#safe haven;

[minjixmi]

muse moodboard: Instagram Profile 

credits; Insta template, flowers

[whattheflark-a]

She sets down the wrapped parcel on the desk beside him before giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, leaving him to open it on his own. Attached is a note –

For Peter. This is one of the few items I took from my family’s home when we left for here. My father had a few of these left over from before he started dictating his journals on film. I know how much my father would have loved you, and I have a feeling you’ll have a far better use for this than I ever could. Fill it up. I hope the stories are happy ones.

Love, Door

[whattheflark-a]

i want the k part 3284

26 — Hips

     They both have nightmares. That much isn't new. They both get better, slowly; that much isn't new, either. And neither is it news that that doesn't mean either suddenly has none anymore — quite the opposite. They are barely less (though notable in the one or another full night worth of sleep) but easier to bear. Easier to overcome when you wake up, sweat cold on your skin and breath burning in your chest only to have someone close, light touches against bodies on fire and soothing whispers mumbled between sheets.

     No, what's new is the kind of some of them.

     He's used to being back at war; as much as one can possibly be. He's used to being back at the Phalanx (which usually results in him having a little more distance to anything metal for the day afterwards than usual; a thing hard enough on a spaceship). He's used to having to lose Gabe, Rora, Adam, his mother, Richard — all over again. He's used to remember dying in a blur of washed out grey. He knows those.

     What's new is the ones where she's gone. Where she's another casualty of a war he never wanted to fight, never could fight, but that followed him anywhere either way without question asked. Where he wakes up panicked and afraid to open his eyes because he's scared she will not be there. That somehow, something happened while he allowed his body to rest, while he allowed to let his guard down — and with that, hers —

     It takes a while to even be able to breath again, takes a while until his body isn't numb in fear of another loss, and one he's not able to withstand. Takes a while until he can move; carefully reaching over the bed (and he doesn't need to open his eyes to see his hand trembling with pure horror upon a thing that's so unlikely) until his fingertips get to brush over hair.

     That's when one long drag of oxygen manages to drag over bruised lips, and when he finally gets to look up, and when he shifts, soft touches over her skin like he's afraid to break her, like he's afraid she'll fade if he presses too hard. Or maybe just to wake her — a thing that is inevitable, but might take a few more seconds if he hasn't already.

     He rolls over, his arms coming to rest around her, and lips tracing the line of her hip bone, one he knows as well as any other detail of her body by now. Face buried against her stomach, concentrating on the rhythm of her breathing until his own is in sync with hers again, until his heart doesn't pound against his rib cage with force anymore.

     Not letting go before the night is somehow survived. Just another fight; but not alone for once.

[eternalabsolution]

He's sweaty, but she doesn't care as she drags her shirt over her head and tosses it behind her - her thighs cradling his hips between them. She needs him; craves him, her body trembling and he's barely even touched her since he made it back to the hotel room several minutes before. Leaning down over him, she doesn't bother with words as she seeks his lips, kissing him deeply and threading her fingers through his sweat soaked hair.