#sparrow of the dawn

[seenoversundown]

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."

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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.” 

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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

[dk-thrive]

Sparrow. 6:45 am. 22° F, feels like 17° F. Feb 21, 2025. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT (@dkct25)

[harriertail]

hello!! you should draw turtle tail :)

[midzukishino]

Willow Tail's death for the vk challenge, "Shocking death"

[slasherscream]

the crazy ass boys and that punisher scene *would* be kooky crazy and you absolutely should do it - the FLAVOR…

A/N: do i feel bad for reader? yeah, of course... but lowkey this shit kinda funny. TW: the kevin and josh parts of this feature attempted sexual assault of reader. if you get the urge to community label this block me and don't read it instead xoxo.

crazy ass boys gang + reader kills someone based on that one punisher scene

billy loomis:

He deserves it. The hands wrapped tightly around his throat, his mind going foggy from the lack of oxygen. Head pounding in pain from the several blows he’d taken to it. His vision swims as he stares up at the monster he himself had created: Ghostface.

One thing he’d never considered about making it so he and Stu were the sole survivors of the Woodsboro massacre was what tantalizing targets they’d become for any Ghostface copycats. He curses himself for it now. It was ridiculous to think that infamy like theirs wouldn’t inspire other bloodthirsty maniacs. 

To be murdered in his own home, the way so many of his own victims met their fate, is particularly insulting. 

‘What an ironic way to go,’ Billy thinks as he starts to black out. 

And that should be it. There shouldn’t be anything after the blackness. But suddenly he’s taking large, greedy gulps of air again and rolls to the side heaving. He finds himself face to face with the Ghostface copycat who sports a new accessory: a kitchen knife in the side of their neck. 

Senses coming back to him, he slowly begins to hear the miserable animal-like whimpering of another person in the room and rolls onto his back. Standing over him and his cheap knockoff is his partner, Y/N, blood splattered across their trembling hands. 

“Did I kill them? Are they dead?” Before you’ve even finished the sentence Billy is shaking his head no.

“No, baby, no you didn’t kill them. It’s okay.” The words hurt to get out but he forces them anyway. He has to reassure you that you aren’t like him. That you aren’t a killer. 

Believe it or not, he never wanted this for you. You aren’t like him or Stu. You aren’t built for this. But here you are, blood on your hands because it came down to Billy or a stranger and you’ll always choose Billy, no matter what the choice costs you. 

Billy forces himself to move when he notices the way the rise and fall of the Ghostface’s chest slow to the jerking heaves of the dying. 

He yanks the knife from their neck and they make a gurgling, wet noise of pain. It’s the sound people make while they drown in their own blood. Billy is more than used to it, and barely registers it. But as quiet as the room is, the noise is deafening for you, and you turn to retch.

“You didn’t kill anyone baby, I promise.” Billy slits their throat so quickly it’s done before you even turn back around. “I killed them, okay?” 

josh washington: 

Josh’s hearing these days is inhuman, which is only fair since Josh himself isn’t quite human these days. 

Also inhuman is his bond with you. He’s in tune with you, to put it lightly. His abnormally cold body forever seeks out the heat of your own. He relishes in your calming scent. He listens eagerly for the sound of your breathing, your heartbeat, your voice. 

That’s why, even with the music at this party turned up to deafening volumes, he registers the sound of your scream as if you were standing side by side. 

The noise awakens something animalistic in him. His mouth, already half split into a permanent, razor-toothed snarl, pulls back even further. He looks monstrous. He pushes and shoves violently through the crowd of mindlessly gyrating bodies in a panic. 

‘Where are you, Y/N?!’ He thinks, sick to his stomach. 

Even through the heavy smells of sweat, alcohol, and weed, he’s able to follow your scent outside. Here he’s in his element. The air is clear and damp, and it’s easy to track you. You’re in the woods just beyond the house, still screaming, when he finds you. 

Immediately he gathers you in his arms, snarling and growling into the open air at any potential threats. 

“I killed him. I killed him, Josh.” You shriek, voice high and sharp with panic. 

He nuzzles his cheek against yours comfortingly. It takes him a second to remember he’s human and can speak. That’s when he smells the blood. His pupils dilate at the sweet, metallic scent and he searches for the source, eyes seeing perfectly even in the darkness of the night. 

His eyes land on a man laying haphazardly on the ground, head bent at an odd angle on a rock. Blood oozes sluggishly over the stone and Josh’s heart stops at the sight. 

“I was just trying to get some air and this guy followed me out here and he wouldn’t leave me alone, so I ran, but he followed me. He followed me! And he tried to…” You sob on the words that won’t come and Josh knows instantly what happened. His mind paints the rest of the horrible picture. “... all I was doing was trying to get him off me. That’s all I was trying to do! I didn’t mean to kill him, Josh. Oh god, I didn’t mean to kill him.”

You’re not a killer. Josh isn’t one either… but if he has to choose which one of you will have to bear the weight of taking a life he knows he won’t let it be you. 

He crosses over to the man, who looks up at Josh with unseeing eyes. There’s only one thing to do. Josh bends down low and braces himself for the way your attacker's blood will taste when he rips out their throat with his teeth.

stu macher: 

text from babygirl/babyboy: [ stu there is someone in the house pls hurry im scared ]

He glanced down at the pocket of his jeans ready to roll his eyes when he heard your text notification. 

You were probably texting him because you’d checked the kitchen and realized you needed some spice or vegetable ‘desperately’ to be able to make dinner tonight. He almost felt like ignoring it and telling you he hadn’t seen the text until he pulled into the driveway of your home. 

But begrudgingly he paused, shifted the grocery bags around in his arms, and pulled out his phone. 

His heart stopped. 

Instantly, he knew you were serious. He might fuck with you like this but you’d never do the same to him. He dropped the groceries on the ground and ran to the car. 

He doesn’t text you to ask if you’re okay. He’s terrified of the answer he could get. More terrified of getting no answer at all, so he just drives. He focuses on the thought of you at home, needing him, and breaks every speeding law there is to get to you. 

He parks down the street so as to not tip off the intruder. He grabs the hunting knife he always keeps in his car even though Billy tells him not to and stalks like an animal toward the home you’ve built together. The rage he feels is indescribable. Someone is in his house terrorizing what’s his. 

He creeps in through the wide open back door of the house. He pauses and listens for a sound over the pounding of the blood in his ear. 

Nothing. For one soul crushing moment there’s nothing at all. 

Then he hears the sound of you crying from upstairs and it makes his heart stop. He runs up the stairs as quietly as he can and throws himself into the bedroom ready to do anything to save you.

But you’ve already saved yourself, it seems. 

You’ve curled yourself up in the corner closest to the door, watching as the man who attacked you bleeds out from the stab wounds you put in his stomach. 

Stu stops moving and watches as the man tries to stop himself from bleeding out, his own cries blending with yours. You were smart enough to keep the knife and you hold it towards the man, shaking with adrenaline and fear.

“Baby-” Stu’s voice breaks the spell you’re in and you turn to him and begin to cry in earnest. You were holding yourself together, waiting on him to save you and he came too late. 

“He’s dying Stu, I killed him. Oh god, I killed someone.” Blood from the knife you’re holding drips onto the hardwood floor of your bedroom. 

“No, baby, you didn’t kill him.” Stu already failed you tonight. He’s not going to let you become a killer because someone broke into your house and you had to survive. 

He crosses the room, kneels in front of the burglar, and stabs them twice in the neck. The warm blood hits his face and he doesn’t even relish in it. Just waits for the light in the burglar’s eyes to dim. When it does he turns back to you. 

“I killed them, honey.”

jd/jason dean: 

The sound of a gunshot rings through the basement loud and clear. 

JD freezes, mind racing as he thinks of what to do next. It’s not every day that you’re caught planting bombs in the building where the Dean’s office happens to be. This was his last stop. 

All the other bombs have already been carefully placed throughout campus. Even if he’s caught now, the detonator is only just out of reach. If he can reach it, the plan will still be a success. The only minor hiccup would be dying beneath a couple thousand piles of rubble. But that’s a small thing. It’d be worth it. For you, JD would do anything. 

This university had taken everything from you. He’d watched it happen. Had sat by, rage simmering just beneath the surface as he tried to let you handle your own problems. You’d insisted he’d let you handle the situation. You’d let yourself get walked all over, is what happened. But JD doesn’t blame you for how everything turned out. 

You’re too gentle. Too sweet. You don’t have that animal instinct to fight or go to war. It was one of the reasons you endeared yourself to JD so quickly. You were intensely vulnerable in a world so resolutely cruel that you were breathtaking just by existing. To watch you come to harm of any kind was painful. But it all ended today. Even if it killed him. 

“Oh no, oh please no.” Your voice makes JD turn in bewilderment. 

“What on Earth are you doing here-” JD’s eyes go wide at the scene before him. 

There’s a security guard on the ground, unconscious, a pool of blood seeping from them. He can see the entry wound on their back. He wonders if the bullet is lodged in them or if it went straight through. 

“I didn’t want to kill him. I was just- I was coming to stop you from doing this but I didn’t… I saw the guard coming up behind you with a gun, and… and his finger was on the trigger. He was gonna kill you. He was gonna-” 

JD steps gracefully around the puddle of blood the guard is making and takes you into his arms. You fall into them with a wet sob. 

He feels his heart go warm, the way it always does when he holds you. You came here to stop him from protecting you and wound up protecting him in turn. Whether you like it or not, the two of you are soulmates. You’ll always come first to one another. Damn the rest of the world entirely. 

But JD knows you’re too tender for this. Knows that killing will break your spirit, not free you the way it freed him. 

He gently pries the gun from your fingers (and almost laughs at the thought of you trying to confront him with his own gun), turns, and shoots the guard execution-style in the back of his head. 

“You didn’t kill anyone, darling. You don’t have it in you.” He pulls you back into his arms. “But don’t worry about that, you’ll never have to when I’m around.”

kevin khatchadourian: 

Kevin told you the guy was bad news. But generally, Kevin was an untrustworthy judge of character because he hated everyone, especially anyone who pulled any of your precious attention away from him. So, you decided to tutor the other man despite Kevin’s insistence you do no such thing. 

You should have listened to Kevin. 

Of course, your classmate didn’t actually need tutoring. He was just trying to get close to you. He said as much as he pinned you against your couch, rough hand sliding up up up your leg, to the juncture of your thighs. It quickly became clear that your classmate didn’t care whether or not you wanted to become close to him as well. 

You’d shoved him away from you as hard as you could once he started trying to remove your clothes. It was a good shove. He’d landed right on the corner of the coffee table. There’d been a sickening crunch as the back of his head hit the wood. Then there was nothing. And now he was making a low, animal noise from what seemed like the very pit of his stomach. He must’ve been in agony. 

You didn’t move a muscle. You were probably in shock. You just sat, holding your ripped shirt to your chest. All the while knowing that if you didn’t do something soon, this man that had tried to force himself on you would die. 

Kevin walked in through the front door of your apartment. You heard him take off his shoes. Throw his keys onto the table in your entryway. Heard him begin to shuffle his way toward the scene of the soon-to-be crime. 

“Y/N?” He’s suddenly kneeling in front of you, blocking the view of your attacker, who still keeps on with that miserable whining. 

“Kevin?” Numbly, you reach for him, place your hands on his shoulders and grip them tightly. You try to pull him towards you but he holds himself away, staring at you. 

“What happened?” 

You glance a little to the side and can see the other man still sprawled across the ground. “I should have listened to you.”

Kevin’s thumb gently drags along your freshly busted lip, smearing blood along the length of your mouth, “What happened?”

His voice is so unusually tender that the haze of confusion and fear breaks and you sob. You try again to pull him towards you and this time he comes willingly, enveloping you in his arms. For someone so distant, who adopts and discards emotions and feelings as easily as a mask, Kevin’s embraces are always tight and all-consuming. 

You stay like that for only a few minutes. When Kevin pulls back, he wipes away your tears with your own ripped shirt. You stare at one another. You never know what he’s thinking, now being no exception, but for once you let yourself get lost in the inky blackness of his eyes and feel comforted, not unnerved. 

“Go take a bath.” The command comes out of nowhere. 

“What? Kevin I-” A slightly louder moan than the rest cuts you off and the look on Kevin’s face fades from whatever was there when he was looking at you to his typical viciousness. 

“I’m going to put him out of his misery. He’s already dying. There’s no use calling an ambulance, and I wouldn’t let you anyway. So you’re going to let me do what I need to do, and you’re going to go take a bath while I do it. Then you’ll go to bed, and when you wake up, it will all be over. Understand?” 

He doesn’t give you the option to disobey. He helps you to your feet, guides you to the bathroom, and even starts the bath for you. Then he goes back into the living room to kill a man as if it means nothing to him. 

You sit in the bath with your knees to your chest, and listen to the sounds of running water instead of focusing on the fact that the man has finally gone quiet.

[skyscratch-wcdesigns]

Sparrow Fur/Sparrowstar - SkyClan Leader

"It would be nice to see [Owl Eyes and Pebble Heart] but I like it here. I think I'm just fine where I am." - Sparrow Fur to Clear Sky, The Blazing Star

[wayfinder-wolf]

Still on my quest to re-read Warrior Cats chronologically. Here's all the newcomer characters from books 2 and 3 of Dawn of the Clans.

[myrtlebloom]

Sparrow Fur/Sparrowstar

[marmosetpaw]

[thecrazyandtheweird]

Questions I have surrounding Milton Finch

(if anyone has answers please feel free to share)

1: How did the door only work for him?? We see the aforementioned painted door in his room, but the design is different and worn down. Is it even the same door? Idk

2: Monroe's mother: How did Milton meet her? If he had the ability to return to the real world and sire a child, why didn't he ever use that world-hopping ability to look for his family? Did he just assumed they all would have died? This is the biggest question for me; like how he came back, for what reason, and then why he abandoned both her and his son. How old was he even?

3: How could Monroe's mother have a magic paintbrush that she left to her son if Milton already had it in his kingdom? Were there two? Did he make her one of her own to make up for being an absent father?

4: Hell, he knew about his son, right? He seemed to know who he was. Why didn't you want to be in your child's life?? You gave him another paintbrush, more questions, and a half-hearted admittance to being a crap dad, then told him to leave where he'll never see him again.

5: (Throwaway Question) Would Dawn (before her death) or Edith ever find out about Monroe? Assuming theres DNA in this world, who's to say they couldn't trace the Finch relatives and reunite them. They could even have took Monroe in after his mom's death. Plus it would have been both curious, (now they know Milton didn't die) and therapeutic (having at least a piece of Milton back)

Its just plaguing my mind, I'm deeply obsessed with these games now unfortunately

[seenoversundown]

Sparrow Of The Dawn Masterpost

Sam Kiszka x Willa (Female OC) Updated 2/9/2025

Enemies to Lovers | Forced Proximity | Workplace Romance

Summary : Sam unfortunately finds himself in not so meet cute with Willa. Hopeful that he doesn't cross her path again; the world works in mysterious ways and not always in your favor.

*This is an AU Series*

Warnings: Fluff, Heartwarming, Rom-Com themes, Goofy Humor, Swearing / Language, Mentions of Anxiety, Mentions of flying/airplanes/airports, 18+ Smut Warning.

(Warnings will be updated along with the series)

Word Count: 53.5k

Chapters:

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25

One Shots:

Dueling Cameras ⁂ - Sam x Willa (Fem OC) decide to make getting pumpkins into a little competition (per usual) (One Shot)

Be Naughty, Save Santa The Trip ☠ - Sam x Willa (Fem OC) Sam runs late after a shoot and Willa leaves him a little surprise for when he gets back home to her. (One Shot)

Succulent ☠️ - Sam x Willa (Fem OC) take a little trip to Vermont for Valentine’s Day where Sam cooks up a nice dinner with a great idea for dessert. (One Shot)

Playlist:

Taglist Currently:

@gvfsstardust , @myleftsock , @mindastreamofcolours , @dont-go-home-without-me , @literal-dead-leaf , @lizzys-sunflower , @mackalah , @klarxtr , @edgingthedarkness , @writingcold , @takenbythemadness , @threadofstars , @i-love-gvf , @ladywhimsymoon , @peaceloveunitygvf , @earthgrlsreasy , @violet-hayes , @musicspeaks, @gretavanfan , @jazzyfigz , @anythingforjtk

reply or fill out this form to be added to the taglist!

The Caravel Tavern Masterpost | Masterlist (One Shots / other fics)

[leafatlaw]

sorry it’s the middle of the night but do you think rolan deep was ever homesick ? If he couldn’t sleep at night in Chicago where the sounds of cars and trains and people kept him up. Where the lights outside his window were always too bright through his blinds, brighter than anything had been in Galloway.

If rolan couldn’t sleep without the cicadas song, missed the buzz of mosquitos and gnats. Missed the creaks of his old house and his parents snores. Do you think Rolan desperately cracks open the window only to real back in disgust. Everything in Chicago so foreign so wrong, even the air is different.

I think Rolan gets homesick for something more. For the smell of the bayou and something sickly sweet, for the smell of cheap cigarette and lighter fluid. He misses the smell of the earth and bright clear starry skies and the smell of weed and feel of rough denim. I think, late at night when Rolan in between exhaustion and anxiety, Rolan misses his friend more than anything. The feeling of exhilaration at climbing onto the Rands roof at 3 in the morning, tapping Rands window to wake him up. Sharing a cigarette that he hates the taste of, so their hands can touch his for a moment. The feeling of safety and home that he only ever felt there, sitting shoulder to shoulder with his best friend. I think Rolan gets homesick alot.

[nightmareb1tch]

I've had an idea for an Au. Like Dawn from Total Drama as a hargreeves, and Klaus is the father.

He kind of had that with the mother after he was grieving Dave, and wanted something to cope in the original timeline. In the original timeline Dawn never knew her father. But in my au's final timeline, he had that with the mother when he had been like 20 something (she got her mother's looks) and not met Dave yet. Later, the mother returns the baby when she is 3, Dawn, barely remembering her mother, she had always loved her two dads because of that fact. Klaus was soo proud when she revealed she could read auras, and often brought Dawn over to scare Allison, Fei, and Luther. Growing up with a super powered family, she never knew that her gift was unusual and was often surprised when none of the other kids showed some of her aspects or others.

She also dyed her hair with an environmentally cautious dye. She did not come back to Total Drama no matter what you Scary Girl theorists say. She was raised in a loving environment because Klaus could not risk her being traumatized by him the way he was traumatized by Reginald. So she knew that it was not healthy or logical to go back. She is probably one of the only Total Drama contestants with a healthy family that doesn't involve divorced parents or any of the relatives CURRENTLY in jail. Her family doesn't lie to her to spare her feelings, and the one who traumatized the whole family is dead. Klaus gave up drugs and actually tried to be a good father.

[heartofpromethea]

tests for stuff i eventually want to expand on (render/animate) eventually but dont know if i'll ever have the energy to finish

[midzukishino]

Tom's death for the vk challenge, "Sudden death"

[moemneop]

Why are you like this D:<