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zirkkun · 4 years

Text

just before.

just before. (Undertale fanfic - based off of Wickedtale by @alch3mic - rated M by AO3 standards.)

+ soldier!sans x dancer!reader (they/them prns)

+ 4456 words, english

+ prologue to soldier’s story. first time he ever meets dancer.

+ cw: mentions of murder, classism, yandere/obsessive personality, abusive/controlling parents

+ “he hadn't heard that phrase in years. so constantly aware of the corruption plaguing the world... well, as it seemed, there was still one highlight to live to protect.”

+ AO3 link

Ebott City. The corrupted hell hole that was somehow above ground, while the actual hole the "monsters" came from had been far more palatable. At least, in one case. Many didn't have the same experience he did, but… whatever. That didn't really matter. He didn't really care about it anymore. Why dwell on the past? There's too much shit going on in the present to even have time for something like that.

Day-to-day life was flooded: constantly moving, constantly working, never slowing, never stopping. There's no time for that. The day he gets time to take off and sleep, get whatever medication he's sure he needs for his horrifically weak non-stomach, and lead a healthy and safe lifestyle while retaining his wealth? Ha. In dreams, maybe. This city wasn't kind enough for that. Though, maybe if his ambitions weren't so specific, he wouldn't have fallen into this path of endless work… but it's a little late for that.

His brother had made use of their skills the two of them had attained growing up, and with that opened a dance studio where others of all sorts could come through and learn how to dance. A small corner of peace in this awful world, that little building, where monsters and humans could both dance without feud, where rich and poor could both talk without judgement. Maybe it was ironic, maybe it was fate, or maybe it was straight coincidence that his brother had named the place "Enchanted Dancing." He knew that the name was merely in reference to the magic of their home where everyone had their own sort of dances they practiced, which they all soon found was very different from most other monsters who had battle magic specialties. But even still… heh, ah, it just further proved his point. The only decent place in the world was the Underground, before they ever surfaced.

A beep. 6:00 P.M. Work.

Or, rather, his second line of work.

While he'd abandoned his dance skills long ago, he never really fully disconnected with music as a whole. It's not like he really could when he doesn't have anything else to his life or history -- he doesn't know anything else. So, he made it a pastime to make his own musical works, trying to sell them online for money, but quickly found it's not exactly easy for people to find your work… let alone get them to pay for it when they do. He had run low on money fast -- so fast that he needed something quick and easy that he could do to not end up on the curb in a weeks' time.

He doesn't remember how he heard about it, or really what possessed him to go along with it anyway; but somewhere along the line, he'd caught word of some pretentious wealthy human furiously rattling off how their reputation would be "demolished" if the rumor that had begun about their business didn't come to a halt. How they would pay "insane amounts of money" to have that rumor "eradicated." You know, without really doing any work themself, or trying to better the work that they were doing, or fixing the root of their problem to begin with… Yes, because throwing money at the problem until it's pushed onto someone else is the better solution.

And yet… when someone comes up to you in your hour of despair, presenting to you an arguably invisible layer of protection in this world of work or die, something to get you out of the dark and stop the ticking clock of your otherwise inevitable doom…

It's not like he was going to turn down the offer.

He'd forged some sort of alias -- whatever it was at the time no longer mattered, since he'd had many over the half year or so he's been doing this -- and scribbled out a note of sorts explaining what was, at the time, a feigned, short "resume" for work as an information broker. The note was left with the pretentious prick, who did, in fact, end up contacting him in the end, offering more money than he thought he'd ever see in his waking life. Needless to say, he took the job… and found the issue to be so incredibly simple to resolve that even a child could have done it.

Well, no.

A child would have had more sense of morality.

... probably.

Who was he kidding here, honestly? He complains about the rich on a regular basis, their foolish waste of money, their apathy towards those that didn't have any money, just pure care for only money.

But here he was.

Morality erased.

Lives ruined.

Bank account overflowing.

Doing the same things they were doing.

The very least he could do -- and the very least he does do -- is support those whose music he'd wanted to support while he was on the edge of homelessness. Even some of his online friends, music composition friends, were consistently met with the cash they needed in a moment's notice. "Where did you even get this kind of money?" they would ask him. He would just jokingly say that an old witch blessed him with unending wealth, or something else to that extent of unbelievable ridiculousness.

But, unfortunately, not all of his money could go towards such good causes. While he did have far beyond the money to sustain multiple dozen families, at least a third of it was thrown right back into the exchange as he paid person after person for job after job he was unwilling to do.

There was no blood on his hands. No dust caked into his bones.

But it was splattered all over the money he handed out like trick-or-treat candy.

He'd met two others, notably, that did a lot of work alongside him. A crafty cat and a wily wolf… figuratively, of course. The three of them sharing the same first name, they merely tossed nicknames at each other. More often than he probably realized, they took much of his budget for work he was far too lazy to bother with. You know, scouring the dark web for information, stalking people to track their pathing… the occasional hit here and there. Sometimes, he would do it himself, but only if he really felt up to it… and frankly, he was never in the mood for murder. But that damn wolf was shockingly willing -- for the right paycheck.

He did recognize, however, the two of them did seem to have a mutual similarity that he, personally, did not share.

… he did not have anyone close to him. He didn't have anyone who looked after him, cared for him. It didn't bother him until recently, when apparently that damn wolf managed to lock the object of his affection into a relationship. Even the cat seemed bitter when he heard the news. Someone so fucked as him still manages to find someone?

… the world was just trying with his emotions at this point. Taunting happiness at the end of a pole taped to the back of his head, leaving it just out of reach, but always in his way and always in his line of sight.

Of course, he had his brother…

... who he doesn't talk to for weeks at a time…

... and he keeps turning down his offers to meet up again…

… yes, he had his brother. A strong emphasis on the "had."

He was alone. He knew that. But, at least for the case of his brother, he'd done it on purpose.

The last thing he wants is to have his brother, someone so passionate and pure, hands still clearly clean of sin; find out he has the richest humans of the city wrapped around his fingers out of both fear and dependability.

So, frankly, sometimes he found himself jealous of the other two. The other two who had someone to care for them.

He supposed the trio of them could sort of be friends…

He'd met the wolf a few times in person, both intentionally and not.

He'd bumped into the cat, wasted in a bar, more than once.

… No, they really weren't his friends. Co-workers is the best way he could probably describe them.

Yes, he was just jealous of them.

He was alone.

…

… Well, work isn't going to start itself. He pulled his phone back up to his face, clicking it on to see how long he'd zoned out for. 6:03 P.M. Not too terrible. He slammed shut his laptop, pushing back from his chair as he went to put on the outfit that had practically become his "uniform" at this point. A dark under layer of tight leggings and a fitted long-sleeve athletic tee with a zip-up turtleneck; a desaturated over layer of a baggy, now sleeveless hoodie and equally as baggy gym shorts. And, of course, a hat, as usual… but he wore those no matter the time of day.

His apartment door clicked shut behind him as he left, and once the door was locked, he evaporated into thin air.

-- only to appear, moments later, in front of one of the most lavish mansions in the richest part of Ebott City. It was so bleeding with "I'm such a rich, extra asshole" energy that it made his Soul twist with disgust. The walls were marble, shimmering from small lights below them to show off their sparkling, smooth surface. Each edge of the building was lined with gold-plated metal, even the rails to the stairway. Arching windows stood on either side of the front door, which was probably big enough for an average sized elephant to fit into with some extra ear room to boot.

Thank the stars he didn't have to go inside again. He already knew what his job was for the night, and to be back inside that disgustingly overdone building these pretentious humans called "home"... Just thinking about it made him feel beyond insulted.

He took another shortcut -- this time, finding himself on the rooftop. Although the sun had not yet fully set, even so, it was still much darker here than standing in front of the artificially-lit trophy they called a front entrance. He popped open his phone again. 6:05 P.M.

Unlocking it completely, he pulled up a message from the cat he'd gotten this morning.

morning soldier~ i managed to get done what you needed me to for today last night. which, you owe me BIG-TIME for, mister.

i was up until 4 am doing this!!

Soldier checked the timestamp. Yesterday, 11:34 P.M. Does that cat think he's an idiot? Whatever, it's not like this was the important part of the message. But, if anything, he's getting docked pay for really bad lying. It's not like the guy needs more alcohol money, anyway.

here's a list compiled of all the parties in ebott tonight. i only looked for ones starting after 6 pm like you asked, but there was still far too many… the list is very long (Ｔ▽Ｔ)

[file download link]

i hope you're happy!!! cause im not looking any more than that!!!!! ☆⌒(> _ <)

He downloaded the file to his phone, browsing through it to see what parties had been collected into the spreadsheet. He only could assume that's what was bringing them out, at the very least.

Oh, yes, his job for the evening. That's integral information, I suppose.

The mansion whose roof he sat upon currently was owned by a human family with the surname King. They had twelve children, all adopted, but were all also kept on very rigorous and strict schedules. The eldest of the children very recently had been caught sneaking out of the house every evening by one of their siblings, and sleeping noticeably late in the morning, their final semester of university was suffering from this all as they refused to finish their thesis. So, naturally as it is for all the rich, they threw their money at the problem hoping that would fix it.

Today's "that" was the skeleton monster sitting on their roof, waiting to see when someone would eventually leave the house.

With a hefty sum of money, upfront payment, as usual; Soldier was told to follow their child for three nights, and to report back after that time with what they had been up to. Seemed easy enough. Of all the jobs he'd gotten, tailing someone for a few days and tracking their every move was probably the easiest he's ever had the misfortune of doing.

He continued to scroll through the list. He had been given absolutely nothing to work with from the Kigngs as to where their kid was headed or when they tended to leave the house, or any information of actual use; so he was going into the job without a clue as to what he was really looking for. It was probably the most difficult aspect of the job -- hence why he outsourced the bulk of it. As for the "where," parties seemed like a reasonable assumption to make for a human college student. That's a rather common stereotype of sorts, college students getting drunk at party after party, is it not? Better than nothing, he supposed. Nothing else really came to mind anyway, but that doesn't mean there wasn't another option. Even still, it's a better start than nothing.

Now he had to just wait for the "when." He had the list in front of him, hoping he could deduce when the human would leave their house… but the more he read it over, the more bored he got. Guess the cat wasted his time. Oh well. That's not Soldier's problem.

Just as he locked his screen shut, planning to come down from the roof and investigate any exits that might be hidden to most of the house, he heard an absurdly loud sound he initially thought was a gunshot, followed by a raspy huff of various curses. Peering over the edge of the rooftop, after shortcutting there silently to avoid making attention towards himself; he noticed there was, in fact, no gunshot, but rather, an awfully messy and junky trap door of sorts, seemingly made of plywood. A human, who he assumed was the one who swore earlier, grabbed a bush that had been sitting next to it, picking it up like it was nothing and placing it over the door. It was in line with several other, similar bushes. The human dusted off their hands before walking, keeping a close eye on the mansion walls to their side.

Well, looks like he's found who he's supposed to tail.

He kept watch over them for as long as his eyes could follow, and then, the moment they left his vision, he shortcutted to where they had been moments ago, though slightly distanced as to be hidden nearby; and simply repeated the process. Soldier knew this part of the city better than the back of his hand, so he knew where he was at all times, as well, making shortcutting silently even easier.

… However, what he didn't understand was where the hell this human was headed. A few times he tried clicking on his phone, scrolling through the list again, but they weren't headed in any direction towards any party. And even when they started heading in the direction of one… they would end up taking a "wrong" turn and dodging it completely.

…

… this was taking a really long time…

It's… almost been an hour by now. Soldier's starting to recognize this area a little less. He knew the map layout, but not all of the details about where they were or what was distinctly different about each street. They were outside of the rich part of town, but not quite in the poorer side that he was used to, either. If he was remembering correctly, this was in the direction of downtown. Unless this human's planning on breaking into some probably-already-crashed college dorm party for the night, they definitely weren't planning to party at all. Okay, well, that throws that plan out the window.

But now he had no idea what to expect. Were they banned from getting help, so they're actively seeking it out? Unlikely. Were they secretly addicted to drugs? Unless it was alcohol, getting away with drug smuggling in downtown was a horrific, nearly impossible idea. Did they have a significant other that their family wouldn't let them see? Well… he had no idea. Thoughts and questions and possibilities kept cycling in and out, but he never lost sight of where they were going.

And, sure enough, the bright downtown lights descended upon them as they started making their way across the long bridge leading to the most eventful point of the city. Due to the sheer length of the bridge, and the fact that Soldier was not as well-versed in the map of the downtown Ebott area… he resorted to traditional stalking, mimicking their every step as casually and nonchalantly as possible, as though to avoid being spotted.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket. One new message.

weeeeell? was my work useful? >:3c

He merely huffed half a laugh before typing out his response.

i didnt use it at all

what?! Σ(･口･) soldier, i went through all that hard work, and you didn't even LOOK at it???

i looked at it

i didnt use it

...you're at least still paying me, right?

you are the WORST 凸(｀△´＋）

i'm never doing anything for you again >:(

you dont need the alcohol money anyway

But the cat never responded to that one. Well, Soldier's never been the best at landing most jokes, despite his tendency to make them. Clearly sarcasm wasn't his strong point either. Whatever. He'd pay him later.

He put his phone back in his pocket, putting his attention back to his job as the bridge finally began to end. If the human was suspicious of his following them, they showed no signs of it. Good. Frankly, being silent by stalking someone in this manner isn't his strong suit. He had assumed they would have stayed nearby… not gone to the other side of the city.

The sun had set, but even still, downtown was overwhelmed with artificial lighting, and frankly, it was already giving Soldier a headache and he hadn't even been here for more than 10 minutes. Curse his ridiculously weak and sensitive body.

The human kept walking along, though their pace was beginning to hasten as they flickered their gaze between stepping and a phone screen. Naturally, he also quickened his footing, although unsure as to why. Maybe they were running late for something?

They took a sharp left into a shady alleyway; Soldier shortcut to its entrance, spotting them sprinting down it as fast as they could before eventually climbing up a wooden fence at the end, reaching its peak and jumping over it with ease. Like they'd done this many times before. Soldier, confused, checked the name of the buildings on either side of the alleyway… but neither were significant. One was even an apartment building of sorts, but it looked abandoned at best. Well, might as well continue.

Reaching the end of the alley and pushing himself over the fence with magic to avoid making as much sound as possible, Soldier's feet landed on the concrete of the other side. It was surprisingly… clean. As if someone kept it nice regularly. He went to take a step forward when he heard chattering, and instead, tucked himself behind the smallest edge of the nearby wall, barely peering over its edge to see the rest of the area.

It was like a very small park. Perhaps a courtyard? But it was too barren for that. Well, all except the trees. There were four skinny trunks sprouted from the ground, all of different kinds, and probably no more than two and a half meters tall. Around them was a square-shaped sidewalk of the same concrete he was standing on.

But, at that center of the trees, were two humans, not one. He recognized the one he'd been following up until this point -- vaguely, and mostly just from the color of their clothing -- but the other was new.

"I'm sorry I'm late, I was held up worrying I was going to get caught…" the human he'd followed spoke. "My dad apparently hired someone to follow me for a few days. One of my sisters told me… she apparently ratted me out -- she was forced to -- and now my dad's on a manhunt to find out what I'm doing."

"Yikes," the other person responded. They had a higher pitched voice, but a lower tone of interest. "Sorry to hear about it. You didn't need to come racing here to tell me that, you know. You could have stayed home and texted me to move the lesson."

Lesson?

"No, it's fine. I came because I wanted to. It probably would have been better if I waited… but I was too excited about tonight," the human explained. "It's the first time we're practicing the whole dance routine straight through. I've been practicing on my own some other nights, too."

… dance routine?

The other human let go of a heavy laugh. "You've really been practicing for two weeks straight with no other dance party breaks?"

"I said on some other nights!"

The both of them laughed.

But Soldier was stuck on "dance routine."

A phrase he typically only heard from his brother anymore, and he barely talked to him as is.

A phrase he'd never said himself in… so long.

An act he hasn't tried since they were still trapped Underground…

An act that, even back then, he'd sworn off doing after so many years of it.

It's like he'd been punched directly in the Soul. Possibly even with a knife.

"Well, are you ready to start, then?"

Soldier's attention peered back to the two humans.

"Yup, whenever you are!"

There was a brief period of silence.

Then the music started. He didn't recognize it at first…

But the realization that it was his own piece hit him in the face like a truck. Some sort of shivering heat rushed through his body. … embarrassment? ...maybe? He… wasn't sure.

But even still…

He soon became entranced by their dancing.

Only the human he had been following was dancing the routine. Every step timed perfectly to every beat and measure… so meticulously performed with such dedication. But then, some old part of him started to creep back from where it had been shoved away, as he started judging the technique of their every move. Sure, they had a… beautiful dedication to every step they took… but much of it was wrong. Though, they were not missteps. Everything planned was executed with confident perfection. The moves themselves were wrong. Some of them didn't match the tone of the piece at all, and it was clear that they were self-taught, just based on how they were moving in between each one. He wasn't mad, no… no, rather… he was utterly fascinated.

Soldier stood and watched the whole routine, start to finish. Though, he couldn't help but have a yelp from his own Soul every time they did something his own memory was screeching to be incorrect. It was yelping because… he wanted to correct them. He wanted to walk up to them, tell them what was wrong with their choices, and point them in the right direction. He wanted to… take them by the hand, directing their movements through his, teaching them how to dance the way he was taught. He… couldn't stop staring…

A scream. Soldier shortcut in a panic. He was now on the opposite side of the wooden fence, back in they alleyway.

"What, what is it?" The voice of the second human.

"I… I thought I saw someone." A breathy, horrified tone from the dancer. "I thought someone was watching me but… th-then I blinked and… they were gone."

The second human huffed angrily. "You haven't been getting proper sleep lately, have you? Maybe you should go home and rest."

Still breathing heavily, the dancer hummed a sound of malcontent. "I… Can I finish the routine first?"

"Really, now…" But with a sigh, the second human allowed them to start again from the beginning.

Meanwhile, Soldier…

He was doing his best not to scream on his own. So many emotions overwhelmed him entirely. Most of which he could not identify. But one thing would not stop looping in his mind. One thing other than a raging beat echoing in his skull from the sound of his own Soul racing, that was. In fact, that only heightened.

The thought of taking their hand. Teaching them to dance.

The overwhelming feeling of hearing someone else not just listening to his work… but expanding upon it. Being able to express themself through it. Being able to see themself through him.

The raging passion burning deep inside of him, regretting his forgone dancing career. It ate at his Soul, bit by bit. Begging his laziness to cave for them and them alone.

The fact that all of these thoughts happened in the very same millisecond that he made eye contact with them… he felt unexplainably and weirdly hot.

That eye contact. Their eyes, their face. They were almost as beautiful as the dances they performed… no… perhaps even more so.

Another loud beat echoed in his skull. The song was reaching its end. He knew he needed to start going home before he was caught.

But part of him wanted to be caught.

Part of him wanted to catch them.

… And all of him wanted to see them dancing… just one more time. Once more, that's all he asks.

Just one more time.

Maybe… maybe that will suffice.

Maybe that will drive away the fortissimo thoughts clouding his sense of reality. Maybe he'll be able to go back to…

A thought. A separate one, remembered from earlier this same evening.

"Alone."

He was… alone.

…

Did he really want to go down the same paths as…?

No, not really.

But it seemed his Soul was not giving him much other option. The mere thought of never being able to label himself as lonely… and if it was because of someone as beautiful as them…

Well. He already was a hypocrite, chanting against a society he partook in regularly. What other damage could be done by reaffirming what he already knew?

Besides. His Soul was desperate.

He wanted that dancer for his own.

No… no, this was most certainly a need.

#undertale #undertale au #soldier!sans #dancetale sans #wickedtale #undertale fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #undertale fanfiction #yandere tw//#zircon writes #zircon arts #i am too tired for this #but i could not sleep #so instead i am posting this #ive had it done for a while #but the drawings been sitting half finished for a while lol

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regrettablewritings · 6 years

Text

How You Met AU: Rafael Barba

Lifted from this ship meme

He’s back again, you thought, staring at the sharply-dressed man sitting at the bar. Every so often, he took a sip from his glass of scotch, never looking up from the papers strewn about before him. He was nearing the end of his first glass after only ten minutes – that meant the case wasn’t going too well. You preferred not to think of it as stalking, seeing as you worked at Martelli’s and he frequented the place enough for you to recognize his tendencies, but you tried to give yourself some leeway by considering what you knew from the news: That ADA Rafael Barba, notorious for taking on difficult cases and nearly winning all of them, had become a participant in one such situation that was already proving to be one of the harder types. Of course, the news wasn’t the source that allowed you to acknowledge how attractive he was – you did that all on your own, watching at a distance. Or by managing to catch a quick glimpse of him whenever you came by to serve him, rare as that was. The news couldn’t tell you that his eyes were a shockingly lovely shade of green, or that his profile displayed a sharp, yet handsome nose. The news would never show you that if he was particularly deep in a case, he would remove the jacket of one of those snappy suits and strip his top layers until he was down to his shirt and suspenders (of which, you wanted nothing more than to snap). The news couldn’t show you the way those pretty eyes of his focused on his paperwork, scanning each and every word before those slender fingers of his would guide a pen across one section or another to circle a particular word or phrase. No, that was all on you.

You and your stalkerish tendencies, you thought bluntly. That earned a mental elbow to the brain, telling your own mind to shush itself. You watched as he placed his now empty scotch glass on the worn, wooden counter. He’d be wanting another, you knew. Which you know because you’re a creeper. You had half a mind to perform the mental elbowing again, had you not been distracted by the small, odd feeling of victory you felt when you saw him order yet another glass. Though part of you wondered if there’d even be enough room for the grilled tilapia he’d ordered. Speaking of which … “Hey, (L/N), you mind graciously taking time out of your nigh-daily creeping and actually helping out?” You whipped around, panic setting in. “Sssshhhh, you jackass!!” you hissed at your coworker. Daniel, the chef, huffed with bemusement. “Just statin’ the obvious,” he grunted. You made quick work of speed walking back into the main kitchen. “I know, but still!�� you insisted. You pointed a thumb behind you, back where ADA Barba was. “But what if he heard you?!” Daniel shrugged. “Then I s’ppose I would’ve made one more move than you. Either way, not my problem. Order up: Grilled tilapia with a side of string beans.” He plopped a plate holding exactly that on the pickup shelf. Your hands twitched; it could only be for the man outside. Not a lot of people typically ate at this place at this time of night. “Uh … Danny? That’s Sylvia’s job; I just clean tables, ‘member?” “Sylvia called off. Said she had a migraine the side of an elephant’s ass.” “Bullshit, both to her saying that and to her actually having a migraine,” you rejected. You then scoffed, “She’s probably just hungover, call her again and tell her to stop trying to get other people to do her job for her.” “That may be,” Daniel admitted with a roll of his eyes. “But even if I did, she wouldn’t be here before that tilapia makes it to the table. Because you’re gonna give it to ‘em long before then. Now quit trying to throw me off, I got other crap to do.” You crossed your arms. “Nobody else even ordered, Daniel.” “All the more reason for you not to get sidetracked and to just give the guy his damn food before it gets cold.” He slapped the metal counter with his spatula to show that he meant business and wasn’t going to take any more of your dillydallying. Well, shit. You’d felt so confident (albeit irritated) when you’d first stormed over and snatched up the plate. It was all you could do to keep the platter leveled just enough to keep the string beans from flying off.

You’d felt so insistent in the beginning. You mentally scowled at yourself for being so juvenile. It was bad enough to partake in some weird and creepy double standard of gawking at a customer you found attractive from a distance; it simply rubbed dirt into the wound that you were letting that effect your ability to actually do your job properly – even if it technically wasn’t the exact position you’d been hired for. And what better way to prove yourself competent and clear-headed than to actually do the damn job without a speck of worry?

This had been your thought process as you strutted out the kitchen and through the threshold leading into the main dining area. But just as soon as they came, they evaporated. The sight of ADA Barba, hard at work with his pen scrawling along the papers, reminded you of the nerves you had. And suddenly, the plate felt heavy in your arm. It threatened to leap out of your hold and send itself shattering to the floor, directing everyone (what few there were)’s attention to you. Including ADA Barba, who would most definitely think something foul of you for not only startling him, but for ruining his meal.

No, you sternly told yourself. Not today, Plate-Satan… . Plate-an. You were going to suck it up, march over there, and do literally the easiest thing you could’ve done all night! … Aaaaany second now.

It was honestly part-miracle, part-actual will that you didn’t drop the meal as you neared its destination. But nearly nothing could stop you from nearly thudding the plate against the counter. Granted, it could’ve been your anxiety convincing you that you had all but smashed the dish down. But then … he turned. And you could no longer hear anything but the sound of your heart beating inside your skull. While this wasn’t the first time you’d seen them, this was certainly the first time those beautiful, beautiful eyes of his were focused on you. And they didn’t appear to be scowling at you as you thought they would, or even staring at you with perplexity over how obviously strange you were coming off as. You were lucky to consider that look as one of courtesy. But, of course, your infatuation told you to read far more into it than necessary. “D-dyouneedanythingelsesir?” you blarbed. You wished for nothing more than for a meteor to crash through the ceiling and strike you down in that moment. But alas, no such natural phenomena befell Martelli’s, nor you. It was probably for the better, however, as ADA Barba still seemed predominately unfazed. “No thank you. But I appreciate the offer,” he said. You gulped heavily.

“Good,” you practically gasped. You forgot when your fingers started to wring themselves nervously before your apron. “Pleaseenjoyyourmeal!”

You swore to yourself that you weren’t running, or that your footsteps weren’t stiff. But you knew that something about the way you retreated was abnormal, given how Daniel was smirking at you from the doorway leading back into the kitchen. You tried to pay him no mind as you made a beeline to a fridge. You placed your scorching face against the cool metal and groaned.

“Wooowwwww,” Daniel teased. “I haven’t seen moves so smooth since my middle school dance on the cusp of puberty.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you groused. “I thought you had shit to do anyway.”

“I did. It just so happened that watching you nearly crap yourself talking to that guy was on of ‘em.”

“Fuck you.”

“I thought that’s what you wanted him to do.”

++++++++

You didn’t watch him for the rest of the time he was there. You couldn’t bear to do so. You were beyond thankful when another coworker arrived for their shift, thereby freeing you from having to provide further contact with the object of your infatuation and cause of your humiliation.

… So why was Erica coming back to you and insisting that you go pick up the tip he’d left at his eating spot once he was ready to go?

“He insists that it’s because you were the first one to serve him,” she shrugged. Shit.

You tried not to think about how awkward you must’ve looked, glancing out from the back before actually making a move. He was gone, but sure enough some green paper money was visible. It was only as you neared it and removed the glass it had been sitting under that you recognized it as being a decently generous tip for a bar of all places.

Usually, to get a $20 tip, one might have to show a little skin, act a little flirtatious. You were pretty sure essentially vomiting up words and acting a fool wasn’t regular good cause for such a generous donation.

It was then that you noticed that the benevolent attorney had left you one last thing. There, also held in place by the scotch glass, was a napkin with writing on it. It was in red ink – the same red ink he’d been using to circle and underline on his notepad earlier.

You weren’t sure what possessed you to handle the tissue so gingerly, as though it were some great treasure instead of a completely disposable paper product. But what mattered more was how you handled it as you observed what was scrawled upon it in clean, swirling cursive:

I can’t imagine it’s any fun just *watching* somebody eat. Maybe next time you’d like to join me? – Rafael Barba You blinked once. Twice. You narrowed your eyes, scrunching your face inward as you brought the napkin closer and then away. But the message stayed the same.

This … This had to have been a joke, right? You glanced at the door, knowing what nonsense there was in assuming ADA – pardon, Rafael Barba would still be there. You were pleasantly and completely surprised to see that he was, in fact, just composing himself after placing his jacket back on and positioning his bag on his shoulder. Even from where you stood, you could see the lovely glint of his eyes. He smiled at you. Not a courteous one as a customer could to any member of the waitstaff – a kind, warm, sweet one, if a hint wobbly at the upturn. As if he were nervous. And then … a wink. The sound of your heart thundering in your ears and the subsequent blurring of your vision from the rush of blood made you miss the exact moment he departed, but the effect took its hold of you for quite some time after that. Even as you cleaned up and clocked out, your thoughts were stuck on that moment, the napkin, everything. Should you tell somebody? Who should you tell?

… Well, wasn’t that a silly question?

++++++++

Sonny Carisi glanced at his phone the moment he felt it vibrating in his pocket. He had been waiting on a message from Rollins, but he was happy enough to hear from you. You will not *BELIEVE* what just happened, dude, you’d messaged your friend. He couldn’t help but smirk. Unfortunately, it was noticed by somebody else. “Gee, I hope I wasn’t called here at last minute just to see some cat video or whatever,” Rafael Barba snarked as he waltzed into the precinct.

“Nah, I wish,” Sonny said, sliding the phone back into his pocket. “Were you havin’ a good evening?”

“Was,” Rafael sighed, trying not to furrow his brows with irritation. “I finally gave that bar you’d been going on about a try.”

“Oh?” Sonny asked, placing his hands on his hips. “Which one?”

“Martelli’s.” “Really? My friend works there, I oughta tell her to keep an eye out for ya!”

#rafael barba x reader #rafael barba imagine #rafae barba imagines #barba x reader #barba imagine #barba imagines #svu imagine #svu imagines #regrettablewritings

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doctortreklock · 6 years

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My Spirit is Crying for Leaving - February 11, 2019

Part of my Resolution19. EDIT: Read it on AO3.

Prompt: Couples have to share one of everything before they can get a divorce (x - title from x)

Fandom: Supernatural

Words: 1533

Day 0

"You want us to do what?" Cas's voice is flat next to him, as if he can't actually believe that is being asked of them. Dean would furiously agree, but he is still staring in horror as his mind tries to take in what the unimpressed judge in front of them is saying.

"Yes, Mr. Novak. You and Mr. Winchester have a few hoops to jump through first."

Day 1

"You and Mr. Winchester have a few hoops to jump through first," Dean mutters sourly under his breath for the thousandth time that day as he roughly cleans eggs off a worn plate. By the irritated huff of air his soon-to-be-ex-husband loudly exhaled, Cas has been counting.

"What?" Dean snaps at him, throwing the washcloth back into the kitchen sink with much more force than strictly required.

"Nothing," Cas snaps back. He is sitting in the lone chair in the small, one-room cabin, arms crossed and jaw tight. "Except if you break our one plate, we're going to be eating off the floor, and you might have been raised in motels, but I'm not going to--"

"You're not going to what, Cas?" Dean snarls. "You're not going to slum it with the rest of the working class? You entitled, selfish--" They are both on their feet now.

"--At least I'm not some attention-seeking whore--" Cas has to duck as the plate flies past him to shatter against the wall.

They don't speak for the rest of the day.

Day 4

Cas is taking his own sweet time washing the dishes. The two dishes. Dean is convinced it should not take fifteen goddamn minutes to wash a bowl and a spoon.

The bowl is finally set down on the table with a clunk. The soup Dean made for lunch is still on the stove, and he'd be able to put it in the bowl and finally eat it if only Cas would--

"Pass me the spoon," Dean grits out.

"Pass me the spoon please," Cas responds sweetly, running the dry cloth over and over the spoon just in case he missed a drop of water.

"Just pass me the goddamn spoon, Cas," Dean erupts. "Jesus Christ, does everything have to be a fight with you?"

Any hint of humor on Castiel's face evaporates. "Fights take two, Dean," he growls as he slams the spoon on the table so hard it bends in half. "Just like screwing around."

Dean ignores the spoon. "How many does it take to betray your family?" he retorts. "Just one? Or was Crowley it on it, too?"

They end up cracking one of the table legs in that fight.

Day 6

The cabin is dark; a thin gleam of moonlight from the window over the kitchen sink illuminates a sliver of wooden floorboards. The room is silent, save for the figure lying on the floor shuffling, then rolling over.

The twin bed groans. "Just get in the bed, Dean." Cas's voice is tired. "You can't sleep on the floor again with your back; you're not 25 anymore."

The figure on the floor shuffles some more. "What do you know about my back anyway, Cas?" The words are confrontational, but the tone is hollow.

There's a soft snort. "You think I haven't been listening every time you've complained about it for the last four years? Now c'mon. It'll be a bit tight, but we've managed tighter squeezes."

The figure on the floor rolls itself onto its front, then pushes itself up. "Yeah, Baby's backseat during Sammy's graduation party springs to mind."

There is a low chuckle, then wiggling and rearranging and a few grunts and muffled apologies before the pair settle on the bed.

"G'night, Cas."

"Goodnight, Dean."

The room is silent.

Day 11

There's not much to do in their little prison. There's just the one bed, one table with a wobbly leg, and one chair. One fork, knife, and impossibly bent spoon. One pot that's got low enough sides that it can serve as a pan in a pinch. There's one bowl and eight pieces of what used to be a plate.

There are zero shelves with zero books. Zero forms of entertainment that don't involve picking up slivers of ceramic or splinter of wood off the floor. Zero ways Dean can distract himself that don't involve Castiel.

He thumps his head back against the wall behind him. It hurts, but it's more enjoyable than anything else in the cabin, so he does it again. And again.

"Cut it out," Cas snaps from where he's sitting against the wall on his side of the room.

Dean flips him the bird, but stops.

Cas pinches his lips together, but doesn't say anything.

Dean starts tapping out the melody line of "Stairway to Heaven" on his thigh.

Day 16

"Her name was Lisa."

Cas doesn't say anything, but he's gone unnaturally still, so Dean knows he's listening.

"She came into the shop to get her car fixed." He doesn't know why he's telling Cas this. He wonders if maybe clearing the air might be the best thing to do.

"I didn't know she was-- I wasn't-- She didn't-- I didn't do it on purpose" is what he finally settles on.

Cas hasn't moved since he started, so Dean hurries to explain. "I didn't decide I was unhappy in my marriage and wanted to screw you over." Cas shuts his eyes. "It just sort of happened. I didn't mean to."

The words hang in the air.

"I'm sorry," Dean says softly.

Day 17

"I knew you and Bobby were close," Cas starts. They're sitting across the room from each other again.

Dean doesn't say anything. He just lets Cas talk, the same way Cas let him talk the day before.

They hadn't worked much on listening before.

"So it wasn't like it was an accident. I knew." The words tumble forth more freely after that admission. "I knew what the deal with Crowley would mean for Bobby and for Sam and for you. I wish I could say that I hadn't realized, or that I'd spent long, sleepless nights fretting about whether it was the right thing to do."

Cas seems to crumple in on himself. "But I didn't. I knew what it would mean and I didn't stop to think. I just did it because it would get me the promotion I wanted.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

Dean can't decide if he wants to comfort Cas or punch him in the face, so he doesn't move.

Day 19

Neither of them can stand another meal sitting on the floor, but they've also called a silent truce, so instead of taking turns, they're attempting to share.

"Alright," Dean says loudly after he almost falls off the chair for the fourth time. "I'm done with this."

Cas frowns at the half of the chair Dean had just vacated. "I'm open to suggestions."

Dean gives the table and chair set-up a once over. "Okay, Cas, I'm gonna need you to pull the chair back from the table and sit on it sort of at an angle."

Dean gestures with his hands, but Cas just frowns at him in confusion, so Dean gives a great, theatrical sigh and bodily shifts Cas where he wants him. Then Dean plunks himself down unceremoniously in Cas's lap and reaches for the bowl and fork.

"There we go," Dean says, pleased with his solution.

Cas wraps his arms around Dean's waist to keep him from falling off.

Day 23

"I'm getting locked in a cabin, and I'm bringing an avalanche, a bar stool, a carrot cake, a dime-store novel....and an elephant," Cas finishes.

Dean snorts. "How are you getting an elephant into the cabin?"

"The same way I got the avalanche in," Cas deadpans. "Through the door."

He's much closer today, the pair having migrated to the same side of the cabin, though they're still about five feet apart. If Dean's being honest with himself (which is something else they've been working on), he likes it much better next to Cas than across from him.

"Your turn."

"Can I bring a freight train?"

Day 29

"A fireman?" Cas's nose crinkles as he smiles. He's sitting right next to Dean now, their elbows knocking.

"Yeah," Dean smiles back. "When I was six, I wanted to be a fireman when I grew up."

Cas contemplates that for a second. Dean stares at the tip of Cas's tongue just visible past his teeth.

"I can see that," Cas concludes. "I'm just picturing six-year-old you in a fireman's jacket with a bright red hat."

Castiel's smile widens and Dean's breath catches as he remembers how Cas smiles at him when he's in love.

It looks a bit like that.

Day 31

"And have the two of you come to any conclusions over the last month?" It's the same unimpressed judge, but now she seems amused as well.

"Yes, Your Honor," Cas answers her. "We have decided to withdraw our appeal for divorce."

The amused, unimpressed judge raises an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Dean answers, tightening his hold on Cas's hand.

Cas squeezes his hand in response.

#Resolution19 #Supernatural #Destiel #mistakes were made by both parties #fanfic #title from Stairway to Heaven #happy ending #dean cheats #cas betrays #crockery is thrown #they're together at the end #Amanda writes things #i think i'm going to start posting everything to ao3 rn #this one counts as my Feb 1k+ fic

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