#I NEED IT TO BE AUTUMN FOREVER | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pizza-is-my-buziness · 2 years

Note

Okay, bestie. "library / bookshop date" + "isn't this stuff for kids?" OR "it looks lovely and cozy in here?"

I need you to know I had a lot of feels reading this prompt list and thinking about our favorite fictional lesbians, and my wife called me out for smiling at my phone while thought about which prompts to send you.

Obviously Sam/Deena makes sense, but you can do Sarah/Hannah. I trust you.

Okay I definitely did my best with this one and tried to keep it from turning into a meandering mess! Shout out to both @readyfortigers and the fabulous anon who always drops by my inbox to entice me with feels and ideas about future Sam and Deena...hopefully this is a decent foray into "Sam and Deena are soulmates and happy forever while owning their own business" territory because I love it so much.

And I changed up one word here or there with the dialogue prompts to make them sound more naturally like something Deena would say.

Deena rolls over, opening her eyes to find a pair of overly large, golden eyes peering back at her, which is not exactly how she’d hoped to start off her morning. Sunday mornings are ideally spent lingering in bed for as long as possible, putting off any and all responsibilities until they can be ignored no longer, preferably while cuddling up with the human that Deena would much rather find in bed beside her. Unfortunately, it seems like what she gets is an empty bed and the judgment of a feline.

“You aren’t Sam.” The cat flicks her tail, blinking slowly, and Deena adds, “No offense.”

Stevie Nicks, the cat and not the rock star, seems as unimpressed now as she had been moments earlier, making herself comfortable on Sam’s side of the bed. Sam’s unfortunately empty side of the bed.

For a moment, Deena continues her staring contest, listening to the apartment around her for any trace of where Sam is and what she might be doing. Or, rather, what she’s seemed to have decided is more important than indulging in their Sunday morning ritual of doing absolutely nothing. But the apartment is silent without even the sound of creaking floorboards to give Sam away and so Deena shoves the blankets aside, swinging her legs out of bed and forcing her bare feet to connect with the cold floor. Even this far out from what could be deemed a proper winter, the apartment’s heating still leaves something to be desired…which is really just another point in favor of not getting out of bed at all.

There’s a pot of coffee already brewed and a mug sitting on the counter with a post it note stuck to the handle, Sam’s familiar handwriting offering a single clue as to why Deena has woken up alone: downstairs.

And so, downstairs is exactly where Deena goes, taking the stairs carefully so she doesn’t slosh any of the still steaming coffee over the edge of the mug and onto her fingers like she’s done too many times to garner any sympathy. She bumps the door open with her hip, the sounds of Dolly Parton filling the otherwise quiet space and Deena makes a beeline in the direction of the register and the record player that spins on the counter top most of the time, the two of them keeping a milk crate of records on the floor for personal use. Still, there is no Sam in sight, something that is becoming more and more disappointing with every occurrence.

But the front window display of the store seems to have become transformed sometime since they’d closed up the night before, the shelving draped with cottony cobwebs and artificially golden leaves that scream autumn. A stack of books is already sitting there, ready for display, with Bunnicula right on top and the sight of it immediately brings a smile to Deena’s face, mostly because with it comes the memory of reading it with Sam in the weeks before they’d left Shadyside behind when their efforts to pack up all the things Sam “absolutely could not be without” had really just involved taking a trip through all her favorite childhood books. All of which, Deena would like to point out, have made every single move with them ever since.

Turning down the volume on the record player, Deena calls, “Sam? Where are you?”

The sound of something clattering to the floor is the response that she gets and when Deena winds her way through the shelves in the direction of the sound, she’s not surprised to find Sam already on her hands and knees, trying to gather up a battalion of plastic bats and throwing them back into the box. “What are you doing?”

Sam looks up, holding up one of the plasticky winged creatures. “Trying to clean these up so we can-”

“I mean,” Deena says, kneeling down to help with the collection effort, “what are you doing down here instead of still asleep in bed which is definitely a much better place to be.”

Sam doesn’t look like she’s inclined to argue, though she does offer Deena an apologetic scrunch of her nose. “I just couldn’t sleep…I kept thinking about everything we had to do and…” She shrugs. “I didn’t want to wake you up. I thought at least one of us should be able to sleep in.”

They both stand and Deena steps forward to take the box from Sam’s arms, mostly because it gives her the chance to lean closer and press her lips to Sam’s. “You should’ve,” she says against Sam’s lips, reluctant to step away even though there are definitely more ideal places for a good morning kiss as far as Deena is concerned. “That way you don’t have to do all this by yourself.”

There are certain things Sam is certainly more suited for when it comes to running the store, just like Deena knows where her own fortes are. Bookkeeping, for instance, and talking people out of making some truly horrendous musical choices as they comb through the store’s selection of vinyl. The window display, or what currently exists of it, is proof of just one of Sam’s strong suits, because Deena knows that if she were in charge of making the store at all inviting for the upcoming Halloween season, it would look more like the dumpster behind a grocery store as they transitioned to their Christmas merchandise. In the past three years, everything charming and aesthetically pleasing about the store has been thanks to Sam, though Deena likes to imagine that while people might be drawn in thanks to the charming décor, they stay for the absolutely epic music selection.

“I know,” Sam says with a shrug, her hand settling briefly against the nape of Deena’s neck as she holds her close for one last kiss. “I told Stevie Nicks to keep you company instead.”

Deena rolls her eyes, following Sam back toward the front of the store. “Yeah, she definitely was staring at me with her creepy goblin eyes. So thanks for that.” She drops the box of Halloween decorations next to the stack of books Sam has already gathered. “Probably trying to steal my soul or something.”

Sam laughs, rolling her eyes. “She does not have goblin eyes. She has perfectly normal cat eyes.”

“You could add her to your Halloween display and she would fit right in,” Deena points out, pulling a cardboard black cat out of the box. “See? They’re practically twins.”

The comment at least earns her another eye roll and a laugh, which is really all Deena can ever hope for in her interactions with Sam. Most of the time she considers it a victory if she’s funny enough or charming enough to warrant any of Sam’s attention.

“Okay, so what are we doing?” Deena rubs her hands together like the only thing she can imagine doing with her Sunday morning is whatever this is. “I mean, it looks great so far. Nice and cozy in here.”

Sam brightens, her gaze shifting toward the half-finished autumn display in the window. “You think so? I wasn’t sure if the leaves might be too much…or maybe there should be pumpkins? Or would leaves and pumpkins be too much? Because-”

Deena laughs, putting her arm around Sam’s shoulders and kissing the side of her head. “I just really love the way your mind works.”

Really, she does. Seeing as this is the same mind that had suggested years before that they should just open their own place and not just because it would give them the excuse to spend most of their time together but also because she was certain Deena was never happier than when she was talking music or showing kids how to hold a pair of drum sticks correctly and play the drums in a way that wasn’t just noise. And because it had been Sam’s mind that had first crafted the scenario that they could get out of Shadyside in the first place, that Deena could get out and be more and that they could be something together.

And what a something it is.

Together, they tackle the window display, Deena following the perimeters that Sam gives her, trying to bring to life the vision that Sam is seeing in that mind of hers. It’s a complete and total surprise that, when Deena goes to change the record once more, she finds that it’s nearly noon, the whole of their relaxing Sunday morning having slipped by without them.

“I think we need a lunch break,” Deena declares, retrieving a plastic orange leaf from Sam’s ponytail. “Pizza?”

Sam nods, giving a fake cobweb a critical glare. “Pizza.”

Deena heads back upstairs to change out of her sleep shorts and tank top and order ahead to their favorite place within walking distance, trying to ignore the goblin-eyed stare down she’s getting from Stevie Nicks lurking in the doorway. Clearly the cat has never forgiven her for saying, several months before when Sam had come home with the bedraggled kitten, that she was better off putting it back where it had come from because it didn’t look like any cat she’d ever seen.

An assessment that Deena still stands by, even if the cat has more or less become part of the family.

The bell above the shop’s door chimes as Deena lets herself in, pizza box in hand, to find Sam clearing away the boxes from the pile they’d made by the window. “Thank God,” she grumbles. “I’m starving.” She lifts the top of the box before Deena even gets to put it down. “Just cheese?”

“Yes, just cheese.” Deena rolls her eyes with a grin. “Sorry to disappoint Samantha ‘I like pineapple on pizza’ Fraser.” She puts the pizza box on the counter. “Next time you grab food, you can order whatever monstrosity you want. Deal?”

The smile gets in response immediately makes Deena regret the words. “Deal.”

Sam turns away, retrieving the quilt they normally keep across the back of the couch which has somehow made it downstairs, shaking it out and spreading it across the floor. Deena lifts an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“I know this isn’t normally how we spend our Sundays,” Sam relents. “And it’s not exactly the most romantic place for a date but…” She shrugs, a hopeful smile on her face. “Picnic?”

As if Deena would ever want to be anywhere else.

They eat the pizza straight out of the box, the afternoon sunlight falling in squares through the windows they’ve spent all morning decorating to entice passersby and there are still moments where Deena wants to look around and make sure that all of this is real, that the universe hasn’t somehow just dropped all of this in her lap by mistake. Getting even just one of these things would be worthy of a daily pinch-me-I’m-dreaming moment, but to have the apartment, the business, the easy and gentle life outside of Shadyside and to be able to share all these things with Sam seems almost too greedy. Like she should leave some happiness for everyone else.

Then again, Deena feels like she might be entitled to a little bit of selfishness these days.

Eventually, Sam nudges the pizza box aside and drags over one of the cardboard boxes they’d gotten from storage earlier. “Look what I found.” She rummages around in the holiday detritus until she retrieves something that looks like a sheet of shimmering plastic, though the grin on her face makes it seem like she’s holding nothing less than gold.

Deena takes a closer look, smirking when she realizes what Sam is holding. “Temporary tattoos. How responsibly badass.” She peers into the box, which is full of all types of kitschy nonsense like plastic skull rings and rubber spiders. “Isn’t this the stuff for the kids? For the trick-or-treating thing?”

Sam shrugs, studying the assortment of tattoos closely. “I’m sure they won’t miss a few. Which one do you want?” She holds up the sheet, even as she says, “I was definitely thinking the cat. In honor of Stevie Nicks.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely. But then I get to pick yours.” She plucks the tattoos from Sam’s fingers. “Creepy spider? No…not Sam Fraser enough. Ooh, haunted house. Definitely.”

Frowning slightly, Sam says, “Do I even want to know what it is about me that makes you think about haunted houses?”

Grinning, Deena gets to her feet, holding out a hand to help Sam up. “It’s better if it maintains an air of mystery.”

They crowd into the bathroom marked staff only in Deena’s insistent handwriting, the sign a product of chasing out far too many teenagers and toddlers, running the water until it goes from frigid to lukewarm, which is unfortunately the same range the upstairs apartment gets on a bad day. Still not something Deena thinks she would trade for anywhere else in the world, though.

Carefully, Sam wets the tattoo and lays it against Deena’s wrist, her palm warm and insistent as she holds the tiny paper square in place. She lifts her gaze toward Deena’s, the smile on her face just as warm and insistent as the pressure of her fingers around her wrist and every time Deena looks at the tattoo over the next few days, that’s exactly what she thinks about: the smile on Sam’s face and the pressure against her skin.

#sameena #fear street #sam/deena #autumn prompts #I just love this future for them so much #I need all the domestic fluff forever #sam fraser #deena johnson

12 notes · View notes