#swsf: waiting for you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

continued for @shewassoferal

After he escaped vault D, they had the chance to sleep together twice - always completely platonic, beside cheek kisses or kisses on the top of his head - and there has always been a sort of what if feeling between them that she wasn’t sure of how to explain. At first, when she had met Kara, she had thought there was something there, but he had made clear they were just friends, as if he thought they should have that kind of conversation despite not being anything but friends. So Jemma had always thought of him in aspecial way, an almost, a maybe, and then the bloody planet had changed everything for her.

He doesn’t even know.

Because he and Kara were busy fighting Hydra, and Fitz had no way of contacting him, and anyway they probably couldn’t have helped, he doesn’t know about Maveth, and Jemma thinks that the only reason why after eight months without hearing from her (he must have thought SHIELD had to stay even more hidden, last time they talked she had told him they were making progresses with inhumans, and then apparently inhumans started popping out everywhere) he still seemed to care was that she had welcomed him with an enthusiasm she hadn’t been able to conceal, almost jumping on him. Of course then he had also realized something was different because she dressed differently, spoke less, and the way she fought was just—

She had meant to talk, but after saying she’d take some time off to be with him, which had been correctly interpreted as ‘alone’ by the others, they had ended up talking about other things, mostly him, and she had relaxed, and eaten, and watched Doctor Who, and she was all too awake, still watching it, when he had dozed off against her, getting cuddled because she had no way to not do it.

She’s still cuddling him when another episode is finished, but he moves a little and she sees the mark on his wrist again, the scar - it’s so different from hers in every way, but they probably have in common a dislike for their own - and she gently brings his wrist to her lips to kiss it. She turns in his direction and her heart jumps because he’s awake, looking at her in a way that keeps her from apologizing, and for a second, maybe because tired, she thinks this is okay, she forgets what happened to her, what she is. This is so real, this time, and he’s so close, eyes full of emotion, and Jemma turns more and surges forward, her hand cupping his cheek as she kisses him heatedly, with a need that has once again nothing in common yet everything to do with the soft one to his scar. The moment his lips move she deepens it and almost pins Ward down against the mattress, her heart and body far stronger than her mind apart from the thought that she has to make it last as long as she can because then she won’t have to face what happens next.

absence makes the heart grow fonder . . .

it’s a saying that grant ward has never thought would ever apply to him. after all, the mere possibility of attachment was an enemy he had always run from in the past years. if there’s no attachment, there’s no room for affection. if there’s no affection, there’s no way the heart will want to bury a home in someone else’s chest.

for the most part, he had succeeded. and even when he had almost failed, when his foot had slipped and brought him sliding down the edge of the cliff, he had managed to claw on the rocks, find a niche to bury his fingers into and anchor himself. but as he was there, dangling for his survival, jemma simmons came like an unexpected storm, blowing him away. and no matter how hard he tried to hold on to the rocks, he fell. he fell, and he fell, and he fell. but instead of swinging him violently until he crashed down to the shards of the earth waiting below, she whisked him to the air carefully, until he landed on his feet, completely safe.

so, it’s not at all his fault that he grew attached. but just as he was burying his roots in, trying to find a sturdy foundation to make a home on, she vanished. as quickly as she stole him, she was stolen from him.

for the first few months, he’d tried to forget about her. it was an adventure --------- the journey of unwrapping his arms from the promise of what he could have had with her. when telling himself that his feelings might not be as real as he believes --------- that he was alone and desperate in his isolation in the vault for so long that he latched on to the first person that had given him a slice of their time ; that after being left so lost, he had merely latched onto the closest lifeboat, desperate for salvation --------- had not worked, he tells himself that she’s not coming back. not to him because, finally, she had begun seeing him again as the monster he’s always been. he tells himself she’s woken up from the nightmare he’s trapped her in, and now that she’s free of him, she’s never coming back.

his attempts worked.

or so he thought.

the few months bleed into several, until the counter hits eight, and for all that time, he had expected the memory of her to feel like a life long lived, a past to never revisit. and then --------- and then --------- she comes back.

SHE COMES BACK . . .

and, just like that, all those months of work unravels with just a smile. with just brush of the pads of her fingers against his cheek, just her arms around his neck, and he’s back once more on the side of that cliff, floating slowly on the way down, laying on a cloud of protection she has fashioned out of her own attachment to him, and when he looks down... he finds her waiting for him down below.

he tried to forget her, and he finds out...

A B S E N C E M A K E S T H E H E A R T G R O W F O N D E R . . .

one after another, he forgets about the days he hasn’t spent with her until he feels as though there’s no time that has elapsed at all. the awkwardness he thought would wrap around them is as non---existent as the space that sits between the two of them as they lay atop her bed, her tv on, her favorite show a background to the comfort she’s slowly enveloping him in.

he doesn’t care much for the show, hasn’t seen it before, and doesn’t even understand it. but he watches it through unfocused eyes, a content smile upon his lips, as he listens to the sound of her breathing. his head is on her shoulder, his back against the headboard. his position is a tad bit awkward, but the satisfaction rings in his every sigh of relief.

she’s so warm... he thinks to himself, his arm atop her thigh. and it’s that thought and her familiar scent that lulls him to sleep, relief seeping into his muscles as his weight eases against her until his forearm rolls inside out on her thigh, his scar greeting her.

it’s as if he wakes up from a dream when he opens his eyes slightly after what feels like only a few minutes, and finds her lifting his arm to her lips, a kiss light on his skin. and it’s as though his skin is directly connected to his heart as the very brush of her lips brings a jolt to his chest. brown eyes open and he stares at her half in confusion and half in expectation.

a million and one questions line his features, parts his lips, but before he can utter a single one, she’s silencing him with her own lips.

absence makes the heart grow fonder . . .

a kiss makes a man fall harder . . .

all his emotions burst out from him with that one kiss. with the taste of her mouth on his tongue, he kisses her hard, tells her without words the billion words he has wanted to tell her while she was gone. with every bite, every suck, he tells her a million different versions of the same three words.

his fingers don’t want to let go, so they move of their own accord to her hair, tips carding through the soft locks until they find a perch behind her neck, keeping her in place while pulling her closer at the same time. he feels her weight trying to imprison him between her warmth and the mattress, and he lets her, slides down his back until it hits the soft bedding. and when his arm hooks around her waist, he pulls her on him, acting on the yearning, the longing to get lost in her.

it’s only when the lack of air burns in his lungs that he’s forced to pull away. but underneath her, there’s only her face to gaze upon, and he has not seen a view as beautiful in such a long time. breath is shallow in his chest, heart battering his ribs one beat at a time, and he has not felt as alive as he did then.

brown gaze on the freckles on her cheeks. how many of those did she have before ??

tongue darting out to chase the taste of her on his tingling lips. can i get more ??

body yearning for the permanence of her weight. i want to keep you...

heart in his eyes. take it, it’s yours...

and he tells her one of the million variations of the same three words...

❛ i’ve been waiting for you... ❜