#but my mood is all wonky and my anxiety is not great so while i do want to write i don’t really want | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

put her together again (05)

word count; 6603

summary; mitch takes you out on a little excursion upon your request, before making a not so pleasant discovery upon return to your home.

notes; just cute. that’s it. enjoy that, before it all goes shit.

warnings; none!

Despite Irene’s warnings to stay away, and her instructions to let you develop in your own home, Mitch just couldn't find it within himself to stay away.

He missed you, he missed having company, and he’d ended up spending more than half of his time with you, or at least, that was how it seemed, as he became quickly familiar with how it felt to sleep on your couch, which was surprisingly more comfortable than his own. He wasn’t blind to the fact that you had been given an apartment that very purposefully didn’t have a guest room, discouraging him from wanting to stay, but he was used to tough-living on assignments, and as long as he wasn’t sleeping on the floor, a couch seemed like a dream.

A blanket and a pillow from the storage cupboard had found a new home with permanent placement on the shelf under the coffee table, so on every night that he chose to stay over, there was easy access to what he needed. You had out sorted the clothing the had gifted to you into a new drawer, so that he always knew how to get to it when he needed a change of clothes the following morning, and he hadn't missed the level of trust that had been rolled out to him about being given access to your bedroom to get to it.

That was your private space, that was somewhere that only the people that were most important to you should be allowed to enter, those whom you trusted with your life, and you’d granted that to him, and while you hadn't said the words, he didn’t miss their meaning.

Mitch had also put a great effort into encouraging you to go out in public, and learn where you were. While not being as fond of the idea of you wandering around on your own while everything was still a risk, he was aware that it was a witness protection area, and that you were still going to be safe going out and about here, and it did bring him a little reassurance when he was at his own home, and thinking about what you might be up to.

You now had a gym membership, no longer having to work out at home, and you’d never been exposed to such equipment and that kind of environment, and the look of pure joyous shock that had been on your face had lived in the front of his mind for over a week, a smile on his face anytime he thought about yours. Occasionally, he ventured out to the spot with you, he wasn’t much of a fan of traditional workouts, or of doing it in front of other people, but you were thriving in that environment, and he was willing to make the sacrifice just to spend time with you.

As much as he ever hated to admit that Irene was right about something, she hadn't been wrong in her conclusion here.

Her claims that putting you alone and letting you flourish as your own being, developing your ideas and your personality, you really were breaking out of your shell. For as much progress as you’d made living with him, you were reaping that in tenfold here. You had a favourite spot in the little coffee shop, and the servers called you a regular, knowing your order by heart anytime you came through the door, the little bell overhead jingling. You had ventured as far as the row of old-style looking buildings on a little corner off of the high street, and he had noticed that sometimes your fingers had paint stains on and smears across your clothes when he arrived without warning, catching the canvases of all shapes and sizes stacked in your closet and the corners of your rooms.

They reflected your moods, that much he could tell. Some were bright explosions of colours, yellows and greens and pale blue, everything joyous and fun and he liked those ones the most, always on bigger canvases as you illustrated your feelings.

Some were darker, swirls of navy and purples, slightly wonky, done in the morning light after you woke up from nightmares on the days he wasn’t just a few metres away to hold you and soothe you through the anxiety until the sun finished rising and took it all away.

He didn’t like the others, the ones that were blacks and greys, mixed with splatters of reds, and he didn’t know what prompted them, he didn’t know when you painted those ones or why, but when he looked closely enough he could see the circular stains on the canvases from dropped tears that distorted the paints. There were no shapes on those ones, just drags of brushes in frantic and erratic directions, nothing that gave you any reassurance or made sense, it was a mess that you just splayed over the surface until the white material was replaced with layers of dark oil paints to express your pain.

Painting was the best way you knew how to get out the feelings you had inside that you didn’t know how to process, something he’d learned had been introduced to you by your therapist, expanding on the simple drawings he’d had you doing while living with him.

You were making friends, sometimes you came home with a receipt from the coffee shop with two drinks, someone at the gym who you’d been spotting on the weights and going for a drink afterwards, or befriending the older lady who worked on putting books back in the library. You’d met a couple in your therapy waiting room, two men who were there for marriage counselling, and they had begun to go for lunch with you every Saturday at the local café after your sessions.

He was happy for you, he truly was, listening to you talk to him about how people at the gym had begun to ask you for advice on their workouts, and the manager had even offered you a job as a personal trainer - one that you’d refused, not quite ready for that yet - but you were still happy just to be having other people to talk to. People who didn’t want anything from you, people had had no ulterior motives in being with you other than friendship, and that was definitely something that you deserved from the world, after everything you had been put through.

That was exactly how Mitch had found himself here, stirring his coffee slowly as he watched you buzz around your kitchen, teaspoon clinking against the edge of the mug as steam curled up into the air. You were making breakfast, sleep still crawling at your features, but you were now making double the quantities you had been planning on, his arrival unexpected but you never turned him away when he knocked at your door.

There was bacon and eggs, he could smell it on the air, his stomach rumbling happily, and he was sure that he looked just as sleep-mussed as you did, he’d barely pulled on his shoes, not even bothering to change out of his pyjamas when he’d woken this morning, just wanting to get on the road and on his way to visit you.

You were spinning the tale to him all about the group therapy session you’d had, giggling as you spoke about Edith, who had an incredible dark-humour, anger issues and a God complex, and always made you laugh when you saw her. Mitch was grinning as he raised his brows a little, bringing the edge of his cup to his lips to hide his expression.

“Are you sure you should be telling me all these juicy details about your friends?”

You shrugged, turning to grin at him over your shoulder as you plated up the breakfast foods, and he almost groaned at the sights of it, stomach clenching angrily with hunger, before you were passing it over to him. Eggs, bacon, pancakes; he felt like he was in heaven, loving getting to know another person in this kind of intimate way, missing having someone to share the lazy mornings with before exhaustions had fully left his mind and he was still a little hazy in his post-sleep state. “Who else am I supposed to tell it to?”

“Fair point.” He sighed, taking the plate with a mumbled ‘thank you’ before he was grabbing for his cutlery, watching as you took the seat across from him and dug into your own food.

“Besides, Mary from the library is lovely but she can't keep a secret for anything, and Elliot and Greg love to gossip, it’s how I find out half of my gossip, and the gym is where I find out pretty much all of the other half, so I can’t tell them, because they’re who I’m gossiping about!” You grinned, dragging a piece of bacon and pancake from your fork with your teeth, and chewing happily, and Mitch simply rolled his eyes in response, but couldn't stop the curl of his lips into a smile.

“So, I’m just your Pandora’s Box of therapy tales and gym gossip about your friends?”

“Yes.” You smirked, watching as he gasped in fake offence, and he didn’t even both to cut any of his bacon, trying to force the entire strip into his mouth at once, and a droplet of grease gathered at the corner of his mouth, prompting him to lick it away as you scowled at his gross behaviour. “Despite that undignified display, you’re also my best friend. For whatever reason.”

“Does that mean you don’t gossip about me, then?”

“I would never!” It was your turn to mock him, and he grinned cheesily, repeating the action with the next piece of meat, and you groaned, tearing your eyes away from him and fixing them on your plate as you made a show of neatly cutting your food into pieces to eat. “So, are you busy today?”

“That depends on what you have planned. I’m not going to look at curtains with you again, I can still feel that old lady’s fingers on my ass.”

You snorted, almost choking on your food as you remembered the day he’d had his ass pinched by a rambunctious old woman in the curtains store, and he glanced across the room, looking at the hanging drapes he’d helped install, the entire memory tainted with that of the startling encounter. You were still snickering into your meal, smiling with every bite you took, and sipping at your coffee, the suspense killing him.

“C’mon, out with it. What kind of crap are you going to drag me through today?”

“Well, not today, technically. I was thinking more tonight.” He hummed, prompting you to go on with what you had to say, and the scraping of metal on ceramic was filling the silence as he waited for you. “Will you take me to this little jazz bar I saw?”

“A jazz bar?”

You were a little more timid now, eyes fixed on your food as you became embarrassed of your request, and he didn’t want you to feel like that, not with him. He just couldn't quite fathom why you’d want to go to a jazz bar of all places, but he was willing to do so if it made you happy.

“Sure, but if we’re going to a jazz bar then I want the full experience. I’ll be drinking aged whiskey from a tumbler with one of those balls of ice in it, and I’ll be hungover. I’m crashing on your couch, and you have to cook breakfast again in the morning.” He raised his brows at you, watching as you perked back up, nodding happily and motioning over your shoulder to the fridge.

“I have those sausages that you like.”

“Then it’s a deal.”

You cheered happily, whooping to yourself, before a comfortable quiet took over the room and you were left to finish your meals while simply soaking up the comfort of being together. There was no plan for the rest of the day, but after a few showers, and cleaning up the kitchen together, a vague plan to run some errands had been formed. You’d offered him the chance to go home several times, and yet he always refused, just as happy to wander the library with you and put back your books as he was to grab coffee with you, and go to the store to pick up a week’s worth of groceries.

If he was there when you went shopping, he got a say on the things you bought, and then he knew what there was for the days he came over to have a meal with you.

After cleaning up, on your way out, you had swung by his place, changing into something more suitable for a day of chores with you, and letting you sit in the car and flick through the music CD’s he had laying around on the backseat, bringing a blazer back out with him and a bag of things he’d need for his overnight stay, before the two of you had been off and on your way. As decided, you’d gone to the library first, a pile of books in your arms as you pushed the door open with your back, greeting the woman behind the desk and checking your books back in, dropping the stack into the returns, before making your way through the aisles.

His arms had been loaded with books, holding them all for you as you climbed up and down the steps and stools to reach the high shelves trailing from one end of the building to the other, and up and down the stairs, as this time, you curated a collection of everything from a space-travel fantasy book to a non-fiction about lions and their hunting patterns.

You had shown him your coffee joint, one you’d taken him to a few times before, but had redecorated since he’d last been, and was promoting a new set of special blends on the chalkboard menu outside, and so the two of you had ordered a small-sized version of each one, sharing them amongst yourselves as you judged the options before you. Your favourite had been the roasted hazelnut americano, while his had been the caramel macchiato with marshmallow essence, his sweet tooth shining through.

Following that, he’d taken you to the store, pushing the cart around and bumping you with it when you took too long for his liking to compare certain products, and as punishment, he’d been forced to help you unpack all the purchases, hiding away the treats he’d slipped into the basket in the backs of your cupboards and in the drawers of the coffee table that you never went into. By the time dusk had rolled around, he was pulling his blazer up his arms, a mix between smart and casual that was appropriate for the journey, skinny jeans and a henley not being fitting alone for the place you were travelling to, and he was staring up at the ceiling as he waited for you to be done.

“You ready?”

He chuffed, a snippy comment on the tip of his tongue about how it had been you that had decided you wanted to shower before going out, despite being perfectly clean, but his mouth went a little dry as he sat up, eyes widening. “Where did you get that dress?”

You looked down at yourself then, your hands clasping in front of yourself nervously after smoothing down the skirt. Dark blue, a shade that complimented you beautifully, lace along the arms and up to your neck, in what was a mock turtleneck, flaring out at the waist in a loose skirt, and it was most definitely a cocktail dress, not exactly the kind of thing he’d expect Irene would have bought for you. “My friend gave it to me. We were challenged at therapy to clear out things that reminded us of a bad time, and to give them to someone else, to make something bad into something good again.”

“That’s sweet.” He caught his breath, eyes scanning along you once again, your legs bare, and he smirked a little bit as he watched you match the elegance with a pair of sneakers, making the whole outfit seem much more fitting to you. “What did you take?”

“I didn’t really have anything, but I took one of my paintings - y’know the one with the blue and the green? That one. - and gave it to one of the people I didn’t know, but they wanted to put it up on the wall in their restaurant.”

He just nodded, licking over his lips as you reached for your coat, folding it over your arms, and he shook his head, letting out a sound to dissuade you from that course of action. “No, sweetheart, you can’t put a coat over a dress like that.” You raised your brows, before shrugging it off and following his lead, hanging it back up on the coat hooks, and he searched for your keys, tucking them into his pocket. “Besides, I told you this would be the full experience, and how am I supposed to be a gentleman and give you my jacket when you get cold if you have a coat?”

You simply grinned at him, holding the front door open and switching on the latch as the two of you left, heading towards the elevator and surrounded by soft laughs. “You’re a dork.”

“Big words from the girl who rented ten books for one weeks worth of reading.”

You gasped, turning to shoot him a little glare, but he just beamed, letting you guide him in the direction of your location for the evening. It was only a short walk, just around the corner from your building, but he could hear the music coming out all the way from a street over, lights and noise spilling from the hole-in-the-wall establishment as the two of you approached.

It was even louder inside, the sounds of trumpets and guitars sounding out, and it was mellowed out inside, low lights and leather booths with round tables in solid oak with old and chipping wood, the smell of candles and smoke hanging on the air with liquor, and it was exactly what he expected it to be. The aesthetic matched all the scenes that he had laid out in his head, what he figured a jazz bar would look like, and raucous clapping took up as the live band finished and the current song ended, a man was taking a seat at the sleek black piano in the middle of the room to keep the music going as the acts changed over.

“Drinks first, right?”

“Are you allowed to drink?” Your face screwed up for a second, before you were shaking your head, and he dropped an arm to loop around your waist, guiding you towards the bar and making sure that you kept close to him in the bustling crowds. “Well, when you’re all cleared for it, I’ll take you out for a real drink, okay?”

“Sounds good.”

“I’m still drinking though.” He flagged down the bartender, a whiskey for himself and a soda for you, ice clinking against the glasses as they were served to you. A short and stocky glass was slid over the wooden counter towards you both, followed by a taller one, fizzing and bubbling with pop as ice swirled in the liquids, and you picked it up, bringing the straw to your mouth to take a sip. “Let’s find a booth.”

There was one in the far corner, just evacuated by the previous inhabitants, and you were quick to slide into the seat, Mitch taking the opposite one, and he didn’t miss the dirty looks that were being shot your way from another pair across the room who had clearly also been intending to claim this seat as their own, but he decided that the pair of you deserved it more, so he had no guilt as he ignored them.

A new band was taking up on the stage, setting themselves up and adjusting the microphone, a woman wearing a floor-length ball gown covered in sparkles and sequins, red painted lips and neatly pinned up hair was taking a seat on a wooden stool at the front of the stage, and waiting as her bandmates all got set up.

“She looks great.” You were in awe, he could read it clearly on your face, and he couldn't help the smile he got as he watched you admire her, before your eyes were moving to scan over everybody else in the room, and he took a sip of his drink, heat flaring on his cheeks when he cleared his throat, forcing you to stop watching everyone else.

“You know, you look beautiful, too.”

You scoffed under your breath, but smiled, your head ducking as you reached for your glass to busy your idle fingers instead, and he reached his hand out over the surface, palm up in offering. His breath was held, only released with relief when you slipped your hand into his, holding on gently, and he grinned to himself, hiding it behind the rim of his glass. “I never said beautiful.”

“Maybe not, but I did.” He wasn’t sure where the words were coming from, it was a part of his personality that he was sure he’d lost a long time ago, but the squeeze of your hand in his with silent acknowledgement made his hand tighten around yours, and you fell back into a companionable silence together. “You wouldn’t look like you if you tried to be like them. I like who you are now.”

“I don’t even know who I am, Mitch. Not really, anyway.”

“Maybe not fully, but there’s a lot that makes you special, already.” You looked up at him now, meeting his eye and holding it, before you were standing up, rounding to his side of the booth and taking a seat beside him instead. Lifting his arm, he wrapped it over your shoulders, letting you curl into his side as you faced the stage, but he felt the hand dangling over your shoulder warm, the curling of your fingers around his once again making his nerves tingle as adrenaline rushed through his body, and he pulled you in a little closer. The lights began dimming, a spotlight taking up on the centre stage once again, and he could feel you tense up with excitement for it all. “Show’s starting, sweetheart. Are you excited?”

You only hummed, twisting into him a little bit, before even the messing of your fingers with his own stopped, and you were fixing every bit of your attention onto the stage.

Her voice was beautiful, one deep breath carrying the words as she sang out steadily, the instruments fading into the tune as it progressed. It had been her and her only singing to start, before the piano had come in slowly, picking up speed when a steady drumbeat joined it, and then came the chorus. It was catchy and upbeat, a difference from the beginning of the song, cheerful melodies made by trumpets and saxophones, and then the band came in to perform back up singing.

The bass was vibrating through the wooden floors, the feeling replicating that of nerves and butterflies curling in his stomach but in the best of ways, and Mitch was tapping his foot on the floor as the music played, unable to resist the urge. The crowds were cheering now, the peak of the song approaching, claps sounding out loudly, and he almost missed the soft giggle you let out as you took in the atmosphere, before your hand was leaving his, and you were clapping too.

This went on, for what felt like mere minutes but was hours by the time he noticed your excitement dwindling as you slumped into his body. You were tired now, your head lolling on his shoulder a little, and one peek through the windows showed him that the twilight you’d arrived in had faded out into the night, dark and glittering with stars, and once the current song ended, he nudged you up a little.

You sighed, before shaking your head clear, sitting up yourself from where you’d been lounging with him, and all of those patches felt a little cold as you moved away from him, so used to having you pressed up to him now, and providing him with your warmth.

“Ready to go?”

You only nodded, wiping at your eyes a little bit before getting to your feet, a little shaky in your exhaustion, and he followed after you, several empty glasses sitting on the table as the warm buzz of alcohol coursed through his veins, the two of you navigating through the crowds carefully, his hand sitting on your lower back until you were reaching the doorway, gasps of fresh air as you made it back out onto the streets.

You tugged a little on his sleeve, the two of you falling into step in the direction of your apartment.

“I hope you plan to make good on that promise to give me your jacket.”

He beamed at you, shrugging it down his arms and ignoring the chill he got, before tucking it over your shoulders delicately. Your hand found his, your fingertips tickling so lightly across his palm he had to resist the urge to flinch, but then you were weaving your fingers with his, holding his hand and he wrapped his digits around you just as tightly. “Did you have fun?”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t want to go back.” He turned to look at you, your cheek pressing to his shoulder as you slipped somewhere between conscious and unconscious. “It was fun but it seems like it’d be a little boring after this. You have to do everything once, though, right?”

“I guess so, sweetheart.” You were so positive and optimistic, you had a sunny outlook on everything, a real feat for someone who came from your past, who was still in their first year of recovery from a lifetime of pain and trauma, and he was so proud of you for all the progress that you’d made. You were healing yourself, and he knew you were healing him, too. “Do you want to go and get some food? You must be hungry, you haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“I can’t,” you whispered the words, letting him wrap his arm around you instead, keeping your hands locked but it made it easier for him to guide you along as your tired feet began to drag along the floor. “I have a session in the morning.”

Mitch frowned, he was certain you’d already had your therapy this week, because you’d been telling him all about it over breakfast, and you hadn't told him about getting any more assigned sessions, but maybe that was why you’d been making such good progress. “I’ll make you coffee in the morning. C’mon, I know a diner with some great food that you’d love.” He grinned, squeezing you tightly and raising his other hand to tickle at your side.

You grinned, huffing out a laugh, before shaking your head at him. “No food! Unit eight will not be at optimal performance efficiency without seven hours of rest per night.”

Just like that, the haze that had been your walk home was washed away, like ice water had been thrown over his head and his stomach clenched up angrily in a way that made him feel sick. You whined as he came to a full stop, his body rigid in his movements, and you raised your head to look at him, the awning of your building hanging overhead as you stood just outside of the doorway, but he couldn't help but stare at you, knowing that horror was flashing over his features.

“What?” You were looking at him now, curious with wide eyes, coming back to your senses as his abrupt halt had forced you to wake up a little more, and you were blinking at him, worry beginning to seep into your features. “Mitch, what’s wrong?”

“You don’t even know what you just said, do you?”

“Uh..” You thought on it, brows furrowing and shrugging your shoulders. “Not really, just something about how I need to get a good night’s sleep, I think.”

He shook his head, pulling you closer into his body as your hands were crushed between your bodies, resting on his chest as he pulled you close, and guided you through the door, a walk that was almost a shuffle as you went along, side by side. “You called yourself.. by your old title.”

It took you a minute to realise what you’d said, before you were paling a little, a look just as distraught as he’d felt flashing over your face. “You know, you’ve been making so much progress forwards, and I’ve seen you tired before, this has never happened. What’s going on?”

You looked up at him and shrugged, moving away to avoid his gaze and open your front door. The second the two of you were inside, you were kicking off your shoes hastily and leaving them in the middle of the floor, making your way to the kitchen to get away from him, and he could hear you filling up the kettle. He put your shoes and his on the shelf they belonged on, finding his blazer slung neatly over the back of the couch, and he came into the kitchen quietly, not wanting to startle you, and took a seat at the kitchen table.

His eyes flickered over the room, watching you move in your own space easily and swiftly, pulling two mugs from the cupboard. You dropped a tea bag into each, a scoop of honey following, and steam was beginning to leave the kettle as the water approached being ready. As the cutlery drawer slid closed, he saw it, he realised what was off. Your schedule was turned around, the blank paper facing upwards from the chart he’d seen you replicate and helped you make, the activities now facing inwards.

He was on his feet before he could stop himself, taking off the magnet that had pinned it up, and twisting the sheet to face himself. The first thing that immediately jumped out was that you’d managed to progress from a daily chart that repeated every day, to a weekly one, the hours down the side being replaced with days of the week.

His eyes immediately picked out the things that were expected, ‘trip to the library’, ‘grocery shopping’ and ‘dinner with Mitch’, smiley faces drawn beside them, and his lips flicked up at the corners. ‘Physical activity’ had been replaced with the word ‘gym’, and his suspicions were confirmed, the word ‘therapy’ being scrawled across the empty spots on a Tuesday, definitely not today. Then, he was studying the other things, grunting as his brows furrowed.

‘Hypno with Irene’.

He looked up, finding you already facing him, leaning against the counter and staring into your drink, a frown on your face. You were clutching the mug with both hands, a sigh leaving you as he inched a little closer. It was on there three times, on Mondays, Thursdays and Saturdays, definitely a new addition because the ink colour was different to the rest, and it looked fresher, like it had only been added a month or so ago.

“Does ‘hypno’ mean hypnotherapy?”

“Yes.” Your words were weak, and he let a little growl out, putting the paper back on the fridge and pinning the magnet over it, a little more aggression behind his actions that and you flinch, and he would’ve acknowledged his guilt from the action if it hadn't been for the anger clouding his mind.

He patted his pockets down for his phone, finding it tucked away, and you watched him move, he could feel your stare lingering on him as he walked away towards the door, already pushing his thumb into the contact card on the screen, and he could hear it calling as he lifted it to his ear. The second he had, he was slamming the door shut behind himself, trying to take a deep breath to calm himself down, but the feeling of rage bubbled back up as he heard the line go through.

“Do you not know what time it is, Rapp?”

“You’re taking her to fucking hypnotherapy? You’re digging around in her mind, before she even knows how to control what she gets back?” He was seething, fingers gripping his phone so tightly he worried that it might crack by his ear. “Are you fucking insane?”

“It would do you well to curb your tone, agent. Remember who you work for.”

Her tone had somehow managed to get even colder, and he knew she was right, so he bit down on his lip so aggressively that the taste of copper trickled over his tongue. “She isn’t ready for that yet.”

“That isn’t your call to make.”

“Maybe not, but there’s a pair of eyes in my fucking skull, and I can see that she’s still piecing herself back together.” It was taking everything he had to hold his tone steady and stop from shouting again, and he stopped his pacing, leaning back against the wall and working through his body methodically to try and ease his own tension.

“She is the only lead we have on taking down an organization that has been doing this for decades. She is the key, and she’s been giving us more information in the last month than we have gained in at least thirty years.”

“You’re going to break her.” His voice cracked then, and just like that, there wasn’t any more clenched muscles or balled up fists anymore, there was just the exhaustion and ache in his body, and he felt like he might collapse to the floor if it wasn’t for the wall holding him up. “You’re going to ruin her.”

“I’m taking all the necessary precautions, Mitch.”

Even Irene had eased up, and while he wouldn’t exactly call her tone soft, he certainly knew there was less venom and aggression behind it now.

“She is making excellent progress, and we didn’t dive right in at the deep end. We worked it up, but there’s a point she can’t get past. She locks up, we just need her to break through it and we will have everything we need.”

“What point?” Mitch wasn’t sure he actually wanted the answer to this, but he needed to know, to be able to help you or stop it, he just needed to be aware of what you were facing so that you didn’t have to handle it alone.

“She tried to run when she was younger, and she made it out. If she can tell us what she saw, we can track it down. But, she stops as she approaches the door, her mind won’t let her get any further than that.”

“I want to come along. Tomorrow. I’m going to be there.” The hesitation from his boss was evident, a deep sigh, and the shuffling of some papers, and he knew that no matter how late the hour was, Irene was at home doing work anyway.

“Fine. Eight sharp, at her apartment. If you’re late, we’re leaving without you.”

He smirked, glancing up at your door, but not letting on that he was already here with you, the line clicking off before he even had a chance to thank her, and his eyes rolled involuntarily at her actions, but he wasn’t at all surprised. The screen went black when he pulled it from his ear, and Mitch dragged a hand over his face, tucking the device into his pocket and opening the door up again, shutting it softly behind himself now instead of slamming it like he had done before.

Your head snapped up to him, eyes wide as you saw him come back in, and you were on your feet to meet him from the second he’d entered the room. “You came back.”

“Where did you think I was going?” His brows furrowed, your arms wrapping around yourself as he watched you, your mug almost empty, but he noticed his was now sitting face down in the sink, tipped away as you presumed him to have left.

“I thought you were angry with me, and that you went home.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” He was padding across the room and cupping your face in two large hands before he’d even had to think about it, thumbs running over your cheekbones and you stared up at him through wide and glossy eyes. “I’m not mad at you, I promise. I’m mad at Irene, and the world, but I’m not mad at you.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.” He leaned in, pressing a long and slow kiss to your forehead, feeling you press back into the touch, and he grinned at the little noise you let out, sagging into his body as your arms circled his waist. He had enough space to pull away, peppering your cheeks and temples with little kisses too, until you were giggling under his hold, face screwing up, and he let you go, your face wiping against your shoulder as he watched you through his own entertainment. “Why didn’t you tell me, though?”

“Irene said it would make you upset, and I don’t want you to be upset with me.”

“I’m not upset with you, I’m just upset for you. I don’t want you to have to suffer anymore.” He sighed, trying to catch your gaze, and using two fingers to tip your chin up to find his sights. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. It isn’t fun, but Irene says it’s helping people. People like me, and I can save them. I have to save them, Mitch, like you saved me.” He smiled then, watching as you lit up enthusiastically, and while it was taking a toll on you, he could sense how much you cared, and he couldn't take that away from you.

“I’m going to come with you, tomorrow.”

You grinned, leaning in enough to bump your forehead to his cheek, and you nodded against him, squeezing him tightly within your arms. When you backed away, there was a glint in your eyes, and you backed off enough to shuffle through your cupboards, pulling out a bag of dried pastas, and presenting the half-empty bag to him. “I learned how to make mac and cheese the other week, it makes me feel better after therapy, and you look like you could use a cheer up. You want some?”

“I thought you wanted to go to sleep?” He pressed, and you raised a single shoulder, dropping it back down, before turning to find a pan.

“You’re worth staying up for.”

Then, yes, I’d love some.” He was taking a seat at the table once again, and you hummed, beginning to serve up a portion for you both, fishing around in the fridge to gather all of the ingredients.

He couldn't pretend that he wasn’t nervous, or that the idea of seeing you in that state didn’t frighten him, but he knew that he had to be there for you, to help you and protect you when you were vulnerable, and so everything else slipped away.

#mitchtober #mitch-tober #mitch month #PHTA #put her together again #Mitch Rapp #mitch rapp x reader #mitch rapp/reader #mitch rapp american assassin #dylan obrien american assassin #dylan obrien mitch rapp #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader

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keelywolfe · 5 years

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FIC: Blow By Blow ch.6 (baon)

Summary: Set the day after ‘With Brotherly LV’. Jeff is having his first day working at the Embassy, Stretch is having a bad anxiety day, Red is having a bad text day, and Edge is just having a day.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Prejudice Against Monsters, Angst, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, LV Issues, Brother issues

Notes: My timeline is getting a little wonky due to a few drabble sets and shorts. So this chapter directly follows With Brotherly LV

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

~~*~~

Read Chapter 6 on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Much as Edge enjoying the feel of Stretch sleeping in his arms, breathing soft and even in the same rhythm as the pulse of his soul, the entertainment value eventually waned. Especially in the middle of the day. Gently, and with no few teasing kisses, he nudged Stretch awake and helped him totter to his feet, watching closely as he made his fumbling way upstairs.

Stretch’s clothes had taken the brunt of their earlier play and Edge gathered them from where they’d fallen, grimacing at their state. They’d already been suitable for the dustbin even before, but he would add them to the laundry. Their service in keeping his own clothing free of stains was a worthy sacrifice.

When Stretch came back downstairs, he was dressed in the spoils of raiding Edge’s side of the closet, down to his socks and even a plain t-shirt, something he rarely did. Not that Edge was going to complain; if Stretch was choosing to take his comfort from being wrapped up in his clothes, like a hug made of cotton and thread, that was fine by him. Though Edge did wonder if Stretch had noticed yet that he’d started buying his jeans a little longish and cuffing them, so that when Stretch inevitably borrowed a pair, they would fit. Stretch bypassed the last three steps to hop straight to the landing, and managed to not land on his coccyx. He dusted his hands briskly. “okay, now that that’s out of the way, what’s up for the day?”

“Do you need a moment to mark sexual intercourse off your chore chart?” Edge asked dryly.

“nah, might have to do it again, make sure it got done right.” That cheeky grin would normally have filled Edge with exasperated fondness. Today it was closer to relief.

Edge glanced at the clock. There were a few hours before he needed to do anything about Antwan’s situation. He could get some work done, but Stretch had already spent his morning misery-binging reruns. And he still hadn’t had lunch.

“We can do whatever you like, but lunch should be somewhere on the agenda.”

“well, call me a crazy romantic, but i’m starving. feed me?”

“Gladly, Seymour.” But instead of letting him slouch back on the sofa, Edge took his hand and tugged. “Come on, you can help.”

“what? nooo, that is a terrible idea.” His socked feet slid along the carpet as Edge pulled him determinedly along. “seriously, i’m a shitty cook, babe, you know that!”

“Actually, I know no such thing.” His tactic stalled at the kitchen door and instead Edge picked Stretch up, ignoring his squawking and carrying him in. “You’re a decent baker when you try. You aren’t bad at cooking, you just don’t like it, which translates into poor effort.”

“see there!” Came from about the middle of Edge’s back. “poor effort!”

“But you’ll put in effort today, I’m sure. Since I’m injured and need your help.”

Silence, then sullenly. “dirty pool, babe.” Stretch sighed and dangled for a long moment over Edge’s shoulder before grudgingly, “okay, okay. i’ll help.”

Edge set him on his feet and pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to his cheekbone. “Thank you.”

“yeah, yeah. what do you want?”

What he wanted was Stretch in the same room with him, until he could be sure his dark mood wasn’t going to pull the shutters again. What he said was, “Get a loaf of the sourdough bread from the pantry. It’s marked.”

While Stretch did that, Edge rummaged in the refrigerator, “I know that mustard isn’t your preferred condiment, but I find it gives this sandwich a much-needed tang.”

“tangy, yeah, no wonder your brother likes it. got a hell of a tang, doesn’t he.”

Edge hummed in agreement, unwrapped the cheese he’d chosen. Gruyere and sharp cheddar, and pulled out the grater. “I suppose that’s a way to put it. What were you two talking about earlier?”

It would be a refreshing change to have even one person in his life that responded well to the direct approach. But it wouldn’t be happening today. Stretch only plunked the bread on the counter and shrugged. “nothing.”

“Nothing. Hm.” Edge eyed the pile of shredded cheese measuringly. A little more. “The two of you stood around in silence, then. It must’ve been very boring.”

“nah, your bro is never short on entertainment. “ He stole a pinch of the shredded cheese, dancing back before Edge could swat him and munching it happily. He licked his fingers and said, more seriously, “we’re okay, babe, you don’t need to worry.”

“No?”

“nope. we got an understanding, me and Red.”

Edge paused as he sliced the bread. “That sounds utterly horrifying.”

“probably is. what are we making, anyway?”

“Grilled cheese.” Eight slices of bread used most of the loaf. That was fine, he’d already planned to make more on Saturday.

“fancy.”

“Good doesn’t need to be fancy, and you like grilled cheese.”

“i like your grilled cheese.” Stretch dragged one of the stools from the small breakfast bar over and sat, chin propped up on one hand. “why do you shred the cheese?”

“I find it melts more evenly.” Edge began spreading mayonnaise on the bread slices. “Grilled cheese may not be considered fancy, but there’s no reason to not do it right.”

Stretch only nodded, watching intently as he carefully mounded the cheese on the bread, adding a slice of onion and smear of mustard. With only a little nudging, Stretch did the same and if shreds of cheese were trailing out of his imperfectly balanced sandwiches, Edge ignored it.

He set a pan to heat on the stove and waggled a finger at Stretch in a silent ‘come hither’. It was crowded with both of them at the stove, all elbows fighting for space and Stretch ignoring the toasting sandwiches in favor of trying to get a hand under Edge’s untucked shirt. In the end, they had four imperfect toasted cheese sandwiches, unevenly browned and with melted cheese clinging in long strings to fingers and mouths whenever they took a bite.

Edge thought they might well be the best sandwiches he’d ever eaten, and his soul was calm.

Afterward, they curled up on the sofa together to watch new episodes of The Great British Baking Show, and it never failed to amuse Edge how invested Stretch was for someone who claimed to be such a terrible cook.

“it’s a genoise sponge,” Stretch huffed. He was mostly lying across Edge’s lap, allowing him to trace the suture lines on his skull with a gentle finger. “he already over-mixed it and now he keeps opening the oven!”

“It’s going to fall,” Edge agreed. His phone lit up with a text message from Alphys, confirming that she could see them in the morning. He closed it discreetly and listened to Stretch rant as they waited to see if the poor sponge cake would be worth elimination. Honesty was important, yes, but he thought it could wait a few hours yet.

It was late afternoon and at the end of the available episodes when Edge finally told Stretch, “I need to go over your brother’s for a moment, I won’t be long.”

That dragged his attention from the Netflix menu. “my brother? what for?”

“Penance,” Edge said dryly. “I won’t be long…unless you want to come along?”

“nah,” Stretch rolled off him with a groan and settled on one of the sofa cushions, a distant second when it came to places to lay his head. “i’ve been seeing him every day since andy moved in and if i tag along, it won’t be a moment.”

That was true. Edge took a moment to straighten his shirt, adjusting it with the sleeves rolled up, then dropped a kiss on Stretch’s skull before stepping into his shoes.

It wasn’t a far walk and the weather was nice enough to take in the fresh air. Since he’d skipped his run that morning, he could settle for this. The sidewalks were mostly empty, only a few children still playing before getting called in for dinner, and when Edge arrived he was pleased to see the delivery he’d requested was right on time.

Blue answered the door on the first knock, beaming up at him, “Edge, hello! Did you come over for some more healing?”

“No,” he stepped inside as Blue held open the door. “Actually I was hoping to speak to you. It’s about your brother.”

That made Blue perk up like a prairie dog out of its burrow, as he’d known it would. He’d been trying to think of a plan on how to get Blue out of the house most of the afternoon, and this one had only occurred to him on his walk over. It would work, but there would be consequences, he knew.

“What’s wrong?” Blue could always be counted on his brisk efficiency when it came to Stretch. “Nothing is wrong, exactly,” Edge said, “and he hasn’t said anything specific. But I think your brother has been missing you lately.” The stars that made up Blue’s eye lights widened into a brilliant gleam, “He has?” “Yes,” Edge said gravely. Silently, he sent up a prayer to whomever might listen to LV-scarred Monsters that his husband would forgive him for chucking him under the proverbial bus that was his brother’s concern. Blue frowned, considering, “But he’s been over every day!” “Ah, but Jeff is here. I think maybe he misses it being just the two of you. Would you mind stopping over?” Edge coaxed. “Just for a bit? I need to see Jeff for a few minutes, it should give you a little time to talk.” Blue was already stripping off his apron. Edge only watched him go, already guiltily thinking up ways to make it up to Stretch. Hopefully before his husband started contemplating the death part of till death do us part. But he couldn’t deny himself a tiny shred of smugness. Call him a bad liar.

The door was barely closed when one opened upstairs and Jeff came out, calling down, “Did you want to get started on dinner...oh! Hi, Edge.”

“Hello,” Edge said evenly. “Blue stepped out for a moment. I can’t stay long, but I wanted to give you this.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a key ring.

If he had to guess, Edge would think that a year ago, Jeff wouldn’t have squealed in delight in front of him, dashing down the stairs to reach for the keys.

Edge definitely wouldn’t have deliberately held them higher, out of his reach. It made Jeff laugh and give him a little shove, “C’mon, you shit, give!”

“I’m sorry, I must be having trouble with Human customs,” Edge told him blandly, holding them higher as Jeff made to jump for them. “That didn’t sound at all like thank you, Edge. I appreciate all your hard work, Edge. Please let me have the keys to my new car, Edge, I will forever be grateful.”

That earned him a somewhat tremulous laugh. “Thank you, Edge.” Jeff’s smile was nearly as bright as Blue’s eye lights. “I mean it. Thank you, for everything. For the job, getting me into New New Home—

And that was enough of that. “We’ll see if you’re thanking me after the first public relations crisis. Now, come look at your car.”

He followed Jeff outside to the sedan parked in the driveway. It was as green as grass, with top of the line safety features, and Edge was about to remind him of his promise about seat belts when his phone buzzed. what in the name of fuck did you tell my brother, you asshole! you just bitched at me and now you’re pulling this??? The variety of angry emoticons that followed made him wince and Edge hastily texted back. That you missed him so Antwan would have a chance to speak to Jeff in private so they can work out whatever their problems are. There was a long pause and then, you’re lucky. next time let me in on the schemes to dupe my bro.

His sigh of relief was heartfelt. Sofa banishment averted, this time. While Jeff was busy examining his car, Edge took a second to send a text to Antwan that the coast was temporarily clear.

Now it was up to him.

~~*~~

Marrow hitting the snow, steaming wet crimson, and screaming, endless screaming. He can’t see, can’t find his brother, and there is so much screaming—

Edge woke with a gasp, his soul hot and throbbing, lying on sheets soaked with his own sweat as he struggled to breathe in the cooler air.

“edge?”

He jerked at the sound of his name, barely registering the hushed concern. Stretch was on the far side of the bed, making no attempt to touch and there was the faint crackle of his own magic in reach, ready for a hasty shortcut.

That was good, yes, allowed him to relax a little. That was the promise he’d gotten from Stretch the night before. They could sleep together if Stretch promised him he’d go if he thought…if he were afraid…if it seemed like a bad episode.

"Talk to me," Edge said. His voice was in ragged threads and he was still concentrating on taking deep breaths, but he desperately wanted to hear Stretch. "Tell me something unusual. Something hardly anyone knows." Stretch’s eye lights flickered as he blinked. “um. okay…did you know that there are five recognized dwarf planets in our solar system?”

Perfect. “I did not know that.”

“yeah, i mean, personally i think that’s some bullshit and that pluto deserves to be up with the big boys again, but no one’s pounding down the door for my opinion. anyway, so right now there are five, but there’s like, a hundred or so proposed ones and—“

Edge closed his sockets and listened to the winding ramble of his husband’s voice extolling the various attributes of heavenly bodies and whether they had earned a planetary legacy. The agitated throb of his soul slowly eased, gentling to a more normal pulse. Stretch’s voice only paused once, a startled hitch when Edge settled a careful hand on his ankle, the only place he could reach.

Stretch followed that gentle tug across the bed, settling against Edge’s side without a care for the damp sheets, tugging the blankets over them. Talking about hydrostatic equilibrium and orbital eccentricity and Edge listened to that well-loved voice speaking unknown, beautiful-sounding words until the first light of dawn crept into the window, letting them chase away the night.

~~*~~

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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rapturcd · 5 years

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R U L E S

- DISCLAIMER: This blog is SUPER glitchy for me. Why? Who can say other than this place is a hellsite. I might at some point have to try out moving to a new account depending on how bad it gets. I have a lot of issues with my notifications and follower count, so there might be a very good chance I might miss something or miss you following me, though I do try to check where Tumblr will actually allow me. If that’s the case, please don’t be afraid to send me a nudge through IMs!

- I’m on the fence as to whether I’ll include other non-Bioshock related verses. Considering the rpc for the game is nearly non-existent on here, probably be the smarter choice, but currently, it’s a no. Nick’s story is so heavily intertwined with that of the first two Bioshock games, I cant picture his character being in other verses and it having as much impact. This could change in the future or if something is heavily plotted out. Overall if you want to interact, it will have to be within the world of Rapture. But - you are more than welcome to hmu or approach me with something if you have an idea.

- Reblog memes and the like from the source please. My notifications are already wonky

- I will NOT interact with blogs that use youtubers, social media influencers, or anime / drawn characters for their Fcs. Nothing against you, it’s just not my thing.

- I will BLOCK personal blogs that reblog or follow, as I like to keep interactions here between fellow rp mutuals.

- As stated this blog is SELECTIVE, meaning i will only write with mutuals. if i dont follow back there’s genuinely no hard feelings, I just get very overwhelmed with an overly busy dash and need to be a bit selective to prevent my anxiety from going nuts. you’re more than welcome to unfollow. though its very much a mutual thing; if you want to interact but dont follow me, chances are I’ll say no as I take following as a sign of interest. I may take a while to follow back as my notifications on here are the worst. If I don’t follow back within a weeks time, feel free to unfollow.

S M U T:

- While I, and my muse, are of age, I’m not entirely comfortable writing smut unless it’s with a mun 1.) I know well and 2.) Is of age. Nick lies more on the romantic spectrum than outright sexual. So for the most part any if it all suggestive scenes will lead to a fade to black.

T R I G G E R S:

- The world of Bioshock is horrific and in many ways gross, and Nicks story is no cake walk. There will be mentions, and maybe the occasional image, of : Blood, Violence , Medical related subjects, Imprisonment, Torture, Needles / Injections , Mutation , Mental Illness , Child Abuse , Terrorism , & Riots / Civil War. I will ABSOLUTELY tag NSFW material and triggers where applicable, though if you would like me to tag something specific to your needs or if there’s something I missed, don’t hesitate to let me know and I will do so right away!

M U N:

- I write under the alias Nox! ( She/Her ) and I am of age.

- i am a-okay with questions, especially about my muse! if you have any about anything at all i will be more than happy to answer them the best i can! Also totally fine with random IMs even if we havent talked before so hmu.

R U L E S / O T H E R THREADS:

- usually, i dont drop threads, but if for whatever the reason i do, i will always let you know beforehand and would hope that courtesy would extend to me as well if you decide to drop one.

- if you want to turn a meme or ask into a thread, I’d prefer to be asked before hand. simply because sometimes its nice to have memes just be memes for the fun of it you get me.

R E S P O N S E T I M E / A C T I V I T Y:

- As it is i have a hard time keeping muse, just the way i am sadly. i know this is something a lot of people, myself included, can find frustrating (especially when you’re really into a thread) but a fair amount of the time i may take a while to respond. as much as i love this, aside from being a hobby, i have a chronic illness that makes me exhausted most days or just not in the mood to write and not in any kind of state to type out a response you lovely people would deserve. though i will always try to quickly reply when i can.

M E M E S:

- Yes. please. send as many as you want, as often as you want. Even if we haven’t interacted, you’re free to send one my way; They can be a great place to start things off.

P O S T L E N G T H:

- You don’t have to match my length in posts! sometimes i can write far too much when i get really into writing (and alternatively not write enough), so don’t feel obligated or pressured to follow suit by any means! whatever you are comfortable with is totally okay! it’s not a contest, this is all for fun.

G R A P H I C S / C R E D I T:

- all icons and graphics are created by me unless stated otherwise

- psd (heavily edited) originally by kingsleigh

- icon border ( edited) originally by jaynedits

#≈ pgs ≿

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mona-rei-is-not-okay · 6 years

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Heya. I'm the sibling asker ! H/s = honorary sibling. Hope you're doing fine

i love deep friendship gimme gimme

and there are NO MAYBES YOU WILL HAVE THE BONUS BOY ALWAYS especially with cute asks like these omg i love

i don’t know too much about MT!Paps though, so i’m sorry if my interpretation is a lil wonky. also h/s is teen, sorry if it isn’t apparent

UF!Sans: He’s really concerned about your low mood spell, but isn’t really sure what to do about it. As much as he relates to your apparent anxieties, he doesn’t know what to do to make you feel better. He’s not usually good at comforting words. What he will do is check in a lot. Make sure you’re generally doin okay and have everything you need. Again, if you need to vent, he’ll listen.

But he really doesn’t get why the cuddles make such a difference. Sure, he’s become a bit of a cuddlebug himself, but the way you completely relax like that? Unnatural. Especially since it’s the only thing that seems to be cheering you up. But then again, who is he to question what works? He won’t exactly cling to you from then on, but he’ll start following you around the house a bit more, snagging every cuddle opportunity. It’s still a little weird, but it’s a lot better than seeing his kid sibling all skittish. Eventually though, curiosity gets the better of him, and he just has to ask.

And your answer?

Congratulations, you have floored your big bro. Beet red in the face. Absolutely no composure. What did he do to deserve your trust?? Why are you so sweet?? Aaaaaah?!? He pets your head and tries not to let you hear his wheezing, but it’s obvious, he’s really moved and has no idea how to deal with it.

“h-heh… watch where yer aimin’ that sweetness, kiddo… i’m gettin’ a toothache… jeez…”

Anyway, was he tailing you before? Welp, now he’s become your guard dog. It doesn’t matter where you’re going, he’s comin’ with you.He’ll always be by your side, gently holding your arm and keeping his head on a swivel for shifty characters. If you ever need to navigate a crowd or a tight space, he’ll usher you behind him and get you to grab the fluff of his hood while he leads the way. He can’t exactly follow you to school, but he’ll shortcut to walk you between classes if you let him. Your teachers hate him. He’ll stop following you everywhere if you fend him off with a stick, but until your mood improves… well, he’s your personal escort now, deal with it

UF!Papyrus: He’s always wanted a little sibling. He loves helping people, and shows love through physical care.He’s a bit of a mother hen. It’s part of why he took in his cat, Doomfanger. To him, you are an absolute blessing.

So he’s already got some huge maternal instincts, but your mood has got him sent into overdrive. He’ll always be asking you if you need anything, fixing you comfort snacks, asking if you need help with homework, doing a chore or cleaning a room so you don’t have to. It might feel naggy or get a little overwhelming, and he’ll dial it back if you tell him to, but his first instinct will always be to take care of possible stress sources directly. It helps him feel better, too.

So when you settle down to cuddle and just… completely deflate, he asks about it immediately. He must know. He must help.

And when you answer…

His face is deep maroon. If anybody else had said that, he would have dismissed it. But coming from you? Wowie. He feels like he’s succeeded as a caretaker. He’s about ready to squeal with joy, but he contains himself. Smiling from ear to nonexistent ear, he loops an arm behind you and pulls you closer. He tries to mask his joy with a confident air, but the grin betrays him.

“WELL! THAT’S… PERFECTLY NATURAL!! AS THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PAPYRUS HAS TAKEN YOU UNDER HIS PROTECTION!!!”

From then on, every time he starts an activity or chore, you’re invited. Help him put away groceries! Help him do laundry! Help him cook! Also, if you accompany him on errands, hand-holding is required.

“I HAVE TO KEEP TRACK OF YOU SOMEHOW! STOP GIGGLING!”

He just wants to make sure you feel safe. Even if it means walking you to and from school, fixing you lunches with positive sticky notes in the bag, and taking you with him everywhere he goes. It’s not cute!

MT!Sans: He’s not around as much as either of you would like, but he knows you’re feeling down. He remembers seeing his brother with such a similar look on his face. Young fool that Sans was, he started taking him with on small jobs to keep him company. And now Pappy deals in some of the same dirty business he does. He’s promised himself not to make the same mistake with you.

He does his best to help you take it in stride while he’s around, but he knows there’s only so much he can do. He feels a twinge of guilt every time he has to leave you in that state. He knows it probably doesn’t have much to do with him, but he feels responsible. Maybe if he were around more, or even just in a safer profession, you wouldn’t seem so worried all the time.

Cuddles are solace for both of you. He gets to relax and feel like he’s doing something, and you don’t seem half as rigid. Smiles all around! He already sort of knows why you relax so easily in his arms, or thinks he does, but he feels he should still make sure.

And…

Well, he didn’t know what he was expecting, but he can’t keep his grin from widening a touch. You’re the light of his life, you know that? Honestly, what did he do to deserve you? But the guilt sets back in. No wonder you’ve been feeling down… he’s been particularly busy lately, and he really should make more time for you. And if you didn’t normally feel safe, whose fault is that? Well… nobody feels safe in this part of town.

“well…” He’ll plant a small kiss on the top of your head. “take it easy, kiddo. i promise, someday, we’ll all get the hell outta here.”

He’ll get somebody to watch the house while he’s gone. He knows he can’t be there all the time, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t know you aren’t safe. He’ll call you more often to check in, too. Also… he’ll start putting a little extra away, start saving for a little vacation. Maybe some time out of town will do all of you some good. You’re family, and he’ll take care of you no matter the risk or cost.

MT!Papyrus: He’s around more than Sans is, thankfully. He sticks around to fix you meals and offer cuddles and make sure the house is safe. It’s given him plenty of time to notice one of his favorite siblings’ low mood.

He does his best to help out in indirect ways, checking the house for wires and cameras and sweeping the perimeter every so often. He knows this helps with his brother sometimes, when he gets paranoid. But he isn’t sure that’s your problem. He feels a little lost, but is upbeat as ever. He has to set a good example after all.

He most likely won’t ask about the cuddles for a while. He’s more concerned with what more he can do to make you comfortable, and if this works, it works. Besides- openly nosy folk are seldom rewarded in his line of business. Eventually though, he’ll push back the instinct. He trusts you, and this could make a lot of difference in helping you cheer up.

And when you tell him…

He’s beaming at you with such genuine joy, he looks like he might just start crying. Just… wowie! He doesn’t really understand why you’d feel that way, he’s only decent in crisis situations, but the fact that you really trust him that much? Well, it’s not something he gets a lot of. He must be doing something right if you feel this way.

He’ll rest his chin on your head and give you a hearty squeeze. “WELL! I SUPPOSE!! YOU’LL JUST HAVE TO STAY IN THIS HUG!!! FOREVER!!!!”

He won’t move for a while, get used to him, he lives there now. From then on, he’ll start taking every opportunity to come home early and see you. He’ll ask you to cook with him, he’ll ask you to read to him, he’d even try to sneak you with him on jobs if Sans didn’t always seem to stop you. He tries to be around the house more in general, he wants his little sibling to know that he’s always around if you need him.

HT!Sans: He understands your mood all too well. He’s been through plenty of periods of fear and depressive episodes in his day, and he knows how it feels. Sometime he feels like the only way he can perceive the world is either through an all-consuming fog or with painful knife-point precision. But it’s hard for him to think back to what he wanted during more desperate times. Food? Safety? He’s pretty sure you’ve got those covered already. Maybe your head just acts up a little sometimes, like his.

He’ll make sure you have everything you need, regardless. You hungry? Tired? He’ll take care of it, just you relax. If you need to talk, he may not understand or remember everything you say, but he’ll do his best to offer comfort.

It doesn’t quite register how much you relax when you cuddle him, not for a while. He can be a little slow sometimes. He’ll get it eventually though, and he’ll ask about it. This seems important, had he asked before?

And what you tell him…

It almost brings a tear to his eye. He may have a trauma-induced forgetful streak, but he remembers a lot of things. He remembers a lot of nasty, horrible things. He remembers the taste of human flesh. He remembers the strain of keeping his guard up at all times. He remembers watching his brother slip away.

But you? You’ve been his second chance. You gave him the opportunity to make things right with himself. A sibling he didn’t have to fail. He most definitely felt he didn’t deserve you or your trust... after all, he had eaten people like you without a second thought. But you gave your trust just as freely.

“heh…” He ruffles your hair. “hope that works out for ya.”

He’ll do his best to be available for cuddles (not that he has much to keep him away) and he’ll try to take you with him if he has to go somewhere. He always makes an effort to ask about your day, if anything bad happened, if anything good happened. He doesn’t feel like he can do much, but he’ll do what he can to make things easier on you.

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anime-imagines-galore · 7 years

Text

Rohan Art Museum Date

((Like the Jotaro fic, this is based off a trip I took recently (Dallas Museum of Art and Baltimore Museum of Art) and this is dedicated to @brandosimagine. I personally don’t like Rohan but who else would go to a freaking art museum and I had some harsh ideas on some of the more contemporary pieces, much like the fandom’s favorite mangaka. Also under the cut cuz it’s 2.1K words))

You were damn near close to crying and silent laughter shook your entire frame as you eyed the man next to you. An elegant hand cupped his chin and mouth while the other tapped on the hip he had jutted out as he took in the piece before him. One foot tapped ferociously and the rest of his face was contorted in the most disgusted grimace you had ever seen and you waited excitedly for his verdict.

“What the fuck is this?” laughter threatened to bubble over as you waited for the rest of his verdict. “The color scheme is atrocious, the composition, nauseating, and what does this have to do with ancient cultural pieces? This is contemporary! What is wrong with the placement of these pieces?!” He looked at you out of the corner of his eye, his hand hiding his amused smirk as you tried to keep quiet despite the fact you were laughing so hard. Honestly, other than finding inspiration for his art, he knows that his harsh words brings a light to your eyes that he’d give anything to see again. “I can’t stand to look at this anymore. Let’s go.” The sketchbook in his hand was still surprisingly blank even though the two of you have been through the entire contemporary exhibit.

“Nothing caught your eye?” you ask jokingly, still breathless from your laughing fit. His scowl returned, though not as harsh, and the sassiness of his walk only sharpened as his agitation rose.

“Please. I trust my reader’s intelligence to understand such a complex story but whatever inspiration I get from these pieces will give them whiplash. Now, here's something intriguing."

You watched as he sat before a collection of renaissance paintings and started sketching. Even though he sketched pretty fast there was still an entire collection before him and that prompted you to look around. You didn't have the same critical eye as Rohan but that didn’t stop you from criticizing the art the same way the mangaka would. Just the thought of doing so made you smile fondly as you shook your head. In all honesty, the pieces weren't as bad as Rohan made them out to be. It was probably because he has such high standards but the art was truly amazing. Sure, the layout was a little wonky (I mean, maybe, who goes to the art gallery often enough to figure that out) but it was nice to see the stark difference between the exhibits. Contemporary next to ancient culture, ancient culture next to abstract sculptures, sculptures next to religious pieces and so forth.

After staring at the pieces for a while, you figured it was time for you to go back to where you left Rohan. It wasn't until you turned and saw him quickly tapping his foot did you realize that he'd probably been standing there for a while. As earlier stated, he draws fairly fast and could've sketched the entire collection in just a handful of minutes instead of an hour or two like a normal person. A hand on one cocked hip and gracefully arched eyebrow meant that you were in for an earful. Ducking your head in shame, you shuffled to the tall man and looked up at him through your eyelashes, hoping this would soften him up a bit. If anything, his brow arched higher and he sneered at you down his nose. 'Here we go.' you thought mentally rolling your eyes.

"Do not go on without me again. You were the one who dragged me here-"

"You're the one who asked me…."

"-to get my verdict on these pieces." he said moving on as if there was no interruption. "Being here happened to be of interest for reference. And you wouldn't have been able to get into the private sections without me. Don't get it confused." turning sharply on his heel, he walked toward the next exhibit and tossed an arrogant "Try to keep up." over his shoulder.

Grumbling, you hustled a few steps to catch up and made sure to, if not match his steps just to annoy him, then keep up.

Lengthening his stride for the sake of being awful, Rohan nearly walked right past the next exhibit. When the mangaka was sketching and looked up to realize you weren't there beside him, it didn't worry him too much at first but the anxiety of possibly losing you in a huge building after a few fruitless minutes of searching caught up with him. He didn't necessarily ask you to go to the art gallery with him per say, he just planted the idea in your head. He wasn't exactly sure how to say "Can you go to the art gallery with me? I would rather be alone but I really enjoy your company and I know my criticism will make you laugh, which I love, by the way," without being out of character. It was true that he wasn't fond of contemporary art but he laid an extra thick layer of venom to his words just to hear you laugh at them. Seeing you not there when he was sketching hurt him more than he cares to admit for whatever reason. He usually knows what he wants and is proud to say that there's not a single thing that he doesn't know about himself but emotions are much too slick to grasp, especially when it comes to you.

"Rohan! Slow down! You'll miss the exhibit." he heard you huff behind him. Realizing that you were right, he stopped but because he wanted to, not because you told him.

Next were the sculptures. Rohan made poses from the sculpture's shapes but his sketches were coming out messy from his frustration. Slamming down his pencil with a dramatic sigh, he looked up at the sculpture as though it insulted him. He suddenly swung back to look at you, startling you in the process. A sharp catwalk to you ended with another dramatic sigh. You didn't even bother to hold back your eye roll.

"I wanted to apologize for how I acted earlier." your eyes widen in shock as a smile crept its way onto your face at the man. He was actually apologizing and being a nice person for once- "I'm glad I got that off my chest. Now I can sketch again in peace." Wow. Just as you were complementing him. You can't say that you're surprised but he actually said sorry no matter how passive aggressive it was.

He went back to sketching, not even bothering to sit down as he walked from piece to piece in rapid succession. You could tell by the way he was hunched over his sketchbook that he wasn't taking in the meaning of the art. After jumping to the tenth piece in a matter of two minutes, you walked up to him and laid a hand on his arm. The sudden jolt made him misplace a line and he looked up ready to yell but whatever he was about to say died on his tongue when he saw your expression. You looked up at him with such sadness in your eyes that made him take a sharp inhale. The initial goal of this trip was to spend time together since you were the only person he likes other than Koichi. He sighs again, this time a quiet and very real sigh escaped his lips as he closed his sketchbook. He didn't want to admit that it actually pained him to see you this way but he also didn’t want to keep staring at those sad eyes. He sent a quick glance to the hand on his arm, which you removed. The great Rohan could only be so nice at one time.

The two of you walked through the other exhibits side by side as Rohan took time to examine the pieces instead of draw the first thing he thought of. A cold glare whenever he reached for his sketchbook made the man grit his teeth in frustration but he obeyed nonetheless, begrudgingly, of course. That didn't stop him from taking pictures, though, and he took plenty to make up for the fact that he couldn't use his sketchbook. Out of sheer pettiness, Rohan had kept quiet and didn't disclose his opinion on the artworks. He realized this was worsening your mood and decided it was time to enact his second act of kindness of the day.

The two of you stood before a collection of fanged stone masks when Rohan let out a theater scoff.

" 'The Stone Masks were found in a rainforest in Mexico in the early 1900s. The exact use of the masks are unknown as are the creators but urban legend states that once dowsed in blood and worn, the wearer becomes a vampire.' What kind of half-assed backstory is this? This sounds like something from a D-list 80s Halloween movie, not something that belongs in an art gallery." he hums and smirks evilly as he heard you start to laugh. He could tell you were trying to hold back to not give him the satisfaction of winning but it was a challenge.

"Well, considering some of the other pieces here, this fits right in." he sneaks a glance at you and sees that your lips were pursed in a tight line, trying to hold back any reaction.

" 'The Red Stone of Aja is said to be an amplifier to the masks. With the mask on and the Stone inserted, it turns its wearer into the Ultimate Lifeform.' Putting rock into more rock turns its wearer into the ultimate lifeform? Sure, okay. 'Some speculation is thought that its creators were the Pillar Men. Many died out but those left were-' Kars, Whamuu, and Esidesi? AC/DC like the band? Were they all named after bands?! Goodness this writing is lazy! Names should have substance, not be named after bands!"

Your soft chortles rose to full out snorts as you were unable to hold back the laughter anymore. Tears leaked from tightly closed eyes and laughter overtook your entire body. It was one thing for Rohan to pick at certain aspects of a piece but it was something else when he shredded its entire history. There was no story greater than whatever he came up with himself and Rohan's not afraid to let someone know when their writing is as interesting as watching paint dry. He also knew there was a strange emotion eating away at him when he saw how upset you were with him and he had to change it. The great Rohan Kishibe was perfect in every aspect and nobody in their right mind had any reason to hate him and he definitely wasn't going to give one to one of the few people he cared about. As much as Rohan could care, of course. A triumphant smile played on the mangaka's face and he reveled at the fact that he was the one to reduce you to such a state with a few harsh words.

"Okay, calm down. This is starting to get embarrassing."

"Shut up and let me have this. I haven't laughed this hard in so long…hahahaha~." even so, you calmed but your eyes shone with happiness.

Rohan inwardly grinned at your change of mood as he didn't want to you to be mad at him anymore. The two of you went through the rest of the museum much of the same way, he would criticize the art and you would laugh at his remarks. Ready to finally leave, the two of you walked out and idled on the front steps of the building.

"Today was fun. We should do it again sometime." you told the mangaka.

Fighting down a blush with a shit-eating grin, Rohan responded, "Of course who had fun. You were with me aftera-"

"But don't think I forgave you for earlier. It's one thing to be upset but another to offend me. Next time I see you, I'm kicking your ass." smiling at his pale face, you turned to walk back home. "See you later! I won't go easy on you either!" throwing a wave over your shoulder, you bounded down the stairs with a skip in your step.

Rohan didn't even bother to try to mask his surprise and fear as you could very well kick his ass. Walking down the stairs at a slower pace he made his way home, thankfully in the opposite direction. Another genuine smile made his way onto his face at the thought of you. He really was in deep, wasn't he?

#jjba #rohan kishibe #for a new friend!!!!!#brandosimagine #diamond is unbreakable #this is 2.1K words wtf

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