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ironmandeficiency · 3 years

Text

idioms and idiots

pairing: jack daniels / reader

word count: 3531

summary: it takes a night of being each other’s (shitty) bisexual wingmen and a stranger to acknowledge why exactly you were both such shitty bisexual wingmen.

a/n: i just wanted an excuse to use one of the best insults i’ve ever heard in all my years enjoy whatever this mess became bc idk. thank you @ohnopoe for being hella awesome motivation for this fic and letting me scream at you abt it for literally ever

warning: mild cursing, hints at statesman frankie which is one of my newest comfort au’s

“are you serious? her? not even if she was the last woman on earth.” jack just pointed to literally one of the worst people in this bar that he could have pointed out to you. everything about her told you that the moment you walked up to her she would spit in your face for having the audacity to even go near her, much less talk to her. how was that who he wanted to spend the rest of his night with?

jack scoffed at the offense you took on his behalf. “alright, if you think my choice is so terrible, who’re you eyein’?” part of him wanted to guess right just to see the face you’d pull, but tonight he was honest to heaven stumped. none of the patrons of this bar seemed like the kind you’d be

smart to give your time to and to be completely honest, he couldn’t see you leaving with any of them.

he snapped out of his thoughts just in time to see you nod your head in the direction of a jean-clad man nursing a budweiser at the bar. there was something off-putting about him but jack couldn’t tell what until the man rose from his seat and walked towards the restroom; the answer was that to jack, he was just ugly.

he sighed and shook his head at your pick, grabbing your hand like a friend about to give bad news. “darlin’ i gotta tell ya this because i’m your friend and i respect you: for the love of god above don’t even try.”

you squinted and tilted your head at his harsh no against your pick, wondering why he seems so put off by him. “what is that supposed to mean, jack? am i not worth his time?” you raised an eyebrow in question.

your friend almost choked on his beer at your words. “that’s the clear opposite of what i was tryin’ to say. that man is so ugly his mama had to borrow a baby to take to church on sunday mornin’s.” how you could even momentarily insinuate that the stranger was better than you in any way at all was above him. you were the best agent he’s ever worked with, a wonderful friend that was always willing to lend a hand to anyone who needed it (even and especially strangers), not to mention raise-the-dead gorgeous and—

no. he was not going there. you are a fellow agent (and occasional partner) for fuck’s sake, any relationship the two of you maintained had to remain platonic for the sake of your jobs and jack’s heart. champ would have your asses hanging on his wall for pulling anything even vaguely resembling a serious relationship if it wasn’t for the sake of a cover. and if jack messed up and hurt you, he didn’t think he could handle losing his best friend to his own terrible ways.

your laughter drew him out of his rabbit hole of depressive thoughts. it seemed for a moment that you’d be okay and soon continue the conversation but he was quickly proved wrong. you laughed and laughed until you snorted, and that only brought on more laughter from you and jack both. there were a few stares from other patrons at the laughing cowboy and his friend that were paid no mind by you and jack.

things calmed down after that. the two of you drank some more and commenced with a little more people watching. to be honest, you had given up on going home with somebody tonight and really just wanted to spend the rest of your evening with jack. he was someone you trusted with your life and held some of your most protected secrets. jack’s observant nature and his deep care for his friends meant he could read you like an open book, and sometimes it surprised you how easy it was for him to do so. when it came down to it, you were shocked that you used to choose a one-and-done over your closest friend.

“hey darlin’, look over there.” jack nudges you with his elbow and cricks his head towards a guy who you’re somewhat reluctant to admit looks pretty damn close to your type. he’s wearing a worn trucker hat and a heather grey t-shirt. something about his posture tells you he gives bomb ass hugs, which is an odd observation but an immensely important one nonetheless.

the stranger’s eyes caught yours and you smile at him, slightly embarrassed that he caught you looking. almost immediately your eyes are fixed on the bottom of your drink, hoping that there’s some way that jack won’t say anything about the guy across the bar.

jack sees the reluctance but isn’t going to let you pass up the opportunity. even if he goes home alone, he’s not going to let your night be wasted. “you should go talk to him honey, won’t do no harm.”

“nah, i don’t think-”

“if you don’t talk to him then i will, simple as that. the worst and dumbest thing he can say is no, and then you’ll be home free.”

you know firsthand that jack isn’t the type to let sleeping dogs lie, so you pull up your metaphorical bootstraps and make your way to the bar. your usual back corner booth with gum under the table and cracked pleather seats never sounded so appealing as it did while you were pushing through the crowd. the bar is in view but you aren’t paying mind to which section you’ve found yourself in front of. it isn’t until a hand on your back keeps you from getting toppled that you realize the mystery man is right there and it’s his hand on your back.

“you alright, honey?” when he says the endearment, it just doesn’t sound right. maybe it doesn’t seem quite natural with his accent, maybe it’s a forced drawl. hell, maybe it’s too polite, whatever that means. the oft times jack would call you honey, there was always some sort of mischief lingering in his tone. like he was up to something but no one (especially him) knew what that something was just yet.

you’re somehow miraculously pulled by your ankles from your rabbit hole of thoughts just in time to not make a fool out of yourself. “yeah, just a little clumsy is all. thanks for your help…” you leave the sentence open and he takes the hint, introducing himself as frankie. “well frankie, want another drink?” he nodded and invited you to sit on the stool next to his.

the conversation flowed alright for a little bit. nothing too bold or boring, just an average conversation between two newly acquaintanced strangers. you told him you worked as an executive assistant in a brewery and he told you about his piloting. said he’s only up here for a couple days, needed some sort of refresher training at the nearby air station. jack took you there once to watch the planes fly by, his bronco parked just outside the fences and you and him lounging like fat cats across the hood. he brought picnic food and a bottle of his moniker’s beverage to be drunk out of coffee mugs because the absurdity made you smile.

fuck, why do you keep thinking about jack when frankie’s right there?! he’s been nothing but a gentleman and you aren’t even giving him the attention he deserves! you just hope he hasn’t picked up on your distracted state.

“this isn’t working, is it?”

‘well fuck me gently with a chainsaw.’

“it has nothing to do with you i swear,” you let out a dry chuckle at how cliche it sounds. why not enlighten him to your dilemma? it isn’t like he’ll be around much longer.

“see the cowboy over there? ten gallon hat, burt reynolds ‘stache?” you crick your neck in jack’s direction and wait for frankie to nod his confirmation before you continue. “that’s my best friend, and i don’t know when it started, but feelings happened and now i can’t stop comparing everyone to him.”

frankie appraises your words for a moment, seeming to let them marinate before giving his opinion. “i mean, anyone who doesn’t insult you when you snort while laughing is a keeper in my book, and judging by earlier — ow! what was that for?” you jokingly swatted frankie’s shoulder at the playful jab before letting him continue. “i saw y’all earlier and honestly thought you were already together. the chemistry, the feelings, it’s all there. i say just go for it. the worst he could say is no, after all.”

what is it with that phrase tonight?

maybe it was mere coincidence. it is a common term of encouragement after all. on the other hand… maybe not. coming from frankie, it could be the final push you need to finally get the nerve to confess everything you felt to your longtime best friend. “alright frankie, what’s the gameplan?”

jack watched you walk away towards the bar and if he could have done so without drawing unwanted attention, he would shoot himself in both feet. how could he just send you off like that? to a guy who looked like a human equivalent of an absolute teddy bear, no less? this other guy probably gave great hugs too, and jack knew how much you appreciated the healing properties of a good hug. if brains were leather, jack figured he couldn’t saddle a junebug.

there you were, laughing it up with this other guy like no one’s business while unbeknownst to you, jack’s world was beginning to crumble. he couldn’t go on like this, watching you smile and be so carefree when it’s because of someone that wasn’t him. something had to be done if jack didn’t want to watch himself become a sideline character in your life.

before he can even begin the bare bones of a plan, you’re back in front of him. you’re nervous but giddy, conflicted yet determined. ‘what was going through that head of yours? just go with it, pretend nothing’s wrong. “fake it till you make it,” that’s what you say to him.

“now what’s got you back so soon?” his voice is level and playful and not at all hinting at the fact that he’s losing his shit on the inside.

your eyes shift from his to a point slightly behind him; it’s frankie, shooting you a thumbs up and an encouraging nod. frankie told you to tell the truth; easier said than done. having a planned script or general idea of what lie needed to be used for a mission was easy peasy. telling jack the truth now is somehow harder despite knowing every detail.

‘oh shit, he looks worried about you! say something before he asks you what’s wrong!’

well, here goes nothing.

“he was nice and everything, but he wasn’t you, and the thought of leaving with someone that wasn’t you didn’t sit right with me.” did that even make sense? would he even take it the way you meant it to be?

as his eyebrows raise and one of his trademark smirks crosses his lips (but less genuine this time, you note), you realize that no, he didn’t get your point. jack reaches for his glass and downs whatever was left, his free hand reaching for yours. the comforting squeeze he gives you is a catalyst for you; you have to get this off your chest no matter what the outcome will be. “you don’t need to worry about me honeysuckle, i’m sure i’ll find someone-“

“that’s the problem, jack! i don’t want you to find someone else just like i don’t want to go home with anyone else!”

maybe he doesn’t feel the same. maybe he’s just trying to skirt around understanding what you mean to spare your feelings and keep from ruining your friendship with your stupid idea of confessing your feelings. oh no, what if he understands and decides to distance himself from you to avoid future awkward encounters?! you don’t think you can handle that outcome.

his silence brings tears to your eyes. just play it off, pretend that it was nothing, that you didn’t just pour your heart out to him to be met with complete and deafening silence.

jack wishes he could say something but nothing is coming out. his heart is beating a thousand miles a minute and liable to rip itself out of his chest. the glass in his hand almost slips out from his shock at your words. was this a nightmare? his own subconscious dangling the one he wants most in front of him like a carrot on a stick, making him think that you want him the way he’s wanted you for far too long.

he doesn’t realize you’re starting to move away from him until your hand is pulled from his. “darlin’, now hold on a minute-“ he tries to call you back, hoping you would give him a moment to get his ass into gear, but you were already gone.

if jack thought he was stupid before, it doesn’t bring a torch to how he felt now. all he had the strength to do right now was to hang his head and try not to cry (he failed).

“he just sat there and looked at me! didn’t even say a thing!” you were sitting next to frankie once again, wondering why this near stranger was being so kind to you.

he rubbed a gentle hand across your back consolingly. “did you give him time to say anything? that’s a pretty big bombshell to drop and he’s probably as shocked as you are about it.”

you sniffled as you processed his words, realizing that you only gave him seconds to comprehend what has taken you months. “no,” you groaned, “i fucked it up didn’t i?”

frankie looks to where jack is sitting. his hat is sitting on the table beside him, head in his hands. the other man’s shoulders are nearly sunk into him with how slumped they are. jack is the epitome of sadness. “let me go talk to him.”

immediately you try to convince him not to, that he doesn’t need to do anything more than he already has. frankie, as you woefully expected, does not heed your words and goes up to jack anyway. you watch from afar and hope nothing goes further left. whoever lands this guy will be one of the luckiest people on the planet, you’re sure of it.

frankie clears his throat when he arrives at jack’s crumpled form. “hey there, mind if i sit for a moment?” he knows to be cautious and not invade the space of a desperate man. he waits until jack gives a slight nod and clears his throat. jack runs a hand across his face to try and wipe away some of the evidence of his despair but frankie sees it all. “i know you don’t know me, but you’ll want to hear what i have to say, my friend.”

“now what could you possibly say that i would benefit from hearing?” jack isn’t sure what this guy thinks he’s doing but is willing to listen to where it goes; it isn’t like he has something better to do than wallow in his own pity. if all goes to shit, it isn’t like jack can’t punch him in the face.

frankie knows that a man with nothing left to lose is a man to tread carefully with. state facts but don’t be callous or flippant with them. have tact; be conscious of the tumultuous state he’s in and have some basic human decency. don’t go poking the bear and be unprepared for when it bows up —instead, be bigger than the bear when it turns its focus and bring it to calm rationality.

“they love you, and anyone in this room can see that you love them back. otherwise you wouldn’t be boo-hooing into perfectly good booze at the idea of fucking things up.” jack looks at the table and finally noticed the fresh glass of whiskey in front of him. the bartender must have thought he needed it and damn did he. his hand reached for it but before his fingertips grazed the glass, frankie snatched it up. “this is exactly how you fuck things up worse. you gotta be sober to process these things correctly, man. trust me, i know from experience.”

jack raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push the man that he just realizes is the one jack had pushed you towards several minutes before. why was he trying to give him advice about you? jack was supposed to be the wingman, the one who helped you not be alone in the dark of night. he doesn’t even know the man’s name!

the glass was set down in front of where you were previously sitting, just out of jack’s reach. frankie’s eyes locked onto jack’s and held the other man’s gaze with startling intensity. “look: do you love them?” frankie liked you a lot from what little you talked, and while most men would have stopped talking once they realized they weren’t getting any, he actually did want to be friends. friends looked out for each other and he figured this not-quite-a-couple couple’s therapy was a great place to start.

“more than anything on this earth.” the conviction in his voice is clear to frankie and based on how you talked about jack, he seemed like he was worth your time. after all, it wasn’t like he couldn’t do anything about the man if he did hurt his new friend (he knows how to make weapons untraceable and plenty of ways to bloody a son of a bitch).

frankie grins softly as he drinks the whiskey, confident in the wisdom he’s about to bestow onto the cowboy. if it really can be considered wisdom, that is. “then get your shit together, man! go tell them that you love them. tell them why, and for the love of god give them a first kiss they’ll never forget.”

the man was right, he did need to get his shit together. jack stood from his chair with such haste he nearly knocked it to the floor. but hold on a minute — what was this guy’s name? better yet, how could he ask for his name this late into the conversation without seeming rude?

when jack hesitated, frankie raised an eyebrow at him in question. there was a weird moment of confused eye contact between them, neither man having any idea what to do right then. it took jack beginning to thank him with an exaggerated pause and a hand extended for frankie to realize what he meant. “the name’s francisco, but friends call me frankie.”

“well frankie,” jack shook his new friend’s hand with a smile, clasping frankie’s hand between his briefly. “you’ve done us a great service. if you ever want a tour of the brewery, let us know.” before he leaves to find you, jack fishes a card out of his wallet and hands it to frankie. “that’s got my office number & my cell on it, but between you and me, the office number is for people i don’t particularly care for.” he finishes with a wink at the end for good measure.

frankie stuffs the card in his pocket then shoos jack away. his friend has a mission to complete, after all. he stayed and watched though, hoping to see this through.

“hey honeysuckle, can ya look at me?” jack’s smooth voice and his hand on your shoulder snap you out of your spiraling thoughts. you look up at him and he appears to be just as distraught as you are. “i know i spooked ya by not sayin’ anything earlier, and i’m sorry. i just didn’t know how to say that i felt the same way, that i don’t wanna watch you go home with anyone else that isn’t me.” he drags a hand along his mouth and jaw, a nervous tick you noticed very early into your friendship with jack.

it takes you a few moments to process the fact he feels the same. when you did though, there was nothing in this world that could keep you from kissing your cowboy with everything you had. his hands are quick to find purchase on your waist as yours hold his face gently. he tasted like his moniker and the butterscotch discs he always kept in his pockets, and it was everything you hoped it would be.

nearby, frankie watches the two of you come to your senses and is relieved that everything went so smoothly.

he didn’t intend on running into two of his future coworkers at the bar when he arrived in town, it just happened. halfway through talking to you, he recognized you both as mule and whiskey, two statesman agents he had yet to meet. when he tells ginger about this in the morning she’s going to die of either shock or laughter. who knew that frankie’s first days as agent hops would be like this?

agent whiskey taglist: @obirain @catsnkooks @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky @the-studious-porg @captainrexstan @darthadeline @majorshiraharu @getdookuedon @lv7867 @evyiione @darnitdraco @themarcusmoreno @max--phillips @jedi-mando @darklingveracruz @purelypascal @whovianwar @princess76179 @pedropasscals @greeneyedblondie44 @seasonschange-butpeopledont @qhbr2013 @justanotherblonde23 @janebby @its--fandom--darling @andysficrecs @solemnlyswearss @my-blink-romance

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels #agent whiskey imagine #jack daniels imagine #let me have statesman frankie #statesman!frankie morales

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infinitegalahad · 4 years

Note

Idk I’ve been feeling pretty down lately. Something cute, angsty, and smutty with a jealous Merriell Shelton and fem reader ?? You can have fun with it

Doux Comme Des Bonbons

Pairing: Snafu x Gender Netural! Reader

Summary: Snafu has a tendency to always wound up into trouble. Regardless, you still manage to put up with him.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Implied sexual harrasment, jeleous! snafu, cursing, fighting, but very minor!

A/N: Of course I can! I feel you, hope this cheers you up! ❣️✨ I’m sorry this came so late. I’ve been studying for a few tests. I promise to work on a few requests this weekend though! I love the requests though, keep them coming in! This one was a little longer than expected. Snafu is my favourite himbo. The title translates to “as sweet as candy” bc this is fluffy-is. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

“Snafu, he’s just a classmate!”

Snafu slammed the door to your apartment building. If school and work weren’t hard enough, this had been your breaking point. As much as you loved your Cajun boyfriend, he was an absolute handful. It was like taking care of a manchild who you loved one minute, the next you wanted to scream in his face. Whenever things were peaceful between you, it was bliss. Endless worship, cuddles, cute french nicknames, romantic and steamy nights. It was anything a partner could ask for.

But when all hell would break loose between you two, it would be full-on discord.

“Classmate ma’ ass. Prissy lil’ fucker. I’ve seen ‘da way ‘dat preppy boy looks at you.” Snafu annoyingly badgered. He followed you around your apartment. Stopping at the kitchen counter, you spin on your heel to look at him straight in the face, a hand on your waist and an angry pout proudly displayed on your face. “ ‘Dat Chris or whatever his n-”

“Chad. His name is Chad.” You corrected.

The Cajun groaned as his calloused hands grasped onto the counter. He was extremely aggravated with hell in his eyes. “Whatever. I don’t like ‘yah hangin’ ‘round him. Chad kept starin’ at you like you were a piece of meat. Tried to fuckin’ steal ma’ seat next to you! ‘Dat lil’ sunva gun tryin’ to sit next ‘ta ‘ma Cher!”

Chad wasn’t someone you considered a friend or acquaintance. He was someone who was in your lecture who happened to be one of your friend’s inner friends. Whenever you would go to study, Chad would always tag along. He mainly wouldn’t study and would pester the hell out of you. He had even followed you to Snafu’s jeep, which proceeded to Snafu almost running him over. Thankfully you had convinced Chad not to press charges.

There was no denying he was a total asshole. He wore the brighetst polos, cheated on every test, and did whatever he pleased. Snafu was convinced that his parents paid his way into college. It baffled you how you’re best friend could even consider someone such as Chad a friend. His whole purpose of being alive was to annoy you. Snafu surely didn’t care for him. But you only had the class for another two months, and then you would be rid of Chad.

Two months had gone by and Chad’s advances had begun to slowly die down. He was aware that you were dating Snafu, who he deemed a man out of your league. It was true, but you loved Snafu with every part of your soul. Snafu was not your everyday boyfriend. It was like dating a man child off of his ADHD medication. He was a somewhat (but still young) man who worked in lumber, a little rough around the edge with a thick Cajun accent. You were a teacher’s pet with a kind heart and gentle presence. When your friend Eugene had set you up, you’d never thought it would work. But date after date, the two of you only grew closer. Within three months, you had moved into Snafu’s apartment since you could barely afford to live in a shitty dorm. When Snafu had offered his home to become your home, you knew you had fallen in love with him. As much as Snafu was the occasional pain in the neck, he was yours and you were his.

Also in those two months, your professor had invited you to a semester party after you had finished up exams. The university you attended was celebrating his retirement and had invited the whole school. Not wanting you to be alone, Snafu tagged along. He looked amazing that night; his wild curls tamed with copious amounts of gel, a white collared shirt, and dress shoes that were crisp. It would have been a lovely night if Snafu had simply kept his mouth shut, which he struggled with.

-----

Walking arm and arm with your Cajun boyfriend, you were literally the belle of the ball. The amount of compliments you had received on your outfit was impressive. You had to thank your friend for the simple, yet elegant outfit.

One of your classmates had stopped to compliment your outfit. After a short discussion, you and Snafu continued your way to your assigned seating. Smiling at one of your classmates, Snafu pulled you in closer to his body.

“Relax Snaf,” You smiled as you leaned your head onto his shoulder. “Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“Whaddya talkin’ ‘bout? I’m fine. Justa’ lotta guys comin’ up ta you-I don’t blame them ‘doe. But if the-”

“Y/n!”

Snafu was cut off by your friend Hana. Best friends since birth, the two of you were inseparable. Same neighborhood, same high school, and same world-renowned university. Hana knew you better than your own parents at times. You left Snafu’s link to go give her a hug. Hana walked over and gave Snafu a pat on the back, knowing him quite well. You could tell she was a little standoffish with him since she thought he was way out of your league, but was glad to finally see you happy.

“Someone's looking dapper tonight!” Hana commented, patting Snafu’s shoulder. Snafu chuckled and nodded back, complimenting Hana’s (hideous) pink coral slacks. You saw Snafu’s confusion at how bright the pants were. Hana, even if she was your best friend, was a drastically different person from you. “Glad you brought him along, y/n. You guys look so cute together!”

Snafu stood right beside you. Feeling a firm hand on your waist, he looked over and gave you a devilish smirk. “Hana, my cher right here is ‘da real belle of the ball? They don’t even have to try-they just always look flawless.”

While being flirty, Snafu’s sweet side was starting to break through. The three of you chuckled as you gave Snafu a peck on the cheek. Cooing into his ear, “Merriell Shelton, you’re one heck of a kiss up.”

“What? I’m only speakin’ the truth.” He defended.

Hana smiled along at that, giving you a small wink. “Snafu is only speaking the truth. You guys are looking for your table?”

You nodded in response. The banquet hall was small and full of people. It was also dark which made it near impossible to find your assigned seating.

“We’re actually at the same table! Allow me to lead the way.” Hana stated. Snafu and you followed here through the crowd to the table. It mainly contained your classmates and a few of their families and friends. Everything was at peace until you saw a flash of a preppy patchwork suitjacket. It took a minute to process before it hit you and Snafu.

It was the one and only Chad.

Chad had been conversing with his friends.Upon seeing you, he let out a bostieorus laugh with his other preppy friends. Snafu felt immeidntly threatened in his presence, his hold tigenthing at your waist. He was trying to act tough but came off more as a child who’s favoruite toy was going to be taken away. As Chad stood up to come greet himself, you leaned over with your teeth gritted into a smile.

“Don’t say a damn thing. I can handle this.”

The tension between Chad and Snafu was evident. Here Chad was a young and egotistical frat boy who thousands of girls would squirm after. Here Snafu was, a bug-eyed Cajun with a heavy accent and one hell of an attitude. Chad still seemingly wasn’t over the fact that he was almost run over one time by Snafu. He even lightly joked about it, which didn’t sit well with any of you. This only caused Snafu’s burning hatred for Chad to grow even more. Chad was the gasoline and Snafu was the flame. Unfortunately, you and Snafu were placed right next to Chad and his friends. Hana was right next to you and knew that this wasn’t going to end well with the prepster and Cajun. Snafu would swing around the cheap whiskey in his cup and glare down Chad whenever he would even dare look at you. You hated the fact that Snafu was acting like this just because of Chad. The inner immature child in Snafu was beginning to show when Chad began to talk politics. It led to a passive aggressive agreement before you became the mediator before someone got a black eye.

Chad was busy talking to his goons when Snafu turned to you, a hand on your thigh. You placed your hand, squeezing it as you leaned in. “Bab-”

“I don’t like him. Prissy little bitc-”

“Merriell!” You scolded. “Langug-” Snafu smirked as he leaned in to whisper into your ear. “I ain’t a Proctologist, but I know an asshole when I see one. Do people think he’s straight? With those pink tight pants, it’s sendin’ another message.”

A snort escaped your mouth as you leaned into the Cajun’s shoulder. He did have a point though. What did people see in Chad that was so attractive?

Snafu noticed that you were amused by his humor. That devilish smirk you knew all too well was plastered on his face. “We should bust outta here, ditch the party and go back home. Watch a ninety day fiance. I like what’s on ‘da outside, but i wanna see what’s on ‘da inside…”

Snafu’s fingers crawled closer to your stomach. You bit your lip in response, your cheeks burning. It was so hard to resist him all dressed up and neat. Two could play this game.

“What the hell am I ever gonna do with you, Merriell Shelton?”

“Beats me, (Y/p) (Y/l/n).” He purred into your ear. It was definitely starting to become harder to resist him, especially when he called you by your professional name. But you had to contain yourself and watch over Snafu for another hour.

Your professor had walked over, interrupting your intimate moment. It was mostly for the better. Snafu had a chance to talk to your professor and learn more about the class you had been taking. He chatted up a storm with Snafu, who seemed integrued. Snafu wasn’t one for learning whatsoever. But anything that his partner would do was of interest. Your professor had even complimented Snafu saying that he had found a lovely partner. As he walked away, Snafu stood by and grabbed your drink to go get a refill. You attempted to get up but Snafu put a hand on your shoulder, holding you down.

“Sit down, darlin’.” He stated, saying a hard d in his creamy Cajun voice. “I’m takin’ care of my smart lil’ student.”

The next few events happened too quickly for you to process. Once Snafu had left, Chad had scooted into his seat. You could smell the vodka on his lips. He began to be his typical self, but got much more invasive of your space. You mostly ignored him as he talked about how rich his family was and his summer house on Nantucket. Hana wasn’t there, so you were stuck until Snafu came back.

Chad began to insulet your boyfriend. It started out as nothing more than a drunken rant, but things slowly came to tug at your heart. He began to make fun of his appearance, calling him “bug-eyed” and “dirty looking skin”. He made fun of his work occupation, outfit, almost anything and everything about him. It was definitely an uncomfortable situation. Where the hell was Snafu?

The breaking point was when Chad had wrapped his arm around you, asking you “What the hell do you see in that loser?”

The next events were full of discord. Snafu had come over, furious. He had yanked Chad out of his chair, yelling in his face. Chad began to cry, threatening to sue you and Snafu. He had also thrown pathetic insults at Snafu, which only made Snafu’s burning hatred brighter. Everybody had their eyes on Snafu, you, and Chad. Embarrassed, you grabbed Snafu and dragged him out of the venue. It was best for the both of you to leave before the police were called. The last words you heard before leaving were Chad’s drunken cry.

“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer next day! Hope you both get evicted from your shitty little apartment! You people are so evil!”

------

“You could have just ignored him!”

“Like hell! He had yah’ hand ‘round you, tryin’ to s-”

“Oh for the love of god!” You cursed. “I could’ve handled that on my own. You didn’t have to yank him out of his chair!”

“I did have ‘ta! He was assaultin’ you! You’re my c-”

“Merriell, do not cher me. This is serious,” You hissed. All you wanted to do was go to bed and escape this horrible nightmare. “He could charge you for assault. Even if it was minor, you did try to run him over with your car. There’s no way you could stand a chance against that. If you had let me handle it, it wou-”

Snafu raised his voice, “Y/N! HE WAS HARRASIN’ YOU! TRIED TO PULL DOWN ‘YER PANTS! WHAT ‘DA HELL DID YOU THINK I WAS GONNA LET HIM DO? YOU JUST NEED TO FUCKIN’ LISTEN SOMETIMES!”

His sour tone definitely made your whole body go numb. When Snafu raised his voice, you knew he was mad. He was usually pissed off at the world, but it was chilling to hear him scream. His eyes widened as the gel in his hair began to wear off; his unruly curls began to show. You stepped back, feeling tears sting at your eyes. Snafu, upon seeing this, freaked out. He had been irritated the whole night. The last thing he wanted was to see you all upset. Your lip began to quiver as warm tears streamed down your cheeks. The Cajun’s face softened, walking over to apologize. He had fear all over his face. You were the person he loved the most yet at times he had no idea how to comfort you. Emotions weren’t his speciality. He grew up greedy and selfish since it was all he knew. When he had met you, Snafu had truly changed. He didn’t know how to describe it, but you had made him a better person. You gave him hope that the world wasn’t such a shitty place.

Turning around, you walk upstairs and block out everything. Your eyes are full of tears, blinding your vision. Snafu followed after you, begging for forgiveness. He was like a lost, heartbroken puppy. Instead of heading towards your shared bedroom, you decided to hide away in the bathroom. Slamming the door, you back into the wall and slowly slide down. All you wanted to do was just let your emotions loose and not have to think about absolutely anything. You just wanted to be alone with your tears and nothing more.

-----

The tears eventually stopped with your vision cleared. You could feel the dry makeup under your eyes. Your arms and legs felt numb as you were backed to a wall, staring into the shower. What did your professor think? It was horribly embarrassing for you. There was no way you and Snafu could win a lawsuit against Chad. He knew the power he had over the both of you. It was going to be an absolute nightmare. Hana was most likely blowing up your phone with notifications. What di-

Your thoughts went away when you heard the bathroom door open. It was the one and only Snafu who had the look of a sad puppy. He normally wasn’t this soft, but his face was ridden with guilt. You didn’t even react when he walked over and sat right next to you, his thigh right next to yours. Staring at the wall, he let out a sigh. His big blue eyes were right on you.

“Cher,” His fingers trailed onto your chin as he gently turned your head. Your face was destroyed with ruined makeup. It looked like he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Guilt was all over his face. But there was no time to be whining, all he could do was attempt to make things right.

“Come on,” Snafu cooed. Grabbing your hand, he gently led you up to look in the mirror. This was the second time you saw yourself in the mirror that night. You looked like you had been hit with a tornado. The once neat outfit had been wrinkled, your neatly gelled hair wispy and falling apart, and your face covered with runny makeup. Snafu had gone through the cabinet to grab some makeup wipes. His fingers titled your head to him as he ran it gently over your face. Instead of fighting back, you let him remove the makeup from your face. He made sure to clean off every little bit from your foundation to your lipstick. As he reached your eyes, he peeled off one of your fake leashes and jumped back.

“Sacre bleu!” He cursed, throwing the eyelash into the sink. Snafu was a man who was scared by nothing, except for a fake eyelash. You bit your lip, trying to hold back a chuckle.

“ ‘Da fuck is dat thing? Fuckin’ spiderweb lookin’ bitch. Looks like it has a damn life of its own...” Snafu ranted as his words slowly turned into french. He turned over to you, biting your lip as you held back a laugh.

A smirk appeared on his face as he placed his hands on his hips, “You’d wear this shit?”

“Hana gave them to me.” You shook your head, smiling. He did have a point; they looked like spiderwebs. “I know, they're ridiculous.”

You felt Snafu’s calloused hands grab your waist and halt you on top of the bathroom counter. “Well atleast you make them look hot. Speakin’ of hot, you looked amazing tonight…” He looked down before looking right back into your eyes. “Listen, I’m sorry darlin’. Just seein’ him bother you made me livid. Ain’t no one gotta treat my cher like ‘dat. Especially ‘dat vineyard vines lookin’ prissy.”

You let out a sigh, leaning into his shoulder. “God, his suit was awful…”

“Fuckin’ blindin’. Like, pick a struggle with ‘dat middle part and layerin polo shit…”

A snort escaped your mouth. Snafu wasn’t wrong; Chad looked even worse than he usually did. It was always bright, blinding colors matched with even brighter, more hideous clothes. Snafu’s hand gently caressed your hair as you leaned onto him.

“By the way…” You cooed into his ear, “I’m not condoning what you did, but hearin’ you rip Chad to pieces was kinda hot...”

“Want me ta’ do it again? I’d love to see his little face all scrunched uppa’ ‘gain.”

“God no,” Shaking your head, your hands fiddled with his unruly curls. “If you do, i’m gonna take away all your cigarettes. We can’t handle the lawsuit that’s coming.”

“Y/n, hate to break it ‘ta yah, but I’m not a rule follower. Can I atleast run him over with ‘ma car? Or steal his trump sign?”

“Snafu Shelton, what the hell am I going to do with you?”

Snafu wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. He held on tight, like a child holding a teddy bear. “Stay with me. Right here, right now.”

You smiled into his shoulder as the two of you were wrapped in each other's arms. Snafu was certainly a handful, but you loved him more than anything in the world. He was truly willing to do anything to protect your honor and make you happy. That was a true man, not a boy.

“Ok, your chokin’ me Snaf.” You stated. Moving his arms, Snafu looks at your eyes as you rubbed them. “What time is it?”

“Ten? Darcey and Stacey are on.” He said, grabbing your hand as he led you out of the bathroom into your bedroom. “We can poppa’ few beers and order from Shanghai.”

An relieved sigh escaped from your mouth. Alcohol and chinese food were the perfect cure to a horrible night. “Thank freakin’ god. Anythin’ to forget this god awful night.”

You walked away to throw on your sweatpants and one of Snafu’s flannels on. Suddenly, his hand grabbed yours as he pulled you back to whisper into your ear. “Can’t wait ta’ see you outta’ dat pretty lil’ number ‘ya got on.”

An over exaggerated gasp escaped your mouth as you playfully (gently) slapped his face. A snarky laugh escaped his mouth. You rolled your eyes as you walked over to change. “Keep it in ‘ya pants, soldier.”

“Sorry. Whenever I see yah, I lose control darlin’.” Snafu smirked devilishly. “Can’t help it that you're smart n’ sweet. Just like candy.”

“Seriously, what the hell am I going to do with you?” You repeat yourself as you finish changing. It baffled you how you could handle Snafu. He was a manchild at times.

The Cajun grabbed your waist and began to tickle you. You fought back as you held back your giggles. Carrying you to the bed, he laid you down as the two of you held each other. His hand drew careless figures into your back as you nestled your face into his neck. He placed a kiss into your face, gently sighing into it.

“I love you, y/n.”

“Love you too, you dirty bastard.”

#rami malek x reader #snafu shelton x reader #merriell shelton x reader #snafu shelton #merriell shelton #rami malek #the pacific #my writing

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iscariotsdeputy · 4 years

Text

Staci Pratt’s Lines From The FC5 Script

THE SCRIPT IS FOUND HERE ON THIS POST GIVE THAT POST THE ATTENTION IT DESERVES

now to our regular scheduled staci content under the read more!

[Surprise reactions, yes I’m naming these]

Good Lord!

What the-

Jesus!

God almighty!

Christ almighty!

Whoa!

What was that?

I heard something.

You hear that?

What?

What's that?

[FUN BATTLE CRIES]

Enough!

No more!

I'm done with this!

Goin' in!

Cover me!

You're dead!

You're mine!

Kill them! Let them die for the Father! (ZOINKS)

Kill them all! They don't deserve to live!

The weak must be culled!

We've got this!

Mercy is for the weak!

Show them no weakness!

Cull the herd!

You don't deserve to live!

You'll pay! You're all gonna pay!

You're all gonna die!

You don't deserve to live!

Is that it?

You started it!

I didn't want this!

We don't forgive unbelievers!

This didn't have to happen!

[That feel when the grenades hit]

Move, move, move!

Move, go!

Grenade!

Grenade, move!

[This boy is on fire!]

Oh God, the fire's gettin' bigger!

Fire's growing!

The fire! It's out of control!

Good Lord that fire's getting big!

The fire's spreading!

[Lad on the run]

Moving, cover me!

Runnin' for it!

Hey, cover me!

Movin' positions!

Gonna try to get higher up.

Gonna climb higher.

Cover me, I'm heading down.

Moving down, cover me!

For sure!

Better go fast!

Got it!

Okay!

Got ya!

[When he wants to run but he’s like me trying not to infodump: suppressed]

I can't move!

They've got me pinned!

I'm pinned down!

I'm taking fire over here!

They've got me pinned down!

[Staci hearing threats]

Jesus! Where was that?! Damn!

Lord! Jesus, what was that? What the hell!

[Staci underfire]

Damn!

Dammit, dammit!

Lord Jesus Christ!

This is bad!

God, no!

Ah shit!

[Staci when he sees them enemies]

Look, over there!

Over there!

There they are!

There! I see them!

Gonna do some Cullin'... (staci excuse me?)

Don't move!

Dammit, watch out!

Hey, watch out!

[Wounded Staci]

Ah.

Ow.

Ah!

God!

Jesus!

I'm hit!

They shot me!

They got me!

[HE’S RELOADIN’]

Reloading!

I'm reloading!

Reloading! Cover me!

Gotta reload!

[SALUTATIONS FELLOW NORMAL NOT BRAINWASHED PEOPLE]

Hey.

Hi there.

What's up.

Hey, man.

Hey sister.

Hey there.

Hey!

Hey Brother.

Brother, how are you?

Miss. Nice to see you.

Hey there Miss.

[Sights on Staci, a sniper with the same values as me]

Sniper!

Sniper's got me in his sights!

Got a sniper on me!

[Funky Fresh Idle Filler]

Gotta look after your gear, keep it clean. Out here your weapon is your life.

The Father keeps all the best stuff for his Chosen. Leaves us the scraps.

No one is going to take anything from me again. Ever.

The night hides many sins.

It gets cold at night.

Even in the dark, they can see ya.

[Sneeze] [Clear Throat] [Sigh]

[Happy sigh. Like the Blue Jays won another world series recently.] (I shit you not this is how it’s in the script)

I'm not weak. I'm not weak.

They're gonna pay.

No mercy. Show no mercy.

Some say the sun is life. In the cages it brings only death.

I wasn't sure I'd ever see the sun again.

[Deep breath] Just smell that fresh air.

Jacob took me on one of his hunts, only we weren't huntin' any animals. A couple of prisoners had escaped... they didn't get far. I had to help round up the wolves.. you know... to be made into Judges. They were so scared... so scared. I had a dream once that Jacob took me on a hunt. We shot some deer and he asked me to skin them. As I was cutting them open they changed... it wasn't deer. I... I don't think it was a dream.

Good idea to be ready for anythin'. From what I saw Eden's Gate isn't foolin' around.

I was locked down in Jacob's Gate for days. I can't imagine living down there for years.

Jacob had one thing right. Things are only goin' to get worse and you gotta be ready for it.

[Friendly Fire]

Watch it!

We're on the same side!

Watch where you point that!

Do you mind?

Don't test me!

You trying to kill me?!

You tryin' to make me angry?

I wouldn't do that, if I were you.

You doing that on purpose?

Trying to get me killed?!

Watch it!

Be more careful!

Careful!

Hey! Watch it!

[DON’T LET HIM USE THE MOUNTED GUN]

Goin' for the machine gun!

Gonna take the machine gun!

Cover me I'm going for the machine gun!

I'm taking the machine gun, cover me!

Leave the machine gun to me!

[If a friend is down I think, or maybe you, who knows?]

Good lord!

Jesus!

God, no!

Father save us!

[SO IF STACI KILLS YOU???]

Now who's weak?

I'm sorry. I really am.

[Staci death pleas]

Father! Forgive me!

Oh God oh God!

[Filler after Staci kills someone AKA post-combat]

Culling the herd. It's just culling the herd.

Did you see that Jacob? Who's weak now?

For sure.

You okay over there?

You can't let it get to you.

It.. It'll be okay. (i love him,,,,,,,,,,)

[Battle Filler!]

They deserve what they get!

Show no weakness!

Kill them all!

Death is too good for them!

[Reviving]

Going to help! I got 'em! I'll get 'em! I got this!

Hold on, I got you! Be right there! Don't die on me!

[You Revive Him! Gold Star!]

It just wasn't my time. Thanks, friend.

You are a God-send. Thank you.

You're like my guardian angel.

[Battle Taunts]

Whatta you gonna do? What, having trouble standing? What's wrong? How do you like it?

[Staci asking for help]

Oh God! Save me, please!

Oh god, it hurts! Make it stop!

Please, Father. No more!

[If you aim your gun at Stace oh n o]

You don't want to test me.

That's enough.

You wanna see what happens?

You're not gonna like what comes next...

You think that scares me after what I've been through?

Don't be testin' me, Brother.

Don't push me. Not now.

I'm warning you.

I'm not goin' to put up with this, Miss.

[Staci and Boomer]

You got that dog under control, right?

Yeah, I'm not sure I'm good with dogs.

Dogs remind me too much of those damned Judge wolves.

I don't like the way that dog is looking at me.

Just keep that dog away from me.

[Staci and Cheeseburger]

I don't trust bears.

Keep that thing away from me.

Bears are dangerous.

Bears should be in the wild.

Bears are killers.

[Staci and Peaches]

Now that's a cat.

Big cat.

Big claws on that sucker.

Nice kitty.

Beauty coat on that cougar.

[More Filler, But Longer And Contextual!]

Sometimes it's all just too much...then I remember my purpose. Our purpose.

Jacob, he's knows everything that I'm thinking. He's got the key to my mind and he twists... and twists... and twists.

Jacob... he's in control. He controls everything.

I don't know how much more of this I can take.

I would've rotted in Jacob's Gate if it wasn't for you.

Good to see things gettin' back to normal.

Jacob has got eyes everywhere. He knows your thoughts, before you think 'em. He's inside your head right now.

Jacob's plan worked. I tried to warn them. I told them not to go back.

I don't know how much more I can take of this.

If Jacob gets his way, we're all dead.

I... I don't know what to think anymore. It's.. it's so hard to keep it straight.

That goddamn cage, it's like my wires are crossed.

I can't believe he's really dead.

No more sacrifices. No more.

No one can take Jacob on. It's just not possible.

Jacob's going to win. He always wins.

Whitetails are honest, decent people. They're fightin' the good fight, and they deserve any success that comes their way. No place is safe, but the Wolf's Den gives you a good chance at livin'.

Empires fall. The weak.. the world is full of them. They're going to to cull the weak.

I... maybe we shouldn't waste time talking right now.

There's no time. No time!

Jacob... his experiments... he takes us... owns us, speaks to us. He hears us.

They'll find us. They always find people. We gotta leave... before they find us! Before they punish us!

No... keep goin! We move or we die!

Jacob knows. He knows!

You're strong. You're not weak. That's good... good.

I'm alive but I'm weak.. weak. Need to be strong. We are meat. We are all meat.

We could have died. And maybe... maybe I deserved... no, stop, stop! The weak... must be culled!

I... I don't know what we're supposed to do now. Protect and serve? Out here? There's no law anymore, Rook. Look around. Someone should have been here by now. Nobody gives a shit about what's happening here. We're on our own. Survival of the fittest. The weak and strong...

Maybe we didn't survive that crash. Maybe all this is purgatory. We have to atone for all the shit we've done before we can leave this place... we have to suffer before God will grant us salvation.

The whole time I was locked in that room I just kept thinking about how I got here. You know why I became a cop? To get laid. That was it. It was a whim. And then... after awhile, I tried to convince myself that I did it for the greater good. To help people. But I can't. I know that now. Jacob taught me that... I don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore... I don't even know who I am.

[STACI DIALOGUE WITH PHIL, THE PEGGIE, IDK]

Stace: I.. I was told to feed the Judges but I didn't know where their food was.

Phil: Jesus, Pratt. Does nothing stick in that brain of yours? Over there, where it's always kept.

Stace: Right! Th..thanks Phil! It won't happen again!

Phil: It better not.

[Also there’s no confirmation this is Staci, but it was right under the above dialogue]

Stace: Hey... I need to get in.

Peggie: Seriously? Didn't I just let you out?

Stace: There's a new prisoner. I got to go get him. For Jacob.

Peggie: Fine. Get goin'. Just leave me the fuck alone.

#Out of Crashes: OOC #ALL OF STACI'S LINES NOT IN CUTSCENES I THINK #I'll do a post of everyone talking ABOUT Staci lines tomorrow probably

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sarcastically-defensive17 · 4 years

Text

New Man - T. Holland

@starshonerose and I love Tom Holland a bunch and this kinda just exploded into my brain when I was listening to King Ed Sheeran.

Hope y’all like this! I was happy about it when I finished it but idk how y’all will feel!

Original story by Sarcastically-defensive17

Send in a request if you want! (And if you don’t mind waiting while I drown in uni work)

Anthony was... something. He was a careless boyfriend, a liar, a cheater, and just an all round twat.

Tom couldn’t help the anger he felt every time he saw his overworked, muscular arm wrapped around Y/N’s waist.

I heard he spent five hundred pounds on jeans, goes to the gym at least six times a week.

Sure, Tom worked out. A lot. He was Spider-Man, he had a physique to uphold, but Anthony was something else.

Letting Y/N go was one of the worst decisions he had made. They didn’t part on bad terms, they simply didn’t have time for each other and decided it was best to break up.

Now, he can’t help but wish he was Anthony, and wish he didn’t have to hear about her new man.

Wears both shoes with no socks on his feet and I hear he's on a new diet at watches what he eats. He's got his eyebrows plucked and his asshole bleached; owns every single Ministry CD.

The man was the definition of a douche bag, and Tom knew his only chance was to remind Y/N of the woman she was before Anthony worked his way into her life.

The type of woman that she would pride herself on being.

Tribal tattoos and he don't know what it means but I heard he makes you happy, so that's fine by me.

Being Harrison’s little sister, she was around a lot. And so was Anthony. He couldn’t deny how obviously happy he made her, and that in turn made him happy.

Sure, he was determined to get through to the woman, but if she told him to back off then he would listen to her.

Still lookin' at your Instagram and I'll be creepin' a lil'. I'll be tryin' not to double tap, from way back ‘cause I know that's where the trouble's at.

“If you are looking through my sisters Instagram again, mate, I may have to smack you,” He heard Harrison’s voice ring through their shared house.

Somehow his best friend always knew that he was creeping on the old memories they shared.

“Can’t help it,” tom mumbled. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help but notice how much happier she looked when she was his. Before she found Anthony.

He can’t help but think she is faking her happiness.

Let me remind you of the days when you used to hold my hand, and when we sipped champagne out of cider cans. I guess if you were Louis Lane, I wasn't Superman just a young boy tryin' to be loved so let me give it to ya.

His heart basically stopped one night when a notification chimes on his phone. A DM from Y/N’s Instagram account. His heart raced, trying to figure out if he accidentally liked a picture from long ago.

The message was simple: You busy? I can’t stop thinking about you.

She tried to convince him to spend the night with her, and he was considering it, until he remembered that she was with Anthony. He hated the man, but he knew it wasn’t right.

This isn’t the type of person Y/N is. How unhappy is she?

I don't wanna know about your new man 'cause if it was meant to be you wouldn't be callin' me up tryin' to... 'Cause I'm positive that he don't wanna know about me.

A few days after, Harrison spent the day with his sister, consoling her after an intense argument with her significant other.

Tom didn’t know what it was about, but he was ready to pull his brown hair out in frustration when the following day the two were all over Instagram professing their love for one another.

Yet, Tom still receives messages from her, reminiscing on their relationship and subtly flirting. He couldn’t help but let his feelings flow through his fingertips and engage in the flirtatious comments.

I don't wanna know about your new man; We'll get there eventually. I know you're missin' all this kind of love but I'm positive that he don't wanna know about me.

She was so different. He noticed how unhappy she was deep down. She hid it well. How she would spend hours forcing herself to slim down. She changed her diet, he noticed that she was selling the near hundreds of books that she had read countless of times.

It was like she became a new woman for Anthony.

He had just hoped she made the changes for herself.

You were the type of girl who sat beside the water readin', eatin' a packet of crisps, but you will never find you cheatin'. Now you're eatin' kale, hittin' the gym keepin' up with Kylie and Kim.

He took the plunge and knocked on her door one afternoon. He was met with her, wearing athletic wear and a frown deeply set on her lips that he had always admired.

“What’s going on, Y/N?” He practically barged his way in. “Anthony here?”

She shook her head, following him as he took a seat on the lounge.

“He’s out with some work mates.”

He gazed around the house. It was as if Y/N didn’t live there. The comfortable quirkiness that used to inhabit every room she occupied was fading, and he hated it.

“What’s going on?” He repeated his question, eyeing her carefully as she dropped her gaze to her feet.

“Nothing? What do you mean?” Her voice was soft, and her posture radiated discomfort.

He wanted nothing more than to pull her to him and hold her like he would before.

He should never have let her go.

“What happened to my Y/N?” He was sad. He was angry. He was frustrated. He was worried.

“I’m not your Y/N, Tom. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Why’re you selling your books?”

“Don’t need ‘em.”

“Why?”

She huffed through her nose, “what is your point, Tom? I have stuff to do.”

“My point, darling, is that you are a completely different person,” he stood, placing his hands on her shoulders softly. “What is going on?”

She refused to meet his eyes, instead stalking off to the kitchen where he noticed a distinct lack of real food.

Y/N was the type of girl who loved to indulge in a greasy burger or chips from the local fish and chip shop. Now, all Tom could find was protein shakes, weight loss supplements, kale. His face contorted in confusion.

She noticed Tom eyeing the open pantry, and the grocery bags full of vegetables.

“Anthony convinced me to try this new diet. Said it wouldn’t hurt to lose a few kilos,” her voice was quiet, fearing the reaction from the brown eyed man.

“He told you to lose weight?”

She nodded softly, eyes downcast.

“You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

“If Harrison knew about this-“

“Harrison won’t know about anything tom!” She snapped, her eyes meeting his. He practically melts at the view, despite the fierce look on her face. “There is nothing for him to know because nothing is wrong.”

He pulled his brows together, frowning at the woman who he knew deserved so much better.

“Y/N, he is trying to change you! You are already so different to the person I know you are and it’s scaring me. You aren’t the type of girl to waste her time trying diets and dressing up just to post a photo to Instagram. You are the type of woman that is who she is. You’re the woman that prefers to be comfortable and happy rather than lose a few kilos and put your health at risk.” He had moved a lot closer to her now. His hands were on her face, wiping a tear away that she didn’t realize had fallen. “You’re the woman I am in love with.”

That struck a nerve inside of Y/N. She wasn’t angry, nor was she upset. She was simply confused.

She had tried for so long to move on from Tom, as they both decided they needed to focus on their own lives, especially with Tom traveling here and there to film.

She found Anthony when she was at her lowest and she can’t bear to lose another man that she had in her life. She couldn’t tell herself that she loved Anthony. She knew her heart still belonged to Tom, but she was determined to try to move on.

But Tom’s words through a metaphorical spanner in the works.

Okay, you need to be alone

And if you wanna talk about it, you can call my phone

“I-,” her voice was shaky, her mind racing to think of what to say. All she knew was that his hands on her face was conflicting her thoughts. She shrugged him off, “I need you to go. I need to be alone, Tom. Please.”

He nodded silently, moving towards the door before pausing.

“If you need me, give me a ring, Y/N. I mean it. You deserve better than him.”

I just thought I would tell you, 'cause you oughta know. You're still a young girl tryin' to be loved, so let me give it to ya.

The late nights messages stopped for a few days, until one night a simple message read: “Am I really that different now?”

His heart broke as he apologised to her. He didn’t mean to upset her that badly, he simply wanted her to acknowledge that Anthony was changing her so much. The man grew more controlling as the days went on; even limiting her from visiting her brother because of Tom and his brothers being around.

Everybody was quickly getting fed up.

Baby, I'm not tryin' to ruin your week, but you act so differently, when you're with him, I know you're lonely.

The messages ended in a phone call, Y/N’s sob filled voice flowing through the receiver and Tom whispering sweet nothings and reassurances through the device.

“Darling, you don’t need to stay with him,” he told her. He kept his voice low as to not alert Harrison to their call.

If he found out his sister was in such a tough spot with her controlling boyfriend, he sure as hell wouldn’t let it go on without his fist connecting with Anthony’s face.

“I don’t know, Tom. He loves me,” she replied, her voice as turning up in a question at her last word.

He simply sighed, “If you decide you want to leave him, you know where to go.”

He told her the same thing every time he ended a phone call.

Please remember you're still free to make the choice and leave. Don't call me up, you need to show me.

Almost a week later, a soft knock reverberated through the wooden door, and Tom opened it to revel Y/N in one of her oversized shirts and skinny jean combos that he adored so much.

She smiled wider than he had seen in the entire time she had been with Anthony.

“I broke up with him. He didn’t want me to see you anymore because he saw our messages. I couldn’t lose you again,” her voice was soft, the way it normally is. “You up for a burger?”

Tom’s beaming smile matched hers and pulled her into a bear hug.

His Y/N was back.

I don't wanna know about your new man

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #harrison osterfield #spiderman #ed sheeran #songfic

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arthur-morgan-slap-my-ass · 5 years

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The Progress of Arthur Morgan | Chapter 3

A/N: I’m sooo sorry I forgot to post yesterday! I got too caught up playing TLOU for idk, the 5th or 6th time because I’m a dirty rat and would totally suck Joel’s dick? Anyways, here’s the conclusion to this thrilling saga, by yours truly! As always, please, give the feedback! Thanks for reading in advance!

Playlist

Word Count: 8,200 words oof

Chapters: 1 | 2

Arthur had started greeting you with a kiss on the cheek about two or three sessions ago, and you were taken aback by the sudden change in behavior — usually he’d stick to the trivial nod of head, maybe a shake of hands, but this was a bit over the top.

You had blinked at him, flustered at the sudden easiness in which he seemed to touch you. With a sudden wave of uneasiness, you took in the small details, his trimmed hair and carefully shaven face, clothing on the nicer side of his wardrobe and a terribly good smelling sandalwood cologne.

Over the past weeks, he had made considerable improvements on his self-image and body language, seemingly more at ease with himself at each session, his behavior growing more flirtatious and teasing with time. It made you happy, to see Arthur progressing like that, but that last bit worried you. It wasn’t unusual for patients to feel attracted to their therapists, but it was rare for them to actively pursued it.

It took half a heartbeat for you to realize that you were most likely in deep shit.

“How are we doing this week, Arthur?,” you had asked him with a tight smile, ignoring the flutter of your stomach at the way he smiled at you, as if aware of the effect he had over you.

“All good, I s’ppose,” he shrugged lightly, apparently not too keen on highlighting any moment of his week, “same old, same old.”

“Same old would be a lie,” you laughed at his offhanded comment, moving to take a seat at your armchair, all too aware of the way Arthur was watching you. “We’ve come a long way since your first session and you seem far better, from my point of view.”

Arthur scoffed, averting his gaze with a flustered look. He soon chuckled, smile widening at your words. “Geez, doc— you can’t go ‘round blurtin’ out stuff like that.”

Was he blushing?

Crap.

“I’m just saying the obvious,” you tried to contour the situation, feeling the twist of emotion in your stomach. “I mean, you’re clearly taking better care of yourself, dressing better—“

At this, he smirked, fixing you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Arthur shrugged again, as nonchalant as he could be. “S’ppose I have, don’t have to mean anythin’.”

“Arthur Morgan,” you said in a secretive voice, curiosity dripping from your words, “don’t you dare shit me.”

He laughed warmly, the light of it making the corner of his eyes crinkle, no longer hiding behind his hand. Arthur was charming. You couldn’t believe you hadn’t noticed it before. “Let’s say there’s someone,” he started, seeming to be examining you for a reaction, “would you look down on me ‘cause of it?”

“Why would I do such a thing?,” you inquired, wary of the nature of the conversation.

The man huffed out a breath, leaning forwards in his seat in an intimate way as if to tell you a particularly nasty piece of gossip. “Well, all things considered, I just got out of a sinkin’ marriage, doc,” his eyebrows shot up, as if stating the obvious. “Sure sounds weird, me suddenly goin’ ‘round with someone else after barely a couple months, ain’t that so?”

You mouth suddenly felt dry, but you nodded nevertheless. “Each has their own time to heal, I suppose… but if you need to hear it, I wouldn’t look down or think less of you because of that.”

He seemed satisfied, a sheepish little smile blossoming on his full lips. The man seemed almost boyish with the way his eyes fixated on you, the warmth in it threatening to smother you. “Ain’t sure if she likes me yet,” Arthur said quizzically, smile broadening at your nodding answer, “but I sure am tryin’ to catch her eye.”

“It’s good to see that you’re allowing yourself room to grow,” you spoke gently, fighting the urge to prod on the subject, “it makes me proud knowing you’re reaching out for the things you want, Arthur.”

The man cocked his head to the side, an enigmatic little smile playing on his lips as he watched and you could swear his eyes dallied a second too long on your left hand. “Yer told me you’ve divorced too” he started casually, a teasing lilt in his voice as he leaned back, “never told me how that went down for you.”

“Ah,” you gasped out as your eyes widened in surprise, caught off guard, “I don’t think— I mean,” you smiled nervously, fixing your hair, “it’s— it was okay for me.”

Arthur laughed softly, amused at how he had been able to knock you off your feet. “Don’t tell me I’ve ruffled your feathers, doc,” he teased, “why did you divorce?”

Because my husband was a lying piece of garbage who had been fucking the desk attendant, of all people, behind my back as I worked my ass off sounded a bit too extreme, you decided. With a placid smile, you answered:

“I suppose we couldn’t see eye to eye anymore,” your hands tightened on your lap and you trained your gaze on some point above Arthur’s shoulder, “eventually, other people came around and we grew distant.”

He watched you, as if absorbing that piece of information and deciding if he should ask more on it. “Did he cheat on you?,” Arthur asked, all the amusement and jeering gone from his voice, replaced by genuine worry. You had a hard time trying to remember if you’ve seen him this serious.

You turned your head to the side, running away from the question. “I believe we should be talking about you, Arthur—“

“I’m tired of talking ‘bout myself,” Arthur interrupted in a soft voice, “we been seein’ each other once a week, for months now. Figured I should get to know yer a little more, ‘s all.”

With a steadying breath, you rubbed your lips together, tasting the sweetness of your lipgloss. What was he trying to do, cornering you like that? “I don’t think—“

“Don’t give me the ethics talk,” Arthur complained, sighing wearily, “think we’re well past that. ‘sides, I just asked yer a question,” his eyebrows jutted up, a soft smile playing on his full lips. “What’s wrong with that?”

You flirting with me is everything that’s wrong with it¸ you thought to yourself, trying not to seem too closed off, and the worst part is that I want to flirt back.

“I see your point,” you spoke up, in your best nonchalant voice. “I suppose that’s fair.

“Well?,” Arthur probed further, gently. “Don’t have to tell me if I’m pushin’ too hard, doc. I’m just curious ‘bout you, ‘s all.”

“He cheated on me,” came your quiet confession, gaze resting on his eyes, so blue now you swore you could drown in them. You wanted to cry. “With one of our front desk attendants, about 2 years ago.”

Arthur nodded comprehensively, wary not to abuse his already stretched thin luck. You swallowed thickly, trying hard not to seem too sensitive over it. “We divorced and split the money, I got the house and he took the car, nothing new there. I’m okay with it.”

What an awful liar.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “didn’t mean to upset yer, doc.”

“It’s okay,” you turned your attention to him now, forcing a smile, “it’s behind me.”

Arthur blinked, letting the silence settle in until you squirmed. And then, suddenly, he reached forwards, slowly, offering you his upturned palm. “Thanks for tellin’ me, doc.”

You hesitated, the few centimeters between you both diminishing by half. Your own hand moved, brushing his fingers before gently allowing him to hold it. Arthur’s hand squeezed yours and you noticed how warm his touch was, almost comforting, like a long waited embrace. You gasped out quietly, allowing the tears to pool in your eyes before wiping at them.

“It’s okay,” you repeated, listening the thunderous beating of your heart, hoping it wouldn’t give you away. “It’s okay, Arthur.”

He squinted at you, smiling so softly it made your heart clench — and you had to restrain yourself not to pull away in distress. “It’ll be.”

You pushed the entrance door open, the well known jingle of the bell ringing over your head.

The café you usually went to wasn’t a busy one — a small little thing, a family business with an incredibly sweet Italian cappuccino, just the way you liked it, with an adorably white-and caramel themed decoration —, and today wasn’t any different. With a pleasant smile, took a deep breath in, the smell of coffee and delicacies filling the air as you scanned a good spot to sit down at and maybe update your logbook.

You refused to actively address the issue at hand, opting for avoidance rather direct confrontation.

Arthur had been a recurring subject on your mind for the past few weeks, and what with after the little display a couple days ago, the presence of his character only intensified itself — much to your despair. His hands had felt so incredibly warm against the cool tips of your fingers, gentle and steady, much like his very presence and overall disposition whenever he walked into the listening room lately.

You were satisfied for him, really, proud of the path he had taken towards self-improvement and acceptance — Arthur was far better than when he came to you all those months ago, the curling satisfaction in your chest doing all the more to have you feel like an important part of it. Arthur needed reassurance, a little bit of recognition to realize his own self-worth, resourcing to it every once in a while, which you were all too happy to provide. The look in his eyes whenever you said something kind to him made your heart beat faster — the warmth there, the satisfaction on top of the inherent need to have someone to simply listen.

Scouting a place to sit was easy enough, your gaze sweeping through the few occupied tables to find a quiet and secluded spot for yourself, where you could possibly dissect your feelings revolving Arthur—

Until you found him sitting at the corner of the shop.

Arthur had his chin resting on his hand, holding a pencil as he scribbled something away in the journal you had gifted him — and your heart swelled with affection for him, tinged with a little bit of satisfaction by having him actually enjoy something you had given to him. There was half an empty cup of coffee at his table, beside a plate with half of a sandwich and you figured he must’ve arrived not too long ago.

He didn’t seem to have noticed you, too focused on the task at hand to actually pay much mind to whatever was happening around him. The thought had you smiling with fondness, for some reason.

Your hand tightened around the strap of your shoulderbag. You wanted to sit with him, you realized with a shocking realization; maybe have a coffee and chat a little. Arthur was by no means a bad company, he was funny and witty, having an air of caring disposal to his personality that made you enjoy every minute you could get with him.

It was just a chat, a little voice at the back of your mind reasoned. Just a casual conversation. There would be no harm in that. You were simply being amicable, weren’t you? Friendly, just plain and simple. With a steadying breath, you moved towards him, smile automatically broadening as you got closer.

You were in deep shit.

“How are we doing today, Arthur?,” you asked in your therapeutic voice and Arthur perked up immediately.

He turned to you, setting the pencil down as soon as soon as his eyes caught yours and you could tell he was surprised, but wasted no time on getting to his feet. “Hey, doc,” he spoke casually, bending down to press a polite kiss to the side of your face like he’d done a thousand times. You felt your face burn up just a little. “didn’t expect to run into you here.”

You nodded, absolutely not regretting it. “It’s a small place, yes; I confess that’s the main reason why I like coming here. Also, it has a really good cappuccino.”

Arthur chuckled, the sound of it familiar and comforting to you at this point. “Yeah, well, just got here myself. Was workin’ at the journal and I have to admit, you were right ‘bout it. It’s quite calmin’.”

“I’m glad to see you’ve enjoyed it, really,” you offered gently, feeling brave enough to risk a fleeting brush to his shoulder. You marveled at the way he always seemed to feel so warm and solid every time you touched him. “Like I said, it’s a good way to voice your feelings, quite soothing.”

He smiled softly at you. “Yeah, good excuse to practice my watercolor too,” Arthur motioned towards the leather bound journal, obviously at ease, “good pages for it, too. I’m surprised you knew.”

You shrugged lightly, quickly avoiding your gaze before looking at him again. “I just had a hunch, I think.”

Arthur breathed out a laugh, sitting back sideways on the white cushioned chair in order to face you. “Wanna take a look at it?”

You blinked, slightly taken aback by the offer. It was innocent enough, but it still made your heartbeat raise a little, and you hesitated. “Oh, you don’t have to show it to me—“

“Nonsense,” Arthur waved his hand dismissively, motioning for you to sit across from him at the beige colored sofa-booth right beside the window, “wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want ya to take a peek, ‘sides you’re yet to see some art by me, right?” He smiled softly, in an inviting way, “tell me what you think.”

It’s okay, you told yourself, just take a look at it, maybe have a coffee and—

Who said anything about coffee?!

With a mortified sense of self-awareness, you made your way to the sofa-booth. It was an intimate way to sit with someone, especially with the small table and warmth emanating from everywhere around you. Arthur picked up the menu, passing it to you with a sweet smile.

“Order somethin’ for yourself, doc,” he drawled, in voice that could only be classified as teasing, as if he knew the effect he had on you. “Now yer obligated to spend some time with me.”

Laughing, you took the menu from him and set it down. “I guess you caught me in your trap, Mr. Morgan. How rude of you.”

Arthur hummed, trying to look smug. “I’m smarter than I look like.”

“Quite,” you agreed, smiling at the flustered look that passed through his features for a split second. “Won’t you order me something, since you’re so smart?”

He watched you for a moment, almost surprised, before deciding on it and picking up the discarded menu. “Let’s see,” his gaze lingered on your face, flicking every so often downwards, “you seem like the kind who goes by somethin’ sweet,” he spoke more to himself and you couldn’t help but laugh at it.

“So does you,” you motioned towards the half drained mocha coffee sitting by his hand, “although I’d never have guessed. You seemed like the type to take it straight to me.”

Arthur’s eyebrows shot up, a light chuckle at the back of his throat. “Good to know I can still surprise you somehow, doc.”

Oh, he had no idea.

“What do you have in mind, then?,” you asked, trying to peek at the menu, only to have Arthur pull it more closely to him with an amused laugh.

“I’ll say either Italian cappuccino or mochaccino,” he announced with finality, putting the little booklet aside and moving to his own cup of half finished coffee. “I’ll let you pick which, cuz whatever you’re having, I’ll want one too; if you don’t mind.”

You tried to hide your smile, looking over to one of the waitresses and signaling for her to come over and take the order. Arthur stayed silent, watching you somewhat fondly, until the waitress left, taking the empty cup and the plate in which only a small portion of his sandwich remained after he had said he wouldn’t be finishing it.

“Are you going to show me your journal,” you started casually, pointing to it, “or was it just a way to trick me into having a coffee with you?”

Arthur raised his hands in mock surrender before speaking up. “Maybe a lil’ bit of both, I’ll admit. Just hope you don’t mind much.”

You sighed, cocking your head to the side with a sense of familiarity. A tiny voice whispered at the back of your mind that you were taking things too far; but you preferred to ignore it in order to have Arthur looking at you the way he did now. “Very well then,” you acquiesced gently, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, “let’s see what you have.”

“Ain’t much writing,” he explained, picking it up and passing it to you “just drawings n’ such, few watercolors, ‘s all.”

His fingers brushed yours when you touched the leather cover, which made you startle slightly, coughing a bit to diffuse the tension. With a little surprise, you noticed that Arthur had nearly used half of the pages already. “You sure liked the idea, don’t know why you never took to it before.”

Arthur shrugged, watching you open the journal and examine a particularly skillful work of a riverbank forestline, the goldish-orange hue of it making it clear which season it was. “Just needed the right push, s’ppose.”

“That’s…,” you ran your hands over the picture, turning to see a pencil sketch of a bird on the next page, beside what you thought was the perfect representation of a tree leaf on the other side. He was skilled, definitely. “Arthur, that’s so beautiful…”

The man scoffed a little, clearly embarrassed. “Ain’t much, but thank you—“

“No,” you interjected softly, turning to the next page for a particularly good-looking representation of blue flowers, which you recognized to be a clump of forget-me-nots, their name written below in neat calligraphy with Arthur’s signature beside. “I mean it, they’re really beautiful.”

“Ah,” he gasped, standing up and quickly moving to your side and you unthinkingly made room for him to sit beside you. “I forgot to give this one to you,” Arthur pointed to it, “thought you deserved a little thank you for… well, you know, didn’t have to buy the journal, but since you did—“

You turned to look at him, the realization and embarrassment slowly creeping in and covering your cheeks in a pinkish hue. “Oh, please, you don’t have to—“

“Aw, c’mon, doc,” he gently pulled the journal from your hands, steadying the pages to rip off the one with the watercolor meant for you, “it’s the least I could do.”

He passed it you, feigning nonchalance, but you noticed how nervous he was; so you took it in your hands, marveling once more at how beautiful it was. “I don’t know what to say, it really is beautiful, Arthur,” you glanced up at him, smiling, “thank you so much.”

“s nothin’,” he half muttered, with a sheepish little smile, pushing the leather bound book back to you, but he didn’t move to go back to his chair across from you. “Just thought you’d like it, ‘s all.”

Trying to repress your own smile, you averted your gaze and set it aside to keep it from crumpling or staining, turning your attention once more to the journal. This was a red light, a big red light — and you tried to play it off as a gentleness, nothing more than that, just Arthur being kind to you. He was an artist, you reminded yourself, and he painted things all the time. It was okay.

You turned the pages idly, examining animal studies and plants, coupled with a few other watercolors — from childhood memories, a few other landscapes, a perky looking brownish dog which Arthur explained to be the one he owned when younger.

“Hosea and Dutch took me to the animal shelter, couple weeks after I came ‘round. Love at first sight, I say,” Arthur chuckled, scratching at his chin, “he was one mad pup, always had his snout where it shouldn’t be.”

“You never mentioned you had a dog,” you commented idly, turning to look at him with a pleasant smile, “I didn’t think you were a dog person.”

Arthur snickered, resting his elbow on the table and leaning into it a little. “Never got the opportunity to mention, ‘s all.”

You watched him for a second, taking in the soft smile on his lips and the warmth of his eyes; so incredibly open you could barely believe how clamped up he had seemed to be when you first met. The coffee had come and was gone now, with how entranced you were by the conversation — and so was Arthur, to your absolute glee —, and you were entertaining the idea of ordering another one just to not have to leave.

Politely skipping Arthur’s writings, you preferred not to pry on his thoughts, instead focusing on his artwork — which were, once more, breathtaking. He paid close attention to details, you noticed. There was a myriad of subjects, but it was clear that Arthur had, indeed, a keen interest in nature. You didn’t know why, but it made you smile. As much as he was willing to share things with you, there was still a lot to discover.

“I wonder where you picked up drawing from,” you whispered outloud, caressing the page of a watercolor of the silhouette of a hare standing out against the sun as it set.

“From Hosea,” Arthur said, leaning closer to the book in order to examine the art himself. Christ, he smelled perfect. “He taught me most of it, but I just got better with time, y’know.”

You nodded, smiling. All you wanted was to lean sideways and rest your head on his shoulder, but you held back, instead turning the page.

And at that, you cocked your head to the side.

It wasn’t the recreation of a budding flower or a bird spreading its wings ready to fly, there was no landscape or careful study of animal anatomy; no leaves

Instead, you looked at a picture of yourself.

You were standing, about half of your torso in it, next to the desk you kept at the listening room; a serene, yet focused expression on your face as you read through the stack of papers there, the profile of your face highlighted beautifully in Arthur’s skills. The colors he had picked for you were soft, pastel-like, putting together an overall dreamy picture and you could see everything, you noticed; the tiny strands of hair, the glimmer of your eyes, the gentle way that your shoulders slouched a bit. Your lips were pulled up slightly, in a quirky smile and there was an overall soft pink hue to your cheeks.

It was simply beautiful.

Turning to look at Arthur, you found yourself out of words. You tried to say something — anything! —, but you could simply look at him, either in shock or realization, you couldn’t really tell. His eyes drifted to yours and he smiled sheepishly, looking way softer than he had ever in the whole time you had known him. His presence now was nerve-wracking, every inch of your body responding to him as if to electricity.

Arthur leaned closer to you, his breathing fanning warmly against your face at his proximity and it felt almost surreal as his lips pressed softly to your cheek. His hand touched yours, cradling it in his touch as he took the opportunity to brush his nose gently against the sensitive skin. You unconsciously leaned into it, closing your eyes.

It was sweet, achingly so, the way he touched you; almost as if you were made of spun glass, a precious treasure to keep. His fingers tangled with yours and he sighed, pulling back to look at you with half-lidded eyes. The same smile was still there, only softer this time, more of admiration and tenderness than anything else.

With a pinkish hue creeping to your cheeks, you noticed the way which Arthur’s gaze dipped ever so slightly to your lips, coming back up a couple times. He wanted to kiss you, came the realization. You reached out, touching his warm cheek with the tips of your fingers, running them around to the back of his neck, making Arthur close his eyes.

There was a pause as you took in the softness in his expression, the way which he leaned into your touch like a something he’d craved for a long time; his free hand coming up to wrap on your wrist. With a flutter in you stomach, you finally caved, leaning towards him for a kiss.

The kiss was so gentle, the soft press of his lips to yours smooth and perfect. Arthur sighed into it, squeezing your hand fondly as he coached you to open your mouth and give him entrance; a request you could never deny. He was surrounding you, the warmth of his touch on your hand and the sweetness of the cappuccino on his tongue a constant reminder.

Your fingers tightened on his hand, unwilling to let go.

You were fucked, you realized instantly.

You brushed your hair slowly, pensively at the vanity of your bedroom. The moon was high in the sky as you stared at your own reflection. Had you committed the worst mistake in your profession? Allowed yourself to catch feelings for your patient, as well as captivating them in him? There was no way of knowing for certain.

Nevertheless, the treatment had seemed to be nearing the end. You’d close off Arthur Morgan’s file and hopefully drown your feelings in an unholy amount of ice cream and vodka, like any divorced woman would.

He was handsome, you reasoned with yourself, and so unbelievably sweet. Such a good kisser, too, gentle and loving. Even with his tendency to clamp up, Arthur was willing to let people in if they cared enough to stick around for him. It made you wonder if he really was so bad that his ex-wife had wanted to divorce him, but…

Did you even know Arthur?

Well, you felt like you did. People never lied in therapy and it was easy to follow things through and the diagnosis would come together and you figured out where to work, plus you had the reference contacts. It all matched. Sometimes people just wanted to talk and it was easier without the judgment of someone they knew — hence the reason why there couldn’t be a prior contact between patients and therapists aside from the listening room.

You set the brush down, watching yourself in the mirror. It was obvious that you had made a mistake. You were still recovering from your own failed marriage, your ex-husband having been a poor excuse for a companion for the past 8 years of your life. You were confused, Arthur was caring and you got carried away. That was it.

If he had been anything like Arthur, a tiny voice whispered at the back of your mind, you’d probably still be married. Maybe even with children.

“What the fuck,” you whispered at yourself, “what the actual fuck—“

You started entertaining the idea of referring him to someone else, a colleague maybe, someone who wouldn’t catch feelings for him but then—

Arthur has trust issues, you reminded yourself angrily, if you refer him to someone else, especially after that long of therapy, he’ll feel dejected. We’re speaking of lives, here. You know the prognosis. You can’t.

Even if you wanted to.

“Fuck,” you sighed, feeling the start of a migraine building up. You paced in an antsy manner in your bedroom before deciding to storm towards the office. You needed the files.

The room was clear, with hues of soft blues and white furnishing to keep your books and logs into shelves. Tying your hair back into a loose knot, you fished Arthur’s logbook from between a disarray of books that looked the same for anyone else asides from you, flicking the pages quickly until you found his entry. You felt as if you were intruding, checking at his logbook like that, even though you were his therapist. You were supposed to accompany his case and make sure he was progressing, not risking your career as a whole because of an infatuation—

You put your reading glasses on with an annoyed sound at the back of your throat.

-> Patient seems to have become less intolerant towards his emotions, displays more willingness to talk about them occasionally + improved verbalization and recognition;

-> Has stopped shying away from family topics; speaks blandly about early childhood;

-> Settled divorce has caused relief, patient has started to develop more self-confidence + vocalization of his wants;

-> Has shown a willingness for connection with others;

-> Patient has shown uneasiness about the ending of treatment; possible codependency?

-> Difficulty when it comes to reaching out for things he wants + unbelieving of self-worth on certain situations (needs work); strives for reassurance every now and then.

Frowning you set the logbook down, with a shivering sigh. Just a couple months more, until the end of the six months period and you’d be able to breath properly — maybe even talk to a colleague about your situation.

When it came to Arthur Morgan, all the years of experience dried up as if an empty well.

With a sickening drop of your stomach, you sat down on your office desk, pulling out a clean paper branded with your name and wrote down a patient referral letter alongside a clean copy of Arthur’s logbook. You decided to keep the flirty behavior and professional boundaries crossed aside, not wanting to get in trouble, alleging that you felt like you could no longer help your client. The moonlight filtering through the window seemed to be the only witness of your deeds, silent and judging.

There was no way you could keep seeing Arthur, you told yourself with a painfully tight tinge of pain in your chest, not when he messed with your head like that, the way you had kissed; and with you willing to bend the rules and blur the lines between your relationship just to indulge him, the memory of the kiss still fresh on your mind. You were no rookie, no fresh-out-of-a-classroom therapist, with only theories to guide you.

You were a seasoned therapist. You had experience and an outlined career path, with good mentors, of a decent formation. You’ve always had a good way with people, always been told you were a good listener. It’s not supposed to happen like this, you kept telling yourself as the letter came to be. It simply isn’t.

You signed it off with a flourish, like a death sentence. You’d make sure to find a colleague who’d suit his needs, better than you ever possibly could — and to call his referral contact, Hosea, later tomorrow. It’s for the best, you told yourself.

Freud had once said that psychoanalysis is, in its essence, a cure through love. It was healing, pure and nurturing, but the love in which he referred to had nothing to do with developing affairs with your patients. You were supposed to listen to Arthur, help him realize his own inner strength and send him off back on his way; and you had done it a thousand times before, with countless clients.

Your eyes welled up with tears of frustration and you leaned forwards to press your forehead against the sealed off envelope on your desk, as if hoping it’d give you the answers you needed.

The day dragged slowly, with you delivering the letter to one of your colleagues of a different clinic, who had experience around the same area as you — he was polite enough not to ask about your sudden decision, looking suspicious, but took the document nevertheless. You passed along details regarding referral contacts and little conjectures on diagnosis and approaches for Arthur — how he seemed to be fond of humor when nervous, his eye contact avoidance when uncomfortable and etc.

Your colleague took notes slowly, fixing you with the look of someone who wanted to ask more, but decided against it.

After getting the worst part of it done, you left the clinic, walking out in the brisk autumn air towards your car, sighing loudly once the door was shut. “Fuck,” you muttered in the deafening silence.

Might as well get it done with. You fished out your cellphone, quickly finding Hosea’s number and dialing to explain the situation for him, doing your best to sound calm once he his voice came up from the other side of the line. “Hello?,” there was a clattering of dishes in the background and you supposed he was in the kitchen.

“Hello, Mr. Matthews,” you said softly, trying to avoid a tremor in your voice, “it’s Arthur’s therapist, I was wondering if you had some time to talk?”

“Ah, yes,” he replied promptly and you heard a door being closed and shuffling, someone asking about the call. Maybe he had gone to the garden? “Has something happened? Is Arthur okay?”

“No need to worry,” you bit your lip, closing your eyes, “Arthur is completely fine. I’m just calling to let you know that unfortunately, I won’t be able to stay with him for the remaining sessions of our treatment—“

“He hasn’t offended you, has he?,” the man asked suddenly, sounding worried, “boy has a poor filter, but his heart is right.”

“No, he…,” you gulped, shaking your head as more tears welled up, “he’s a good patient, but I do believe that your son would be in more capable hands with another therapist.” Hosea hummed thoughtfully, considering your words. “I took the liberty of putting together a referral letter, with all his documentation and information and passed it along to a few colleagues and fortunately one of them replied to me,” you pushed your hair back, trying to keep the tremor off of your voice, “I just left his office, actually.”

“I see…” Hosea sounded surprised, even though he agreed, “that’s a bit sudden, though. I thought you were getting along nicely, weren’t you?”

Perhaps too nicely, you wanted to reply.

“We are, I’ve built a strong bond with Arthur, but I feel like his situation is now beyond my capability as a professional, unfortunately.”

The man hummed, considering your words. “Huh,” he sounded wary, as if not entirely pleased, but understanding. “Will you pass me the information on your colleague then?”

“Yes, absolutely,” you sighed out thankfully, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel, “do you have paper?”

It was wasn’t until a month later that you heard of Arthur, mind constantly wandering off to conjure him in the empty seat of the listening room. The brown throw-pillow of the loveseat seemed far too neat for your liking now, and you picked it up slowly. You missed him, you realized with a sudden wave of emotion. Was it possible to mourn a romance that never came to be? Did he miss you too? You couldn’t possibly know, nor shouldn’t. It was for the best if you severed ties with him.

As if on cue, your phone started ringing, snapping you out of your daydream. Frowning, you recognized the name as the one of your colleague which you had referred Arthur to, and you flopped down on the loveseat with your arms wrapped protectively around the cushion, like Arthur used to do before picking up.

“Hey,” the man greeted you lightly, “do you have some time? I was hoping to ask you a few questions, could be over the phone if you’re in a hurry.”

“Sure thing,” you agreed promptly, “I’m between breaks now, but I can talk. What’s the matter?”

“It’s about the patient you’ve referred me to, some…,” he paused for a moment, as if reading a file, “Arthur Morgan, I believe.”

Your throat tightened and you felt the cold pinpricks of needles at the back of your neck. “Yes, Arthur. What do you need to know, then?”

“I was just wondering if he had the habit of skipping sessions,” your heart dropped at it, “it’s been a month now and he hasn’t showed up for about… six sessions I think, with the reschedules of course.”

“He never skipped with me,” you said in a levelled voice, devoid of any emotion, “maybe he’s having a hard time readjusting with the change?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “I called the referral contact, his father I believe? Hosea Matthews?”

“Yes, yes, Mr. Matthews,” you agreed.

“Well, I called and he said he couldn’t convince Arthur to finish the remaining time in therapy. The patient seems reluctant, apparently, he says that he doesn’t need it anymore and I grew worried because according to the information you passed me along—“

Your mind zoomed out, the words falling on deafened ears. Fuck.

What would be of Arthur now, with an incomplete treatment? What if you had left him scarred for life, breaking his trust like that, without so much as a warning? Your stomach twisted painfully at the memory of the kiss, the growing anxiety creeping around you and seeping into your bones.

All because you were too scared to access your feelings, choosing to play on the safer side and pushing him away. There were ways to make it work, you knew — loopholes and technicalities —, but you clamped up at the prospect of letting him get any closer. You felt your eyes burn with the warmth of unshed tears, reaching for the tissue paper to keep your emotions from ruining the light makeup of the day.

Someone calling your name snapped you out of your haze.

“Are you still there?,” your colleague asked, as if expecting an answer.

“Sorry, I kinda spaced out here,” you said, fighting against the waver in your voice, “I didn’t quite catch it.”

“I asked if you could come in contact with the patient or his referral, just to be sure. I don’t think they trust me enough to handle it.”

“Sure,” you muttered out with a dry mouth, “I’ll try to reach him, do you want me to get back to you—“

“With all due honesty,” your colleague spoke softly, making you want to cry even more. Had he heard the silent despair in your voice? “I do believe that you should figure out what you really want before anything else.

Silence stretched for a few seconds before you recovered. “I don’t know—“

“I won’t tell,” he said gently, “I can vouch for that.”

You closed your eyes, allowing the tears to gather there. It wasn’t unknown to most of your profession colleagues about the nasty breakout with your ex-husband and your self-induced behavior of isolation. You took a deep breath before speaking again. “Thank you.”

You parked the car in front of an apartment complex, in a nice little residential neighborhood. The building was somewhat stocky, with only eight floors, with white and dark blue tiling. Drumming your fingers on the steering wheel, you started to fidget anxiously.

You had rushed to your desk, fingers running through patient files until you found Arthur’s — complete with contact, address and etc. With a resolute sort of conviction, you set out, asking your front desk attendant to reschedule any appointments you were to have later that day. Tucking the file below your arm, you took the car and set the GPS to the address.

Now, standing at the final destination, according to your cellphone, you looked up at the building. Coming closer to the intercom, you searched for the right name, reading the freshly scribbled “Morgan” in pen and paper, in contrast to the others, which were clean slates.

“Okay,” you pressed the button, listening to the telltale buzz of the call being ensued, “right.”

It rung until it didn’t anymore, your anxiety growing by the minute. With some sense of impatience, you pressed the button again and the faint sound started once more. You pressed your hands together, shivering at the cool wind blowing through the street. The afternoon was clear, but you had forgotten to grab your coat on your way out of the clinic and the autumn chill was exerting its power.

“Who’s it?,” came Arthur’s annoyed voice from the intercom, sounding annoyed. “Ain’t got no time—“

“Arthur,” you said his name gently and he quieted down. It was uncomfortable, you had to admit. “Arthur, I need to—“

“What do you want?,” he muttered out, sounding defensive.

“Can you buzz me in, please?,” you asked with a tight knot in your throat, “I need to see you.”

You heard him huff from the other side of the line, unbelieving. “Do ya, now?”

“I know,” you acquiesced, feeling your desperation growing by the minute, “I know, but we need to talk, please?”

He stayed quiet for a while, your heart pounding in your chest at his silence. “I’m not… sure if I want to see you, doc.”

“Arthur,” you pleaded, “I’m not here as your therapist, that’s not who I am,” your voice wavered as you pressed your hand to your lips to keep check of your own emotions. You had missed his voice so much. “I’m here as your friend, please.”

Arthur sighed and you could feel the tension rolling off him in waves. He seemed unwilling to say anything else.

“I just need to see you,” you whispered to the intercom, voice cracking at the emotion of everything, “I just— please, Arthur,” you breathed out shakily, “please.“ The gate buzzed and you startled, before pushing it open hesitantly. Your hands felt clammy despite the cold.

Gathering the little courage you had left, you walked into the building with a growing sense of dread, your heart fluttering in your chest like a caged bird. Did he really want to see you now? Arthur wouldn’t have let you in, if he didn’t want to. He wouldn’t. You felt as if your legs might give out.

There were some people walking about the hall, some chatting casually at the common area, but no one paid much mind to your presence. Fidgeting with the sleeve of your blouse as you walked towards the elevator, you turned your gaze down to your phone where the number to Arthur’s apartment appeared in the notepad — 302. Swallowing down your anxiety, you pressed the number three and watched as the doors closed.

You weren’t sure what to say to Arthur. Should you confess? Was that too cliché? You should tell him the truth, though. That’s what he deserved, after wall, the reason why you had come all this way. The elevator was taking a long way up, thankfully, and you were left to your own thoughts.

No way in hell you were ready for what was to come. There was nothing about it in the books back when you studied — and even if there were, you’d have brushed it off as some hypothetical situation that could never happen to you because you were too disciplined. A pretty little tale spun for those who were romantic at heart, but not you. You knew how to behave, or at least thought you did.

It hurt your head to think.

The elevator came to a stuttering halt, the doors hissing as it opened and you stepped out into the equally well-lit hall.

“Three o’ two…,” you muttered, rubbing your hands together as your head turned from one side to another, squinting slightly and moving towards it once you located the door.

You stood there, for maybe a few seconds, before knocking gently at the door; once, twice. There was silence from the inside, but soon enough you heard it unlock and Arthur appeared in front of you, worse than you had ever seen him. There were dark bags under his eyes, a day or two beard sprouting on his face with a greasy mess of curls on top of that. He looked tired, in a simple grey tee and some sweatpants in the middle of the summer. Far too tired. Had he just woken up?

With a tight press of your lips, you felt your eyes watering. Had you done this to him? “Arthur,” you choked out his name, raising both your hands to the lower half of your face, “I’m so sorry…”

He didn’t say anything, but you could sense the surprise in his demeanor before sighing tiredly and averting his gaze to the floor. “You never told me anythin’…”

“I know,” you cut in with a teary voice, wiping away the stubborn tears that insisted on streaking down your cheeks, “I just didn’t know what do when you— when we… I got scared that you—“

The man reached out, one calloused hand curling around your forearm in a gentle motion as you allowed yourself to be drawn in by his presence, warm and solid. Arthur made a noise at the back of his throat, something choked with emotion, when you threw yourself into his embrace, clutching to his tee with all the might you could muster up. “I was so scared, I thought it was my fault—“

Arthur shook his head slightly, staggering out a shaky breath himself. “’s okay, doc…”

“Please,” you hugged him tighter and you still could smell the sandalwood cologne on his skin, subtle but definitely there, “I never meant to…,” you trailed off, shaking your head, “I like you, Arthur. More than I probably should, but…”

“I want you to stay,” Arthur whispered suddenly and you were highly aware of your own lack of words after it. He circled your waist, fingers digging gently into your back as he took a steadying breath. “I need to know, I need to know if I can love you, so please— I don’t wanna do this if you’re not… I gotta know if you’ll stay with me. I need to.”

You pulled back from him, eyes watering and searching into his teal colored ones and this time you allowed yourself to take in just how handsome Arthur really was, as your hands cupped the sculpted marble of his face. He shuddered at it, closing his eyes and leaning forwards to press his forehead to yours with a quiet sigh of someone who’d been denied for far too long.

“Let me kiss you again,” Arthur pleaded in a whisper, calmly and too benevolent for you not make a sweet sound at the back of your throat, “please.”

You closed your eyes, taking a steadying hold of his neck. “Next time,” you whispered back, thumb caressing the sensitive skin under his eye, gently wiping away the dampness that had gathered there, “you don’t have to ask.”

He took a gentle hold of your hand, pressing his chapped lips to your palm like a caress, his demeanor sweet and reverent; and with a twinge, you realized that Arthur was far too good for his own good. “I want you to stay,” he said again, moving on to your forehead and pressing another kiss there. You shivered, tilting your face to allow him better access. “Wanna be with you,” a press of lips to the space between your eyes, “make yer happy.”

At this, you hummed lightly, breathing out shakily. Arthur cupped your face, bringing you closer to him, if that was even possible. His lips caressed your cheek and the subtle curve of your jawline before finally pressing to your own. When it came, the kiss was sweet, so frail and light you could almost believe it wasn’t happening, even if the pressure of Arthur’s hand on the base of your neck was enough proof to you. He muttered your name, trying to pull you more closely against his body, and you gave in with a sigh.

There was a shy prod of tongue against your lips and you complied promptly because oh, it just felt so right — the moment, with him, right then and there. The voice at the back of your mind quieted down immediately, its last murmurs of protests dying out in face of Arthur sweet humming. He pulled you backwards with him, into his apartment, and you pushed the door closed before he could press your back to it with a desperate little gasp.

“Stay with me,” Arthur whispered and God, consequences be damned, you wanted to. His nose brushed against yours, so intimately you could swear you were dreaming, “don’t go.”

You answered by pushing back the soft tresses of his hair, pulling away and making Arthur close his eyes with a soft complaint at the back of his throat. “I’m not going anywhere.” His breathing quickened as he pressed his head to the crook of your neck and you were somewhat amused, fond of the sweetness of the act. “I’ll stay here.”

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan imagines #arthur morgan #patient!arthur x therapist!reader #they finally got around #wohoo #red dead redemption #red dead redemption imagines

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interrogatorshalashaska · 4 years

Text

Madness Haunts

Adamska finds drowning himself in his work is a good way to distract himself when he can't simply get high every second of the day to shut them up, block them out, if he had the time he'd try and find the trigger The Philosophers used to use but it'd take to long it wasn't just a word after all... But George is still worried, and asks him to lunch, says he's overdoing it since he isn't well. It's so stupid but it's almost like- Adam agrees but he's not alone. And they won't. Shut. Up...!

TW: Ghosts, self neglect, dad ghost Sorrow is disappointed in your weak ass will adam. fight eli/liquid off like a man. possession / attempted possession, drug abuse references? Hypnotherapy??? Weird ass romance between Adam(ska)/Ocelot and George, low self esteem, Adamska is a shitty Medium; blame The Philosophers, depersonalization WIP tags idk, swearing/cuss words?

Once again, If i missed something let me know.

“Adam.”

It wasn't strange when grey eyes glance up from the paper work in his hands, the concerned face of... Why did he have to look like a kicked puppy its not like he mattered, their plans were more important and yet.

“J-George, do you need something...? I'm busy with-”

George clears his throat, one blue eye shining with affection that makes Adam's stomach twist, or had he forgotten to eat again? He shook the thought away glancing away from him. Liquid had been standing behind George giving him bunny ears and Ocelot had nearly laughed, LAUGHED him? God he was getting sick of Eli's interference.

“Yes actually, Its a bit past noon but, would you care to have some lunch.”

Adam smiles and shakes his head, his gaze not leaving the papers in his hands, still reading them over as he replies.

“No I have work I need-”

Of course his stomach decided to protest this by growling and George's hand touches his left shoulder gently.

“...I... guess we could, if I can keep working well we do?”

George's smile blind sided Adam in such a way he can feel tears just start to rise but there blinked away as if nothing, unnoticed, he smiles back tiredly allowing George to pull him close and wrap an arm around him leading him towards where ever it was he likely had set up this little plan of his. ...Adam wondered who was leading who around at this point. He was smitten by this man, but he looked so much like- which probably helped and yet...

“I'm hoping you like what I picked out for us, it's not anything super fancy but its better then rations.”

Laughing softly Adam shakes his head about to reply when a glance outside the window showed rain and red eyes. He glances away and stares at the floor eyebrows knitted and expression guarded.

“I'm sure I- ...”

“Adam...? What's wrong?”

One blue eye glancing out the window confusedly and back at his companion.

“Don't like the rain?”

Jokingly Ocelot shrugs shaking his head and mumbling out.

“Kuwabara, Kuwabara... no... that's- that's not, maybe.”

He admits it unsurely struggling to keep his gaze low as Eli bends down in front of his face, he turns to not make eye contact with the foolish boy trying to get his attention.

“Scared of the rain Ocelot? Didn't take you for a superstitious type.”

“...I wasn't until you showed up...”

He hisses under his breath and he can feel George hold him closer and grab his cheek and force him to look at him having stopped moving.

His concerned face made Adam smile instinctively.

“George, please. You worry to much-”

Red caught his grey. Adam's heart caught in his chest, which as usual buzzed with two annoying beats, one going to fast one steady as usual.

“...I... have to go... lay down... I don't...-”

“Adam, you should eat...”

“Bring it to my room if you're so worried!”

He watches as George flinches but his gentle grip doesn't leave his arm. Adam pulls himself free and starts to storm off.

“Madness, you worry about it so much, and yet you only confirm it to those around you the more you fight, acceptance my Son and then perhaps you'll find some peace and strength to not be so pathetic.”

Ocelot's teeth grits hands shaking with rage heart still pounding in his ears and chest, and he coughs chokes on his spit.

Eli reaching for his hand and- what??? George's grip was tight on his left wrist, Eli's on his right. No no no- Eli stop right now STOP STOP-!?

Ocelot gasps hard shaking trying to pull his left hand free so he can grip at his right. Pain like lightening sparking through his limb.

“If you can't do this old man maybe I should!~ Chickenin' out all cause Daddy's disappointed-”

“ifyoudon'tstopyouwillregretthis. Let. Me. Go.”

George glares at him and pulls him closer.

“Adam, look at me, please.”

“George, let me go. Right now. I... need to lay down please...”

George's hand reaching and touching his cheek, the cool feeling of his hand he can't help but sigh softly and lean into his touch but that moment of weakness was all Eli needed.

“Foolish Sentimental old man! I've got you now, this body is mine to pilot!”

“NO!”

Adam shouts out shoving himself away and falling onto the ground with a grunt, George having stumbled back a look of surprise on his face.

“Adam- Adam! What happened- did I hurt you?”

Eli was in control, he clears Ocelot's throat and does his best impression of him, he'd like to say he was getting pretty good at it!

“Sorry- sorry... George... I told you I needed to lay down didn't I? But... If you're so insistent that I eat could you carry this old man?”

Adam growls at him, it felt so weird to not be in control of himself, following alongside himself as Eli seduced George, though he assumed Eli felt the same way when he was in control.

“Give me back my body Eli, it's MINE. NOT YOURS, YOUR DEAD!”

Eli's smiles up at George as the other man gently wraps his arms under his knees and back lifting him up, Eli wrapping his arms around his neck. He sticks his tongue out at Adam well George was still adjusting him in his arms.

“What are we havin'?”

George simply shakes his head but gives in anyways, his face still full of concern but he's smiling softly again. Eli beams up at him, a practiced attempted to hide love struck expression he's seen Adam use.

“It's nothing fancy as I said, ramen and some turkey and lettuce sandwiches.”

“Fresh lettuce? You tryin' to spoil me hm?”

George simply purrs gently lifting him closer so their foreheads touch.

Adam can see the way Eli- his lip twitched for a moment uncomfortably, before he leans forward and their lips meet, Adam growling in the background reaching and grabbing his right arm and pulling frantically but nothing happened, Eli didn't even flinch.

“Pathetic.”

Adamska hisses wildly spinning around towards the voice growling at him as The Sorrow takes a step forward, he steps back unsurely, teeth bared still.

“Don't. Come near me.”

“Are you afraid my little Ska?”

Adamska freezes for a moment, grey stares into red. He was pretty sure if he had a heart it'd be pounding right now, then again in his body it probably was.

“...what do you want from me...?”

A hand reaches out and impulse has Adamska flinch, mouth opening to bite the fingers that went to touch him but he was surprised to see his Father- NO. The Sorrow let his hand drop a sad look on his face.

“Still bite the hand that feeds hm? Chew up all that you love till there's nothing left, my son, my sweet Ska. I'd of thought you were better then this.”

“You don't know me! You don't know that- GET OUT OF MY HEAD! ...declaw a cat and they'll use their teeth.”

The suffocating feeling of grief and sorrow-filled loneliness he's been shoving down for so long was all swarming in his chest, it hurt. He hurt... His breath- he didn't need to breathe and yet he felt like he couldn't so filled with all of those feelings- a weapon, a tool did NOT have feelings and neither did he. And yet he couldn't shove it down the same way he could in his body as if he had no where to store it but his soul, bare and exposed.

“Adamska...”

A hand touches his cheek and for a second it all bubbles to the surface he presses into his Father's hand and a sob breaks out of his throat tears dripping down his face. But it only lasts a few seconds before his fangs dig into the man's hands. The Sorrow simply scolds him.

“Ska, let go. Now.”

The snarl escaping him wild and angry as the taste of blood filled his mouth, grey eyes filled with a defying rage, a yearning for freedom he can't know. Adamska grunts as he feels a fist grip up his hair and pull trying to rip his teeth from his hand. It takes a few pulls but Adamska's teeth release The Sorrow.

Adamska glanced towards where Eli and George had been but...

“Shit... where'd they go...”

“...That's easy. You should know. It's YOUR body right?”

“Fuck off.”

His face flushed with shame as his non-existent stomach twists. Adam can do this. No Ocelot- Adamska- Which one of them can-??? He grabs his head and groans wiping at his right eye angrily... Blood- a slight pulse, his head hurt and if he could he'd puke.

“I don't need you're help old man.”

“You are old now too Adamska, you'd refuse to listen to my teaching anyways, they made you quite resistant to such things had they not? No. It was simply drugs they pumped into you? Is that why you're to scared to part with-”

“SHUT UP! I do not need you're scoldings I am a grown man, I NEVER. Needed you or HER or anyone else but myself and my handlers!?”

“Where are they now?”

“John's- shit... fuck... no he's not- I just meant- They're dead, I am my own handler now. I am my own per-... I am...”

Adam stumbles entering the room Eli and George were but he can barely focus on them at all he just wanted to go to his body and pass out- he sees Eli's- no his eye glance at him.

“Adam, could I accompany you in your room?”

“Of course George... I can walk if that's alright?”

Blue eye looks concerned and Eli- no. 'Adam' reaches and taps his eyepatch with a laugh.

Adamska snarls impulse to tear his teeth into George and rip him apart. He was his and no one elses'! NO ONE. ELSES. HIS.

“Calm yourself Ska, you are not a hungry child anymore. Take a breath, steady yourself and step back in control.”

“I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP- I CAN HANDLE THIS, YOU COULDN'T SAVE ME THEN YOU CAN'T SAVE ME NOW!”

The Sorrow is quiet, his Father looks annoyed. Red eyes glowing and dripping blood and suddenly nails dig into the stump of his right arm.

“I died so you may live Adamska, if I had not died you would have been killed, I'd of still been with Joy but we loved you- love you- Do not tempt the dead, Adamska, with what ifs. For they are all I, we. Have.”

Adam trembles in his grasp, chilled to his very soul, it hurt... it hurt... And for just a small second he was a small child again tearing apart a chew scarred stuffed cat, an ocelot, with his teeth so no other kid can have it when they take him away.

A hand cups his small face and he stares up at him and snarls, bristling the memory away he isn't thinking about that-

“Go away, leave me alone- please... GO AWAY. GET OUT OF MY BODY ELI!?”

Adam rushes forward grabbing at his right arm and trying to wrangle Eli free- but Eli simply laughs and George tilts his head.

“What's so funny Adam?”

And Eli smiles at him nuzzling into his neck.

“I never thought I'd have someone who cares about me as much as you.”

George is helping him undress, and himself too. They're in bed, laying down together and Eli is kissing him-

“STOP IT. STOP IT!”

And suddenly Eli is shoved out of place he cackles hysterically, his blue eyes shining mischievously.

The Sorrow glares at the other ghost touching his shoulder, but he says nothing and shakes his head vanishing, Eli snorting but decides to leave him be for now. Time to scheme some more.

Adam pulls himself free from George's lips panting hard rolling over to the edge of the bed and puking. Growling, barely containing a sob. Blood still- no just now dripping down his face from his right eye. His head throbbed George's hands gently pull him back against his chest and simply rubs his back.

“shush... shush it's alright, just breath ok. Don't push so hard, we have time. You'll feel better and then we can do that.”

Adam digs his nails into him, teeth gritted as he bit his own lips and yet.

George smiles at him and gently presses his forehead against Adam's, frowning a bit concernedly at him.

“Are you too hot?”

“...no... no... sorry- I just want to sleep-”

“We can do that.”

The two curl up tightly together in a tangle of blankets and pillows and Adam slowly drifts off to the even breathing that George gives him to focus on, unconsciously chewing lightly on the blanket he had pulled up slightly over his head.

George simply smiles and pushes long white hair behind his ear.

“Feel better Adamska...”

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