.✦ c.w. afab!reader. kinda mean!reader. smut (MDNI!). masturbation (m). fingering. p in v. holland calls reader bitch once. pain kink (slapping & biting). drunk sex. it might feel a tittle rushed i'm sorry
.✦ summary. march finds out something new about himself when you walk into his life.
.✦ word count. 4.7k
.✦ author’s note. this goes out to that anon who was nice enough to share their oc with me! i hope i did her justice. writing this i kinda realized i need to work on my enemies to lovers LOL i hope its not complete shit
see, the problem wasn’t that you were spending 24/7 cooped up in a little office downtown. the problem was the people there. yeah yeah, uncle j was nice enough to offer you a job, and yeah sure, at first, you thought it would’ve been fun. now you can’t really picture leaving even if you wanted to, cause honestly, how would these guys survive?
“‘m sorry, sweetheart—” first of all, why. march knows your name. he knows you don’t like nicknames. you’ve grown awfully tired of telling him not to call you that, so all you do is sigh every time a ‘sweetheart’ or a ‘doll’ comes out of his stupid, stupid mouth. and what’s even more infuriating is the fact that you don’t like him at all. you wonder how your uncle even found him in the first place. you picture march accidentally breaking into his house and healy keeping him like an alley cat. he’s incompetent, stupid, or, very stupid, actually.
very stupid as in accidentally leaving sensitive case information in his desk. which, obviously, you had to deal with. because quite honestly, not only were you your uncle’s assistant, but also kind of like a miracle worker. the one who picks up after both men, the one who accidentally lets out a groan when they’re discussing how to solve a case, muttering under your breath how obvious it was. the one who is sat out front like a goddamn receptionist, as if you didn’t do like 70% of their jobs for them.
“have you seen the larsen’s file?” march asks you, making you come back from your inner ranting. you sigh. standing up without a word, and walking to his office, where you last saw it. he follows behind. “i swear it’s not here. i looked everywhere—“ he interrupts himself when you pull it out from the last drawer in his cabinet. he never looks there.
you shove it into his chest and walk back to your own desk. “oh, here you have it, march!” he imitates your voice poorly. making fun of the way you almost never talk to him. this makes you roll your eyes, although he doesn’t see you.
you busy yourself with organizing the files they don’t seem to be working on right now. when you hear someone approach you. “hey, you can take off. we don’t have any open cases right now and you seem tired.” healy tells you. “my car’s in the shop, j. and the bus won’t come by for another hour. i’m okay right here.” you tell him without looking at him, still organizing the files on your desk. “march will drive you” he states. “i’d sooner rather wait one whole hour under the sun at the bus stop, thanks. and why can’t you take me? you’re my uncle.” you tell him, finally looking at him. “don’t be fuckin’ rude. he lives right by you. and you know your apartment is out of my way. take it or leave it, i don’t care, we’re both leaving anyways.” he tells you. going into his office to collect his things. yeah, he has little patience of your little aversion towards march. sometimes you wonder if they’re secretly lovers, what, with the way he defends him and all.
“so?” you hear march’s voice. and there he is, standing right in front of you. you arch your eyebrow. “am i takin’ you home or what? healy said—“ “healy asked me and i said no, thank you very much. i’ll just wait for the next bus.” you interrupt. he scoffs. “don’t be a fucking baby. c’mon, grab your things.” he tells you, heading for the door.
on one hand, having to ride with him would be hell on earth. but your uncle’s right, you are pretty tired and the bus would be burning hot and it would take you at least one more hour to get home. you hum. silently grabbing your things. you try your hardest to ignore the smug grin march wears.
after you lock up, because of course, somehow, you’re tasked with also doing that, he opens the copilot’s door for you. “thanks” you mutter. he makes a stupid, stupid face and goes “wow! i didn’t know you were capable of showing gratitude, sweetheart.” he retorts. making you roll your eyes, once again.
you try really hard not to start conversation during the drive. but of course he has something to say. “are you doing anything later?” he asks, lighting a cigarette. you hate to admit it but he looks awfully hot driving with one hand on the wheel and smoking out the window with the other one.
why he wants to know your comings and goings is above you. “why?” you simply ask. “jesus christ, can’t i just be nice? i don’t want to know, i could care less.” he’s aggravating. “you couldn’t care less, dumbass. if you could care less it means you care.” he sighs loudly. deciding to shut up for the rest of the ride. after he parks in front of your apartment, you get out without a word and thank him under your breath half-heartedly, not really wanting to hear him go on about how surprised he is you can say that word.
to think he’d leave you be is wishing for too much. “you’re welcome! i’ll pick you up before work too. unless your car is ready?” you furrow your eyebrows momentarily. the car wouldn’t be ready for at least three days. and sometimes he does have the ability to shut up. “8 sharp, march.” you simply tell him. turning on your heal and heading for your door.
“ungrateful little shit.” he says to himself. three whole days of this. he can manage, he thinks.
he can’t help but wonder when this whole ‘hating each other’ thing would end. but honestly, he didn’t mind. not to be self-deprecating but he was used to people calling him stupid. hell, even his own daughter did. but whenever he heard you groan or saw you roll your eyes, he really couldn’t help his imagination running wild.
wondering if you made those same looks and those same sounds in bed. you were healy’s niece for godsakes. but that didn’t matter when he found himself stroking his dick while showering, thinking about how mean you are to him. thinking about how you say ‘jesus christ, march.’ in a low, disappointed, tone. thinking about having you on top of him, riding him for all he’s worth, telling him exactly what to do. and when he pictures you slapping him when he doesn’t do what you ask of him, he comes, with a high-pitched groan, covering his mouth with his left hand, to keep from fucking screaming.
that’s new. he thinks. up until now, he didn’t see himself getting off to a mean, ungrateful, and fucking hot bitch.
and of course, march isn’t there at 8. you don’t know what you expected. but because of this dumb fuck, now you’ll be forced to walk a few miles to the nearest bus stop. as you begin walking, already sweating two minutes in, you hear someone honk behind you. you know it’s him. even his car is obnoxious for crying out loud. “you couldn’t wait two fuckin’ minutes?” he asks, slowing down right besides you. you shot him a look. “get in. you’re already sweating, jesus christ.” he tells you, turning the AC to the max. “fuck you.” you snarl. getting into his car. you’re not sure if you heard him right, but you think he mutters ‘gladly’, although the AC on full blast made it impossible to tell.
now, to say you hated march is exaggerating. although evidence shows otherwise. you didn’t hate him. you were just…aggravated by his presence. ever since you began working there, his childish and unprofessional attitude made you form a bad impression on him, only worsening with time. but you couldn’t really deny how funny it was to push his buttons. he’d get all red in the face and you could tell he wanted to scream at you, restraining himself only because he knew healy would take your side on any and all arguments.
you notice he’s weirdly quiet today. by now, you were sure he’d tell you how he burnt his breakfast or how badly he slept. and not that you really mind the silence, but it was not a comfortable one. you turn to look at him. making note of how quickly he diverted his gaze when you made eye contact. opting to light up what would be the fourth cigarette of the day. at 8 a.m., mind you.
what you didn’t know was that he was completely embarrassed by his little…fun time yesterday. he couldn’t really look at you and not remember the mental image he concocted yesterday. and the fact that every time he thought of that his pants tightened a bit, which he didn’t want you noticing.
against all odds, you speak to him. “somethin’ on your mind?” you ask him, looking out the window. he clears his throat. grateful of how you’re not holding eye contact anymore because he was sure the tent in his pants was beginning to grow against his will. “yeah, uh, just this case we’re working on. it’s very hard— the case, it’s very hard.” he takes a drag of his cig. you hum. didn’t your uncle say you didn’t have any open cases? “healy told you you weren’t working on anything at the moment.” you think out loud.
shit. he didn’t know you knew. “well, it’s not an open— open case, per se. it’s like, this case that was really hard to figure out.” he quickly says. trying to come up with whatever gets him out of this situation. out of all days you could’ve chosen to talk to him, you had to pick today. he eyes you, sees the way you’re thinking about the stupid thing he just said. “okay, then.” you say.
so, he’s lying. obviously. you wonder if it’s got anything to do with healy. maybe he was working on a case by himself. boy, would that be a mistake. you know he used to work alone before, although you weren’t sure if his stories you heard him tell healy were true. he’d paint himself this sherlock holmes type, although the time you’ve known him, he’s done nothing but drink himself to sleep.
the day goes by rather quickly. you busy yourself all day with color-coding the files. once again wondering what march is hiding, given that there are absolutely no open cases. just like healy said.
not that you expect march to tell you he’s driving you home again, but you kind of do.
he’s drinking. surprise, surprise. and although he insists he can drive you, you aren’t willing to risk your life over a middle-aged man drunk driving. “fuck off, you shouldn’t leave, either.” you tell him. “it’s like you don’t even know me, doll. i’ve been doing this since my prime. and i only had one glass of scotch, big deal.” he shrugs. “oh, only one glass of 40% alcohol? that makes me feel so much better. you’re not driving. i’m leaving.” you tell him. quickly grabbing your things and heading for the door. but you stop yourself. “if i leave you’re still going to drive?” you turn to him with an exhasperated sigh.
he shrugs again. “yeah, probably.” unbelievable. he has a whole ass daughter, doesn’t he care? “do you have a death wish, march?” his face contorts in what can only be a smile. you’re confused. “awh, are you worried about me, sweetheart?” his head tilts to the side. full-on grinning. you roll your eyes again. “yeah, keep doing that, see what happens.” he mutters. what the fuck?
“is that a threat or are you hitting on me?” you ask. standing in your place, astounded by his audacity. “i’m not going to answer that.” he says, heading back to his office. you’re actually too dumbfounded to move. “i’m leaving.” you say, more to yourself than him. fuck it if he dies behind the wheel. that’s his business.
but you don’t move. you slowly realize it’s way past the last bus. shit. it’s either walk all the way home, or wait until march sobers up. you were less inclined to walk forty minutes than to stay behind with march, much to your dismay.
you sit down at your desk again. soon after, march shows. “i thought you were leavin’, you are worried, huh?” he says, sipping on another glass of scotch.
truth be told, march did not care a single bit about driving home. holly has been spending all her time locked in her room. and he doesn’t like the reminder that he’s by himself once he gets home. and it’s probably the two glasses of scotch talking, but he can’t seem to care about hiding his intentions from you. and the fact that you stayed behind, only encourages him.
“there aren’t any buses anymore, genius. maybe i’ll take a cab, i don’t know.” you tell him. he places his drink on your desk. “i think you’re worried. i think you don’t want me to die.” he grins.
“and that makes it special? march, you have a daughter. i can’t believe you don’t care.” you tell him. “she’s used to her old man getting home drunk, and she probably hasn’t noticed i’m not there yet, i’m not in a rush. i could take you home, though.” you shake your head. “you’re unbelievable.” you mutter. “why do you hate me so much?” he blurts out. you furrow your eyebrows. a moment passes.
“s just that, i don’t know, you’re very mean to me.” he all but pouts. chugging down the last of his drink. “don’t get me wrong, i like it, but i didn’t know i liked it, til’ you showed up, that is.” he continues. at this point you’re too amused by his babbling to interrupt. “you’re here every day, with your cool clothes and your cool jewelry— where do you get that, anyways?— and you’re nice to healy but you’re mean to me, i get he’s your uncle but i don’t think i’m too bad myself, am i?” he swallows. “say something.” he says.
you laugh to yourself. he doesn’t even sound drunk. this is just his normal self talking. “have a drink with me.” you try to say no, but he’s running to his office to get the bottle and another glass. he comes back, serving himself another drink and serving you one, too. “cheers.” he clinks your glass, which is still at your desk, and chugs all of it.
you hesitate, but he looks awfully vulnerable and you’re afraid he’s going to insist, and also the scotch does look good. you grab it and take a small sip, without looking at him because you’re sure the grin is back on his face. he eyes you up and down while you drink. feeling surprised by how fuzzy you feel, only half a drink in.
“are you just going to watch me drink?” you ask him. “beats drinking alone.” he says. “‘m sorry to have sprung all of that on you.” he clears his throat. “i’m just a bit confused as to why you seem to have a problem with me.” he lowers his gaze. “march, i don’t have a problem with you. and didn’t you just say you liked that i was mean to you?” you try, not really letting him off the hook so easily for what he admitted.
“yeah, i do.” he mutters. “kinda turns me on, your whole goth demeanor.” he can’t seem to shut the hell up. and it’s not like he can attribute it to the drinks. he’s not even tickled by the alcohol. you laugh. and he can’t seem to tear his eyes from you. “are you laughing at me?” he asks, laughing now, too. “yes!” you tell him, making him scoff like he’s offended.
you chug the rest of the drink and pour yourself a second. hell, if you’re not leaving might as well get drunk.
“are you, really?” you turn to ask him, he’s still hovering over your desk, daring to get closer, he sits on it. honestly, he was a little bit afraid of you until he heard you laugh. now the whole mean thing just seems like a ruse to him. “am i really what?” he turns to see you. “turned on? that whole me being mean thing?” now it’s your turn to eye him up and down. and you can’t really blame the alcohol for the warm sensation forming in lower stomach. he smells of alcohol and smoke, he’s such a guy.
“well, obviously. whatever little show you’re doing, it’s working.” you’re confused. “show? no. you’re just an incompetent detective. i can’t deal with incompetence.” you tell him. “hard as it is to believe, i can be competent. when i really, really want.” he says.
“oh yeah? and when do you really, really want to? so far i’ve never seen you work.” he shakes his head with a smile. “like when i can figure out you’re turned on right now. your cheeks are all red and you keep squeezin’ your thighs.” he catches you by surprise. you hadn’t even realized you were doing that. you try to come up with something to say, but words don’t come to mind. “yeah, case closed.” he retorts. serving himself yet another drink.
“where’d you come up with that, march? can’t i just enjoy conversation?” you try to say, although it comes out a bit more shaky than you want. “with me? no dice, doll. you don’t speak to me unless it’s to insult me. i don’t mind.” he shrugs.
holland can’t really tell where his confidence is coming from. maybe it’s knowing you’re both a bit drunk and alone. maybe the scale simply tipped over and he can’t really hold it in anymore. or, you know, maybe he’s just as turned on as you are.
you sip the last bit of your drink, a small droplet sitting on your lips. he tentatively runs his thumb along your lower lip. and when you don’t object, he smiles to himself.
honestly, you could’ve pictured this night going any way, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the way his hand slides from your lip to your arm, yanking it to make you stand up. and when you do, he wastes no time attaching his lips to yours. you suppress the small gasp of surprise coming out of you. not wanting to give him the satisfaction. you’re quick to kiss him back. placing a hand on his thigh, squeezing slightly when he slips his tongue in your mouth.
he moans. and what a pretty moan he has. your head becomes flooded with wanting to hear more of that. he puts his hand that was previously on your arm on top of yours, moving it towards his crotch. you hum into his mouth when you feel just how hard he already is.
to say this is surprising is an understatement. never in a million years would you have thought you’d be rubbing holland march’s dick through his clothes on your desk. it’s a nice surprise, honestly. it’s not like you can overlook how attractive he always looks in his tight pants and his overgrown mustache.
“you’re so fucking hot.” he thinks out loud. briefly stopping your full-on make out to attach his lips to your neck. you involuntarily let out a whimper, feeling him smile against your neck. “don’t be so smug.” you tell him. he stops what he’s doing to look at you. “you’re letting me do this and i can’t be smug?” he asks. placing a hand on your neck. suppressing the grin that fights to form in his face when you briefly close your eyes at the feeling. he lightly squeezes and you press harder on his dick. yeah, he can be smug, he thinks.
“sit down on the desk, sweetheart.” he tells you while standing up. without really thinking about it, you obey. sloppily taking your pants off. fuck it if he thinks that’s too forward. he sets between your legs. his hand returns to your neck, lightly squeezing, while his other hand grabs ahold of your thigh. you subconsciously make space for him, opening your legs, in response, he puts his middle and ring finger on your underwear. looking at you intently, as if asking for permission.
you take a play off his book and grab that hand to place it on your clit, making small circles with it. “kiss me.” you tell him. he obeys immediately. it’s like a back and forth of dominance.
he puts your underwear to the side, running his fingers down your core. he wants you to ask for it. beg, even. that’s just not happening. he doesn’t have the upper hand. you could just get up and leave. but damn it if it doesn’t feel too fucking good.
“what’re you waiting for, march?” you break the kiss to ask him. in turn, he slides his middle finger in you. you try not to squeeze him in to no avail, and he bites his lip, turning towards the obscene scene in front of him. “if you can’t take a single finger how are you gonna take my dick, sweetheart?” it’s quite weird to you to hear him dirty talk. but the need to shut him up, to erase that stupid grin on his face is only making you wetter.
“bet i’ve taken bigger than you.” you try to provoke him, only to have him laugh in response when he slides another finger in and you gasp.
you don’t think you could do anything but moan and gasp when he gets you right on edge, only to entirely stop his movements. fingers still deep inside you. “why’d you stop me?” he asks you, you notice how black his eyes look right now. any and all color gone. only to be replaced by pure lust.
“take— take your clothes off.” you tell him, one hand tugging at his shirt. he stops all movement and wipes his hand on his pants. he unties his tie and unbuttons his shirt, not bothering to take it completely off.
he begins to unbuckle his belt, but you stop him. he turns to you with a panicked look, only to realize you want to do that part. you take his belt off and slide his pants down to his thighs, unable to tear your eyes off the prominent tent in his boxers. oh, he’s big. you weren’t expecting that when you said you’ve taken bigger. that’s why he laughed.
in turn, you also take your clothes off, feeling very smug when you feel his eyes linger on your chest. he’s quick to kiss down your neck, until he’s sucking on one of your nipples. you arch your back towards him, and he places one hand on your waist, slowly laying you down until he’s practically on top of you.
he takes his hand off your waist momentarily to free himself. feeling relief once his hard dick is out. without warning, he’s sliding those two same fingers in your pussy, moving them back and forth and gathering your slick and rubbing your clit once more. you tear him from your nipple and kiss him again, this time licking into his mouth.
you’re on the brink again, equal parts not wanting him to stop and wanting him to just finally put his dick on you. your hips involuntarily lift from the desk when you feel your orgasm reach, moaning into his mouth, only making him smile in return. “yeah?” he asks, oh he thinks he’s so funny. you want to nod, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction.
you reach down and grab his dick, aligning it with your entrance. a silent plea, so to speak. “you want me to fuck you?” he pants. you don’t react. not uttering a single word or nodding. but he sees the goosebumps cursing through your arms and legs. he is a detective, after all. “say it.” he whispers. you won’t budge, no matter how much you’re squirming. “please?” he pecks your lips. “hm, sweetheart? can you say it?” another peck.
you shake your head. “c’mon, darlin’ i know you want to. you want me to fuck you, right?” it’s more of a plead than a rethorical question. you groan. this is taking far too long and you’re too far gone to keep your pride. “yes, holland. fuck me.” you quickly tell him, almost coming from the whimper that comes out of him. his first name on your lips intoxicating him.
“yeah, doll— i’ll fuck you. you want me to, right?” what is it with this man and his questions? he slides in, finally. moaning loudly and dropping his head to your shoulder from the feeling. “oh my fucking god, you’re so— jesus you’re so tight, hmm fuck.” he blabs. your hands slide to his hair. petting it as a silent thank you, for finally having him where you wanted to the most.
he’s big. the stretch burned momentarily. he stays in place. only moving once he knows he won’t cum right then and there. he starts with small thrusts, not daring to pull out. “christ, you feel good, hm?” he pants. in turn you tug on his hair to kiss him again, otherwise you’re sure he’s just going to keep talking.
one of your hands travels down to your clit, rubbing circles on it to enhance the feeling, only to be slapped away by him, replacing your hand with his.
you moan into his mouth, and he can’t help but to be just a little disappointed you weren’t as mean as you were all the time. he still thought about his little fantasy of yesterday, where you slap him. he stops kissing you, only to whisper into your mouth. “can you— can you slap me?” he asks. had he not been balls deep inside you, you would’ve laughed. but since he was making you feel so good, you obliged.
a quick, almost painless slap. he didn’t even feel it. “c’mon, didn’t you hate me like, yesterday?” he pants. still keeping his thrusts short, but deep. you hit him again, and it made your hand hurt. you’re afraid it might’ve been too much until you hear him groan and pull all the way back only to thrust back with more force than he had before.
"you like a little pain, march? didn't peg you for a masochist." you try to tell him without your voice shaking, made impossible by his deep thrusts. "i think you put a fuckin' spell on me, doll.” he pants. his hand returns to your neck, squeezing a bit more than he had before. relishing in the way your eyes roll back and you squeeze his dick. his rythmic thrusts become sloppy, signaling how close he is. but he doesn't want to come just yet. he wants to savour the feeling, in case you don't let him do this again.
he turns to kiss you once more, feeling smug again of the way you can barely kiss him back. he takes the opportunity to bite your lower lip, hard. tugging it and licking it afterwards as an apology.
"you like that huh?" you nod. letting go of any restraint you still had left. seeing how he reacted when you slapped him, you tentatively bite his shoulder. and really bite. "fuck- oh christ." he arches his back towards you. he ruts against you. you feel him so deep, it's all you can think about.
your face scrunches up, feeling your second orgasm incoming. you moan loudly, and in turn he whimpers again. “not so tough now, huh? fucked the mean out you, didn’t i?” he asks. and when you come, so does he. unable to keep his mouth shut about how good you feel. “i’m gonna— fuck, oh my god— sweetheart, you’re—“ he moans.
catching your breath, you feel him going limp inside of you. his whole body on top of you, catching his breath, too. only bothering to move once your breathing has regulated.
he tucks himself into his pants and buttons his shirt again. giving you your clothes back and sitting besides you. as you’re dressing up, you can feel the stickiness of his cum between your legs. oh well, that’s a problem for future you. he gives you a shy smile. almost as if he didn’t just fuck the shit out of you.
“am i allowed to be smug now?” he asks, and in turn you roll your eyes. “don’t get so used to this, march.” you tell him, noticing how his whole face drops. oh, you didn’t mean not get used to…you know, fucking. “although i do have some notes for next time.” you’re quick to say.
his whole face brightens again. “oh yeah?” he laughs. “i’ll have to hear all about it. c’mon, let me take you home. i’ve definetely sobered up now.” you sigh, only giving him a little nod and gathering your things.
he hopes to god healy never finds out. he doesn’t think he can take another beating from him. that’s a problem for another time, he thinks.
Since like the comic and pilot Bill has a spaceship of hot women would he have an anime waifu harem when he dreams?
SUCH A FUNNY QUESTION 😭😭😭
I fear he would not but that’s mainly bc I don’t think Bill dreams… he might daydream about it though but as a guilty pleasure, because he says he wants a traditional/nuclear family.
However,,,, IN TERMS OF SLEEP… INCOMING SLEEP HEADCANONS:
Bill: he has really bad sleep, he doesn’t dream but he like hits the bed and doom scrolls on his phone before bed. He doesn’t rly enter REM sleep and tosses and turns in the night, he also doesn’t get ENOUGH sleep like ever. Sleeps on his side. This guy is sleep deprived and does not dream at all. Wears an old t-shirt and sweatpants/shorts to sleep depending on the temperature.
Pete: NEEDS to hug smth in his sleep, deffo has a big pillow that he refuses to call a body pillow on his bed. He probably had a really stained mattress cover bc he doesn’t bother to wash it as often as he should. He sleeps really heavily, and doesn’t get woken up easily. His mouth is always open when he sleeps, deffo drools and snores a bit. He moves a bit in the beginning of the night but is relatively still in deep sleep. Sleeps on his side. Wears only boxers to sleep…
Jerry: He sleeps super well, he has a fancy super cushioned and soft bed that he sleeps in. He sleeps on his back bc he saw a TikTok once that sleeping on your side is bad for your face and so now he refuses to sleep on his side. He sleeps in a robe... Quick to sleep but slow to wake, NOT A MORNING PERSON. Has a bunch of plushies on his bed too. Medium to light sleeper, doesn’t get woken up super easily but wakes up to loud noises.
Joshie: Super cozy, needs a weighted blanket to sleep. Sleeps both on her back and her side, she usually has her phone or computer in bed and falls asleep with her headphones still on, sometimes in discord VCs. She snores a little bit but not as much as Pete, and turns a little. Joshie dreams a lot, she has like a sleep journal and has wanted to purposefully lucid dream into the stuff she’s into. Has listened to those audios on YouTube to help lucid dream before. She deffo has plushies on her bed.
Mira is disgustingly good at whistling, quite literally to a level to be jealous of
-> she is very proud of said fact because it was one of the many small ways she could rebel against her parents (I hc Mira has at least some slavic ancestry, and one thing about slavic women is that they're seen as unlady like if they whistle like a man)
Rumi listens to the most male manipulator music to ever male manipulate. She made it an unintentional pre-show ritual to sing the most devious lyrics so she can get into the confident and hot leader role she has
Zoey is basically an encyclopedia of fun facts. Usually when one of the other girls voices boredom Zoey will pop up and share a fun fact. However, there is no guarantee the fun fact won't be weird, a little gross, or actually a little concerning. She is Russian roulette styled in her fun facts sharing
All three of them love serenading each other with songs/lyrics/instrumentals/beats/dances that are affectionately referred to as their "courting rituals." There can be many reasons such a ritual can occur, but fairly often it's to make each other feel special/complimented
Love the depiction of Baelor in the poll! Can we learn more about him?
And he won!
Baelor Targaryen is the son of Prince Daemon Targaryen and his first wife, Lady Rhea Royce. Born the same year as his royal cousin, Princess Rhaenyra, Baelor came a month earlier than expected. His mother worried greatly for his health and wrote to her husband and asked that he come to see his son, in case there might be no opportunity later. However, already displeased with an Andal looking child as well as a child seemingly sickly, Daemon did not come. However, Baelor soon grew into a healthy child and the apple of his mother’s eye.
Once Baelor was old enough to travel, he would split his year visiting his father in King’s Landing, or being trained under his mother as heir to Runestone. He quickly understood there was no love lost between his parents, but it was also clear that his father often verbally disparaged Baelor’s mother in private, but also in court. This put a damper on Baelor’s affection for his father, although his uncle, the king, often attempted to smooth things over. What ultimately began the final crack of Baelor’s relationship with his father was Baelor’s lack of interest in becoming bonded to a dragon. He held no interest in going down to the Dragonpit, nor did he care for caring for a dragon egg. This, to Prince Daemon, was the ultimate betrayal. It was soon after that the prince no longer fetched his son and heir on dragonback. Then on, Baelor had to travel by horse or carriage if he wished to see the royal side of his family.
As his father left for war in the Stepstones, Baelor made very little attempts in contacting his father. Whispers of his father’s mistress and a possible bastard sibling upon the White Worm only furthered Baelor’s dislike for his father. However, he retained a cordial relationship with his other Targaryen relatives and Velaryon cousins.
Baelor was visiting the Eyrie when his mother died. Certain his mother could not have fallen from her horse, Baelor believed it was one of the Mountain Clans that had claimed his mother’s life. While drafting a petition to his father and uncle to gather men to seek justice for his mother, Prince Daemon arrived and claimed Runestone was under the full control of House Targaryen. Annoyed at his father’s attitude and suspicious of his sudden and unannounced arrival, Baelor began to suspect his father had something to do with his mother’s death—especially when there were whispers of his cousin Rhaenyra seeking a husband. Baelor denounced his father and forbade him from ever coming to the Vale again, else the eyes of the Old Gods smite him for his injustice.
As the new Lord of Runestone, Baelor was called to King’s Landing to swear fealty to his uncle and he was asked to remain while the question of Princess Rhaenyra’s husband was being answered. Baelor’s father and uncle both suggested a match between Baelor and Princess Rhaenyra, but he refused, citing his dislike of dragons and his wish for the Vale to be without them.
Baelor is a talented swordsman and often competes in tourneys. Prior to his mother’s death, he would wear her favor, but also occasionally his cousin’s or aunt’s—as his uncle did not compete. Once he marries, he wears Lady Celia’s favor and, more often than not, little Alyssa’s as well.
AU/(insert random number of facts, n, here where n > 5)
LAFD is holding a summer fun event at the beach for the firefighters. Sal and Tommy decide to join in the beach volleyball game (a la the infamous Top Gun scene). New academy graduate Buck might not be able to stop staring.
So, as embarrassed as I am to admit, I have never watched Top Gun, despite my massive crush on Val Kilmer through my teens. I also know very little about beach volleyball outside the one charity tournament I did in grad school where we lost two games and were out... but! Here is a pre-season 1 AU with Facts!
1) Buck just graduated top of his class at the LAFD academy! He is thrilled! He's been assigned to the 118 and starts next week. In the meantime, academy instructors mentioned there was a charity LAFD Beach Volley Ball tournament, and suggests the class attend and show their support. Buck isn't much of a sports watching person, but a day at the beach getting to know his soon to be fellow firefighters sounds delightful.
2) The tournament is to raise funds for the LAFD. Firefighters had to raise a minimum amount of funds to be able to join their firehouse team. Among the houses fielding teams for the event are the 115, 118, 122 and 217. Its a hot summer day, and everyone is dressed in short sleeves and shorter shorts. Buck definitely enjoys the eye candy, especially when the shirts come off.
3) As teams are eliminated from the the tournament it becomes obvious there are rivalries between the firehouses. Short asian-american from the 118 is calling the tall beefcake from the 217 a turn coat. Another beefcake with the 122 is chirping someone from the 115 that they need to pick up their training if they're going to keep up. It all sounds really heated, but everyone is smiling and it seems to be in good fun. There are a lot of very attractive physiques on the court, and Buck is not ashamed to look his fill - respectfully, or course. He's excited to bulk up like the two beefcakes. He wonders how much they can bench press. He figures they could probably press his weight, and isn’t that an exciting thought!
4) 217 defeats the 118 and the 122 defeats the 115. The gold and bronze metal games happen at the same time, but Buck can only focus on the two very built firefighters. He finds out through their chirping that they are named Tommy and Sal, and his eyes keep ping ponging between their two forms, even when they aren't making a play for the ball. Tommy goes to spike a perfect set up, and Buck can't look away from the the expanse of Tommy's torso as he jumps and reaches, and the mosaic of scars along his side. The whole thing feels like it's moving in slow motion. The ball makes a sharp trajectory down, but Sal dives into the sand to save it, muscles bunching in his back. When he stands back up his bare, hairy, glistening chest is covered in sand, and Buck desperately wants to be the one to get his hands on it and brush it off.
5) Buck is so enthralled watching these two men compete that he couldn't tell you which team wins in the end. He just sits on the bleachers in a bit of a fugue state, a little confused by everything he's feeling. He snaps out of it when the crowd finally dies down a bit and he catches Sal and Tommy sharing a decidedly intimate kiss in the middle of the court. And OH! OH! That certainly explains a lot, but opens up a while lot more questions for Buck about himself.
6) Buck misses the reaction from the 118 with the kiss because he decides to make himself scarce after his moment of self discovery. Hen shares a knowing smile with Tommy, happy he's living authentically now. Chimney has so many question, and begins peppering Sal and Tommy with them. Some are invasive (this is S1 Chimney), but he's genuinely please. Bobby just claps both men on the shoulder and says it looks like they've both landed on their feet and that he's proud of them. Sal brushes it off gruffly, but Tommy thanks Bobby for the affirmation. They make plans to meet up for drinks soon.
7) Sal finds the cute, lanky kid who'd been staring at them all tournament at the donation table staring at a tax receipt like he doesn't know what it's for. He comes up next to Buck and bumps shoulders with him, Tommy's in the background watching with exacerbated fondness. "Caught you watching us at the game. Which one are you interested in?"
"Both," Buck's mouth responds before his brain can think better of it.
"Then you're in luck," Sal tells him, grinning. "Want to come back to our place?"
8) Buck is introduced to the wonders of sex with two men, and what he lacks in experience he makes up for with enthusiasm. It's fun, and flirty. Sal and Tommy definitely take advantage of Buck's youth and short refractory period. Buck stays the night, and they go again in the morning. Sal jokingly asks if Buck is a fire bunny. Buck's offended and mentions he's starting at the 118 in a few days. Tommy is distraught, but Sal laughs, and laughs, and laughs.
9) Tommy cooks them breakfast after Sal pulls him aside and discretely talks him down from his residual panic of being newly out. They tell Buck what to expect at the 118, and exchange numbers. So they can keep in touch.
10) Keeping in touch leads to hanging out, hooking up, and Buck eventually moving into their house because that's where he belongs. They don't find out until years later that Buck actually speed-ran his bisexual awakening with a beach volleyball tournament and an unplanned threesome. Tommy is mortified. Sal chalks it up to his undeniable charm.
Bonus: they live happily ever after and adopt lots of animals.
I was curious to know whether you've been fantasizing/dreaming about something lately? Could you share? Is it something you've tried/done before?
Mmm hello darling,
Welcome to Miss Bri answering things while on lunch~
Right now ive been dreaming of perfect worlds where at work I could have a sub beside me, teasing and enjoying my body as I question when and how ill be using them for stress relief~
Great bollocks, i have no clue who you think i am, but this type of slander on my name must be stopped. You must not continue spreading lies about me on the internet webs or i will take you to court and Get you sued for character defamation.. I am not affiliated with SUCH behavior.
p.s PAPYRUS IS MY WIFE
(PLEASE KEEP SENDING ASKS ITS SO FUNNY ANSWERING THEM BABSDH)
