jesse doesn’t live by almosts.
he didn’t almost kill, steal, cheat his way into notoriety, nor did he almost make the cut into blackwatch, even as some young, scrawny, scrappy thing with dirt on his face and dry blood under his nails. the strides he makes are in full, exhaustive and exacting. some folks plan for failure, he knows, preparing backups and auxiliaries before they’ve even tried their hand, but he doesn’t entertain thoughts of loss. too distracting, altogether tempting to accept notions he’s become familiar with. so he goes in thinking he’s already won, or that he’s on the path to victory, at least, smug mouthed and haughty, with words like near and close and nigh out of mind.
still. there are exceptions.
and they sound like angela coughing on cigar smoke, hand waving in front of her face as she chokes out a few reasons why he should kick the habit, nothing jesse’s never heard before but he smiles and hums like he agrees and isn’t wildly amused by her concern and disgust both.
he pops the cigar back between his lips and acts like he isn’t thinking about how it was just touching hers a moment ago. the wrapper is sweet, but that’s the taste of maduro for him, cloying and bitter. best of both worlds. it’s a flavor that demands attention, but so is she, apparently, and jesse feels ridiculous for coming back to this like he has so many times before over the years.
kiss meme | accepting
she cannot recall the last time she felt such peace. cannot count on her fingers nor her toes a moment where she could breathe and feel the rise and fall of her lungs, without the interruption of war and chaos brewing around her. but in his arms, there is serenity. in his embrace, she feels safety, at last. when he kisses her with such fervor, she might swear she hears the whispers of the universe tickling at her ears ; heavenly bodies whom giggle and shine ‘pon them both in approval. she might hum along, like a hymn, to glorify this moment – this tenderness that is so becoming of this feral creature.
how long has she missed him? how long has she pondered over the day where she might come across him in her travels, after the death of their overwatch? be him broken or bent, twisted or maimed ; how many nights has she lied awake in bed somewhere abroad, wishing only to ever see his face again, selfishly? that stupid…. beautiful face….
❛ jesse – ❜ this time, it is she who grabs hold of him. wary that he might disappear all over should she not hold tight enough. worried to her bones that this opportunity might be one of their very last. she cannot let it slip away. not again. not so easily. o cruel and ungentle fate, how he drifts between her fingers like sand – she would cling, if she must. thin arms encircle at his neck, resting against the broad of his shoulders as the tiny doktor reaches to kiss him in return. once, twice, and again… ‘til she is smiling and kissing at the gruff of his cheeks and the top of his forehead. until every last bit of his face is peppered with expressions of her love.
❛ i missed these moments. ❜