#song: dogwood

[vforvielka]

Deliver me from everything I’ve put off and all that we’ve lost

[abuzd]

[nicoledollanganger-songs]

Dogwood  Nicole Dollanganger

listen on bandcamp

O Lord, please don’t take him from me I need him, you know I do I try to stop him from using that shit But there’s no telling that man what to do 

But you’ll have to pry him from my cold, dead grip If you try taking him from me, O Lord And you know I refuse to understand that he just makes his own bed And there’s no use trying 

 O Lord, please don’t give him those wings  You know how reckless he can be sometimes And o I swear doesn’t mean it when he says He don’t care if he lives or dies 

 And I’m not sure if you can hear this, but I read Your name across his chest and I thought I’d try So if you’re there, Lord, I am begging you to spare him Just spare him, to you I cry 

Or you’ll have to pry him from my cold, dead grip ‘Cause I’m not letting go of him

[everythingsinred]

Let's Talk About NatsuMikan: Mikan (pt. 29)

I cut this up strangely. This arc is a mess and I'm tired.

Today, we're back to the chaos of the Escape Arc or High School Arc or Mikan's Very Bad Day or the Events Arc (where a bunch of things happen one after another and poor Anya has no chance to analyze any of it) or whatever you want to call it. Mikan needs to reunite with her mom tonight, so she and her band of rebels will use foreign alices in order to fight their enemies and help her escape.

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Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Four

They return from their trip to see the HSP’s office empty and ransacked. They returned an hour after they left, meaning that a lot went down during that time. There’s a lot to do now, starting with tracking down everyone who is missing from the office, including Yuka. 

Oh so cute and sad.

Hayami appears to give some news, as he always does, telling them that the ESP is searching for Mikan and her mother. This mention of her mother reminds Mikan of the last thing Yuka heard her say, that she didn’t want to leave with her and that she was a bad person. Mikan is consumed with guilt that she can’t instantly apologize for what she said. She doesn’t like that Yuka has to wait before knowing the truth: that Mikan loves her and wants to be with her.

The situation is dire and Natsume stresses the importance of making sure Mikan escapes the school with Yuka as their main priority. Mikan is surprised by this since there’s important people who are missing, some of whom have even been captured, like Subaru. But Natsume says the same thing Noda had said before, that getting Yuka and Mikan away from the ESP is a priority in order to keep everyone safe. They can handle the other stuff later. And then he says, one more time, that he’ll protect her, no matter what happens. 

Mikan reacts only thinking his name, and I think that’s her allowing herself the smallest rush of affection for a night that will be stressful and chaotic, when she has already decided that she can’t look too closely at her feelings right now. 

This page will ALWAYS be famous.

The moment passes though, because there’s not much time. Everyone else sides with Natsume, agreeing to prioritize Mikan’s safety and escape with Yuka. Mikan is outvoted. Their mission now is clear.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Five

Mikan and company are on the run from the fuukitai, but they run into Goshima, a (supposedly) friendly face, who is here to give some information. The rest of the adults from the HSP’s office have scattered, with Subaru getting captured by the ESP. The plan now is for Yuka and Mikan to rendezvous to the warp-hole and escape together that way.

Mikan squeezing the letter... I'm going to pass away.

In the meantime, Yuka has left alice stones for Mikan, suspecting that Mikan might have the insertion alice as well. Mikan, excited to see her mother again, is touched to receive the letter. So far, her experiences watching Yuka in the time trip involved only one-sided communication, with Mikan simply witnessing Yuka’s life. They haven’t had the chance to truly talk yet, and this letter is one little taste of having her mother speak to her. She seems to treasure the letter, especially relieved that her mother is safe for now. 

But Mikan is still concerned about what might happen if she doesn’t have the insertion alice after all. Just like Yuka was anxious to try inserting alices into Himemiya without a clue if she had the ability to do so, Mikan feels put on the spot and worried, nervous that she might ruin things if she doesn’t have the ability. But while she worries, Tono sticks an alice stone in her mouth. She freaks out, naturally, because she wouldn’t have been expecting that, and also I think because, as we discussed from Chapter 77 on, Mikan is more aware of Tono’s occasionally sleazy behavior. She is no longer oblivious to that side of him and so she seems just as violated as everyone else for her sake.

But Tono asserts that he did it to amplify her potential insertion alice and give her a helpful push into awakening a previously dormant alice.

Turns out he’s right and Mikan gets to work inserting alices into her friends. She recalls Narumi’s advice that her alice can be helpful or harmful depending on her intentions, and that the key is to love and appreciate your own alice. She decides to believe in her alice and the alice she shares with her mother in order to be helpful.

My love of GA and Mikan as a character versus my dislike of Mikan having the Stealing Alice even though that's a plot point for more than half the manga... Am I the problem? No... it's the stealing alice that is wrong...

It’s not important but I really don’t like Mikan having the stealing/insertion alice. From here on out her nullification is pretty much entirely brushed aside. Mikan has, for most of the manga, felt dearly insecure about her nullification alice for not being useful enough or flashy enough or impressive enough to compare to her classmates’. She never got over this insecurity, which was a huge part of her arc, and now it’s entirely overshadowed by the stealing alice (and its twin, the insertion alice), which is useful and flashy and impressive all at once, with its only drawback being its taboo reputation. The narrative regarding her arc remains the same, with instances like this harkening to Narumi’s famous words reminding us that Mikan doesn’t always like her alice, potentially distracting us from the reality that Mikan’s feelings about the stealing alice and the nullification alice are completely different. Long story short, I don’t like the narrative about the stealing alice or the way it effectively sidelined her nullification alice. Poor nullification alice… you’ll always be my favorite.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Six

Mikan has inserted many alice stones into her friends. She has inserted into herself the teleportation alice stone, since she can resonate well with it. It is her mother’s alice, after all. She is happy to have the same alice as her mother for the time being, eager to connect with her in any way she can.

She is also exceedingly convinced she has inserted into herself some sort of stone for telepathy, because she feels like she can hear her mother’s voice, though she refrains from voicing this suspicion out loud to anyone.

I love how important multiple relationships are in GA, how large Mikan's heart is and how many people she loves (I ignore the finale chapter because it's stupid and garbage).

Their situation becomes complicated when the group realizes there’s a traitor on their side. The fuukitai pursuers find them and they are saved by Natsume’s alice. They are all forcibly separated for the time being, with Natsume staying behind with Tsubasa to fight off the pursuers. Mikan doesn’t want to separate but she can’t have what she wants tonight, not really for anything.

It seems like the best idea, until Tono suggests Noda take the enemies into time-space for the time being.

Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Seven

Tono convinces Noda to do as he requests and Noda is out of the running for a moment. (I know Tono suspects Noda is the traitor right now but I’m very amused by the knowledge that he is not, in fact, and just goes along with it anyway because he wants to help. Poor Noda.)

The issue of the traitor plaguing everyone’s minds is pretty significant because Mikan has always tried to heed Narumi’s advice from very early on in the manga, that she should find many friends to trust and cherish. The idea that one of those friends could have betrayed her is in direct contrast with Mikan’s worldview, particularly her black-and white view of people that I’ve described a few times so far. People are either good or bad. She can change her mind that a bad person is actually good, like with Natsume or Yuka, but she hasn’t actually changed her mind the other way around, that a person she cares for could be anything other than a great and trustworthy friend, let alone a traitorous enemy.

So even though Tono and the others start thinking hard about who is most suspicious, Mikan doesn’t work that way. She trusts wholeheartedly and is sad to see Noda go. But--again--there’s no time for thoughts or emotions because there’s more pursuers!

(I’m gonna be honest with y’all. This arc is exhausting. There’s so many revelations and no time to linger on any of them because there’s always something new happening on the next page. I understand this night is busy and chaotic and as a result Mikan has no time or energy to spend thinking about her feelings, not that she did that much anyway, but it’s hard for me. I am trying hard to write meaningful analysis with very little to work with. This is just an Events Arc, with things happening all the time but no introspection or time to let anything settle. Sigh.)

Mikan teleports away from the office with all of her friends, calling for her mother’s support as she does so. 

Mikan has the feeling that she is somehow telepathically communicating with her mother again, hearing Yuka’s voice softly in her head. Yuka can hear her too, and it’s the only thing tethering them at this moment as they work hard to reunite again. 

This is supposed to be a ship essay. I'm sorry.

Yuka’s voice gives her much-needed support because they manage to teleport into an ambush, surrounded on all sides by fellow students. They might not agree with the ESP, but they fight for him anyway, or else they risk becoming like the other part of the crowd, a large group of Luna’s specialty soul-sucked zombies. The crowd blames Mikan’s rebellion for this trouble and is more than willing to charge at her and her friends to punish them.

But Natsume creates what looks like a fire tornado, keeping the attackers at bay. Ruka protests, since some of the attackers are being controlled, and also since Natsume shouldn’t be using his alice so much if he’s sick. But Tsubasa is more distracted by Natsume’s new abilities with his fire, suggesting that he has Sakurano’s wish alice inserted into him. With this alice stone comes other abilities and Natsume summons all his allies closer, with only Mikan conveniently landing in his arms. He doesn’t waste time either. He tells Mikan exactly what to do and, flustered, she obeys, getting them all to teleport to a safer place.

I think Natsume is getting a bit bold since this is his last night with Mikan and he’s already gotten his biggest secrets off his chest. This new alice stone only gives him an extra boost. It’s just interesting the effect this boldness has on Mikan in particular. She spent much of their relationship thinking Natsume was much colder than he really was. Now that everything’s out in the open, he catches only her in an embrace, behavior that is so surprising it flusters her, and then immediately switches to bossing her around, keeping true to his original spirit and reminding her that he is indeed the same Natsume.

This is honestly one of my favorite pages in the whole manga, no joke. There's SO MUCH here.

He was hiding parts of himself, sure, but not everything has been a facade. It’s just interesting.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Eight

We finally get a quiet moment! Mikan is able to--due to Natsume’s bossy demand--teleport them to the woods where they can catch their breath for a minute. Ruka is revealed to have the barrier alice stone, which will come in handy. Meanwhile, Mikan decides to try out the new telepathy alice stone she suspects she possesses on Hotaru. 

When Hotaru responds, Mikan is happy to see that it’s true. It wasn’t just teleportation in Sakurano’s stone, but a little telepathy mixed in as well, giving her this highly convenient ability. This power doesn’t give her some upper hand against enemies or anything. It seems like she can only use it with people she cares about, like there needs to be some degree of resonance for their minds to connect, which is why she can communicate with Hotaru and her mother. Mikan doesn’t advertise this alice because it’s not necessarily useful for their goals right now, but…

Mikan shares that she’s been hearing a soft voice calling out to her, a sad and pained voice that she suspects is her mother’s. She blushes when she realizes she might be imagining it, or just hearing what she wants to hear, but Hotaru smiles and assures her that it is her mother calling for her. Mikan is happy to be validated in this way and holds onto Hotaru to confess that she wants to use this alice to communicate her feelings towards her mom--how sorry she is, how much she loves her, how much she wants to see her. And Hotaru assures her again: she can hear it.

My favorite Hotaru and Mikan moment in the whole manga. It's very soft and Hotaru reveals the softest parts of herself while Mikan lets herself be vulnerable about her mom. I love it.

It’s a very soft moment, where Mikan opens up with Hotaru about something that has nothing to do with the trouble at hand but is still weighing heavily on Mikan’s mind. And Hotaru doesn’t tease her or act detached the way she normally would. She is instead only kind, supportive, and reassuring, because she can see how embarrassed and insecure Mikan is to share these feelings, how badly she wants to believe she can communicate with her mom. Furthermore, Mikan is impatient to see her mother and this is what she needs to hold her over until they can finally see each other. She doesn’t want her mom to see her and be scared that Mikan hates her--she should know now, even when they’re separated, how loved she is.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Nine

The group is setting up to teleport again, but Nobara isn’t joining them. As they all disappear, Mikan hears Nobara thank her. Then they’re gone. 

Mikan insists on going back for Nobara, who is all on her own and probably in danger. Natsume stops her though, catching her by the arm. He says Nobara chose this, and that it doesn’t matter because their priority is still reuniting Mikan with Yuka. Nobara, who knows the DA class well, will confront them, and that helps their main goal of getting Mikan to escape that much easier. 

In this arc, Natsume is the voice of reason and Hotaru is the voice of soft reassurance. Meanwhile Ruka is defender of Mikan's agency! They all play an important emotional role for her tonight. Natsume will also play another role but not on purpose. We'll get into that later.

Mikan reluctantly agrees but tries to send well-wishes to Nobara. 

I think it’s very interesting that Natsume acts so consistently as the voice of reason for Mikan in this arc. He’s frequently the one stopping her and talking sense into her. He does it with compassion, but he doesn’t waste much time. And everytime he does this, Mikan understands. He is able to convince her. The roles Ruka, Hotaru, and Natsume are filling for Mikan right now are pretty interesting. Hotaru has been nothing but supportive and reassuring all night, Ruka has stood up for her and her agency, and Natsume talks sense into her and gets her moving. All of them have the same goal: to get Mikan out of the school with her mom. Natsume’s just very mission-oriented, as we know. He stays on task and he’s here to help Mikan do the same. That’s what she needs right now, too, even if it pains her to be separated from her friends, one by one.

Everyone is exhausted. Using foreign alices is draining. When they encounter the SA class, more bad news is shared since Misaki-senpai and many of their Class B friends have been captured by the ESP’s forces.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-One

The plot thickens!

Subaru has had his soul sucked by Luna. He is now mind-controlled on the enemy side. Mikan can see how upset this makes Hotaru. It’s not just a matter of somebody being mind-controlled, it’s Hotaru’s dear brother, right when they had made plans to start working on their sibling relationship in earnest. Mikan hates to see her friend upset so she decides to go into the fray, no matter the danger, to steal his alice and reunite the siblings.

An act of love!

Unfortunately, for all her gusto, Subaru unleashes his pain alice on her, inflicting her with agony and shattering her plans. And Subaru was used for a reason anyway, to trap Mikan into approaching him to save him. She’s saved by Jinno and Sakurano at the last moment, but the situation is still dire for Hotaru, who still has to watch her brother with his dull eyes, under Luna’s alice. 

Mikan is relieved to see Jinno, despite all he’s done so far, because she was touched to see how much he cared for her father. Again, Mikan is very much a black and white person. She rarely has conflicting feelings for people; they are either good or bad. Jinno made a good impression in the time trip despite being pretty terrible every other time, so he’s good in her book now.

They pressure Mikan and her group to leave, since they’ll handle this situation. But Mikan is one of the only two people with the stealing alice, the only known way to vanquish Luna’s alice. If Yuka or Mikan doesn’t help Subaru, there’s no way of making sure he can get back to normal. She’s reluctant to leave, but, yet again, there’s not much of a choice.

Another farewell.

But Hotaru is staying put, telling Mikan that she can’t leave, because she’d always regret it if she did. 

Conclusion

Things are happening! Things!

I'm tired and this Events Arc gets to me.

This has some NatsuMikan in it! But most of the NatsuMikan content of this arc will be in the next part. I tried going through my essay to see how many more parts you can expect. I came up with an estimate of 37 total parts. But that's a pretty conservative number on my part. I wanna think that highly of myself but... (Here's a summary of my personality and work ethic.) It'll probably be more parts because I'm a lazy and easily tired girl and I might not be able to do that much work for the next 9 days. We'll see how it goes.

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[arcanespillo]

biting my hands

[moocowmoocow]

So that you can prove Love is not enough for you There's nothing I can do 'Cause I fell in love with you

[serpentsurgency]

How about August 24th? That's the day when Give and Take by Poor Man's Poison was released, and the song reminds me of you a bit!

Sure. I guess that’s fine. Haven’t heard it though.

[thebonejunky]

Angry Wolf Girl Polka

[loudclan-clangen]

Come Over (Again) - Fiercestripe

Thank you guys for being so awesome! As a reward for being so patient with me on my break, here's a PMV and a backstory drop for everybody's mom, Fiercestripe:

Born Flower, she grew up with a group of cats that believed that she-cats shouldn't learn to hunt or fight. This ideology prevented her from running away on her own, and before she knew it she had a mate (Coal) and a kit (Thorn) and was well on her way to living the rest of her life there. It wasn't until a chance encounter with Wildfirecry, having recently left his old clan, that Flower saw a chance at freedom. Wildfirecry stayed with Flower's family for several days, hesitantly telling stories of Starclan and his old home, but he refused to stay long, claiming he had to continue his search for Starclan. Realizing this might be her only chance, Flower left in the night, determined to find him. Upon catching up with him however, Flower was disappointed. He told her to go home, that she would only slow him down or die and she had a kitten to care for. At this, Flower lashed out, she didn't care if it was dangerous, if she might die, at least she would do it away from here. Couldn't he understand that she was giving up everything for this chance? Her only chance? Eventually he relented, comforting the young she-cat and agreeing that she could travel with him, but only until she learned to take care of herself... And the rest is history. Fiercestripe will always feel guilty for leaving her daughter behind, but she doesn't regret it. A kitten, even an older one wouldn't have survived the journey they took, and because of her choice Dogwood and Rosehip were born into a loving family where they can have whatever future they want to have. She only hopes that Thorn found her own way in life, and that she's safe and happy wherever she ended up.

Fiercestripe was 15 moons old when Thorn was born, and 20 moons old when she left with Wildfirecry, so Thorn would be 75 moons old now. (only a few moons older than Siltsplash!)

[If you guys are interested I'll make a part 2 with the rest of the song! (featuring modern day Fierce, Silt, and Owl most likely) I've never made anything in video form before, so this was a really fun experiment! The only way I could wrap my head around a project this big was to make the canvas size really small, so apologies if it's not super high quality. (It's high quality in my heart.) The song is called Come Over (Again) by The Crawlers, it's one of my all time favorites, highly reccomend.]

[mischievousmoony]

𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚔, 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚎!

⟢ lily evans x fem!reader

⟢ summary: lily evans is haunted by memories from years ago before she started dating james potter and before you left her life. amid feelings of guilt, regret, and a shocking discovery, she finds herself on your doorstep . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ 5.1k

⟢ warnings/tags: reader has a bad relationship with family (implied homophobia), lily struggles with her sexuality, loosely based on the song it's named after, angsty but gets a little fluffy, second chance trope, will have another part, gave up on proofreading

⟢ masterlist

note: pls leave feedback if you have it regarding this fic being told mostly from lily's pov but awkwardly still in second person... since i was writing for fun for a while without the intention to post, i found myself focusing on the characters rather than the reader. do we like it or do we want more reader centric stuff? xo ty

Lily Evans has grown accustomed to restless nights. It started when she moved in with her boyfriend. She likes to blame the insomnia on their new flat. Some days it's the whistling radiators or the bed being too hard or the noise of their upstairs neighbours staying up late. 

James, being a sweetheart who inherited a knack for potions from his father, brews his girlfriend a supply of Dreamless Sleep Potion every week. Lily takes three of the seven potions, the rest finding refuge down the drain. She feels terrible about the waste but she finds that coming in and out of dreams all night is better than a good nights rest without them. 

She could simply tell James that she likes to dream. But there was the problem of James absolutely brewing a different sleep potion for her that would likely require more work and less accessible ingredients. Plus, to announce her fondness of her dreams would mean facing why she adores them so much. Because when Lily finds herself naturally dozing off, memories of you come flooding in. 

It was the first warm day of the season. The snow had finally melted away and signs of life crept back into the earth. 

It was midday. Was it the weekend or was she skipping class? She couldn’t remember. All she knew is that she was laying in the grass, staring up at a dogwood tree that was starting to get some life back, with her head resting someplace soft. Your lap. 

Your hands were in her hair, braiding and unbraiding small strands over and over again. Lily closed her eyes. 

“What’s going on in that pretty mind of yours, Flower?” Your voice was treat for her ears, soft and gentle like your touch. 

Lily’s eyes fluttered open to meet yours. You looked radiant. Beams of sunlight filtered through the tree branches and traced your silhouette. The wind was tame, but it made your hair wisp off to the right, some stray strands dancing across your forehead and cheeks. 

“Nothing, nothing at all,” Lily replied, “Isn’t that beautiful?”

“Relaxed?” You mused.

“Very,” Lily said, leaning into your touch as you buried your hand in her red locks, your thumb tracing a braid you left there.

“This is nice.” she sighed happily.

“I told you so,” you teased, “This is much better than hiding in some dark corner.”

“I hate when you say that.” Lily groaned playfully. 

“And I love saying it.” You grinned as you poked Lily in her side where you knew she was ticklish. 

Lily yelped and writhed away as she laughed. You surrendered quickly, not wanting to be the cause of her leaving your lap. 

After you both settled down, Lily closed her eyes again and whispered, “I wish it could be like this forever.”

“It could,” you said softly. 

Suddenly, Lily felt very cold.

Lily stirs. A sliver of soft light is shining through a gap in the curtains, signaling the impending morning. She tosses and turns for a while, pleading with the universe to send her back. 

When she flops onto her right side she finds James facing her. Pretty eyelashes lay across his cheeks as he peacefully sleeps. Something about the sight makes Lily’s heart race. She wishes it meant what she told herself it did, but she couldn’t ignore the pit in her stomach that came along with it. 

Lily turns onto her back as she brings her hands over her eyes. The weight of anxiety and self-loathing begins to settle in. She wants to think of anything, anything at all please, that will distract her. Her mind drifts back to you.

At ease, she snoozes off again. But not all of Lily’s dreams are happy ones. 

Lily finds herself back under the same tree, which was now in full bloom. Birds were chirping on the branches above. 

“Lily, I just-,” your expression was one of pure desperation.

“Just what?” Lily snapped. She had never been so vicious in her life. “You embarrassed me.”

You shake your head helplessly, “Embarrassed you?”

“You can’t act like that in front of my friends! They’re going to get the wrong idea.” As angry as she was, she kept her callous voice hushed. 

“Remus and Sirius? Seriously? They’re dating, Lily. They’re not about to judge you for being-"

“Stop!” Lily shrieked, looking around ferociously as if someone might overhear, but you two were completely alone, “It’s not about that! I’m not… I am just not.”

“Then what do you call what’s happening between us?” you asked bitterly. 

Lily’s green eyes went wide. “What’s happening between us is nothing. We’re just- just friends.”

“No. Remus, Sirius. They’re your friends. James, Mary, and Marlene are your friends. You'd be seen in public with all of them! But me? I’m not your friend.” You swallowed hard, willing the tears to stay at bay, “I thought I was more than that to you. Turns out I’m nothing.”

Lily sucked her lower lip in between her teeth. “That’s not true,” she said. 

“You only ever see me by this stupid tree at the edge of Hogwarts’ property! Or in a deserted classroom. Or in the back of the library only at times no one else would ever be there.” You spat the words like they were poison and your trembling voice rose with every syllable. 

“Please lower your voice!” Lily pleaded. The castle was far away, but close enough to see students as tiny specks leaving its’ doors. For Lily, that was too close. 

You released a dry, bitter laugh, “You see? I’m nothing but your little secret.” 

Lily looked distraught trying to come up with the right thing to say. “Isn’t that what’s fun about us?” she asked. 

You sucked in a sharp breath. For a while you just stared at Lily. Each passing second, she became more unrecognizable. 

“No. Not for me. I know who I am Lily. I’m not going to keep pretending that I’m someone else.” You said it like an accusation. 

“I’m not pretending,” she said so genuinely you couldn’t help but feel sad for her. But that didn’t cancel out your anger. 

“You can’t run away from yourself forever, Lily. If you try, you’re going to wake up one day and hate the life you’ve built. Good luck with that.” 

Lily wakes up and the back of her neck is clammy. She remembers that day clearly. For a long time, she would only acknowledge it as the day she agreed to go on a date with James. 

Speaking of, James enters the bedroom with two freshly brewed cups of tea in hand. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” James’ beaming smile fades when he meets Lily’s eyes as he enters their shared bedroom, “The potion’s not working well?”

Lily reaches for a hand mirror that lays on her bedside table. When she sees herself, she’s met with puffy dark circles, bloodshot eyes, and sickly pale cheeks. 

Lily places the mirror down in her lap. When she meets James’ eyes again, she finds herself at a loss for words. 

The look on James face induces agony in Lily. James Potter is not meant to be sad—he’s probably the most cheerful person Lily has ever known. But today he stood before her with forlorn in his eyes. 

James approaches Lily’s bedside and after setting the tea down, he cups one side of her face with a warm hand. He lightly brushes her cheek with his thumb as he says, “Maybe I’m brewing the potion incorrectly. I should owl my dad and ask for advice.”

“No!” Lily blurts. 

Oh, Merlin, she thinks as guilt starts to chew away at her. James is absolutely devastated because he thinks he’s failed at helping her. Lily feels sick for doing this to him.

“It’s not your fault,” she insists, “It’s… surely a fluke. I slept rather well the night before, remember?”

James looks like he’s considering Lily’s words. “Yeah, yeah, alright. Maybe it went sour. When I’m off for a break at work, I’ll try to research proper storage methods for sleep potions.”

Lily wants to insist that he just enjoy his break, but she relents. She feels terrible about it, but if there's one thing about James Potter, it's that he will work endlessly to find a solution to his friends' problems. After all, he did become an unregistered animagus as a teen to ease Remus’ pain, and that was no small feat. 

Lily can’t help but think to herself that she doesn’t deserve his big heart. 

Throughout the day, she tries to keep her mind off of James and sleeping potions and dreams about her past. At work, she is able to keep herself fairly busy. But when she goes on her break, she sits miserably staring at the wall, thinking about James trying to solve a nonexistent problem through his own break. 

Lily decides to return to work ten minutes early and she is met with a stack of new tasks. At the moment, she's probably the only one in the office who's happy to be overworked.

Work is able to occupy her thoughts for the rest of the day. Even on her way home, she recounts the work that she was able to complete and considers plans for the work she has left. 

She barely even notices the emptiness of the flat when she arrives, drafting a letter she needs to send to her boss in her mind. She doesn’t come back to the present until she sees a note on James’ bedside table. 

She frowns slightly and brings the parchment close to read James’ scribble. 

Visiting the library to read up on sleep potions. Be back soon.

Love, James

Great. Instead of relaxing after a full day of work, he’s at the library doing research as if they’re back at school and a potions essay is due tomorrow. 

In a fit of despair, Lily crumples up the note and throws it aside. In the heat of the moment, she carelessly bumps her fist into James’ plant. 

It’s a wretched fake plant that Lily hates. She recalls asking James for days to buy a real plant, promising to take care of it for him. But James claimed the artificial monstrosity was his most prized possession and begged her to leave it, so eventually she did. 

She worries that she’s broken the awful thing, but as she moves to clean it up, something more pressing replaces that concern. 

The plant is fine, anyway. The ceramic vase survived the fall, but the plant had popped out. It seems that the fake dirt that the waxy leaves were glued to was only a thin disk. And when it came free of the vase, something else came tumbling out as well. A little wooden box, the sight of which made Lily’s stomach turn. 

Lily feels like she’s moving through gelatin as she bends down towards the box. With trembling fingers, she picks it up like it's a bomb that could go off if she makes any sudden moves.

Oh, so carefully, Lily fiddles with its latch and slowly flips it open. 

Lily’s world comes crashing down as she stands face to face with the most beautiful engagement ring she’s ever seen. 

The golden band has an intricate botanical design. Leafy vines interlace dazzling emeralds and every detail complements a striking diamond set in a beaded frame. 

James surely dipped into the Potters' fortune for this. Whilst he prefers to live by his own means where he can, he is also not one to spare any expenses for something so momentous.

Lily doesn’t know how long she stood frozen, staring at the ring resting on its velvet bed. This is everything she's always told herself she wants yet standing there with the ring in hand, she didn’t want it at all. The contradicting emotions have seemingly short circuited her. 

Eventually, she snaps out of her trance at the sound of a holler. 

“Lilypad! I’m home!” 

Panic sets in as Lily scrambles to hide her discovery. She snaps the box closed and nearly dives for the ceramic vase that still lies on the floor. 

The sound of James’ footsteps are like a threat as she plops the vase back on the table and sets the box inside. 

“Lily?” James calls as she is trying to force the plant back into the ceramic pot. 

With a final ‘pop’ the brown disk finds its home and Lily has just enough time to whip her body towards to door before James enters. 

James’ eyes dart around the room, looking for anything that could be astray. 

“Everything okay?” James asks when he doesn’t find anything obviously wrong. 

“Yeah!” Lily says despite feeling like she can’t breathe. 

James studies his girlfriend’s flushed face, “Are you sure? You look-“

“I have to go!” Lily blurts out. She’s suddenly racing around the room, collecting her keys and sliding her shoes back on. 

Confusion floods James’ expression, “What? Go where?”

Lily waves her hand in the air as if it doesn’t matter, collecting her purse and flying out the door. 

James calls after her, “Wait, Lil-"

Lily doesn't wait to hear what he has to say as she makes a rash decision to apparate away. Her destination? For reasons Lily cannot explain nor understand, your doorstep. It was the first place she thought of and she doesn't have the slightest clue as to why—she’d never even been here before. She only knows the address from the exchange of Christmas gifts between you two one winter.

As soon as you turned 17, you moved out of your parent’s house even though you were still at Hogwarts. You had told Lily that you couldn’t even bear one last holiday with them, so that winter you found this place. 

It was a charming little townhouse in London. Lily remembers that you disliked the plain exterior, but the vivid teal door made up for it. 

The place was considerably nicer than Lily’s flat. She always wondered how you were able to afford it, but she suspected that your parents might have ‘misplaced’ some money before you moved out. And from what Lily has heard, you had secured a job right out of school. 

Lily feels ridiculous. She doesn't even know if you still live here. She doesn't even know if she wants to see you. More importantly, she fears that you don’t want to see her. 

She thinks she should leave, but she feels glued in place as she takes in the exterior to the home and she realizes that it must still be yours. You have two giant potted plants on your doorstep that look well taken care of. They stand on either side of a doormat that has simple black writing reading "welcome". You still have Christmas lights up and a wreath hanging on your door despite the holiday being a few months ago.

Lily doesn't mean to look through your windows, but one of them has the curtains drawn. She can see a cozy looking room inside. Lily tries to decipher what the little trinkets on your windowsill are. Little crystal figurines, perhaps? A jade elephant, a rose quartz cat, a lapis hippogriff, and one more. The stone was orange, or maybe red, it's hard to tell. Lily wonders if it's red jasper. No, it's not that red. Maybe carnelian?

"Lily?" A voice interrupts her train of thought.

Lily tenses. She knows exactly who that gentle voice belongs to. She turns around like a machine that desperately needs oiling—stiffly and slowly.

You suck in a sharp breath when you see that it really is her. "What are you doing here?" you ask softly.

Lily is unable to speak when she sees you. After only seeing you in her dreams for so long, this moment feels surreal.

"Are you alright?" you question, getting more worried the longer she takes to respond. Lily is the last person you expected to see when you noticed someone standing in front of your house during your walk up the street.

"Yeah I- I'm sorry. I don't know why I-" Lily shakes her head, "I was apparating and it was the first address that came to mind for some reason. I- I'm sorry, I shouldn't be here."

You were a bit scared by the way she was acting. "Lily, it's freezing out here," you say, "Why don't you come inside?"

Lily's eyes widen and she opens her mouth to protest but you don't give her the chance.

"It's fine. I promise." Your keys jingle in your hand as you pass Lily to unlock your door.

Lily follows you inside timidly. You lead her to the drawing room that she had seen through the window. You insist that Lily takes a seat as you close the room's french doors, which seems like a difficult feat. You heave the doors and some dust floats into the air. It seems like they haven't been closed in a long time.

"Sorry," you strain as you finally get the doors moving, "I don't want to wake Cami. They work the night shift, so, y'know?"

"Cami..." Lily repeats. She doesn't know why it shocks her that you've met someone, and it makes her feel worse for being here.

"Yeah," you wave your hand around like the words are lost from your tongue, "my-"

"No, yeah, of course." Lily says quickly. She tries to change the subject. "This is a nice place."

"Oh yeah, and having someone to split the rent with was long overdue," you joke.

With the doors finally closed, you turn around with a huff and place your hands on your hips. You finally have a moment to look at Lily.

She looks almost the same, but she's missing a certain fire in her eyes that she always had back when you knew her. She still had that beautiful hair that you loved. It looked just as soft. And did she have less freckles somehow? No, must just be from the lack of sun in the winter months. The last time you saw her she was sun-kissed since it was nearly summertime.

You bite your lip, feeling stupid for just staring at her while she sits distraught on your sofa.

"I should've offered you tea by now," you blurt out. You look over your shoulders at the heavy doors and hold back a sigh.

"I'm alright, no worries, really," Lily assures you.

Your eyes dart down to her trembling hands. "At least let me start a fire, yeah?"

Lily sits as still a statue, her spine rigid like she's afraid to relax in your home. She's uncomfortably aware that she is here unexpectedly, extremely unexpectedly.

She watches as you get a fire going. You have to move some firewood into the fireplace before you can cast a spell to light it.

You look different from the person Lily sees in her memories. The way you carry yourself has a certain confidence that wasn't there before. There's also physical differences. You have a new piercing, you changed the way you dress, and most shockingly to Lily—

"You cut your hair." she says thoughtfully.

"What?" Your hand reaches up to touch your hair as you move to sit on an armchair near the couch, "Oh, I suppose so, yes. I started cutting it this way about a year and a half ago to be honest."

This serves as a reminder to Lily that it has been a very long time since you were in her life. It made her being here feel impossibly more uncomfortable. Any more discomfort and Lily would start choking on it.

"Stop worrying," you chastise, "I don't mind that you're here."

All these years later and you can still tell what she's thinking by her expression.

"It is odd, though, isn't it?" Lily keeps worrying anyway, but you really do mean it. Sure, maybe a couple years ago you would have told her to go away and never come back, but you were angrier at her and angrier at the world when you were young.

You sway your head side to side, acting like you're weighing out the answer. A small smile threatens to overtake Lily's lips.

Quite chuckles emit from your mouth as your head stills, "I'll admit it's unexpected."

"Sorry."

You offer her a gentle smile as if to say it's okay. A moment passes while you gain the courage to ask her what's going on with her.

"Are you gonna tell me what brought you here?" you ask tentatively.

Images of the engagement ring flash in Lily's mind, but that's the last thing she wants to talk about.

"I've been thinking about you." Lily says. Stupid, she thinks. That topic isn't exactly much better for her. "Not like that! I mean I- I've just been feeling so... Well, I've been thinking about my past." Lily struggles to find the words to make her point, "And the mistakes I've made... one of them being you."

"Ouch." you say playfully.

"That is not what I mean!" Lily panics.

"Just joking, Lils, I get it." The nickname slips out, but seemingly goes unnoticed.

"You do?" she asks, sounding a little scared.

A sad expression overtakes your features and Lily slumps back into the sofa in response.

“You can say it.” she says shamefully.

“Say what?” you ask as you draw your eyebrows together.

“You told me so. I know how much you loved saying it. So go ahead, because I officially hate my life." Lily's head tips back and lands on the cushions behind her miserably.

"You don't mean that." You feel a piece of your heart break for her, along with a twinge of guilt.

"Why shouldn’t I? When I look at my boyfriend the only thing I feel is guilt." Lily's head tips back up to look at you again. "I can’t sleep, I can’t get a moment of peace unless I’m mind numbingly busy. I-” Lily trails off, exasperated. The only thing she leaves out of her rant is why she feels this way. She feels bitter about the fact that she still can’t even say it.

You see the turmoil in her stormy eyes and would give anything to make her feel better, even just for a moment.

“Everyone takes their own time, you know?” You tread lightly because she hasn’t technically confirmed the reason for her turmoil. “My sister, she- uh, she just came out to me,” you half expect Lily to turn on you like she did that day under the dogwood tree, but she doesn’t flinch, “and she’s almost forty.” You joke a little, lightening up the conversation. Your sister was actually in her mid thirties but sometimes even estrangement doesn’t seem to take away the instinctual need to poke fun at your siblings.

Lily remembers the way you talked about your sister. Your relationship was like her and Petunia’s, but it seemed to be worse. “Your sister?”

“Yeah, she sent an owl. Apologized for the way they all treated me. She was going through her own stuff and she was scared, I get it, but… still hurts, y’know?”

There was a lull in the conversation as Lily isn’t sure what to say.

“She asked to see me” you admit suddenly.

“Will you?”

“I don’t know.” you say wistfully, “It’s hard to forgive sometimes. Especially people who’ve said such cruel things.”

Lily sinks into the sofa even more, assuming your hinting to her, but then—

“I’m sorry.”

“What!?” Lily gapes, “What could you possibly be sorry for?”

You chew the inside of your cheek. “The last thing I ever said to you was too harsh. I never should’ve told you that you’d hate your life. Now here you are saying it’s true… I feel like I planted seeds in your mind-”

“No,” Lily interrupts, “You didn’t do anything wrong. If you must hear it, I accept your apology, but you were rightfully angry with me. And we were just kids!" A familiar fire flashes in Lily's eyes for just a second as she's consumed by an urgency to ease your feelings of remorse. "Please don’t feel guilty about that when what I did was so much worse. I was only thinking about my own feelings and I forgot about yours. I treated you like a dirty secret when you were probably the best person in my life back then. I’m the one who's sorry. I’m so sorry.” Lily sounds desperate for you to hear her apology by the time she finishes.

You didn’t know how much you needed to hear that. At some point you had decided not to let the situation with Lily hurt you anymore. You rationalized that it wasn’t about you—She was on her own path to discovery and you just happened to get wrapped up in it. So you let yourself heal, and you let yourself forgive Lily. But there was a small shrivel of anger still stowed away in your heart and you can finally feel it as it dissipates.

“I accept your apology too,” you rasp.

Lily lets the relief wash over her. She has been carrying the guilt for how she treated you for so long. And as the years went by and she reflected on her actions, it only grew worse. Finally being able to apologize and actually hearing that you accept it lifts a weight off of her shoulders that she’s forgotten what it feels like to live without. It’s almost disorienting.

“I think now’s a good time for that tea,” you say with a shaky breath and pad out of the room, closing the french doors behind you.

A sweet silence settles over the room as Lily sits alone. She takes the free time to absorb her surroundings. You’ve filled your drawing room with color and life. Artwork and portraits decorate the vibrant walls. And you have so many beautiful plants. Some hang by the windows and other small ones are scattered across the different surfaces in the room.

She wonders how much of this room is you, and how much of it is Cami. She tries to cast the stupid though aside, but she can't help noticing two stockings from Christmas still hanging on the fireplace's mantle. One has a glitter glue snowman on it, along with your sparkly initial. The other has candy canes and poorly drawn snowflakes under the letter ‘C’.

She thinks of you crafting the stockings and makes up the scene in her mind. You and Cami wrapped up in blankets on a snowy day, laughing at the juvenile designs as you eat Christmas cookies. The idea warms her heart and, for some reason, makes her sad at the same time.

Despite the weird mixed feelings, Lily feels at peace here. You seem to have built a happy life in this house and Lily finds herself wishing to be apart of it. She hopes today can be the door back into your life, but part of her fears it might be the conclusion to your story.

Eventually, you return with tea. Lily thanks you and takes a sip. It's perfect, and she realizes you remember the way she likes it.

The room remains silent even though you are back. Lily’s eyes drift around the room as she wracks her brain for something to say. With each passing second she gets more and more nervous that you’ll realize you don’t have anything more to talk about you’ll say goodbye forever.

Meanwhile, you’re watching her eyes move around the room and wonder what she’s thinking. You see her eyes falter on your record player. An idea suddenly emerges, and you get up to play a song.

It takes an awkward moment, but once it’s on you hear a small gasp.

“This was my favorite song.”

“Yeah, I know.” You bite your lip, “Was?”

Lily considers it for a moment, then corrects herself, “Is.”

“Yeah, it’s still mine too.” You begin to approach the sofa Lily is sitting on. “Do you remember when we charmed your cassette player to play this song?”

Lily starts laughing, “And we couldn’t get the bloody thing to shut up."

“And we tossed it in the Black Lake afterwards! That was our grand solution?”

Lily laughs harder, “My mum was so cross with me for that. ‘How do you misplace something like that!’ she asked me.”

“You told her you lost it? That thing was so clunky,” you snort.

“Why do you think she didn’t believe me?” Lily shook her head at her past self, “Oh! And do remember the time with the baby owl?”

“Yes!”

The world disappears around you both as you reminisce on the good times. From rescuing wild baby owls that you wrongly assumed were of the magical sort to angering the house elves after sneaking into their kitchen, you two had gotten yourselves into a lot of sticky situations back at school.

Lily loses track of time as you recount story after story, scooting closer and closer to each other on the sofa as you do.

The chimes of your blue grandfather clock suddenly catches Lily’s attention.

“Is it that late already?” Guilt sets in for how she left James, who must be worried sick.

You’re also taken aback by how long you’d been talking. You’ve forgotten how easy it was with Lily.

“I have to go,” Lily sounds panicked as she stands up.

“Oh, of course,” you stand with her, “let me walk you out.”

You lead her the way you came hours ago and step outside with her.

“It was, uh, nice seeing you, Lily.” You rock back and forth on your heels nervously. When you realize what you’re doing, you still yourself, but now you can’t stop wondering if you’re too still.

Lily smiles warmly, “I’m glad I ended up on your doorstep, even if it was a bit impromptu,” Lily rubs the back of her neck sheepishly, “Thank you for inviting me in.”

You give her a final nod and she makes her way down your front steps. You watch as she pauses at the bottom. She turns back.

"Can I see you again?" Lily knows she's being bold but she just can't help herself. She's only had you in dreams for so long. She doesn't want to let go of you as easily this time.

Your lips part, and you find yourself saying, “Yeah. That’d be… that’d be nice.”

Lily smiles for a moment, then apparates away. For a minute you stand alone in the cold, staring at the space she just occupied. Then, you go back inside to wash the teacups. You hate washing dishes, but you can’t help but smile through it.

[rivetingrosie4]

Duet

(Part 1/2)

RDR2 | Arthur Morgan x Female Reader | Rating: Explicit | tumblr masterlist | Ao3

Summary: Arthur takes you out for a much-needed, fancy date. Though you both thoroughly enjoy the whole evening, you’re both eager to get home and make love. When you finally arrive home, Arthur invites you to take a steamy shower with him.

Tags: modern au, post gang, romantic angst, romantic smut, loving marriage, hot date, parenthood, eventual shower sex

Chapter word count: 6,097

𑁦𐂂𑁦

This work is partially inspired by the following song lyrics. It’s been my sincere goal to capture both the spirit of the lyrics and the feel of the song's music in this work. Please consider giving this beautiful song a listen at the link below.

-Penny and Sparrow, “Duet”

It’s a starless night in the city. Arthur pulls the steering wheel to the right, and the city’s bright lights, stark in their atmospheric places, reflect in a swirling mirage off the black hood of his pickup.

There you are beside him, your still form a steady breath of soundness amidst the rushing streams of blurred people along each side of the vehicle.

He sits back in his seat and breathes it in deeply—your presence. He’s always hated coming to the city. Where the buildings grow taller and tighter together. Where the voice of the stars is hushed to muted, then silenced by the blaring insistence of humanity’s crush. Where strangers are forced into each other’s spaces. But with you, he feels none of it. Feels only that breath of soundness that floods and fills the inside of the truck cabin, here and now. That follows the two of you wherever you go.

So, what was once a loathsome chore to be avoided is a pleasure, with you. And he’d been eager to carry it out.

It had been long past due anyway. He can hardly remember the last time the two of you had gone out for a date. Which is a sin in itself. It must’ve been before the baby. Had to have been after the private little wedding. Too long ago, either way. He’s always wanted to keep the feelings of excitement and specialness alive anyway, to repel any atrophy that could creep into your relationship over time if either of you failed to notice. To make you know that he hasn’t tired of you. Never could. And enough has happened since then. So he’d made a point to finally take you out, and to make it a thing both easy and sure. Not to let it slip from the calendar. To assure you the baby would be taken care of, that everything would be.

He’d even enjoyed the easy familiarity of getting ready in the same rooms. The sounds and smells of your preparation. Your heady, sensuous perfume that so easily undid him like the tail of an old, ragged 3-ply strand of yarn. The sight of you leaning toward the mirror to clasp the sparkling black pearl and diamond cluster earrings that he’d gifted to you moons ago to your lobes before turning to him.

God, had you shown out. A tiny slip of a number. Black silk that drapes along your form like shimmering river water, its bias cut showing your every bodily curve and setting his nerves aflame. The straps that display your dogwood petal-soft skin and highlight the elegant outlines of your shoulders, straps that are sure to be slid away when he gets you home and secreted away, alone in the quiet. He’s only too eager help them off and to see the gown fall in one moment to the floor around your feet, transformed to nothing more than a heap of rippling satin without you to fill it.

It was something—not a wonder to him, but something—that you could still so easily make him so crazy. Inside, like a wild dog with his tongue hanging from his head. How you knew just what to do, to make him so. And did it with quiet simplicity.

Because the reality is he knows you. He knows more about you than he knows about anyone, things he couldn’t put into words if he tried, maybe even knows you better than yourself. And one thing he knows is how deeply, how painfully difficult it’s always been for you to let anyone see your skin and body. Knows the reasons, what you’ve lived through, both in yourself and from others. Knows the pressure put on you by the world and by yourself to be some form of perfection. Knows how you like to cover up with covert layers, with sleeves and baggy, flowing frills.

But without asking if he’d like it, without even a single word, you’d done it. Worn a dress this evening that makes his own knees and body turn to mountain lake melt. Shown off your scars and stretch marks and rolls. Put your deep trust in him and unyielding love for him on bright neon display, in a way only he could know.

Christ alive, the mere thought of your trust swells his heart full of love and sends him wild with pulsating desire and need. And there won’t be anything to keep him from you tonight.

Silent in your seat beside him, you watch the show of neon lights on the hood of the pickup as it rolls down the city streets.

It had gladdened you heartily when Arthur had invited you out on a date of his own volition, unprompted. You’d gotten to a place where such things weren’t remotely on your radar anymore. And the invitation alone had quickened things inside you, like the sparked flicker of an incipient flame. You’d smiled and agreed, and he’d smiled, and the moment had been like widened lungs amidst the ruddy, laborious muss of daily life.

And you’d so wanted to be good for him. In your own mind, had wanted to be something less messily human and more put together. To be something with its unsightly bits tucked away, something easily and naturally suave and gracefully sexy. Wanted to remind him that you still cherish him so deeply and still so dearly long to be and feel cherished by him, though behind your fears, you always already know you are.

But you’d seen a black silken slip dress in the back of your closet with the tag still on it. And you didn’t have any other reason to wear such a garment than for an imaginary sexy date, by which time you would have magically become a different person—one without gnarled scars on the backs of your shoulders left by body acne in years passed, or flab hanging from under your arms, or silvery stretch marks from gaining weight and losing it and gaining it and losing it again, or rolls of fat above your pubic bone.

You’d pulled it from the rack and run the pads of your fingers over its shine, knowing it would never see the light of day—or dark of night—if not now. Hoping that Arthur could still feel something physical for you in it. Finding in yourself ample trust in him, that even if he didn’t, he’d never, ever hurt you, and would only behave in a way to make you feel special.

So you’d tried it on and decided to leap.

And from the master bathroom, you’d stolen peeks to watch Arthur dress in the connected master bedroom. With his hair already pomaded and already dressed in his black slacks and white ribbed undershirt, he’d slid his arm into the sleeve of his crisp white button down, then the other arm, then had stood before the full-length cheval mirror and had tugged and straightened the collar before looking down and slipping each button into its hole, working upwards. Then he’d tucked his shirt neatly into his slacks and had snaked his black leather belt through the loops, finally buckling it closed with a faint jingle. Each movement, each sound, had unraveled you from warp and weft to mere fibers.

You’d told yourself you needed all this intel. Because you’d also seen when he’d turned away and flipped his wrist to unbutton each cuff, rolled his sleeves to the elbows, and checked his antique 1899 pocket watch before slipping it into his pocket. And then you’d heard the low, deep clacks of his brightly shining black dress shoes against the hardwood floor, and you’d seen the faintly pronounced ripple of a few muscles in his back through the white fabric and the way it was stretched by his broad shoulders, hard arms, and tapered waist when he moved. And you’d known you would be the one to undo each button and remove each article when you both returned home tonight.

Though after years, you know well the order of all the garments and undergarments he wears, as he knows yours.

And when you’d turned towards each other, him entering the bathroom to dab on cologne, you entering the bedroom to slip on your shoes, the expression on his face had been a memory you will cling to and wear like a jewel until the reaper calls to fetch you. It had turned your spine and knees to oil and had heated your chest and face as if with steam.

He wanted you. Good God, did he want you. One fractioned moment of a glimpse had been all it’d taken. And it had silently stolen your breath. He’d said something like how stunningly beautiful you are, though you can’t recall the exact words. Because his eyes and face had said much more, and you hadn’t wanted to miss it. Nor had you missed when he’d fought to softly smile and not appear so ready to have you.

How deeply and fully you’d wanted him too, just the same. Like a guttural pull to his physical form in your belly, in your throat. Its inexorable urgency would only prove to continue to snowball steadily throughout the night.

Then you’d toed past each other, and he’d donned the bay rum cologne that always makes you weak and wet and delivers you into his arms, until you’re finally arching your back.

Sometimes, in your life now, a few moments catch you. Snare you. And you think. Of all the things you’ve been over the course of your life thus far, at turns. Young and stupid; an awkward whelp; a reckless thief; then a sly con; and, briefly, a friend among friends. A wife, and now a mother as well. But alone was the thing you had been for most of your life. Much more alone than the average person, for longer, and alone in every way that mattered.

Then Arthur had come and made you a woman that a man wants. A woman who knows a man’s body. A woman who has carried a part of him inside you. Things that had been so other—so distantly removed from what you were and had always, always been—that you’d never been able to conceive of such an existence or its experience. To be one—to actually be one. Now you are one. A woman that a man wants. A woman who knows a man’s body.

Then Arthur had come and taught you things about life and love you couldn’t possibly have ever known on your own. Things no one could have ever told you. That love could have such a brutally frightening quality and texture to it—what if the one you loved came to harm? That to be united with someone meant risking yourself—that if he or she died, part of you would decay with them. That love isn’t always something one must do, as is often with blood. That love could be just as strong a tie or stronger when one chooses to love. That the absence of shared blood dulls and fades nothing. That two may share one heart, and therein is the strongest of bloods. That the decision of love itself is not merely a flippant fancy, but a fixed rock of reality. Then Arthur had come and given it all to you.

Who would have ever thought? Who could have? Certainly not you.

The drive into the city and to the restaurant had been punctuated with quiet coos to each other for directions through the tight streets. He’d opened every door for you, from the car to the inside of the restaurant. Had rested his large, calloused outlaw-turned-rancher hand very gently on the bared, dimpled skin of your lower back, to show you through each of the doors.

Holy God, did it switch every nerve inside you to electric, flipped the fluttery animals inside your chest into a swarming frenzy. The considerate gestures had put you into the pocket of his palm like warmed, dripping honey. But just as moving for you, it also plainly told the whole wide world: you were his.

Once inside the ritzy restaurant he’d chosen, he’d even pulled your chair out for you. Your shared supper had featured smiles and genuine, familiar laughter over the white linen tablecloth. And even that had been his gift to you, that you’d felt in your body. Laughter’s soothing, comforting effects flooding and lulling you as the tightness of stress left you. And the thought had occurred to you—how grateful you are for a spouse who can make you laugh, who wants to, and whose ability to do so has never faded with time. He’s never even seemed to shy away from sharing in moments of laughter, not when it comes to you.

It was his marked attention that—for reasons you couldn’t quite explain—had brought you close to tears behind your blithe smile. He’d hardly ever taken his eyes off of you. It was truly like you were the only woman in the room. And rather than it being a possessiveness that had made that so special for you, it had been the fact that he didn’t need to see any other woman. That you were the only one who did anything for him. That he was spoken for. Then there was the fact that if anyone had gawked and ogled him or flirted with him, you could glory in the simple truth that a man with his heart and his body would be going home with you tonight. No one else.

But more than any of that, his generously given attention had filled and satiated your soul. Things you never—or hardly ever—received from any other human: sincerely absorbed and thoughtful conversation, the clearly apparent desires to hear your inner life and thoughts and to smile and laugh with you. The fulfilled longing to just be with you. It welled inside you, because it was everything you craved from him and everything you wanted to give him as well.

You’d been completely relaxed and at ease all through your date. Every time you’d released a rested breath, you’d noticed some lovely new thing about your surroundings. Dimly glowing light from the scrolling sconces and the faint clinks of several types of silver cutlery on fine china. Classical piano, violin, and bass played live in the corner and the brush of luscious velvet on your skin from the seat back. A divine yet light meal of delicately crafted scallops and the finest fresh oysters. You’d reveled in the briefest sensation of the oyster filling your throat and slipping down, each time you’d swallowed one.

For dessert, chocolate ganache and a mound of macerated strawberries, blackberries, and blueberries, tossed with mint and Grand Marnier, topped with scratch-made whipped cream, and dusted with fine honeycomb sugar. Sparse sips of bourbon barrel-aged Cabernet for him, and for you, a glass each of Chardonnay and later ruby port, from stemmed glasses. Undivided attention and meeting each other’s eyes with a wellspring of affection.

It had been just what your soul had needed, and he’d known it.

Arthur slows to a stop at a red light, inwardly groaning at the obstacle drawing out your journey home. He quietly sighs through his nostrils and taps his thumb against the wheel. He glances to you at his right side, and you exchange sincere smiles.

Facing forward again, he glances down at his left ring finger. A simple ring—a rounded silver band inset by a much narrower black one—rests upon it.

In a blink, he’s taken back to those early days, before the whelming thrum of daily life, before the visceral clutch of those terrifying days in the hospital, before Grace, before you’d even become pregnant.

How he’d loved you, in a raring, aflutter, dithery way; in a way that engulfed himself sweepingly, wolfishly; in the natural way, it often seems, of new love. Though he’d kept himself tempered and even, until he’d known with surety you’d felt the same.

Then had come the quiet little ceremony, and you’d spent over a year in honeymoon bliss. Trying all the while to become pregnant, knowing you only had so much time. Then you had. And effervescent couldn’t begin to describe the two of you. Your very body, your miraculous and wondrous body, had caressed and carried all those other dreams Arthur hadn’t been fully aware that he’d still had.

Then Grace had come. A month and a half early, and earthshakingly beautiful. But her lungs had wanted to fail her, when she’d only just had a chance to greet and grace the world with herself. And in one swoop, that same beautiful new world had threatened to shatter and crumble in on itself. The blistering maelstrom of vicissitudes had nearly spun his head off his shoulders. At the time, he could only imagine all that you were going through.

Together you’d watched her every ragged breath, every labored rise of her tiny, ruddy chest, from morning until night, in days that blended and stretched to insanity. Had been forced to remain on the other side of a glass cocoon that smacked too familiarly of a coffin to him. A tiny coffin.

It had nearly killed him, your loving protector, to have to watch you go through such intense heartache and not be able to do a single thing to inoculate you against it. To watch his new infant daughter struggle to hold onto life, when he could do nothing. It had been a sort of pain concocted especially for him.

Still, the two of you had clung to each other for strength.

But hadn’t you been the bearer of all the strength? Because when turmoil and uncertainty had crushed and clamped in on him, the very worst of his hideous fears had come pouring out of him. Instead of stalwartness and fortitude, he’d proven a source of splitting chaos and weakness. After a life with some seasons of swindling and criminality, spans of cool violence and masked cavalierness towards tenderness and endearment, it had been a tiny, helpless babe that had shredded him and turned him inside out. Coming apart at the seams; bloodying his knuckles with the trunk of an oak outside the hospital; in the culmination of his inner storm, whispering insidious, nonsensical fears through the pale, eerie, hospital-room gloam that the recompense for his life was to blame and that you’d be better off without him.

With seeming great effort and a quietly tremulous voice, you’d told him, without turning, that he was the only thing keeping either of the two of you alive. That such thinking was preposterous. And that you both loved and needed him now. And forever.

Of course, his special brand of fear and self-loathing had turned out to be the very last goddamn thing you’d needed to hear, and once he’d remembered your own anxieties and insecurities, he’d been flooded with remorse.

When he’d been coming apart, you’d been holding together. When he’d left his family to beat against the tree, you’d been the one to remain at Grace’s side. And when he’d whispered the lies his mind had convinced him of, you’d quietly, though quaveringly, spoken the truth aloud to right him.

It was you who was the strong one. You who had borne the immense weight of his fears. You.

And you’d continued to prove it when the two of you had finally been able to take Grace home. She’d been so frail. So helpless. But together—just as you had been to see her struggle—the two of you had been witness to the unfathomable mystery of the simultaneous fragility and resiliency of…life. Because she’d strengthened and flourished and breathed.

He recalls somewhere in the days afterward, when you’d sought to bathe her in the tub on your own, without the aid of a plastic doodad. You’d hastily offered promises he hadn’t asked for: that you’d be sure to keep alert and wouldn’t let her drift below the water’s surface.

It had been then that he’d noticed the faint, receding shadows beneath your eyes. He’d had to ask himself if he could remember whether they’d previously been darker than they were in that moment, and whether they were beginning to brighten. Either way, he’d realized the toll the ordeal had taken on you, that you’d never voluntarily alluded to—the fullness of which he’d somehow missed, having been caught in what he deems his own silly, self-focused storm.

In memory, he can still see you from his secreted place behind the threshold, seated nude in the tub with the naked babe on your arm, skin to skin. Can still make out the tinkle of the water droplets falling from your fingertips onto her tender crown and the soft babbling of Grace’s healthy coos. Can still hear your quiet, broken plea—

“Wouldn’t you like to stay with Mama, baby? Won’t you stay? Stay with me? Please-” you’d whispered, and had sniffled when you’d wept, “Stay.”

It had put his heart and soul through a sieve. Thoroughly riven, he’d silently leaned his crumpled face into the wall, resting his forehead and eye socket against the doorjamb. He had reached up and felt wetness upon his cheek.

It had been you who had been the strong one.

He remembered being forced to ponder: how close had he come? Had he been a cobweb’s thread away from losing Grace? From losing you? He’d never know. Didn’t want to. And in those moments, shadowed in the bedroom, he’d been thrust into the experience of how it could’ve been: what would he do? How when, in search of an answer, his head had poked through a firmamental membrane to find the black mist of—nothingness.

Willing himself back to the present moment just in time, he swallows thickly, and gives attention again to the onyx light of evening.

Such shoulders, he thinks, envisioning that elegant outline of your neck exposed by your black silken gown without needing to turn and look at you. They’ve surely borne more than just those thin straps.

You watch placidly as Arthur takes the truck to the left, and the traffic ebbs and flows as you roll through the night.

Somehow, it’s enjoyable to simply sit here with him. His passenger seat princess, sharing in the sweet, silent glances and smiles. Needing no words to know that he’s on pins and needles to get home and make love to you. And ruminating in the knowledge that you feel exactly the same way.

It had taken no convincing for you to agree when he’d invited you out, though he’d been ready anyway with explanations of the provisions he’d planned, having foreseen your thought for Grace. He’d spoken them before you’d even fully opened your mouth to form the question. And you’d had to smile, because Arthur didn’t normally tip his hand to show—well, much of anything; but of all things, certainly not eagerness.

Your current train of thought flits to Grace, and though you know you should try to remain in the present with him, you can’t help but wonder if she’s cooing and smiling, enjoying time on her belly or struggling with it, or maybe drifting off to well-fed sleep.

Four months ago, you’d been so caged with guttural worry, you hadn’t been in a position to imagine time away from her for a romantic evening. Four months ago, when you’d pushed her from your body too early, and her little lungs betrayed her.

An unmooring. That was what it had felt like. Snagged and suspended in a strange, amorphous abysm with no corners, no boundaries. Hovering somewhere in life that looked on fate.

You’d tried to be steady for her. Remained there, in her room, beside her glass case. With your body still wracked by the huge task of childbirth, you’d clawed to hang on by a wisped fiber. You’d held yourself and slightly swayed by the waist at times, to cope. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You weren’t ready for her to become nothing more than a lifeless shell. Weren’t ready to see these newly sprung fears become reality. Weren’t ready.

Arthur had held you up. He’d been the only witness to the crystalline dew of your tears in the early hours as they teetered and finally rolled down your skin. Had been there every moment of every morning, every afternoon, evening, and early dawn. Right at both your sides.

When your weak, poisonous mind had told you all the worst—that you were to blame, that your despicable body had failed her when she’d needed you most—he’d held you and poured into your ears the antidote: that all of it was beyond your control, that your amazing body had been a loving home to her, and that both he and Grace loved you.

And when you’d finally required sleep, he’d forced himself to keep awake. And you’d discovered him in the same place when you’d blinked awake. But that was when you’d noticed the stark rim of red all the way around his eyes, from more than just fatigue. And he’d quietly told you he needed to step outside.

When he’d returned, he’d looked worse than when he’d left. As you’d been watching Grace sleep, he’d walked up, arms hanging haggardly at his sides, and uttered the poison in his own mind with a sheer, ragged breath.

Hearing it had split a rift in your heart, and you’d fought not to let it feed the fear wanting to grow inside you. For so long you’d fought your own anxieties that you weren’t enough to keep Arthur from leaving you. He couldn’t have known that during those days and nights of worrying for Grace, this fear of yours had been exacerbated and magnified by thoughts you couldn’t seem to keep at bay: what you’d heard once somewhere, that even the most loving, devoted couples often part after the death of a beloved child. Surely, for him to leave you after such a loss would be too selfish, too cruel. But he had been cruel. Hadn’t he? He had, to others. Why not you? It would only be a different incarnation of cruelty, for him to leave you. Was it enough that he’d changed, that you’d seen it in him, that he loved you?

Roiling and scattered and warring against fears that seemed to leap to others like lily pads, you’d tried to work it all out inside, without a word across your tongue. You’d even inwardly berated yourself for such thoughts over your relationship with Arthur, while Grace was right there, fighting for life. But you couldn’t help it. You loved them both. So it was that the fear had grown to monstrous inside you. And to hear him speak nourishment to that beast… But he couldn’t have known. And in that moment, you’d had to consciously choose to use all your might to force yourself to believe it was only his extreme fatigue and worry talking.

But after you’d gently spoken the fruits of that internal fight aloud to him, you’d known he would be reminded of the history of your personal anxieties, like a clap of thunder to the back of his head.

You’d caught sight of his weary back hunching as he succumbed to all of it—the truth, the memories, the remorse, the renewed constancy, the overwhelming drain.

As he’d resumed his place at your side, you’d quickly fallen to sleep again, without having realized it. And when you’d awoke that time, you’d found his body had given out. Slumped back in his padded chair, head hanging to the side and mouth open, the fabric of his shirt rumpled to a wad. The journal left open and hanging haphazardly on his lap, his pencil limp in the pocket of his curled hand upon the armrest.

It was only then that you’d noticed the bloody damage to his knuckles, what looked like tiny fragments of tree bark left in his wounds. He hadn’t merely pounded a tree; he had hit it and dragged his fist through the jagged, toothy bark.

You’d called a nurse into the room and asked her to fetch you a first aid kit, planning to tend to him yourself. While she was gone, your eyes returned to the journal.

Since you’d been together, he’d voluntarily made it your shared journal, a place only the two of you could go. A haven. Nevertheless, since it’d been his custom for so many years beforehand, he always seemed to use it a little more than you did. There he was again, retreating to that sacred, secret, communal place.

You took the journal from its sliding perch on his thigh and saw the messy sketches of Grace in her cocoon, of you in your sleep. And you read in his beautifully old-fashioned hand, though it now bore a touch of needling worry to its scrawl, .

Grace Ada Morgan~

For a moment, I forgot. It was this insanity gettin’ into my head. I’m so exhausted, sweet babygirl. I forgot that leavin’ doesn’t ever fix anything. Please forgive me. I promise I didn’t forget that your mother and you are everything to me. Just forgot the right way to show it. Forgot that you both need me too. But I’m not goin’ anywhere. I swear it. I ain’t ever leavin’ you. Either of you. So please, don’t ask me to go into the ground. .

It had broken loose something inside you, and you had wept until, when you’d started cleaning his wounds with soapy water, he’d begun to wake. You’d quickly brushed your tears away, tried to smile, and kissed him, though you’d known he couldn’t miss the puffy redness of your eyes and nose.

Jointly, the two of you had renewed your commitment to never let Grace go without the knowledge of your love. You’d both affirmed the reality that you already had been loving her and would continue to love her through every moment of her life, short or long, including the moments of pain or difficulty.

Arthur had been your strength, even when he hadn’t realized it. He’d unwittingly been the catalyst to processing things you’d needed to, and had spoken aloud things you’d desperately required to hear. And before then, his broad back had carried the cumulative load of the fraught situation, his own fears, and your anxieties. He’d been much stronger than he’d known.

Having left city borders several minutes ago, the black truck’s headlights slice through the indigo night as Arthur begins the pickup’s slow ascent to your mountain home. He’s given the familiar sights of stately pines and dancing moths and a craggy dirt path. Ensigns of the home he’s made with you.

He can’t keep his mind from ambling again to all the times he’s been alone in these woods with you. Night fishing, skinny dipping. How often, even in the midst of such pleasures, his doubts and fears would surface. He would warn you of them, that to be with him would only bring you some sort of pain or cause you irreparable harm.

You’d always reply something to the contrary; different variations, but always the same meaning. That he couldn’t know that. That you loved him. And that to be without him would do you a deep pain you were certain of.

He pulls onto the winding road hidden by thick foliage that begins your shared property and leads to the homestead. Further down, he stops at the metal gate, hops out to open it, drives the truck through, exits again to close it behind you, and continues up the road.

Once he’s parked at the house, you’re happy to let Arthur hurry around to your truck door and open it for you one last time.

Out of habit, you try to hide the roll of your belly with your forearm as he leads you from your seat. You’ve never felt the urge to do so more strongly than you feel it now, after carrying your baby and acquiring even more flab and stretch marks than you’d had before. But it occurs to you that he’s told you numerous times there isn’t any need for such things. That he loves you and craves your body, just exactly the way you are.

Internally, your mind has always warred to believe that it isn’t too good to be true, that such spoken words are not only pitying sentiments and niceties. You’ve told him multiple times, even early on, that he deserved better, could easily get better, and that you harbored fears he would realize it all too soon for your heart. Fears that he would leave you all together, throwing you away like you just might deserve.

But he’s sworn himself to you, in heart and in body, over and over again. It’s as if you are shattered potsherds, scattered upon the floor, unable. Presumed by yourself to be worthless. He gathers you—every discarded splinter—dressing and filling the cracks of you with his own love, not hiding your history but honoring it. And binding you, until you’re stronger than before.

And in this way, he joins himself to you.

Have you done enough of the same for him? You think on it all through entering the empty house, hardly noticing the moon’s glimmering cast that strikes his wedding band as he unlocks the door before you, hardly hearing him toss his keys on the counter. You think on it as you both slip from your shoes and quietly pad into the bedroom, and you’re finally cognizant of your surroundings. You think on it as you turn and watch him walk into the room.

What his love and loving him felt like, at the beginning.

Like the sharp tip of a jagged pane of glass thrust up into your belly, channeling through your ribcage, pausing when it reaches your heart, and slicing slowly with a surgeon’s motion into the organ. Never had anyone but you seen the inside. Fear wouldn’t have captured what you’d felt. Because there would be no earth that could withstand the force of your knees when they hit, if when he saw the inside he tossed it aside, and turned away to depart.

But when he had seen, the moment of his seeing had imprinted you with the inside of his own splayed heart—a thing more primal than a name—on the inner walls of the atriums and ventricles, on the abdominal aorta, on the pulmonary valve. On dredged parts of you that you’d never thought another human would glimpse.

And now, you think on what that same love feels like, after all these years.

Seeing him, all of him, as he is. Being known so thoroughly by him. Splayed heart meeting splayed heart, clotted that way, the bloody cells fusing and knitting themselves anew. Grown over and healed to a scar. But healed. Forever one flesh and one blood. The mess of a deepening, steadfast, stronger love.

A love that stays. That chooses to. There was never anything more romantic to you.

Arthur flips on the bedroom light and gazes at you where you stand removing your earrings and setting them aside, waiting for him. All he can think as he ventures towards you is loving you, and feeling your love. The full scope of it, in its history, and in this moment. How it had started, so heady and engulfing, it had swallowed him whole; though it had hardly been ready for life’s travails. How it’s still those things, but much more. How he knows you. Better than he’s known anyone. How he’s seen you in your every form, in every turn of life’s capricious road, and loves you the more for it. How your heart understands his.

This love has long drawn a rich burgundy, like the Cabernet he’d sipped tonight. This love that has long taken anchored grasp, its taproot reaching down into the core of him. It has flowered and fruited several times over. And like any goodly, fragrant fruit, it refreshes and sustains him. Gives him life.

He takes his time gazing over the exposed skin of your shoulders, doing what he can to ready himself to show it to you. This shared love that has matured and sweetened and ripened to something devastatingly deep and forever lasting.

a/n: Part 2 will pick up with the very next moment in the story. Comments always welcome! Reblogs always greatly appreciated! Thank you so much for your gracious support.

tag list: @photo1030 @appalachiancowboy99 @cookiesandcreaminthetardis @clevergirl74 @subpopizzy

[samfkiszka]

A Hard Day's Night

★・・・・・・★

It's been a hard day's night, I should be sleeping like a log, But when I get home to you, I find the things that you do, Will make me feel alright…

or… An enemies to fuck-buddies Sam x Fem!Reader One shot

Word Count: 6,493

WARNINGS: SMUT!! 18+ ONLY! Oral (female receiving), dry humping, unprotected PIV sex (wrap it before you tap it i guess), maybe some shitty editing… not sure what else but if i’m missing something feel free to let me know!

a/n: listen… the enemies to lovers sam fics are probably over done and i KNOW he’s a little sweetie pie and i adore him deeply and i know he’d never be mean but i just… needed to write a little silly bit… anywho…

★・・・・・・★

Heat lightning flashed against the sky, splitting the inky black in two as Josh drove ridiculously fast down the dirt road that led to the apartment he shared with his twin brother. The warm air weaving through the open windows brought in the soapy scent of the dogwoods that were beginning to bloom all around town. These weekly drives had become a bit of a tradition. Every Friday, Josh would pick you up from work, his voice carrying loudly over whichever song he had chosen to blare from his worn out speakers that night. He would greet you with an enthusiastic grin, asking you about your day and then proceeding to tell you about his own. He’d drive you to his place, and you’d share a poorly cooked meal with his brother. And then the three of you would sit through some old movie, while he explained every single behind the scene facts he knew off the top of his head. 

And this had gone on for almost three years. Three years with two of the kindest, happiest people you had ever met. You had even met their parents– equally as loving and wonderful. You had gone on weekend trips with them, gone to every short film showing that Josh orchestrated, every shitty party they would throw in their cramped apartment. You’d listen to Jake play the guitar late into the night, to Josh hum along even when he didn’t know the song. You’d grown to love the two of them, deeply. They were more than friends at this point– they had become your family. 

Speaking of their family… there was just one blemish on your relationship with your two favorite people in the world. Their brother, Sam. You hadn’t quite understood what happened when the two of you first met. The… dislike was almost immediate. Josh had been so excited for you to meet his baby brother, rambling for weeks about how much the two of you had in common and how easily you were going to get along. And why would he expect any differently? You had already gotten along well with them, his sister, his parents– who would have thought Sam would be the one outlier.

You didn’t quite hate each other. No, hate was entirely too strong of a word. But on the rare occasions that you crossed paths it was definitely less than pleasant. Josh had been correct about one thing: the two of you were eerily similar. Equally stubborn, though you’d never admit it outloud. Prone to bickering, him more than you. Likely to hold a grudge. He brought out all the things you dislike most about yourself. 

So they kept you apart. Jake had begged Josh to schedule the two of you around each other, especially after the last time the two of you were in the same room at the same time. 

Which is why you were surprised to see Sam's entirely too expensive, entirely too shiny, burgundy car sitting in Josh’s usual spot. This explained why Josh had been slightly dodgy when you asked about his day earlier. 

“What the fuck is he doing here?” You asked, turning to Josh while he parked the car and cautiously took the keys out of the ignition. 

“Don’t get mad. He got here a day early. I mean, you can’t still be upset about last time,” Josh rushed out, flinching when he finished. 

“I’m not going to hit you Josh. And of course I’m still mad about last time. He called me a-” 

Well. You weren’t in the mood to repeat it. 

“In his defense you did say he-”

“I don’t want to hear it!” You interrupted, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to stop remembering the last time you and Sam were in the same room. 

“Seriously, can you just try? We already talked to Sammy, and he promised to be on his very best behavior. As long as you promise not to throw anything.” 

“I’m mature enough to keep my hands to myself. As long as he does.” You stuck your pinky out, waiting on Josh to accept your silent promise.

He wrapped his around yours, grinning softly up at you, “I'm glad you’re gonna try. I love you both so much. It would mean the absolute world to me if you guys could just… coexist. That’s all I’m asking for.” He gave your hand an extra squeeze before letting go and throwing his seat belt off hurriedly. 

He practically skipped with enjoyment to his walkway, wiping his feet off against the worn welcome mat you had gotten him so long ago. You followed behind, decidedly less excited for the night that lay ahead of you. He ushered you to the front, pushing you through the chipped door. You were welcomed by Jake’s beaming face, the wonderful aroma of whatever they had decided to make for dinner, and… Sam. 

His back was turned away from you, his hair piled at the base of his neck in a wild bun. He was chopping something on the wooden cutting board you had gotten Jake for his last birthday– the one branded with his initials and a pirate ship in the corner. This apartment was riddled with you. Your clothes left in their laundry room, your extra toothbrush laying on their bathroom sink. Hell, you even had a half empty bottle of body wash stuck in their shower. Little gifts you had gotten them for birthdays, and Christmas, and just because littered their entire living space. 

You were sure Sam hated the constant reminders of your existence. Just as much as your stomach churned when you were reminded of him. His bass, often left in Jake’s room. Pictures of him exploding over the fridge, every once barren shelf. His sweatshirt, the one he constantly seemed to forget, the one that smelled so much like him that it was intoxicating. 

Whatever. You were going to be fine! You promised Josh, and you had yet to break a promise to your best friend. 

Jake welcomed you instantly, pulling you into a rib crushing hug. No matter how often you saw him, he always greeted you like you had spent years apart.

“How was work?” He mumbled into your neck, his ear splitting smile evident in his voice. 

“Awful, but isn’t it usually? 

He pulled away, his brow furrowed with worry. “I’m sorry, sunshine. Hopefully dinner can make up for it, huh?” 

“Your cooking? It might make my night worse,” you laughed, plopping down on the same sofa you had spent many a night occupying. 

“Hey! I’m a fantastic chef,” he complained, ruffling your hair indignantly, “plus, I’m not the one cooking. Sam is.” He shrugged towards Sam, who was busying himself with whatever meal he had decided to make.

You watched him intently, admiring how swiftly he worked with a knife. You bit your tongue, not wanting to insult him with a possible murder weapon in his hand. 

He turns to face you at the mention of his name, and all you could do was wave awkwardly and ignore the buzzing anger that filled you when he refused to respond. Jake and Josh didn’t miss the moment, but they too decided not to dwell on it. They chose instead to sit next to you, flipping through channels until Jake landed on an old pirate movie that was already halfway through airing– one he had seen a million times. 

It was almost a normal night– if you ignore the burning urge to make a quip at Sam, to egg him on to do the same. Sure, if anyone asked you’d swear up and down that the man was the bane of your existence. But on a much deeper level, in a way you would never admit outloud… you actually enjoyed the banter. The teasing. The way you could feel him staring at you across the room, even when his gaze was angry. Even when his face conveyed a range of emotions you could never quite pinpoint. 

Yes, it was undeniable– you did in fact miss the usual biting conversation the two of you shared. It was all it took to remain normal while Sam continued cooking, silently, Jake and Josh joked around beside you. You were abnormally quiet as well, at least quieter than you ever had been with them. Something about Sam’s refusal to speak to you was starting to drive you insane. 

Maybe he had nothing nice to say… so he said nothing at all. As childish as it was, it was all you could think to explain away his unusual silence. And maybe that was better than anything. 

At least that’s what you told yourself. That’s the mantra you repeated over and over again as he continued to ignore you. Sure, he had no problem talking to Jake and Josh. All through dinner, he didn’t shut up. Talking about his new job, his new car, his new bass, something funny Danny did, something that happened in his astronomy class– seriously, it was non-stop. You couldn’t get a word in edgewise. In fact, the only time he actually went silent was when you opened your own mouth. 

“Sam, can you pass me the salt?” 

Nothing. Cue Jake begrudgingly reachinging across the length of the table to slide you the shakers. 

“You really did a great job cooking, Sam.” Surely a compliment would fuel his ego enough to garner a response.

Nothing yet again. 

“So, are you staying over?” 

“Yep.” 

Finally, Something. 

You were used to spending the night at Josh and Jake’s place. You’d fall asleep on their couch, and one of them would take you home the next morning with the promise of seeing you again soon. 

Well.. you’d try to fall asleep on their couch. Not like it was awful; Josh did everything he could to be a good host. And Jake would regularly shell out extra blankets when you complained about the insanely cold temperature they insisted on keeping their shared living space. You never quite figured out what stopped you from enjoying a good night’s sleep. Truth is, it happened everywhere you went. Even your own bed imposed the same struggle, the same sleepless nights spent tossing and turning until the sun came out. You had tried everything short of asking Jake to physically knock you out. It was something you had to deal with, something that was entirely your own problem. 

Yet, you had never spent the night at the same time as Sam. 

You didn’t miss Josh’s smirk. 

“He’s crashing in my room,” he explained, “Jake and I are bunking it. Pulled out the air mattress and everything.”

“Yeah, it’ll be just like middle school,” Jake laughs.

“How come you guys never bunk it when I spend the night. Your couch is ridiculously uncomfortable,” you whine, feeling annoyed when all three of them laugh back at you. 

“Unless you and Sam want to share the so-called ridiculously uncomfortable couch, this is the arrangement. Sorry sunshine.” Josh stretches as he stands up, gathering the empty dishes from their secondhand dining table. A small part of you wished Sam was here to cook every time you were over; this had been better than the plethora of somehow burnt freezer meals that his brother’s tended to fuck up. 

“I’ll bring you some blankets,” Jake offered while trailing behind his twin, leaving you alone with Sam. 

And the two of you sat in silence once more. No yelling. No bickering. He didn’t even glance up from his hands as he absentmindedly picked at the calluses around his fingers.

And it drove you crazy. Sure, you had promised Josh no conflict, But did no conflict mean he couldn’t even spare you a passing glance? Couldn’t bother to acknowledge your simple existence? 

Jake rushed back in, eyeing you two worriedly while he tossed a handful of blankets and lone pillow onto their worn couch. You thank him quickly, sliding up from the table with a huff while you make your way to their bathroom to get ready to struggle to fall asleep for the rest of the night. 

You admired the way they had made it feel homely for you: your red toothbrush resting next to their blue and green one, a bottle of your almost empty face wash nestled in between their own. It was just as much their bathroom as it was yours at this point. You didn’t miss the fact that a new toothbrush had joined your previously perfect trifecta– Sam’s identical red toothbrush lay on the opposite side of the sink, a lone tool, separate from you three. Maybe Josh was right. Maybe you and Sam were just too similar. Maybe you were both too stubborn to get along. 

You hadn’t realized how aggressive you had been with your brushing until you pulled our toothbrush back, the bristles almost flattened out completely. You just had to get through the night. And was his ignoring you all that bad? Sure it irked you, how he could so easily behave like you just didn’t exist. But you supposed it was better than fighting, better than potentially destroying your relationship with Jake and Josh. After all, Sam was their brother. You were just a friend, just some girl that Josh had met on a whim just a few years back. 

So you’d keep the peace. You’d ignore the nagging feeling in you begging to do something to get a reaction, the feeling you had never ignored before. The feeling that pushed you to tease him, to start and continue arguments. The feeling that sent shivers up and down your whole body when he’d angrily retort back. 

Whatever. Who cares?! It’s not like he’s going to be a part of my life forever… just as long as I’m friends with his brothers. 

So, forever. At least that’s what you intended when you met the twins. You can’t imagine not being a part of their lives, and in turn this meant you had to be a part of Sam’s life. No matter how small that part was. No matter if he never uttered a word to you again. 

You made your way back to the now silent and empty living room, sighing with relief when Sam was nowhere to be found. You could vaguely hear Jake and Josh talking in the next room, but about what you didn’t know. Sam’s room was eerily quiet, much like himself just moments before. You flopped down on the couch unceremoniously, cringing when it groaned under your weight. Jake had left a plethora of blankets from you, even slipping in a tattered old sweatshirt depicting his old high school logo. You pulled it on, fluffing the flat pillow he kept mostly for you. You had become all too familiar with their ceiling over the years. Every bump, every discoloration, every bit of peeling paint. Even the faded glow in the dark stars the three of you had stuck on the ceiling in a bout of drunken childishness. Exactly twenty seven– the last three had fallen off. 

The crickets that chirp in the small patches of grass surrounding their apartment complex sounded louder than usual. The ticking clock that Josh insisted on hanging on the wall seemed jarring. You felt wide awake. You weren’t sure why you insisted on spending the night. It was miserable, begging your body to fall asleep, waiting impatiently for someone else to wake up and keep you company. But it pleased Josh, having you over, knowing you felt safe enough to spend the night. You’d never tell him about your failures to fall asleep, how impossible it was to feel restful. It wasn’t his fault– this was something you struggled with your entire life. There was nothing he could do to fix it. 

And so you lay there, counting the ticks, adjusting every few moments. It felt like hours passed of you just listening. Listening to the sounds of the snores Jake swore didn’t belong to him. Listening to the soft patter of rain outside. 

Listening to a door click and softly swish open. 

You lay still, steading your breathing, not wanting to worry whoever came out. The floor creaked softly under light footsteps as whoever they belonged to padded to the kitchen. The fridge door opened slowly with a groan, the light illuminating the room with a blue glow. 

“Can’t sleep?” 

You nearly jumped at the sound of Sam’s voice. 

“Fuck, you scared the shit out of me.” You lean up, taking him in. He was wearing nothing but a pair of boxers that hung low on his waist, and a too big white t-shirt that clung to him in odd areas.

“Sorry,” he laughed, shutting the fridge with a thud. 

“Why are you up?” You glanced at the clock, wondering how the hell you had managed to be up this late. 

“Same as you, I suppose. Can never sleep right.” He shrugged, so casually it was like the two of you had never fought once. 

Yet another thing the two of you had in common. 

He pulled a drawer open, grabbing a lighter and bringing it up to his face, where a cigarette was dangling precariously off his slightly parted lips. The flame danced in the darkness of the kitchen before he quickly let it go, inhaling deeply and blowing a thick cloud of gray smoke out. You shifted uncomfortably for a moment, not quite knowing how to fill the silence. The warm, familiar smell of his particular brand of choice slowly infiltrated your senses. 

“Josh will kill you if he finds out you were smoking in here,” You proclaim, matter-of-factly. 

“How is Josh going to find out? You gonna snitch?” He smirked, taking a step closer to where you sat.

“Maybe. If you piss me off.” 

“Are you trying to blackmail me?” 

“Not unless you plan on pissing me off.” 

“I never plan on it, it just sort of happens.” He shrugs, a smug look washing over his features. He sat down next to you with a huff, holding his half-smoked cigarette out to you. 

“I don't smoke,” you reply plainly, turning your head away from the steady stream of gray smoke billowing out of the lit object. 

It was a lie. A secret you had kept for quite a while, a bad habit that you only partook in occasionally. 

“C’mon…” 

You knew he knew. He had caught you smoking outside of the twin’s birthday party last April. You were shocked he never told anyone, never held it against you. And you couldn’t deny that you had been itching for a smoke all week. 

You reach out your hand, awaiting the feel of it between your fingers, but it never happens. Instead, he cups your cheek, turning your face towards him. He carefully brings the cigarette closer to you, placing it between your partially open lips. You inhale deeply, the cherry red color illuminating the space between the two of you. 

“You know, you aren't half bad when you aren't being a complete brat,” He whispers, his eyes studying your face.

“A brat?” You laugh, passing the cigarette back to him. “If anyone’s a brat, it’s you.” 

He turns his head to the side, blowing smoke away from your face with a grin. The two of you sit in silence for a beat, yet this silence lacked the hanging awkwardness from earlier. It was suddenly comfortable, the both of you wordlessly passing the cigarette back and forth before it reached the butt. He stood, tossing the dead cigarette out into the twins' trash, shoving it far enough down that they’d be none the wiser. 

“That couch is really fucking uncomfortable,” He groans, stretching his back out, “I can’t believe they make you sleep on that.” 

“It’s not that bad.” 

It really wasn’t. Sure it dipped in odd places, the fabric was wearing off in patches, and it tended to be a bit scratchy… but anyone else could fall asleep on it easily. 

“You know… Josh’s bed is pretty big. If you want, you can come sleep with me.” 

“What?” You sputter, taken entirely off guard by his proposal. Sleep in the same bed as him? Was he insane? 

“Just an offer.” He shrugged, “Probably be a hell of a lot easier to sleep on than a couch they found on the side of the road.” He rolls his eyes at your almost disgusted expression, “Nothing gross, freak.” 

He had a point. But still, this went against everything you had ever thought about Sam. Well… maybe not everything. Of course, there had been the rare occasion where your eyes would linger on his hands, his lips, his eyes. You’d mentally chastise yourself for it, ignoring the burning urge to keep looking, choosing instead to provoke him and start some immature argument. 

“Just thought I’d ask,” He sighs, turning towards the hallway. 

“Wait, Sam,” you start, gripping the blanket Jake had loaned you, “Fine.” 

He chuckles, watching as you hop off the couch, dragging your blanket and pillow behind you, “You know Josh’s bed has blankets. And pillows.” 

“Oh, yeah.” You drop what you were holding unceremoniously, letting it hang off the couch haphazardly. You follow behind Sam, feeling a rush of heat flare up on your face. Were you really about to sleep next to him? In Josh’s bed? 

You knew there was no deeper meaning behind it. You were definitely overthinking it. He was just being nice, extending an olive branch of sorts. Maybe whatever Josh had said to him had worked. 

He opens the door quietly, revealing Josh’s perfectly cleaned room. Decorated sparsely, yet so utterly like him. Sam’s bag lay raggedly in the corner, the contents spilling out onto the floor. The bed was still made, like he hadn’t even attempted to sleep yet. He sighed, flicking off the lamp that rested on the bedside table. 

He tugged the white shirt off, tossing it near his back. Your eye raked over his exposed torso, his chest, his abdomen, his thighs. Your own pajamas suddenly felt restrictive, too tight, too warm. You toy with the hem of Jake’s loaned sweatshirt, feeling increasingly awkward. He flopped down onto the bed, ruffling the perfectly tucked in top cover. He folded his arms behind him, leaning propped up against the headboard. 

“You gonna lay down or you just gonna stand there?” 

You roll your eyes, climbing over to the other side of Josh’s monstrously oversized bed. You pull down the blankets, struggling a bit with how tightly Josh had shoved them into the corners. Sam was right– the bed was a whole lot comforter than that couch. No wonder Josh had been holding out on you. 

“Goodnight,” Sam mumbles, turning to the side and giving you a wide berth. 

The rain had picked up outside, beating against the window loudly, echoing around the room. Sam had left the fan on, and you were thankful for the chill against your way too hot skin. Sure, the bed was a lot easier to lay on than the couch, but you suddenly felt twenty times more uncomfortable. You shifted once, pushing some of the covers away from you. You shift again, pulling the pillow parallel to your. You move once again, and– 

“Quit squirming,” he bites. He turns over to face you, eyes heavy with sleep. 

“Sorry, I can’t get comfortable.” 

“Really? Wanna go back to the couch?” 

A bolt of thunder interrupts his quip, shaking the whole of the apartment. You move closer to him without thinking, ignoring the quizzical look he gives you. 

“Guessing that’s a no. Just stop moving around so much.” He turns back on his side, his face hidden again. 

“I’ll just go back to the couch, I don’t want to-” Another boom outside, closer this time. 

Sam jumps a bit, inching even closer, hiding the movement with a cough, “It’s fine.” 

The heat of his body, the closeness of his bare skin, sends jolts of electricity through your body. 

What the fuck was going on? 

You squeeze your thighs together, embarrassed by how desperate you were for any sort of friction. If you had told yourself, even yourself from an hour ago, that you’d be in bed with Sam Kiskza of all people… who knows what you would’ve thought. Much less that you were in bed, images racing in your brain about ways he could be touching you, ways you could be touching him. 

“Seriously, why the fuck can’t you sit still?” He sits up, his face flush with irritation. God, why was that so hot? 

Your cheeks instantly turn a deep red, your eyes locked into his. You didn’t have an answer, at least not one suitable to speak aloud. 

Something like, I can’t stop thinking about the way you furrow your brow when you're angry. Or, They way your hands look when you do literally anything. Or, The way you’re staring down at me now, like I’m in trouble- 

“I- I don’t know,” you whisper, unsure of what else to say. 

“You don’t know?” 

You shrug, trying to ignore the way his hair frames his face, the way you can still make out his chiseled features even in the dark. 

“Just- C’mere.” He reaches out, pulling you into his body. You’re flush with his bare skin now, a position you never thought you’d find yourself in. 

“Sam, what are you-” 

“Shut up. Lay still,” He sighs, stretching out just a bit and adjusting his grip on you.

But something about him directly ordering you to do something makes it even more impossible to sit still. Makes it even harder to ignore the persistent ache in your core. You were sure it was painfully obvious now, how increasingly desperate you were for anything, any kind of touch. Attempting to imperceptibly move again, garner any kind of relief, anything, was probably a death sentence. 

But you did it anyway. Moving slowly, trying not to budge too much, trying not to wake him up again. 

“You know, it’s pretty obvious what you’re trying to do,” he mumbles, eyes still closed, arm still wrapped around you. 

“What is it that I'm trying to do?” You ask, hoping to sound innocent enough to avoid suspicions. 

“Moving against me like that. Looking a little desperate,” He teases. 

“What the fuck, Sam?” 

He was painfully correct. Not like you’d admit it. 

“I’m just saying, I can help with that problem. If you wanna go to sleep. Probably be a lot easier if you just let me take care of you.” 

Seriously, what the fuck was happening.

“Offers on the table,” his voice was husky with exhaustion, “until I fall asleep.” 

Your mind races, filled with inappropriate thoughts– things you probably shouldn't think about your best friend’s younger brother. Things you shouldn’t think about the guy that you swore you… strongly disliked. 

“If you’re joking, I’m going to kill you,” You whisper again, too afraid to speak at full volume. 

“Seriously?” His eyes fly open, and he nearly pushes you off him out of surprise. 

“Wait… what if they hear us?” The idea of being caught shoots waves of panic up your spine.

“I have an idea. Just trust me, I promise we won't get caught.” He pushes his pinky out, and memories of  your earlier promise to Josh come flashing in your mind. 

“A pinky promise?” You ask. The two of you definitely did have a lot in common. 

He shrugs, not knowing the full weight of the movement. You link your pink around his, avoiding his eyeline. 

In one motion, he flips you over, leaning directly over you. He pulls a stray hair tie from his wrist, twisting his long hair up into a messy bun at the base of his neck. He leans down, his lips mere centimeters away from yours. 

“Can I kiss you?” His voice is barely audible, so sincere and sweet that your heart skips a beat. 

You nod, failing to come up with any semblance of response. When he doesn’t move right away you find yourself lifting up your head to meet him. But he moves before you get close enough, earning an agitated whine from you. 

“Mm-mm, need to hear you say it.” 

“Yes,” you huffed. 

“So impatient. Relax, okay? That’s the whole point.” 

He leans down, closing the distance between you two. His lips are soft, tinged by the taste of smoke and mint toothpaste. His calloused hands roam down the sides of your body, toying with the hem of your– Jake’s– sweatshirt . For a second he was tentative, slow and calculated in his movements before behaving with a bit less restraint. You feel his tongue swipe against your lips, and without a second thought you find yourself parting slightly to let him inside. His heartbeat hammered against your body, causing yours to race even faster. Warmth spread across your chest, seeping into each limb as he moved slowly under your shirt, inching closer and closer to your chest. 

You arch into his touch, letting out a quiet whimper as you feel him brush against your breast. He takes this as a signal to grab what he wants, kneading the soft flesh between his rough and calloused hands. He moves down your body, placing warm, open mouth kisses along your jawline and neck. 

You absentmindedly roll your body against him, drinking in the soft whine that slips past his parted lips. 

“Fuck, I want you on top of me,” He mumbles, flipping you around again so you were positioned on top of him. He grips your hips, grinding you down against him. You feel drunk already, the sensation of his hard-on against your clothed core making you dizzy. He whines again, his fingers digging into the bare skin where your shirt had rode up. 

“Come here,” He orders, tugging you down again so that you were face to face once more. You nearly slam into him with how desperately quick he pulls you in to meet his lips. “Take this shit off.” His hands fly to Jake’s sweatshirt, making fast work of ripping it off your body. Barely a second passes before the two of you are pressed together again, working hurriedly against each other.. 

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” his voice is so barely above a whisper you wonder if the comment was even meant to reach your ears. “Look a lot better when you aren’t in another guy’s clothes.” 

His hands are back at your hips, nails digging rough half-moon marks into the exposed flesh. He moves you at a steady pace against him, working your hips in circular motions. You should feel embarrassed by how disgustingly wet you feel, your underwear sticking uncomfortably to your skin. If this was Sam’s genius idea to keep quiet, it definitely wasn't going to be enough to keep you from squirming around. In fact, all it had done was increase your need, your burning desire to feel him closer. 

“It isn’t enough,” You whine, a bit louder than you had wanted. 

“Not enough? Jesus Christ, I’m about to cum in my pants,” he rasps, bucking his hips underneath you. The sudden movement has you clamoring to silence yourself, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. “Shit, nevermind, you’re right. Fuck, do- do you think you can be quiet?” 

You nod quickly, goosebumps prickling up all over your bare torso. 

“Lay down.” 

You climb off him, lying beside him expectantly. He’s positioned on top of you once more, quickly working down your body. He leaves a sloppy trail all the way down to your navel, where he pauses for a moment before hooking his pinkies into the waistband of your shorts. 

“Can I take these off?” He asks hurriedly. 

You nod again, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at him better. 

“No, I told you. Use your words, or I’ll stop.” 

“Yes, please, just take them off, fuck” You choked out. 

He tears the rest of your clothes off in one fell swoop, leaving you completely exposed. Any other night, any other person, you might have shied away, turned your head and avoided eye contact. Yet, in this moment, you couldn't bring yourself to care. You didn’t care that you were seconds away from fucking Sam in his brother’s bed while said brother slept across the hall. You didn’t care that you were definitely going to regret this in the morning. You didn’t care that there was no way you’d be able to keep this a secret from everyone, much less Josh. None of that mattered. All you could think about was the fact that Sam’s mouth was a breath away from where you had needed him the most all night. 

“Just say the world and I’ll stop, okay?” 

Again, with genuine sincerity. With care. 

“Of course.” You bring your hand down to tuck a stray piece of hair behind his ear. His skin felt warm, a soft pink radiating off his cheeks. 

He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, his golden brown eyes boring into your own. He continues at a tantalizing slow place, a smug smirk gracing his kiss-swollen lips. You wait in anticipation, holding a bated breath while you watch him finally settle right in front of your aching clit. 

“Gonna make you feel good, just need you to relax,” he whispers, his breath fanning over your core,”Just need you to stay quiet for me, angel.” 

Angel. Your heart flutters at the pet name. You were used to all the to all the others; sarcastically calling you princess, calling you a brat, calling you a bitch in your most heated moments. But angel? This was new. 

He barely gives you the time to think about it before he’s delving in, his tongue working against you expertly. Your hands fly to his hair, lacing in between the loose waves he had pulled back. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, mentally pleading with yourself to remain silent as he laps at you. If he wanted you to be quiet, this certainly wasn’t the way to go about it. Any and all self-control had flown out the window the second he had kissed you. 

Your hips move at odds with his face in a desperate rush, working in tandem with his mouth. His nose bumps against your clit, adding another level of intoxicating pleasure. 

He pulls back, the sudden loss of contact making you whine loudly. His face is drenched with a mixture of his spit and your own wetness. 

“Can’t wait anymore, need to be inside you.” He pulls his boxers off faster than you’d ever seen anyone move, “I wanted to take my time, but-” He shook his head, cutting himself off. 

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his body. His cock was leaking, the tip looking painfully red and flushed. You watch in rapt awe as he spits in his palm, pumping the length for a moment before lining himself up with your center. He pushes himself in slowly, a loud groan tearing through the both of you. He’s quick to slap a hand over your mouth, effectively silencing you. You groan as he bites down hard on your shoulder in his own attempt to be quiet. He stalls for a second, allowing you to adjust to his size. The two of you breathe together, sharing the same still moment. 

“Gonna move now,” he warns, bracing himself. 

He starts slowly, burying himself so deep inside you, you swear you can feel him in your stomach. 

“Fuck,” You whine against his palm. You savor the quiet grunts that pass seamlessly through his lips every time he moves, the whimpers that come through when you rake your nails down his back. 

“So fucking perfect. Been thinking about this ever since we met. God it was driving me crazy,” he babbled, each word strained against your ear, “You were driving me crazy. Have- Goddamn- have no idea how badly I wanted to put you in your place.” 

If his hand wasn’t gripping your face hard enough to leave bruises you were sure you’d be screaming right now. Who gave a fuck if Josh heard you? If Jake knew what was going on? 

He maintained his agonizingly slow pace, pushing you right up to where you wanted to be, yet not close enough. You wanted to beg him to fuck you harder, to go faster, to do literally anything else. 

As if he knew you needed something more, as if he could read your thoughts, his hand snaked its way in between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit. He works in quick circular motions, this speed contrasting almost painfully. 

“I’m close,” he chokes out, his movements becoming increasingly sloppy. He pulls his hand from your mouth and you gulp in air, panting his name as he brings you closer to the edge, “Where do you want me to-”

“Inside.” 

 He picks up his pace, the bed squeaking slightly underneath the two of you. You silently thanked God for the fact that the twins were heavy sleepers when the headboard began to dully thud against the wall. 

“Sammy, I-” you gasp, finding it difficult to speak. 

“I know.” He nods, meeting your eyes. He cups your face and presses a chaste kiss to your lips, the motion so utterly intimate and calm that you felt your heart swell. 

You tug him down for another kiss, this one deeper, filled with more passion as he swallows every moan that rips through you. His hips stutter, and he groans into your mouth as he finishes inside you, the sensation pushing you right over the ledge. You could’ve sworn that you saw stars, much like the ones littering the living room ceiling. He falls against you, his breathing ragged and his chest heaving. The two of you lay like that for a beat, your hands softly rubbing the expanse of his now scratched to hell back. 

He lifts up, panting still as his eyes rake over your body. 

“Think you can sleep now?” 

“Yeah.” 

He laughs drily, staring down at where the two of you were still connected. You wince as he pulls out, slowly rubbing your thigh in a small act of comfort as he watches your face slightly contort. It’s hard to miss the way he smirks as you feel his cum leak out of you and onto Josh’s previously pristine sheets. He slides off the bed, reaching down and coming back up with his discarded t-shirt. Using gentle motions, he slowly wipes away the mess the two of you made off your skin before tossing the shirt back once again. With a relaxed sigh, he lays back next to you for the final time that night. He tugs you back into his arms, humming as you nuzzle into his chest. 

“Hopefully this time you can stay still, huh?” 

[small-sinclair]

Pure Sugar

Johnny Slughter x reader

Just a dabble.

Johnny’s never been one for getting a sweet tooth, but he’s been aching for it since he met you. You’re too sweet, too innocent, too beautiful and stupid… he loves you that way. As much as it pains him that you see him with blood on him after a hunt, it’s the way you care for his wounds and kiss his new scars to help make them feel better.

Even when he kisses you goodnight, your lips give him a rush of sweetness. It’s like you’re made out of sugar cane. He can’t get enough of you. Your cupcake smile and powdered sugar heart, Johnny gets a rush.

When he came home from working at the gas station, he stopped by the little corner store and bought you some chocolates. Just a candy bar and peanut butter cups, nothing too crazy. The closer he got to his home to you, the more giddy and excited he became. Johnny even pulled over and picked some dogwood flowers and wild flowers. He couldn’t stop thinking about you and how happy you’ll be! He doesn’t get this excited while he’s hunting; he felt like a puppy.

He pulled up and parked by the broken tractor and hopped out. He’s normally quiet when he comes home and walks, but his boots clicked on the old wooden porch. He hung his dirty hat on the hook along with his tool belt. His eyes scanned the living room then landed on you in the backyard. Grinning, he put the chocolates in the freezer— the safe freeze with no bodies— and headed towards the back door.

Johnny heard the old radio playing as you hung the laundry on the line, your hips swaying to the music, as you sang to the song. He closed the door slowly and crept on you, his footing timed and perfect. He slipped his hands around your waist and pulled your back close to his chest.

You let out a gasp then started laughing as he littered your neck with hurried kisses. He nuzzled into your neck and rocked side to side with you in his arms.

“Johnny!” You giggled. “Don’t scare me like that! I could’ve had a heart attack.”

He chuckles as you gave your body a quick squeeze. “Sorry, sugar. Just wanted to see ya.” He felt your hands over his and your thumb brushed the little scars over his knuckles. “I gotcha some chocolates an’ flowers.”

“Oh? What’s the occasion?”

He kisses your neck again then your jaw. “You’ve been on my mind all day, sweetness,” he rested his head on your shoulder, “drivin’ me crazy, too.”

Your head fell on top of his. “Yeah? I’m sorry—“

“Shh, shh… it’s a good thing,” he hushed. “No one else I wanted to think about.”

You glanced down at him and kissed his head. He felt a rush of energy flow through his brain. “I drive you that nuts?”

He turned his head to the side. His brown and green eye looked up at you as if he was seeing a glimpse of a goddess. All he could give you was a goofy grin. “Gimme some sugar.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as he lifted his head to meet your lips. He felt the warmth of the sun on your lips, and he tasted the sweet vanilla cream on your lips. He made sure to kiss you nice and slow, and he took his time to turn you around he lift your face in his hands. You taste sweeter in the sun and he melts into it like ice cream.

You pulled away as his lips followed to get one more kiss. You rested in his hands and sighed. His hands are big and a bit cold. You could melt in his hands if you wanted to.

“You’re too sweet,” he said, a giggle escaping from you. “Just pure sugar cane.”

“You flatter yourself, Johnny.”

He plays with a your hair lightly. His smile never left as he admired you. “No words c’n describe how much I love ya.” He takes your hand and started walking backwards towards the house.

“You gonna feed me chocolate?” You asked playfully.

He leaned down and kissed your nose. “Because ya asked, yeah.”

[greenwitchcrafts]

April 2024 witch guide

Full moon: April 23rd

New moon: April 8th

Solar eclipse: April 8th

Sabbats: None

April Pink Moon

Known as: Breaking Ice Moon, Budding Moon of Plants & shrubs, Budding Tree Moon, Eastermonath, Frog Moon, Green Grass Moon, Growing Moon, Hare Moon, Moon of the Red Grass appearing, Moon When Geese Lay Egss, Moon When thd Ducks Come Back, Ostarmanoth, Planters Moon, Seed Moon, Sucker Moon & Wind Moon

Element: Fire

Zodiac: Aries & Taurus

Nature spirits: Plant Faeries

Deities: Anahita, Bast, Ceres, Cernunnos, Hathor, Herne, Ishtar, Kali, Tawaret & Venus

Animals: Bear & wolf

Birds:  Hawk & magpie

Trees: Bay, forsythia, hazel, lilac, pine & willow

Herbs:  Basil, chives, dandelion, dill, dogwood, dragon's blood, fennel, geranium, milkweed & thistle

Flowers: Daisy & sweetpea

Scents: Bay, bergamot, patchouli & pine

Stones: Angelite, beryl, diamond, garnet, malachite, quartz, ruby, sapphire, sard, selenite & zircon

Colors: Blue, brown, crimson, gold & green

Energy: Authority, balance, beginnings, change, fertility, growth, leadership, opportunities, overcoming obstacles, personal skill development, re-birth, self-evaluation, self-reliance, spirituality, temper control & willpower

April’s full Moon often corresponded with the early springtime blooms of a certain wildflower native to eastern North America: Phlox subulata—commonly called creeping phlox or moss phlox—which also went by the name “moss pink.” Thanks to this seasonal association, this full Moon came to be called the “Pink” Moon.

Other celebrations:

• Walpurgis Night - April 30th

Also known as: May Eve

The origins of the holiday date back to pagan celebrations of fertility rites & the coming of spring. After the Norse were Christianized, the pagan celebration became combined with the legend of St. Walburga, an English-born nun who lived at Heidenheim monastery in Germany & later became the abbess there. Saint Walpurga was hailed by the Christians of Germany for battling "pest, rabies, & whooping cough as well as against witchcraft". Christians prayed to God through the intercession of Saint Walpurga in order to protect themselves from witchcraft, as Saint Walpurga was successful in converting the local populace to Christianity. Although it is likely that the date of her canonization is purely coincidental to the date of the pagan celebrations of spring, people were able to celebrate both events under church law without fear of reprisal.

Walpurgis Night is still a traditional holiday celebrated on April 30th in northern Europe & Scandinavia. In Sweden typical holiday activities include the singing of traditional spring folk songs & the lighting of bonfires. In Germany the holiday is celebrated by dressing in costumes, playing pranks on people & creating loud noises meant to keep evil at bay. Many people also hang blessed sprigs of foliage from houses & barns to ward off evil spirits, or they leave pieces of bread spread with butter & honey, called ankenschnitt, as offerings for phantom hounds.

Sources:

Farmersalmanac .com

Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kines

Wikipedia

A Witch's Book of Correspondences by Viktorija Briggs

Encyclopedia britannica

Llewellyn 2024 magical almanac Practical magic for everyday living

[greghousepogging]

House x Wilson x Cuddy Mega Playlist

@uglylittlemess prompted folk for a Hudson playlist, I wanted to share my suggestions with everyone c:

You can basically apply them all in either which way ship wise, in twos or the three lmao. It's a big list sorry about that lmao

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7aPNUguMCxhclIYsONS91v?si=9421ec27b7814461

Call me when you're sober by Evanescence

Injection by Rise Against

Cancer by My Chemical Romance

Misery loves company by Emilie Autumn

Haunted by Taylor Swift

Delicate by Taylor Swift

I know it's over by the Smiths

I want the one I can't have by the Smiths

What difference does it make? by the Smiths

Heart shaped box by Nirvana

Just like heaven by the Cure

Love song by the Cure

Boys don't cry by the Cure

Love will tear us apart again by Joy Division

Ultraviolence by Lana del Rey

You're so cool by Nicole Dollanganger

Dogwood by Nicole Dollanganger

Pretty when You Cry by Lana del Rey

Fuck it I love you by Lana del Rey

Killpop by Slipknot

Snuff by Slipknot

I bet on losing dogs by Mitski

You're insane by Escape the Fate

Swallow by Emilie Autumn

Black by Pale Waves

Norman fucking Rockwell by Lana del Rey

Black beauty by Lana del Rey

Million Dollar Man by Lana del Rey

Blue Jeans by Lana del Rey

Shades of Cool by Lana del Rey

Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish

Army of Me by Bjork

Waltz #2 by Elliot Smith

Came in Close by Pale Waves

Hand in Glove by the Smiths

Still Ill by the Smiths

You just haven't earned it yet, baby by the Smiths

Doubt by Twenty One Pilots

All Apologies by Nirvana

Sex with my Ex by Lil Peep

Wicked Game by HIM

Poison Girl by HIM

Heartache every moment by HIM

Disarm Me (With your loneliness) by HIM

Saying Sorry by Hawthorne Heights

Pens and Needles by Hawthorne Heights

Good enough by Evanescence

Opheliac by Emilie Autumn

Sakura Blues by Blessthefall

Asleep by the Smiths

Decode by Paramore

Disarm by the Smashing Pumpkins

[dronebiscuitbat]

Give me a Reason: Chapter 12- "Petals"

Uzi sat on the park bench scrolling through songs on her phone, the air around her was warm and humid, summer seemed to come faster every year and this year was no different. It was marginally cooler in Copper, the valley it resided in shielding it from the sun's rays most of the day, but not by much.

The park itself was nothing special, a small playground in the middle with a few covered seating areas around it, she was just on the outskirts, sitting under a dogwood tree that was spitting it's big, pink flower petals out at everyone who passed it. She'd already had to pick several out of her hair.

And at exactly 6:30pm. A dark grey BMW pulled into the parking lot, and Uzi looked up at it before looking back down at her phone.

N:I'm here! Where are you?

Nvm! I see you!

Uzi blinked, looking back at the fancy BMW that had just pulled in and sighing, oh so N's family had money, money. That made a bit of sense, though she was a little surprised he'd never mentioned it before.

She stood up, dusting herself of and trying to look as presentable as possible, suddenly feeling a little self conscious in her tank top and (currently open) jacket.

A tall woman with long brown hair and gorgeous emerald green eyes stepped out of the sedan, doing a once over of the park before the passenger door opened and out stepped N. A hoodie and jeans despite the temperature. (Though it's not like she had room to talk)

N pointed at her excitedly, which made her freeze for a moment before awkwardly smiling. Stepping up towards them a bit warily.

“Um, heeey?” Oh fuck everything, she was so awkward. Someone please come rescue her from this conversation.

“Hey Uzi! This is Tessa! The chef of the food you like so much!” She winced, they hadn't shared lunch that often, but being put on the spot so suddenly made her heart speed up and breath get caught in her throat.

“Oh-uh, it's nice to meet you. I guess.” She curled in a bit on herself, feeling more out of place then ever. She felt her face getting warm despite her efforts to stop it.

“Oooh, N didn't tell me his ‘partner' was the girl he met on the first day.” She side eyed N, a smirk growing on her face as she turned to him.

“You didn't lie to mom to go on a date did you little bro~?” She teased, earning a squeek as N turned an impressive shade of cherry red, something that seemed to also spread to Uzi, as she looked down to hide her own fluster.

It wasn't a date! It was an exhibition to gather data! No romantic undertones at all! Nothing romantic about hunting for ghosts!

“Tessa!” N seethed, being the first time Uzi had seen him look genuinely upset since she'd known him. “Its-Its not a date! And I didn't lie! She is my project partner!” He defended, fidgeting his hands.

“Riiiight, alrighty then. It's nice to meet you too Uzi, N was right, you are very pretty.” Tessa winked at her, and Uzi felt whatever oxygen she had escape in a tiny gasp as N looked like he was about to perish on the spot.

“I'll be back at ten sharp. Have fun you two!” Tessa waved them off, chuckling to herself at the way she embarrassed her younger brother before hopping back in the car. N was still stuck ramrod straight, face redder then beetroot.

There was a moment of very tense silence, before N cleared his throat, trying to calm down a little.

“Ah-uh… don't mind her, she likes to embarrass me…” He explained, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly, smiling like a fool.

Uzi gave a half-laugh. “I-Its okay. She's your older sister, it's kinda her job right?” Her hands gripping onto the bottom fluff of her jacket as she also tried to coax the heat from her face.

Right. She just likes to embarrass him. He probably never said that about her…

“You are- you are though.” He murmured, looking down at his own feet to avoid looking anywhere near her.

Well that certainly didn't help calm her fluster.

“Oh… thank you?” She managed to get out before she had to look away, a dumb, smiley look on her face. She still didn't know how to take compliments, and this one made her heart feel all fluttery… for some reason.

“You have petals in your hair.” N said after a moment of awkwardly walking back to the bench she was at before. Pointing at the pink petals caught in her beanie and purple locks.

“Huh? Agh! Come on!” She shook her head and huffed, watching as a few petals floated down around her, crossing her arms.

“Uh… there's still… here.” He suddenly stepped incredibly close, hand brushing through her hair as he fished for the final stubborn flower, she almost wanted to yell at him for invading her personal space, instead all she could do was squeak and watch his arm like a mouse watching a cat.

The moment was over quickly. N pulling back with an intact pink flower in his hand, he was beaming, letting the flower float out of his hand and onto the ground gently.

“There! It really wanted to stay with you!” He giggled, fidgeting with his hands again.

Uzi blinked. Before figuratively slapping herself. Pulling herself put of whatever weird headspace she'd just fallen into and clearing her throat.

“T-thanks. Uh, you wanna start walking? The forest is thata-way.” She pointed forward through the park, past the fenced in area of it's well trimmed confines, the forest grew thick and untamed.

“Yeah! Let's go, I love doing anything!”

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