Head Empty
Pairing: Daniel Blake x Unnamed Female
Summary: Daniel wakes up from a great dream about a girl and tries his hardest to remember the details before his alarm goes off.
Contains: Daniel being hopelessly in love... from afar.
Words: 800ish
Daniel Blake doesn't want to wake up.
He's aware of the gift that he's been given; waking before his alarm to preserve a dream that might otherwise be erased at the shrill sound of the real world summoning him. He doesn't dare move or open his eyes. He clings desperately to that delicate not-quite-awake state, trying his best to remember the best dream he's ever had. He may cry if he loses it.
Because he had her.
That girl he rides the ferry home with almost every night.
He's been watching her for months. Not creepily, he hopes. But she's just so pretty. Everyone else has their necks craned downward, staring at their phones or tablets. But her? She's always staring into the distance. No matter the weather, she's sitting outside, watching the scenery on that late-night five-mile ride to Staten Island… while Daniel watches her through the window, wondering what she might be thinking or what her voice sounds like or who she's going home to.
Last night, in the most perfect dream ever - and it was a dream, because in no universe would he ever actually gather the courage to talk to her - he ran into her in a club.
He grins into his pillow as he remembers the smile on her face when she greeted him like an old friend. The dream version of her is used to him, because she's there a lot. The real one would probably tighten her grip on her purse if he tried approaching her, then try to make eye contact with someone wearing a uniform. But in the dream, she knew him, and they danced together inside a crowded club. She put her hands on his shoulders and let him put his hands on her hips and they both shouted things the other couldn't hear over the pounding beat and the flashing lights while they danced the night away.
Their thighs pressed together in the cab, and she held his hand. He can't remember a word they said to each other on the ride to the ferry, but he remembers that she leaned her head on his shoulder and stroked the back of his hand with her thumb. Girls don't do cute, sweet things like that for him. None of the ones he's met so far, anyway. He didn't even know it was something he wanted until now.
His brain jolts into overdrive when he remembers that she sat on his lap on the ferry ride home. Daniel Blake, perpetually single loser, rode home with a beautiful woman on his lap, and her arms looped around his neck, and her lips on his. She was so warm, and so soft, and she smelled so good. He can't quite name it, but it's a sweet and familiar smell that he'll forever associate with her. His cock begins to stiffen at the exceptionally vivid memory of having this sweet-smelling angel in his lap, and he silently begs it not to. He needs all the blood in his brain working to etch this perfect dream into his memory forever.
What happened next? What happened after the ferry? Son of a bitch. He gently rocks his hips into the mattress, hoping a little friction will satiate his morning wood enough to allow his brain to function. Did he get to bring her home with him? Did he walk her to her doorstep and kiss her goodnight? Does Dream!Daniel know where she lives?!?
His alarm goes off, and he reaches over without opening his eyes to shut it up. It doesn't work. He lets out an honest-to-God growl when he's forced to open his eyes and leave the memory of her to turn off the most annoying sound in the world. He fumbles with his stupid phone, pressing several wrong buttons before finally silencing it.
He drops his head back on the pillow and closes his eyes, desperately hoping that more details come back to him.
But they don't.
It's ruined.
He's awake now.
The sun's too bright, and his mouth is dry, and his head hurts, and his back aches, and he'll never remember what else happened with The Girl from The Ferry in that perfect once-in-a-lifetime dream.
Daniel angrily flips onto his back and stares at the ceiling, feeling like more of a loser than he usually does. He had her. He danced with her, and he held her hand, and he kissed her. It felt so natural, so real, that he almost feels like it could really happen. If he could just work up the courage to approach her one day, maybe it could be real. Maybe she'd let him into her life. Maybe she wouldn't think he was as annoying as everyone else does. Maybe she'd think he was sweet. Maybe she'd let him love her.
"Hey," a soft voice says.
He lifts his head from the pillow, and nearly chokes when he sees her standing in the doorway wearing nothing but his t-shirt.
Warnings: Smut, Praise Kink, Oh no! There's only one bed?!?, Body Insecurity, Daniel is Super Submissive, Loss of Virginity.
Summary: A snowstorm strands you and your colleague Daniel Blake after a political conference several hours outside New York. Every hotel within fifty miles is booked. The last motel has one room.... And there's only one bed.
Sneaky peak below!
You had seen him cocky before. All sharp suits and sharper smiles, all quick talk and polished certainty. But this, this was different. This was the version of him that surfaced only when nobody was looking. The version that seemed to come apart under praise, under attention, and now, under the unbearable sweetness of being wanted too openly to deny.
“You keep staring at me,” you said softly.
His throat moved, a gentle gulp that made his Adam's apple bob.
“I know, sorry-” he admitted, and the honesty in it was almost wrecking. His brown doe eyes flicked to your mouth, then away again, then back with visible effort, like he was fighting his own body for the right to behave. “I’m trying not to.”
“Why?” you prod, nudging his leg with your barefoot on the bedsheet, a smirk painting your features.
He gave a tiny, helpless laugh that sounded more like a confession than amusement. “Because... you keep saying things that are making me hard."
