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soldatbarnes · 6 years

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Hard To Say [1]

Summary: A few months after you breakup with your boyfriend, he asks you for a favour. // fake dating au

Lance Tucker X Reader

Word Count: 1148

Warnings: mild angst

A/N: This is for @mydragulesebastian‘s 2.5K writing challenge!! Congratulations Sadie!! You’re awesome!! I’m sorry this is late!! (my prompt is ‘I do like champagne’, and will be featured in a later part)

Six Months Ago

“I can’t believe that we’re having this conversation again!” you shouted, throwing your hands up in the air. Lance slammed the door behind him, following you into the living room.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re freaking out so much about.” he placed his hands on his hips, staring at you incredulously.

“Lance! I’m done with your anger and your jealousy!! It’s embarrassing!” you sat on the couch and ran your hands down your face.

“Oh, I’m embarrassing now??”

“No! But that kind of behaviour is!! How many times has this happened already??”

“I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of this.” he rolled his eyes, flopping into the armchair behind him.

“You don’t know why?? Do you know how it feels to have somebody constantly watching over your every move? You wouldn’t even let me order my own drink!”

“The bartender was checking you out the moment you walked through the door!”

“I was a paying customer!! He had to look at me!!” you took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I.. I can’t keep doing this.”

“Keep doing what?” he leaned forward in his seat.

“Lance... You won’t let me be alone with my male friends. You refused to eat any of my birthday cake last year because it had a topless guy on it. You argued with me for half an hour the other night because I said the actor on screen was hot. I’m done. It’s wrong, and it’s not fair.”

“Babe, I know I can get a little jealous sometimes.. I’m just...” he sighed trailing off.

“It’s been three years of this. Lance, I’m not going to do this anymore. I told you the last time, that it would be the last time.”

“What are you saying?” his voice was quiet, and he looked to the floor.

“Lance,” you croaked out his name, “I love you, but it’s over.”

“You’re breaking up with me?” you almost took it back, seeing the tears in his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

Present

“Your three o’clock’s here!” your assistant’s voice rang out through the intercom.

“Thanks Eleanor, send him in!” You heard your office door open and close. You greeted your client without looking up from your computer.

“Mister Turner, how are you?”

“Y’know, I’ve been better.” a chill ran up your spine at the sound of the voice.

“You’re not my three o’clock.” you looked up from your computer as he sat in the chair across the desk.

“No, I’m not.” he shrugged. The look in his eyes was unreadable.

“What are you doing here Tuck?” the nickname fell out before you could stop it.

“How are you?” you rolled your eyes.

“I’ve been better. Did you highjack this appointment or lie?”

“I lied. Knew you wouldn’t see me if you knew it was me.” he shrugged.

“Of course you did.” you sighed, leaning back in your chair. “Why are you here?”

“I need a favour.”

“You need a favour? The last time I saw you, you were calling me names as you packed your things into your car.”

“In my defence, you broke up with me and then kicked me out of our home.” his patronizing smile made you shift uncomfortably.

“Lance.” you glared.

“Okay,” he raised his hands in surrender. “Look, do you remember my brother?”

“Chad? Yeah.. He’s not super forgettable.” you rolled your eyes. Chad Tucker was your least favourite person.

“And do you remember that he was getting married?” you clicked on the calendar on your desktop. It was marked off, three days from now.

“Yes. Although I’m still shocked somebody agreed to marry him.”

“I know.. He’s.. Something else... Look I uhhh... I need you to come with me. To the wedding. This weekend.” he refused to let his eyes meet yours.

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re my girlfriend.” you stared at him blankly.

“Pardon?”

“At least that’s what my family thinks.” he was looking at the floor now.

“And why would they think that?”

“Because I never told them that we broke up.”

“And that never came up because??” you were in disbelief.

“The best part of me was you.” you threw your head back at his words, missing the sincerity in his eyes.

“Oh fuck off!” you waved your hand towards the door.

“Wait, wait wait!!” he stood up defensively, as you leaned to press the security button.

“What!” you growled.

“Look. You know what they’re like. The only thing my dad ever approved of in my life was you. It didn’t matter to him that I’m not successful, because I had you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Please, Y/N. Please.” he had the same look in his eyes that he’d had six months before, and you felt your resolve break.

“Fine. You’ll explain yourself though. In detail. And at the end of the weekend, they’ll all know that we aren’t together anymore.”

“Thank you!!” he reached out to you, but you pushed your chair back.

“Just go.”

Friday evening had come sooner than you’d hoped. The rehearsal dinner would be tonight, the wedding tomorrow night, and on Sunday you’d have to suffer through a family brunch, before the happy couple would depart on their honeymoon.

Lance had handed you an itinerary before he’d slunk out of your office. He had completely turned your week upside down within five minutes. You’d canceled most of your appointments in an effort to clear your head.

You stood outside your office, waiting for Lance to pick you up. You thought it might be easier if he wasn’t within walking distance to the home you’d both shared together. His car pulled up at four pm on the dot. It was a two hour drive to get to the overly expensive bed and breakfast the wedding was being held at. Dinner would be at seven.

You watched as he climbed out, walking slowly towards you.

“Here, I’ll put your bag in the trunk.” his voice was quiet.

“Thanks Tuck.” you responded, seeing him nod before opening the trunk. You hopped into the passengers seat, taking a moment to breathe before he would slide in beside you. The car smelled like him, and your mind was clouded suddenly by sweet memories.

When the drive started, you noticed Lance had put on a playlist with all of your favourite songs. It played quietly as he drove, and it wasn’t long until you nodded off. You hadn’t noticed until you felt a gentle touch to your shoulder. Peaking your eyes open, you saw Lance, his fingertips grazing over your arm, just barely.

“Sorry to wake you,” he hummed, “but we’re here.” you groaned and stretched your limbs as best as you could from inside the car.

“Showtime I guess.” you stated, motioning towards his mother who had spotted you from where she was sitting outside.

“Let’s get the party started.”

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#sadies2.5K #lance tucker #lance tucker x reader #lance tucker series #lance tucker angst #lance tucker fluff #lance tucker fic #sebastian stan

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chatting-leaves · 6 years

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Thursday September 20th: Part 1 of 2

Genre: Personal. Very thinly veiled fiction.

The last time September 20th was on a Thursday, I woke up feeling very optimistic. That morning was to be the first morning of a new job assignment I had taken from a small staffing agency, my first work in nearly three months. Eight months earlier, my wife and I had moved to the northern suburbs of Boston, her home, after she had complained of feelings of homesickness and ennui and she felt she had nothing to lose by going back home. While in theory neither she - or even myself, who had been out of work prior - had nothing to lose, in practice we had everything to lose.

On that morning, I awoke in the guest bedroom of her grandparents house, our residence since we had moved as a means of having some place to stay at the outset. Instead, our lives had become what I would refer to as a “sadistic game of Wack-a-Mole” in which our employment statuses varied - first I had a contract position, then she finally got a relevant job four months after our arrival, then my position expired - and kept us from getting a place of our own. When this job arrived, I was told that it was a “sure thing” by the woman at the hiring agency; that while it was at the outset for only one month, there was “a very, very good chance” that it would become a permanent position and that my new employer, a semiconductor startup, was “a very strong operation that liked [my] background.” Over the ensuing eight months, we had become a bit more cynical, a little more than a bit chubbier, and a lot more worn down from having had little privacy for most of our first year of marriage and we were wanting to get a place of our own. After a shower and breakfast, I packed some snacks and a lunch and made my way out the door, walking down our residential street with signs for the upcoming elections littering our street, a byproduct of sorts of toxic political culture. Amidst the signs before reaching the main road came another form of litter echoing an alarming trend, discarded syringes and needle covers left by those abusing injectable drugs such as heroin. At the main road, I waited for a bus into Boston and upon boarding then weaved through an assortment of working class areas that could be seen by some more exclusionary types as the epitome of the stereotype of the “Townie”: rarely traveled, insular, working class, yet also a bit elitist in terms of town status and their defence of local sports teams. This commute is something I had done too many times to count when I had previously worked and on other days when I had taken a day off to ward off cabin fever and to try to have some semblance of the life we had left prior in a compact, accessible neighborhood of Washington, DC where everything I needed was either within walking distance or accessible by copious amounts of transit. We worked out way into Boston, eventually reaching the notorious highway of Route 1, through the twists of the post-industrial Chelsea before what some called Boston’s “other Green Monster”, the Tobin Bridge. At that time, it was a hunk of vaguely green metal pockmarked with copious amounts of rust where we sat stopped as the morning rush meandered its way through the toll booths to be waved through en route to our eventual arrival. After that point, I went through a similarly meandering journey via subway - Green Line to the historical Park Street, then Red Line to the bustling South Station, then a transfer to a confused mode known as the Silver Line, a mode often derided as a “bus that acts like a train” which would bring me to the front door of the building where I was to work. In my two weeks of waiting for this job, a period which my start date had been postponed twice as I was originally to have started the Thursday prior, I had never made the decision to do a dry run to see how this commute would have worked out and once the bus dropped me off I was a bit in shock at the scale of where I was working. I had known that it was in a relatively isolated of the South Boston Waterfront - or the “Seaport District” in modern marketing lingo - but the mass of the buildings once used as warehouses seemed a bit stunning as I tried to find exactly where to go in the linear maze I had fallen upon.

Having a few minutes to kill before my shift, I made my way to a restroom to give a final check of how I looked to make sure I made an excellent first impression. While the email I had received stated that business casual was the code, I decided to side with a pair of suit pants and a nice sweater I owned with a green and red argyle pattern. This choice was giving deference to the weather that morning, unseasonably cool and a harbinger of the coming autumn set to start officially the next day. I then made it upstairs to find an office full of people mainly in t-shirts and jeans, typical for a technology startup but I always liked being one better as to set a good example. After asking for the woman who was to be my boss, Kathryn, I was given the terse word that she was in a meeting and that I should wait a few minutes. Once she returned, someone spoke with her and then brought her my way. Without given any sort of greeting or salutations, Kathryn went immediately to business.

“Can you put together those three chairs?,” Kathryn said gesturing to three unopened boxes. “I’ll give you 30 minutes to an hour to do so. The sooner you finish these, the better because we need these chairs.” I responded affirmatively but withheld the truth - that I had never put office furniture together in my life and that the job description furnished to me had mentioned nothing of the sort. I will gladly say that I am a team player and will go above and beyond the call of duty, the description had been given had a lot of phone calls, emails, editing correspondence such as press releases, nothing of the sort about light furniture assembly. Not wanting to show weakness or failure, I spent the better part of the next hour trying to put together said chairs and succeeded in doing so. After finishing, Kathryn barked another order at me.

“Can you make some construction paper footballs for the football watch party on Sunday?” I had been told at the outset that the entire office had a Fantasy Football league and that they often had day-long watch parties during the NFL season. This Sunday made things convenient as the Patriots were playing in the night game, viewed nationwide and one of a handful of games each week seen all around the world. As with furniture assembly, arts and crafts was never one of my strong points yet once again I did what I needed to do even if it was well outside my job description. While doing my best to get these assembled, both via creation and by writing the names of employees and other guests on them, I started to feel some doubts about the job as twice they had given me duties well beyond what I had prepared myself for; in fact, in assembling the furniture I had started to sweat as I obviously had not dressed for such a task. When done, Kathryn directed me to a computer and left a copy of their corporate compliance handbook with some notes attached.

“We’ve had to update our policy on bringing dogs into the office. Can you edit this in? Here’s your login,” she said while also giving me a piece of paper with a username - my name, last name heavily mangled - and temporary password. After helping myself to some complimentary pretzels and a soda, a hallmark of a startup leaving free food and drink for their employees, I tried to log in only to find the username the had created for me did not work and after multiple tries brought the matter to Kathryn who claimed that she would have it sorted out during my lunch later that day. Logging me into a guest account, I made all the edits that I had been given as well as doing some general copy editing as there were some typographical and grammatical errors lingering in the bowels of that handbook. At around 12:30, two-and-a-half hours into a six-and-a-half hour shift, I was given a request.

“Can you go to lunch?,” Kathryn asked.

“It’s a little early to take my lunch, I was going to hold off until I was completely done working on this,” I responded, knowing that I liked to take my lunch closer to the mid-point of my shift to break up the day easier.

“I really want you to take it now,” Kathryn fired back.

“Okay. I brought a lunch in with me which I put in the fridge. Let me just go get it since I don’t need anything else,” I continued.

“I really need you to leave for lunch. There’s an Au Bon Pain two buildings over. I’m sure you can get there, eat, and get back in a half hour. Your work can wait,” Kathryn insisted.

Under protest, I relented and took the walk over to Au Bon Pain, a bakery cafe with the typical assortment of salads, sandwiches, baked goods, and the like. While walking, I realized that “two buildings over” was a good five minute walk given the massive scale of each building and upon arriving I discovered that this literally was the only viable lunch spot for a pretty large community of workers as there were no other establishments open at that time. Not being a fan of salad and not wanting to hold up the line, I ended up deciding on a container of lobster macaroni and cheese from a small self-serve bar and a baguette as it was the easiest option to get, eat, and run back. This lunch set me back about $10, not much to the established people there but for someone who had not worked in three months was a relatively large sum as by that point I was not even getting unemployment due to a conflict that surfaced right before taking this job. As I ate, I wondered if my being forced out of the office had a ulterior motive to it such as ending the assignment; a prior non-temporary job I had did this to set up a meeting to let me go due to having less resources to support my position than originally thought. “Surely a job would not let someone go after only two hours,” I thought as I finished my lunch and made a mad dash back to to the office. Upon returning, I found a slip of paper with my fixed username and a temporary password. Once again, it did not work and once again Kathryn put me back on a guest account to finish editing the handbook then to add some more names to a mailing list they maintained. By 2:30 that afternoon, I had exhausted all of the work I was given only to find that she was in a meeting and the only advice given to me was to “wait for her”. For the next half hour, I sat and waited while trying to not play with my charging phone, my fear being that had I done so it would be used as just cause to end the assignment. Upon Kathryn’s return, she came with news.

“I think they fixed your username,” she said. Once again, I tried only to find that the username in the system still did not exist. After a couple of minutes, she ended up relenting.

“You can go home now if you want,” she offered. “We really don’t have anything else left here and we can just start fresh on Monday.” Going into this, both she and the agency knew that I had a standing commitment that required I not work on the 21st - we had plans to go to Vermont for our first anniversary.

“Are you sure I’ll be here on Monday,” I asked.

“Yes. As much as today seemed rocky we really will need the help starting next week,” Kathryn concluded. I went to get most of my stuff but I felt confident to leave my lunch - a package of frozen pizza bites - in the freezer for the weekend. After that, I went to catch a bus home, about an hour later reaching my front door before the afternoon rush intensified. As optimistic as my departure that day was, I couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that something might be slightly awry given what had transpired. While packing my clothes for the imminent vacation, I wondered what would happen when the agency inevitably called to see how my first day was and mulled giving them a preemptive all to get it over and done with.

Little did I know what was set to transpire.

#writing #personal #temporary job #lies #boston #thinly veiled fiction

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dgfhhgh · 3 years

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