Filed to story: Penny and Navy Brother Asher
Yeah. Penny got scared by the thunder. Handling it.
Because what else can I say?
How do you explain the way her panic is choking the air out of the room?
How do you explain the way it cuts you in half to see
I shift, pulling her gently toward me, it?
She’s still fighting, small fists pushing weakly at my chest, tears wetting her cheeks.
I drag her carefully onto my lap, my lap, settling her with her back against my chest, her legs curled sideways across my thighs.
And then slowly – I start breathing.
Deep. slow breaths
Out
Deliberate
Grounding
After a few minutes, I feel her start to mirror it without realising – her ribcage expanding against mine, her gasps slowing
She stops struggling. the one that a not good for her, the In
Just slumps against me, spr
I hold her tighter, the arm around he wants, the other faced against the back of the couch.
She feels so all like this.”
So impossibly soft.
Every part of me every rough, broken, handened pari – screams to protect her. And this other side of me, trying to keep away, wants to destroy her.
I dip my head closer to heus, lovering my voice in a tumble.
“You okay?”
She nods, the motion small and jerky.
I don’t push for more.
I shift, lifting her carefully, and settle her back down on the couch next to me.
She wipes at her face with the sleeve of my shirt, looking embarassed.
I don’t say anything
I don’t look away either.
“What was that I ask quietly-
She pulls the blanket up higher around herself.
“Sometimes I get.. nightmares,” she says finally, voice so soft I almost miss it. “I don’t know why. They hot… happen.”
I nod once, taking it in.
Not asking for more.
Not tonight.
Maybe not ever-unless she wants to tell me
I put my thigh lightly.
“Come here. Go back to sleep.”
She hesitates. can see the war in her eyes trust, fear, stubborn independence.
But finally, she scouts over
She curls up carefully, laying her head on my thigh, one arm tacked under her.
My hands free fut a second.
Then I grab the blanket and drape in over he, tucking it gently and her shoulders.
She shilts, sighs, rel
I hover debating, battling before I give in and let my hand skim lightly over het hala,
Soft.
Way softer than it should be.
Like touching span silk.
Tense to see if she flinches
She doesn’t.
So I keep going – threading my fingers slowly through the damp strands, letting the feeling anchor me to this moment, this impossible girl
Outside, the storm rages on
But inside, in this tiny circle of warmth and breath and steady heartbeats
She sleeps.
The first thing that drifts into my mind when I wake up is the heavy, deep quiet not the normal kind of stillness that comes with early mornings, but the thick, weighted ki that feels red after chans hat finally worn full out. for a moment, I just lie there, the warmth of the blanket cocoming me and the faint memory of the storm brushing against the edge of my thoughts.
I try to piece it together the roar of the wind, the bright white flash of lightning slicing act happening. my ceiling, the way panic had taken me hostage before I even realized it was
I stretch slightly, shifting under the blanket and that’s when I feel it.
Something heavy, something hot, pressing against my waist
I Mink fully awake, glance down – and freeze.
A hand.
A big one, rough-looking, veins standing out, fingers long and relaxed, resting low across my waist like it belongs there.
The kind of hand that could crush or protect with equal ease.
I follow the line of his arm up, my heart thudding louder with every inch.
He will sitting on the couch, exactly where I last saw him, but now slouched slightly, head tipped forward, chin resting against his closed fist, fast asleep.
How he can sleep like that cramped in an uncomfortable position, barely supported is beyond me, but even as the thought crosses my mind, a pang shoots through my chest, sharp and aching
He’s probably used to it
Used to sleeping sitting up, used to not sleeping at all, used to being uncomfortable, used to hard fours and cold nights and everything else he doesn’t say but wears like a second skin.
For a long, still moment, I let myself look at him,
Really look.
Even in sleep, there’s nothing soft about Asher Hayes.
The scar carved down the side of his neck disappears beneath the wum collar of his shirt, a violent, allent reminder of things he never talks about.
A smaller scar cuts across the edge of his left eyebrow, giving him a permanent, faintly dangerous edge that no amount of sleep can east.
His jaw is dusted with stubble now, rough and dark the sharp angles of his cheekbones thrown into even harsher relief by the faint light creeping in through the certains.
His hair is a little messy, damp strands falling forward onto his forehead, softening him just slightly, betraying the fact that under all that steel, he’s still just… human.
I take in the rise and fall of his chest, the flex of made even in rest, the way the shit clings to the breadth of his shoulders, hinting at the strength be usually keeps contained in tightly
It’s stupid, but sitting here, watching him like this, he doesn’t seem real
Tyler is handsome the ball, in eyes warm ammmah in dreien in, the Dish of Lough that make
Breathtaking
Like standing at the edge of a chill chooing a storm and realizing you’re not afraid to fall you’re afraid of how badh you want to
The thought him through me, hot and fast, and 19 (still grappling with it when a
“Staring’s rude, you know. “
I seck back a little, cheeks flaming, eyes wide voice rumbles low armes the ips