omg hallmark au?!? how abt christmas tree?
[uh. there's a tree at the end lol]
//
beatrice kisses you. it’s snowing outside and smells like pine and cinammon and her cologne and you’ve kissed her before, in an alley in the dark, but the light from the fireplace here is gentle and bathes her in warmth and she kisses you. it’s a revelation, you think, to be kissed like this, with your eyes closed and a tender hand combing through your hair and the whole world tucked away somewhere else, off this mountainside and hundreds of miles over valleys and rivers and roads away from you here, and now.
beatrice kisses you and you tug on the bottom of her fleece and pull it over her head, the t-shirt underneath coming with it, and a million thoughts run through your head — she’s ripped, first of all, a delight you will revisit soon; the scars that stretch across her flat chest aren’t overwhelmingly surprising, not old but not new either, gorgeous and healed and healing, so much of her unspoken that she wants you to understand; she has a few freckles on her strong shoulders — but she’s looking at you like this is a lot more than a fling while you’re running away from your real life.
you think it clearly, then: this is your real life, too. this is real. beatrice is real.
you trace one of her scars, just for a moment, and then let your fingers trail lightly down her stomach.
‘you’re so beautiful,’ you say and hope it’s right, hope it’s enough.
beatrice, stoic and kind and faithful, takes it in, her eyes meeting yours, gold in the light, and then she smiles softly. ‘you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen.’
you feel the weight of her jaw in the palm of your hand when you bring it to her face; the lightness of it, sharp and soft. i love you runs through your head, unbidden, i’m in love with you, but it’s too much and too soon and you’ll leave anyway, and this isn’t home but it isn’t something else entirely either.
‘please,’ is all you can say, but she seems to understand because she kisses you deeply, like there’s something there she’s searching to tell you. you sink into it, let it wash over you with its warmth.
////
the sheets are still warm when you wake, even though the bed is empty. you don’t mind; the world is heavy sometimes, and you understand.
you take your time to stretch, to wiggle your toes, to flex your hands. it doesn’t escape you, even still, the miracle of touch and movement, the life you have that seems, despite the days that feel intolerable, bigger than you could’ve dreamed.
you put on one of her hoodies — soft and warm and smelling of laundry detergent and a little like her cologne, musk and clove and fresh pine, like this place, an unnamable magic — and pad out to the living room. she’s on the couch looking out over the mountains, snow covered, from her huge a-frame windows, theo asleep at her feet. beatrice seems larger than life sometimes, her seriousness and kindness and strength, her bright, quiet laugh — another magic entirely.
she smiles, small and shy, when you curl up next to her and take her coffee with a wink.
‘this is… disgusting,’ you say, surprised to taste at least three spoonfuls of sugar, and you wait a beat before you both laugh. ‘i would’ve thought you had black coffee, very solemn.’
‘i’m still not quite used to the taste, admittedly, but i thought you might like some instead of tea.’
it’s thoughtful in a way that makes you want to cry, but instead you clear your throat and lean into her side.
you stay like that for a while, her strong arm wrapped around your shoulders and theo snoring softly every now and then. it’s a bluebird day outside, bright and clear and beautiful.
‘even though you’re leaving,’ she says after a while, ‘i’m thankful i’ve known you.’
it aches in your chest, this desire to never move from this spot, to stop running once and for all, to rest in this warm house with its glass wall and the mountains — flowers in the spring, orange leaves in the fall — a home.
she continues, ‘i would’ve longed for you forever, i think, if we hadn’t met.’
and — what do you even say to that? when you imagined this little adventure, you had thought you’d spend quiet days in a silly little town, drink some hot chocolate, instagram the view of the mountains from your window; maybe — maybe — going home with the town hottie and leaving before they woke. you take a deep breath and look at the soft planes of beatrice’s face and then the big, full christmas tree in the corner of the room that camila told you she cut down herself, its carefully strung lights and a few unexpectedly silly ornaments. you can imagine all of it, her care and quiet humor; you had ached, for so long, to be treated with kindness, to be seen and found whole.
you hadn’t expected her — how could you?
‘well,’ you say, your voice rough in your throat, but she gives you the same grace as always, allowing you to clear it without comment, ‘i haven’t left yet.’
she braves a smile. ‘that’s true.’
‘take me back to bed?’
she stands, unfolds herself elegantly and offers her hand. you think you could hold it forever, but your plane leaves this evening and your life looms. still, you kiss her and, after she comes, trace words you can’t say into the soft skin on her back; you think about saying them aloud, but you don’t.
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you see price sitting like this when you walk into a room post mission- and you know exactly what it is he needs.
he's licking at you and holding your thighs open with his rough palms- and you can't take it. his calluses and his beard and the fabric of his sleeves are rubbing at your legs just right- but not enough for you to lose focus on his hot tongue rubbing on you and in you and you've never been wetter in your LIFE.
his only problem? you're still moving too much. he can't reach where he wants to inside of you because you keep wiggling out of his way. his hands want to touch you everywhere- not just hold your thighs still. this is when he begins to squeeze at you everywhere, and tell you to rest your thighs on his shoulders.
"b-but price- hhnngh ohmygod- i c-can't. they're too big. thighs are too big"
you whine at the loss of contact, but then you look down and see him staring at you with massive pupils and a wet face. "lovie- my shoulders are broad for a reason. rest your thighs on em and i swear they'll have enough room"
and you listen, and you're crushing his ears with your thighs, and he's never been happier. the next time you look down? he's rutting into the mattress and you see his hips stutter when he groans into you and your vision goes white
(@chamomiletealeaf and i had SUCH A HORNY discussion about this and she told me to post it so here i am- and also omg photo creds to her. we've gotta reign it in lmfao)
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