who cared what the compliment was about? Cisco just looked sullen though and when he took in Felicity’s own outfit his expression soured even more.

“Ten minutes, folks!” Becca was standing at the back of the shop where a judges’ panel had been staged, complete with prizes for the champion as well as first and second runner up. Barry had his eye on that card for a free month at Jitters. Not that he needed it—Dr. Wells was footing all food expenses nowadays and Barry really had to thank him again for that—but he could bring a whole mound of coffee and donuts into the precinct tomorrow, maybe get Singh back on his good side for once. Barry looked around at all the other teams: stereotypical nerdy types, some decked out in cosplay, a sole group of business men who seemed to have gotten dragged here as a team building exercise... not that any of it mattered. They had two of the greatest scientific minds on their team, Barry was no slouch when it came to science or nerd-dom, Iris was the binge queen of TV, and Eddie...

...well, Barry wasn’t sure what Eddie brought. A detective’s instincts? Maybe.

“Plus you’ve got Wells on speed dial, don’t you?” Felicity said. She’d scooted in on Barry’s left, across from Iris, and he gapped a little at the mind reading skills. She just shrugged. “No big. You’re meeting the woman who invented the ‘size-you-up’ look. C’mon, you do have Wells’ number, don’t you?”

“He does,” Iris confirmed.

“That is so cool.”

“It’s listed under ‘My BFF Forever’”

Barry reached across the table to smack her as Eddie and Felicity laughed. “Okay one, you’re a liar. Two, you just basically said ‘best friend forever forever’ which is stupid.”

“But accurate,” Eddie drawled.

“And three, we are not cheating with Wells.”

Felicity pouted. “Just a quick little text? I bet he’d love this sort of thing.”

“We’re winning this fair and square people.” Barry pounded the table with his fist. “...and we’ll drag Dr. Wells along with us next time.”

“Yes. I’m totally flying back for that.”

“Don’t bother.”

They were small words, muttered soft and clearly not intended for the rest of them, but Jitters wasn’t that loud. Four heads swiveled to stare at Cisco who adopted a very deer-in-the-headlights expression.

“I—I just meant it’s a long shot, yeah? Wells isn’t really going to come out for this...”

A lame excuse and Barry was surprised by how much it hurt him. He was about to say something when Iris’ hand shot out, landing squarely on Cisco’s arm.

“Let’s grab coffee for the table, Cisco. Before the contest starts.”

“Uh...”

Cisco was staring at Iris’ hand like it was a massive, dangerous spider. Her suggestion, while innocuous, was said in such a sickly sweet voice that it sent the hairs on the back of Barry’s neck rising up and when Eddie opened his mouth—no doubt to point out that most of them already had coffee—the whole table shook as Iris kicked him.

“C’mon,” Iris bared her teeth and Cisco nearly fell again in his desperation to follow her. You didn’t argue with a tone like that. Barry watched them go, mouth hanging open.

“What the hell is going on?” he whispered.

Felicity pet him on the head. “Don’t worry about it, sweetie. Now, tell me what I need to do to demolish these nerds.”

***

“What the hell are you doing?”

Cisco made the most un-masculine ‘eep!’ noise as Iris practically threw him into Jitter’s supply closet. He landed on a box of napkins, found a rag left in the corner, and starting wringing it for all it was worth. It wasn’t much of a shield, but anything was better than facing Iris’ ire entirely defenseless. Cisco tried to scooch back as she inched closer and realized he had absolutely nowhere to go.

“Well?” she demanded.

“Dude, chill out yeah? I don’t know—”

“Francisco Ramon heaven help me, if you say ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ I will personally make it my mission to embarrass you in front of Barry until you can never look him in the eye again.” Iris’ gaze softened slightly even as Cisco gapped. “Because this is about Barry, isn’t it?”

“Um...”

“Cisco.”

“It’s not entirely...”

“Cisco.”

“Okay! Okay! Put your hand down already! God you’re terrifying.” Cisco wasn’t trying to butter her up, but Iris seemed to take that as a compliment. She nodded regally, lowered the hand that looked like it was about to start tickling him (no), and sat herself down on the box next to him. She kicked Cisco lightly in the shin.

“Spill.”

He grimaced. “Well, since you bring up embarrassment...” Reaching into his jacket pocket Cisco pulled out the crumpled sheet of paper he’d printed off earlier. He handed it over and Iris only needed one look at the heading to start laughing her head off.

“Yeah, yeah,” Cisco muttered. “Get it out of your system.”

“Cosmo?” she choked. “Oh no, Cisco, please don’t tell me you...”

He just gestured vaguely, telling Iris to read the highlighted sections. She only got through “primping” and “confidence” before she set the paper back down, giving Cisco a pitying look so strong that he kind of felt like he was melting.

Goddamn. If this was love it could go hang. Screw this.

“You dressed up for him,” Iris stated, not bothering to let him get in a confirmation. “Then you acted like a dick because supposedly that’s ‘cool.’”

“I didn’t—” Cisco cut himself off at Iris’ look. “Okay yeah. Total tool out there. I just...” he muttered something too soft to hear.

Iris leaned in closer. “What was that?”

“...wanted to be like James Bond,” Cisco muttered.

“Oh my god.”

“I don’t know, okay!” He threw up his hands. “I just wanted to be...be something more tonight. Something other than nerdy Cisco Ramon.” Cisco gripped his hair briefly, mussing up the braid. “Wait, c’mon, how do you even know this? Please don’t tell me I’m that obvious.”

Iris snorted. “You’re obvious alright. To a girl. Eddie doesn’t have a clue, bless him.”

“Dr. Wells knew,” Cisco said thoughtfully.

“Geniuses don’t count.”

“Barry is a genius.”

“Barry is a moron. I don’t care how much science mumbo jumbo you two manage to spout together, he lacks a little thing called common sense.” This condemnation was said with so much fondness that Cisco felt his heart ache. “If it makes you feel any better Felicity is a genius and a girl, so I’m sure she gets it. She’ll forgive you for being a massive ass back there,” Iris bumped his shoulder to take the sting out of her words.

Cisco nodded, drawing in a massive breath. Then he plunged in. “You’re taking this well.”

“Mmm.” Iris smiled. “I’m not your competition, Cisco.”

Oh c’mon. He immediately wanted to rile against that. How was she not? Except Cisco took one look at Iris’ expression and promptly snapped his mouth shut.

“Funny how no one considers that there are two people involved in this nonsense,” she drawled. Then Iris sighed. She took the rag out of Cisco’s hand and started it wringing it herself. All at once he could see the toll this was taking. “Look. Full disclosure?”

“Full disclosure,” Cisco agreed. His mouth felt stupidly dry.

“I love Barry. Barry loves me... but we’ve never loved each other in the same way.”

Iris looked down, scuffing her boot on the floor. “I thought things would get easier once we split into different classes in High School. Then when he went off to college—I know he dated a lot there. Then I thought, ‘Hey, he’s got his own job now. Maybe a co-worker?’ but no. Barry keeps... keeps coming back to me. Even now. With Eddie.” Iris smiled, a little wistfully. “Barry gets caught up in doing whatever he set out to do, no excuses. Normally that’s great. Triple major in four years? Done. Youngest tech to work at the CCPD? Easy. Hell, he even met Wells like he promised, though he went about it in a crazy enough manner.”

Cisco huffed. “Tell me about it.”

“Uh huh. Barry is optimistic, to the point of stubbornness, and now I’m starting to think to self-delusion too.” Iris shrugged, a very ‘what are you going to do?’ gesture. “I’m his best friend. His sister. I love him, but not in the way he wants me too, and I never will. You, however,” Iris pressed a fist into Cisco’s arm, making his squirm. “I wouldn’t mind having you as part of the family.”

Cisco could feel his eyes widening. He heard a startled, awkward laugh and realized that was him. "I would?"

"Uh, yeah. No shit, Sherlock. I've seen you and Barry together. Its been, what? A few weeks? And you two are already thick as thieves. You're brilliant, caring—I mean, c'mon. How many guys in Barry's life would keep him company through seven months of coma nonsense? Did you forget that I was there, Cisco? You did everything for him."

He ducked his head. "Dr. Wells—"

"Hired you to keep Barry breathing," Iris interrupted. "Not make him playlists of all his favorite music. Or spend your Friday nights watching movies with him. Or reading every last coma-related article you could get your hands on even though that's obviously Caitlyn's field, not yours. Yes, I saw the folder on your desktop. That's amazing, okay?”

It was weird to say the least. First Caitlyn, giving Cisco an obvious amount of space with Barry, both before and after he woke up from his coma. Then Dr. Wells freaking dragging him for being a lovesick fool. Now Iris, who Cisco had thought was both rival and Big Sister Barrier, all but shoving him at Barry with a 'GO CISCO' sign held up in her arms. It was super weird. More nuts than a squirrel's winter pantry. Cisco leaned back into Iris' shoulder, half expecting the contact to wake him up from some fevered dream.

It didn't.

"Full disclosure?" he asked again. Iris nodded. "I'm sort of freaking out here a bit."

Iris' lips twitched. "You look pretty calm."

"Oh, that's just my normal, handsome facade. Trust me, there is some full, boiling panic going on in here."

"Don't panic," Iris whispered.

"Easy for you to say."

"Keep calm and carry on."

"Oh my god."

"Seriously, we'd better get back before they think we're making out in here."

It was such a startling, ridiculous image that Cisco laughed. Iris nodded, grinning, standing, and offering him a hand to help Cisco to his feet. He swayed there, a little overwhelmed. Iris steadied him and then seemed to hesitate.

She finally drew in a massive breath. “Okay, also, it’s not my place to say why… but you don’t need to worry about Felicity either. None of us are competition. This isn’t some stupid teen drama, Cisco. We’re family.”

Cisco felt like he’d finally found some kind of footing. He ducked his head so Iris wouldn’t see how stupidly bright his eyes had gotten. "That’s great, yeah," he said, a little choked. "But what exactly do I do?"

Iris pinned him with a serious look. "First? Drop the 'cool guy' act. You don't need it. Barry likes you, and I think he can learn to like you even more… if you follow this advice instead..." Iris unfolded the wrinkled piece of paper, pointing to another highlighted section of the text.

"Right," Cisco breathed.

Iris quickly leaned forward to kiss his cheek. "Not all of their suggestions are trash."

***

Get him talking about something he’s really passionate about. After a while he’ll start associating those good feelings with you!

***

"Did they get lost?" Barry asked, pushing off the table to try and get a look over the crowd. He seemed to be the only one concerned with Iris and Cisco's disappearance. Eddie had given in and fished out his phone, texting someone rapidly. Felicity fiddled with a straw and absently pat Barry on the back.

"It's fine," she said, not for the first time. "They'll be back in a sec. Iris is just handling a Situation. Don't worry about it."

Barry shot her a massively confused look. "What are you talking about?”

"Surely your massive brain can understand the meaning of 'don't worry about it’?"

Felicity's grin was cheeky, she was begging for some sort of retribution, but at that moment Becca took the microphone and—after some initial, ear splitting feedback—announced that the games were underway. Eyes drawn to the back of Jitters, Barry caught the exact moment Cisco and Iris came back into view, with Cisco looking more... Cisco-ish.

As in, he'd mussed up his braid enough that little tufts were poking out, like they would if he'd been hard at work on a project—and it did look amazing. The sleeves of his nice jacket has been rolled, revealing grease stains and a faded note in green sharpie down near his wrist. Cisco suddenly looked more natural, carefree….but more than this he was glowing, walking confidently back to their table with a real smile on his face. Idly, in the back of his mind, Barry wondered when he'd started paying such close attention to the little details that made Cisco Cisco. That little voice was drowned out by the flood of relief though. Things had felt wrong before.

Now, somehow, they were right.

"Hey," Cisco breathed it, scooting right back into Barry's space. He leaned to catch Felicity's eye. After a second Cisco included Eddie in the look too. "Sorry. Wasn't at my best back there. Can we rewind by like fifteen minutes and start again?"

Eddie had an unfathomable look on his face though Felicity immediately made a whirring noise like an old VCR, essentially erasing those fifteen minutes as asked. Iris smiled and Eddie shrugged and honestly, Barry still didn't know what was going on, but then Cisco clapped a hand on his shoulder and that hardly mattered at all.

"E = MC Hammer together. You ready to kick some ass?"

"Yes—" Barry began but then the game was underway.

It was exactly as he'd remembered it. Though he and Iris had never participated before (their friend group never had enough nerds, according to Iris), they'd watched plenty of times over the years, enjoying the quick-paced, almost cut-throat nature of the game. The first half was always a free-for-all, with Becca reading off a question ("No answers until I'm done!") and then calling on the first team to buzz in. Even Barry was surprised when the little light on their table lit up first try, Eddie's thumb still depressing the buzzer.

"Cop's reflexes," he whispered. "I don't even know who Jar Jar Binks is though, let alone what movie he first appeared in."

Barry and Cisco exchanged a look. It was glorious in its simplicity: who the hell is this fool and why is he friends with us? They looked to Iris and Felicity only out of courtesy.

"I'm a Star Trek girl," Felicity said, completely unrepentant. Iris just nodded for the two of them to go ahead, seeming to get a strange amount of satisfaction in their teaming up. Barry grinned.

"Phantom Menace," they answered in unison—and so it began.

The questions, of course, got harder as the game went on, though they quickly realized that Eddie's speed wasn't just a fluke. He got them first dibs on most of the questions, struggling only against the group of Star Wars cosplayers (who were understandably disgusted about how the first question had gone down). Felicity, for reasons Barry couldn’t fathom, moved to sit beside Iris instead and the two of them seemed more than happy to let the boys run the show, sipping coffee and occasionally whispering in one another's ear. Alright then. Great, even. Barry and Cisco easily led the team and as they did Barry discovered a natural, warm camaraderie he wouldn't have expected to find on an otherwise normal Saturday night. Not to say that he and Cisco hadn't been friends before, of course they were, but it hadn't been like this. They hadn't been on such an exact wave-link, so to speak; easy agreement and teamwork all around, the sense that they just fit together, in ways outside of fighting crime. Like they could really be buds, not just close-knit colleagues.

They could be something.

Most people laughed at competitions like this and they would have howled at Barry's thoughts, the ones about 'fitting together' and 'complimenting one another,’ the ultimate sappiness of it all... but it was true. Cisco pulled out all the Sci Fi and dystopian knowledge that Barry had avoided over the years ("It's just all so sad,") and Barry knew dated shit like what U.S. soap opera first aired in 1956 (and he didn't get any heat from Cisco when As the World Turns flew a little too quickly from his lips). They took turns shouting out the answers, passed the bowl of pretzels without being asked, Cisco had his arm around Barry's shoulders for most of it. It was a comforting weight, just reminding Barry that he was there and they were having fun. Together

However, when they finally embodied the cliché of Barry finishing Cisco's sentence, he had to stop, because one fully-fledged thought had torn through his head like a wrecking ball:

I thought I only had this with Iris.

She was bent close to Felicity, the two of them hunched over their score sheet and gleefully tallying the points. Eddie had turned in his stool and was leaning against Iris' shoulder, his buzzer held faithfully in hand. Barry noted, in a shocked sort of way, that their physical comfort with one another looked like how his and Cisco's felt. And, with a pang, he realized that he'd basically forgotten that the others were even here.

"It's 'Freed' right?"

Barry startled, coming back to himself. Cisco still had one arm warped around his shoulders, the other pointing insistently towards the stage.

"Huh?"

"The book, dude." Cisco tightened his grip in slight panic. "Look, I promise to judge you later for any love you might have for that shitty, abusive series, but we've got fifteen seconds to answer—" His hand waving got more intense, garnering only an eye-roll from Eddie. "It's Fifty Shades of Grey, Fifty Shades Darker, and Fifty Shades...?"

Barry would always update his dad on the latest book craze when he'd go to visit, so yeah, he'd entertained him with James' fiasco too. Amidst the drab interior, in an appreciated moment of playfulness, his dad had commented that it was a good thing those texts hadn't been published twenty years ago, otherwise Barry might have ended up with an unexpected sibling. His reaction had been something between a squeal and a shriek.

Now though... totally different context. Barry's brain grafted 'erotic romance' onto 'Cisco' and started heating up like an ancient laptop, sparking and letting out clouds of smoke.

"Y-yeah," Barry cleared his throat. "That's right."

Cisco shouted their answer over the tops of thoroughly aggravated heads and Barry could only stare, wondering when things had gotten so complicated. It had happened in less than an hour, right? He'd gone from simplicity, complete understanding of what he wanted and needed... to this. Barry wasn't even sure what 'this' was. Except it had come on fast and was already taking room within him. It didn't want to leave.

Barry watched the dimpling in Cisco's cheeks as he smiled and cheered. Or maybe, he thought, it started when I got struck by lighting.

(Wasn’t that a metaphor for love?)

They'd made plans after this. A movie. Barry had supposed it would be at the Labs.

But maybe...

"Hey!" Barry had to practically shout over all the commotion—it was now clear who'd be winning and the other teams felt no need to keep their displeasure quiet. "Hey, Cisco!"

"What's up?"

"Want to catch that movie at my place?"

Cisco froze, his expression sobering, and for one horrible second Barry thought he'd made a colossal mistake. Then a new smile came. It wasn't manic or exuberant like the others, it wasn't even very big, but it felt massive and Barry was a little off kilter just looking at it.

"Yeah?" Cisco breathed.

"Yeah."

"...well alright then."

Barry didn't catch the look Iris and Felicity shared, or the over-exaggerated yawn that Eddie let loose. He was focused solely on Cisco, the world slowing down once more until Barry could see every crease in his face, every path his hair took as it fell over his shoulder. The only thing that permeated was sound—Becca yelling some joke about clear winners.

Not that Barry cared. Inexplicitly, he felt like they'd already won.

***

Get him to do something daring. Push him to try new things... you never know what that could translate to in a relationship ;)

[artificialqueens]

Drunk in love (Branjie) - Thorpe

AN: Who doesn’t love drunk Brooke? I certainly do. And I’m happy to present you what that comment about alcohol “loosening Brooke right up” did to me. If you’ll like it, my ask box is opened at @freykitten. And most importantly, shout out to @pink-grapefruit-cafe for proofreading this. She’s just as lovely, as she is talented.

~

“You better put that down, bitch” Vanjie had to bite down a smile, her brows slightly furrowed as she watched Brooke lift his drink with hand so unsteady it looked as if it was barely keeping the glass upright.

“But I’m not done yet” Brooke whined, blinking and trying to focus his gaze on dark liquid coming dangerously close to the rim.

“Oh, you’re so done” the shorter man gave up on keeping her face straight and sneered. Drunk Brooke Lynn Hytes was the most hysterical sight she’d ever seen, hands down. And the fact that he was also the most adorable one didn’t help at all. “I ain’t no bodybuilder, I ain’t gonna carry you out, twinkle toes”

“I love it when you call me that, Papi” Brooke purred with half-lidded eyes and a lazy smile that came across slightly sloppy but gorgeous nevertheless. He put his drink on the counter, spilling it a bit, now interested solely on a tanned figure before him. Standing up, he held onto Puerto Rican queen to help himself steady but the hands that started roaming slowly over her shoulders and chest had nothing to do with fighting gravity.

“Na-ah, it ain’t happening, bitch, no way” Vanjie cackled, getting slightly flustered, gently swatting his forearm with the hand that wasn’t occupied supporting his weight.

“T’s not what you usually say” Canadian slurred with a cocky smirk, continuing his trail down Vanessa’s body, trying to bow enough to reach her neck with his lips but the sudden sway back made him pout and eventually put that off for later when he had already found his balance. Preferably in bed with his lovely companion.

“Usually you’re in better shape. Let’s go home, yeah?” She didn’t leave any room for answers as she handed bartender a few bills and firmly pulled Brooke away from their seats not waiting for change. He heard the beat of the music as they were carefully manoeuvring next to the crowd on the dance floor (well, it was mostly her manoeuvring and him bumping shoulders with every person they encountered). He thought of joining them but decided he liked the strong grip of a small palm on his waist better.

“Hey, hey, whatcha doin’? Hold on, I can’t walk like this!” Mateo struggled to keep both Brooke and herself from falling as the older queen tried to hug her but ended up throwing himself over her.

“Don’ wanna be away from you” the man in question mumbled into her hair, subtly rocking from side to side.

“Well, I don’t wanna split my head open on that floor. Come on, get off me” she was getting annoyed and tried to push him away enough to go back to their previous position but stopped when she saw the hurt painted across his face.

“You don’t want me?” He asked in a small voice, hardly audible over the loudspeakers. She sighed and held his head up to make him look into her eyes. He was hysterical after alcohol, sure, but he was also super emotional.

“‘Course I do. You know I do” she said in a deep, meaningful voice, stroking his cheek. Puerto Rican hated to see her lover doubting something she was so sure of. He should be certain he meant everything to her at all times, no matter how out of it he might have been at the moment. She gave him a light peck, hoping for it to be enough of a reassurance. “Now home, please” He didn’t say anything, just nodded but a brilliant smile that was now lighting his features told her it was indeed enough. Without any further obstacles, she led them out of the bar to wait for their uber.

Earlier it was muggy and hot, typical for California summer. They spent a nice day walking around the town, stopping by at her favourite places to take cute photos and discovering those she’d never been to before. Simply enjoying the sun and the company of each other that never seemed to last as long as they wanted. But she was thankful for each and every moment ripped from their hectic schedules that they got together, as she was for delicate wind and a slight chill in the air around them now. With both hands cautiously placed on Brooke’s waist, she leaned on the wall behind her and closed her eyes. Where was that damned car? She was tired and couldn’t wait to get that lovable drunk of her boyfriend safely tucked in bed and call it a day.

Fingers grazing her jaw brought Vanjie back to reality just a split of second before she felt familiar lips pressing against hers. She closed her eyes again and angled her head to reciprocate the kiss, smiling into it at the soft sight of contentment the taller man made. It was blissfully unrushed, like waves of a peaceful sea lazily brushing the shore or poppies gently swaying among the grass under a breeze. But the breeze was soon revealed to be a presage of an incoming hurricane as former ballet dancer pushed his leg in between Vanessa’s and kissed her with more power. She let it happen for a short while but the taste of alcohol, stronger than before, made her pull back.

“Baby, we’re in the middle of the street” she tried to regain some composure but judging from how raspy her voice came out, she wasn’t doing best.

“And that’s a problem because?” Brooke trailed off and smiled smugly before sucking in one of the fingers she had covered his mouth with to create more distance between them. She shivered, partly aroused, partly surprised at the sudden change of temperature and quickly retrieved her hand upon meeting his tipsy gaze.

‘Because you’re drunk as the all living fuck’

‘Because I’m barely holding back myself’

‘Because we’re under contract and can’t have anyone walking in on us’

“Because our ride is here” or at least so she hoped as dragged the older man in direction of a black car which pulled in next to the bar’s entrance. Trying to leave an empty seat between them proved itself to be an idea as failed as Trixie doing RuPaul for Snatch Game since just as she gave her address to the driver, she had long, strong arms squeezing around her midsection and blond curls tingling her neck. Bent in a way that couldn’t be even close to comfortable, Brooke seemed extremely pleased when she scooted even closer to the shorter man. With an eye roll, she returned the weird side hug, fingers tracing nonsensical patterns on the other’s biceps.

His head was slowly beginning to spin and the buzz in his ears was becoming overwhelming. For once he was thankful for the traffic that never ceased in LA because his limbs felt way too heavy for him to move anytime soon. Currently he was the happiest he could be, at the side of the man of his dreams as they were going through the streets of the city that brought them together. He smirked at the memory of flying from Nashville at RuPaul’s invitation, knowing damn well it would change his life but having no idea to what extent. His thoughts were getting less and less clear, everything a blur with an exception of blindingly white teeth framed by a brilliant smile or biting his neck in the dead of the night and warm brown eyes he would gladly spend eternity staring into. It sounded like a good idea, he realized. If only he could lift his head but that otherwise trivial task seemed unachievable in his present state so he sated himself with snuggling closer and letting the presence of the man he was lucky to call his envelop him fully. After what just as well could have been an hour or mere minutes but still appeared way too short, the warm hand moved away from its previous spot on his arm and he instantly hated it.

“You asleep? Told ya I ain’t gonna carry your ass” voice too loud for his pounding head’s liking shook him out of his haze. He frowned and mumbled something incomprehensible. Puerto Rican sighed heavily at the sight of a literal tragedy in the making sitting next to her and longingly looked in the direction of the wooden door just a couple of metres away. As it turned out, Brooke was surprisingly lenient and very gladly followed the smaller body that radiated safety wherever it went, unfortunately not missing out on hitting his forehead while getting off the car. “Are you okay?” Vanjie asked, her tone worried but with the corner of her lips quivering in amusement.

“Never better” came a slurred response. With a headache either way inevitably coming to him in the near future, she let it be and slowly led the graceless tangle of limbs to her front door, having him rest his weight on her as she fumbled with the keys. She needed to have a lamp installed, she thought absent-mindedly. Finally, they stepped into the corridor not bothering to turn the lights on, having a fair share of experience at stumbling to the bedroom in the dark.

“There you go, careful” small but firm hands secured him lowering to the bed and helped him out of his clothes, then tossed them definitely not in the direction of the laundry bin but neither of them cared at that point. Brooke felt the drowsiness approach but forced his eyes open to watch his boyfriend move around the room, bringing him a glass of water he would desperately need in the morning and changing in the bathroom.

“You’re beautiful,” he said towards the silhouette he could barely muster through lids dropping dangerously.

“Whatever you say, toes” a snort came as a reply, followed by the rustling of the sheets as she joined him in their bed. He frowned at how unimpressed she sounded.

“No, but you are, like… you really are” he was getting frustrated with words that seemed to slip away from his tongue. Suddenly there were fingers caressing his temple, momentarily making him relax.

“Shh, we’ll talk tomorrow, yeah?” he liked that, next day he would have all the words in their proper places, full of meaning.

“I love you” he mumbled and felt soft lips on his cheek before tiredness overtook him for good.

“Love you too” the quiet response went unheard as it’s recipient was already fast asleep, dreaming of caramel skin under the moonlight and palms that fit perfectly into his.

[itsclydebitches]

Summary:

“He likes this song.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

In which Cisco is given seven months to fall in love with Barry Allen. It’s admittedly a little weird - what with Barry being unconscious and all - but since when was anything normal nowadays?

Fandom: The Flash (TV show)

Words: Through Chapter Four: 10,707 (will be around 12k total)

Warnings: None

Pairings: Barry/Cisco

Where to Read it: Below the cut or on AO3 (AO3 recommended for formatting)

Worth the Wait: Chapter Four

“Speed,” Dr. Wells said.

He made it sound like some huge, all-encompassing concept. Which, the more Cisco thought about it, it kind of was. Speed was at the root of all the coolness right now; it had taken over their previously snail-paced lives.

“Speed,” he said again, just in case they’d missed it. Dr. Wells was flipping through his chart with true ferocity. “We’ve established that Mr. Allen’s heart has been beating fast enough to fool even our machines. His body has, twice now, vibrated at a speed reminiscent of a seizure. I can only assume his accelerated healing is stemming from similar circumstances.”

Caitlin’s mouth twisted. “Kind of ironic considering that Barry is, you know, asleep.”

“Oh. So he’s ‘Barry’ now huh?” Cisco said and only cut the teasing when Dr. Wells pinned him with a stern look.

“He’s changing,” Dr. Wells emphasized. “We do not know when or even if Mr. Allen will wake, or what kind of state he’ll be in when he does. All we can do right now is keep him comfortable and remain observant. I hope I don’t have to remind you the kind of caution you’ll need to maintain from here on out...or the consequences if you do not.”

Cisco and Caitlin both nodded. Dr. Wells may have taken precautions after Barry had first moved in, but he’d gone into true, protective overdrive following his ‘death.’ Cisco knew that Dr. Wells had erased the last year of Barry’s medical history, disguising it as a system malfunction. That he’d paid off—even threatened—every medical professional that had come within a mile of Central City General, and had spoken at length with Joe and Iris regarding what they said to friends or family about Barry’s condition. Cisco knew because he’d been helping.

Ultimately he’d never expected to be committing felonies either. Although...were they felonies? Cisco didn’t know the law. Should he start learning it? Maybe. All he knew for sure was that this was probably Illegal and Bad... but not necessarily Wrong.

No. He looked at Barry, oddly vulnerable ever since that day, and thought again, no. This wasn’t wrong.

“We hear you, Dr. Well,” Caitlin said. She spoke for the both of them.

“Good.” Dr. Wells smiled then, an honest-to-god smile that filled up Cisco’s chest like a balloon. “You’re both free to go then. It’s been a long week. Go get some rest.”

Caitlin raised a pointed eyebrow. “And you?”

The smile remained. “I’ll be off soon. I promise.”

They’d heard that one before, but despite close quarters and new, impossible bonding experiences, Cisco wasn’t sure his and Dr. Wells’ relationship was at the ‘call you out on your shit’ stage yet. So he grabbed his jacket and waved Caitlin off, staying behind only briefly to turn off the other Levels’ lights via the access panel directly outside of the Cortex. Cisco was looking for his keys when he heard,

“You really are amazing.”

Cisco thought Dr. Wells was talking to him, until he caught the soft timber of his voice, the kind of tone a man like Wells would only use when he was sure the recipient couldn’t understand him—or hear. Sure enough, when Cisco quietly snuck back to look he found Dr. Wells directly beside Barry’s bed.

He’d rolled the blankets halfway up his waist and—after hoisting himself onto the bed in a surprising display of strength—took Barry’s left leg carefully in hand. Dr. Wells began a series of movements and stretches that Cisco recognized from the man’s own therapy sessions.

Caitlin was adamant that he attend them. What’s the point of exercising a useless limb, he’d snapped at her once.

Now here he was, doing it for Barry.

“I don’t simply mean your ...condition, either,” he continued. “Though I must say, that alone is quite fascinating. No, from all accounts you are an extraordinary young man. Your adoptive father speaks of you most highly. Your colleagues have nothing but praise. Based purely on Iris’ accounts, one would think that you’d hung the moon. Or the sun. Yes, that would perhaps be a more accurate saying...” Peeking around the corner, Cisco could just make out Dr. Wells shaking his head. “Well. I’ve always cared most about the mind, and I can say with certainty that I wish I’d nabbed you before the CCPD did. Perhaps we can re-negotiate your employment once you wake up.”

Cisco smiled, leaning heavily against the wall. He stared at the plaster on the other side.

It was silent in the Cortex and Cisco thought that perhaps that was all Dr. Wells had to say. Until, so softly he almost missed it, he caught,

“You’ve instilled great hope in us, Barry. In me most of all.” Cisco could easily imagine Dr. Wells’ hands tightening over pale skin, still careful not to bruise. “Won’t you wake up for us?”

Too personal. Cisco left, resolved to erase his little fit of eavesdropping from the security tape.

Dr. Wells deserved that much.

***

Cisco let his feet carry him away aimlessly. He didn’t feel much like going back to his empty apartment and he certainly wasn’t about to go home, parrying his mother’s questions about why he wasn’t making something of himself now that STAR Labs was officially closed. It didn’t matter how much he explained the good his inventions could still bring, or that Dr. Wells was paying him more than he’d ever find elsewhere. It wasn’t like Dante’s life, and it was therefore useless.

He grimaced. Cisco kept walking until dusk fell and the streetlights started coming on. When he finally looked up he was in a part of town he didn’t recognize, though the landmark was easy enough to know.

He’d walked to the CCPD.

“Why not,” Cisco murmured, jogging up the steps. It occurred to him in that moment that he knew everything about Barry digitally, as well as every inch of his body. It still didn’t feel like enough though... wouldn’t be enough until he could actually talk to him, but that wasn’t an option just yet. This felt like the next best thing.

The precinct turned out to be every bad cop movie Cisco had ever seen rolled into one: barely controlled chaos, men and women in blue flowing like water, yells of rage from perps as they were literally dragged away, the overwhelming scent of coffee. If someone had written this place down on paper Cisco would have judged them for stereotypes. Learning that this was reality though...it was somehow comforting. Like life was just a story.

“Can I help you?”

One of the men paused in the flow, dressed in muted browns instead of blue. It was David Singh, captain of the department, and of course Cisco would run into the boss when he had absolutely no reason for being here.

“Uh...actually no, not really.” Cisco rubbed at the back of his neck before fumbling and presenting his hand. “Captain.”

Singh’s eyes narrowed. “Let me guess. Cisco Ramon?”

“Y-yeah! How did you...?”

He snorted. “I’ve kept careful track of Mr. Allen’s condition since the accident. Frankly there aren’t too many five-foot six Puerto Ricans in these circles, let alone one with a penchant for novelty t-shirts.”

“Right.” Cisco smoothed down his TARDIS shirt. “That’s actually kind of impressive.”

“They pay me to notice things,” Singh drawled. “C’mon,” and he started marching off towards the back, leaving Cisco with nothing to do but follow. Or leave. Which would be rude.

Somehow he didn’t think pissing off the police captain would be a good idea.

Or Barry’s boss, a voice whispered and Cisco growled at it to stop already.

The two of them piled into Singh’s office, him gesturing for Cisco to grab the rickety chair in front of his desk. Despite the cordiality it felt a little like he was about to go through an interrogation. Cisco willed himself to stop bouncing his knee.

“Here.” Singh slammed a paper cup of coffee down. “It takes like shit, but it gets you by. Joe isn’t here right now, if that’s who you’re looking for. You don’t actually have a crime to report, do you?”

Cisco took a sip and grimaced. It was awful. “Uh, no. Really. I’m sorry, this is weird and a huge imposition—”

Singh waved him back down. “Relax. If anything you’re doing me a favor. Can’t be working if I’m talking to you, yeah?” He sighed, leaning back in his chair and pulling out a small ball that he began tossing between his hands. At Cisco’s look he held it up for inspection. “Stress ball. My fiancé says it’ll help with my anger.” The disdain dripped out of Singh’s voice. “I’d like to see him be captain for a day and talk about ‘mental mindfulness.’”

“I’ve... actually got a boss like that.” Cisco chuckled. “Tells us to, you know, not die from the work while basically digging his own grave.”

Singh’s stare had intensified. “Wells?”

“...yeah.”

“He always did strike me as the eccentric type. Refined eccentric.”

“Pfff. Nah. No, no way. I mean he can pull it off for events, but the guy lives in sneakers and eats enough Big Belly Burger to drive our doctor up the wall.”

“Really?” Singh pulled a face that Cisco wasn’t sure how to interpret. “Good to know. That he’s human, that is.” That stare intensified once more. “How is he, then?”

They didn’t need to lay out who ‘he’ was—they weren’t talking about Dr. Wells anymore. Cisco hesitated, the warning to keep things under-wraps still ringing in his ears, but he also couldn’t lie. Not about Barry.

“Still asleep,” he finally settled on. “Well. ‘Sleep.’ Coma, I mean. You know. We... still don’t know if he’ll wake up.”

“He will.” Singh said it with so much certainty that it actually made Cisco jealous. “Barry Allen is the biggest pain in my ass and has been for nearly two years now. He’s off,” Singh pointed, “miles away, unconscious, and he still manages to drive me to distraction. Case in point,” and when his finger honed in on Cisco he took another loooong sip of coffee, taste be damned. “Allen is the most singularly stubborn man in the whole goddamn universe. He’ll wake up just to force me into an early retirement, mark my words.” Singh shook his head.

Cisco was fascinated despite himself. The captain sounded annoyed...but Cisco also knew that tone well. It was the annoyed ‘I kind of love to hate you’ tone that belonged solely to parents with unruly children—and apparently police captains with their forensic scientists.

“Was he really that bad?” Cisco asked.

Singh held up a hand and wiggled all his fingers, ticking them down methodically. “Habitually late, to everything. Incapable of keeping his mouth shut. Frequently embarrasses himself as well as this whole precinct. Once accidentally ordered 72 pizzas—” Singh nodded at the look on Cisco’s face. “Uh huh. I said seven for a sergeant’s party and two for those still out on patrol. But oh no, he somehow heard that wrong. What fool thinks we need that many pies? I told Allen he’d be paying for it and he promptly pulled these, these,” Singh made a complicated gesture, “puppy eyes on me, blabbing about how he was still trying to pay off student loans. I ended up paying out of pocket. Goddamn the kid.”

“Oh man,” Cisco breathed. “That actually sounds like something Barry would do.”

“You know him?”

“Well...” Did he? It really felt like Cisco did, but... “Sort of.”

Singh cracked a little smile, like he actually understood all the insane, overwhelming complications of that sentence. He tossed the stress ball back into its drawer and leaned over his desk, effectively pinning Cisco in his seat.

“You know I’m the one who found him?” he said, so much quieter than before. “Not many people do. In an emergency like that no one pays attention to how people get out or who gets them to the hospital, they just care that they do. But I found him. Amidst all that fucking chaos I still had time to think, ‘Hey, where’s Allen? Where’s that damn shadow of mine?’ And I climbed those stairs, I walked into that lab...” Singh’s mouth tightened briefly. “You know how shit slows down in dreams? How you just know something bad is about to happen?”

Cisco swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

“Just like that. Whole power grid was blown—you know that—so it took me a moment to see him in the dark, and... Jesus. Just Jesus. The bolt threw him clear across the room, Ramon, into a whole rack of beakers with who knows what in them. Allen looked like a rejected thing out of an old sci-fi flick, fluids everywhere and his clothes half charred away. The smell...” Singh stopped again, running a hand down his face. “I thought fuck, no way the kid survived, but there he was, still breathing. Still goddamn breathing. Even now.”

Cisco kept staring desperately into his coffee cup. He’d wanted to know more about Barry. He could admit that now. He just wasn’t sure he’d wanted to know this.

...but of course that was a lie. He wanted everything.

“You seem like a good kid,” Singh said. “Go back to that fancy lab of yours and give Allen’s ass a good kick for me. Tell him to wake the fuck up already. He’s got work to do.” The last part didn’t sound nearly as detached as Singh probably hoped it did.

“Yes, sir. I will, sir.”

"Good man."

And Cisco did. It was late now and he should have turned straight for home, hailed a cab like any normal person on the block, but instead he walked all the miles back to STAR Labs. He keyed in his code and didn’t bother to turn the lights back on. Dr. Wells was long gone and Cisco relied on pure memory to reach the Cortex. Barry was still lying there—always lying there—but tonight he looked almost ethereal. He glowed. He was a bright spark in the darkness; like lightning.

“Wake up,” Cisco said, trying to imbue some sort of power into his words. It came out too desperate though. “Just wake up already.”

He had to raise up on tiptoe to reach over the bed. Cisco smoothed back Barry’s hair and placed a firm kiss on his forehead, thinking of stupid, whimsical things like fairy tales and true love’s kiss. It was an act he never could have done during the day, but at night so much more seemed possible.

“Wake up,” he whispered a third time, directly against Barry’s skin. If this had been a story Barry would have opened his eyes.

But it wasn’t, and they weren’t.

Cisco pulled back, acknowledging how warm Barry’s skin was—and the cold feeling it left in his chest.

He left.