very specific au prompt: arya and jaqen fill the fountains in washington square park with laundry detergent, turning them into giant puffballs of foam.
A short summary: see the ask ;)
When the M pulls into the Myrtle Avenue station after 25 minutes of waiting, there’s something blue about the black sky. Arya points this out to Jaqen, and he takes her soft-gloved hand in his leather-gloved hand as they walk into the glaring lights of the empty train car.
“A girl notices much,” he says, giving her hand a squeeze. "It is as though she has the eyes of a wolf.“
"I’m gonna wish I never told you about my wolf dreams,” Arya yawns. She’s too tired to talk much, and the early morning chill and stillness feels like a drug in her veins. She and Jaqen spill into one of the two-person benches at the end of the car, tucking their bulky backpacks under the seat, and take out her phone to continue listening to the audiobook of Rilke’s poetry read in the German original that Jaqen’s put on there. He gets the headphone in his right ear, Arya gets hers in her left, and she pushes play and he snuggles against her.
“Eight stops,” he whispers. “A girl may rest. A man will watch her.”
Arya yawns again. ”You mean watch over me? Or watch me?”
“A man means both. Always.”
“Creep.” Arya loves the sound of the German poetry, and her German’s getting better, but it’s not good enough yet for the rocking of the train and the clunking of the wheels over the rails to not make it all sound like part of a strange, guttural lullaby. Her family would not be happy to know she was falling asleep on the subway in Bushwick before sunrise, but her family doesn’t know everything: Bushwick’s not like what they think, and with her and Jaqen combined, nothing bad can possibly happen to them.
She’s asleep before the next station.
Jaqen nudges her awake just before the train pulls into West 4th, and they gather their backpacks and walk the few blocks to Washington Square Park quietly. The sun’s not out yet, but the sky is getting bluer. It’s cool, but not cold, and some birds are singing.
They hop over the fence without checking to see if the gates are unlocked. Sometimes, Arya thinks, it’s more fun to hop over fences, and something she likes about Jaqen is that he agrees. His long, thin legs are made for it, anyway.
It’s weird to think that this is what a real, honest killer-for-hire who loves Rilke and glam rock (which is, in itself, weird to think about) is choosing to do with his time, with her, but Arya enjoys weird. She’s not afraid of weird, and it’s why she’s opening up the first of many boxes of detergent they’d bought at Family Dollar yesterday and pouring it into the fountain. She would have thought they’d turn off the water while the park was closed, but the fountain is running, and filling with bubbles as she and Jaqen empty out their boxes.
“A man wants to play in it,” Jaqen mumbles, and he’s pulling off his jacket and gloves and shirt and tossing aside and jumping into the foam.
“Watch out!” Arya cries, pulling off her shirt to join him. She jumps in, landing on top of Jaqen and knocking him onto his ass.
He sends a rush of soapy cold fountain water splashing toward her. ”If a girl intends to get a man soaked, a man must do the same to a girl.”
Arya splashes him back. There’s a dot of suds on his nose, and his nipples are as pink and hard as she’s ever seen them. They look like the scar tissue he’s got all over his body. He splashes her again.
“You can splash me all you want. I don’t get cold.”
“A man gets cold,” Jaqen says, in a voice so pitiful Arya decides not to ask why he went into the fountain in the first place. Instead, she gives him a hug, melding his slippery, shirtless body with her own. The red side of his hair is full of bubbles, and she is sure she looks the same. They’ll have to clear out before the sun is all the way up, but for now it’s just her and Jaqen, rocking back and forth to the sound of the fountain.
jbbartram-illu
dededos
tangentwithtanner
germansingergirl
areudirty
jacobvanloon
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