#also sorry i took control of margot here hope thats ok if its a drabble <:)< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[samuhelll]

@rottine asked: The celebration began in its cozy and quaint way. A party the weekend prior, so as not to coincide with the work week — this is what Margot tells him. Those few they’re so lucky to call family passing through for plates of hot food and small gifts and a homemade tiramisu in lieu of cake. These, of course, are all things Sam expected. These and the seemingly-million candles Casey insisted on adorning the dessert with for kicks, as he does every year. This year, the quiet home dinner was only the beginning. The surprise was offered to him once all of the guests filed back home to their beds. Once the dishes were promptly abandoned for more pressing matters under the sheets. Once husband and wife lied atop each other, all stuck skin and heaving breaths. Margot kept her gift for him so conveniently tucked in the drawer of her bedside table, a blank envelope hidden in plain sight that she’d excitedly patted onto his chest. Unable to bear another second spent waiting for the reveal. Inside, Sam found four tickets. Two for the plane to Naples, Italy. Another two for the coast-bound train. “You’ve whisked me away so many times,” she’d told him with a proud smile. “My turn to return the favor. We leave tomorrow night.” Now, welcoming their fourth day in a new hemisphere, the cathedral bell of Santa Maria Assunta erupts into her midnight song. The lights of Positano are snuffed one by one, until only the stars illuminate the black sea. November fourteenth arrives gift-wrapped in the lapping Mediterranean tide and the hum of balcony jacuzzi jets. No thoughts of the work she’s left for the week, nor the phone abandoned on do not disturb. Only floods of mind-bending affection when her husband wraps an arm around her under the steaming water, looks down upon her with his pretty blue eyes. Prosecco in hand, Margot clinks her glass with Sam’s, and leans in for a soft kiss. Takes the opportunity to mumble something almost uncharacteristically cheesy, a surefire sign that all the wine is drowning her decorum into dead silence. She’s made her peace with it. “Happy birthday, mi amore.”

In Positano, as the hour winds down to eight and the cliffside houses begin to shutter their eyes to the approaching faerie darkness, Sam settles inside a jacuzzi, affection buzzing through him like a theremin in his chest.

He wonders vaguely about one-in-a-millions, luck of the draws. It comes to him when she clinks her wineglass to his, then again when she comes in for a kiss. Fizzling like a bubble bath, at last geysering, it fills his head with the Big Bang expansion of the universe where it follows him under Sea Island cotton sheets, silk vanilla, and her hair is still vaguely damp.

The world molded this woman from the dust of moon moths and accidentally furnished him with her presence, he thinks. One in a million. 

“Margot. Do you think you’d marry me again?” he suddenly rumbles.

He thinks she snorts when he pulls her hair aside, kissing the junction of her shoulders. “Sam. What?”

“Seriously,” he says. “What do you think? Got a fifty-fifty shot?”

She flips around under the covers, deadpan-amused. “‘Again.’”

“Yeah.” He laughs like dry bark and the lines by his eyes fold. “I just thought— Maybe we keep renewing it, you know,” he says. “Make it a good luck thing.”

Something crosses Margot’s face, then. It makes something in his stomach churn, then stop, then spin in that order, and under the translucent cotton membrane of these hotel sheets, she looks phantasmic, too ethereal for this sad and mortal realm.

She must have read him like an open book.

“I don’t know. Just... thinking thoughts.”

She tents the covers up with a hand and steals a good, long look, their breaths circulating underneath, the sheet a pulsing cotton organ. When she kisses, it’s with a certainty that liquefies him.

“You’ll always have me. And I’ll always have you,” she says. “That’s what marriage is. A promise.”