#my office was waiting for me to get my visa to just send me away lol business trips are stressful | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shreddedparchment · 4 years ago

Text

A World of Our Own Pt.09

Paradise Lost

10/09/2020

Pairing: Bucky x Reader Word Count: 5,013

Warnings: fluff, depression, anxiety, implied sex

A/N: Hopefully this isn’t too much of a mess. Life got me busy and I didn’t get to put this out when I wanted to. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work. xoxo

“Hello? Yes, how can I help you?” Her voice is still a bit on the nasal side, her hair an ice blonde. Her eyes are emerald green and her lips as red as a ruby.

She doesn’t seem to remember you one bit. It has been ten months and you’d only met her once.

“I’m Y/N? I have a meeting with Mr. Swan?” You muster up all your courage after that initial hesitation, intent on completing your mission.

“Oh, right. The no-show.” She gets up and gestures for you to follow.

Quickly you hurry to catch up, watching the way she swings her hips as she walks, the movement exaggerated by the tight gray pencil skirt she wears.

She’s surprisingly fast on her six-inch heels and you’re dumbfounded by the skill.

Stopping at the end of a long modern hallway with black marble walls, the secretary knocks on the pale wooden office door, waiting a moment for response.

“Come in, Kay.” A surprisingly young male voice speaks.

Kay steps in, stopping with her back against the open door as she leans her weight on the doorknob.

“The no-show is here for you.” Kay says, voice casual and relaxed despite the fact that she’s speaking to A.I.M.’s CEO.

“Oh? Hi!” He greets as you cross into view.

He’s most definitely young. Mid to late twenties. No way he’s older than thirty, with short and carefully styled brown hair, brown eyes, and browned peach skin. His chin is blanketed in rough stubble and two dimples crease his cheeks as he moves towards you with his hand extended.

“Y/N, right?” He asks and you quickly take his hand and shake it.

“Yes.” You agree. “Nice to meet you.”

“That’ll be all, Kay. Can you order my lunch for two o’clock?” He asks, releasing your hand but gesturing the red modern armchair in front of his long glass desk.

“Will do.” Kay agrees and leaves, shutting the door behind her.

Mr. Swan rounds his desk, long and lithe, moving to sit in his chair and takes a moment to breathe in and release it slowly, as if it’s the first time he’s sat down today. When he’s settled, he gives you a smile and places his hands on his lap.

“So, you’ve been out of town for ten months?” He wastes no time getting to his point. “Unfortunately, Y/N, I don’t have a position open for you. We’ve just filled all the open positions in marketing and taken on all the interns we could use.

“If you wanted the job, you should have shown up. You were hired. I can’t save your spot just because you decided to take an extended vacation.”

“I-” Your heart is pounding, your blood boiling. There’s a buzzing in your head because you know you can’t say what you want to. You can’t tell him that you were stranded on an island with Bucky because it’s a secret. Not that he was stranded, but that you were there.

“I’m sorry to waste your time. Really. If you’d like to reapply, we’ll keep your application on file and should a spot open up, we’ll keep you in mind.” Mr. Swan assures you.

“Mr. Swan,” You begin, forcing yourself to give him a smile. Tight and humorless, it’s more a desperate gesture than anything else. “I didn’t extend my vacation, there were problems with my passport and travel visas. I was stuck in an airport for several weeks before they put me up in a hotel until they could figure out what the problem was.

“I-I’m not asking you to give me the same position. I know that I’ve lost the chance for that, but if you could give me a job anywhere in your company, I can research my butt off.” You say rashly. “I’m not an idiot. Research and Development would be a good fit too, or maybe consumer research?”

“I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, “I don’t have anything for you. Begging for a job won’t get you one.”

“Mr. Swan-”

“Look, I have a lot of work to do. A company to run. And I’ve given you my answer.” Mr. Swan rises, reaching to refasten the button on his suit jacket. “If you don’t mind? I humored you because Pepper gave me a call to hear you out, but I’ll have to be more wary granting favors for friends. If you’ll excuse me?”

You don’t even have the chance to get up before he’s moving around to the door. He opens it up and leaves, disappearing to the right.

A moment later, Kay moves in and stops when she sees you.

“Oh, you’re still here? You should leave before he comes back. He’s an asshole but that was him being nice.” She explains, moving to his desk to drop off a thick yellow notebook.

When she turns, she stops by the end of the desk, looking at you pointedly.

You get up without word, moving out of the office feeling like there’s fire in your veins.

Loading the elevator, you turn and press the ground floor button. The cold air that blows from the ceiling sends a chill down your spine and it’s the push you need to knock you out of your daze.

As the doors shut and Kay takes her seat behind her desk, your rage overflows into one loud exclamation of, “Fuck!”

~~~~~~~~~~

“How long is this gonna take?” Bucky wonders, turning to Sam who sits beside him, relaxed as he lounges in his seat.

Bucky isn’t so unconcerned, sitting straight with one hand on his bouncing leg and the other balled into a fist on the table.

“I’m sorry, Sergeant Barnes, do you have somewhere else you need to be?” Fury asks, strutting towards them before stopping at the head of the table.

“Yes.” Bucky says, no fear or regret in his voice. “Y/N had a meeting with the head of A.I.M. today, to see if she could possibly get her job back.”

“Guess the money in her bank isn’t enough incentive to stop working?” Sam guesses.

Bucky shakes his head. “She wants to get back to normal if she can. We both do. But she’s having a harder time than I am. This means a lot to her.”

“Unfortunately for you and Miss Y/L/N, I’m afraid Augustus Swan is a grade A asshole. I don’t think she’s going to come away from that meeting happy.” Fury says, pulling out his own chair to sit.

“Then we need to make this quick.” Bucky nods, leaning both elbows on the table.

“I’ll dictate how long this debriefing will run, Sergeant Barnes. Rush me and I’ll keep you here all night.” Fury threatens.

As Bucky frowns, ready to argue, Sam meets his eyes and as he swings his chair around to face him, he shakes his head to calm him and then swings it back to face Fury.

“What do you wanna know?” Bucky sighs, leaning back once again, defeated by Fury’s iron stare.

“Well, for starters, when did you notice that things weren’t exactly right on that plane?”

~~~~~~~~~~

“You were lucky.” Sam admits, walking beside Bucky at a casual pace despite Bucky’s desire to be with you already. “If that stewardess hadn’t moved you and your Mrs. to the front of the plane, you’d both be dead.”

“Yeah.” Bucky agrees, wringing his hands with anxiety. “Were you able to find him? The stewardess’s husband and son?”

“In Texas. They were in contact with the airline but even the airline didn’t know what happened so, Ross filled in the blanks without actually owning up to the responsibility of it. Blamed it on malfunctioning engines.

“They didn’t take it so well. They’ve been paid off, but that hardly makes up for the years that kid is going to live without his mother.” Sam grieves, feeling for the family.

“I’m glad they at least know.” Bucky admits. “Y/N will be glad to know they’re able to mourn her properly. She won’t be happy but at least her heart will ache a little less.”

“She’s a good woman, Bucky.” Sam reaches over, clapping his partner once on the shoulder. “But she’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”

Bucky’s mouth turns into a small hesitant smile, shaking his head.

“Like, she’s got you whipped, dude. Whipped!”

As Sam laughs, Bucky follows, relaxing a little and grateful for the levity.

“You say that like it’s bad thing.” Bucky throws at him, but Sam takes his hand back and gestures his denial animatedly.

“No, I never said that. Honestly, anyone who says being whipped is a bad thing obviously never got it right.” Sam shrugs.

“You sound like you know what you’re talking about.” Bucky pretends to be thoughtful. “How’s that possible when you’re single as hell?”

Sam stops walking, fixing Bucky with a glare before he nods, looking betrayed.

“Alright, I see how it is. Don’t forget I owe you a tracking chip, Barnes. I will literally implant one in your ass.” Sam threatens, but Bucky can only laugh as he stops to look back at him.

Sam smiles, and for a moment Bucky can swear he looks almost grateful to have him back. Although he’s opted to take a break, a long one so that he can build a life with you before he goes back to work, he suddenly feels eager to return and really get to know his new partner.

“Will you come over for dinner next week? Once we’ve had a chance to settle in?” Bucky takes a step towards the three-story townhouse, a lovely pale sandstone exterior with dark gray highlights around the windows and teal front door.

You’d chosen the color specifically and though you didn’t explain it, he knows you’d picked it because it reminded you of the waters around the island.

You had loved your morning swims. It’s only natural that you miss the water if not the isolation. And yet, now that you’ve both been back, he sees you timidity as you walk out into the world and it makes his heart ache.

“Depends.” Sam quips, “You cookin’? I don’t wanna get food poisoning.”

Bucky shakes his head, smiling. “No. Y/N will be cooking. She’s got it all planned and the menu all thought up. She’s pretty excited about having you over actually.”

“Then I’ll definitely be there. Tell her I’m looking forward to it and I hope things are okay with A.I.M.” Sam’s well wishes give Bucky a warm feeling in his chest.

His two worlds are one in this moment and he appreciates the generosity that Sam has had welcoming you into their group.

Bucky wants to keep you as far away from the danger as possible but seeing as you’ve already been blown up on a plane because of him, he’s grown accustomed to the idea that he can’t ever keep you one hundred percent safe. He’ll have to take it day by day.

“Thanks, Sam. That means a lot. I’ll tell her. Hey and uh…maybe you should ask Sharon to come? Y’know…”

Sam quirks an eyebrow, his face full of wonder at Bucky’s audacity.

“…as your date?” He finishes, an amused smile overtaking his handsome face as he turns up and takes the steps two at a time.

“That’s not funny, Barnes!”

“It wasn’t supposed to be!” Bucky calls back then wiggles his eyebrows at Sam as he shuts the door.

Eager to find you, he drops his keys on the unpacked boxes by the door, stripping off his coat slowly as his ears listen intently to the sounds of the house.

The inside is simple, a dark gray concrete floor makes up the foyer that then shifts into stunning dark oak hardwood flooring. The windows are large with thin frames made of black steel. Immediately after the foyer to the right is the living room, two bright red sofas—one full and one loveseat—are pushed against the far wall, an unassembled coffee table half pulled from its box. A rolled up decorative rug lays on top of the larger sofa.

An open concept, the dining room follows the first floor with a decently sized dining table lighter than the floors with mid-century dining chairs in pale peach. Two of them are still wrapped in plastic.

On the other side of the dining table, is the black concrete kitchen island with maple cabinets. A black stainless-steel fridge and matching chef grade six burner stove are already hooked up an in use, a small pot of what smells like alfredo sauce burning and emitting the first puffs of black smoke.

Bucky drops his jacket and races for it, pulling the pot away from the flame then shutting it off.

“Shit…” He sighs, taking the pot to the sink then freezing when he sees cold noodles, all mushed and sticky and obviously overcooked thrown in what he can clearly see is a small fit of frustration from you.

He takes a deep breath, exhaling through his nose as he thinks about what he’ll possibly be able to say to make this day better for you. There has to be something that he can do.

As he waters down the sauce and begins to dump it, he makes up his mind.

He cleans the dishes first, then makes for the fridge to see what else you’ve bought to cook.

He finds the chicken that would have been for the pasta you were making and takes that out along with a few tomatoes, sharp cheddar, and beautiful red and yellow peppers.

Dinner is quick work, and though Bucky isn’t sure what he’s making will be very appetizing, he pours his heart and soul into this meal hoping that it’ll heal a bit of the darkness this day has obviously brought.

He sets the table and as he places the down two wine glasses, he suddenly hears a swell of music upstairs.

It’s beautiful, this melody, and it reminds him of a song that he knows he must have heard. There’s a full string orchestra, woodwinds, and a deep bass below. It all sounds beautiful, something he can’t quite put his finger on, but it’s melancholic and he can only imagine the state you’re in.

Deciding to get you down here before he pulls the wine from the fridge, he heads up the stairs.

The second floor has three bedrooms two on the left and the master on the right with a master bath and the second full bath sharing the same wall.

Although the inner walls of the house are made up of insulated and soundproofed drywall, the walls of each room on the outside are exposed sandstone brick, slightly darker than that of the exterior.

Bucky makes his way to the last door on the right, listening for a moment but the music is coming from the third-floor attic space.

Attic is used as a loose term. The space is actually completely open, nothing within it yet save for the large radio system that you brought from your place. The high-tech turntable is plugged into sturdy speakers that almost make it sound as if the orchestra is in the attic with you.

Bucky steps up onto the landing and spots you standing at the far end staring up at the large skylight as the sky grows darker with dusk’s quick approach. You have your arms wrapped around yourself as if you’re cold, the large sweater you’re wrapped in making you look soft and huggable.

You take his breath away, every time he sees you like this. You’ve always been beautiful but seeing you in clean clothing that isn’t torn or saturated in sea salt makes his heart skip a beat. He likes you looking cared for. You’ve gained a healthy amount of weight since you left the hospital and there is nothing sexier than how you look now.

The stretchy tights you wear underneath your sweater hug your curves tight, thick woolen socks on your feet.

If you hear him come in, you don’t show it. Your hands are clasped around the sleeves of your sweater, clinging tightly as you struggle with whatever you’re thinking.

Bucky needs to know what he can do, but he’s afraid to make it worse.

The only thing he can think of is to hold you, so that’s what he does.

He moves up behind you, waiting a moment before he places his hands on your shoulders then traces them down along the length of your arms. The way you have them crossed also brings his arms around your body.

As you melt against him, Bucky exhales the breath he’d been holding, kissing the side of your head as you shut your eyes and sigh.

“One of the things I hadn’t realized I’d missed being stranded on that island was music.” You tell him, voice conversational despite the grief you seem to still be processing.

“Me too.” Bucky admits, listening to the swell of music with new ears.

It gives him goosebumps.

“I guess things didn’t go well at A.I.M.?” Bucky probes gently, his lips pressed against your head as you continue to watch the sky through the skylight.

“I can’t exactly tell them that I was stranded on an island after my plane blew up.” You shrug. “Honestly, the guy was a pretty big jerk but, he’s right. They couldn’t exactly hold my position for me.”

Bucky sighs deeply, hating the disappointment in your voice. “You’ll find something, kitten. I’ll help you look.”

You shake your head. “I think maybe I should just take some time.”

“I think that’s a very good idea.” Bucky admits, his lips once again pressed to your head. He can’t seem to help himself. He wants to kiss you better, but he knows it’ll only do so much.

Both of you are aware just how much you’re struggling to get used to being back home.

You fall into silence, Bucky’s arms content to hold you.

Oh, shit. Dinner.

“I made you something to eat.” Bucky whispers, then drops his arms as you turn to look at him.

“Shit, the sauce!” You exclaim, fear making your eyes dilate.

“It’s okay, kitten. I took care of it.”

“I’m so sorry, Bucky. I’m so stupid.” You whimper.

“Hey, baby, it’s okay. Alright? Nothing to worry about.” He pulls your hand up to his lips and kisses your knuckles before lacing his fingers through yours to pull you from the room. “What do you think we should do with this space?”

He hopes you can’t see through his attempt to distract you.

“I don’t know.” You admit, looking back up at the space as he pull you down the stairs.

Bucky waits as you think, letting you lead the pace of conversation.

“We could just make it a multipurpose room.” You brainstorm. “You’ll need a gym? And I could use a space for reading.”

Bucky smiles, glad you’ve gotten your mind off your lost A.I.M. job, even if it is for a few moments.

“That sounds like a great idea. I’ll have to get you a nice lounge chair and some bookshelves.” Bucky nods eagerly.

As he pulls you through into the dining room, he lets your hand go to pull out your chair.

“This looks so good, babe.” You gasp, eyeing the cheesy chicken on your plate, laden with tomatoes and peppers. “Thank you so much.”

Bucky watches you sit down, your voice breaking as you thank him and then you’re shoving your hands over your face as you sob.

He doesn’t need you to say anything and there’s nothing he can say to make it better. All he can do is drop to his knees and pull you into his arms, holding you tight as you let the stresses of the day spill out.

You bury your face against his neck, clinging to his shirt tight, somehow making Bucky feel more needed here than you ever did on the island.

“I’ve got you, kitten.” He whispers, squeezing you tight. “I’ve got you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“What are you going to do today?” Bucky whispers, eyes still shut.

He gives you a fright, making you jump with his sudden question and you turn to hide your face in your pillow as you laugh lightly.

“Holy fuck, Bucky!” You shout into your pillow and feel him shift beside you, his hand moving across your lower back. His hand over the sheets you’re using to cover yourself.

You turn to look at him, biting your bottom lip with playful anger.

“I’m sorry.” He laughs silently, puffs of air as he blinks slowly, like cat. Telling you he loves you without saying anything. “Serves you right for watching me sleep.”

“You’re so pretty though.” You tell him, reaching out to trace his nose from bridge to tip.

“Me?!” He asks, astonished by the news before he throws himself over you, grabbing your wrist as he goes to pin it up above your head.

Settling his weight on you, he breathes in and out heavily, enjoying the feel of you beneath him. With your wrist in his metal grip and his flesh hand squeezing your hip, you chuckle happily, licking your lips.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“If I’m beautiful, what does that make you?”

“Normal?” You wonder, knowing he’ll refute any disparities you make in your self-assessment. He’s biased. He loves you.

“Perfection.” He whispers, and you shake your head because you knew it had been coming.

“Nobody’s perfect, Bucky.”

“You’re perfect for me.” He clarifies, and leans down to kiss your lips slowly, just a peck.

He holds it, staring into your eyes.

“Perfect with me.” He continues.

You smile, perfectly at peace.

“You never answered my question.” Bucky tells you, throwing himself onto his left side, keeping his right arm around your waist.

“What question?” You wonder, reaching over to stroke his hair.

“What are you gonna do today?”

“Oh.” You sigh. “You’re going in today, finally?”

“Just for the day. Getting acquainted with the new headquarters. No missions yet. But soon.” Bucky nods.

“I’m gonna have to get used to being here without you.” You turn onto your side and scoot in close, pressing your nose right up to the tip of his, shutting your eyes in subdued lamentation.

“I’m gonna have to learn to leave you behind too.” Bucky points out. “I’ve gotten used to having you nearby, kitty cat.”

You laugh. Reaching up to stroke his cheek. “You haven’t called me that in a while.”

“Remember when you woke up on the beach? Right after the plane crashed?” Bucky’s brow puckers, a little crease between his steel and ice eyes.

“I remember you yelling at me to move.”

“I didn’t yell.”

“You might as well have.”

“I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”

“Yes you do.”

“Fuck. You’re right, I do.” He chuckles.

“Stop hurting my feelings, Barnes.” You pout.

He laughs, pulling you close again to kiss you.

“Mmm.” He mumbles, “Baby?”

“Yeah?” You pull back, catching your breath and pulling back to look at him.

“Why is it so damn hot in here?”

“I was cold.” You force a smile, too tight, too toothy. A downright look of guilt if ever Bucky saw one. “Too hot?”

“Not yet.” Bucky mutters, crawling over you again, his hands trailing down; one pushes your white long-sleeved shirt up to expose your tummy while his other hand slides down past the waistband of your sleep shorts. “But we can fix that.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky’s exhausted. He didn’t know how much energy it would take to get back into the swing of things.

As he trudges along down the sidewalk, he passes a few people and they kindly look up and smile at him, waving when they recognize him.

His interview after his rescue seems to have changed the mind of most people in the city. He’s no longer the Winter Soldier, but Sergeant Barnes.

“Hi Sergeant Barnes. Nice night?” A lilting voice asks.

He looks up in search of its owner and finds a young brunette walking by him. Dressed in a tight silver cocktail dress with sparkling sequins along the bottom hem of the skirt and a black coat much thinner than she should need in tonight’s cold.

The flirtatious tilt of her head and the sparkle in her eyes leaves him in no doubt of her aim.

“It’ll be much better once I get back home to my girl.” Bucky tells her, turning to walk backwards a few steps as he waves her goodbye.

“Lucky lady.” She tells him, pulling her bag up higher on her shoulder.

“I’m the lucky one. Have a good night, Miss.” Bucky gives her a nod and turns to be on his way.

He’s not sure if it’s wrong that he feels it necessary to mention you whenever a woman pays him this kind of attention. There are plenty who have wished him a good night without the flirting that he carries on conversations with and manages not to bring you up.

It’s almost like he uses you as a shield.

As he reaches the steps of the house, he climbs them quickly and then waits by the door with his hand pressed over his heart.

That girl really made him anxious. He doesn’t like being seen like that. It’s invasive.

When his heart is steadier, he pulls out his keys and lets himself in.

There’s a rush of hot air that chokes him. He coughs, pulling at his collar as he reluctantly shuts the door and its influx of arid air.

He sheds as much of his outer clothes as he can. Blue jacket and the gray sweater beneath it leaving him in a plain red t-shirt.

“What the hell?” He gasps, dropping his outerwear on the floor before locking the door and venturing up the stairs.

The entire first floor is empty. Dark. The smell of whatever you had for lunch still filling the house. Grilled cheese?

“Y/N?” He calls, moving for the bedroom but he finds it empty. “Baby?”

There’s a sudden rush of wind, a flash of lightning from the third-floor stairs, followed by a loud clap of thunder.

It pulls his gaze up and he follows his instinct taking the stairs two at a time.

Since moving in, after spending each day taking care of one room of the house at a time, the attic is no longer empty.

As he reaches the landing, to his left is a small home gym. Each piece picked out by him, a punching bag, mats, weights, treadmill for you if you ever decide to use it. Bucky prefers to run outside.

On the right side of the room, your reading corner. Six shelves at least seven feet tall with a step ladder to reach the higher shelves. There’s a tea table, two comfortable padded chairs, and another deep enough that you could curl into it and sit all day reading without needing to get up.

There’s a reading lamp and a colorful carpet to make the space cozier and on across a small coffee table a lounging sofa for Bucky to lay on when you’re reading and he just wants to be by you.

On the far side of the room, directly under the skylight, he spots you on a platform bed you’d had set up for what Bucky had thought was sky-watching. He can see that he was right.

Your eyes are trained on the sky above, thunder clouds flashing and echoing around the house.

Around the bed you’ve set up what looks like a semi-circle of potted trees. A mixture of four-foot palms and Cycas, all surrounding the head of the bed.

Without a word Bucky makes his way towards you, stripping down to his briefs as he goes. When he reaches the bed, he finds you also in your underwear, sheets tossed aside as you lay with your head against the pillows and your eyes trained on the window.

He crawls in, stopping over you for just a moment to smile down at you and lean down to kiss your lips.

Your hands come up to caress his ears, then up to the back of his head.

“You cut your hair.” You observe, a glint in your eye that tells him you like what you see.

He lays beside you, looking up to see what you see, and he finds a strange sense of calm fall over him.

Placing his hands on his chest, he relaxes and then reaches down to take one of yours.

“So, this is what you’ve been up to with the trees?”

“Something didn’t feel right.” You admit. “I think I found the answer.”

The heat, the sound of thunder, the lightning overhead, and now with the jade leaves of these trees filling his line of sight, bucky can almost see himself back on the island. Back when it was just them and no one in the world could hurt either of you. Where life was much simpler. Wilder. And just a bit quieter.

Even though things have gotten better, this feels like the world of two where your love was born and nurtured.

“This is amazing.” Bucky admires, giving your hand a squeeze. “I think we should get married.”

You turn to look at him, eyes wide.

“Too soon?” He checks, turning to look at you too. “Marry me, kitten.”

Bucky watches you turn onto your side. He mirrors you, wrapping his arm around you.

“Whadya say?” He waits, heart pounding despite his calm exterior.

He feels your hand trail down his side, tracing the side of his thigh before you bring it around to his butt then without warning give his left cheek a nice squeeze.

“Not the left side!” He yelps.

“I will!” You agree, giddy and the happiest Bucky has ever seen you.

Somewhere past the burn of the spot where Sam had pierced him with that implant gun, past the pain and the throbbing, Bucky realizes you’ve just agreed to be his wife.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #castaway au #a world of our own #bucky x reader fanfiction #bucky x reader fanfic #bucky x reader fic #bucky barnes x reader fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader fic #bucky barnes x reader fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel au #awooo #a world of our own pt09

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bangtaninink · 3 years ago

Note

Fuck me? Fuck you!

With Jimin

DRABBLE NUMBER......... 013 MEMBER............................ park jimin (jimin) AU......................................... heir

"so."

"i hope you have a good reason for leaning your flat ass against my desk."

"my ass is sufficiently perky, thank you very much," yoongi says, frowning as he straightens up, arms crossed over his chest. "anyway. you got home pretty late last night."

"you're very observant," you say, not looking away from your emails on your computer screen.

"i was gonna ask if you got any, but judging by your attitude, i'm gonna go ahead and assume that a no."

"isn't there a printer you need to fix somewhere?"

"why? did you punch another one?"

you sigh loudly and turn to look yoongi in the eye, but you're interrupted from your pending rant by your desk phone ringing. picking up the receiver, you shove your best friend away.

"yes, sir?" you answer.

"can i borrow you for a second, _____?"

"of course."

you stand up, picking up your tablet -- a very recent upgrade from your clipboard -- and walking to the CEO's office, greeting him with a bow.

"good morning, sir," you say, smiling.

"morning. have a seat, _____. i want to run something past you," the CEO says, gesturing to the leather seat in front of him. "i'm sure you're more than aware of the upcoming conference in tokyo next month, yes?"

"mhm."

"i've decided to send jimin to represent our company at the conference."

"oh, that makes sense, yeah."

"what i want to run past you, though, is potentially sending you over there to accompany him to the conference," the CEO says, taking his glasses off and setting them down on his desk carefully.

"me?" you ask, eyes wide with surprise. "you wanna send me to tokyo?"

"i do, yes. between you and me, i think you are the best representative for this company, considering you've been very involved in the preparation for it, and frankly, you probably know the ins and outs of this company better than i do at this point. so, if you're okay with it, i'd like to put you forward as one of our representatives."

speechless, you sit there shocked and wide-eyed at the proposal you've been presented. the CEO chuckles quietly, assumingly at the expression on your face.

"take some time to think about it," he says, picking up his glasses. "maybe get back to me by the end of today, and if you'd like to go, we can go ahead and start organising things."

"organising things, sir?" you repeat.

"yes, visas, a passport if you don't have one, accommodation and transport... that kind of thing. end of today, or at the very latest, first thing tomorrow morning."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"noona? you good?"

"huh?" you turn to see jeongguk looking at you, spoon halfway to his mouth. "yeah, i'm good. just thinking."

"are you in trouble?" taehyung says, grinning. "jeongguk said the CEO called you into his office before to talk."

"no, i'm not in trouble, tae." you make a face when yoongi walks into the staff break room, taking off his utility belt and sitting in the seat opposite you. "the CEO called me into his office because he wants me to go to tokyo next month for that conference we've been preparing for."

"what? that's so cool!" jeongguk cries, dropping his spoon.

"with jimin."

"oh. yikes, noona."

"ruh-roh," yoongi says, reaching across the table to steal a handful of your fries. "did you say yes?"

"i haven't said anything yet," you say, taking a sip of your soda. "i have to make a decision by the end of today though."

"i mean, an all expenses paid trip to japan sounds pretty cool, but to spend the whole trip with the young master..."

as if on cue, the door to the staff break room swings open, jimin walking in with an empty mug in hand. everyone scrambles to stand, with the exception of you, dropping cutlery and almost choking on food as they bow in greeting.

"woah. you guys don't need to do that," jimin says, chuckling embarrassedly. "you can keep eating." the group sits back down, turning back to eat their food silently. "hey, um, _____? did my dad talk to you about... the conference...?"

"he did, yeah. this morning," you reply, sending him a tight-lipped smile as you swirl your drink can.

"cool. um... have you made a decision yet, or..."

"oh, uh... no, not yet. still thinking about it."

"right, yeah. makes sense. well, um, for what it's worth, i hope you say yes. it'll be nice to go with you. b-because you know everything about what's gonna be talked about, i mean!"

"yeah, no i... i got what you meant," you chuckle.

"right, right. um... i'll see you around then. enjoy your lunch, everyone," jimin says, smiling softly and leaving, mug still empty.

"wow," yoongi says, holding back laughter. "that was weird. the young master really likes you, dude."

"fuck you," you groan.

"fuck me? fuck you! let him live! you might be the first non-chaebol he's ever popped a boner for. he doesn't know what he's doing."

"that's disgusting," seokjin groans, making a face.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"sir?"

the CEO and jimin look up, seeing you waiting by the door to the CEO's office; you don't miss the way the CEO glances at the small clock on his desk briefly, noting that there's still an hour to go before the day ends.

"ah, _____. come in, come in."

"i hope i'm not interrupting anything," you say, stepping into the office with a bow.

"no, no. we were just discussing nonsense."

"'nonsense'," jimin repeats, scoffing and chuckling.

"well, i won't take too much of your time," you say, laughing softly. "i just wanted to let you both know that, um, i'm happy to attend the conference next month with jimin-sshi, so please let me know if there's anything you need me to do to prepare for the trip."

the CEO and jimin visibly perk up, clearly pleased by the news, although jimin wears an expression of shock when you finish.

"well, that's fantastic!" the CEO says, grinning and clapping his hands once. "i'm very pleased to hear that, _____. i'll contact HR and have them get some paperwork ready for you tomorrow morning."

"oh, i can do that, si--"

"no, no. i want to make sure they get the right forms and whatnot. plus, i need to talk to them about something else as well. just expect a stack of paper on your desk first thing tomorrow."

"i look forward to it, sir," you laugh, bowing your head and taking your leave.

before you make it to your desk, though, there's a hand wrapping around your wrist, stopping you from taking another step further.

"hey, hi," jimin says, almost breathless. "are you serious? you're coming to tokyo?"

"uh... yes?" you reply, chuckling. "is that alright with you -- sir?"

jimin shoots you a look, but breaks out into a wide smile right after.

"i gotta go back and talk more 'nonsense' with dad, but, um... i'll call you later? if that's okay with you, of course... to talk over the details of tokyo, i mean."

"sure, jimin. i look forward to it."

#park jimin #jimin #bts #bangtan #bts scenarios #bts drabble #heir!au

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pairofmelaninkweens · 4 years ago

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La Loteria: Hinata ShoyoxBokuto KaturouxSakusa KiyoomixOC BY: Aztec Brujeria

CW: Gagging, Strapon, Multipartner, M/M/M/F, Polyamorous, Double Penitration, Oral

Please pay heed to the wanings of this page...Minors DNI!

Introducing New OC Ava

Ava, MSBY team physican, had planned to lift and prepare for her powerlifting competition when she ran into her friend Kit. Seeing that Kit wanted some alone time with Atsumu Ava took the boys of her hands. A sleepover fueled by a game of shots and strip loteria leads to an eventful night...

Ava was winding down in her office and putting the last touches on the MSBY team travel health records for their away games next week. Vaccines for the pandemic? Check. Updated physicals? Check. Submitted reports to the visa office for the team? Check. She stretched her arms overhead feeling relief when her lower back popped, “I still need to lift tonight...I’ve got a competition in a month.” She walked around her desk to hang up her lab coat and stethoscope and collected her bags, “I’ll record notes at home tonight I guess.” She pushed her large glasses up her nose and blew a tendril of black hair out of her mismatched eyes, one blue and one green encased in thick raven lashes, that had escaped the messy space buns she always wore. She was five feet tall and curvy with caramel-colored skin and thick natural red lips. She competed in powerlifting for fun outside of work and always had a good time out lifting Kotaro, “Stay calm Bo...remember you get a prize.” She grabbed her keys and jacket and headed out the door. Humming to herself she locked the office and turned to head to the locker room to change and get her quick workout in.

She ran into Kit chewing the boys out when Ava smiled wide and called out, “¡QUE PASO!” Kit turned and smiled, Atsumu following behind her, “Hey pendejo, Hermana, what are you chewing out the boys for?” Kit had a small vein of annoyance pop out of her head, “I’m trying to have some quality time with Tsumtsum, but the boys have other plans.” Ave looked around them and saw Bo kicking his toe at the ground, Shoyo talking to Omi, and Omi uninterested looking directly at her. “Ah, I can see that, tell you what...WHO WANTS HOMEMADE MEXICAN FOOD AND TEQUILA?!” Ava watched as Kit’s eyes lit up and Tsumu just dumbfounded. “I’ll take them off your hand’s chica! I gotcha.” Bo bounded down the hall and came up to Ava and bear-hugged her and picked her up, while Shoyo and Omi joined in asking for tacos and arroz, “Doc you’re gonna cook fresh tortillas right?” Ava giggling, “Only if you help me. I always get stuck by myself cooking...I should call Samu…” Ava looked at Atsumu dead-eyed and wiggled her eyebrows, he groaned next to Kit, “Hurry before my brother shows up, peaches.” Kit laughed and hugged Tsumu by his waist, “Alright let’s go...you sure you’ll be okay?” Ava being shaken like a rag doll by Bo smiled wickedly, “I’ll be fine...I’ll send ya pictures.” Kit turned with Atsumu and whispered to him, “I’m not gonna lie...Imma need you to be sober to help me in the morning...How she passed and with top marks out of Med school I’ll never know.”

When Ava and the boys finally made it back to her place with the groceries they set to helping her make dinner. Ava snapped a picture of the three beefy boys in her small kitchen mixing dough and rolling tortillas out was a sight to behold, Bo in her little Mexican embroidered apron from her Abuela made her heart squeeze. She set the table and had them sit around and watched as they poured shots out and ate the food they prepared together, “You know boys why don’t we just have a sleepover?” With a full mouth and double fisting tacos Bo lit up and nodded his head in agreement, Shoyo practically jumped around, “Ooo sleepover with our dulce!” Omi took a shot, his cheeks were starting to warm up, and looked at Ava with a smirk, “What game are we playing, Naníta?” Ava smiled wider, showing her small gappy teeth, making her look demonic, “Why La Lotería of course...unless you think you’re going to lose querido?” Ava filled her shot glass and knocked back the tequila dead ass looking at Omi. It was going to be an interesting night when he followed suit and she could feel the competitive tension between the two of them.

As the hours rolled by they had cleaned up and started their game of Lotería and just like she thought Omi was a sore loser. He sat there with Shoyo and Bo in nothing but their boxer briefs and what a sight to behold with all of them chiseled and cut to perfection from them being pros. “Well, well, well...are we ready to play for higher, hiccup, stakes?” Ava had at some point lost her space buns, her thick long wavy hair surrounded her shoulders, she lost her shirt and skirt and sat in her thong and lace bra and thigh-high stockings held up by her garter belt. She lost count of all the texts she sent to Kit but she didn’t care, “What’re higher stakes than this Naníta?” Ava grabbed another shot, these men could never out drink her, “I want to dick down Bo with a ball gag and have you and Shoyo pound me into him...make me cum several times you two.” Ava knocked the shot back like a pro staring down Omi across the table. Bo looked at Ava and his mouth dropped and Shoyo immediately had a very large erection that could not be hidden by his boxer briefs, I thought he was packing, I knew it. With her mismatched gaze and reddened cheeks, she just smiled with a cocky grin, “Well? Are we doing this or not ese?” Omi went to play his hand and already knew when Ava smiled at him hungrily he had lost. He looked at Bo, “I’m so sorry...but you’ll get to cum...many times I think.” Bo blushed and he cried out as Ava grabbed him for a kiss, “Oh we’re going to have so much fun!” Ava squealed like an excited sorority girl pledging.

Shoyo shot up from the table, “Daddy’s ready to play mi pequeña dulce.” His voice dropped three octaves and Omi just stood up and headed to Ava’s bedroom. Bo picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, slapping her ass and groaning as it jiggled by his face, and followed behind them. Ava grabbed her phone luckily and sent another photo to Kit as she was over Bo’s shoulder... I did tell you I’d take them off your hands for the night….HELP!! Once in the bedroom Bo threw Ava upon the bed and watched as she bounced and giggled, “Bo, Daddy owl, I don’t think so.” Ava got on her knees and grabbed Bo by his shoulders and brought him down for a kiss. Their lips meshed and melded together, tongues devouring each other, Bo whimpering brought his arms around her as she moved to get off the bed. Shoyo stopped her by putting his thick body behind her, she felt his cock in her ass, as he brought his hands up to cup her breast, growling in her ear, “Daddy thinks you need to take this bra off.” He undid the clasp in between her heavy breast, watching as her tits sprung free catching the glint of her piercings, and guided the bra off her shoulders. His hands came up to cup her tits and began to massage them and pinch her darker tan nipples between his fingers, Shoyo was entranced with her piercings that made her more sensitive and began to tease her nipples, while he left bite marks down her throat and shoulders grinding harder into her ass making her slicker by the second. Ava moaned at the sensation that sent ripples of pleasure through her body as Omi crawled across the bed and waited for Bo to release her lips for him to get a taste for himself, whispering in her ear, “Do you like being the center of attention Naníta? Hmm, do you like when you drive us MSBY men crazy?” Omi reached up and took hold of her chin before he brought his lips towards her. Shoyo had traced his fingers down to the top of her lace thong and slipped his fingers underneath to circle around her aching clit. She gasped into Omi’s lips and he growled as he devoured her moans. Bo was behind them stroking his cock and pinching his nipples enjoying the sight of Ava being coaxed to life by his teammates, “Yeah, baby owl, You look so fucking hot like that, hnnn…” Ava growled into Omi as Shoyo sinfully slipped in his middle finger into her drenched sex grinding more and more into her, reaching up and grabbing Omi by the throat, she broke the kiss and bit his bottom lip. “Now, now, you know I won the game...It looks like Shoyo is going first since you must have forgotten.” Omi groaned as she reached down and stroked his twitching cock through his boxer briefs, “Oh, are you drenched already? You haven’t even played with my pussy yet...Jefe.”

Letting go of Omi she reached down and stilled Shoyo’s hand torturing her fluttering slick walls, turning and kissing him, she slipped out his arms and headed towards her closet. “Bo, Daddy owl, in the nightstand will you pull out the lube baby.” Bo groaned and walked to the nightstand, rock hard and aching, and pulled out the lube. “Baby owl, do I have to wear the ball gag?” Ava poked her head out of the closet and smiled, “Daddy owl, you lost the game, I want my prize.” She stepped into her strap and adjusted the harness walking out with a large-sized dildo, still wearing her garter belt and thigh-high stockings, she heard the boys moan at the sight of her as she braided her long hair and flipped it over her shoulder. She shivered in anticipation and walked toward Bokuto. She took the lube out of his hands and kissed him, snaking her hand up to the back of his neck to pull on his hair forcing him to expose his neck, “Be a good boy now for your doña and present for me baby.” He whimpered and turned around to get on all fours on the bed, “Ah, ah, ah, I’m a shortie remember...on the floor Daddy Owl.” He did just that and looked at her over his broad shoulders with lust-blown eyes. Shoyo and Omi finished stripping and stroking lazily watching the power of their little dom making Bo present for her, Omi bucked his hips slightly in his own hand and moaned at the sight of her spreading Bo’s knees. “Fuck, Shoyo, I could watch this all night.” Shoyo moaned out loud as he squeezed his fat cock so he could edge himself, “She sure knows what she’s doing.” She turned her attention towards the other two, “Okay boys, let’s play.” She held out the gag and had Omi take it, “Make sure to put it on him right, jefe, I want to see him drool in the mirror.” She caressed her hands over Bo’s thick ass and down his back before bending over him and whispering in his ear, “I want to hear you cry out as you cum from us, baby.” Bo groaned at the sultry promise from Ava

Ava stood behind Bo and watched as Omi walked in front of Bo and bent down to take his lips in a quick sultry kiss before making him open his mouth to place the gag in and strap it behind his head. “Oh, Bo, look at you so handsome like this for our Doña. You are such a good boy.” Ava watched as Bokuto shivered in ecstasy with the praise. She took her fingers and was taken by surprise when Shoyo came up behind her to slide his hard cock between the crux of her thighs, “Daddy can’t wait for too much longer Dulce.” Shoyo groaned into Ava as he bit her shoulder thrusting slowly to make sure his dick was wet with her arousal, “Fuck, I need you please.” Ava turned and took her fingers and shoved them in Shoyo’s mouth, “Get them wet daddy I need to open our good boy up.” With brown eyes rolling in the back of his head he sucked and lapped at her fingers as she let the drool coat her digits. When she pulled them out she gave him a quick kiss, “Thank you, daddy.” Ava turned her attention to Bo’s perfect ass and slowly slid her wet fingers to coax him open, first her middle finger, Bo moaned against the ball gag and Omi whispered praises in his ear while stroking his dick. When Ava felt her need becoming greater and greater she watched for the first string of drool that escaped from Bo’s obstructed mouth. She slipped her index finger in his tight ass and felt him begin to relax as she scissored him open slowly to take her strap. As his moans became louder and the pool of pre began to soak her clean grey carpet below. “Oh, daddy owl, are you ready for me baby?” She guided her strap to the entrance of Bo’s ass and slowly sank in letting him take her inch by inch; crying out against the gag and drooling more.

Ava finally bottomed out and pulled back to thrust inside of Bo before she set the pace, letting him get used to her inside of him. She gripped his hip before reaching to fist his hair and thrust into him, hearing Bo moan against his gag and seeing his eyes roll into the back of his head made Ava groan. “Shoyo...Daddy...Fuck us.” Ava heard Shoyo growl as he gripped her hip and guided his aching tip into her swollen opening and thrusted in. Ava cried out as she got used to Shoyo’s girth and length stretching her plush walls to their limits. “F-FUCK AVA!!!” Shoyo didn’t want to wait and picked up a brutal pace, slapping his heavy balls against Ava’s ass. Every thrust caused Ava to thrust harder and harder into Bo causing him to begin to cry. Omi fucking moaned the loudest as he stroked his aching cock to the sight of Bo drooling. Ava pulled harder on Bo’s hair and forced him to arch his back, “Fuck S-Shoyo!! DADDY!” Shoyo dug his fingers into her hips and knew she'd come out with bruises. “Omi please...want, hnnn, you inside, Omi!!!” Shoyo pulled out and waited for Omi. He gripped the tip of his cock and groaned as he edged himself, “Omi i'll take her ass if you take her tight pussy.” Ava kept thrusting into Bo, his moaning causing him to become more of a mess. When Omi got underneath both Bo and Ava.

Bo’s knees were on each side of his shoulders and Ava above, “Fuck, sugar plum, you look absolutely drenched,” he brought his digits to pump inside of her making her head fall back, “Your wet cunt sucks my fingers in so greedily plum.” Ava made Bo get on his knees and held his broad chest against her own as Omi guided himself into her and slowly stretched her. Shoyo cursed at the sight when he watched Omi take in Bo’s heavy sack and sucked on him while slowly thrusting up into Ava, “Your tight ass is gonna be filled now too, Baby.” Shoyo knows how to take his time and hears you whimper as he reaches in front to circle your clit exposed by the strap buried deep inside of Bo rubbing against his spot. When she felt the fat head of shoyo enter her ass she cried out at the sensation of being double stuffed by thick volleyball players. “FUCK YESS!” Shoyo finally bottomed out inside of Ava, giving her a few moments to adjust, and began thrusting. Omi reached around and took Bo’s leaking heavy cock into his mouth and began to suck on him as he felt Ava forcefully thrust into his ass harder touching his pleasurable spot, making the drool flow from his mouth. Ava was close, Shoyo was beginning to twitch inside of her and throb, “Fuck, fuck, I’m-I’m gonna cum, I-“ Shoyo thrust one final time in Ava’s tight ass and emptied himself inside of her. Omi cried out with his thrust hitting Ava’s Soft spot and she threw her head back screaming as Bo followed suit emptying into Omi’s mouth. “DADDIIESSS!!!” Ava felt herself convulsing around Shoyo and Omi while Bo shook against Ava’s body. When she finally came down she reached and undid the ball gag and slowly slipped the strap out of Bo.

Omi, after having caught his breath and waiting for Ava to let her gorilla grip on his cock relax, got up from under Ava and Bo and walked to the bathroom to grab a couple of warm washcloths. He tossed one to Shoyo who lay on his back with wide eyes, letting them uncross, “Hey, shorty, you good?” He chuckled when Shoyo took the warm washcloth and cleaned up, hissing with his sensitive tip. He found Bo hugging Ava’s midsection letting her praise him and kiss his forehead, “How is our boy doing?” Ava looked up and smiled a thousand-watt smile at Omi, “He’s a good boy, he did so good, didn’t you daddy owl.” Bo snuggled in more and inhaled Ava’s scent of jasmine and clean linen, “Mommy, I liked it so much.” Omi bent down and reached between Ava’s thighs and cleaned her up while taking her lips for a languid kiss. “Thank you, jefe, I needed you three tonight.” Ava then took her the other washcloth and cleaned Bo up. When Bo was cleaned up he stood and picked up Ava bridal style and took her to bed with Omi following behind and Shoyo sleeping on top of her midsection. The next morning she was surprised to find Ushi at her bedroom door smiling wickedly as she stirred awake, “Honey...looks like you had fun without me. I’m going to have to feed you and teach you a lesson later mi amor.”

#haikyuu hinata #hinata smut #hinata shoyuo #katurou bokuto #bokuto smut #hq sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi #haikyū!!#haikyuu!!#haikyuu smut

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backalley-requests · 4 years ago

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The Proposal | Chapter Two

The Proposal Masterlist

Summary: The Proposal™ au, where Ivar gets swept away in a lie about a fake engagement to stay in the country and needs to convince everyone (including his family) that he’s genuinely engaged to a woman he works with

Warnings: Mild swearing, dickish behavior

Word Count: 2,085

That’s how you found yourself sitting down for a meeting next to your boss, pretending the two of you were in love and set to get married. You were more outwardly nervous than him and your leg was bouncing. It made a quiet but consistant tap on the floor.

“Will you cut that out,” Ivar snapped.

You stopped bouncing your foot and glared at him. “I’m nervous.” It wasn’t a voluntary action but it helped with the nerves. Your head tilted up to the ceiling. The office was small and the two of you sat in chairs next to each other. Across from you was an empty desk. The case worker wasn’t here yet. Was this normal? It was 10 am but felt much earlier, and the silence was so loud. The two of you never had normal conversations.

“Don’t be, it’s annoying.”

Did he expect you to remain a calm worker under these conditions? It wasn’t like he could fire you. Both of you risked losing if you didn’t stick around. It felt like a sick game of chicken. “How can I not be? We’re here because you—“

The conversation was cut short by the metal door opening. It felt like a prison, as if the two of you were being detained and Ivar didn’t even want to discuss a game plan. He had actually rolled his eyes when you asked for one.

The man was dressed in a black suit and tie, his hair was short and his face shaven. “Shall we begin?” He lacked pleasantries and it only added to your growing paranoia. There was no handshake or introduction. The man jumped into it. Immediately you felt yourself zoning in and out. Half the time you were thinking too much to listen and the other half was spent committing it to memory.

Ivar nodded confidently, evening out to a neutral. How were you supposed to project that same level of confidence? He appeared so unbothered and you stuck out like a sore thumb. The interviewer took notice. “Step one will be a scheduled interview and I’ll ask you every little question a real couple would know about each other.”

That was easy. You already knew way too much about the man. He shoved off too much personal responsibilities onto you that he didn’t want to do. You even wrote his Christmas cards at this point.

“Step two, I dig deeper, I look at your phone records, I talk to your neighbors, interview your coworker.”

The two of you didn’t have a story. The two of you communicated often for work but they weren’t out to anyone. Well— technically the two of you didn’t have a relationship to be out about. You glance over at Ivar who didn’t bother to look back at you. He seemed so eerily calm while all you could do was panic.

You were pretty sure you missed something important by the time you glanced back to the interviewer. Did you miss his name? Did he even offer one? Your leg began to bounce again.

“If your answers don’t match up at every point. You will be deported indefinitely,” he looked at Ivar, “and you will have committed a felony. Punishable by a fine of 250,000 dollars and a stay of 5 years in federal prison.” His gaze turned to you and you froze.

The sound of your heart beating drowned out whatever the man said next. It didn’t take long for both men to notice. You were in too deep. You couldn’t do this! Why did you even bother agreeing?

“Y/N?” The interviewer asked.

You couldn’t handle prison. You never even got into a fight before in your life. You’ve seen prison shows, they’re always fighting. They’d eat you alive.

“Y/N, do you want to talk to me?”

Ivar elbowed you harsh but discreetly. His blue eyes were intense and it brought you back to your reality. You had already spent three years working for him. Another two at the company. Being fired wasn’t an option and you’ve been dying to get promoted since you came there. If you could pull it off... what’s three years on paper? You blinked and nodded your head.

“You do?”

“Wait no— I mean I don’t.” You took a deep breath and held it. This man had to see right through it from the moment he walked in.

“The truth is…” you glanced at Ivar, “we’re just two people who weren’t meant to fall in love. But we did. Six months ago. We weren’t going to come out to our coworkers, not until we didn’t think they’d judge us,” your face was red and you found yourself staring down into your lap as you played with your fingers. “Especially with my promotion coming up.”

You paused, trying to see if what you said convinced him at all. “So, have either of you told your parents about your… secret love?” The interviewer wrote down notes onto a notepad.

“Oh, um, impossible. My parents are dead,” you admitted casually with an awkward laugh. “No brothers or sisters either. You can check if you want—“

“I will.”

The silence was deafening.

“What about you, Ivar? Are yours dead?”

Ivar scoffed at the mention of his family. It was clear to you that on some level he truly thought he was above being here. How could he be so casual?

You decided to cut in, “no. We were going to tell them this weekend. It’s his father’s birthday. The whole family is coming together. We thought it’d be a nice surprise.”

Once the lies began it was hard to stop them. But the event was true but Ivar’s attendance wasn’t. He had you tell them he wasn’t going. But as you spoke you got more confident.

“And where exactly is this going to take place?” The man was quizzing you.

“Aalborg, Denmark. It’s located along Kattegat Bay,” you replied. Ivar’s face twitched in surprise that you knew it at all. Your face never quite calmed down and kept a pinkish hue.

The interviewer stared intently at you, searching for signs.

“That’s right,” Ivar cut in, trying to save you.

“Isn’t Denmark a little far?”

“Well it’s not like I have a visa to lose at this point,” Ivar rolled his eyes.

The interviewer shrugged. “Next Friday at 10am, I expect you both to be here for the scheduled interviews.”

—

“What was your fucking problem? You may as well have worn a sign that we’re trying to commit a felony?”

You were floored. Did he actually want to start things off like this. “Like you were much better? You looked pissed off and detached! If you wanted better results maybe you should’ve interjected more.”

“It was fun to watch you flounder until I realized your actions have consequences,” he shrugged casually. What was wrong with him? “And now Mr. Harold Millington is going to be lurking through my family.” Oh that’s what the man’s name was. Had it shared that? Did you actually miss it?

“Just tell your family then. Have them lie.” If they were anything like Ivar then being manipulative should be in their nature.

Ivar rubbed the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. “They wouldn’t agree to it.” It meant they had to go. That created the new fact that you had sentenced the both of them on a trip to Denmark. It was that or he gets sent home forever and you’re in federal prison. “How did you even know that?”

“Know what?”

“About my father’s birthday.”

“You had me send them condolences,” you crossed your arms over your chest and rolled your eyes. “I actually know a ton of things about you. It’s you who has a week to learn everything about me.”

He stood before you in his bitterness. He didn’t deny your statement. It was one thing to have marriage papers and never speak of it again for three years and another to pretend to his family that he was in an actual relationship. His mor had wanted it forever now. “Book the flights, since you’re so used to doing everything for me.”

You had a laundry list of people to contact and he expected you to book flights? Your gut instinct was to tell everyone the truth and convince them to lie to the authorities, but that seemed a little much to ask. “It’s your home, why don’t you book them?”

The two of you continued to bicker when the interviewer from earlier stepped out of the building. The two of you immediately silenced as Millington walked by, “remember. Deportation and federal prison. It’s not too late to come clean.”

The smug look on his face pissed you off. You watched the man walk further away and down the block. “I may not like you, Ivar, but I like you more than that guy,” you said bitterly as your eyes remained trained on the agent in the distance.

“At least we agree on that.”

“I want him to feel like a moron.”

“So then let’s do that,” Ivar’s words caught your attention as you glanced back to him. “He knows the truth but if we make it rock solid he’ll have no choice. It’ll drive him insane.”

You laughed, “I probably should’ve guessed your favorite pass time was belittling people and making them regret their life choices.”

“I liked you better when you just delivered coffee,” Ivar responded. The same anger from earlier was gone but that didn’t stop Ivar from starting to walk away from you. You were left standing, irrationally angry at that decision. Civilities were out the window. He had nothing over you anymore. Neither could pull the plug. And he’s been on your nerves for a while. How did you ever find that man attractive?

“Goodbye to you too, asshole!”

—

“I’m coming back for the week,” Ivar held the phone to his ear, waiting for his mother’s response. If he was being honest he was actually a little nervous about it. He actually loved his mother. The rest of them were hit or miss. But he hadn’t been back home in a long time.

“Really?”

The excitement in her voice got to him, not that he’d confess it. “I was going to introduce my girlfriend to you guys.” He hated lying.

“You have a girlfriend?” He hadn’t even mentioned the idea of one to her in forever. Not since he left Denmark for the last time. She’d been pestering forever. “Since when did you get a girlfriend?”

“Mor—“ he took a deep breath and sighed, “she works for me.”

“Oh— so it’s one of those situations.”

Was she judging him already? “Just be prepared for her.” He noticed the dip in her voice and he bit hard on his bottom lip.

“Your father is going to be so happy to have you home.” Aslaug started to talk more about it. He was surprised she wasn’t fuming at the mention of his old man. It occurred to him then that maybe his family missed him more than he realized. She was already making plans, doting on him for finding someone and talking about how relieved she is that her son found someone. “Hey Ivar— is she beautiful?” He was brought out of his thoughts by the question.

Were you? He already knew the answer. You were. It wasn’t a crazy thought. Ivar always thought you were beautiful. From the moment you walked into his office the first day holding a cup of his favorite coffee— how you ever found out before meeting him he’ll never know. It’s what told him you were beyond him. There was a hint of too much perfection that he had immediately felt anger. That anger eventually settled to annoyance.

But if he actually hated you he probably would’ve fired you by now. The issue is that you’d never genuinely go for him. He had his own love life of sorts, money speaks for itself, he could get laid. What he couldn’t get was more, who would genuinely date him? It was easier to resent than pine.

“Yes.”

Aslaug laughed on the other end, “you took a little long there to respond, Ivar.”

“Sorry— she is, mor, I’m just busy with some work. I’ll call you before the plane leaves.”

“Please do. Oh, and Ivar, dear. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

—

Taglist** @youbloodymadgenius

#ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless #Vikings #the proposal #I feel like it’ll have to start picking up soon #but I kinda like some moments #I really woke up at 5pm today huh....

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sadaboutniall · 4 years ago

Photo

Without Fear

masterlist | tag | wattpad

Chapter One. January.

remember that first laugh? all it changed once I had that // like a hurricane, but I don't care where I land - rome, dermot kennedy

The whole thing had started out as a joke. Or maybe a pipe dream. Or maybe a massive mental breakdown and a poorly thought-through trip to the passport office for a rush renewal and a visa application.

No matter how it had started, Luna hadn’t actually thought it would pan out. Two and a half months ago, standing in her parents’ kitchen in New York, reading the lawyer’s letter, it had been a shiny, exciting, half-baked idea—an escape she could cling to while everything else was going to shit. It hadn’t been a reality.

It was hardly a reality even as it began to happen: Luna, packing her bags on a Friday night, deciding which pictures of her ex to keep and which to toss; Luna’s dad, hoisting her bags into the trunk of the car for her; Luna’s mom, petting her hair as she hugged her goodbye at the airport.

And it wasn’t real when she got to Inis Mór either: her snug little apartment above the coffee shop, the smattering of mismatched furniture that her Great Aunt Niamh had left behind, Ruairí, the black cat her new neighbor had been feeding, the mess of her suitcases, exploding on the floor, markedly different to the seemingly ancient chairs and quilts and sweaters that Niamh left for her.

Or, just left. It’s been hard for Luna to tell what’s for her and what isn’t.

And even now, nearly a month into living here and it only half feels real, the way she gets up every morning and putters down to the shop to open up, the cat following behind her, meowing for breakfast and Siobhan, the baker, already well on her way to done with the morning’s pastries, the smell of cinnamon and dough and vanilla and the cold air outside wafting through the shop to wake Luna up sweetly; the way old Mr. Whelan is always her first customer, never deviates from his order of a black coffee and a croissant, toasted; the rush of cold air every time someone opens the door, feeling like it’s flaying the shop open, sending napkins fluttering to the floor, causing Ruairí to hiss in protest and curl up closer to the fireplace. There’s nothing real in the way the sun sets at 4pm these days, quick as a wink over the hill outside the window, a flash of orange and purple the only reminder that day once broke in this place that always feels dark, under cover. There’s nothing real in the way Luna needn’t worry about anything here—her rent is paid and there are no deadlines anymore, no screaming bosses, no one angry with her for dropping an artist file or fucking up a coffee order. It’s not real, not even when she calls home and talks to her parents, when they tell her about her brother Sam’s new PhD research and his girlfriend Mary’s trip to Honduras. It’s not real, any of it. And it works. It’s fine. And so is Luna.

It’s hardly real on a Monday night at the end of January, either, after Siobhan has already left for the day and Luna is quietly closing up, tucking mugs into cabinets and dropping bits of pastry on the floor for the cat. She’s not thinking about much of anything—in the month she’s been here, Lu’s found the very start and very end of her days to be the most relaxing, the way she can clear up the shop or fire up the coffee maker without having to talk to anyone, think about anything. It’s so markedly different from what feels like a lifetime ago: bustling into the office at 8:30 and still feeling like she was late, a tray of coffees balanced in one hand, someone’s dry cleaning in the other, 12 voicemails already waiting for her, 30 emails, more coming through as her phone vibrated in her pocketbook. This is quiet and slow: Ruairí is weaving between her legs, meowing gently when he wants more treats, and outside it’s dark and still and cold, despite it being only 7pm. Luna is tired but not wiped—a feeling she forgot existed before leaving New York—and it occurs to her that she can have a slice of cake tonight in front of the TV, and maybe a glass of wine, while watching Law and Order until she falls asleep.

She’s lost in that thought—and the already building annoyance at the fact that she knows she’ll inevitably wake up on the couch at 3am and have to stumble to bed—when the door creaks open, nighttime wind rushing in, a boy stumbling after it.

“So sorry,” Lu looks up from where she’s been wiping down the counter behind the pastry display. “I’m closing up. But I still have a few leftover slices of cake if you want—”

“Oh, erm,” the boy stills, maybe surprised, and Lu does too. He’s—well. Lu hasn’t seen anyone here who looks like him.

He’s a mess of hat hair, dark at the roots and an unnatural blonde at the tips, curling over his ears and flopping over one eyebrow. He’s bright blue eyes, wide when he looks at her, and cheeks flushed red to match the tip of his nose, and a smattering of stubble along his face, darkening in the dimple of his chin, his pink lips chapped where his tongue darts out to soothe them. He takes her breath away for half a second—or maybe that’s the rush of wind that crashed against her chest when he opened the door.

The boy is clutching a guitar by its neck, gloved hand wrapped almost reverently around it, and his white high-top sneakers are mucky where the rubber soles have been sludging through the perma-mud outside. He looks like something out of a dream, maybe, Lu’s heart catching a little in her throat.

“Hi,” he says, finally, looking just as out of sorts as Lu feels. She’s not sure if that’s good or bad, but he carries on. “I wasn’t expecting—I didn’t think you would be so… uh. American? Uh,” gently, he tucks the guitar under his arm and tugs off his navy blue gloves, the cotton pilling from wear. “I’m Niall,” he reaches out a hand. It’s cold when Lu takes it to shake, when he wraps it gently around her own. “I live Kilronan.”

“Hiya,” Lu’s voice comes out softer than she expected it to. “I’m Lu. I work here.”

“Right, right,” Niall nods, swallows thick. “You’re Niamh’s niece? I was so sorry to hear about her passing—she—”

“Great niece,” Lu rushes over Niall, exhausted, even a month later, of every introduction on this island starting with a condolence. “I actually only met her once. But it sounds like she was a force.”

“You—once?” Niall shoves his gloves into the pocket of his puffer jacket.

“Yeah,” Lu shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine. Was there, uh,” she doesn’t want to get rid of him, but doesn’t know where to go next. “Did you want one of those slices of cake? I’m sorry for you to come all the way from Kilronan for nothing.”

“Oh,” Niall looks like he’s only just remembered where he is. “No, I didn’t come for cake. I, uh, I have a… a question? An idea?”

Briefly, Lu worries if she should be nervous—but crime doesn’t happen here, not like this, and Lu knows the statistics when it comes to stranger attacks. Either way, Niall keeps talking before she can spiral, the words tumbling out like he knows he has to speak before he thinks better of it.

“I, uh, I was wondering if there’s any chance you were looking for someone to, like, play guitar and sing a bit? Like, live music in the shop for a couple hours a week? You don’t have to pay me or anything, ‘m not asking for that, but I could maybe leave my case open for tips? I can do covers or requests or—whatever you want, really. And I can give you my work schedule and we can work around that; I’m free on the weekends mostly, except for when I coach football, but also on weeknights if you’d prefer that and if you want to split the tips I understand, we can do that too, and also—”

“Niall,” Lu can’t take it. He’s speaking so fast it’s shuttling her toward an anxiety attack, and throwing up on the shoes of the first cute boy she’s seen in a month was not on her agenda for today. Meeting a cute boy in general was not on her agenda for today, but Lu’s been learning that things don’t tend to pan out the way she plans them. “I like the idea. That sounds cool.”

“I totally understand if—wait, really?” Niall pauses, hand halfway up to his face, like he was going to cover his mouth, or rub his eyes, or bite his nails. His brow furrows and his mouth drops open a little, like he didn’t expect it to be that easy. Like he didn’t accept Lu to be agreeable at all.

“Yeah,” Lu shrugs, then nods at the guitar still tucked under Niall’s arm, “but you’ll need to audition for me,” she bites back a cheeky smile, watches Niall do the same. “I can’t have a crap singer driving away all my customers.”

“Ah, fair play,” the left side of Niall’s mouth pulls up into a smile, and Lu pointedly ignores the kick in her chest. “What would you like to hear?”

She shrugs again, as if “casual” or “easygoing” were ever words people would’ve used to describe her back home. “Your favorite song?”

“My favorite—” Niall scoffs, but there’s no malice in it—it’s playful, inviting, fun. It makes Lu feel like he wants to keep talking to her. Like he wants her to keep winding him up. “You think I can narrow it down to one favorite song?”

“I can,” Lu smiles, soft, “I’m good at making decisions.”

“Go on, tell us then.”

“You first,” Lu gestures toward a table, the only one in the shop that isn’t rickety when there’s too much weight on it. “Then I’ll tell ya.”

Niall hums under his breath, approval, and settles himself on top of the table easily, feet perched on the chair, guitar natural in his lap. He strums once, to check that everything is in tune, and then glances up through the bit of hair that’s fallen over his eye. He’s striking—bright blue eyes, a shock of blonde at the tips of his hair, a lone dimple digging into his filled out cheeks—and Lu feels her stomach swoop and kick again. She takes a deep breath, crosses her arms over her chest. Niall sits up straight.

“Alright,” he says it so quietly that Lu thinks it might just be for him. She’s suddenly struck with the notion that she’s intruding on something, a moment between Niall and his guitar and himself that isn’t for her—that, maybe, this isn’t something a lot of people get to see.

And, if that’s true, Lu realises the second he starts strumming, it’s a damn shame.

It takes Lu a second to recognize the song, but it doesn’t even matter. With a guitar in his hand Niall is even more mesmerizing. Hypnotizing. Completely, incomprehensibly, irresistible.

And then he opens his mouth. And Lu feels sick.

It’s “With or Without You”.

But there’s none of the corniness, none of the playful groaning and eye rolling that usually accompanies a U2 cover. Instead, Lu feels frozen to her spot in the middle of the shop, Niall, seated atop the table, eyes down, an anchor in the middle of this island. His voice, lower than she expected, and raspy in all the right places, is somehow vulnerable and confident at the same time—somehow makes her want to simultaneously hold him and be held by him, to protect him and let him protect her. It’s real. It’s vulnerable. It’s terrifying. Lu doesn’t know what to do with it.

The song lasts forever and is over in an instant. Eyes closed, Niall carries out the final, desperate, confident, terrified, “I can’t live, with or without you,” as he stops playing and lets his voice take over. The whole shop shakes with it. Or maybe that’s just Lu, trembling.

His eyes don’t open for a few seconds. Lu can feel herself breathing, she can feel her heart beating, she can feel the wind, outside, throwing itself against the shop’s ancient windows. She can feel it when Niall opens his eyes.

“Was it that shite?”

Overwhelmed, Lu exhales an unstoppable, lovely laugh. Niall’s cheeks are red and his eyes are a little glassy and he runs a hand through his thick hair, his bicep flexing just a millimeter. Lu already knows there’s no way this can last.

“Terrible,” she smiles. “Worst I’ve ever heard. When can you start?”

####

They work out the schedule together, leaning over the only good table, comparing planners. Lu still keeps her old Moleskin, dark purple, embossed with her college seal and the year she graduated. She hasn’t needed it much lately—after years of her work, and eventually her social life, revolving around Google Calendar, she feels a freedom in being able to jot down appointments and approximate times in a messy journal. Niall’s got a battered leather one—doodles on the front, his name in script on the first page. He flips through it quickly, keeps it close to his chest.

He works at a local furniture and home goods boutique most days, as a design consultant, and coaches the middle school’s co-ed soccer team on Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday afternoons, with games on Saturdays. Lu tells him not to overbook himself but he does it anyway, and they settle on Monday, Thursday, and Friday nights, as well as Saturday mornings, starting the next week. He says he’ll have a friend work up posters to advertise, and tries, again, to tell Lu he’ll split his tips.

At 10:30, he notices the time, his cheeks pinking up, his chapped lower lip caught between his teeth. They’d been splitting the final two slices of cake, and there’s a tiny glob of chocolate caught in the corner of his mouth.

“Fuck,” he says, looking reluctant, “I’ve got to go, I’m meant to be at work at 8 tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, God,” Lu feels a bit like she’s coming out of a daze, that feeling she gets, sometimes, when she’s been reading a book or watching a movie and then has to reimmerse herself in the real world. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you.”

“No, no,” Niall rushes, “you didn’t. I—thank you. For the chocolate cake. And the, uh, opportunity.”

“Don’t mention it.” Lu presses her lips together, resists the urge to lean forward and thumb at the chocolate on his mouth. “You’ve got, uh, a bit of chocolate,” she touches the mirroring spot on her own mouth, “right there.”

“Right,” he smiles, tongue darting out to catch it. “I won’t. Thanks.”

Lu gathers the plates and cups and totes them to the sink while Niall gets his things together. When she turns around, he’s bundled in his coat and scarf, hat pulled low over his brows, free hand shoved into the pocket of his puffer. She doesn’t know how to look away from him.

“I guess I’ll see you next week, then?” He asks, fiddling with the zipper on his puffer. He hasn’t got all the chocolate—Lu wonders what it would taste like against his lips.

“Next week,” she echoes. “Yeah.”

“Brilliant. I’ll, uh—I’m excited. Have a good week.”

Lu��s “and you” gets lost in her throat as she watches Niall head toward the door. His hand is on the knob when he turns back around.

“Wait, Lu.”

The sound of her name in his mouth makes her heart stutter. She hopes her raised brow will pass for a response.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“What?” She gets that out, at least.

“Your favorite song of all time,” Niall smiles, dimple prominent. “What is it?”

Looking back, Lu has no idea where the sudden confidence comes from. But, somehow, it does. She smiles, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Not sure I want to tell you yet,” she says, kind. “I want to see if you figure it out for yourself.”

####

taglist: @missy14us @coconutdawn @ficnarry @okaaayniall @theresnooneheretosave @niallgolden @tinyfelthat @adoremp3 @thelifeofbo @crocodileniall @niallsguitarthings

Join the tag list here.

#one direction #1dff #one direction fan fiction #niall horan #niall horan fic #niall horan fan fiction #niall horan imagine #niall #without fear #eeeeek!#ok hope you like this!!#im nervous

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unstoppableforcce · 5 years ago

Text

dark side

—CHAPTER ONE: trust

pairing: Javier Peña x reader

prologue | next part | masterlist

a/n: I’m kinda in love with where I have this heading, I knocked this part out in like two hours and surprised myself so I hope y’all enjoy!! thanks for the incredible feedback!!

It was just a handshake, right? It was nothing he hadn’t done a thousand times before but...

But all he could think about was how your hands felt cradled in a desperate grip around his neck as he thrusted up into you no less than seven hours before. And as he took your hand as professionally as he could, all he could feel were the callouses that lined your skin which he had been so quick to ignore last night.

The palm of your hand was curved to the hilt of a pistol, not unlike his. The tips hardened against the back of his hand, just as he was sure his were rough against the back of his own. And it was just a handshake but his mind was nowhere near where it needed to be for something as simple as a handshake.

He could see it in your eyes too, but both of you kept your mouths shut as a Stechner lingered alongside you, and when you released his hand, Stechner laid a protective arm over your shoulders.

The same shoulders he buried his face into as he lost himself in your body—

“She’s one of my new transfers, in just after Escobar was killed.” Stechner continued to introduce, as if there was nothing between the two of you. He gave your name as if Javi hadn’t read it off your badge just hours ago, standing nearly naked in your kitchen.

Stechner was building off a clean slate and the two of you just kept your mouths shut as to why he couldn’t be more wrong.

No, he wasn’t going to do that. Instead, he played along. “Right, welcome to Colombia.”

“Thanks.” The English sounded wrong on your tongue when he had only heard you speak Spanish in the bar. It had sounded like such a natural accent, he didn’t even second guess it...

Spy. You were a spy, or at the very least, a CIA agent. He had to keep reminding himself otherwise he swore he was verging on losing himself in you the same way he did last night.

Thankfully, Stechner had other ideas.

“Do you know what this meeting is about?” He asked, gesturing to the closed door to the Ambassador’s office over his shoulder but Peña shook his head.

“My office just told me it was urgent.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he saw something shift in Stechner’s disposition. It was smugness rising back to his features, a look only a man such as himself could muster so casually. “Do you?”

He let out a hearty chuckle which did little to comfort Javi where he stood across from him, “yeah.”

Before he could ask what the hell that meant, the secretary off to the side stood and grabbed the door to gesture them in, and he was left to follow behind you and your perfect figure hidden beneath a professional pantsuit, mind filled with things that were far from professional yet again.

“Take a seat, Agents,” the Ambassador began with and Javi followed right behind you, taking a seat in the chair beside you as Stechner stood over your shoulder still. “Thank you for coming in so early.”

Javi passed on a half-hearted nod, glancing to the side to find you offering something similar, but his gut told him something was wrong.

Stechner was naturally smug, sure, but this was different.

The position of DEA attaché was certainly new to him still, but meeting with the CIA station chief, the agent he happened to have slept with the night before, and the ambassador? Something was going on. He had trusted his gut for this long, he let it save his life out on the streets, he couldn’t ignore it now.

But he also wasn’t sure there was anything else he could do to stop what he was sure was coming.

All he could do was sit up straight and wait for it to hit him square in the face. And when Stechner opened his mouth again, he was sure it was coming quick.

“The Ambassador and I have been talking about ways to improve interagency cooperation...” he began, stalking around the chair you sat in to rest himself against the front side of the lavish desk the Ambassador was sat behind. “And we have a pretty simple solution to ensure things go differently this time around down here.”

Javi glanced to you then back to the two men in front of him, still waiting for the final blow.

“We’re going to place a CIA agent on your team, Peña.” The ambassador quickly filled in the silence Stechner left in his hesitation.

“This one,” Stechner laughed slightly, gesturing to you and practically forcing his stare back your way.

“Excuse me?” The two of you said in unison, your voice layered in equal levels of shock to his.

“We feel it will smooth things out around here. The DEA and the CIA are going to have to work together this time around, Cali needs to be done differently.”

Differently? Javi understood different better than anyone in this room did, but this was different, this was putting a security camera on his team and calling it cooperation. If it was cooperation, it wouldn’t be forced onto him. If it was cooperation, you wouldn’t be a spy...

You wouldn’t be you...

He had to swallow a breath, keep himself from shouting out the first exclamation to come to mind and form a real response, “I don’t need CIA assistance.”

“You sure about that?” Stechner pulled the newspaper from his folder.

Two of his agents in Cali, being called out so plainly on the front page of the paper. There was no way there wouldn’t be consequences for that... Stechner really meant it when he saw his operation last night was going to amount to nothing.

This was all his doing.

The look on the ambassador’s face was all he needed to know he had no chance to argue his way out of it, yet Stechner still felt the need to voice his side of the story, “she is uniquely trained in surveillance and intelligence gathering, I’m sure you’ll find her a valuable asset to your team.”

He opened his mouth to shoot back a quick response, but you were faster.

“I have active assignments—“ clearly this was as much of a shock and disappointment to you. He didn’t know why he took solace in that, he just knew that he did.

“We’ll work all that out.”

“I’m not a liaison—“

“We’re not saying you are... we just would like to use your talents in a different area.” There wasn’t a single word out of Stechner’s mouth that didn’t sound slimy...

“I—“ Javi tried this time, but it was the Ambassador who cut him off.

“This is already decided. And it’ll be for the best.”

For the best? Javi could think of about a thousands ways that this benefited the CIA and their absurd agenda over actual crime fighting... this ‘deal’ of Stechner’s was going to let The Godfather’s of Cali walk away free, with all the money in the world. This wasn’t the best, this wasn’t even justice. This was sticking a spy on his team and using you to further their agenda.

Why was he still surprised by this kind of thing? He’d been in the game long enough, and he still hated when the true colors of the system burned through.

He was no saint, far from it, but he knew better than to let shit like this slide.

He also knew the last place to have a fit of anger was in the office of the Ambassador.

“Right.” He nodded, getting to his feet and giving a final nod to the room before leaving. Unfortunately, you and Stechner were right on his heels.

“Peña.” You called you get him to stop halfway down the hall and clench his eyes shut before turning back towards you. It was the first time you had even said his name...

He wanted to shout, at you, in general... but in the middle of the embassy? In front of Stechner? He bit his tongue and turned back to face you. “Yeah?”

He saw Stechner whisper something to you before peeling off and suddenly it was just the two of you left in the hall, and that was an audience he could work with.

“Did you know?”

Your face fell to your feet with some emotion coursing through you. He initially figured it was shame, or guilt, like you knew the whole time what this was coming to, but as your stare lifted back up, he saw it was anger. The same anger he felt coursing through his veins.

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific...”

“Did you know when I fucked you last night that you were going to be spying on me today?” He switched to Spanish as the words flowed from his lips and he didn’t even know why, he just couldn’t help himself. Speaking to you in English still felt weird and yet, by now, he had spoken to you more in this building than he had in the whole of last night.

“No.”

“Did you know who I was?” Was this what being used felt like? What the hell was this anger bubbling within him?

“You think I’m an idiot?” That was a yes. And it felt terrible. “What? Just because you left when you found out who I was—“

He wasn’t going to have this fight with you in the hall of the embassy, he had to draw the line somewhere. He didn’t even let you finish, he just turned his back and kept walking back to his office. Leaving you stood in the hall with your hands propped on your hips and a familiar sentiment falling from your lips, “fuck.”

The worst part was how impressive you were.

Stechner had been kind enough to leave your personnel file in his office by the time he stormed back to his desk, and while he watched a desk in his bullpen be cleared out for you, he read all he could through the bars of redaction. And you were impressive.

If you weren’t CIA, he might’ve actually wanted you on his team. (If you weren’t CIA, maybe he’d admit he had some of the best sex of his life last night)

He really hadn’t ever been played like this. At least when he was being played by dirty cops or the higher ups, he knew it was coming, this was new since he had gotten back, being played so out in the open.

He had to send two good agents back, the Colombians pulled their visas. And he got you in their place. All for this goddamn surrender—

“Can I come in?”

Slamming your file shut, he glanced up to find you leaned so gently against his doorframe. But he couldn’t give you a verbal answer just yet, all he could manage was a brief nod.

“I’m as displeased with this assignment as you are, trust me.” You said so casually as you entered and settled into the seat across from him, but the majority of your sentence went over his head.

Trust you? Yeah right—

“I’m supposed to be doing real work here, and instead I’m assigned you? I get to play babysitter so Stechner can get what he wants?” At least you were honest. “No offense but you’re not what I want to be doing here.”

His mind was nowhere near professional territory as the words flowed to his ears.

“Last night—“

“I wasn’t there for you, I didn’t know about any of this, and I’m sorry.” Was it that easy? Was he just supposed to believe that.

Scanning your face up and down once, he was afraid that he actually did.

“So, What do we do?” He sighed, itching at his brow and aching for a cigarette.

“Let me make it right?

You were definitely new to Colombia. That just wasn’t something that happened here. For an agent with a record as substantial as what he read, he just didn’t understand your offer and his face clearly cemented itself in that confusion.

“I can only tell Stechner what I hear, so don’t let me hear anything you don’t want me to.” You followed up quickly, “you want me to leave a room, just tell me...”

“You would do that, you’d disobey your boss and order from the ambassador for me?”

You scoffed at that, quickly putting him back in his place. “It’s got nothing to do with you.”

He leaned forward on his elbows, “so why?”

“Like I said, you aren’t why I was transferred here.” It seemed so simple coming from your lips, he imagined you could explain rocket science like that and he’d understand just by following the plush of your lips. The lips that he couldn’t breathe without last night... “I have real assignments and maybe once Stechner realizes this isn’t working, I can get back to it.”

“Real assignments?” You gave a plain nod. “If not Cali, then what?”

Another scoff tore through you, “there’s more to Colombia than drugs and communists.”

And he believed you. But he couldn’t escape the feeling that that was the beginning and end of everything.

Most of your file was classified, redacted beyond readable and he believed you.

As he shook your hand one last time and watched you leave his office for the new desk they had cleared out for you, he couldn’t help but mutter a final, “fuck.”

There was no way this was that simple. There was no way you were that simple.

—

->tags: (let me know if I missed you or you want to be tagged!)

@the-feckless-wonder @arrowswithwifi @ms-dont-care @leo-moon

#javier peña x reader #javier pena #javier pena x reader #narcos #pedro pascal #i guess im going all in with this plot now #im glad yall liked the prologue so much!!#keep the feedback coming

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piracytheorist · 4 years ago

Text

A Kiss for Good Luck (7/15)

Summary: So this is the story of one born lucky, and one born unlucky. Fate will keep making them cross paths, but is it to bring them together, or to test them? Captain Swan AU.

Rating: T (make sure you’re okay with the warnings on AO3) Warnings: This chapter contains mentions of character death and descriptions of past child and domestic abuse.

Word count for this chapter: 4.9k (48k in total) AO3

Read from the beginning: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter 7: Emma Swan, October 19th 2011 – October 24th 2015

Emma's senses register very slowly. She first realizes the guy is tasting like rum, and then that he's already pushed her, gently, back.

"I thought it would be a quick kiss," he says and looks slowly up at her. "I have a girlfriend."

"Shit. Sorry."

"'Salright. Go pee."

"Yes. That. Thank you again."

Relieving her bladder and splashing cool water on her face bring her a bit back to Earth. Did she just try to make out with a stranger – one who apparently is taken – because he gave her his turn to the bathroom?

She looks at herself in the mirror. Somehow, though she splashed water on her face while completely forgetting she has make-up on, it has stayed intact, not even a single smudge from running mascara.

She may be drunk off her ass, but she's a good-looking drunk. She smiles at her reflection.

She straightens her back and prepares to unlock the bathroom door when a loud, sharp BANG erupts from outside. The music is still loud inside the club, but Emma can hear people screaming.

Her hand freezes over the key. A shooting?

Some long seconds pass by before a second BANG is heard – and with that, a man screaming. She looks at the window. It's too high to see outside, but it still carries the sounds pretty clear. The people inside are screaming in fear. The man outside is screaming in pain.

Finding some composure, Emma takes her hand away. There's a mop in the corner, and she takes it in her hands. It's not much of a weapon in this situation, but it's better than nothing.

Eventually, the screaming calms down and Emma hears ambulance sirens. By now some people have gotten out, so it's too loud to hear if the probably injured man is still there, or even alive.

A loud bang on the bathroom door and it's Emma's time to scream.

"NYPD! Are you alright in there?"

Emma unlocks the door and opens it. An officer with a bulletproof vest on is looking at her, gun at the holster.

Her alibi provided by locking herself in the bathroom – and the two surprisingly sober people who were waiting outside – is solid, so she's the very first to be allowed to leave. She learns that someone shot a woman in the chest, killing her almost instantly, then shot a man in the hand. She's advised to be careful and not stay alone, but it's not as if she has someone to accompany her.

However, she immediately finds a cab, having a smooth ride to her hostel.

She hears about the shooting on the news the next day, when she gets back to Boston. There are no leads about the killer, though they say he didn't act alone. The injured man is in no danger, but he was a couple with the deceased woman.

The guy she kissed... he mentioned having a girlfriend. And she didn't see him anywhere around after the shots – though she doesn't really have a perfectly clear memory of how he looked like.

Tears fill Emma's eyes. She wants to blame them on the thought that the chance of losing people she loves just like that is another reason why she isn't opening up to anyone, but it just doesn't feel a good enough justification for her crying.

She doesn't want to be cooped up in her apartment for her twenty-eighth birthday, but without any company her main choice is clubbing, and the memories of hearing the shots and the man screaming in pain are too raw, so she contents herself with blowing a candle on a single cupcake with the audacious wish to not be alone.

Tired from a busy workday, she lies in bed, checking her phone one last time. She sees Ingrid has contacted her on Facebook, and she stares at her phone for three minutes straight, having a hard time believing it.

Ingrid says she has been trying to get a visa for years now, but her criminal record especially regarding entering the country had been a big hindrance. A few days ago, her application for a 90-days visa was accepted, and she's asking Emma if it's okay to come see her.

Emma all but bursts out in sobs. She only decided to make a Facebook account a week ago, but Ingrid has been trying to get in contact with her for years, even though she knew there was a chance she may never be allowed in the country again.

She realizes she's too emotional to answer her now, and there's still a part of her that may regret the elated "Yes!" she wants to send back. She turns her phone off and sleeps on that thought.

Her emotions are still reeling from the possibility of seeing Ingrid again, finding out why she'd immigrated illegally in the first place, how she's been doing all this time... how much she's been thinking of Emma. But she still tells her yes, providing Ingrid stays in a hotel and not with Emma. At least not yet.

Ingrid arrives only a week later. Half of Emma wants to meet her at their designated rendezvous the next afternoon; the other half wants to greet her at the airport, perhaps even give her a lift to her hotel. It's the same half that feels guilty she didn't offer her to stay at her place.

The second half wins this round. From the distance, Ingrid looks exhausted and much older than Emma had expected her to look, but when she spots Emma her whole face lights up and she nearly drops her bags.

Fuck it. Who cares anymore. Emma runs to her and hugs her tight, and at once she's eleven and has just learned that that wonderful person is adopting her and giving her a forever, loving home.

"I'm so sorry, Emma. I'm so sorry for everything."

Emma is already crying, and so is Ingrid. Even in the arrivals section that's full of people reuniting, they look out of place. Emma feels a surge of cold when Ingrid pulls back a little, but Ingrid just places her hands on the sides of Emma's face and stares at her.

"Emma, Emma." Her voice is shaking. "You're all grown up. And I wasn't there for it."

"Shut up." Emma hugs her again, knowing that people are starting to stare now, but she doesn't care.

"I should have been more careful... you shouldn't have been left alone like that."

"It was because of my lost passport, wasn't it?" Emma pulls back, but she's not angry, and she's careful to not let Ingrid misunderstand. "When we contacted the embassy in England, to get me new papers so that I could travel back, they looked into your case."

Ingrid nods. "It's not your fault, honey. I should have... I..." She sighs. "I've got so much I want to tell you, and I can't get it out!"

"It's okay. It's okay. How long are you staying?"

Ingrid sniffles, wiping away her tears. "I haven't bought return tickets – yet. I can stay eighty more days, though, as long as my ESTA lasts. That's why I contacted you right as I got it, and why I came so soon. I didn't want to miss any day I could have spent here."

Eighty days. But then she'll have to go back. "Then there's enough time. Come. I'll drive you home."

"Home? Emma-"

"Nope. Forget the hotel. You're staying with me."

The next day, after Ingrid has had her rest and Emma has made them hot cocoa – her mug with cinnamon, Ingrid's neat – Ingrid begins her story.

"At first it was five of us. My parents, me, and my two younger sisters, Helga and Gerda. I might have been the oldest, but my love for my father had blinded me. I thought it was normal to get a beating for every little mistake we made. For every time the food wasn't tasty enough, for every time the house wasn't clean enough. He never did any housework himself, but he demanded it was kept pristine. Otherwise, he would hit us.

"My mother was an only child, her parents died before we were born. Our extended family was all on my father's side, and of course, most of them were just like him. It took me years to even consider that what was happening to me wasn't normal, or okay. Both of my father's brothers were policemen. Both their wives were miserable and distant, in every family gathering I can remember them at. Both of them disappeared at some point. I later learned that the one was dead, probably by her husband's hand. The other one had escaped him and fled the country.

"I got that idea myself before I even learned about her. I thought that, when I would turn eighteen, I'd have enough pull to take my mother and my sisters away, and somehow keep us safe."

Her face turns pensive.

"I didn't get the chance. My mother died one month before I turned eighteen. I panicked, I knew for sure that it was my father, making sure we'd never leave, and I was right, and his plan worked. I blacked out, got depressed. And he got worse. With three women to burst out on instead of four, the beatings got more often, and more serious. I ended up in the hospital three times. Helga and Gerda, once each. And every time, the cop who would ask us if our father ever acted on any 'suspicious' behaviour would be a friend of one of our uncles. We couldn't say anything.

"Until I woke up. That time is... hard." She sighs, the memory clearly upsetting her. "I don't remember much of it. I just remember father beating Gerda badly. She was only sixteen." She shakes her head.

Emma wants to tell her that details aren't necessary, but she knows Ingrid needs to let some of that out.

"I grabbed an old radio and hit him in the head. At the time, I thought I'd killed him. Me and Helga picked up Gerda and ran. We managed to hide for a few days, taking care of Gerda's wounds until she could walk and run, and then we tried to cross to Sweden. They found us... we had been wanted for assault and murder attempt. Murder attempt! We were running, and Helga tripped. Gerda wanted to go back for her, but Helga screamed for us to run. And then they shot."

She covers her face with her hand, and Emma's tears fall.

After a long silence, Ingrid continues. "I knew Gerda was running with me, but I barely felt her presence there. We managed to cross the border, but none of us felt any relief. For three months we were in the streets, pick-pocketing, eating off of garbage, shoplifting a few times..."

Emma looks away. Like mother, like daughter?

"Then we found someone who promised us fake passports. He promised us safe passage to the United States. At the time, it was like a gift from God, Emma. But I made Gerda swear not to follow me if they caught me. But I passed over safely. It was Gerda who was caught."

Emma's jaw drops.

Ingrid smiles. "She was okay. She was deported back to Sweden, and I don't know how she made it, but she did. She got married and had two beautiful girls, her Elsa and Anna. But all those years, until I was deported to Norway, I had no idea..."

"Your father?"

"He died four years after we left. I didn't even care to find out how. I've mostly been in Sweden all this time, reconnecting with Gerda."

"I'm so glad you found her."

Ingrid nods. "When I came here, my contact actually managed to find me a job and someone to teach me English, good enough to pass for a local. I worked hard, stayed in horrible apartments... but you know, it was the '80s. The more time passed, the better it got. I supported fundraisers for domestic abuse victims. I let victims stay in my tiny apartments until they found a safe space. And never... I could never share my full story." Her voice breaks. She sniffles, recovers, and continues. "But I wanted more. I wanted to help someone, and see for myself that they did well. Emma... you were not an experiment, I want you to know. I loved you, and I still do. I wanted you to be happy, I wanted you to have what I didn't have." Her voice breaks again. "And I messed that up. I left you alone, you had nothing, no-one... I failed you."

Emma shakes her head, more tears falling. "You tried. And yes, it sucked. But you changed my life. You have no idea how big it was, how better you made my life because you were there for me. I don't know where I would be if it weren't for you."

They're both crying now, and Emma is the first to hug her.

It takes time. Emma isn't ready to share everything that's happened to her, but she's still glad to have Ingrid back and know she had a very good reason for the things that eventually led to Emma being alone. And, after all, she did search for her. That's huge.

"My aunt, the one who had 'disappeared', found me a little after I was brought back and helped me. We didn't even know each other that well, but we knew each other's pain. A little more than a year after that I located Gerda. With my father and most of the side of his family dead, at least the older ones who shared his stance, it was easier to search around. I couldn't leave the country yet, so Gerda took her family and visited me in Norway." Her eyes tear up again.

What could it have been like, to not have heard from her in nearly twenty years, not knowing if she was dead or alive...

"It was... okay. But I still thought of you. I didn't know what I could do, I was nearly broke for years after I went back. It's only the past four years that I managed to make some money, and all of them were being saved for this exact trip. I will come visit you again, Emma. I don't know how soon I'll be allowed back, but I'll try my hardest. I know you don't need me anymore-"

"I do. I missed you. You have no idea how much."

She smiles sadly. "Perhaps I've got a clue."

She does stay eighty days, which go by way too fast, even with Emma using up her sick and vacation days to spend time with her.

It's the first time since Ingrid was deported that Emma has someone to spend Christmas and New Year's Eve with. It's even bigger for her, considering that Ingrid chose Emma and didn't go back to celebrate with her family.

January goes by too fast, and then Ingrid has to leave.

"I'll visit you in Norway first chance I get. I want to meet your family, too."

"The rest of my family," Ingrid says. "I will wait for you. I'm not perfect with Facebook, but I'll try to keep contact every day."

"Ask Elsa, or maybe even Anna, to teach you next time you meet. They're teenagers, they'll know."

And then she has to say goodbye, and it's too soon, but for the very, very first time, it's a goodbye she gets to say. And it's amazing, how less painful it is, now that it's out there with the promise of a reunion.

The next morning she takes an early walk before work and finds a ten dollar bill on the street.

She looks at it dumbfounded. It's the first time in probably ten years this has happened, and when she walks into her favourite coffee shop, she's still staring at the bill in her hand.

She has a coffee and a big piece of cake, courtesy of the found bill. As she's enjoying her treat, a young woman with bright red streaks in her brown hair sits on the chair across from Emma as if she was just invited to do so.

"Hi," she says all too casually. "Don't freak out, there's just this guy I'm trying to catch and it'll look less suspicious if I pretend to sit with company here." Her tone, facial expressions and hand movements are full in the game.

"What do you mean, 'catch'?"

The woman leans forward. "I'm a bail bond agent. There's a guy I'm trying to catch, and I got word that he comes into this coffee shop quite often. I'm just trying to- speak of the devil." Without changing her expression a bit, she tells Emma, "Don't turn around. He just got in."

"Is he dangerous?" Emma shivers.

"No, no, he was just arrested for some tax fraud." The woman's expression turns serious. "Are you alright?"

Emma's hands are shaking, and the question is out before she can consider it. "Is he gonna be armed?"

"I don't think so. In any case, stay down."

That's it, Emma thinks. The shooting in New York City. Emma lowers her head and leans it a little to the side, managing to get one small glimpse of someone walking towards them.

"Is that him?" Emma says.

"Yes!" the woman says excitedly, exaggerating for cover.

Then the man is right next to her.

"Excuse me," he says, and Emma bites her lip as she looks up at him. "I don't remember seeing you around here. Are you a new customer?"

Emma holds back her surprise. Is he trying to hit on her?

She just shrugs.

The man offers his hand. "My name's Walsh," he says.

"Damn right it is," the other woman says, and with a swift movement of her hand, a handcuff is placed around his wrist.

Walsh looks at them both like an idiot.

"Thanks for making my job so much easier," the woman tells him. "And thank you, too." She winks at Emma, then takes a handcuffed Walsh outside.

Emma sighs, staring at her coffee and half-eaten cake as her heartbeat returns to normal. She knows that this very reaction is different from her panic at first. She turns to see the woman push Walsh into the backseat of a car.

Emma smiles. That was actually exciting.

Her boss is lost in thought all day, so Emma's shift goes pretty smoothly, as boring as retail is. On her way home from work, she walks past a police station and runs into the woman from that morning.

"Oh," the woman says, smiling wide at Emma. "My good luck charm!"

"Your what?"

"You have no idea how long I've been trying to catch that Walsh guy. He may not have any serious felonies under his belt, but he's elusive as hell. And I got a pretty good bonus for him too."

"Oh. Sounds good."

"And it's all thanks to you! Come on, would you like a drink?"

Emma stares at her.

"Oh, no, not in that way," she says and laughs. "Just as a thank you for your help." Her smile is earnest now.

"I didn't do anything."

"You brought me luck. That's worthy enough of at least one beer. And you behaved very bravely at the sight of a potentially dangerous criminal. I think you deserve a relaxing night out."

Normally, Emma can't afford such relaxing nights out. And the woman seems nice. "Okay," she says.

"Great! My name's Ruby, by the way. I know a place around with the best homemade onion rings."

Emma's mouth waters. Ruby has no idea what she just unleashed. She only hopes she can restrain herself in front of her favourite snack.

Ruby is really fun and kind. She doesn't ask any too deep questions that might provoke painful answers, and Emma has one of the best nights out in a while.

She realizes that, not counting her little time with Ingrid the past three months, she hasn't actually had a girls' night out. Not as an adult, at least.

"I'm not kidding, though, when I say you were pretty brave with Walsh. Some people freak out completely. Not that that's bad, but..." she says and looks at Emma, raising her eyebrows.

"But?"

"You know, there are never enough bail bond agents out there. Especially in a city as big as this."

Emma lies in bed that night, mind too full of thoughts to sleep. Ruby went through all the details of her work, and Emma absorbed it all. But, she has done time – not that she felt ready to confess this to Ruby.

She may have the guts to do that job, but probably not the ideal past for it.

Two weeks later, she's outside that same police station waiting to go with Ruby for drinks. Perhaps it's time to talk to her about whether her past would pose a problem to her becoming a bail bond agent.

She thinks she sees it too late; a car, losing control and going straight for the pregnant woman a few steps away from her.

Emma doesn't think; she runs forward, somehow manages to gently push the pregnant woman aside and then jump onto the running car's hood, rolling over the roof and down onto the street.

People are running to them. A man is shouting someone's name, worried. Then Ruby kneels down next to Emma.

"Emma! Are you alright?"

She is. She didn't even scrape her palms while falling down. She stands up, moving every limb and checking for any pains.

"Is it the adrenaline?" Emma says. "I feel fine!"

"You must be the luckiest chick on Earth," the car's driver says, also checking her for any injuries.

"You... you pushed my wife aside," a man says, coming closer to her, side-hugging the apparently unharmed pregnant woman.

"I- I did that."

The woman steps forward and hugs Emma tight. Then suddenly, people around them are clapping. Clapping at her.

She does go into a bit of a shock; David Nolan, the expectant father, takes her to the hospital to check her out for any internal injuries. Mary Margaret Nolan, the expectant mother, sits next to her on the back seat, holds her hand, and can't stop thanking Emma again and again.

Ruby is in the passenger's seat, talking to David, and it's only then that Emma realizes they're in a police cruiser, siren on and all.

After a full examination Emma turns out to be fine – not a single bruise. Once again, hearing the good news, Mary Margaret pulls her into a squeezing hug.

Encouraged by her unusually good luck, Emma tells Ruby about having done time. Ruby just tells her that David owes her big.

And by a week later, she's a bail bond agent.

Next month, she's staring at her bank balance, unable to comprehend having so much money available to spend however she likes.

At this rate, she'll be able to afford a trip to Norway in less than three months. And she does. She sees Ingrid, meets her sister and nieces, and for the first time since Neal left her she allows herself to just relax and enjoy the moment.

It's still not easy. Gerda's English isn't the best, and more than a few times Emma assumes Gerda doesn't like her, and her heart nearly breaks. It takes a lot of reassurance from Ingrid, but by the time Emma has to get back, she's already friends on Facebook with Elsa – Gerda says that Anna will get an account after turning eighteen as well – and they all promise each other that they will meet like that again.

On her flight back Emma gets a window seat facing north and gets a stunning view of the aurora. She hears the flight attendants say how they've never had sighting of it in the very few hours of dark the north gets in the middle of summer.

Emma can hardly believe it. How did luck decide to be so nice to her?

She can't even imagine something sullying her trip, but as she thinks that, she starts worrying that her bad luck will strike again.

It doesn't. Her job goes well, she gets a better apartment with a much kinder landlady, Ruby becomes her first friend in years and David and Mary Margaret invite her for dinner every Sunday, despite having a very loud and time-consuming infant.

The baby is always sleeping soundly every time Emma visits, and when he does wake up he's calm, surprisingly so according to his parents.

Emma lies in her new bed, on her brand new anatomical mattress, and thinks how it all started because she found that ten dollar bill on the street – the first of many that came later, if she's honest – and decided to treat herself that morning.

As luck would have it. Perhaps it was all a matter of positive thinking.

She grows closer to Ruby and the Nolans and, combined with Ingrid's surprise visit, her twenty-ninth birthday is the first in twelve years that she doesn't celebrate alone.

She starts crying when they sing her the Happy Birthday song. Against all odds, her wish from last year actually came true, in the most unexpectedly heart-warming way.

From that point on, it's only better and better apartments and all holidays spent with either friends in the States or family in Norway.

During one more return trip, she realizes how she can actually afford all these trips now; a dream she couldn't even imagine before.

Her thirtieth birthday is celebrated in Norway; her thirty-first, back in the States, and for her thirty-second, she decides to gift herself and Ingrid something they'll both love; tickets to the Scorpions' 50th Anniversary Tour in Maidstone, England.

Ingrid tries to stop Emma from paying both their plane tickets, but Emma is not having it.

A small part of her remembers what happened after their first and last trip to England, but it's too small a part to stop her from organizing the whole trip.

If Emma is honest, it's one hundred percent Ingrid's fault that Emma loves the band so much. It's one of the things she passed on to her without even trying.

The concert is amazing; even though they have first row tickets, they have lots of space to dance and jump and enjoy the whole concert.

After the concert is over, Emma is waiting for Ingrid a bit farther away from the portable toilets, when she hears someone humming the melody of No One Like You next to her.

"Catchy tune, huh?" she tells him.

"Oh, which one isn't?" he answers. "What a night."

Emma nods. He's definitely a local. "Did you have fun?"

He makes a grimace. "A lot of people stepped on me, I got groped, pick-pocketed, and I got in a fight with my... friend, but you know what?" He shrugs. "Bloody worth it."

"Oh, sorry that you were mugged."

"Ah, it was like, twenty quid. I've known better than to carry credit cards where hands can easily reach."

Emma realizes she had almost everything on her, including her passport. But everything in her belt bag is intact.

"Do you have a ride back home?"

He looks at her, and his expression turns shocked for a moment. "Bollocks. I overshared, didn't I?"

"I mean, I have a car, and space for two... how many of you are there?"

He seems to recoil a bit, raising his hand to scratch behind his ear before putting it back inside his jacket pocket. "Don't worry. We've got a car. And we going right back to Brighton, anyway."

"Oh." Emma pauses. "I don't even know where that is."

The man smiles. "Figured so. From your accent."

Emma smiles back. "I'm Emma," she says, extending her hand.

"Killian," he says, getting his hand out of the pocket and shaking hers. She barely notices that his other hand stays in the other pocket even after his right hand drops to his side. "So... you know that they're actually having a few concerts in the States for this tour, right? How come you decided to fly all over to here?"

"Well, today... or more like, yesterday," she says, checking her watch, "was my birthday. This was more like a birthday gift to me, and of course I'm going to see them in- What?"

He is staring at her with his jaw dropped. "You're not kidding? Tomorrow- or, today, is my birthday."

"Wow. Happy birthday, then."

"Happy birthday to you too. Seems it was a great one."

Emma sighs happily, looking back at the now empty stage. "I'd say one of the best ones." She then turns to him. "Does your birthday seem promising?"

He looks at her; his eyes and his smile soften. And she actually feels butterflies in her stomach.

Wow. It's not like she's been denying herself much, but this look... she takes a step forward before she realizes it.

And he leans towards her.

"It seems that way, aye," he says, still smiling.

Oh, damn him. They both close the distance between them, and his lips are on hers.

(A/N: It has happened! They have officially met! Rejoice! But prepare for the next chapter; you know what's coming. Emma spent those four years being lucky, so Killian... >:)

Also, Scorpions did have a concert in Maidstone in 2015 as part of their 50th Anniversary Tour. It took place in July, but I took some creative liberties with the date for this story ;) )

#Emma Swan #Captain Swan #captain swan ff #cs ff #ouat ff #akfgl #captain swan movie marathon #I want y'all to know that we haven't even reached the middle of the total word count #there are still like #80 more pages in the doc #piracytheorist writes

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leverage-ot3 · 5 years ago

Text

notable moments from The Zanzibar Marketplace Job

leverage 2.12

Hardison: Two weeks in Tokyo. We'd have a great time.

Parker: What are we stealing?

Hardison: We don't steal anything. We'd be tourists.

Parker: Not following you

hardison: BE DOMESTIC WITH ME PLS

- - - - -

Waitress (puts down beer): There you go.

Eliot: Ahh. Thank you, sweetheart.

Waitress: Anytime.

(Nate kicks Eliot under the table)

Eliot: What? Really? What, I can't have a friend?

Nate: Join a softball team

me whenever eliot flirts with someone other than parker or hardison

- - - - -

Tara: You know he's drinking again.

Eliot: I'm not an idiot, Tara.

Tara: I was told this was a problem.

Eliot: The drinking is not a problem. It's a symptom

this!!!

also eliot’s hair braids are adorable

- - - - -

(Sterling walks into the bar behind Eliot, approaches table)

Nate: Eliot, I'm gonna ask you not to do anything violent.

Eliot: What? What are you talking about? I only use violence As a - as a - as an appropriate response.

Sterling: Hello, Nate.

(Eliot’s face turns murderous and he turns to punch Sterling in the face, then proceeds to throw him down on a table and continue punching him. The bartender moves to call the police, but Hardison stops him by passing him money, Parker watches enthusiastically)

Tara: And this is?

Nate: James sterling. We used to work together. Insurance.

Tara: He seems to rub Eliot the wrong way.

Nate: You think?

(Nate walks over to where Eliot is still beating Sterling, and now has him by the throat)

parker and hardison literally have heart eyes for eliot in this scene ??? ot3 ???

hardison bribing the bartender not to call the police? parker watching like she’s being turned on or something? eliot’s face right before he hears sterling’s voice? sterling hitting eliot with a stick? CHAOTIC

- - - - -

Tara: Okay. Is there any chance she took the egg?

Parker: No. Maggie's the most honest person we know. But besides that, she's okay.

parker adores maggie

- - - - -

Sterling: You live and work here?

Nate: Yeah.

Sterling: I like the old place better.

Hardison: Do not mention the old offices.

people that have no rights: sterling

- - - - -

they had a legit P I L E of passports ready ??? SO MANY

- - - - -

Tara: Okay, you cannot out-bureaucrat a former Soviet Union bureaucrat. These guys gamed the most corrupt system on earth for 50 years. Paperwork's not gonna cut it. They're used to trading favors, not forms.

- - - - -

Nate: I just need some proof.

Parker: It was an inside job. Average keypad hack time is 1 minute, 9.3 seconds. Inner door access card takes at least 30 seconds for anybody but Hardison, and then the vault was an old Mark II Remington. In and out average - 7 minutes, 40 seconds. But these thieves, they did it in 5 minutes, 12 seconds. Maggie had the best access, so the real thieves only had to get her codes and badge. Yeah, only way they could pull it off that fast.

Sterling: How long has she been sitting..

sterling being utterly BAFFLED by parker is my aesthetic

+ she’s wearing a leather jacket AND a cute red flannel,,, the bi energy is strong

- - - - -

Parker: It's your first time being a fugitive, so I made you a bag..

Maggie: Thank you, Parker. It's not that I don't appreciate getting out of jail, I just can't live my life a fugitive.

Nate: But you're not a fugitive.

Parker: Passports, money, lock picks.

Nate: You were released, not broken out.

Parker: Toothpaste, explosives. Do not mix these up.

Maggie: Thank you, Parker.

Parker: This looks like gum. Not gum. Diamond-edged file blade.

Nate: Yeah, yeah. That's great.

Parker: She needs this stuff.

maggie is such a Mom™ rolling with parker’s antics and we love her for that

also PARKER IS TRYING SO HARD TO BE NICE BECAUSE SHE LIKES AND CARES ABOUT MAGGIE AND WE LOVE TO SEE IT

- - - - -

Parker: So, I took your advice and did the whole touristy thing. Went to the museum, and it was amazing.

Hardison: You see?

Parker: Yeah. They have a guardian T-840 security system. I've only seen those things in books. And the motion detectors - ooh, gorgeous! Six digital receptors. Six!

Hardison: What about the paintings?

Parker: What about the paintings?

she reads about security systems in books? omg I love it

- - - - -

Parker: We meet on internet.

hi I’m sorry but the way she said it was hilarious

- - - - -

Hardison: Alexander's got a travel visa to the United Arab Emirates. He's also setting up accounts in the Caymans, Macau, and Switzerland.

Nate: Yes, countries with no extradition treaty, tax havens

- - - - -

Tara: I got this one.

Eliot: Really? What are you gonna say to him? 'cause we got no cover story. We got no background on this cat.

Tara: Okay. That's it, then. I won't say anything. Really. Not one word. Just when he turns around and looks at you, do that thing with your eyes that scares people.

Eliot: I don't... know what you're talking about.

Tara: Oh, you know exactly what I'm talking about.

Eliot: Pffff.

(Tara sits down next to Chernov and grabs his lunch, taking a bite)

Chernov: What the... Who the hell are you? Do I know you? Did Samuels send you?

(Tara moves a little, still chewing Chernov’s lunch)

Chernov: I paid them off. I took care of it.

(Tara looks over her shoulder at Eliot, who is scowling)

Chernov: Oh, god. Please. Is this about the item?

(Tara throws up her hands)

Chernov: I didn't know. No one told me.

(Tara checks her watch and stands up)

Chernov: Wait! Here. This is all I have. (hands her envelope) I'll back out. I'm sorry.

(Tara gives Chernov back his lunch)

Chernov: Sorry! (walks away)

Tara (rejoins Eliot and gives him the envelope): What we imagine is always so much better than the reality.

Eliot: Like love?

this whole scene was iconic

- - - - -

Sophie: Well, the prospective buyers are invited by their black-market contacts. They show up, they verify the merchandise, and they make a sealed bid. Hey, um, shine an ultraviolet light on that card.

(Hardison pulls a light from a bag and shines in on the card)

Eliot: Seriously? You have one just laying around?

he had one on his keychain in The Ice Man Job and boy do I love continuity

- - - - -

Tara: Parker, double reverse on three.

(Tara places envelope on tray, Parker takes envelope and passes it to Eliot)

we LIVE for smooth hand-offs

+ eliot did the flip thing with the envelope

- - - - -

Sterling: You're welcome. I don't know how you people ever manage – (flinches at feedback on com)

[Interior Van]

Hardison: Oh, I'm sorry, man. That just happens sometimes with the ear buds - You know, feedback.

[Embassy Hallway]

Sterling: As I was saying, the method - (flinches at feedback on com)

[Interior Van]

Hardison: Sorry.

[Embassy Hallway]

Sterling: This isn't gonna stop until I - (flinches at feedback on com)

[Interior Van]

Hardison: Stop talking. Shh. Please

PARKER’S SMILE AT HARDISON FUCKING WITH STERLING? AMAZING

- - - - -

parker is wearing a flannel now :)

+ the leather jacket she wears over it a little later

- - - - -

(Sterling pulls phone from his pocket)

Eliot: What are you doing?

Sterling (dialing): Calling the police. They don't get to dictate to -

Eliot (grabs phone): We're not calling the cops. Two hostages means they can kill one to make a point. (throws phone down on table) All right, listen. There's three types of calls we can get next. One - amateur. Cash and a dump site. Number two - professional. That's wire transfers and multiple-location drop-offs. (glances at Sterling) And three - targeted.

Hardison: Targeted toward us?

Eliot: No. Towards a specific ransom demand - Not cash. (looks at Faberge Egg case)

Sterling: You're not risking a $9 million artifact...

Eliot: It might be the only chance.

Sterling: ...on a hunch! Let me run this. We track the calls, find out whoever it is, have the police surround -

Eliot (walks around table to stand with team): Sterling, I'm the retrieval specialist. That's my job.

Sterling: Your friends' lives hang in the balance, and you're gonna take your cues off a punch-up artist instead of me? (closes case and takes phone from table) Call me when you need me. 'cause you will need me. (leaves with case)

eliot being the focused, determined retrieval specialist that’s hell bent on getting everyone back safe? we love to see it

+ parker, hardison, and tara having 100% faith in him standing beside him

- - - - -

Eliot: He's angry. We took his payday. (phone rings) All right, all right. (pulls phone toward him and hits button for intercom) Go.

Distorted Voice: If you follow our instructions, your friends will be returned unharmed.

Eliot: We agree. Tell us what you want.

Distorted Voice: You owe me

(Hardison uses computer to remove distortion)

Alex: $9 million.

Hardison: It's Alex. It's Alexander.

[Embassy Hallway]

Alex: I still have a buyer for the egg. Return it, and I return your friends.

[I.Y.S. Insurance Offices]

Eliot: I want proof of life now.

Alex: Agreed

it’s cool to see how Retrieval Specialist™ eliot spencer actually works

- - - - -

Nate: Yeah. Yeah, I was lying to you for your own good.

Maggie: Quick little hint for your next marriage - that excuse does not fly with any woman on earth.

Nate: Oh, go- next marriage? That's really nice to say.

Maggie (hitting Nate with spray can): You know what? I've heard that one before.

Nate: Heard what before? What are you talking about?

Sam: Are you actually having this argument now?!

Nate: She started it.

Maggie: He started it

chaotic ex spouses

- - - - -

Eliot: Listen, listen - we know who's behind this, all right? We know what they want. We have the upper hand here. We do.

COMPETENCY!!! HE KNOWS EXACTLY WHAT HES TALKING ABOUT AND WE LOVE TO SEE IT

- - - - -

they made a taser out of two ends of a live wire and a flamethrower with a match and an aerosol I love it

- - - - -

Sam: Give me that. The thing everyone screws up when they fake their own death - no body. Well, that can work, but it leaves no suspect for the police to chase.

Alex: You won't get away with this.

Sam: No, you will. Of course, I've left an evidence trail a mile wide, Visa applications, accounts in offshore banks.

Alex: You were my friend!

Sam: I was your employee. And thanks to your screw-ups, I was an employee with no pension, no savings, no nothing. That was really, really unacceptable to me.

Nate: Well, it's a good plan. What? I- I - listen, I spent 20 years chasing, you know, guys that faked their own death. I mean, this one - it's pretty well thought-out.

Sam: Exactly. Alexander Lundy, desperate for cash, turns to violence. And his poor assistant, Sam, loyal to the last, caught in the cross fire at a ransom drop gone bad.

that’s actually really smart

- - - - -

eliot’s sly grin right before the flashback revealing how they got away with it

- - - - -

(Alex vomiting into a barrel)

Parker (handing him a cloth): It's okay. First bomb's always the hardest (cringes)

- - - - -

Eliot: Was it because they wanted us to hear Sam's performance? It's 101, man. After that, (looks hardison up and down) you don't have to be a rocket scientist to figure it out.

Maggie: You know, people underestimate you, Eliot.

Nate: That's kind of the point

HE CONSIDERES HARDISON TO BE AKIN TO A ROCKET SCIENTIST

- - - - -

Reporter (on television): And that's not all. Today, based on his work recovering the priceless artifact, James Sterling was invited to join Interpol. He's a real-life Sherlock Holmes.

Parker: Interpol? Seriously?

Hardison: Sterling's career gets another boost off of our hard work.

Tara: We didn't even get paid.

Hardison: Nope.

Tara: I hate this guy.

Eliot (taps his beer bottle on Tara's): Now you're part of the team. (walks away)

THAT is what it takes lmfao

also eliot was wearing a flannel in that scene

#leverage 2.12 #leverage 2x12 #the zanzibar marketplace job #leverage #leverage season 2 #season 2 #notable moments #mine

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emperorghali · 3 years ago

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“That is the way it is”

Yesterday evening, I got an email from the FDDC the body responsible for economic and financial crime in the country. I have been contacting them since one year now, asking me to reapply for the recovery of the tuition fee I paid to a school in London. In the mail, I was asked to follow application format as if I am in the exam hall taking examination. I just knew what that nonsense instruction means, they were looking for excuse not to attend to me or one for not contacting me since one year now.

Then they ended their diatribe that I should be aware that they don’t take commission or percentage from the recovered money. Imagine thoughts like that, it could only mean one thing, they have plan already to deep their filthy hands into the money. Is there any other meaning of that filthy line in the mail?, maybe, they were still trying to prove that I am not who I am, I didn’t meet the picture some of their collaborators painted of me while away.

Why did it take them a year to reply to my request and was laying trap with the reply?

This commission has changed their leadership not less than four times since I started following them, recently, they replaced their leadership with a 32 year old man, where he garnered experience to lead that commission that is as corrupt as the police force, no one knows. Since he came on board, he had been talking the talk without corresponding action as if noise alone will do the work.

The tale following the tuition I paid silently when I paid it is now generating unnecessary noise in the police and FDDC that I knew instantly that another branch have grown out of the tuition tree I had no knowledge of.

You see, this money was paid about 17 years ago, and was told to forward my bank details when student visa was denied me, I did after returning all their documents as they requested. I waited for months checking and re-checking my account without any money from them, I sent mail upon mails without reply, the phone calls were unanswered and I later in the year went to Asia continent, China to be precise for business where I spent years.

When I finally returned to the country, I went to my bank, low and behold, there was no money in my account even though they refused to tell me how much inside there then. My first reaction was to search for the school contact information in the Net and started sending email to them again and when none was coming from them, I sought the help of London police without success, contacted the London education board without success and also their Parliament with instruction to chose any member of the house and forwards my complaint through him. According to the instruction, if he or she refused to forward my request to the house, then that would be the end of the issue.

Imagine scenario of such nature. It sounds manipulative and dismissive to me. From the members they presented me, who I chose never got back to me. I refused to close my file on the issue. I started emailing the school again without reply.

Then, I decided to get the Nigerian police involved and when nothing was fort coming from them, I contacted the FDDC since I was treating the issue as a scam by then. The commission would send back the machine generated reply that my message got to them without getting back to me. For a year, it was so. I was spamming them on the hope of getting their attention without success. I got angry and contacted INTERPOL in many occasions without hearing from them.

I got confused, “this is global conspiracy” I shouted one morning in anger. I can't just believe they were all ignoring me for nothing.

What do I do now?

I faced the bank again and they were playing games that were confusing to me. that made me to pay extra attention to them. Could you imagine telling me that the account didn’t belong to me that they suspected that I am imposter and was even expecting me to cower and when I stood my ground, they started giving me funny excuses about new federal guide lines and when I met all, they came out with even more reasons and finally, I was old hat the balance in the account was only three thousand naira. Those their acts raised my suspicions a notch and I began sending emails to their headquarter, detailing my encounter with them. On each mail, the reply I was getting was that they had faith on their staffs account of the incident more than mine. Only God knows what they were told.

Imagine how that statement sounds, as if I was looking for work from them or something. See, the funny part of the whole issue is that they invited the police to frighten me with their presence as if I was truly an imposter they were trying to label me.

Wouldn’t you think that the bank was playing funny game?

The officers were on their side, the FDDC was on their side, the school wasn’t replying to tell me whether they have actually forwarded the money back or not. You see the quagmire I found myself?, I can’t face the bank with hundred percent assurance that the school have returned the money. The police and the FDDC that supposed to act in situation of this nature were misbehaving and they were all openly behaving like hooligans most citizens label them.

So, where do I turn for help now?

United nation?

African union?

Ecowas?

I had also contacted central bank of Nigeria on many occasions without success.

“We treat cases police and banks have closed file on, if they are still investigating the issue, central bank can not get involved”

This was the first reply I got from any institution in the country that was closer to reply since more than a year. My fellow up mails to detail them on the activities of the bank, police and FDDC were ignored.

Please, I need your help, do you know of any other institutions any where in the world that can help?

Get in touch immediately and your contribution would never go on noticed. The name is Philip, double Philip that is what I am known around here.

#injustice #security #lifehacks

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omoi-no-hoka · 5 years ago

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Rural Life and Mental Health in Japan as a Gaijin

Heads up: This is a very long, personal post about mental health and the stresses of living in rural Japan as a foreigner. If it’s not what you’re looking for in this blog, please feel free not to read it. If you can’t tell by the gif above, this isn’t going to be a very positive post because I’m not in a very positive mood.

------------------------------

It’s been just shy of five and a half years since I moved to Hokkaido, the northernmost island/prefecture in Japan. In many ways, it’s similar to the American Midwest, which is the region I’m originally from. It’s big on agriculture, it’s got lots of nature and rural areas, winters are long and nasty, and the people have a warmth that make up for the cold snow and ice outside. Heck, even a lot of the flora and fauna are the same.

I think of my current city as my “Japanese hometown” because it was where I stayed during my first trip to Japan and it’s where my hostparents from that time are. I love it here like I love my country bumpkin village of 2,800 back in the states.

But after a little over two years of living and working in this city, I think I need out. I am...tired of it in many ways.

特別扱い Tokubetsu Atsukai, “Special Treatment”

Prior to living in this city, I lived in Sapporo, which has a population of 2 million. There, no one batted an eye at a foreigner walking the streets. A lot of them were surprised that i could use Japanese, but a good few people were used to gaijin that could use nihongo and read kanji.

But in my current city, I have experienced all of the following things, some of which on a daily basis.

DISCLAIMER: I have also had a LOT of very positive experiences with the people of this city. Most of my experiences have been positive or neutral, but a good 40% have been as described below.

Everywhere I go, I am openly stared at. Gawked at, at times. (I am your standard-looking, standard-dressed, slightly overweight white girl. No visible tattoos, piercings, vibrant hair color, or otherwise attention-grabbing aspects about me other than the fact that i am clearly not Japanese.)

I am often spoken to like I am mentally disabled, or if I am with a Japanese person, they will refuse to speak to me and instead speak to my Japanese companion.

I have entered restaurants on my own and had waitstaff make a big “X” with their arms and say “No English” immediately upon seeing my non-Japanese face.

I have had waiting taxi drivers drive off instead of allow a troublesome foreigner into their car.

I have sat down alone at a bar and had the Japanese people beside me openly gossip about me with the assumption that I could not understand them.

When searching for apartments when I moved to this city, I was denied 75% of my picks because they have a “no gaijin” rule. Despite the fact that I can speak and read, that I have a good job and valid visa, and that I have already lived here 3 years without a single late rent payment or complaint against me.

I have built up casual relationships with employees at grocery stores, etc. I frequent, and they have asked me for my contact info because, in their own words, “I’ve always wanted a gaijin for a friend!” In Japan, every girl wants a token gaijin friend instead of a token gay friend.

I have gone on dates with Japanese men who clearly just wanted a white girl to hang on their arm like a piece of swag and insist on taking me to a pasta place because “You must prefer western food to Japanese food” or insisting that I dye my hair blonder to look more foreign.

I am just...so very tired of this 特別扱い (special treatment).

I don’t want to call it 差別 (prejudice) because, the majority of the time, Japanese people think they are doing me a kindness by speaking slowly and simply, or by telling me as soon as possible that they cannot help me in English, etc. While a couple of the above experiences are straight up racism (I’m looking at you, asshole taxi drivers and landlords), most of them are a misguided form of “omotenashi,” a.k.a. Japanese hospitality.

So I try very hard not to let it get to me, because I know that they don’t wish ill upon me. But I’ve worked so goddamn hard to learn this language and speak it well, and it is so frustrating for the people around me to assume that I can’t do what has been my freaking life goal. Or having people assume I can’t understand slightly difficult words and dumb down their language (Even colleagues I’ve worked with for two years now!). In the middle of a conversation they’ll say things like, “It’s hard to deal with that level of animosity--oh wait, omoi-no-hoka-san, sorry, ‘animosity’ means ‘dislike.’”

They mean it in a helpful way, but it just comes across as very condescending and I end up thinking, Oh, so they think my Japanese proficiency is so low i can’t understand that word. Which sends me into doubt over whether my language skills are actually that deficient, or whether I am speaking in a way that makes myself look at bad at Japanese.

The Effects of 特別扱い (Special Treatment)

It’s been gradual, but over the past two years, I have found myself withdrawing from the outside world. I got bad at replying to friend’s messages. I started making excuses to avoid meeting up and hanging out. I would buy all the groceries i needed to last me through the weekend on Friday after work and not emerge until Monday morning to go back to work. Even though I really love the outdoors and used to spend entire days just riding my bike along the river trails here.

...But in the past few months I’ve become unable to answer even close friends’ phone calls and messages. And I’ve even had a hard time phoning my parents, which is crazy because ever since I left home for uni I’ve called my mom on a daily basis. When I think about stepping outside of my apartment, no matter the reason or destination, I am gripped by a dread so strong I nearly throw up. I have gone a couple weekends without food because it would require me leaving my apartment to buy some, or paying for very expensive delivery which also means interacting with whoever is bringing me that food.

I’ve had a stressful summer and fall at work, and that undoubtedly has contributed to my current anxiety overload. But things have settled down at work for the past month now, and not only have I been given an award that only 2% of employees get globally, recently I have been in talks to take on what is very nearly a dream position for me within the company that is a BIG step up career-wise. I have great bosses who recognize my efforts, who listen to what I have to say, and do what they can to help when I tell them I’m in over my head.

But I have had several days where I have woken up, gotten ready for work, and just frozen at my apartment door, too sick at the thought of going outside. And yet, I can’t stand the thought of calling in sick because I feel chronic, self-imposed guilt when I take a day off, no matter the reason. So I call in to work and tell them I have a stomachache and will be in once it’s gone, (which isn’t an absolute lie), and then drag myself into work within a couple hours.

And once I enter the office, do the obligatory bow and apology for being late and causing inconveniences, the dread and anxiety vanish and I am fine until it is time for me to go outside to return home.

This makes me think that work is not a main stressor right now. It doesn’t matter if I’m going to the convenience store or the grocery store or work or anywhere. I think the constant being stared at everywhere I go has gradually accumulated to become a nasty form of social anxiety. I used to have panic attacks in middle school and high school due to home life, but since removing myself from that environment they’ve gone away. I’ve always been a socially-reserved person who shies away from the spotlight, and despite telling myself a thousand times, “Let them look at you--you’re just being you and they’re being them and that’s OKAY,” I just can’t brush it off. I have very, very seriously considered dyeing my hair from its natural brown to black in an effort to blend in, if only slightly. Which is laughable, but that’s just how much it bothers me to stand out.

But the event that really sounded the alarm for me was when my best friend of 10 years, a Japanese girl whom I met by chance my freshman year of uni, who was my roommate for 4 years of uni, who let me sleep on her living room floor here in Japan for 3 months until my work visa came through, who has been with me through thick and thin, sent me a message asking when she could drop off a souvenir for me and

I couldn’t bring myself to reply to her text.

That was when I very clearly knew that I was too deep in this funk to get myself out on my own, and I had to figure out how to get help.

Frankly, despite having struggled with panic attacks and anxiety in the past, I have never sought professional help. Until now, I never felt that my symptoms were so bad that they warranted medication. But the fact that i can’t contact my mother or my best friend, that I would rather not eat anything for two days instead of go outside, means that snorting essential oils and rubbing rose quartz against my temples or whatever isn’t going to be enough.

Mental Health Views in Japan

It’s not exactly a secret that the approach to mental health in Japan is “sweep it under the rug.” You do not talk about it. You may go to a doctor and receive medication, but you do not get counseling, because that involves talking about it. You do not tell your friends. You do not tell your family. You DEFINITELY do not tell your coworkers.

I saw my boss, T, fall into a very similar spiral to my own this summer. Stomach aches in the morning, coming in late, making excuses to get out of outings outside of work, not replying to messages, not sleeping well. And then one day he just vanished. Didn’t show up one Monday.

T wouldn’t respond to our messages so we had to contact his mother to get a hold of him. And once she had confirmed that she had spoken to him and scolded him for being “selfish” by skipping work, my coworkers were satisfied because, in their words, “Now that we know he’s still alive, we don’t have to worry.”

Honestly, that was one of the most fucked up reactions to any situation I have ever seen. I was shocked, because these coworkers truly cared for him, but their mutual reaction to this was to just...let him languish.

T announced to a select number of supervisors/colleagues that he had been diagnosed with general anxiety disorder and would be stepping down from his position. He said that he had been diagnosed years ago, but had not disclosed it because he knew that he would never be promoted if anyone knew.

And that’s one of the big reasons that no one wants to talk about their mental illness here. In Japan, having a mental illness is a shameful thing. It shows that you’re weak, that you can’t keep up with everyone else, that you are flawed in a way that will adversely affect those around you at one point or another.

But my company really is a great company and the people in charge are progressive. T has a lot of great skills and experience, and they didn’t want to let him go. So they told him that they would find someone to fill his current role, but once he had rested and gotten better, they wanted him to come back and do a position that he used to do, one that he really shined in and enjoyed. And that is where he’s at now, and he’s doing much better for it.

So, having seen all of this unfold mere months ago, I grappled with how much I should tell my employers. The talk of this new and big position in Tokyo was underway, yet I knew that I wouldn’t be able to handle it unless I got better.

So I bit the bullet, and on the night that I couldn’t respond to my best friend’s text, I sent my boss a message, explaining my symptoms, how long they’d been going on, what I thought the causes were, and that I wanted to take the morning off to see a doctor about it sometime that week.

And I was really shocked by his reply.

This boss is the guy that filled T’s position, and i didn’t know him that well yet. As it turns out, he used to be a counselor before he joined this company. He told me that I could go to the doctor whenever I wanted, but that he also wanted to talk in person about this the next day.

The next day he called me into the conference room with one other manager, a guy I really trust and like. When T vanished, shit really hit the fan at the office and it was basically this manager and me keeping us afloat for the first couple weeks, so we’ve got a lot of camaraderie going. They asked me to talk more about what was going on, why I was feeling all this anxiety, etc.

And it was during this conversation that I saw the division between the traditional Japanese views of mental health and modern views of mental health.

When I explained to them both why I wanted to see a doctor and try medication, their reactions were mixed. My boss, the former counselor, said that if I thought it was best, trying out medication for a few weeks was a good idea.

The manager looked doubtful and said, “But do you really think that going to a doctor and getting pills from him will fix everything? If you’re diagnosed, what will your colleagues think? I thought you wanted that promotion.”

In that moment i felt intense fear and regret, as well as hurt. T had said that he had withheld his diagnosis for this very reason. A part of me had wanted to think it was paranoia on his part, but now I realized that he had been right to keep it a secret. This manager, whom I knew very well and trusted deeply, clearly was of the opinion that a diagnosis/medication = evidence of weakness.

So I ended up lying and telling them, “I’ll go to the doctor just to get some sleeping pills.” (I’ve been waking up every hour on the hour for a couple months now.) Sleeping pills aren’t frowned upon in Japan and the manager was pleased with this decision.

And after that manager left, I told my boss the truth, that i would be getting anti-anxiety meds as well because I really thought it was necessary, and that I would appreciate him not disclosing it unless he was required to, which he agreed to.

Seeing a Psychiatrist in Japan

So now i had to find a psychiatrist and make an appointment. A Google search provided me horrors. Below is an excerpt of a Google review of a certain mental health clinic in my city, and the record of the exchange between the doctor and reviewer (patient). I’m not going to translate it all because it’s long, but these are some highlights of the doctor’s words directly to the patient.

“You can’t sleep? I can’t sleep either. What, do you want some pills for it?”

“You can’t expect me to believe what a patient says.”

(After he made the patient cry) “You are being so difficult. Could you stop crying?”

He gives her medication, has silent nurses send her out to the waiting room where she continues to cry, and the doctor comes to the waiting room and says, “Could you hurry up and pay and leave?”

Having read this, I was filled with absolute fear. Maybe I was better off trying to fix this on my own after all.

But I kept searching, and I also learned that my city hall has a 心の相談窓口 (Kokoro no Soudan Madoguchi), “Mind Consultation.” You can call them to learn information about what sorts of mental health facilities/options are available in your area. A very kind lady there informed me that it takes about 2-3 months to get in to any psychiatrist in this city, most of them do not take new patients, and that counseling is almost non-existent. Unless I was a harm to myself or others, I would have to wait. However, there was one general hospital in the city that had one psychiatrist staffed. This hospital has no reservation system whatsoever (very common in Japan) and takes a set number of patients in the morning and evening. I could try my luck to get in and see her.

So that was what i did, and I was able to see her on the first morning I went! I think the Kokoro no Soudan Madoguchi lady made it sound harder to get into so I wouldn’t feel let down if it didn’t work out the first time I went.

Having read the horror story above, I had a lot of trepidation stepping into the exam room with her and two nurse secretaries. I had expected it to be a very clinical, dry exchange of symptoms and a sufficient prescription with a token お大事に。

And, more than anything, I had feared that she would say something like, “Maybe you should just go home to your own country where you wouldn’t stand out.”

But she asked me a wide range of questions, with none of them focusing on the fact that I was a gaijin: what my symptoms were, how long they’d been going on, what I had going on in my life, what work was like, past history of anxiety, etc., and she and the nurses all truly listened to what i had to say. It was clear that she cared about the underlying causes and me as a person.

She told me that it sounded like I was experiencing a buildup of stress and anxiety and that she wanted me to try a low dose of anti-anxiety meds and sleeping pills for a week and then come back for another discussion.

That was 3 weeks ago. I’ve since been in the process of working with her to find the right combination of medication. Fun fact: they prescribe you Rohypnol (roofies) for sleeping meds in Japan if they deem your insomnia is serious enough. So. That is interesting.

Where I Am Now

I am keeping my boss informed of my condition and he is still very supportive. He seems to have informed his bosses of my tribulations to some extent, because they have gone out of their way to check in on me and see how I’m doing, which is very kind of them. Of course, they also know that i went above and beyond the call of duty for several months in a row until recently, and they could simply be asking because of that. Either way, I am touched that they would think of me, as I am a lowly translator for a lesser project and they are quite a ways up on the corporate ladder.

I am still in talks about taking on a very exciting position in Tokyo HQ, despite one of those bosses likely being aware of my situation to some extent. I used to dread the thought of Tokyo because I am a country girl who needs to see green, but recently I’ve come to the tough decision that I need to leave my beloved Japanese hometown, just like i left my American one. I love them, but I do not belong in them. I have visited the Tokyo HQ quite a few times, and there are a ton of foreigners in the area so I don’t stand out at all. I think that as long as I can live reasonably close enough to a park, I can satisfy my needs for nature while lessening my social anxiety.

I am having good days and bad days where it is still hard for me to leave the house. But I am having more good days than bad now. And today I was finally able to send a text message back to my best friend. Which really doesn’t seem like a lot, but it is a lot to me. My friend is supportive and understanding, which means the world to me.

I’m getting back to being me. 💗

p.s.: The gif at the top of this is from the anime Mushishi, which I think illustrates various mental illnesses and their effects in a very metaphoric way.

#personal #mental health #stress #anxiety #social anxiety #expatlife #japan #life in japan #rural japan #mental health awareness #expat in japan #mental health recovery #mental health support in japan #love yourself #you can overcome this

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trickstermiraculous · 5 years ago

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Video Recording Exists

Author’s Note: Adrien knows Marinette is Ladybug and visa verse after an incident of them both accidentally transforming in the same place also Master Fu doesn't lose his memories after Miracle Queen.

I followed Marinette from the cafeteria after I noticed Lila following her. I will admit that it is creepy to follow the girls to the bathroom but all I really did was sit by the bathroom door casually scrolling on my phone as a side effect of the miraculous gave me better hearing, so could hear their conversation quite clearly.

No, to say that I was mad was an understatement, I just heard that lying witch threaten my lady, luckily when Lila left she didn’t bother looking in my direction and as soon as she was out of sight, I raced into the bathroom.

Looking around I couldn’t find Marinette but soon one of the stall doors opened, revealing Marinette with a grim look on her face but as soon as she spotted me, her face lit up and she ran to hug me. “Adrien” she whispered quietly as she held him, “I heard” I whispered back, “what do you plan to do?”.

“Reveal her lies like I was trying to do all-day” she replied, “How though, she be able to make her look like the victim this whole time?” I questioned if this were to backfire we could become outcasts for ‘bullying the new girl’ and if the press her that Gabriel Agreste’s son was bullying a classmate, father would pull me out of school because of the negative press, Marinette pulled away from me and pointed at Tiki holding her phone, “Tiki recorded the conversation so now we have physical proof of what we are saying is true,” she said smiling, “So you going to send that to the rest of the class?” I responded tilting my head to the side, “Not yet, I want to build a case of what she is doing along with the teachers respond to it and give it to the school board so this incident is covered up like Chloe” Marinette replied growling out the last part.

I love Chloe as my friend but her attitude and the teacher’s response of punishing victims was getting on my nerves. “So, we don’t call her out and gather proof behind the scenes,” I said, “yep but first I’m showing this and proof that her lies of false to Alya so she doesn’t ruin her chance of being a reporter for not fact-checking,” Marinette said as she fiddled with her phone, “And I’ll tell Nino so he doesn’t get hurt when Lila tries to ‘help’ him” I replied, “what are you doing?” “Becking the recording up, also I sent it to you as well since I’m getting a new phone later this week” she responded, the bell rang and we nodded as we headed back to class.

By Friday, both Alya and Nino were informed, each of them furious but agreeing to what Marinette had planned. Alya had given Lila the excuse that her blog was strictly to do with Ladybug and post that Lila was her best friend would put her and the class in danger which everyone in the class had agreed to.

The four of us had set up a sperate group chat from our normal as it was strictly to give each other copies of the evidence we had gathered. My lady only used the group chat on her new phone and used the old one in school so that if Lila stole it, she wouldn’t find the group chat or all the evidence.

It was only a two months later when Marinette was expelled on weak evidence, at that point Alya got Max and Kim on in the plan as she got him to use Markov, to hack the security cams and seeing Lila plant evidence and apparently Max had been with Kim at the time as well and Kim was ready to storm into the headmasters office to chew him out for not checking the security cams before expelling his childhood friend but Alya managed to calm him down explaining to the two about their plan which with a bit of grumbling, they agreed to so with two others on the team and Marinette back in school because of my deal. We were extremely prepared out Lila at any point but we waited until the school year had ended, so to not have to be in class after the fallout.

Although I wish we hadn’t waited that long since Marinette had basically become an outcast after all of Lila’s lies spread to the rest of the school but according to Marinette she was fine, she was used to being an outcast which had made us all spend a day hanging out together and us contacting her every day out of guilt for us pretending to hate her in school so the plan could work.

I made sure to help her as much as I could especially after she was made guardian when Master Fu had fallen ill after Miracle Queen so could no longer be able to teach her the techniques of a guardian because it took to much of his strength and he wanted to spend his last few years he had on earth with the one he loved. He had left his apartment to Marinette along with all the item for the miraculous so we set it up as a base of operations after Marinette explain the situation to her parents after we agree we needed some adults to help us which they were fine with as long as they could help us in battle which we agreed to. They also found out the plan which they were not happy with a first but agreed to help within the end as they had a few contacts that could help us.

We sent the school board the info on the last week of school which caused the school to be shut down for the last two days as the investigation started. During that time Alya had posted an article of our investigation online which got big news agencies contacting her the next day asking if they could use the evidence in a report of the events along with Nadja Chamack asking to interview everyone involved with gathering said evidence which we all agreed to.

The group chat had exploded in anger when the news broke, most we upset with Lila but some were made that we hadn’t told them but luckily Marinette had explained the reasons behind why we did what we did so most of them had chilled out by the new school year.

We were all in the same class even Lila but she was sat at the back trying to hide away from everyone’s glares. Mrs Mendeleiev had been made the new headmaster, Miss Bustier had been fired along with Mr Damocles for neglecting students and taking bribes and we got a new teacher called Mr Smith who could see bullshit from a mile away.

Wattpad

AO3

Mental Health Update: I've gotten much better Thank you for all the supportive comments and I hope to be writing more soon.

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kittensjonsa · 5 years ago

Text

Final chapter. Fluffy smut. That's it, folks! Thanks for being here! Lol Xx

Summary: Sansa and Jon move forward with a step that would change their lives forever. Jon's especially. But he is more than willing, and ready. Now that Sansa had made her feelings known. Rated E.

Chapters 1 to 9

Otherwise, Engaged

I'm so sore,” Sansa whined, splashing water at Jon.

“Aww..I'm sorry baby. Don't hate me but..you were asking for it.” Jon smirked, wiping away the droplets with a washcloth.

“Hmm.. I did, didn't I?” Sansa recounted how she screamed for Jon to pound harder with each stroke he gave her.

Jon leaned forward and gave Sansa a deep kiss. One of many he had given her the night before. He regretted the bites however, now seeing the small dark marks turning up on Sansa's unblemished skin.

“Do you want some more warm water? Maybe it helps?”

Sansa shook her head and looked at the clock on the wall. She couldn't help but chuckle, it was already eleven and they had missed breakfast. No one had called for them, except for a text message that dinged, from Lisa to “keep it down in there” at two in the morning. Obviously, now everyone knew why they didn't turn up for breakfast. Sansa didn't think she could look them in the eye either, so just as well.

Her body ached a bit but nothing compared to the tenderness between her thighs. Maybe it was three years of unresolved, pent up attraction between them or just Jon having superhuman stamina, he had really given to her good. Too good, that Sansa couldn't remember much except screaming his name every half an hour. Just like her, the bed had been given a good pounding too, what with Jon driving her down the mattress and if the noises were any indication, it was probably time for a new frame.

They had only slept a few hours but empty stomachs after the sex marathon drove them out of bed. Thank god for texting.

Lisa, I'm sorry to ask but could you bring some breakfast up for Jon and I? We're really hungry but too tired.

Yeah and I know why. Goodness, what's gotten into you two? Thank god your parents and brothers are on the other side of this very large house. Lucky!

Hehe. I.. have nothing to say to that. You're the best, Lisa! Thanks!

LOL.. I'll put it outside your door. But you can't hide in the room forever. You said yes to a wedding remember?? You need a dress!

“Lisa's bringing the breakfast up. And Gramp's birthday party is this afternoon.” Sansa reminded as she got up to leave the bath.

“And..? You're forgetting something. Our wedding.”

“Damn it, you weren't supposed to remember that,” Sansa groaned, reaching for a towel and wrapping herself with it.

Jon smiled to himself, admiring the view before him as Sansa started her morning beauty routine. “It was unexpected, I'll give you that. But hey, what have we got to lose? We're already engaged.”

Sansa snorted, narrowing her eyes at Jon. “Yeah, a lot of 'unexpected' things popped up last night. I guess.. since we've already.. come this far. Imagine meeting the officer next week, huh?”

Jon winced. He almost forgot about the visa bit. But, he didn't need to pretend anymore. That was one thing off the list.

“We'll sort it out next week then.” It was time to get out the bath and check on his emails. He had been busy playing newlyweds that work hadn't cross his mind.

“Hey, Jon,” Sansa looked at him from the mirror. Jon responded with his arms wrapped around her from behind. “You do know, we have to talk.. about work? How this.. is going to change all that.”

Jon rested his chin on her shoulder and deliberated for a moment. He'd hate to lose her as an assistant but 'wife' was a much better gain. He had promised her Aliser's job once this was all over and maybe it would be frowned upon, but a deal's a deal. He would try at least. The plan was supposed to be easy. Go in, act a little and get out. He didn't count for things to turn out the way they did. Still, he couldn't imagine it any different. This was so much better. Whatever comes, Jon had Sansa, and, that was everything. He thought he had it all, but how foolish he was in thinking that. He'd give her everything, whatever she wanted.

“We will. But for now, we need to get out of this room. And air it… god, it smells of sex.” Jon gave a giggling Sansa a hard peck on the cheek as they both got ready for the day.

It was nice, having breakfast by the fireplace, with Sansa lounging on him reading a manuscript and him, with his arm around her and trying to read work emails. Admittedly, it was hard, his cock especially, seeing how amazing she looked in his arms. This scenario would look good at his house as well. Also, the office with no one around.

The Starks had left them both alone, thanks to Lisa who told everyone they needed to prep for the wedding, when actually it was really Sansa who needed time to recuperate a little. Lisa understood perfectly, after what Jon presumed was a short girl talk by the door when their breakfast tray was dropped off.

“So, I have to try on a wedding dress in a bit so you can't see me in it. And I think Dad will take you out for a fitting as well, I think.”

“Sounds like fun. Though I don't like the not seeing you bit.” Jon shifted his arm nearer to the waistband of her shorts.

Sansa peeked from the booklet, seeing what Jon's wayward hand was up to. She had to admit, how Jon expressing his insatiable need for her turned her on just as much as him touching her.

“Well, it's bad luck for the groom to see the bride and all that.”

“What time are you meeting Lisa then?” Jon whispered, stealing a glance at his watch and adjusting his growing cock at the same time.

“After lunch. Two, I think. Why?”

Jon pushed away his laptop and grabbed Sansa's waist. There was no time to lose. Sansa gave a playful shriek as she came face to face with him.

“That means.. we have time.. to do this.” Jon pressed his lips onto Sansa's neck as his hands frantically undid the buttons of her denim shorts. Sansa sighed as she reciprocated, her hands unbuttoning his Levi's and squealed when she realised he wasn't wearing any underwear. The soft, rock hard flesh spilled out into her waiting hands.

“Ohh.. I do love it when you do that,” Jon groaned as Sansa gave his cock a firm squeeze. She was full from her share of scrambled eggs and toast, but she'd never refuse Jon's cock in her mouth at anytime.

Jon let out a soft moan as Sansa's lips pecked at his erection. The warmth of her mouth as Sansa swallowed him whole - was enough to render him unconscious.

“I have created a monster,” Jon hissed, his lips curling into a smile, gazing at how deftly Sansa moved her tongue around his girth. Jon threw his head back, shuddering from pleasure.

I'm a lucky bastard, Jon kept repeating in his head, reaching round to grab her round bottom. Peeling off her already moist underwear, Jon slid a finger into her wet and waiting cunt. As always, primed and ready for the taking. Sansa hummed her approval and the vibration on his cock was enough to do the job. He had to have her.

“Go slow this time.. Jon, please,” Sansa pleaded playfully as Jon crawled onto his knees and had his fiancée spread eagled before him. Jon did notice a slightly angrier shade of pink greeting him, more so than before but the glistening folds were just as welcoming.

“As my Lady commands,” Jon obliged as his mouth clamped down on her folds. Sansa groaned at the contact, sucking in a breath. She loved his mouth and the talent he had with it. He could do this all day every day, screw the wedding. How she was still up for another round was a question she hoped she didn't have an answer for.

Another finger slid in and Jon wiggled his thumb on her clit. Sansa bit down so hard on her lip she could almost taste her own blood.

“Gods... You are beautiful,” Jon cooed, watching Sansa thrash and quiver, releasing herself to the blissful wave. Skin flushed pink and plump, her hooded beautiful blue eyes and her naked body clothed with mind blowing eroticism - Sansa was a painting. He didn't mind watching her like this all the time. In his apartment, at her place.. in his office. His couch was big enough. It had more space than the one they were on.

“Come fuck me then,” Sansa whimpered, pulling him to her, trembling as Jon's cock took over.

“Oh..wow.”

Sansa's heat was electrifying. Jon took great care as he made his way in, tingling all over as the view proved enough to send him over the edge again. Mesmerised by her folds that clung onto him and Sansa's breathy whimpers - a heady combination that inched him closer and closer to releasing himself in her again. Sansa's ragged breathing and the growing tightness around his length had him barely holding on, as they both inched closer to the edge. Jon grabbed at Sansa's sides, from under her, her legs grazing his cheeks as he pushed on, knowing he'd reach the edge sooner than he wished.

“Fuck gentle.. I want you,” Sansa seized the top of his thighs and shoved him further inside. He howled, as his swollen tip pressed against a hot wall, and the slightest friction was all it took.

This time, it was silent, save for a breath or two. A great height they both had soared to, where no howl or scream could match.

It was magnificent. How he melted into Sansa, emptying every bit of himself in her, in that moment right into the deepest parts of her, where all of time had stopped - and everything was perfect, just as it should be. It was a moment that marked Jon for life.

Panting and gasping for air, he laid down on her feverish body, her breaths matching his own. Perfection. Absolute perfection.

“I.. love you too.” Sansa finally answered back, as she kissed the top of his head, her hands tenderly brushing his sweaty curls away. He didn't need her to say it back, he didn't think she even heard him say those words - oh, but how they made his heart leap in unspeakable joy.

Jon looked up at Sansa as he rested his chin on her chest. This is it. The thing that people try to write about but never quite succeeded. Or perhaps, he never really understood. Till now. With her, he could conquer anything. A master of his own universe, with her by his side. They could conquer anything, whatever life brings.

The One. She is.

“Well.. Let's get married then.”

---

The End.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa fic #fluffy smut #i am done with this au #feels good to have it completed #i feel so accomplished now lol #sorry and thanks for reading #modern jonsa au

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streetlites · 5 years ago

Photo

“So, what will it be? Deportation?”

“Wait, no! I have money! I can pay,” I say, stupidly reaching down to the suitcase I had shoved my cash into.

“DO NOT OPEN THE SUITCASE!” The alien seated at the desk yelled, his hand reaching for a sidearm.

I stopped, eyes wide. Fly out all this way to avoid getting shot in Myshuno, get shot anyway. That was the way my luck always seemed to run.

“Good. Now stand up. Slowly.” He visibly relaxed when I complied, his desk chair squeaking unceremoniously as he leaned back. “You’re not trying to bribe a C-SEC officer, are you?”

“No, no!” I tell him, cursing my decision to listen to Chuy’s advice. “All I meant was that I could pay for the visitor’s visa. Today, if you’ll let me.”

“You’re telling me you can pay 10,000 credits right now?”

My head swam, 10,000 was all my cash! Then I remembered Eddie, the flight attendant, telling me about how outrageous prices on The Citadel looked until you realised one dollar was worth several credits. “Probably? How much is that with UNAS money?”

The alien scratched at one of the horn-like protrusions from his head; their version of hair, maybe? “U - N - A - ,” he spelt out, slowly poking one key at a time using only one finger from a three-fingered hand. “Damn these human-centric keyboards,” he muttered to himself before, finally, clicking and announcing, “S.”

I barely managed to contain my frustration watching him continue to peck at the keyboard. Deciding it would be best to place my attention elsewhere while he entered numbers at a murderously slow pace, I looked around the room. It didn’t look entirely too different than any other office back on earth with, maybe, the exception of the glowing screens on the wall and the corridor that scanned each person to enter it before being whisked away to offices that I could only assume were similar to this one.

“Here we go. With today’s exchange rate, it’ll be $2,500. You can pay that?” he eyes me doubtfully. “Today?”

“Yeah!” I nod excitedly, relieved that I wouldn’t be sent back to Earth. “I’ve even got it on me; can I pay you?”

“No, you’ll have to pay the fee at your Embassy. One moment,” he tells me, his fingers moving with surprising speed along the orange glowing gauntlet that appeared on his wrist. He touches the side of his head, “Yes, hello -” He narrows his eyes, grunts angrily, and pokes at a phone on his desk, the room filling with horrible elevator music. He hums along with the melody, familiar with the tune, only pausing to slurp loudly from a coffee cup.

“Good morning! UNAS Embassy, this is Jessica speaking. How may I help you today?”

“Yes, this is Larnus Acanius with C-SEC. I have a North American National seeking a visitor’s visa in my office with funds to pay; one Jake Ramiras.”

“Personal Identification Number?” Larnus reads my PIN from my passport and hands it back to me when he’s finished. “Thank you. Please hold.”

“Why’d she put you back on hold?”

The officer says something that sounds like a high-pitched trill that makes me jump back. “Sorry, I slip sometimes. Background check. You’ll get rejected if you have anything other than moving violations. If you have moving violations, you will not be cleared to rent personal transport without a driver.”

“Oh,” I nod, worry pulling at the edges of my mind. I’d never been caught but who knows what they put in files?

“Sorry for the wait. Mr. Ramiras’ petition has been approved. Unfortunately, the earliest appointment that we have available is next Monday at 0900.”

“That’s almost a week away!” I complain.

“Yes, very sorry about that. You will be permitted access to the ‘G’ Docks in the meantime. We will send an escort to the taxi terminal at, approximately, 0830 Monday. Your escort will wait up to five minutes for you upon which time, if you are not present or cannot provide suitable identification, you will need to reschedule and pay a 1000 credit scheduling fee up front for subsequent appointments.”

I open my mouth and realise it’s pointless to argue. “Yeah, okay,” I agree, shaking my head.

“Excellent. I look forward to seeing you Monday, Mr. Ramiras. Good day.”

The phone goes quiet and I look to the police officer, “What am I supposed to do until then? Sleep on benches? Are there even places to stay on the docks?!”

The alien’s mandibles open and close and I think I see an expression that looks like pity. “Officially? No, there’s nothing and you wouldn’t be the first or last to sleep on them. Unofficially? There’s beds for rent in Crate Town.”

“Crate Town?” If a place existed that was worse than Sin Agua, ‘Crate Town’ sounded like what they’d name it.

“Yes, it’s not too bad. The people tend to keep to themselves but I’d secure your luggage in the lockers at the kiosk by the information desk.” He presses a button on his desk that triggers the lock on his office door, a loud buzzer sounding. “You are free to go, just follow the hallway out to the docks. Welcome to The Citadel.”

When I was buzzed in to the docks, I understood why Eddie had warned me against staying at the docks; I had traded one Sin Agua for another.

Shit.

#ts4 #fault lines #fl: aftershock #sims story #I think this is probably boring for most people #but i'm having fun with it #like... THIS IS THE FUTURE #THE FUTURE IS NOW AND IT SUCKS #ts4legacy

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highqueenofelfhame · 5 years ago

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rules of engagement // intro.

“I hate him,” Celaena groaned to Lysandra, her best friend who also happened to sit at the desk directly behind hers. The ‘him’ in question was their boss, Rowan Whitethorn — a man that Celaena was directly beneath because she was his assistant. The sad thing was that he hadn’t done anything incriminating yet this morning aside ask Celaena to be in his office in five minutes before slamming his door shut.

“You don’t have to put up with —“ Lysandra tried to point out, as she did every day, only to receive a sharp look from the golden blonde next to her that had her cutting off the words. A vicious cycle. Celaena desperately wanted — needed — the experience. Lysandra knew that. It’s why she was here, why she was in Adarlan at all.

It had been two minutes since Rowan had asked to see Aelin, and IMs were popping up on her laptop that the dark-queen of the office, Maeve Valgoretti, was making her way toward Rowan’s office. Odd. Unusual. Maeve usually requested an audience — it wasn’t often that she went down to Rowan’s office on her own. It had to be something important then. Seconds later, her emo majesty was disappearing into Rowan’s office with Cairn, her right hand, following close behind.

“I wonder what that’s about,” Lys thought aloud, spinning back around in her chair and busying herself with the usual morning tasks. From where they sat, they were unable to see into Rowan’s office.

Celaena didn’t have to wait long to find out, because three minutes later at exactly 8:15 AM she rapped her knuckles twice on the heavy glass door and slipped inside, only for three sets of eyes to turn to him. Rowan hissed a loud what to her and she furrowed her brow.

“You said you wanted to see me and —“ but she tapered off as Maeve’s eyes shut briefly.

“We’re in the middle of something important so unless one of my incredibly vital clients is bleeding out somewhere because of gang violence or shot a police officer, I want you out of here.” The same time that she stopped talking, the demand a sharp slice through the air, Rowan’s features softened for a brief moment before he gestured for Aelin to step deeper into the room. She did as she was told, more than willing to face the wrath of Maeve than whatever mountain-sized paperwork that Rowan would throw at her if she didn’t do what he asked.

When she sidled up next to him he reached for her hand and she immediately jerked it away. Rowan, however, let out a low laugh and said, “It’s okay, love.”

Love? What was that bullshit about? It shocked her so much that she kept her hand in his, staring at him while he laced their fingers and kissed her knuckles. Maeve looked just as surprised as Celaena felt, as surprised as she was sure her own face reflected.

“Celaena and I are getting married,” Rowan said, tapping the ring she wore on her left middle finger, which was most definitely not any sort of engagement ring given to her by a man. “So it won’t be an issue. We’ll go take care of that in just a little while if you’ll give us just a moment.”

“Take care of what?” The tone of her voice was completely and utterly baffled with shock sending a sharp jolt into every word.

“We’ll talk in just a moment when Maeve and Cairn depart.” Celaena‘s eyes locked with Rowan’s. Her jaw was clenched so tightly she was expecting her teeth to start to smash into fine powder any moment now.

“Then I suppose that does...change things. Bring me the paperwork once it’s filed,” Maeve drawled, her gaze slipping from Rowan to Celaena, Celaena back to Rowan. The tension in the air was thick and not from wanting. Although Celaena did suppose she wanted something right about now. To absolutely murder her boss. Which is why when Maeve and Cairn had left the office, she immediately flared her nostrils at Rowan with fire dancing in the golden core of her eyes.

“What in the ever loving hell do you mean we’re getting married?” She hissed at him, spitting venom like she’d transformed into a Cobra. Perhaps she had. Perhaps her hood was flared in warning as she prepared to strike.

“I’m being deported otherwise, Celaena, if we can just get me a marriage visa —“

“You can’t just tell someone you’re going to marry me! There are — there are rules. You have to court me and ask my father for permission —“

“Don’t be so old fashioned. It won’t be a big deal. We’ll marry quietly and divorce in a year or so and it’ll be fine. You aren’t dating anyone right now, anyway, I know because you don’t have enough time with the amount of time you spend here. Your parents don’t even have to know, and —“

“I should go straight to HR and report you!” At that, Rowan sighed and rubbed his face, fingers eventually moving to rake through his silver hair. When his pine green eyes met hers again, they were desperate.

“What do you want? A raise?”

“I don’t need money,” she snorted. Truthfully, it was the next to last thing she needed, falling just above this stupid marriage. Something like surprise flashed over his harsh features — what twenty-something would say no to a pay raise? What twenty-something didn’t desperately need a pay raise?

“A promotion? A —“ He was going to keep going until she settled on what she wanted, so instead of him prattling off things, she did the one thing that would make him look like a complete and utter moron.

“I want you to come home to Terrasen with me for the week starting tomorrow. Let Fenrys handle everything with the clients and if you, at any point, get the courage to ask my father for my hand, then fine. And then you’ll get down on one knee and present a ring to me because I’m a person, Rowan Whitethorn, and I will be treated as such.”

“That’s what you want? That’s all you want?” His tone was incredulous, shocked even. The notion that those two things were all that she was requiring seemed to thoroughly surprise him enough that his eyebrows were nearly in his hairline, knit together ever so slightly. Celaena nodded her head a single time, knowing full well that this entire thing was a waste of her own time and a waste of his if this is what he needed to avoid being sent back to Doranelle.

“That’s what I want.” With another loud sigh and another painful drag of his hand through his hair, Rowan nodded. An agreement. “Great. You’re dealing with immigration on your own.” Part of her was surprised that she was being so brash with Rowan. Nobody talked to him that way, nobody gave him any sort of orders for him to follow, yet here she was barking demands at him like she were the one in charge. Things changed, though, when you needed something from a person, and Rowan was heavily relying on Celaena so much that his life as he knew it depended on her wholly.

Rowan Whitethorn was an asshole. And she had every intention of making him look and feel as stupid as he made his employees feel on a daily basis.

@musicmaam @starseternalnighttriumphant @myfeyrelady @westofmoon @schmlip-scribble @kandasboi @nalgenewhore @city-of-fae @empire-of-wildfire @mariamuses @notaelingalathynius @rhysands-highlady

#rules of engagement #roe #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #throne of glass #tog #aelin ashryver galathynius #rowaelin #rowaelin au #the proposal

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