#oc: daisy sunday | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sadhours · 4 months ago

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blue sunday

chapter one

billy hargrove x female!oc (daisy way)

masterlist

cw: 18+, minors dni, smut, established relationship (kind of?), references to prostitution, manipulation, alcohol use, daddy kink, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected p in v

summary: billy and daisy made a real stupid decision, got hitched on a wild and drunken night but the longer they spend time together, the less Billy’s regretting the decision. but are they really meant to be?

NEVADA • JULY 1991

The Starlite Motel is near downtown. It has a big neon sign, a facade of glitz and glamour masking the true gritty form. Billy’s stayed here before. When he first landed in this bizarro Nevada town. It was the only room he could afford at the time. His skin kind of crawls as he drives up into the parking lot. The place is known for housing criminals, junkies and prostitutes. And apparently, Billy’s brand new wife.

He glances down at the passenger seat, eyeing the monstrous stack of paperwork. Annulment papers. The right decision, based on where she’s staying. Even if she is devastatingly gorgeous, or at least Billy remembered her being that way. The night was fuzzy, he can’t even remember the wedding he was so trashed. When he woke up in the casino hotel room, he was still fucking hammered. But there was a girl next to him in bed, with a cheap veil clipped in her bleached hair. Champagne bottles strewn across the room and as he was emptying his stomach out in the toilet, the girl woke up. Held a paper up to his face and said, “Hiya, husband, how ya feeling?”

To which Billy kept puking. The paper was a marriage certificate. Damned this fucking town and their lack of last calls and abundance of twenty-four hour wedding chappels. It’s designed for bad decisions. Kind of the whole reason Billy was even drawn to this place. He’d meant to make it back to California, but ran out of money here. And by the time he’d earned enough money to leave, he didn’t want to. Found himself a steady, decent paying job in construction and next thing Billy knew, he was buying his own fucking house. Well, single-wide trailer that was falling apart but fuck it, Billy was a homeowner. If only Neil could fucking see him now. Er, maybe not him right now… sitting outside a cheap motel where his wife lives and uh, presumably works. Damnit, it’s time to undo this drunken mistake.

Billy grips the papers and walks up to the door labeled 12. He knocks twice and hangs back. It’s hot out, only ten AM but the desert heat beats down on him. Must already be 75 degrees. There’s still no answer, he can’t hear noise behind the door– all he can hear is the group of men his age gathered at the end of the ‘hallway’, talking quietly. Billy knocks again, firmer this time and tries to peek through the window but the blinds are closed. Tells himself he’ll give her five more fucking minutes to answer the door.

While he waits, he lights up a smoke. Folds the annulment papers and tucks them in the back pocket of his worn Levi’s. Those five minutes pass and he turns on his feet to leave but as he’s stalking back to his car, he sees her. She’s wearing a cheetah print bikini top, a short denim skirt and red flip flops. The top does little to cover her huge tits, with every step they jiggle and Billy’s only a man, so he’s staring. Figures the dudes twenty feet down are also staring at her. Her blonde hair is tied up haphazardly in a bun, strands of it falling around her neck and face. Then Billy sees the cigarette between her lips, a can of beer in her hand and the rest of the six pack in the other. It’s ten in the morning and she’s drinking a beer. Billy can’t help but get this odd feeling he’s looking into some weird gender bending mirror.

“Is that my husband?” she calls when she’s a couple feet away, a smile spreading against her plush lips. Fuck, she’s gorgeous and he’s kind of bummed they had to meet in the way they did. There’s no way in hell he can stay married to a stranger, no matter how foxy she is.

“Not for long,” Billy tells her around his cigarette.

Daisy rolls her eyes as she makes it to the door, handing him her beer before rustling through the small pink purse on her shoulder. She retrieves a set of keys and too many keychains. Unlocks the door and kicks it open, snatching her beer back and heads inside. Billy follows her, taken back by the stench of her motel room. It’s not totally foul, but definitely not pleasant. Can’t be totally Daisy’s fault, this establishment isn’t exactly well taken care of. But it reeks of cigarettes, stale food and something sickly sweet— kind of like green apple and cotton candy. Billy thinks it’s Daisy’s perfume.

“Want a beer?” she asks, ripping one out of the plastic and handing it over before Billy answers. So he takes it but he pulls the annulment papers out as he does so. Hands them to her.

She drops her purse, pushes her sunglasses up to rest on the top of her head and looks at the papers. Almost looks disappointed. But how could she be? They don’t even know each other. She sets them on her unmade bed, on the pillows and sits down next to them.

“So, yeah, you sign those and it’s like it never happened,” Billy says.

Daisy nods slowly, brings her beer to her lips and gulps down the rest of it. Sets the empty can on her nightstand and then reaches for a second before tossing the butt of her smoke in the empty can.

“We must’ve had a good night,” she shrugs. “I know we had a good morning, ya know, after you hurled in the toilet for an hour.”

Yeah… Billy remembers that, at least. The sex that morning was good— great even. And he can’t be shocked it happened because standing here, across from Daisy, he feels this strange magnetism between them. He wants to touch her.

“It was fun,” he replies, soft because he doesn’t exactly wanna admit that to her.

Daisy pouts her lips, leans forward and her biceps are pressing her tits together. Like she’s trying to tempt him. Unfortunately, it’s working. His eyes immediately drop to the curve of her breasts.

“So, why are you so quick to divorce me, Billy? You don’t think I’m pretty?” Daisy asks, her voice all exaggerated sadness and he has to snort.

“It’s not a divorce. And you’re plenty pretty, I think you’re fucking aware of that,” he offers, “But I don’t know you, and I should probably know the person I’m marrying, yeah?”

She giggles, reaches up and pulls her hair out of the messy updo. Wavy blonde falling seductively around her shoulders. Damn, she’s good.

“You can get to know me.”

“You’re okay with being shacked up with a stranger?” Billy asks, tilting his head.

Well, he thinks maybe that’s literally her job, but it feels rude to ask or tell her he assumes so.

Daisy blinks, all innocent and pretty at him when she says, “I might’ve hit the jackpot with a hunk like you. Sue me for not being eager to let you go.”

“I absolutely could,” he counters, but he’s smirking. He’s kidding. Kind of. “You think I’m a hunk?”

“I’d fuck you right now,” Daisy confesses, “and I really, really want to.”

They stare at each other, tension so heavy Billy can feel it in his chest. This is pure instinct right now. He puts his beer down, discards his smoke in Daisy’s makeshift ashtray and she’s putting her drink down too. Then he lunges at her, genuinely feels like he can’t help himself. Daisy falls back easily, arms around his neck while he intrudes her mouth with his tongue. She tastes like beer and Marlboros. Daisy moans into him, fingers tangling in the bottom of his mullet and she pulls, her hips canting up. He’s humping back like he’s a horny teenager again. Grabs hold of her jaw as he licks filthy into her mouth. It’s heady. Both of them are filled with adrenaline and desire.

In the back of his head, he thinks people pay for this. Well, maybe not this. Billy always heard that hookers don’t kiss. Either way, he pushes the thought away and actually lets himself indulge in the thought that this is his wife. And really, Billy’s always wanted a wife. Just hadn’t met anyone worth it. Maybe she is…

Daisy’s hands are pulling his shirt up and off of him. Billy takes the opportunity to get his mouth on her neck, sucking and licking and biting. She’s loud, moans unabashedly while she scratches down his back. Billy leaves marks, she’s his wife for fucks sake. He bites around the string of her bikini and pulls, undoes it with his teeth and her heavy breasts fall out of it. His mouth is on them in an instant, giving them the same treatment he gave her neck. He loves the way her skin tastes, sweet and salty. Makes his dick pulse. So he’s grinding down on her, searching for any semblance of friction.

“Billy…” she cries out once he reaches her nipple, licking broadly against it before sucking it between his lips. “Fuck, that feels so good.”

He hums around her, smiling at the corners of his lips. He likes making her react like this, it gets him off. She is the hottest woman he’s ever seen, doesn’t even compare to the hundreds of centerfolds he’s seen. It’s getting to him, every time he looks up at her he thinks about it.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he says before thinking more about it.

Daisy giggles, and it makes her even prettier. Then she says, “Thank you, daddy.”

And wow. Billy’s never been called that before. He pauses because he’s pretty shocked by the effect that’s having on his dick. He grabs her jaw, looking down at her a little crazed and he’s thrusting gently against her. Daisy’s eyes widen, mouth a little slack and she just kind of melts. Billy likes that, so he holds her a little tighter and barely shakes her head.

“Yeah? Am I your daddy?”

Daisy whines, wiggles against the bed as she gasps out, “Yes!”

Billy has to bite his lip to stifle his smile, he can’t let on how much he likes being called that. Also, he’s pretty sure the whole daddy thing is being dominant. Smiling at that would show her a weakness, he thinks. So he lowers her hand to around her neck, “You gonna suck daddy’s cock?”

“If he’ll let me,” Daisy replies, all wide eyes and pouty lips. Billy’s cock twitches again.

He laughs at her, shakes his head and climbs off of her. As he stands, he starts undoing his jeans and kicks his boots off. Daisy sits up, putting her hair back up in the messy bun as she awaits for Billy to pull his cock out. When he does, Daisy hums and smiles, “Better than I remember.”

“Shut up,” he rolls his eyes, grabbing her by the bun and guides her towards his cock. They both have the biggest smiles. It’s odd, the way Billy feels like this is easy and even comfortable or familiar. Honestly, it kind of scares him. But then Daisy’s licking up the side of his cock. His eyes roll back and he moans. Totally distracted from his nerves.

Her lips wrap around the head of his cock and she moans, blinking up at him before sucking. He grits his teeth, using his grip on his hair to guide his cock further into her mouth. Daisy’s stunning and she looks even better with something in her mouth. Can’t take his eyes off her, chin pressed to his chest as moans flow from his lips. She’s messy with it too, drooling around his cock and using her hand to stroke where he isn’t in her mouth. The eye contact is bizarre. Billy can’t recall another time he had a girl looking up at him like this. He likes it, feels like he’s got his own personal little porn star.

Then she takes him all the way, nose pressed against curly blonde hair and bobs her head. He wants to watch, but he can’t. His eyes squeeze shut as he growls low. Daisy even moans around him and Billy’s hips jerk forward, shoving deeper down her throat and fuck, she takes it like a champ. He has to pull out so he doesn’t cum. She squeezes the base of him, like she knows he’s close. Licks her lips as he peers up at him. And for the first time, he notices she’s got her skirt hiked up, panties pushed to the side as she rubs her pussy.

“You taste so good, daddy,” she tells him, “makes me so wet.”

“Let me see,” Billy goads her.

Daisy leans back, spreads her legs as she drags her fingers up and down her glistening folds. She spreads her lips, really showing off for him before sinking two fingers into her cunt. He gets on his knees, pulls her to the edge of the bed and pulls her panties off. Billy pushes her skirt up higher and she’s holding her legs up for him. He dives in, licking against her pussy. Billy groans at the taste, sweet and just a little tangy. Daisy moans, spreading her legs even further as he devours her. And fuck, she sounds so pretty. He eats her out like a starving man. More hungry than he’s ever been. The attraction here is fucking otherworldly. Billy cannot remember feeling so aroused by another woman. He feels a little insane from it, putting everything he has into licking her out. Nose bumping into her clit as he circles his tongue around her hole. Daisy’s not holding back, body shaking against the sheets as she wails. He can feel her wetness coating his cheeks and chin, she’s practically pouring out.

“Fuck,” she gasps, “Oh, my god, Billy!”

He moves his lips back up to her clit, slipping two fingers inside her pulsing cunt. Licking her clit rapidly, sliding his fingers in and out and he can feel her squeezing his digits. Keeps working until her legs snap shut, locking him in as she wails and seizes against the bed. He can feel her cumming, even wetter than she was and her walls tighten around his fingers. He keeps licking her until she’s pushing him away.

Daisy sits up, grabs Billy by the hair and pulls him into a kiss. No doubt tasting herself. There’s such an intense chemistry, it makes his head spin. And Daisy’s spinning him around. Pushing him on his back and straddling him, she kisses him harshly and reaches between their bodies. Grabs a hold of his cock and guides it towards her pussy, sinking down on it while they both moan out in pleasure. Billy knows they should use protection, that this is a dumb idea but it’s just too good to stop. And really, he can’t recall the night they married but he doubts they used it then and he knows they didn’t the morning after.

If anything, she’s a performer, bouncing on his cock. Her tits are moving with the motion. Billy doesn’t even know where to look, every inch of her body is fucking heavenly. She pulls her hair out of the hair tie, blonde tendrils falling to frame her face yet again. Daisy presses her palm to his chest, face all contorted in ecstasy as he fucks herself on his dick. His hands find her hips, trying to help her but it’s fruitless. Daisy’s a pro, she doesn’t need Billy to help. But he thinks it’s encouraging enough. His legs tense up, feeling alarmingly close because of how gorgeous she looks and how amazing it feels inside her.

Daisy grabs the annulment papers next to Billy’s head, holds them in her hands as she rides him.

“I want this cock forever, daddy,” she confesses and rips the papers in half. He should be pissed, he should be furious. But he cums. No warning. Just shoots inside her.

She cries out from the feeling, speeds up her movements even. The annulment papers lay on Billy’s torso as she rides him through his orgasm.

Billy doesn’t try to get the annulment papers again and Daisy moves into his trailer three days later.

#billy hargrove x female original character #billy hargrove x fem!oc #billy hargrove x original character #billy hargrove x oc #billy hargrove #billy hargrove smut

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tealottie · 7 months ago

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GET READY FOR DUCKBLR FASHION WEEK! #Duckblr Fashion Week 2024 #DFW24

Everyone is allowed to participate and there are no rules! If you want to draw OC, draw characters as human, do prompts multiple times, skip prompts, etc - all is fine! This is meant for fun! :))

Below are further explanations and a flyer without Daisy and Donald in the background for easier reading <33

Monday: En Vogue En vogue means with the trends - fashion magazines, current clothing trends etc. Vogue inspires very geometrical and sleek ideas, but feel free to twist it any way you want. You could even interpret it as a redraw/study for a Vogue cover

Tuesday: Historical High Fashion Draw your favorite period fit and if you'd like, you can put a high fashion spin on it. a good movie example of a prompt like this would be Cruella!

Wednesday: Found in Nature Anything inspired by nature and can expand to any biome or animal you can think of, really - just something that embraces the natural world!

Thursday: Music to My Eyes Translate music to fashion. you could pick a genre and style a fit catered to it, or you could try to capture the essence of music to an outfit, etc - many ways to go about it. could also restyle a music artists outfit for a character, etc etc etc

Friday: Culture Couture Choose any culture to represent! example: Prissy and Melissa are Chinese so I may draw them wearing historical qipaos. Any culture can be given to any characters, so long as its respectful! We want to nurture culture appreciation, not appropriation!

Saturday: Pinups Please Draw a pinup of any of your favorite characters! NSFW is discouraged just because it's nice to keep our fanworks for this week for general audiences, but I am not one to tell someone no! Pinups are meant to be provocative, but theyre also meant to be fun - so please have fun with it!

Sunday: Wedding Dresses/Wedding Messes I want to not only keep this option open for wedding dresses/tuxes for your favorite ships, but i also want to open the idea of divorce or widowed inspired attire. Draw Goldie in a black dress and sunhat with satin gloves holding a bloody knife. Live your dreams\

All of this is VERY open to interpretation and there is no right or wrong! All I want is to spread creative prompts throughout this fandom and help inspire others <33 Feel free to tag any art posted with #Duckblr Fashion Week 2024 or #DFW24

#tealottie #dt17 #ducktales #duckverse #ducktales 2017 #digital art #Duckblr Fashion Week 2024 #DFW24 #fashion week #daisy duck #donald duck #art challenge #duckblr #ducktales fanart #tealottie art

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queenofwands89 · 9 months ago

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The Sweet Symphony of Sunday

Summary: On a laid-back Sunday, Negan, his wife y/n, and their three kids transformed their kitchen into a hub of joy and cookie-making mayhem.

Characters: Negan x reader (OC, Third Person)

Warnings: Fluff, Cooking, Negan being dirty-minded. Word count: 1,767

AO3 Link

Notes: A short dad!Negan fic because I'm a whore for him. Enjoy!

The warm aroma of freshly baked cookies wrapped around the kitchen, a heartwarming melody accompanying the laughter and chatter that filled the space. On this particular Sunday, Y/n and Negan's home was a bustling hub of family activity, all hands on deck for what was shaping up to be the best batch of chocolate chip cookies yet. Y/n surveyed the counter with precision, ingredients laid out like the pieces of a well-loved story. “Alright, team,” she began, her voice a blend of encouragement and command. “Let’s make this the batch that rocks our world!”

Negan, with his undeniable charm, wrapped an arm around her, whispering in her ear, “Baby, every batch you make rocks my world.” His words, always right on the edge of playful and sincere, made her laugh, a sound as sweet as the sugar waiting to be mixed. As Y/n's laughter danced through the air, Negan took the moment to pull her closer. The children, momentarily preoccupied with their cookie creations, were oblivious to the tender exchange between their parents. With a gentle hand, Negan tilted Y/n's chin toward him, his gaze holding hers with an intensity that always made her heart flutter. “Really, darling,” he said in a low, earnest voice that only she could hear, “You rock my entire world. Not just with these cookies, but with everything you do.”

The sincerity in his eyes told her that this wasn't just another one of his playful remarks—it was a truth that he lived by. And before she could respond, Negan brushed his lips against hers in a kiss that was as much a promise as it was a show of affection. The world around them seemed to blur into the background, the sounds of the kitchen fading as they shared this moment, wrapped up in each other. It was the kind of kiss that spoke volumes, conveying years of shared smiles, struggles, and love—all the ingredients that made their life together as sweet and fulfilling as the cookies they baked.

As Negan and Y/n shared their sweet moment, it didn't take long for their bubble to burst as the observant eyes of their children caught the display of affection.

"Ewwww!" Joshua exclaimed theatrically, playfully covering his eyes but peeking through his fingers, unable to resist witnessing the scene.

Daisy and Liam joined in the chorus, their young voices overlapping in mock disgust. "Yucky!" Daisy squealed, sticking out her tongue while Liam added with a giggle, "Mommy, Daddy, stop smooching!"

Negan and Y/n couldn't help but laugh, pulling apart from their embrace. "Oh, you guys will understand one day when you're older," Negan assured them with a wink, ruffling Joshua's hair.

Y/n nodded in agreement, her heart full despite the playful reprimands. "Exactly! And you better believe we'll be the ones saying 'eww' then!" she teased, as she began to direct them back to the task at hand.

After a moment, Y/n was greeted by the sight of Negan's hazel eyes twinkling with joy. "Now, let's finish up these cookies, shall we?" He said with a chuckle, giving her waist a gentle squeeze before turning back to their children, who were eagerly waiting for the next instruction.

Joshua, their spirited eight-year-old, declared with the confidence of a born leader, “I’m in charge of mixing!” His eyes shone with the thrill of responsibility as he took his position at the bowl.

Meanwhile, Liam, ever the gentle soul, carefully measured the chocolate chips. “Do we have enough?” he asked, looking up at Y/n with big, earnest eyes.

Y/n nodded, ruffling his hair. “Just perfect, sweetie. You’re doing great.”

And Daisy, their youngest firecracker, already had her fingers in the dough. “Daddy, taste!” she demanded, presenting Negan with a dollop of her ‘creation’.

Negan pretended to inspect it closely. “Hmm, top-notch work, my little chef,” he praised before popping the dough into his mouth, making Daisy giggle delightedly.

As they all settled in, the comforting smell of cookies starting to bake filled the kitchen. Amidst this homely scene, Joshua wore a look of nervous anticipation, the upcoming Little League game weighing on his mind.

"Mom, do you think I'll play well in the game?" Joshua's voice trembled slightly, betraying his anxiety about the performance.

Y/n knelt down to his level, her eyes brimming with encouragement. "You're going to do great," she reassured him, her confidence buoying his spirits. "Just remember to enjoy yourself, that's the most important thing."

Seemingly comforted by his mother's words, Joshua's earlier tension began to dissolve, giving way to his broader dreams. "Then, do you think I can be a baker and a baseball player?" he asked, curiosity lighting up his features.

"Absolutely," Y/n responded without hesitation, her smile warm and affirming. "You can be anything you put your mind to."

The warmth of the conversation seemed to pull Negan deeper into the moment. Moving towards Joshua, he placed a loving kiss atop his oldest son's head, a simple gesture that spoke volumes of his support and affection. "That's right," Negan began, his voice laced with conviction and a hint of pride. "Whether it's on the field or in the kitchen, if you're passionate about it, you're going to succeed."

As the conversation shifted, Liam, inspired by his brother's ambition, chimed in with his own heartfelt aspiration. "What about me? Can I help save all the animals?"

Negan smiled, messing up Liam's hair affectionately. "Of course, we might have to think about getting a bigger place, though. A house with a large backyard might just do the trick."

The family laughter filled the kitchen, their individual dreams weaving together in the warmth of the oven’s glow, reminding everyone that with passion, support, and a bit of creativity, anything was possible.

Daisy chimed in, “I wanna be a princess baker!” Her declaration was met with laughter and affirming nods.

Y/n caught Negan’s eye, a silent exchange of love and pride passing between them. Here, in their laughter-filled kitchen, was everything they ever wanted. The oven timer dinged, and the moment had arrived. Negan, with exaggerated caution, opened the oven and announced, “Behold, the treasure!” The kitchen filled with the rich scent of freshly baked cookies—a signal that prompted beaming smiles and eager hands. As Negan carefully placed the tray on the kitchen island, the kids gathered around like moths to a flame, their earlier conversations about dreams and aspirations momentarily paused for the ritual of taste testing.

One by one, each child picked up a cookie, letting out satisfied "mmms" and "ahhs" as they bit into the warm, gooey goodness. The delectable blend of chocolate and dough melted on their tongues, eliciting bright eyes and contented sighs. They huddled together, sharing bites and comparing notes on the best parts of their cookies, filling the air with a chorus of appreciation for the sugary delights.

Daisy, with chocolate smeared across her face, declared, “These are the bestest ever!”

Negan looked at his daughter adoringly and gave her kisses on her cheeks. Negan's eyes twinkled with mischief as he pulled away from the shower of affection he'd just given his daughter, his kisses still lingering on her cheeks. Leaning languidly against the kitchen island, he polished off the last of his cookie, drawing out each lick of his fingers theatrically. "They're the best, sweetheart!" he declared with a roguish grin, his voice dipped in innuendo. "I could eat your mom's cookies for hours and never get tired."

His hazel eyes locked onto y/n's, glittering with a playful mix of desire and humor, punctuating his double entendre with a suggestive wink. Y/n couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head at her husband's knack for slipping in a dirty joke. It was just so like him to spice up an ordinary moment with a hint of naughtiness.

Meanwhile, Daisy, blessedly unaware of the layered meaning in her dad's words, looked up at Negan with honest concern shining in her young eyes. "Daddy, you can't do that; you'll get a tummy ache!" she admonished earnestly, her grasp on the topic purely literal and wholesomely sweet.

Josuha, caught up in the excitement and oblivious to the adult humor afloat, confidently proclaimed his own ability. "I could do it!" he yelled, eager to join in what he perceived as a fun challenge.

"Me too! Me too!" Liam piped up, not wanting to be left out of the spirited banter. His tiny voice echoed with enthusiasm, a clear sign of his innocent eagerness to be a part of the action.

The scene was a charming tapestry of familial banter, with Negan's playful jests flying high above the children's heads yet grounding the family in laughter and light-heartedness. Negan let out a hearty laugh. "Ya’ll think so, huh? Maybe we'll have to have a cookie marathon one day, see who can really hold their own," he teased, winking at his son.

Y/n rolled her eyes playfully at the idea, knowing full well the sugar rush that would follow. "Oh gosh, I can just imagine the sugar high and the crash after that," she said with mock horror.

Negan grinned at Y/n, his look softening, filled with affection. "Well, maybe not a marathon. How about we just enjoy these for now?" he suggested, trying to save Y/n from the impending madness he'd just considered instigating.

Daisy giggled, her attention solely on the cookies. "We could eat a mountain of cookies and still not get sick!" she boasted confidently.

"That's my brave little girl," Negan encouraged, smiling at her enthusiasm while reaching out and wiping the chocolate from Daisy's face with a napkin.

Liam, ever the voice of reason, added, "But we have to remember to brush our teeth extra well tonight, right, Mom?"

Y/n nodded, giving Liam a proud smile. "Exactly right, Liam. We don't want cavities ruining our cookie fun, do we?" She looked over the children with a heart swelling with tenderness, a picturesque scene right out of the happiest memories she would always cherish.

As the family's laughter and playful banter continued, the kitchen was bright with the joy of the moment and the promise of many more to come. It was a snapshot of their life together—messy, loud, and filled with love—where every joke, every nibble of a cookie, and every kiss on a chocolate-stained cheek was more than just a simple act. It was a brick in the foundation of their home, a testament to the life Y/n and Negan had built together.

#negan smith #negan x reader #the walking dead #twd negan #negan fanfiction #negan x you #negan x y/n #negan #jeffrey dean morgan #twd fanfiction #Negan AU

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seenoversundown · 2 months ago

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Sparrow Of The Dawn : Chapter Eight

Sam Kiszka x Willa (Fem OC)

Warnings: 18+ Smut (warnings will be last) A lot of emotions (angry/anxious/frustrated) bickering, playful bullying, if you squint and turn your phone upside down— slight yearning, Sam actually being a big ol’ sweetheart, Mother Jake feature, and their stubbornness is strong with this one.

Smut Warnings include: jokes referencing sex, teasing/tension (invoked by the position they’re in), oral (f receiving)

Word Count: 12.1k 🫣

Summary: Tension is high after discovering the hotel mishap, so they both are doing their best to navigate the first night in this cramped space with each other.

Author's Note: heyyyy.. how y'all doinn..? 🫣 SO- it's been .. almost a year since we heard from Sam and Birdie and frankly, it felt like it was time to give you s o m e t h i n g. Which I decided as I chipped away at this chapter, that I would just let it be longer. 🥹💜

In regards to a posting schedule for them, I don't want to over-promise and under-deliver, so they will be tentatively updating, but I will give you updates on which Sundays to look forward too! (I really want you guys to have their story finally, so I will be doing my best to juggle this alongside Danny & Mel)

Born Under A Bad Sign - Cream "If it weren't for bad luck, I wouldn't have no luck at all."

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

I grab my hair at the roots and pace back and forth at the foot of the bed that Sam is now lying casually on. Hands laced behind his head, his body fully covered in his outside clothes, and his shoes still on his feet. Ew, who lays in bed with their boots on? Our luggage still sits forgotten by the door.

How can he be so relaxed about this?

“We have to talk to someone. We have to do something. Do you think we can go down to the front desk and ask them to switch? No. There has to be a mistake. The email specifically said double room. As in two beds. Dos. Deux. One, two.” I count on my fingers. I stop and face Sam.

“My email doesn’t say that.” He's looking up from his phone with an amused smile dancing across his lips.

“What do you mean your email doesn't say that?” Snarling at him as he holds his phone out for me to look at. I walk to his bedside and snatch his phone from his fingers. Continuing my pacing, my eyes scan down the email all the way to the signature from the head of the HR department.

Ding.

His phone goes off, and the text banner drops down. I don’t look up at him, but I can feel his eyes on me.

Daisy 🌼: Text message

Isn’t that fucking cute. A cute little emoji and everything. How nice? I probably don’t even have an emoji next to my name.

Ew.

I don’t care? I don’t. I. Do. Not. Care.

Annoyed, I swipe the banner up and out of my line of sight and focus back on the email. Nowhere does it say anything about a double room. I pull out my phone and open my email, typing in the subject to find the specific one I’m looking for. It takes a few minutes to sort through the mess of my inbox. When I see the email from the same HR rep, I select it and read on.

“You’ll be picked up by a car service at the airport and taken to the Hyatt hotel. Located at–”

Blah blah blah, get on with it.

“After you’ve checked in to the hotel and dropped off your belongings, you will need to check in with the San Francisco Chronicle located at–”

Okay, okay, here we go…

Oh, no.

My eyes dart back and forth between my phone and his. I clear my throat and lower the phones, which hang heavy like bricks on either side of me.

“Neither email says anything about the number of beds.” I toss his phone back to him; it lands in a soft thud on the plush comforter. He lets out a throaty laugh. Oh, he's getting a kick out of this. Four different versions of me slapping him across the face flash through my mind. God, does he know how to irk me.

“How is this funny to you? Do you want to share a bed with me, Sam? Does that sound like fun to you? I kick in my sleep, you know.” I don’t but he doesn't need to know that. Something flashes in his eyes and quickly disappears.

“On a grand scale, there are definitely worse things I can think of than sleeping next to someone who can’t stand me. But if you kick me, just know I’m gonna tie your legs to the bedpost.” He smirked as he got up from bed, and I scoffed. “Let’s just talk to the front desk and see about getting a different room before you have an aneurysm.”

I roll my eyes at him.

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We step back into the elevator, retreating in defeat after speaking with Dustin again at the front desk. One fucking bed. Apparently, because these rooms were pre-booked, they were company rooms; therefore, we couldn’t swap the room or size without charging the company more. In layman's terms, without permission from our bosses, we’re fucked, and the last thing we want to do is make a wrong first impression. Thank god it's a King Size, at least. I let out a deep sigh and pulled out my phone to send a quick text to Quinn.

Me: Do you want to hear about how I have the worst luck on the planet?

If Sam stared any harder as I typed, holes would be burned into the side of my head. I look over at him. His arms are crossed, and his face reads, "Judgey." Yeah, Judgey is how I would describe whatever that is. Lowering my hands, I meet his gaze. We stare at each other for a long moment before he breaks the silence.

“Come on. Is it really that bad?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, please. I am a joy to be around. I’m a joy to live with. Just ask Daniel” he gives me a cheeky grin as he tries to reason with me. The elevator dings, and we exit, heading down the hall to our room.

“You live alone, and I don’t know Daniel. I’d have an easier time believing Penny. But, Alas, she can’t speak. I’m sure if she could, she’d say she likes Daniel better, though. Or was all your bellyaching about leaving her with him because she ‘never wants to come back home’ just… talk?” using air quotes as I recall his complaint from the other day.

“Low blow, Birdie. Low blow.” The playful look in his eyes glistens as he puts the keycard up to the door and opens it. “Maybe now's a good time for you to take that nap you were talking about.” He tosses me a little cautionary side eye as I walk past him, and he closes the door behind him. It's as if he thinks I’m a ticking time bomb getting ready to detonate.

“I’m not a toddler who needs to go down for a nap.” The look he gives me says he disagrees. I did want to take a nap when we first got to the hotel, but now that he’s suggesting it– of course, I don't want to.

Why am I like this?

“I couldn’t fall asleep with you here during the daytime even if I wanted to.” Internally rolling my eyes because I am tired. I do want to take a nap, but I am stubborn and refuse to give in to him—his energy changes as he crosses his arms.

“My presence is so disturbing that you couldn’t fall asleep with me here? What are you going to do for this whole trip? Stay awake the whole time? Become a zombie? Might as well just hand me the job now. There’s no reason to even go through with this week.” His tone is more sassy than playful now, immediately sending me on the defense.

“Can you just fall asleep wherever, whenever, under any conditions?” I retort. “The sun is still out, and you would be awake and doing what? Sitting here watching me sleep?” The pending argument starts to rear its ugly head over the horizon.

“You’re so dramatic.” He huffs. “How about I just fuck off for a few hours and leave you be. Does that work for you, Princess Willa?” He shakes his head in disbelief. I recoil at the use of my full name. Seeing a whole new side of Sam, I didn’t actually think he was capable of. I start to wonder if I've done something truly wrong to offend him or cause him to be actually upset now, apart from the blatant bickering. His annoyance is obvious, but instead of making anything better, my stubbornness wins.

“That would be great, actually, thanks,” I spit back and grab my suitcase so I can change into more comfortable clothes.

“Fine.” He turns on his heel toward the door, shutting it with more force than normal. The sound causes me to jump. It’s not quite hard enough to be considered slamming, which I should probably feel better about, but I don’t. At least he’s a man who can somewhat control his anger. I sit down on the corner of the bed and let out a sigh. This is not how I wanted this trip to go.

My phone dings with a text message from Quinn. My savior, yes.

Quinn: I always want to hear (laugh) about your misfortunes.

Me: Sam’s gone lemme call you.

I wait impatiently as the phone rings, and rings. And rings. God what are they doing? They JUST texted me?

“Tell it to me straight, Big Willy Style. What seems to be the catastrophic, def con 5 issue today?” They tease.

“Jesus, where do I start?” A pained sigh escapes me.

“Usually from the beginning.” Their lively giggle comforted me from the other end of the line.

“Har Har. Basically, the flights were a shit show because.. You know how I get when I fly.”

They hum in agreement.

“I thought Sam was making fun of me for it, but he wasn’t. Then he held my hand? Which was actually really nice, but then I fell asleep on him. Annnd then I drooled on him. I DROOLED, Quinny, fully on his shoulder. As we were getting off the plane, I saw a sliver of his stomach and almost died because despite the fact that I am annoyed with him like ninety-nine percent of the time, he is.. actually, really hot?” I take a deep breath in, ready to spill the rest of today’s events so they’re caught up.

“I KNEW IT,” they interject excitedly.

“Knew what?”

“That you have a big fat crush on him.”

My cackle is so loud it surprises me. “Please? A crush? No. ‘Crush’ is not at all the word I would use to describe my feelings about him. Annoyed, cranky, slightly bordering on going insane is more like it. Just because I have eyes does not mean I have a crush. He pisses me off every chance he gets. It's like a game to him.”

“I can totally see how holding your hand presumably to calm down your neurotic– I mean wonderful little behind down, and allowing you to drool on him in return would absolutely tick you off.”

“I’m not done yet, Quailman.” I pick at a loose thread on the comforter.

“Please continue. I’m just dying to hear how this ends.”

“Okay, then my suitcase got lost, and he yelled at baggage claim security people and called me his girlfriend? Because, for whatever reason, he thought that would make people listen to him. Then we finally get back to the hotel, and I think, ‘Okay, great, I might be able to relax and take a nap or something.’ But no. Whatever holy entity that rules above us has decided to make my life a JOKE, and there is, in fact, only.. One. Bed. in this hotel room.”

“There’s a lot to unpack here.”

“The irony is not lost on me.” A sarcastic laugh leaves my mouth. “However, there is still more.”

“Oh, god.”

“We tried to switch the room, but it's a company room, so we can’t. Which means I am fully stuck sharing a bed with this man that I cannot stand.”

“A bed. A bathroom. A common space. A TV! How will you possibly survive if he hates sleeping with the TV on?” They let out dramatically. Oh god, I hadn’t thought of that.

I cannot fall asleep in complete silence. The TV is always on at night in my bedroom. Even with the sound on low, it helps me ignore any odd noises and creeks that might usually cause me to think there’s an intruder in my house. Call me paranoid, but you never know it could happen.

“Ugh,” Falling back on the bed with a thump. “What am I supposed to do, Quinn.”

“Uh oh, not the government name. This is serious.”

“So serious, and I’m pretty sure I pissed him off. He seemed pretty upset over something when he left, and I think it's my fault. He told me, and I quote, ‘How about I just fuck off for a few hours and leave you be.’” I conveniently leave out the second half, knowing that Quinn would escalate that into calling me ‘your highness’ in a millisecond.

Laying down on my side and curling up in a ball, I settle the phone between my ear and the comforter, wishing nothing more than to be home in my comfy old sweats and my own bed.

“In all seriousness, Wills. I’m going to tell you this because I love you, and I know you. Maybe reel it in juuust a tiny bit and deal with some of these catastrophes a bit more internally. I’m sure it doesn’t feel good to hear someone you need to share a space with for a week saying how much they don’t want to be there.”

I’m silent for a moment, and then I groan. “I hate it when you’re right, you know.”

“Sucks for you because I am always right,” they say, matter-of-factly; I can picture their bright, beaming smile as it comes out.

“Oh fuck off,” I huff out a laugh.

“Just try to forget how absolutely irritating–” they drop their voice an octave and whisper under their breath, “-wonderful, and kind he’s been, and remember that there are probably abs under there. Ooooh, maybe you’ll get to see him shirtless. Pantless even? Maybe he’ll wear gray sweatpants. Does he have a nice butt?” Their voice getting more eager as they ramble on.

“Annnnd– that’s enough of that. I’m going to take a nap now. Bye,” Their attempt to make me uncomfortable working.

“Bye, Wallaby. Hope you remembered to pack protection.”

I swiftly click the ‘end call’ button.

Jesus.

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Sam POV

The time on my phone reads 8:12 PM in bold letters, and I sigh loudly. It’s been a few hours since I stormed out of the hotel. It was not one of my finer moments, and I regretted it as soon as the door clicked behind me. But I was too stubborn to turn around and apologize. The words I said echoed through my mind on repeat as the guilt sank in.

Ever since she crash-landed into my life, I find myself occasionally wracking my brain trying to figure out what I’ve done to cause Birdie, Willa, to hate me so much. Hoping enough time has passed for her to be calm and rested; I start the car and type in the hotel’s address.

Eventually, I stopped feeling sorry for myself and ordered an Uber to pick up the rental car. Then, I headed over to The Chronicle to check-in. I read the email’s instructions thoroughly to make sure I didn’t miss details, not wanting either of us to be surprised again like we were by the singular bed.

When I arrived, I met with the man spearheading this project, he introduced himself as ‘Charles, but you can call me Charlie.’ Everything about him was average. He dressed like every other man his age in this field of work: the same standard haircut with faded sides, the same boring patent black dress shoes, the same powder blue button-up with the same old maroon and navy striped tie. What he lacked in style, he made up for with personality. Shaking my hand and immediately cracking a joke with me. He seems like one of those bosses who always says, ‘Hey, I don’t like it either. If I had it my way, we wouldn’t be doing this at all, but this is what the big guys want.’ to try and seem like he’s one of the regular employees. The guy who invites you out for drinks on a Friday night to unwind after spending too many hours locked in the office.

“Where’s the other half?” He asked, and I made up some excuse about how Willa had gotten sick once we landed and was resting, but she’d be good as new tomorrow ‘probably just something she ate.’ I figured it would be a better explanation than ‘Yeah, actually, we fought before I left, and now we’re not speaking, can't wait to work together!’ What he doesn’t know won't hurt him. He then went on to explain how things were going to go for the week and had me sign up for different events for us to capture and then finally edit once we got home. I reassured him that we make a good team and she’d be perfectly fine with me choosing events without her present. After how I left her earlier, I’m praying to everything good and holy in this world that she takes this news well.

After I left the chronicle I drove to the closest grocery store to pick up some things for the hotel room. Better to be over prepared than under-prepared– just in case. At least I’m living up to Birdie’s nickname. However, if she remains this neurotic I might need to be drunk the whole time. Or maybe she does. Either way alcohol will be had whether it is a good idea or not.

As I pull into the hotel parking lot, I say a silent prayer to myself. Choosing not to valet park even if it is easier. I’m fully capable of parking and don’t want to pay someone to park my car. I don’t care that it's just a rental. I slid into a parking spot and put it in park. Taking a second before exiting to gather my thoughts and prepare for whatever mood she might be in.

Maybe she’ll be asleep. I’m not even sure if that's the better option. What if I wake her up? What if I wake her up and she's crankier than she was before? Maybe I should call Daniel for advice? Right, One Date Daniel would give me terrible advice. Not that this is about a woman I'm interested in, because it's not. I could try a brother? Which one would be most likely to give me good advice?

I scroll through my contacts, select the Tweedle Dee contact, and Facetime him. The contact names for the twins will never not make me laugh, and he is on my good side this week.

Jake’s worried face comes into view, and sounds a bit panicked, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” My eyes darted off to the side.

He lets out a small sigh, “Hold on, let me go outside.” Seeing him make his way through the bar to the back area, where he sometimes sneaks away for private time. I never ask what he does out there. “Okay, so what is she doing?” He lets the door close behind him with just enough space so it doesn’t lock.

“She was cranky earlier, so I left. Now I'm outside the hotel in the parking lot, a bit worried about going back inside.”

His brow knits in confusion, “She’s not going to bite you?”

“I don't know, if you saw her earlier, you might not be so sure about that.” My eyebrows nearly reached my hairline.

“You’re gonna have to give me some context here.”

“She’s upset that there's one bed, and now we have to share. So I left for a bit. You know, give a woman space or whatever.” I trail off.

“Jesus Christ.” He lets out an even heavier sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Starting up my defense, “Isn’t that what you do when a woman is angry? You give her space? Let her calm down, and don't piss her off further? What if she’s still cranky when I get back in there? It's been a few hours. Surely she should be fine by now, right?” I pause. My stomach starts to tighten as panic bubbles just under the surface, ready to spill over at any second. “RIGHT?!”

“So the only reason she's upset is because there's only one bed?”

“Well, we tried to get a double room and couldn't and then maybe there's a possibility that we.. argued .. a little after.”

“And…?” He prods further.

“And… I may or may not have shut the door .. angrily. And .. stormed out.” My thumb makes a motion over my shoulder, knowing he’s about to give me shit.

“So you left the situation visibly pissed off?”

“Yes.” I can feel him preparing the brotherly lecture.

Jake has always been this way, the caring older brother. Josh looks out for me, too, but he does it in a way that is just so very.. Josh.

Since we were little, Jake has always been more like a junior parent. Checking to see if I had finished my homework or needed help with it. Lending an ear when I needed to vent. I can’t count how many times I heard ‘Sam, don’t be a dumbass’ followed by actual good advice. My goal has always been to make my parents proud, but ‘I hope Jake is too’ is always the silent thought that follows.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna bode well for you, buddy.”

“I called you for advice, Jake.” I deadpan

“Have you tried reasoning with her?” He looks at me expectantly.

“I mean, no. I could when I get up there if I can even make it past the threshold without being accosted.”

“First of all, grow up. She’s barely five feet tall; what are you afraid of?”

“You haven’t seen her mad, Jake.. she gets a little scary.”

“I don’t know– I saw her hand your ass to you at the bar,” He raises his eyebrows at me.

“Okay, now imagine that.. but worse.”

“She’s not the Hulk, Sammy. You’re just going to have to figure something out to survive the next few days.”

“Amazing advice, actually. Can’t believe I didn’t think of that before.” I roll my eyes. So much for the brotherly lecture.

“Communicate with her. Stop bickering with her because I know you are. Just.. find the compromise.” There it is.

“Find the compromise. Okay. I’ll just.. Find the compromise. I can do that, right?” He makes this sound so easy. ‘Just find the compromise’. No big deal.

“Yeah. For sure. You got this, buddy,” He encourages me quietly, pausing for a second. “Oh– and just a word of advice.. make sure you wrap it up.” He has the cheesiest grin on his face as he laughs to himself. He thinks he’s sooo funny.

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that.” and I hang up on him, annoyed.

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The grocery bags are heavily weighing down my arms as I try to balance the boxes of alcohol in my hands. But I am not coming down for another trip if I can help it. I hip-check the door closed behind me. I balance the strategically placed tower of drinks on one hand, leaning it against my body, and lock the driver-side door behind me. Trying my best to be careful the whole way back to the room as I make my way through the obstacles of navigated doors and buttons until I reach room 422.

“Here we go.” The words barely whisper from my lips as I tap the keycard. Pulling the door handle down as slowly and quietly as I can and tiptoeing just in case there’s a chance that she's still sleeping. I ease the door back into the closed position with a soft click. Barely registering anything but Birdie’s bare skin, I let out a scream and run the nearest room.

“AHHHHH.” I rush into the bathroom and kick the door closed with my foot, leaning against it to catch my breath, dropping the back of my head to the door. The aggressive thuds of her knocking rattle against my head, causing my thoughts to get jumbled. What is she doing? I set all three cases of drinks on the counter and placed the grocery bags on the floor.

“Sam, what the hell. You scared the shit out of me!” her voice muffled by the heavy wood of the door.

I catch my reflection in the mirror, my eyes wide in shock, my chest rising and falling rapidly. That’s going to be an image I can’t get out of my head for a while. Clad in only a towel wrapped around her thin frame, working lotion up and down the leg she had propped up on the bed—the bed I now have to sleep in and not think about her lotioning herself up half-naked. I can feel the blood start to drain from my face and gather.. elsewhere.

“Why are you naked?” I yell back, making sure to raise my voice enough that she can hear me clearly.

“Naked?! I’m in a towel, for fucks sake!”

I place my palms on the cool surface of the sink counter, focusing on the chilled granite. Trying to calm my mind and redirect my thoughts so I don’t accidentally walk out there with a raging hard-on. She was only lotioning her legs; why am I turned on? Has it really been that long since I’ve gotten laid? Jesus Christ.

“I know, but why are you out there?”

“I was just putting lotion on my legs, Sam. The air is still dry on the West Coast, you know. Can you unlock the door and be an adult for 5 seconds?” I can picture the look of distaste she undoubtedly has on her face. Her skin looked so soft…. Stop it, Sam.

“Fine, just get dressed, and then I’ll come out.” Pushing my weight off the counter, I face the door, waiting for her to give me the okay.

“I can’t. My clothes are in there.” Her voice is quieter than before.

Fuck me.

My eyes catch the sight of her ‘clothes’ sitting folded on the toilet. I pick up her matching bra and panty set. It’s a deep teal blue color and fucking lace. See-through lace arranged in a little flower pattern. What have I done to deserve this level of torture? Jesus Christ, Birdie, what are you doing to me? This is absolutely not helping the flow of blood to places that do not need it right now.

“This is what you call clothes? I suppose this is what you’re gonna wear to dinner tonight?”

“Sam! Can you just give me my underwear so I can get dressed, please?” I imagine she's stood on the other side of the door, huffing and puffing with her arms crossed. Half naked. In a towel. Not currently wearing underwear. Oh god.

Opening the door only enough to stick my hand out, I dangle her undergarments on the other side. She bites out a very sassy ‘thank you’ as she snatches the fabric from my fingers.

She starts to rustle around before she pipes up with, “Did you say dinner?” She’s on the far end of the room now, her voice barely audible.

Finally, a normal conversation so I don’t have to think about Birdie and her sexy panties. Why is she even wearing sexy panties? On a work trip? With a person she supposedly hates? Or is that just the type of underwear she wears all the time? Questions for later, Sam. No, not later. Questions for never. You don’t need those answers.

“Uhm,” taking a moment to clear my throat. “Yeah, I thought you’d probably be hungry by now, and you might want to try and find a place to eat.”

“Dress code?”

“Nothing fancy.”

More rustling of what I can only assume is her going through her suitcase to find something to wear before I hear a small “okay.”

I gather up all the groceries and open the door, slowly entering the bedroom. I resist the urge to drop my jaw in response. My eyes carve a path down her body. Her layered gold necklaces hit just above her cleavage, not too much shown but just enough to make any man feel a little insane at the idea of what’s underneath. And by any man, I mean me. A simple black long-sleeve shirt is tucked into a pair of belted medium-wash, slightly wider-legged jeans. If she wasn’t such a pain in my ass, I’d tell her how stunning she looks right now.

“What did you buy?” her voice breaks me from my thoughts.

“Huh?”

She points to my overstuffed arms and then grabs a clip to secure her hair half-up. Adjusting a few pieces of hair by her ears to match her bangs. My face feels hot.

“Oh,” I let out a nervous laugh, “I just bought some drinks and snacks for the hotel or maybe for you to fit in your purse or something tomorrow. I checked in at the Chronicle and I don’t know how often we’ll be able to eat with the schedule they have set up. Thought it would be easiest.” I shrug awkwardly.

“We had to check in? Why didn’t you come and get me?” The concern was deeply written all over her face. Did I make a mistake not waking her up?

“I thought you could use the sleep.. or space. I told them you got a little sick on the plane and that you’d be perfectly fine tomorrow no one batted an eye about it. Charlie, the director, even told me to tell you he hopes you feel better.” Quickly rushing the words out. Her face softens, so I continue. “We had to sign up for some events to capture, so I hope you don’t mind that I chose for both of us. I tried to pick things we both might enjoy.”

Her stomach grumbles loudly, interrupting our conversation. “That’s fine, I guess.” Birdie never fails to be a skeptic. “What did you get at the store?”

“Uhh,” walking over to the desk and setting everything down. Suddenly realizing how leaden everything has become as my muscles tense up. “Water and 2 kinds of alcohol– I didn’t know what you liked, but I thought beer and seltzer was a safe bet. I also got some cliff bars for snacks, goldfish because you seemed to like those at the airport, Uncrustables with strawberry jelly because it's definitely better than the grape, and a few other random things.”

I take a step back and allow her to poke through some of the remaining items. She picks out a peanut butter Cliff bar, opens it, and takes a bite. Her eyes roll in the back of her head, and she lets out a small moan. Don’t even think about it.

“God, this is good.” She pauses mid-chew and looks at me again with soft eyes. “Thank you. This was all really thoughtful of you.”

Shrugging my shoulder and waving her off, I say, “Don’t act so shocked. I’m a delight.” It also might have been my attempt to try and apologize for storming out earlier, but we may not be on the level of verbal apologies quite yet.

She rolls her eyes.

“So dinner?” I ask again.

“Definitely dinner.” She takes the last bite, throws her wrapper in the trash, and grabs a pair of shiny black ankle boots. Suddenly I’m reminded that I’m wearing the same henley from the airport.

“Actually, let me change my shirt before we leave.” Leaving out the part where it’s because she makes me feel underdressed because she looks so fucking good for no reason. Rummaging through my duffel bag I find a navy blue button-up shirt. Yeah this should do, dressy enough to match her vibe. Not that I’m trying to match her or anything. Grabbing the back of the neckline, I pull my henley off and hear a small ‘oh’ escape Birdie’s lips.

“A little warning next time.” Facing the wall now.

“Who knew a shirtless man would get you this hot and bothered? Don’t worry, I won't tell anyone.” Teasing her lightly, and walking up to her as I slide on my shirt. I stop just short of touching her. “You should know I sleep topless too,” I whisper in her ear, buttoning the bottom few buttons.

“Jesus.” she sighs loudly, and I laugh in response. “I’m gonna call the Uber.”

“No need; I actually picked up the rental car, too, so we can just drive.” Pulling the keys from my pocket and giving them a wiggle, she turns back around to face me. Not missing the way her eyes rove over the part of my chest that's exposed by the few buttons I’ve left open.

“Oh good.” She pauses and gives me a once-over. “A button-up and sweatpants, now that's a look.”

“Very funny. I thought maybe I’d change my pants in the bathroom so you don’t need a cold shower before we leave. Unless, of course, you want to see me in my boxers.” Wiggling my eyebrow at her.

She turns to face the wall again. “Just hurry up; I’m starting to get hangry.”

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We make our way down the interstate to a restaurant she chose. A little seafood place down by the water, ‘it even has options you can eat,’ she said. Another decision was made in a silent attempt at an apology. No reason for her to be upset at me still if we’re eating somewhere she picked.

The sun has fully set, and the lights of the night are starting to come alive. The skyline by the ocean is gorgeous, propped against the night sky. Never having been to the West Coast before I’m very curious how the seaside life differs here from back home. The skylines are different, the views are different, and even the smell of the ocean air is different. I know I've only just gotten here, and I’m only here for a week, but my heart pangs with a bit of homesickness.

“So glad you could come back to the land of the living I’ve been starving for like an hour.” Teasing her has become one of my favorite pastimes.

She shifts uncomfortably in the passenger seat.

“Why didn’t you just get food earlier? Why wait for me?” She sounds a little defensive.

“Right,” I chuckle, “and endure the wrath of you when you wake up rested but hungry? No thanks. I might be dumb, but I am not stupid.”

“That’s debatable.” The cheeky undertone laced thickly through her words. “But I appreciate it. I would have most definitely been cranky had you eaten and left me to fend for myself.”

“See. Like I said, I’m a delight.” I return the undertone.

“Again, debatable.” She repeats, laughing.

Birdie leads us as we walk up to the front of the restaurant, following along the paved pathway. Trailing not far behind her, I take in the view of the front terrace. Romantic string lights hang above the tables filled with people laughing. I focus on where she’s walking instead of eavesdropping on conversations as I pass by. The hostess leads us inside to a small table next to a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows facing right at the Oakland Bay Bridge.

I will never get tired of an ocean view. Something about the water just puts me at ease: the way the waves ebb and flow, crashing at the shoreline and sailboats slowly passing. The water will always feel like home.

I pull out Birdie’s chair because I am, in fact, a gentleman, and then take my seat across from her.

“This view is incredible.” She leans in and whispers to me across the table. I nod in response. She looks like a little kid in a candy store. The glint of childlike wonder still left in her eyes. I admire the way she seems to find these little pockets of joy when we take these trips. She takes out her phone and snaps a few pictures, scrolling through the options, occasionally showing me one, and asking my opinion on a lighting change or a filter she’s chosen. I wonder who she’s going to send these to?

I pull out my own phone and check my messages. One sits unread from Daisy. When did she text me?

Daisy 🌼 : Hope the flight went okay. Text me when you’re free.

Great, while I’ve been thinking about Birdie in her lacy underwear, Daisy has been waiting for me to text her back. All. Day. Nice going, Sam. This is probably why I’m still single.

Trying my best to come up with a response that doesn’t sound like a forced excuse, and I ultimately settle on;

Me: Sorry, it’s been a crazy busy day trying to get everything in order. We’re having dinner right now. I'll text you when I get back to the hotel.

Once the waitress comes back and takes our orders, the interrogation starts.

“So Samuel.” She eyes me skeptically.

I cock my eyebrow up at her.

“What’s the itinerary? I need to know if I should be mad at you or not.” She continues, smirking at me. My mouth hangs open in playful shock.

“I think I did fairly well, thank you.” Sitting up straight and tugging on the bottom of my shirt. Her gaze follows down my chest and snaps back up to my eyes. A light blush warms her cheeks, but she plays it off despite me noticing.

“Oh, you do, do you? Lay it on me then.” She waves her arms at me. I pull out the pamphlets from my inside jacket pocket.

“I actually got all the pamphlets for you to look through because I just know you have a million questions.”

“It's not wrong to want to be well-informed, Sam.” She pans through the papers.

“Well, don’t you worry your pretty little head; all the information is right there.” I tap on the pamphlet she’s holding. “Tomorrow, we’re going to a brewery.”

“A brewery?” She meets my eyes; her cheeks darken even more.

“Yeah, we get to do the behind-the-scenes stuff to see how it's all made.”

“And you thought that was something I’d enjoy?” She asks.

“No, this one was for me. For you, on Wednesday, we’re going to an event at a local bookstore. I think the author will even be there.” Taking a sip of my beer.

“Why’d you choose a bookstore for me?”

“You were glued to your Kindle the whole time we were flying despite not actually opening it. I assumed you brought it because you do actually like to read when you’re not acting psychotic about being in the air.”

“I was not psychotic!” she exclaims, defending herself.

All I do is give her a pointed stare.

She scoffs, “Carry on.”

“Friday is a big day. There’s a festival in the morning, and in the afternoon, we have a studio session with a photographer. I think they set that up for us as a thank you.”

Her eyes light up. “A studio session?”

“Yeah, we’ll get to talk to a photographer and watch them shoot and stuff. No idea who it is, Charlie didn’t say.” The look on her face tells me this has piqued her interest.

“There’s also the Photography Gala Awards on Friday evening. I think that's what the fancy attire is for. All of the candidates are going to be there for it.”

I’ve only just gotten my first glimpse of Birdie in attire that isn’t work or hiking-related. The thought of her in a gown makes me swallow down the lump in my throat harshly.

All night, I’ve been watching her short, loose curls shake and sway with her animated expressions. When she starts talking about something she enjoys, she zones in. When she gets going long enough, she’ll stop mid-sentence and try to change the subject with an ‘anyway…’ I just redirect her, relishing in the tangents a few times tonight.

I’m used to the crease in her brow or her eyes big with worry. Now, there are crinkles near her eyes. She’s covering her mouth as she’s laughing like she’s trying to shove the sound back inside before someone notices. As if she dared to enjoy an evening, but it only lasted for so long before she was tossing her head back and barking out with laughter.

I think I could get used to that sound. It's a sugary-sweet sound I could get addicted to, though I hardly hear or see this version of her. A smile spreads on my lips.

I pause for a moment, noticing how easy it's been to get along since we got here.

What’s different?

A little banter but no attitudes, no shortness, and no sassy comments. Just pleasant and easy banter. Maybe after consuming a few drinks and getting some food in our bellies, we both feel a bit lighter. Buzzing. Her laugh starts to echo through my brain the longer we sit here like a broken record on a loop. She blinks away the tears that form in her eyes when she giggles for too long.

It’s nice to see her like this. Especially after seeing how tightly wound she got about flying. I think we both needed a nice outing more than we realized.

When there’s a slight dip in conversation I catch her staring off to the view of the Oakland Bay Bridge. It bears the same shape as the iconic Golden Gate Bridge, but it’s the silver gray of metal instead of red, stretching right along the wall of windows we’re sat next to. The delicate ambient lights twinkle in her eyes; it’s like I can feel her longing to be on the other side of the glass. Like she’s being trapped in this restaurant. Not trapped with me, but trapped within the confines of the walls encasing us. I’m surprised she didn’t choose to sit on the terrace. I think about asking her why, but don’t want to interrupt whatever moment she’s having.

Maybe we will have time to go for a walk or something after..

Our food lay finished in front of us, and our drinks nearing empty, so I excused myself to the bathroom. Parting with some joke about how I didn’t get the chance before we left because I was too busy hiding from her. While I wasn’t entirely lying about needing to use the bathroom, I did take a pit stop by the hostess stand on the way back to track down our waitress.

“There you are; I was worried you fell in.” She jests as I take my seat again. She’s holding in another giggle.

“I got lost.” blatantly lying to her. Little white lies can’t hurt.

“Are you sure you should be driving home if you get lost finding the bathroom?”

“You know, you’re right. I didn’t think to use my GPS to find the restroom.” Matching her giggle.

Before she can respond with a snarky comment, I spot our waitress rounding the corner. Her hands are full of a dessert plate with a sparkler in the center, and two more coworkers follow closely behind. When they come within earshot, they start rhythmic clapping: “A little birdie told us it was your birthday.” She leans in close to her. “You see what I did there?”

Her eyes are wide in confusion as the waiters start singing a little happy birthday chant. Her mouth is hung slightly open, and I’m trying my best not to let loose the laugh that is begging to escape me. I cover my mouth, trying to keep it all in, and tears start to form in my eyes.

The waitress sets the dessert in front of Birdie. ‘Happy Birthday Birdie!’ Is written on the large plate in chocolate syrup next to a piece of vanilla cake with white frosting and raspberries on top. A small scoop of what looks to be cookies and cream ice cream rests next to it.

She can hate me all she wants, but a free dessert looks so worth it. Reaching for one of the two forks they brought for us, I try to grab a bite of cake.

“Aht Ah.” She stops my arm before I reach my destination. “Sammy, what did you do?” raising an eyebrow at me

My heart squeezes at the nickname she rarely uses.

“I wanted a free dessert, Sue me.”

Her sugary, sweet laugh dances through my ears again. I’m not nearly close enough to drunk to have her keep affecting me this way. She can’t even stand to be around me half the time.

“Well, since it’s my birthday. I should get the first bite, shouldn’t I?”

“You wouldn’t even have this cake if not for my little white lie.”

“Proud of lying, are you? Besides, you're going to do that man thing where you say, ‘Oh, let me have a bite,’ and then half my cake is gone in one fell swoop.”

My mouth hangs open for a second, before dramatically saying, “Your cake?! I only told them it was your birthday because I couldn’t very well say ‘Hi, it's my birthday. Give me a free dessert,’ now could I?”

“I guess I can share.” She grabs a fork and takes what I can only assume is a Birdie-approved bite and a few raspberries and aims it at my mouth. “I don’t much like raspberries anyway.” Is she trying to feed me right now?

“You don’t like raspberries?” I question.

“Nope.” She pops the p slightly. She wiggles the fork at me again, signaling me to open. Apparently, that’s a yes, so I hesitantly open my mouth.

To anyone sitting by, I’m sure we look like a loving couple sharing a dessert for my sweetheart’s birthday in a beautiful city. But the reality is that my coworker, who hates me, is feeding me, and I have no idea what course of events has led me to this moment.

She slowly removes the utensil from my lips, and I make eye contact with her the whole time. She turns the brightest shade of red I think I’ve ever seen her get.

She clears her throat and knits her brow, looking back down at the plate. “How is it?”

It’s a moment before I answer, trying to get a read on her expression or a sense of where she’s at right now. A different side of Birdie is the theme of this evening.

“Delicious, actually.” Not looking away from her face. “You should try it.”

“Oh..” she trails off with an exhale. She watches my movements as I pick up the other fork, and grab a little bit of cake comparable to the size she chose for me. Avoiding the raspberries completely, I top it off with a little bit of ice cream.

“You don’t..” She starts, but I interrupt.

“Come on, It’s only fair.” Now, it’s my turn to waggle the fork at her. “I’ll feed you like a little bird.” I inch the bite of delicious cake toward her, and she leans in, wrapping her lips around the food and slowly pulling off. I try not to get caught up in how plush her lips look as she pulls on the fork. Try not to imagine the way those lips would look wrapped around my co–

“I was worried for a second you might actually babybird me. I think that would get us kicked out or put on some list.” She laughs. “You were right; the cake is delicious.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Birdie POV

The realization hits me like a ton of bricks as I look at my reflection in the mirror while I’m brushing my teeth. I thought I was going to be rooming alone, and my pajamas definitely reflect that. Though they’re not super risque, the emerald green silky matching shorts and tank top are a bit more alluring than I would like to appear in front of Sam right now.

Curse Quinn for making me feel insecure about these pjs. I look good, but I suddenly feel a little inappropriate. I’ll repay the favor at some point.

I spit into the sink and rinse off my toothbrush, placing the protective travel cap back on. Taking a deep breath, I open the door and enter the common space again. Sam has turned the AC on high, it's like a damn ice box in here. Of course, he did. I try to act as cool and calm as I can as I walk in front of the TV, and his eyes land on me. Sam’s already in bed covered up to his waist with the blanket and thankfully wearing a shirt. He has his hair tied up in a bun, with a few strands hanging out by his face.

That really shouldn’t be attractive, but it is. Truthfully, the fact that this man is so hot makes me angry because it just shouldn’t be allowed.

His eyes follow me as I reach my side of the bed and crawl in; I yank the covers up to my shoulders to cover my suddenly hard nipples.

I pray to God he didn’t notice them. I don’t have high hopes for that, though.

The silence is deafening, and I start to get uneasy. Both of us are just staring at the television that hasn’t been turned on.

Before I can stop myself I say, “I thought you slept topless or whatever.” to break the silence—immediately regretting having the ability to speak. His head slowly turns toward me, and I refuse to face him.

“I put a shirt on, so I don’t make you uncomfortable, but I can be naked if that's what you want?”

I search for any hint of teasing in his words, but I come up short. Instantly, I’m on the defensive.

“Sleep however you want, Sam. I don’t care.” Because truthfully, I don’t. I don’t care if he wants to wear a shirt to bed. Or if he wants to be shirtless. Hell, he can sleep stark naked for all I care.

Actually.. Maybe not that. But shirtless is totally fine because I definitely do. Not. Care.

“Okay..” he says, a little weary, but he doesn’t move.

The silence returns and my brain feels like it's going a bit stir crazy. I lean over to check for the remote, and come up empty. Leaning forward I check his nightstand as he watches me like he's trying to figure out if I’m about to bolt out of bed, but it's not there either. My eyes land on the little black box sitting on the dresser underneath the tv hung on the wall.

Right. Well, I can’t possibly get up again without feeling exposed.

Sam just stares at me as I stare at the remote. Maybe I’ll suddenly develop telekinesis and be able to move the remote over to me with just my mind. Then I wouldn’t have to move.

He’s still just staring at me.

He lets out a sigh, “For God’s sake.”

He gets up, grabs the remote, and crawls back into bed. Placing the comforter back in its spot where it lay across his hips. I don’t allow myself to spend even a second on his hips.

“Here,” He holds out the remote for me.

“Thanks.” I take it from him and turn on the tv. Scrolling through the TV guide channel to find something interesting to watch before settling on Unsolved Mysteries. I set down the remote in between us. Suddenly aware of just how little space separates us despite this being a king sized bed.

God, he’s so close to me; it’s almost like I can feel his body heat radiating off of him. I’m sure I’m imagining that, though, because that’s just not possible.

“You know what I think?” I say, breaking the silence once more.

His eyes are back on me when he replies, “What’s that?”

“I think we need a barrier between us,” I say simply, but not elaborating further.

“A.. barrier?”

“Yes, we can put a couple of pillows between us.”

“I’m a simple guy. I require two pillows, and I have two pillows. I’m not lending you any for whatever weird idea you’ve concocted to cope right now.” and he turns his attention back to the TV.

“I’m gonna call the front desk to see if room service will send up some extras then.”

The phone rings and rings as I sit anxiously on my side of the bed, because of course the phone would be on my side of the bed. When we arrived earlier Sam had kicked his feet up and relaxed closest to the door, leaving the window side open for me.

“Hello,” a younger-sounding woman answers the phone.

“Hi, This is Willa Clarke in room 422– I was wondering if I could have some extra pillows sent up?”

“We allow one extra pillow per guest in the room.”

“One extra pillow per guest?” I repeat quietly.

“I don’t need an extra one!” Sam yells from the other side of me.

“There’s two of us in the room. Can we have two sent up, please?” I tell her, ignoring Sam's protest. I swear he’s doing all of this on purpose. We have one nice evening out, and I think maybe we might be able to get along for the remainder of this trip and have some sort of a friendship, and he ruins it by being a pain in the ass. It's like he just can't help himself.

“I do not need an extra one!” he repeats.

“Sure thing, I put your request right in.”

“Thank you.” I hang up and slowly crawl back in bed, making sure I cover myself up to my shoulders. Quinn’s comments are still ringing through my ears.

“You just thrive on being a pain in my ass, don’t you, Sam?”

“I would never.” He’s relaxed in bed, the blankets still only covering his waist. His relaxed posture sets me on edge at this moment. Clad in only his boxers and a ‘Downeast’ raglan shirt with royal blue sleeves, the blanket resting comfortably at his hips. His shirt was probably given to him by his brother from the bar he owns. I thank my lucky stars once again that he’s not half-naked.

A few minutes later, there's a knock on the door, followed by “Room Service!” from the other side.

I didn’t entirely think this through. In my definitely not sexy pajamas, now I have to cross in front of the TV, effectively putting me in his line of vision, to open the door. Because who do you suppose is going to get up to open the door? Naturally, Sam doesn’t budge, so I slip out of bed to answer it.

Cracking the door and standing to the side, hiding behind it I answer with a small “Hi” so the man standing on the other side can’t see anything besides my head.

“We had a request from this room for an extra pillow?” He sticks the singular pillow through the opening I’ve made. Sam's bellyaching strikes again, leaving me with just one extra pillow for this god-forsaken barrier. I’m trying not to overreact about this whole thing.

“Thank you,” I say, taking the pillow from his hand.

Deep breath in.

“Just call us if you need anything else, ma’am.” He nods his head at me and turns away, and I shut the door.

And release.

I let out the breath I had been holding to center myself.

One pillow will have to work. I’m going to take Quinn’s advice and just try to deal with this on my own.

Crossing in front of him again, I slip back into my side of the bed with the pillow in hand. Lifting the covers, I put the pillow between us so it stands on its side.

“Pillow barrier.” I point to it and settle back in bed.

“Are you worried you’re gonna cuddle me in the middle of the night or something?” He asks, not bothering to tear his eyes away from the TV.

“No, I just feel like, as coworkers, we should have boundaries.”

“Boundaries?”

“Boundaries,” I repeat.

He doesn’t respond, just pulls out his phone and casts his attention elsewhere. Probably texting someone else..

I take a note from him and pull my phone out. Sending a quick message to Quinn, my only friend it appears.

Me: I’m ready for this trip to be over already..

My battery percentage is dangerously low. Sitting up and spotting my bag to the left, I lean over to reach the part where the extra phone charger that Sam lent me is tucked away, but it's just out of reach—not bothering to get up from bed because I don’t want to have to stand in front of him in my pj’s again. Not that I should be embarrassed about anything. I am, in fact, fully clothed, but I can’t seem to get out of my own head about it.

Just a little further…

Anddd..

Gotcha!

I grab the charger and pull back so fast that I lose my balance trying to get back into bed.

“Ohhh.” is the last thing out of my mouth as I come face to face with the carpet.

A strong grip on my bicep saves me from face-planting on the ground. My ass is fully uncovered, and my shorts have ridden up my cheeks. This man has a full view of my nearly bare ass right now.

“Jesus Christ.” He pulls me back to the bed.

The blood starts to dissipate from my head, and it feels less foggy.

“Are you capable of going a full 24 hours without nearly injuring yourself?” He sets me straight but doesn’t remove his arm.

“Yes, absolutely?” I’m slightly offended.

“You sure about that?” he's wearing a small smirk as if he doesn’t believe a single word coming out of my mouth.

“Yes, Sam. I bet you I can go the next 24 hours without a clumsy episode.” I say, crossing my arms, and he releases his grip.

“Okay. If I win, you have to do whatever activity I choose on our free day on Saturday before we leave.”

“And if I win?”

“Whatever you want, Bird.” He shrugs in the stupid way he always does.

“If I win, we have a cot sent up to the room, and that’s where you sleep until we have to leave. There will be no more pillow barrier, no more sharing, just this big ol king-sized bed to myself.”

“Deal.”

“Fine.” He holds his hand out, and we shake on it.

“With that, I’m going to bed.” He sets his phone on the nightstand and switches off his lamp. He leans back in bed, sleeping on his back, still one hand behind his head and the other casually on the barrier pillow. The blanket is still only waist-high. I hate that he’s so hot.

“Sam..” I say quietly. He hums lowly. “Can I keep the TV on?”

“Whatever you want, Bird.” He says for the second time.

Quinn: What scandalous thing is Samatron up to now?

Me: Nothing, we had a relatively nice dinner and we came back to the hotel and it was right back to pain in the ass central.

Me: I miss my bed.

Me: And your breakfast sandwiches 🙁

Sam’s snores start to drown out the sound of unsolved mysteries playing on the tv. I try to close my eyes and relax, but all I can think about is the course of events today. It feels like this day has been the longest in existence. The nap, in retrospect, was probably not the best idea, given the fact that I can’t sleep now. Though, I think Sam might have feared for his life if he had to deal with me after all of that. I truly don’t blame him for passing out so quickly, though I am jealous as hell.

I click the volume on the TV up another few notches. Knowing he’s been up all day I try to reason with myself to not get angry at the sound of his snores filling the room. But seriously, how does one man snore so loud? His phone starts to buzz every few seconds on his nightstand. I let out a whine, and he stirs a little in his sleep. His arm was still tucked behind his head, and his mouth was slightly open. At least he looks more peaceful than he sounds.

Buzz.

Buzz buzz.

Snore.

Buzz buzz.

Snore.

Buzz.

Snore.

Buzz.

Every few minutes. This is my hellscape. If I had known I’d be rooming with someone, moreover a man, I might have had the foresight to bring earplugs of some sort, but I’ve been robbed of that decision.

After one particularly long buzz from his phone, followed by another snore.. I break.

Snatching up the pillow barrier, I swiftly smack him in the head with the pillow. He jumps up and stares at me, his sleepy eyes barely open. I know I’m seeing red, I know I look crazy, but I don’t care.

Don’t blame me for the things I do while I'm sleep-deprived, okay? No normal person could handle all of this.

He sits up on one elbow.

“What time is it?” His voice is thick with sleep.

“Nearly one am.” I put the pillow back between us.

“You can’t sleep, so you need me to be awake, too?”

“You were snoring.”

“I was asleep.” He says, like it’s obvious.

Oh, I’m aware, Samuel.

Buzz.

“Your phone has been going crazy. So please tell whoever it is that so desperately needs to speak to you at this god-forsaken hour to kindly, shut up.”

Leaning over, he checks his phone. He types out a few things, clears some notifications, and sets his phone back on the nightstand. Before he resumes his sleeping position, he leans forward, grabs the collar of his shirt, and yanks it up and over his head.

And now he’s naked. Lucky stars.. Gone.

He settles back in bed and says, “Group chat. Was just my brothers. It’s on ‘do not disturb’ till the morning. Happy?” And I should be happy– no more buzzing. But I’m not. I’m not happy and now I’m more irritated because I can feel my chest tighten and a wave of heat flash across my cheek.

“Sure,” I respond because how am I supposed to answer that while I’m this irritated without making everything worse?

“Great.” There’s a pause before he continues, “Oh, and Bird, if you hit me with the pillow again, you're going to lose the extra pillow privileges.”

I just want to fall asleep.

I just want to fall asleep and not think about Sam half-naked next to me.

In only his boxers.

I look over at him. The glow of the TV cast shadows on his bare back. He’s surprisingly tan for the time of year and where he’s from. His skin looks smooth and soft; I have to fight the urge to reach out and touch him. To trace pictures on the canvas of his skin.

All fondness of his sleeping form goes out the window when he snores again. If he lets out one more snore, I may actually cry. This is how people get committed to insane asylums. Or plead guilty by reasons of insanity for murder. For these exact situations.

Snore.

“Fuck,” comes out, somewhere between a mixture of a whine and a whisper. I check the time on my phone, 1:47 am.

Another snore.

That’s it.

Pulling out the extra pillow, I hit him again, “Sam, you’re doing it again.” I whine.

Sam sits up and slowly turns toward me. More tendrils of hair rest against his face, and he looks like steam might come out of his ears at any second.

“That’s it! Pillow privileges officially revoked!” he growls lowly. There’s a slight flutter between my legs at the sound of his voice, but I don’t linger on it.

“Hey!” I spout back as we begin a tug-of-war over the offensive weapon I used to accost him. He yanks harder than I expect as he tries to free my grip, and I end up smacking my shoulder into him, but my fists remain tight. Pulling back with as might as I can muster, he gives in and lets me fall backward but doesn’t let go of the pillow. I hit the bed with a light thud.

It's like he’s able to see one step ahead of me while I’m struggling behind, chasing after him. He pushes the pillow toward me with a locked strong arm, and kneels in front of my curled legs. He leans forward, both hands grabbing the pillow now. He’s towering over me, the warmth of his skin burns against my shins and I push trying to pry him away from me a bit.

It’s no use.

He has at least eight or so inches on me in height and much more body weight. I open my legs and allow him closer into my space. He lets go of the pillow and instead aims for my wrists. Pulling one from its tight grip and pinning it to the bed at my side. He grabs the pillow with his opposite hand and tosses it over his shoulder to the floor by the side of his bed. He doesn’t bother pinning my other hand to the bed. Just uses his free hand to support his weight.

Despite his very obvious show of strength against me, though, I’m not scared.

There’s something still gentle about him. His fingers wrapped around my wrist tightly, but not tight enough that I couldn’t part from his grasp if I really wanted.

My face is screwed up in frustration, though, and I let out a huff and surrender.

He’s won.

I hate that.

Exhaling, I open my eyes and find his already on mine. They look nearly black in the dim light, the TV casting shadows from behind. I can’t read the expression on his face, but I know without a doubt there’s not a single shred of anger inside of him right now. He looks.. contemplative if anything.

He’s even more beautiful this close. I take in the slight curve to his brow, how it's slightly knitted in the middle. He’s always been a handsome man since the moment I met him. No matter how much he irritated me at that moment, I couldn’t lie to myself about that fact.

The gold necklace he always wears sways slightly forward and backward as he catches his breath from our wrestling match. I wonder if that's what it looks like when he’s –

I clear my throat loudly and close my eyes again, suddenly very aware of our questionable position. If I think too hard, I can feel where our pelvises meet. A heat builds there. only two very thin pieces of fabric separating intimate skin from one another. The silk of my shorts pressed firmly against me; the second we moved, I know there will be a damp spot left behind. That thought alone makes a rush of heat settle between my legs as I clench slightly. I worry he can tell the effect he's having over me by simply being in my atmosphere.

It’s just the position. It's just the fact that you haven’t gotten laid in a while, Birdie. It's not him.

Willa god.

Willa. Not Birdie.

Fuck.

Daring to open my eyes again, his are still locked on my face. His lips slightly parted in a way that can only be considered sinful. If it was any colder in here, I could see the breath as it exhaled from his lips.

Have his lips always looked so.. kissable?

Kissable?! I do not want to kiss him.

He starts to lean down, and I freeze.

What is he –

“Are we really fighting over a pillow right now?” he whispers into my ear. The husky tone of his voice hits me right in my core, and I resist the urge to squeeze my legs around him tighter.

What’s he playing at?

If it’s a game he wants, it's a game he's gonna get.

I pull myself up onto my free elbow, our chests nearly touching now. He leans back to catch a view of my face, and I keep my eyes on him.

“I don’t know, Sammy. You tell me?”

My breathing is faster and heavier now, my hardened nipples barely brushing him on each inhale. I lick my lips. Slowly tracing my upper lip and then my bottom before my tongue finds its home back in my mouth.

He lets out a laugh through his nose, mimicking my movements and setting his jaw in place. Scanning every inch of me– meeting my eyes, the undoubted flush of my cheeks, he scans from side to side, tracing the freckles at home there. He settles on my lips for a moment too long, only growing more intense when I breathe in deeply.

“If you want to play this game,” His voice drops an octave, “Little bird, I promise you will lose.” Those words set a fire in me; his tone, his stare, all of it. Before I can control myself, I let out a small whine and contract the muscles in my stomach, causing my hips to shift up. Rubbing my clothed pussy against his cock, and it twitches against me.

We both freeze.

How the fuck did we get into this position.

The energy shifts, and we quickly pull apart. Rolling away from each other and settling into the far sides of the bed. Far away from each other.

Far away.

Mumbling out simultaneous goodnights, we pretend as if none of this happened. I close my eyes tightly and try to will the thoughts away long enough to fall asleep. ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

A hot breeze cascades against my thigh; Sam is lying down on his stomach, perched between my thighs.

“Sammy, what are you doing?” I ask.

“Shhh.” He slides his left arm under my knee, wrapping it around and finding comfort on my thigh. He pushes the comforter off of him, letting the cool air surround us. “Lie back, relax.” His lips lay a trail of kisses up the inside of my thigh, pausing momentarily each time he met my skin. A small, barely audible “oh” escapes my lips as I fall back into my pillow.

“Is this okay?” he asks. His eyes are soft on mine, like a puppy dog waiting expectantly for you to praise him or scold him. I nod my head, and he leans up to press a kiss just below the waistband of my shorts. His hands slide up my hips and hook themselves around the fabric. “May I?”

For all the teasing, taunting, and banter we have, I wouldn’t expect him to be so polite.

“Please.” It comes out more breathless than I anticipated.

I throb at the unknown.

What is his plan?

What do his fingers feel like?

What does his mouth feel like?

I lift my ass, and he pulls my shorts down my thighs slowly.

Too slowly.

Agonizingly slow. He tosses them to the floor beside the bed. His hands trace my shins, stopping at my knees. His eyes find mine once more as he gently spreads my legs open, exposing myself to him. However, he doesn’t chance a look.

His eyes remain locked on mine as he slinks back down to resume his original spot between my thighs. I swallow hard, anxiously awaiting his next movement. I bite my lip, and only then does he lower his mouth to me.

“Oh,” falls from my lips as his mouth makes contact; his plush lips warm against my already excited clit. Aching for him to move, he swirled his tongue around the swollen bud.

“Mmm, Sammy,” I moaned.

I can feel his lips pull into a smirk against me, pausing for a second, “You taste even sweeter than I dreamt,” pressing a slow kiss against me before mumbling, “My little bird.”

His tongue proceeds to lap at me like he’s starving and desperate for anything. My hips fight the urge to grind against him; he places his left hand gently on my pubic bone, holding me in place. His right hand slid up the inside of my thigh, his fingers teasing me.

Writhing in pleasure, waiting for the moment, he finally slides his middle finger into me. Even just with one, the full feeling has me reeling— I can feel my orgasm just taunting me.

He hooks his finger up as if he’s telling me to ‘come closer,’ he massages that sensitive spot like a professional. Slipping a second finger in, I’m overwhelmed with pleasure—

“Oh, Sam,” comes out of my mouth, loud.

Suddenly, my eyes shoot open. Oh..my..god.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Author's Note: I hope this makes up for their little hiatus 🫶🏻

Chapter Seven

Sparrow of the Dawn Masterpost | Masterlist

Taglist (:

@gvfsstardust @myleftsock @mindastreamofcolours

@dont-go-home-without-me @literal-dead-leaf @lizzys-sunflower ,

@mackalah , @klarxtr , @edgingthedarkness , @writingcold , @takenbythemadness

@i-love-gvf @ladywhimsymoon , @earthgrlsreasy , @peaceloveunitygvf ,

@gretavanfan @musicspeaks , @anythingforjtk

@smoking-jakelane @jazzyfigz @demonrat444

@josh-iamyour-mama @wrldabomination @gvf-luna

@sanguinebats @lightmy-love @monkeylaura627

@lallisonl @fleetingjake

#gvf #greta van fleet #greta van fic #gvf fic #greta van fluff #sam gvf #samuel kiszka #sammy kiszka #sam x birdie #sam kiszka #sparrow of the dawn #sparrow sam #the caravel tavern series #sam x reader #greta van fleet fan fic #greta van fleet fanfiction #greta van fleet fanfic #gvf smut #sammy gvf

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yesistolethisurl · 1 month ago

Text

Six-or-so Sunday

I got tagged by @smoreofbabylon for six sentence sunday (plus some extra, if you feel like it). I'm way past the deadline for OC kiss week, but I wanted to share this bit for the "first" and "stolen" prompts because I still love talking about Katabasts:

“I’m armed,” he called out. “You’ve ten seconds before I open the door and set you on fire.” The thuds stopped, and a muffled groan came from the door. “Just open the fuckin’ thing, Tav.” Atavian swung the door open, almost smashing his fingers against the deadbolt Daisy had insisted upon in his haste. His nose took in the scene first before his eye, the smell of rum hitting fast and hard. A beleaguered looking Daisy crouched against the doorway, grasping at her key-ring on the floor. Atavian blinked, then blinked again. As if it would help him make sense of the image in front of him. “Is that a tattoo?”

tagging @threeofswrds, @chronurgy, @say-lene, @rowanisawriter & @black-rose4 (no pressure)

#my writing #/my posts #thank you for the tag!

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sallie-nathalies · 21 days ago

Text

Shane x FemaleFarmer (OC)

Around 1000 words.

TW: $u1cid€ themes. Spoilers of Stardew Valley.

A reason to stay

Chapter VI: Daisies

It was Sunday. At least he had a free day so he didn't need to worry about JojaMart or Morris. He decided to spend it with Jas and go for a walk through Cindersap Forest with her. Marnie made them breakfast and packed some sandwiches for both of them. Before they left, she looked into her nephew's eyes, as if silently asking if he would tell Jas about...the incident. Shane nodded.

Jas was excited, jumping around and running after butterflies until she asked to be carried on Shane's shoulders, which he gladly did.

They walked under the pink tree that Jas loved the most, in front of the lake, which was shimmering under the sun. The air was filled with the scent of flowers, resinous, timber and wood and the sounds of bumblebees and bees buzzing around while the sparrows, goldfinch and robin were singing. It was warm, announcing the coming of summer.

Shane stopped to let Jas down on the ground, and she immediately ran across the field and picked some daisies.

"I would like to bring a boyfriend here one day," Jas said.

"Good, but remember, no dating until you're thirty, at least" Shane replied.

"Thirty? That’s your age, we celebrated your birthday last week! That’s too old!"

"Old!? I'm still young according to Zuzu Public Transport cards," Shane teased.

"You’re old, old!" Jas laughed.

Shane chuckled at Jas's response. "I guess I’m getting old then," he said, grinning.

Jas continued, her playful expression never fading. "Maybe you're not old, just... mature. Like Marnie's cheese," she teased.

Shane laughed. "Well, at least I don't stink like her cheese."

Jas giggled. "You totally do sometimes!"

"Hey!" Shane said, acting as if he was offended. "I work hard and sweat all day. Try not to smell like that after that! You’ll see when you’re older."

Jas stuck out her tongue at him, then ran further into the field, her laughter echoing through the air. "I’ll never work at JojaMart!"

Shane watched her for a moment, smiling and leaning by the tree enjoying seeing her being a kid.

But the clouds of doubt crossed his mind. He didn’t know if he was ready to tell her what happened. He felt like if a dagger was crossing his heart with thought of telling Jas something so grim and dark. He tried to remember his reasons, maybe he didn't to ruin this moment, it was such a beautiful day! But then he remembered how many villagers witnessed him going to the clinic.

Jas after running around, decided to take her rope and jump by the tree, still grabbing her daisies. Shane needed a few minutes of reflection, to collect some bravery before talking to her again.

"Jas, I need to talk to you..." he said softly. Jas stopped playing and looked up at him, sensing the seriousness in his tone.

"...about what happened the other day." Shane doubted before continuing "Look, I wasn’t totally honest with you and I’m sorry about that,"

Jas was looking at his eyes, and he felt a knot forming in his stomach. The words felt heavy, like stones and rocks, and he began to feel his chest pressed.

Jas tilted her head, not fully understanding. "What happened, Uncle Shane?"

Shane took a deep breath and stopped for a few seconds before talking again. He needed to find the right words. "You know what it's depression, Jas?"

She nodded. "It's when people feel very, very sad, right?

"Exactly. And sometimes, when someone is...depressed, they start to think weird things or feel... like they are trapped. They think they will feel that way forever. I was feeling like that for a long time. It wasn't your or Marnie's or anyone's fault, OK? It’s not something you could’ve fixed, okay?"

Jas looked at him, confused. "What do you mean, trapped?"

Shane, sighed. "Well, imagine...like if you were trapped in a dark hole" Shane avoided Jas's glance "and you didn’t know how to climb out of there. That’s how it feels and when you feel like that you don’t know what to do. Some people might even think...t-they’re better off not being here at all."

Jas blinked at him, then looked at the ground, processing what she had just heard. "But you didn’t think that, right?"

Shane felt his heart falling. He didn't want to explain this part, he took a deep breath and continued. "I thought about it. I didn’t want to hurt you or anyone else. I’m sorry you had to know about this stuff."

Jas bit her lip, her fits clenched squeezing the flowers, and she began to sob. "I don’t...sniff, I don't want you to be sad, Uncle Shane."

Shane knelt to her level, his voice was soft and comforting. "I know, Little Bunny. And I neither want to be sad anymore, so I’m going to see a doctor to help me, okay?"

Jas wiped her tears with the back of her hand, her cheeks were red. "Doctor Harvey?"

"No, another kind of doctor, in Zuzu City, someone who helps people when they feel really sad."

"People go to doctors when they are sad?"

"Sometimes..."

"Why are you sad?" Jas asked, her voice small. "Is it because you miss my mom and dad?"

Shane’s throat tightened. "Yes, I miss them. Your father and I have been best friends since we were children, just like you and Vincent. I met your mom much later, but I liked her too. They were good friends, Jas, and the best people I knew."

"I miss them too," said Jas, her voice quiet. "And I know you’ve been very sad because of them, sniff." Her voice broke slightly as she continued. "And I know you don’t like working at JojaMart. They’re evil, sniff...they are mean to Vincent’s older brother too, but you work more hours there sniff... sniff, and you drink, sniff... to not feel sad."

Shane’s heart was aching at her words. She had seen more than he realized, even despite being so young.

"I don’t want to make you sad either." He said. His voice was shaky.

Jas wiped her eyes with both hands "I know you don’t, Uncle Shane."

Shane pulled her into a tight hug, "It’s going to be okay, Jas. I promise. I’m going to do everything to get better. I’m sorry for everything I made you go through."

Jas hugged him back, still sniffling. "I love you, Uncle Shane."

"I love you too, Jas. I’m sorry for the pain I caused you."

AOE3

FIRST CHAPTER

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#ao3 writer #my fanfic #shane sdv #sdv shane #jas and shane #stardew fic #stardew fic pals journal

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piastrixpole · 4 months ago

Text

ii. flying high

pairing: logan sargeant x fem!oc (daisy shaw)

genre: written

based on the 2023 season

prev/ masterlist/ next

Time had seemingly barely passed before Daisy found herself getting whisked away with some other members of the team on a plane to Jeddah. From the moment the race had wrapped up on Sunday and they'd been immediately escorted into a debrief, time had blurred and Daisy was lost to the whirlwind of preparations for the upcoming race in Jeddah. If it weren't for her team being so on top of her schedule she definitely wouldn't be aware what day of the week it was.

Boarding the plane Daisy felt a familiar knot of anxiety seep into her gut. The kind of sickening feeling that lingered in the back of her mind and never truly faded despite the distractions she usually employed to keep it at bay. She'd never been good with flying - the sensation of being thousands of feet above the ground never failed to unsettle her.

Letting her eyes flutter shut once the plane began to taxi down the runway Daisy inhaled sharply. Trying to steady her nerves as they began their ascent. Attempting to force her mind to drift to the growing anticipation for the race ahead but not even the thrill of competition was enough to overshadow the dread she experienced when airborne.

Surprisingly it was an issue that a few of the drivers suffered from. Not that they had ever disclosed that personally to her but sometimes the team would make little remarks about it. Pierre and Charles were supposedly no better on flights and had been described to her by her trainer Mila who was friendly with their trainers that they were a jittery mess even on short flights.

Considering that all drivers were essentially control freaks at their core though, Daisy figured that it technically made sense. They put their lives on the line all the time for the sake of an adrenaline rush and the fuelling desire to win but it was easier to cope with because she was in control the entire time. Every shift of gear, every flick of the steering wheel, every conscious choice she made regarding her race craft was all a decision she made. Whereas with flying it was a complete power loss and she had to put her full trust in an unknown pilot.

She grew increasingly restless as her mind was plagued by thoughts of every single thing that could go wrong. For once she would have welcomed Daniel's incessant chattering because while she wouldn't admit it to him, the distraction would likely ease her nerves. But he was flying in with Max and a few other drivers. Daisy didn't know the full list as she hadn't been invited.

Feeling a gentle nudge on her shoulder Daisy opened her eyes revealing Stella, her long time friend and now press officer observing her with a sense of amusement twinkling in her eyes. "Bit nervous?"

Managing a weak smile and nodding sheepishly Daisy admitted "yeah, you could say that," her voice barely above a whisper.

Stella chuckled softly "it's quite funny you know."

Now Daisy was capable of mustering up a bit more snark in her reply "gee thanks Elle, what a friend you are."

"I know," the ginger girl hummed cheekily "but what I mean is you literally drive cars at over 300 kilometres an hour for a living Daisy and yet you're terrified of planes and flying."

She did have a point. It was rather ironic that she spent her days hurtling around race tracks at breakneck speeds and pushing herself to her physical and mental limits in the pursuit of victory while the simple act of sitting on a plane filled her with a sense of unease like no other.

"Yeah, I guess it is a bit ridiculous," Daisy admitted, a hint of self-deprecation in her voice.

"Wanna do shots?" Stella winked at her as she produced some of the mini liquors the plane was stocked with.

Of course Stella's first thought was to drink to cope with her uneasiness but it wasn't a terrible idea. "If it wasn't a race week I definitely would Elle but I'm gonna have to pass this time."

Stella was understanding. Of course she was, she had been by Daisy's side last year so she was well acquainted with her tendency to remain completely sober for the whole week leading up to a race. "Fair enough babe," she nodded "but we're going for drinks whenever you next have a free week and we're going hard."

"Wouldn't expect anything less from you," Daisy grinned widely, shaking her head at the request, scratch that - demand, from her friend.

Throwing her hand against her heart Stella gasped at Daisy's words "Are you calling me an alcoholic Daisy?"

Stella had always had a flair for the dramatics. Dealing with it and causing it. So it made sense that she ended up in the job she did. "I just heavily implied it...you said it, not me," Daisy winked "I'm a little angel I would never directly call you one."

"Rude!" Stella laughed "I could quit you know. Pretty sure this is unprofessional Daiz - workplace bullying."

"Be so real," Daisy scoffed "your life would be so boring without me nearly ruining my career every five minutes when all these opiniated men test my patience. And you get to travel the world with your girlfriend because of me."

When Daisy first signed for Porsche half way through her second season in formula two she had already enlisted Stella's help in dealing with her public image. Figuring that if she had to play the game with the press, the least she could do was give one of her best friends a job to make it slightly bearable. So she had accompanied Daisy to the meeting Klaus Muller, the newly appointed team principal of the incoming Porsche team. She had met Mila shortly after when Daisy got settled and Stella was hopeless from day one.

They were sickeningly sweet as a couple Daisy had to admit even though she bullied them relentlessly for it after they finally confessed their feelings and stopped pining after one another and not so subtly flirting.

"I hate it when you make good points," Stella groaned "but I guess you're right, I'm always on the verge of an early heart attack when you open your mouth."

Daisy rose an eyebrow at her friend's unintentionally suggestive words and then the colour drained from Stella's face as she realised what she said and how it had been interpreted "don't even," she warned Daisy before she could slag her.

She couldn't help but stifle a laugh at Stella's now mortified expression, her eyebrows shooting up in mock innocence. "Oh, come on, Stella," she protested with a mischievous grin. "I'm a model of maturity and decorum. You know me."

Stella shot her a withering glare, her lips pressed into a thin line as she fought to maintain her composure. "Sure, Daisy, sure," she replied, her tone dripping with scepticism. "And I'm the Queen of England."

Daisy raised her hands in surrender, a grin spreading across her face. "Fair point," she conceded, unable to contain her amusement any longer. "But in my defence, you did set yourself up for that one."

Stella rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of amusement in her expression as she turned back to face Daisy. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Just whatever you do, do not repeat that back to Mila."

"If you can get me out of the press conference I'll keep my lips sealed...oh wait!"

"You're impossible," she muttered, shaking her head in exasperation.

The British driver's eyes were sparkling with a playful mirth as she cackled at her own innuendo "it's hard being the entertainment Elle."

Even though she let out what was definitely an over-exaggerated sigh, there was a small smile tugging at the corners of Stella's lips. "I swear, I should know better than to let you anywhere near a conversation," she muttered, though there was a fondness in her tone that laced her words.

Settling back into their conversation, Daisy came to the realisation that they were up in the air now and she had been blissfully unaware of that for the last few minutes. Her little banter with Stella serving as a welcome distraction. And if the concealed smug look Stella shot her was anything to go by, she definitely did it on purpose. Maybe she could get through this flight easier than normal.

Press conferences were without a doubt the bane of Daisy's life, they were the one part of her job that she wished she could do away with. It was all a big game at the end of the day, sit there with masterfully crafted PR answers to make herself appear 'marketable' to draw more feminine brands towards the sport all while biting her tongue figuratively and literally which was easier said than done with some questions that had been directed her way. She despised dealing with the media and unfortunately she wasn't someone who could slip quietly under the radar and avoid constant questions since her mere inclusion in the sport and on the grid was a continuous source of debate and novelty to some.

Sitting amongst four of her fellow drivers in the press conference room which admittedly she'd been bribed by Stella to attend in exchange for a few hours alone time that evening where she could just rot in bed without having to interact with anyone and recharge for the following day.

She could feel all the eyes in the room trained on her as she braced herself for the barrage of questions that were sure to come her way. Daisy was all too aware that she would be the focal point of the discussion, her every word scrutinised and dissected by the press who were practically salivating at the mouth as they waited for her to slip up and make a comment that they could twist for profit.

As the press conference got underway Daisy couldn't shake the feeling of being under a microscope. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, steeling herself for the inevitable onslaught of questions. The room was filled with the murmurs of journalists eagerly waiting to pounce, their pens poised and cameras at the ready.

The moderator began with a general question directed at Lando as he was seated closest to him, but Daisy knew it was only a matter of time before the spotlight would be squarely on her.

The first question came from a reporter in the front row, their voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "Daisy, as the only female driver on the grid, how do you feel about racing in a country where women's rights are often a contentious issue?"

Straight to the hard hitting questions Daisy thought to herself. "It's certainly a unique experience," she was well accustomed to questions along these lines now with a year in formula 1 under her belt "but my focus this weekend remains on the race itself because ultimately I'm here to compete and perform to the best of my ability, regardless of where that is."

Following that she was immediately flagged down by another reporter towards the back of the room, their tone far more probing than the first "Given the cultural differences here Daisy, do you feel any added pressure or scrutiny as a female driver?"

Choosing her words carefully after a hesitant nod was sent her way from Stella, Daisy offered her best attempt at diplomacy "I think there's always going to be a level of scrutiny when you're breaking barriers, but no, I don't let it distract me from what I'm here to do, which at the end of the day is to race - not offer a political commentary."

The press conference progressed but Daisy couldn't shake the feeling of being singled out, her gender overshadowing her accomplishments on the track. Despite her best efforts to steer the conversation towards her performance and her team's prospects for the race, the questions continued to veer towards the topic of gender and equality.

Finally a decent question was put forward to the drivers which actually piqued her interest. Even more so when they directed it to her first. "Ms Shaw," a journalist nearer the back of the room began, their tone surprisingly earnest, "could you share your insights on the aerodynamic challenges posed by the unique layout of the Jeddah street circuit, and how you and your team are approaching them in terms of car setup and strategy?"

Daisy couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement at the prospect of discussing the intricacies of aerodynamics and car setup. She was a bit of a nerd when it came to the technical aspects of her car. In fact, she had always told herself that if she didn't make it into F1, she was going to go to college and study mechanical engineering. For once, she felt like she was being recognised for her expertise as a racing driver, rather than simply as a novelty or curiosity.

"Thank you for the question," Daisy replied, barely concealing the enthusiasm in her voice. "The Jeddah circuit presents some unique challenges in terms of aerodynamics, particularly with its high-speed corners and long straights. Maintaining a balance between downforce and straight-line speed is crucial here, as is finding the optimal setup to maximize grip and stability through the fast, sweeping corners. Our car is strong in that regard though and I have full faith in the team that we will be prepared and get some solid laps in tomorrow during practice."

She went on to delve into the technical details, discussing the nuances of wing angles, suspension settings, and tire compounds, drawing on her experience and expertise to provide a comprehensive analysis of the aerodynamic considerations at play. Maybe it was a little too detailed of an answer than what they were expecting but Daisy had more of an interest than most drivers when it came to the engineering and aerodynamics behind every aspect of her car.

As Daisy finished her eager and long-winded answer, she noticed a playful glint in the eyes of her fellow drivers. Alex Albon, seated beside her, couldn't contain a smirk, while Lando Norris exchanged amused glances with Yuki Tsunoda and Carlos Sainz.

"Well, Daisy, I think we've all just been given a crash course in aerodynamics," Lando quipped with a grin, earning chuckles from the others.

"Leave it to Daisy to turn a simple question into a technical thesis," Alex added, his tone light-hearted as he teased her gently.

Yuki leaned forward, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Maybe we should all start consulting Daisy for setup advice," he joked, eliciting laughter from the group.

Even Carlos couldn't resist joining in on the fun. "I think we've found my new race engineer," he quipped, playfully nudging Daisy's arm.

Daisy couldn't help but laugh along with them, her cheeks slightly maroon at being the centre of attention but at least it was in a more positive light this time. "I don't think any of you could afford my fee," Daisy let out a laugh "even though Ferrari definitely need me."

The press conference had ended shortly after that little segment and Daisy actually left it feeling more at ease than she typically did. Perhaps it was because her fellow drivers acknowledged and included her to a greater extent than she was used to. She was friendly with Alex mainly due to his girlfriend Lily who she absolutely adored hanging out with every time she was in the paddock and she had spoken to Yuki multiple times before. However the likes of Carlos and Lando were new additions. They seemed so unattainable to be friendly with but maybe that could change in the future.

In the crowd of media personnel she was greeted by the familiar sight of Stella, her bright smile a welcome sight for Daisy who couldn't help but return it as they linked up.

"Proud of me Elle?" Daisy wrapped an arm loosely around her shoulders pulling the taller girl in for a short side hug.

Giving her a playful nudge in return Stella spoke, her voice laced in amusement "Well done in there, Daze, I have to admit, I was half expecting you to blow up on a journalist or two but you handled yourself like a pro."

"It definitely wasn't easy in there but yeah, managed to keep my cool with some of those sexist pricks," she felt a sense of relief wash over her at Stella's approval and a biting satisfaction that she was getting the hang of holding her tongue just the right amount "I guess all the practice last year and you drilling it into me is finally paying off huh?"

Stella nodded in agreement, bearing a proud expression "it might have driven both of us insane but you're a natural now. Just keep it up and they'll start to get bored with your answers and not getting any comments to twist and we'll be golden."

Saluting her friend mockingly Daisy retorted a teasing "yes boss," before asking Stella if she wanted a lift back to the hotel.

#abby's writing #f1 #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #logan sargeant #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant x oc #ls2 #ls2 x reader #driver reader #the blue

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thomasschabot · 2 years ago

Text

saw you in a dream

quinn hughes x non-binary!oc (she/they pronouns)

they were simply a figment of quinn’s imagination, until she wasn’t

word count: 3.3k

warnings: vivid dreams, cursing, not soulmates!au but kinda soulmates!au without being weird

a/n: hi @puckmaidens!!! it’s me, your fic exchange partner. really hope you enjoy this little ditty 🤍 original idea didn’t go as planned but i’m crossing my fingers this will suffice. a very large thanks goes out to @wyattjohnston for creating and managing yet another super successful fic exchange AND for letting me borrow daisy for a fun little moment!!! hats off to you dem. @matthewtkachuk gets a big shout out for proofing this love u babe (also as a reminder non-binary people don’t owe anyone androgyny! or anything for that matter. all my little enby babies you’re perfect as is 🥰)

⭑⭒⭑

They were laughing the first time Quinn saw them.

It was the head tilted back, mouth agape kind of laugh, and it was the most beautiful thing the man had ever seen. Quinn couldn’t tell if any sound was coming from the prettily parted lips, but he also didn’t care. Just watching them was good enough, and if given the opportunity he’d do it for the rest of his life. Fate isn’t that kind, however, so Quinn resigns himself to the idea that this perfect person will have to reside in his memory. There was a split moment where kind eyes met his own guarded ones, and Quinn felt the world stop spinning for a millisecond. Every single feeling, look, thought, was heightened when they smiled and raised their glass in a silent toast, prompting him to follow the lead with a tentative look on his face. A split second later they were gone, pulled onto the dancefloor with friends to enjoy the long night ahead. Once sure they weren’t coming back, and didn't want to actually say hello in the way he so desperately wanted, Quinn closed out his tab with a sigh of defeat and exited the club, kicking himself the entire way home for not having any courage.

⭑⭒⭑

An alarm startles Quinn awake. It’s Sunday, supposedly a rare day of rest for the team, but he needs to put some time into the gym and bulk up ten pounds as fast as possible. The Canucks have been playing well enough, but the team is still below five hundred and has a tough second half of the season ahead. Quinn could stand to be more of a physical force to be reckoned with. He’s so focussed on the goals to complete during the day that it takes several moments to realize there had been no mysterious yet beautiful person at a nightclub last night. In fact, there hadn’t been a club at all — just his cold sheets and the same sadness that’s permeated Quinn’s house for years.

The realization knocks all the air from his lungs. Quinn could swear up and down that he had seen them with his own two eyes, and tasted the whisky they’d sipped while maintaining eye contact. It was all such a vivid image that he has a hard time reconciling the knowledge it was all fake with how he woke up feeling. It was real to him. Brock would undoubtedly shake his head and rattle off a few statistics about the probability of meeting those found in one’s dreams, ever the pessimist about love and fate, but luckily he isn’t there as Quinn moves sluggishly about, trying desperately to remember everything about the person with kind eyes and the brightest smile he’s ever encountered.

Quinn doesn’t even get both feet onto the turfed outer surface of the gym before a trainer finds him. “Hughes,” he says, syllables tense and over-punctuated in a way they appear only when ownership gets antsy about poor results. “I need you working today until it feels like you’re about to drop dead.”

“You got it,” Quinn sighs, feeling guilty for contributing to the man’s stress simply because he can’t maintain his weight. Being a franchise player at such a young age, Quinn feels pressure to make things as easy on the staff as possible.

Teammates are scattered about the levels of the facility, each working on their own weaknesses — it’s becoming more apparent to Quinn that no one in the Canucks organization understands the term rest day. Nils is hunched over on the floor doing an intricate warm up stretch routine, clearly in the same boat as him, and it makes Quinn feel a bit better. He doesn’t look up, just raises a hand in silent greeting, and the other man chuckles before pushing back the slight waves he hadn’t bothered to tame in the bathroom mirror and getting to work.

Time flies by at a record pace, and an hour and half later Quinn has put in one of the most intense workouts of his professional career. It seems stupid to leave when so many of his teammates are still working, so he finishes a cool down and wordlessly stands behind Nils to spot. Neither of them acknowledge the favour Quinn is doing him, but it doesn’t matter. Just knowing he’s done something to make someone’s life easier is enough. Despite the intentions of making the work easier, Quinn lags behind, taking a few too many breaks to think about the person from his dream and how much he’d like to kiss them, to cherish them.

Always a fast dresser, he waits until his friend is heading down the stairs from the change room to tug the long discarded backpack over his shoulders and lowers the baseball cap onto his head. Quinn holds the door and emits quiet laughter as Nils recounts a recent failed attempt at romance.

“You were a little spacey today, everything okay?”

It’s not so much a question as it is a prompt to spill his thoughts, and Quinn knows it. Nils Höglander may be a lot of things, including a dear friend, but subtle is not one of them. A breath filters through his nose and fills Quinn’s lungs with air that both calms and accelerates his heart rate. “It’s nothing. Just a dream I’m having a hard time shaking.”

“Was she cute?” This time it’s a leading question, one Nils has a sinking suspicion his friend will answer despite not really wanting to.

“Focus on your own love life first,” Quinn grumbles, picking at a thread on the hem of his sweater. A pause, then, “They were extremely cute.”

Nils quirks his eyebrow. Blushing slightly, Quinn continues. “I don’t know their pronouns, so I don’t want to assume anything. Plus, it’s not like they’re even real.”

“Always the gentleman, Quinner.”

The pair of men separate in the parking lot, walking to their respective vehicles with chants of genuine happiness at seeing each other in less than twenty-four hours. Nils swears up and down he won’t tell anyone else about the fascination with the dream person, but Quinn knows it’s bullshit. His friend has never been good at keeping his mouth shut, and the Canucks are like a tight knit family. Everyone will always know each other’s business.

⭒⭑⭒

They shouldn’t be there.

The last time Quinn saw them, they had been in a dive in Vancouver, but now they’re standing in line at a farmer’s market thirty-five miles outside Pittsburgh. Logically, Quinn understands that it was a dream, that the two of them could be transported anywhere occupying space in his brain, but this place specifically is sacred. It’s his safe space, discovered once on a solo road trip home from Michigan, has never appeared in dreams before, and Quinn wasn’t sure what to do about the intrusion. Their presence wasn’t necessarily unwelcome, just foreign. In fact Quinn was quite sure he’d like the person to be in every dreamscape if it meant he got to experience them over and over again.

A dainty red ribbon held their hair into its makeshift ponytail, but the locks threatened to spill out at any moment. They looked absolutely ethereal, denim overshirt blowing in the wind and legs encased by a pair of practical hiking sandals. Everything about them was easy and carefree — Quinn knew he had to experience the sunshine they cast at least once. A tote bag dangled from their forearm, encasing a plethora of apples that was undoubtedly too many for one person to eat alone. There was no one in line behind them, so without thinking Quinn grabbed the nearest item of produce and made sure to stand at a respectable but still close distance. Their hair smelled faintly of lemon and basil, and it took a godly amount of strength for Quinn to pull away once he caught a whiff. At the very last second the magical human with the red ribbon turned their head and caught the hockey player in the act.

If they had been put off by Quinn’s interest in learning intimately what shampoo combination made the smell, they never mentioned it. “Aren't those the best this time of year?” they asked with a whimsical lilt. Damnit, even their voice felt like it wasn’t made for this world, but a mythical plane above it.

“Uh —” Quinn sputtered, unsure of what he was holding. A glance down proves he’d chosen to buy strawberries, the only fruit he was allergic to. “I wouldn’t know. Just stopping by on the way back home. I was out this way on business.”

“Well then, you picked the right time to visit. Late summer brings the best yield of strawberries, in my unprofessional opinion.” Their smile could have rivaled the sun at high noon, it was that bright and blinding, and Quinn was absolutely enamored. Before he could respond, however, the line lurched forward and the market attendant called the other person forward. “Enjoy them,” they said sincerely, and Quinn offered a thumbs up in response.

With their back to the brunette and preoccupied with a conversation about the weather, Quinn knew he wouldn’t have gotten caught for leaving without the strawberries. Carefully he put them back on the table and walked in the opposite direction. At least this time he had been able to start a conversation.

⭑⭒⭑

The hissing of air brakes jostles Quinn awake, and he opens his eyes to see the back entrance of the arena. Bus rides from hotels to rinks are incredibly short, but somehow the man managed to get a few moments of unconsciousness. Just enough to dream about the mystery person and wake with more questions that will forever go unanswered. Who are they? Why do they keep appearing in his dreams? Does repetition in dreams really mean anything? Quinn will have to remember to send a text to Jack’s girlfriend Daisy, since she knows about those sorts of things.

Teammates shuffle off the bus in front of him, and Quinn quickly follows them, hoping not to seem too out of sorts even though his mind is swimming. Andi, one of the team’s photographers, is standing between the bus and the entrance to the rink, snapping away and making silly faces to make some other guys laugh, knowing that those sorts of candids bring more engagement for the team.

“A-dog,” Quinn chirps, trying to seem chipper. “No pics of me today, please? After work beers on me if you say yes.”

Andi tilts her head in confusion but doesn’t probe. “You got it, boss. I want the best Guiness your expensive contract can buy.”

“Anything for you. I owe you big time. Thanks!”

Quinn quickly embraces the photographer and darts inside the building, knowing that not everyone will be as understanding as Andi. Normally he’s game to play the role of the Canucks’s social media darling, but tonight Quinn has enough to worry about without being followed around and scrutinized.

Each professional hockey player has a different pre-game warmup routine, despite the game being a team sport. He’s always been one to do his own thing, only rarely joining in the games of two-touch, so no one blinks an eye at Quinn heading in the opposite direction of most of the guys. Nils gives him a quizzical look, mischievous glint in his eye, but before he can ask any questions Quinn turns the corner and takes the first flight of stairs he sees.

Before he can think too much about the teasing that will inevitably come from the New Jersey contingent of the Hughes family, Quinn pulls out his phone and sends the text to Daisy.

Not even going to bother to tell you to keep this a secret because you suck! I’ve had an unknown person appear in some dreams lately, and since you’re into all that manifestation shit I thought I’d ask if it means anything. Also, tell Jack and Luke I hope they lose tonight.

The device slips into the pocket of his shorts and settles into a position that hopefully won’t allow it to fall out during his jog around the depths of the arena. Quinn doesn’t like to run with headphones, instead choosing to focus on his breathing. It’s an odd quirk, he knows, but relentless teasing from teammates has never stopped him before. He likes the ritual and knows it will probably continue long after he retires from playing professionally.

Quinn rounds the corner, braces himself for a high sprint, and runs directly into someone instead of meeting a clear hallway. He isn’t the speediest on the team by far, but Quinn is fit enough that even his entry into a sprint could knock over an unsuspecting person, whom this clearly was. They fall to the ground, the momentum of an adult’s body weight and shock making it a hard one. In order to prevent more injury by landing on top of them, Quinn propels himself forward and turns mid-air in a quasi-front flip that he’s sure looked just as stupid as it felt.

“What the fuck, man?”

The voice, even in anger and resentment, is warm and welcoming. Quinn thinks the person has never been cold-hearted, not like him, and it befuddles him until he looks to see who his unsuspecting victim was.

It’s them.

From the dreams.

Standing right in front of him, looking for an explanation as to why they were knocked onto the ground with the ferocity of a barely-legal bodycheck. “Uh, sorry, didn’t see you there,” Quinn sputters, utterly failing to suppress his astonishment.

A dry laugh, verging between a chuckle and a cackle, spills from their lips. “No shit. Help me up?”

Quinn wastes no time extending an arm and hauling them off the floor. He notices a lanyard sporting an official arena badge. ‘Logan Haynes (she/they), Public Relations’ is written in neat serif script, along with a picture of her wearing a bright smile. Trying to not be obvious, he gives her a once over, telling himself it’s just to make sure he isn’t hallucinating but really it’s because Quinn wants to get a better look. He isn’t as sly as he hoped because her voice once again comes into focus.

“Do you have a habit of injuring arena staff and then checking them out, Hughes?” Logan asks, cocking their head just enough to let Quinn know the comment is mostly in jest.

He isn’t surprised they know his name, especially if they work in sports. Still, he stammers an answer nervously. “Actually, no. This is my first time.”

“So you were checking me out?”

“I plead the fifth.”

This time a real laugh tumbles out, a hearty one with warmth of a sun-kissed afternoon and Quinn decides in that moment he will do whatever he can to hear that sound for the rest of his life. Neither of them make a move to go their separate ways, nor do they speak. Time stands still, but not in the awkward way that Quinn is accustomed to. It’s all-consuming, how sanguine the moment feels, how things almost audibly clicked into place when he saw Logan. Never one to believe in fairy-tales or the mushy feelings Jack and Daisy describe, Quinn finally gets it.

“Uh, this is really weird, and I swear I don’t normally do this,” he begins, “But can I get your number?”

Logan smiles, almost devilishly, and Quinn is scared for a moment. “So I can send you the bill for my physical therapy? I think I might have seriously pulled a muscle.”

“Whatever you want.” The grin on Quinn’s cheeks makes them ache but he doesn’t care. He extends his open phone and they enter a sequence of digits Quinn decides to commit to memory. With nothing else to do the pair return to their original paths, and Quinn can only hope they want to see him again.

⭒⭑⭒

The game and subsequent activities pass by in a blur. Quinn was attentive, always on the puck and converting turnovers into scoring opportunities, but Logan was the only thing on his mind. The chances of her being real, of being in the same vicinity as him and getting the chance to meet is too serendipitous even for him. He gets knocked around more than usual due to his wandering mind, leading to some questioning looks from teammates and staff members. As soon as he can, Quinn is looking through the arena to find Logan, let them know he wants more than to pay for potential recovery from the injury that he caused, but he can’t find her.

Dejected, he goes back to the bus. Quinn is a quick undresser and prefers to unwind at home or the hotel, so despite his detour he isn’t the last one on the bus. The win doesn’t matter much to him, too in his own head about Logan to care, so Quinn chooses to decline any and all invitations to celebrate with his teammates. He just wants to have a second shower and debate whether or not to text her.

A gentle buzz comes from the inside of Quinn’s suit jacket, and he pulls out his phone with suspicious speed. The guys around him pay no attention, engrossed in their own phones or suspecting Quinn of hitting up someone on his roster like so many others were doing. He hopes it’s Logan, but then realizes that would be impossible seeing as the exchange was strictly one sided. It’s Daisy, finally answering his message from hours earlier.

Nice to hear from you, Quinny! So glad you only reach out when you want my extra-special opinion on ur love life. Could mean nothing, or could mean you’re bound to meet the mystery person soon. Devs won 6-2, suck it. See you next week!!

Quinn thinks that if Daisy knew the events that transpired tonight she’d call it fate, especially given her text, so in order to keep his brothers from finding out and using the situation as teasing material he doesn’t respond. Instead, he opens the contacts app and scrolls until he finds the number he’s looking for.

Still at the back of the bus, his fingers shake as Quinn types out a message.

Hi. It’s Quinn. Hughes. Ready to pay for all of your up front and continuing medical costs.

He hits send, then continues typing.

I’m extremely sorry for earlier tonight, and just realized I never actually apologized. That wasn’t cool of me. I hope you’re okay.

Before he can overthink it even more, Quinn keeps going.

This is going to sound absolutely ridiculous and insane, but I swear I’ve seen you in a bunch of my dreams lately. Crazy, isn’t it?

Not wanting to sit and wait around for his potential embarrassment at his own hands, Quinn closes his eyes. However, he’s hyper aware of the rectangle in his pocket that feels more like a brick than anything. Sleep does not overcome him, just anxious thoughts, and he thinks he might explode if Logan doesn’t respond. No one will ever know except him, but the crushing weight of rejection and dismissal will sting for a long time. Quinn has never been one to put himself out in public this way, and if it blows up in his face on the first try he isn’t sure he’ll have the confidence to try again.

One single vibration hits right below his breastbone. It takes Quinn a moment to realize it isn’t his rapidly beating heart, but instead his dreaded cell phone. A message appears on the lockscreen under the heading he’s been yearning for. When he opens it, Quinn sees four words that might just change his life forever.

I’ve seen you too.

⭑⭒⭑

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