#Michael de Santa x you

[marchsfreakshow]

Gods And Monsters [Michael De Santa]

Smut; You're visiting Michael after his wife and kids move out. You're drunk though, and you want to kiss him. He wont let you do it drunk.

I truly am just, simpin for this middle aged man I swear, so, here's another fic for him.

Fem!Reader

Cover made by me

18+!! MINORS DNI. READ MY SFW WORKS

Warnings: alcohol references, Jimmy being Jimmy /j unbearble tension, PnV, teasing, praise, light choking. Crud smut writing.

Your perspective

Music blasted around me as I sat in the corner staring at my lonely phone. The iFruit was small in my hand, as the other hand held a cup of something. It was alcohol, that's all I needed. But, I was waiting for something on this phone. It was important.

Then it rang.

My desperation for a phone call made me answer it and scream "Hold on It's loud." As I ran outside, I heard Jimmy on the other end. "Jimmy. Dude. What?"

"Sorry if you're busy man, I'm just letting you know that I moved out of my dad's place with my mom and Tracey."

"Her choice or his?"

"uhhh, hers. I kinda did something."

In my tipsy stupor, I just giggled and stumbled as I carried on down the street. Not sure which way I was going, unfortunately, as I kept listening to Jimmy tell the tale of Michael going across a line. "Sooo, he's alone?"

"It's 1 am. Don't be weird." He sighed. "Listen, just come by soon okay dude? I have some games I want to show you."

"Fineee. Byeee!" The walk went quickly despite my tipsy state.

Michael's 'mansion' engaged my vision soon enough. A mansion? It looks like a normal richy house. Not like I know what that looks like. But I knocked on the door, multiple times, and loudly. "Michaelll!! I heard your wife moved out. I'm here to talk!"

Grumbles entered my ears and the glassy doors opened. "Y/N. It is...1 fucking am. What the fuck?" I giggled at the sight of him. He was in his boxers, some socks, and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes to see me properly. Cute old man. "Just, just come in.." He muttered as I walked in and closed the door behind me. The interior was still warm, beige...but warm and cosy for certain. I slouched onto the couch, throwing the blanket over me.

"Jimmy called me. Told me he, Amanda and Tracey moved out."

"he fucking told you?!"

I simply nodded.

"idiot." He kept on mumbling and then sat next to me. Still in his boxers. It was, charming to me. Being so comfortable with me he happily walked around half naked. The man looked in my direction when he stopped himself, sighing at me. "Do you need something?"

"Therapy."

"This whole fucking city does."

I giggled and sat up, looking over at him. "Michael?" He fixated on my eyes and looked like he was stopping himself from touching me. His hand lingered by the side of my face. But he pulled himself away and walked into the kitchen.

Disappointed, I followed him and threw my arms onto the tabletop. It was decently dark and cold. I wasn't sure why it was cold when I walked through a doorway, but it was. "Here. Drink it." I stared at the green, sludge-like drink in front of me. He almost stared me down as I made a face. I couldn't tell anything else about the drink that was placed by me, apart from the fact it was green. I knew it was. Amanda loved health and yoga and all that bullshit.

"Y/N. Drink."

"whyyy?" I asked innocently, grinning at him.

"You're at my door at 1 am. And you smell like whiskey. I can tell."

"is that so bad?"

"I can also tell what you want." His fingers gripped onto my chin, almost pulling me up to his eye level. His other hand held my waist since there was nowhere else to hold and not be weird. "But you know I'm not doing anything. Not while you're in this state anyway."

I felt so weak when he held me, even if it was a way to get me to drink something...His eyes held me captive. Again, I couldn't find anywhere else to look. There was just something there. We must have stayed like that for a while, one of my hands wrapped around his waist, and the other resting on the island in the kitchen. Our eye contact was intense, and my hesitation to drink the sludge disappeared when Michael let go of me.

Once I was let go, I looked at the drink, before screwing my eyes shut and gluping down the grainy drink. The texture was awful, and the taste was worse. But I got it down anyway. "Bleh.." I muttered, shaking my head quickly once I had downed the green drink.

"Good girl."

"What?"

"Good. Girl." He enunciated. 

My back against some type of wall, pillar whatever. His hands held me close. My arms around his shoulders for support. My powerless body sank below his. Who was going to break this tension and kiss who? I wanted to kiss him, make him know love. Show him love like none other. My eyes never looked away from his. They were locked, and staring at him. I almost felt like I was going to fall to my knees. "Sober yet angel?"

"I might just be..." We whispered to each other.

Hands suddenly moved, gripping hair, holding faces, unable to find another place to rest as we kissed. If Amanda walked in, I'd be pleased. I was kissing his neck, nibbling and licking at little spots so people could ask who they were from. "Couch, now.." Michael breathlessly mentioned, holding my face. Like a moth to a flame, I obeyed. I laid down before he picked me up, and sat me on his lap. We caught our breaths before my shirt was tugged off, and my trousers came off uncomfortably, but we were both there, kissing gentle spots on each other's bodies.

A flame doesn't usually grind and jerk up at the moth's movements and grips, but I could feel his hard-on and took advantage of the way it was hidden by his boxers. We kept going and Michael wriggled a bit, panting like a dog. His eyes flickered between mine and his bulge, he was deciding where to put his cock first. "Baby... fuck." The man moaned, resting his head on my shoulder. I took the opportunity and slipped his dick out of the boxers. His fingers held the small of my back, breathing heavily. A smooth hand movement started. I moved my hand up and down while the man I was jerking off couldn't even look at me.

Time passed. I had gone from just touching him with my hand, to making sure every inch of his dick had pre-cum and saliva over it. I glanced up at Michael. His head thrown back onto the couch, and still panting like a desperate dog. Seemed he had to edge himself from me touching his cock. The way he looked turned me on more, and he only slightly looked down when he realised I had stopped. "You're so cute, Mikey."

"Shut up..."

A grin made its way onto my face, and I eventually climbed back up onto his lap. "Mm, you're so cute. Whining and panting and moaning. All from me touching and sucking your cock."

"Feelin'...cocky huh?"

"What if I was?"

By this point, we were both breathing heavily. I was grinding on him again, close to fucking him and making him lose his mind. "I'm gonna make you lose your fuckin mind darlin'. "

He held me tight, and almost threw me onto the other side of the couch. My mind was blown at his sudden dominance, I couldn't say anything but stare wide-eyed at the man on top of me. His hand was lightly around my throat, my arms by my side. Anyone would call this cock-teasing because of how badly we both needed this. "Please, Michael. Please." Michael raised an eyebrow and smiled. He found me and had me in his little net for him to play with and stare at.

While I did feel like I was losing my mind, the waiting was unbearable. The cock tease. My doe-eyed stare turned into a dark, attempted seducing look. All Michael needed was a look, and he was fucking me. No holding back.

Fast.

Hard.

What I wanted. But, for a 50-something, I was so surprised in between my moans of how much stamina he had. Michael's promise rang true quickly. I felt brainless. My eyes were at the back of my head, hands gripping hard at the sofa, about to rip the corner of it. My moans, practically scream. "So... much, for cocky hm?" The man on top of me breathed. All I could muster was a nod as he slowed down a bit.

"Is my angel okay?"

"fuck..fuck yes, please.." I was brainless and breathless. Any confidence I had, shot out of me in a second. A chuckle escaped him, and we were back into it. He held every part of me that he was able to. I moaned his name, he occasionally moaned mine. I felt like I was going to come right there and then.

Michael turned me over, grabbed me again and made me stand up for a second before I was on top of him. Eyes stared me down as I rode him. His cock almost hit my cervix every time he thrusted up and I went down.

Slowing down.

Bruises left on my waist.

Panting.

Michael was close, and on my own, I felt like I had cummed more than twice. This man was intoxicating. His hands holding me, his look, the darkness of the sitting room adding to the ambience. "shit, Baby," I knew what he wanted.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. My face was in his neck, and I slammed myself down over and over. I rode him like I had never done it before. This time, I was drunk on his moans and whines. He whined like a sick puppy. He needed every part of me at the same time. He needed me, I needed him. The moth and flame almost mix together because of how badly they want each other.

How long had Michael been keeping this neediness in?

For too long.

We held each tight before I got off his cock, just as he came over himself. His stomach and chest had translucent cum over it.

Thinking quickly, I grabbed the blanket on the floor and gave it to him. The panting man took the hint and cleaned himself up, looking at me as I sat on the other side of the couch, just as naked as he was. "That was...nice I guess."

"you guess?" I remarked, as I picked up the blanket and cleaned myself wherever I needed to.

"What else am I supposed to say?"

"Thanks for the fuck baby, I really liked it and I don't feel so lonely anymore, wanna sleep here tonight? I'll sleep on the couch." I grinned teasingly. He rolled his eyes, but he smirked and handed me my trousers.

"Well, the first part is true at least," Michael mentioned when I got up. He gently wrapped his arms around my hips, placing a kiss on my cheek. "I will let you sleep here though."

"If I get your bed."

"fuck you."

"you just did." 

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

[rreskk]

HEADCANONS: Fem!reader in a relationship with the Holy Trinity

MICHAEL DE SANTA – - “Ah, I’m sorry honey. The movies on.” His love language depends on how much quality time interferes with his own interests. While it may seem neglecting, you’ll come to understand that he’s in his own world. And he makes up by gifting you presents – unwanted or not – trying to reamend the many times he’s bailed on dates, etc. - He may have been a charming man at first, but being in a relationship with Michael really highlights his unfamiliarity with intimacy and connection. He’ll find it hard to communicate his wants due to that barrier between short-term desire and long-term love. You’re usually the one to make a move and give him a foundation to build his trust on. - Michael loves to be glamoured with your compliments and praises. One time he bought a new suit and showed you. After commenting on how handsome he looked, it encouraged him to dive deeper, attempting to drink and eat healthier products but also wear more fitting outfits. You make him look more presentable as you provide support and comfort. - He is a father! When dating a father, here comes responsibilities like parenting advice, and what NOT to say. You’ve experienced how dysfunctional he is. Michael knows he’s a troubling father and he listens to your advice – to an extent. He’ll mostly always add a little twist that completely destroys the meaning of your words, but it’s the consideration that counts. And maybe the tearfulness of his children after. And you annoyance because he dismissed your advice. But hey, that’s Michael! - “You’re dating a movie producer, honey.” Michael will always find a way to be prideful. In all cases where you find a flaw, he’ll shrug it off by mentioning how successful he is (in these flaws), making it sound like a good thing by paradox-ing whatever the hell he’s done – whether that’s criminality or being a selfish ass. -Surprisingly vanilla in the bedroom department. The typical rose petals on the bed and his infamous boxer shorts for when sexy time does occur. Though vanilla, it’s charming because it’s Michael. It’s more bonding he focusses on. Because he’s a bit estranged romantically, he tries to ensure sexual activity is maintained. - He invites you into this nostalgic journey. Allowing him to reminisce really brightens his mood. Even more if you engage and ask questions. It may boost his ego, but he’ll assume you are genuinely interested. - Out of the trio, due to his maturity (even that?) and experience, he’s the most likely to keep you out of the criminality, and so he should! Michael protects you from any dangers and will seclude you from his own issues.

TREVOR PHILIPS – - “What do you mean you were busy?” The most clingiest. He’s very dependant when you earn his trust. Everything has to be outwardly expressed, whether that’s a doctors appointment or Jerry from down the road talking about his heater breaking. Trevor won’t even be interested but he’ll feel safe knowing due to his trust issues. You may get interrogated a lot when you forget to tell him certain things, but if you apologise MEANINGFULLY, he’ll forgive you. Maybe… (The grudge stays there though). - He does carry this intense aura around him and it gets a bit uncomfortable. Trevor has got something constantly making him angry or sad, so you’ll have to deal with this baggage, even if that’s listening to him rant or holding him – as requested. It’s better to say nothing because if you try and be rational, he’ll assume you are devaluing his feelings. - “Why are you closing the door? Leave it open. Ain’t no one here except me.” Trevor does not understand privacy and boundaries. You could be going to the bathroom or wanting time to yourself and he’ll demand you leave the door open. For no reason. He just like hearing you shuffle around. It makes him feel less alone and more safe. However, it can be annoying for you since you are forced to deal with his smell and intensive clinginess. - Very touchy and physical. Trevor has a high sex-drive and will crave bedroom time A LOT. From quickies to a passionate 3 session afternoon which leaves you both gasping for water and the bible. He does make you feel loved though. Not an inch of your skin has been left cold. He has touched you all. One way or another… - Unfortunately includes you in his drama a lot. Trevor doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut, let alone his impulses. And he gets into situations all the time. You are either a target of revenge or a cover-up. No in between. SOS babe, you’re in some trouble.

FRANKLIN CLINTON – - He treasures normality out of them all. Franklin craves a normal relationship where you do your own thing, and he does too. Independence is key. However, sometimes you’ll wonder why he hasn’t messaged in days after he left the house last Tuesday. It can strain a bit of your relationship as you don’t share much details about your everyday life, so you have no idea about the activities he gets up to. Vise versa. - “You need a ride out?” Franklin is also observant though. He sees you getting ready and offers you a ride. He sees you looking for something, offers to look. He sees you frustrated, he offers a solution. Despite being the youngest, he’s got a heart of gold towards  the people he loves. - You don’t have to prove your self-worth by being sexually active. Franklin is open-minded enough to understand boundaries and feelings. Just because you’re distant that day doesn’t mean you hate him, and he knows that. Just because you haven’t been sexually active in the past month doesn’t mean you hate him, he knows that too. - Franklin tries to keep you out of his business but sometimes information slips. He can trust the wrong people and get into some trouble, causing you to be a target of revenge. He tries to be private but he’ll talk to people he’ll deem “trustworthy”, and sometimes they can be the wrong people. - Takes you out a lot in dates. You’ll visit new diners, movies, bars, discos. Whatever. Franklin loves quality time and will ensure you are taken out every week. That’s how he bonds. You can share memories and moments together, whether that’s funny memories or romantic, or maybe sad. He finds value in everything. - The people he surround himself with can strain the relationship. Criminals and gangsters. He’ll invite strange people home and you’ll have to deal with their antiques. Franklin shrugs it off as it’s “business”, but you’ll always find the strangers invading your personal space and privacy. Dangerous strangers as well. It puts you on edge.

[storywriter12]

[19-020221]

i will never forget how not being able to shoot, trevor threw the gun at michael

[songbyrd-writes]

Teen au headcanons

Ship: Michael Townley x Trevor Philips

A/N: I'm fucked up rn (partied a bit too hard) And I'm really out of practice so please excuse how bad this is.

It's not like Trevor didn't have other friends, he had plenty who he could hang out with during lunch but Michael was different.

Together they sit under a tree sharing food off each others lunch trays as Trevor shows Michael the newest punk cd he found at a thrift store, Michael tells him about one of the movies from his dads collection.

---

Michael tries to impress Trevor by dressing more "punk" And ends up shaving his head in their sophomore year which makes Trevor laugh.

Michael just shakes his head, he wants to get into the things that Trevor likes which leads him deeper into Trevors world of teen rebellion.

---

The two sneak out of their houses frequently to hang out at an empty park, smoking weed and drinking whiskey that Michael stole from his dad.

Small moments of shared warmth sleeping together in Trevors beat up truck, the backseats barely big enough to fit the two teens.

---

Sneaking Michael into local basement punk shows, Trevor helping Michael put on eyeliner and spiking his hair for him.

Michael taking Trevor to the cinema whenever they play an old movie that he loves, Trevor doesn't usually like the movies but he loves watching Michael smile at scenes he's already seen twenty times.

---

Trading drunk kisses, high hugs, and showing each other the parts of themselves that they protect from everyone else.

Michael helpjng Trevor sneak into his room whenever he's having a rough night, they don't talk about it when they wake up the next day.

[grandgtaman1a]

The Holy Trinity in love with the same girl [Headcanon]

Pairing: Michael De Santa x Reader, Trevor Phillips x Reader, Franklin Clinton x Reader Characters: Michael De Santa, Trevor Phillips, Franklin Clinton, Reader[Female or Gender Neutral] Summary: Where Michael Trevor and Franklin are in love with you![Anon Request]

AN: I also wrote how the three would know about the other liking the reader Feel free to reblog and let me know your thoughts Do not repost

You are the enigmatic crew member, a highly skilled hacker who plays a crucial role in their criminal endeavors. Lester was amazed by your work and took you under the wing where you met Michael Trevor and Franklin Your intelligence and proficiency in navigating the digital underworld make you an invaluable asset to the team.

Michael’s Perspective:

Michael is drawn to your hacking skills. He sees you as a way out of the criminal world, someone who can help him find redemption. He admires your intellect and dreams of a life beyond the chaos of crime with you.

Trevor’s Perspective:

Trevor is infatuated with your fearless nature, especially when you're hacking into secure systems. He's intrigued by your ability to match his brand of insanity, and he considers you a kindred spirit. His obsession with you both excites and terrifies him.

Franklin’s Perspective:

Franklin is captivated by your charm, wit, and cool-headed approach to hacking in dangerous situations. He envisions a more stable and secure life with you, far removed from the chaos of the criminal world

You, however, keep your emotions and true motivations closely guarded. You use your allure and hacking skills to manipulate the trio to serve your hidden agenda, the nature of which remains a well-guarded secret. This love triangle adds complexity and tension to their criminal activities, making their adventures even more unpredictable as they navigate the treacherous criminal underworld, both in the real world and the digital one.

When Michael, Trevor, and Franklin all come to realize they are in love with you, it would likely lead to a complex and emotionally charged situation. Here's how they might react:

Michael's Reaction:

Michael, the more rational and calculating of the three, would initially try to keep his feelings hidden. He might feel conflicted about pursuing a romantic relationship with you, as he is also driven by his desire to escape the criminal life. He could become withdrawn and contemplative, trying to find a way to balance his love for the reader with his longing for a peaceful life. As the situation unfolds, he might try to maintain a friendship with you while struggling with his own emotions.

Trevor's Reaction:

Trevor, the impulsive and erratic member of the group, would likely react explosively. Learning that both Michael and Franklin have feelings for you would send him into a fit of jealousy and rage. He may confront the other two, leading to confrontations and potentially dangerous situations. Trevor's obsession with you could intensify, making him unpredictable and potentially reckless.

Franklin's Reaction:

Franklin, the younger and more idealistic member of the group, might initially feel guilt and insecurity upon discovering that Michael and Trevor also love you. He may worry that he's not a suitable match for her compared to the older and more experienced Michael or the wild and unpredictable Trevor. However, he could also become more determined to prove himself and win your affection.

The love triangle would create tension and conflict within the group, possibly affecting their working dynamic and leading to emotional outbursts. The reader's feelings and choices would play a crucial role in how this situation unfolds, and her decision could have significant consequences for the group's relationships and criminal endeavors.

[frosted-skies]

trikey —

deliver to: heaven

TW: Dr*gs, overdose and s*icidal ideation

i would wait for you a thousand years, but would my life last long enough?

trevor philips x michael de santa

a series of nine letters, corresponding to the nine years since michael townley’s death during a failed heist in ludendorff, north yankton, written by trevor philips.

the nine letters are kept safely in individual envelopes, stacked chronologically and locked in a wooden box under his bed.

engraved in the wood was:

deliver to: heaven.

—

playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2Yv3sN3tq0kfgZyI83k5P2?si=JKbagLZiS0KzG9A9vOgbjA&pi=a-ATFl3aYgQmuF

2004.

Michael.

I can't believe you’re not with me anymore. I can’t believe you are gone, I can’t believe you are dead. I couldn't leave your tombstone, even after everyone else had left, including your wife and children.

I stayed there for god knows how long. I cried in the cold unforgiving North Yankton winter, kneeling next to your grave. I held onto your tombstone. That smooth concrete with your name engraved.

Michael Townley, 1965-2004.

I wanted to dig out your body, I wanted to look at your face one last time. I cried, screamed, begged for all of this to be a dream. I prayed to a God I didn't even know existed, I yelled into the empty grey skies. I yelled your name. hoping that somehow and somewhere, you’d come back.

Why did it have to end like this? I should have taken that bullet instead of you, I should have died and not you. Why was it you? Why did it have to be you? Why? I don’t know how to live without you, Mikey. You were my everything. And now…you’re gone.

Maybe you’re happier on the other side wherever you end up. I don’t fucking know. But I can’t think of a way to live a life without you. I’d crumble without you. I can’t stop thinking about you. I see you in everything and everywhere. I can’t get you outta my mind. I have a shirt of yours. And a jacket. Those are my only two things that will remind me of you. And I’ll treasure it with my whole life. I promise.

I’m missing you so much, Townley. And I’ll keep missing you forever. I’ll always be waiting for you on the other side. No matter how long it takes. I’m waiting for you. I promise.

T.

2005.

Michael.

It’s been a year since you left me. A fucking year. 12 months, 48 weeks, 365 days, 8760 hours and 525,600 minutes.

All that time. I spent it alone. I moved to another part of the US. I decided to move to San Andreas. Blaine County. Sandy Shores. In a trailer.

I did drugs. All that you could think of. Just so I can fill the void and the never ending pain that your death caused. I still can’t believe that you’re actually gone. Sometimes I saw see you in my dreams. Sometimes I see your face in other people’s. God, I miss you so much I think I’m going a bit crazy.

But I don’t think you would like to see me like this, do you? I don’t know. But I just needed something to quell me from the emptiness that you left me. I still have that shirt and jacket of yours. I take care of it well, so your scent doesn’t ever go away. I kept all the pictures we took. I look at them when I miss you the most. And then I cry my eyes out. And then I smoke meth. And repeat.

One year since you left me and I’m struggling. I don’t know what will happen to me soon. But I’ll wait for you. I promise, I will never forget you and I’ll wait.

I miss you and I love you. Forever. Until I die.

T.

2006.

Michael.

Two years. Two fucking years. Two years have passed since you died.

I don’t know if I’m surviving. Barely.

Writing to Brad. He’s in prison. Even though I hate his guts kinda, I still write. I’m not heartless am I?

I went to visit you up in North Yankton. Still cold as always. I think the priest saw me. I don’t know. Don’t care. I sat there for probably three hours. Talking to you. Talking to a fucking stone. I don’t know if you heard me. I guess you did.

I miss you so much Mikey. I really do. Why did you have to leave me so soon?

I have no energy to write more. I’m gonna go smoke meth probably.

I miss you. I love you.

T.

2007.

Michael.

Three fucking years.

Three.

The more days I live, the more I wonder if I should still stay. My life has no purpose.

My tolerance grew. The usual amount I smoked isn’t cutting it anymore.

I sometimes smoke with a picture of you next to me. You’re my only friend. I think.

I tried huffing gas. Interesting experience. Ended up with a pounding headache and puking my guts out at the abandoned motel. Who cares.

I don’t think I should stay alive anymore, Mikey.

I can’t do this anymore. I’m numb. I feel invisible. Miserable. Horrible.

I should just…die. I have no purpose to live anymore. Especially without you here with me. I’m tired of crying, breathing, and living. I might just die by an overdose. I should.

I’m broken, Mikey. Maybe I’ll see you. You’re waiting for me, right?

T.

2008.

Michael.

Four years. Sorry I wrote later than usual.

I was high as fuck. Took a mix of meth and heroin. Crazy. I probably killed a guy or two. I don’t know.

Almost died. Wasn’t planning to at that moment.

I heard your voice when I was tripping. Were you visiting me Mikey? I missed you.

I dont know if it was the drugs or my imagination. But I swear I saw you.

Planning to overdose next year, on the fifth year. Probably gonna mix a fuckton of drugs. It’ll be effective. I hope so. I just wanna meet you again.

You’re waiting right? Wait for me Mikey.

I’m coming.

T.

2009.

Michael.

Well…I tried.

I overdosed. I drank, I smoked. Somehow. But somehow, I’m still alive. Fuck.

Damn it. Fuck. Wait for me Mikey.

Please. I wanna see you again.

Hold you. Hug you. Talk to you.

Wait for me. Please.

I’ll come to you, Mikey. I promise.

T.

2010.

Michael.

Six years have passed.

I still wished I was the one who got shot. Not you. God. I miss you everyday. It hurts. Even the drugs aren’t cutting it anymore.

I miss you so much. I don’t know how to describe it. This grief seems to go on forever.

Should I just…keep living and accept the fact that you’re gone?

Tried to die twice to meet you but it seems like my life has other plans. Maybe one day I’ll accept the fact that you’re gone. But that doesn’t change the fact that I miss you so much. Remember that.

T.

2011.

Michael.

Coming to terms with the fact that you’re dead is weird. I’m still doing drugs though.

I think I found a friend. His name is Ron or whatever. He's a bit of a weirdo and his wife's an ass.

He's kinda like a little apprentice to me. I started a little drug stint to make money. Forgot to tell you that.

Even though I'm slowly accepting reality…that you're gone…

I will never forget you.

Take my word for that.

T.

2012.

Michael.

Sorry for not writing. Ron got a divorce from his ass wife. He lives in the trailer next to mine. I got another kid. Wade. Very gullible young kid.

I've been thinking of you a lot.

I've fully accepted that you're dead. After eight damn years. Almost a decade of me crying at night because I missed you.

Accepting that you're dead feels weird. Really weird. It's kinda like I've made peace with it. I no longer feel the weight of my grief. Nor have I felt that soul-crushing, rose-thorns-on-my-throat feeling of deathly missing you. Even after all that.

Remember that in another universe I still love you with all my heart.

T.

2013.

Michael.

Happy New Year. Well…I'm a month late. You don't care, do you?

I hope you're okay wherever you are. It's almost ten years since you're gone.

Isn't it weird that everyone grieves differently? I'm here always having you in my thoughts. Maybe your wife moved on quick and married someone else!

Finally accepting your death is calming. I'm not a miserable mess anymore. I have those two idiots and my business to occupy my time.

You're always in my thoughts. I miss you lots, Mikey. I love you lots, too.

T.

[chloe12801]

I've really been loving these headcanons you've been posting since you clearly know the characters so well! I had a weird one, I hope you don't mind lol Could I ask for headcanons on Michael's older daughter (older than Tracey and Jimmy) were to date Steve Haines? Maybe she works for the FIB or something? I just love the idea of added tension for the group lol

Michael’s Daughter x Steve Haines

Sorry this took multiple months for me to write! Life is so busy unfortunately. I hope you enjoy <3

Note: I’m going to call Michael’s oldest daughter ‘Mod’ for brevity’s sake 👍

- Mod was always more morally just than the rest of her family. It was like when parents of a smart kid say “she didn’t get it from me” except with morals

- She was able to get a government job as a secretary without trouble due to her own hard work, distancing from the Townley name, and maybe a good word from Dave Norton

- She was working there before Haines was transferred and once he was, she immediately liked him

- She felt he was entertaining and kind (to her) and after a while they started dating

- She knew it was risky considering he was Dave’s new boss and Dave had so much dirt on her family, but she tried to pretend everything would be fine

- They dated maybe a few months to half a year before Michael came out of retirement

- Haines definitely wanted to meet the parents but she wasn’t having it

- Explanations like “They just aren’t personable”, “They have rough pasts and it shows”, “My parents and I just don’t get along” were given to him about why it’s a bad idea but never much detail

- She knew affairs between the FIB and the De Santa’s were not business to invite home. She already had a hard time getting them to accept her as an employee, albeit a low level one

- Everyone in the family gets upset with Michaels criminality, but she’d be enraged about it considering her and her boyfriend were in government. She’d prefer a clean record type of life, anything else was beneath her

- When M and Haines meet, Michael’s family is unaware about the situation. She only realizes the situation occurred after Steve vents to her one night about a man named townley. M’s so different from Mod, the thought didn’t cross Steve’s mind that they might be related

- She’d likely tell him the truth in that moment, heart dropping and fully being ready for him to leave her but he wouldn’t

- He’d be shocked, not seeing any relatedness and may pull out Mikes picture to confirm that he was her father

- “Well, fuck me. I get your apprehension about us meeting sweetheart. He’s a piece of work” she’d nod

- Her and Michael’s relationship was fine. It wasn’t good but it wasn’t terrible. She was mature enough to see him as a broken man who’s past turned him into a disaster. She accepted him as he was and set boundaries in place to avoid getting hurt. She didn’t like him as a person and never would deal with him if they weren’t related, but he was her dad

- I imagine Mod as a pretty uptight and judgmental person, a strict rule-follower, likely as a coping mechanism to avoid more people like her dad from coming into her life

- Michael would find out about the relationship after Haines mentions it in exasperation about a favor. Something like “I can’t believe Mod came from you”. M would respond angrily asking what the fuck he knew about her and Steve might say something like “a lot considering I’ve been dating your daughter for a while now”

- M would need a shot, or 10, after that realization

- The whole “why didn’t you tell us” conversation would occur between Mod and her parents and Steve would get an earful about his confession from her as well

- Steve would try to involve her in the manipulation as his favors from Michael increased, “Can you persuade your dad to do this, please princess”

- She would at first and then she’d get frustrated feeling like a tool for Haines to use more than a partner who he cared for

- They might even break up over this if Haines didn’t stop immediately

- If they stayed together, mentions of Michael would be an off limits discussion topic for Haines to bring up

- As for Michael, he would need to vent about Haines to someone else if he wanted the relationship between him and Mod to stay being okay

- Lots of boundaries would be required for any longevity in this situation

- Amanda, upon knowing of their relationship, would likely find Haines to be a solid choice when compared to Tracey and her’s choice of shitty men. At least Steve wasn’t putting her at risk 24/7, had a home, and a job. She wouldn’t feel able to judge much

- Mod’s relationship to Trevor would be worse than her and Michael’s but she’d still be understanding of him. They just clash way too much on morality to really get along

Trevor would be so fuming that M raised a “government pig” who hung around other “government pigs”, the whole Haines and Mod thing would make him sick and Michael would get to hear about it very often during T’s tirades

This was a fun character to come up with, I think there’s potential here for sure :))

[sinisterexaggerator]

I am not sure why I never posted this to tumblr.

Michael De Santa x Trevor Philips.

Summary: It is nearing the anniversary of Michael's "death" though he never died. Trevor is drunk, lonely, reminiscing on his life, on his lost time ... and on his unrequited love. He goes to Michael to beg forgiveness for his many sins, though his apology turns into something more ... tangible.

Warnings: Trikey. NSFW / 18+ Blowjobs. Smut. Angst. Cheating. Drunkenness. Lust. Unrequited Love. Pining. Kissing.

Word count: 2,770

----------

It should have been me.

The Unicorn was lackluster; Trevor was on his twelfth beer of the evening; the bartender couldn’t cut him off, it was his establishment. He felt especially low this time of year. It was close to his best friend’s deathiversary, though not really. Michael hadn’t died, he was still alive, and it unnerved Trevor to no end.

A whole decade had come and gone; came and went, and T was worse for wear because of it. He had succumbed to drugs and alcohol, to smoking cigarettes and meth. He’d pop pills, deep dive into his subconscious on peyote, snort cocaine and pharmaceuticals, even heroine. Acid, mushrooms, Adderall, MDMA; ecstasy, but nothing filled the gaping hole - his soul was empty, and his heart had broken into tiny pieces long ago.

He was purposely reckless, feckless when it came to Michael; he was his weakness, though he tried to hide it behind an open, festering sore that resided deep in his center - behind snark and sass, snide remarks that were meant to injure, words full of acidity and retribution, yet they never quite expressed what he was truly feeling. It was nearly too much to bear – especially on days like today, nights like this, his resentment melting into feelings of inadequacy and total, all-consuming self-hatred of himself.

He threw the bottle in his hand against the wall, scaring the poor woman who worked behind the bar; he tossed her a fifty-dollar bill and left; he wasn’t so cheap he wouldn’t tip, even if she was employed by him.

He searched out his keys in his tight-assed hipster jeans, stumbling through the front door and past his bouncer. The man side-eyed him, cleared his throat, meaning to ask him if he meant to drive like that, but Trevor’s wrath was second nature, incomparable to many; if he died, so be it. It was no skin off his back.

T started the Bodhi within two turns of the ignition, cursing out “Start you piece of shit!” and the truck obeyed as if afraid to incur his hatred; if inanimate objects could talk, the Canis would have many a story to tell a listening ear.

It purred to life and Trevor sat there, breathing deeply, trying to regain some sort of focus or equilibrium. It wasn’t working. He felt … sad. Depressed. Venomous. All those missed years, those long days and even longer nights. He had cried, and cried, and cried … and that’s what he felt like doing now.

Trevor burst into tears, then he floored the gas. Swerving, speeding through redlights, green ones, skirting pedestrians, and even a few cops. They couldn’t keep up with him. He was drunk, but an expert driver; he had to be to make quick getaways. He led them through the streets of Strawberry until he made the trek to Rockford Hills; Michael’s lair, his secret hideaway, going by the name De Santa even though he didn’t have anyone to hide from anymore.

The driveway was empty, save Michael’s car; he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think his wife and kids were home. Maybe he was watching movies, eating popcorn, reciting cheesy lines written by his hero, Solomon. Whatever he was doing, he was about to get interrupted, as Trevor had a few things to get off his chest, and now was as good a time as any.

He parked around a corner, out of sight, just in case. One could never be too careful. He was coherent enough to take precautions, though only for Michael's sake.

He stumbled out of the Canis, lumbering forward, nearly falling, sobbing silently, trying to calm himself as he approached the wrought iron gate. It parted for him as if by magic; he didn’t wait, he slipped right in through the smallest crack as soon as it had opened wide enough; Trevor’s boots dragging as he tried to rub his eyes, the pain away, but he knew it was here to stay; the alcohol only made it worse.

He softly knocked at first, not knowing what he was doing, just knowing he had to talk to M; to him, the man he had fallen in love with at first sight all those years ago on a little runway somewhere up north; they’d shared a moment, or at least he thought they had.

His knocking become a fervid, ardent banging, though he didn’t mean to come off as desperate. His emotions were tied up within the sound, but suddenly his fist met air, nearly met with Michael’s chest, and he gasped as he was brought face-to-face with him.

He couldn’t help it - he was handsome, so ruggedly good-looking in his middle-age, charming, witty, and Trevor wished that he were his.

T fell upon his knees, clasping; grasping Michael’s waist and doing what he did best; beg for forgiveness – soak him in his tears. He sobbed without reservation, dirty, broken nails digging into Michael’s khaki shorts. He must have been relaxing, as he was dressed casual enough, though now he was all worked up.

“What the hell, T?!” He tried to move away, pull himself from Trevor’s steadfast grasp, put he was too powerful, his sadness giving him more strength somehow; tenfold what it sometimes was; Michael would know this from experience.

The man wouldn’t stop his heartfelt display, and Michael was worried the neighbors might hear him, jostling his legs beneath T’s iron grip, though he wasn’t going anywhere.

Trevor just kept on crying, the salty remnants leaking down his scarred and battered face, coating Michael’s clothes as he tried to pry his fingers loose.

“Trevor!!!” he finally yelled, loud enough for T’s breath to hitch inside his throat, glancing up at him with two sorrowful, reproachful eyes as the man asked him in his harshest, heavy-handed tone. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Trevor nearly choked, his words catching, his voice at a loss at first, but Michael deserved an answer, even in his drunken stupor, and he said the first thing that came to mind; the truth. It was too easy. “I don’t care that you tried to kill me, M. I love you; I always have. I just wish you loved me, too.”

“W-what?” Michael became quickly flustered, caught off guard, a small hint of a blush tingeing his cheeks red. Of all the things he had expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them; far from it.

“It should have been me, not Brad. I should be dead. I wish it was me instead.” Trevor had shoved his forehead into the waistband of Michael’s shorts, his breathing hard and heavy as he began to sink down further onto the ground, lost in the tempest that was his irksome thoughts. In doing so, Trevor’s cheek lightly brushed against the soft mound of Michael’s cock beneath his clothes; it was unintentional, but it stirred within him something else; he felt desirous, even though he felt like dying.

“Trevor…” Michael paused, thinking hard, feeling guilty, and nearly jumping at the unexpected touch, the perception of his face raking against him. He thought it had been an accident, pushing it from his mind, a deep remorse overtaking him as he looked down at the top of Trevor’s balding head.

“… Don’t say that.” He let his instincts take over for a moment; T was sad. Most people would want to be comforted. He placed a hand softly atop his crown, just to rest there. That was all it took.

“I’m so… I’m fucking awful! I’m rotten. I’m a terrible person. I don’t deserve to live … Mikey … I’m so sorry. For everything.” Any attention that Michael gave him was lapped up like water by a thirsty dog; he leaned into his hand, his groin, and pressed his teeth against him. He latched onto the flaccid outline that lay in wait, sinking in his canines, his incisors, gently, awakening something there, as the silhouette began to ripen and get hard - just slightly.

“Mm-Mikey … Is … Amanda home?” he mumbled out, halfway to a moan.

The question threw him through a loop, but not as much as Trevor’s mouth, he was shocked he hadn’t waited for his answer; his fly was down.

Trevor nuzzled his nose against Michael’s blue and white striped boxers, continuing his impromptu mission, the whole of his mouth encircling his limp phallus through the thin, cotton fabric, as the beige flaps of his cargo shorts were pushed to either side.

The button remained intact as he groaned against him, Michael now partially hard, if not more than that, and Trevor was himself - those jeans of his not leaving anything to the imagination if Michael had been looking.

“Just… how drunk are you?!” What could he be thinking?! What was going on inside his head?! He thought to push him off; his fingers reaching out to grasp his shoulder blades. His nails dug in as he only half-heartedly tried to remove the man from his pursuit. “Trevor … we’re … outside for Christ’s sake… Someone’s going to see us!” He was most definitely concerned - for his reputation, the neighbors. He didn’t want to be talked about.

Trevor’s eyes rose to meet his and he suddenly released him. Michael backed away into the open doorway, nearly stumbling into his own foyer, as he caught the look of ardor held within his “best friend’s” gaze. It somewhat scared him.

Michael outstretched one wavering hand as if to ward off Trevor’s ardency, his fervent lustfulness; the drugs, the alcohol having sent him to a place of no return where his mind was overcome with passion, a zealous appetite for Michael, one that he felt he couldn’t stop nor was he sure he wanted to. “T … W-what are you doing…”

The man crawled forward on all fours, never having gotten up from his pliant position, offering himself in supplication; wanting to make up for all the years of abuse and mistreatment he had endured at Trevor’s brashness, his loudmouth, his forceful will, wanting to rob and kill despite M wanting to be a family man. He regretted pushing him far enough that he thought he had no way out, thinking perhaps a physical act of appreciation would be more than enough to show him he meant business; he had always loved him - he had said it.

His fingers clawed for purchase against the mixed red brick of Michael’s mansion, dragging his body forward, one knee after the other, his eyes wild, a burning fire dancing in their depths. His tongue dragged across his lips and Michael fell, his back pushed up against the stairwell. He meant to speak, but he was speechless, Trevor’s mouth being the one to exude words instead of his. “Now we’re inside Mikey… no more excuses.”

Trevor’s dirtied hands were at the button of his shorts; he released the clasp and pushed them down his thickset thighs. Michael was aroused, afraid, unsure of everything. He hadn’t been intimate with Trevor since their North Yankton days. If Amanda saw, if Tracey or Jimmy came home … he thought his life flashed before his eyes as his now hard, aching cock entered Trevor’s maw.

“Oh, fuck, T…” was all he could think to say. His eyes rolled back, and then his neck. He was starting to remember. Amanda could never service him like this. She had tried, he had to give her credit, but his wife had never been as good as Trevor at giving head.

Trevor’s writhing muscle licked and slathered Michael’s rigid member, his hand moving to join his efforts as it wound around him. He pumped his cock like it was his own, shoving it as far back as he could stand it, the tip tickling his tonsils, a rough growl issuing forth from out of his larynx. It vibrated against Michael’s swollen flesh, and he thought he might cum any second now. He sucked in a deep breath and muttered out a light command. “Slow. Down.”

Trevor nearly cried again out of sheer joy and neediness; the fact he was allowing him to do this. There was nothing quite like the taste of M’s dick inside his mouth; he had a distinct flavor; one he had sorely missed.

He obliged, steadying his stride. He dug a hand in underneath his quarry and cupped his testicles. He weighed them in his hand like precious diamonds, carefully massaging the sac that held his sperm; the prize he pined for.

His suction became long strokes; his cheeks were hollowing out. There was such power within his jaws that Michael began to thrust. His hips had joined him in a patient dance. The one where Michael’s penis pumped inside his eager throat.

Michael couldn’t help himself; he grasped at his little bit of hair. His fingers snaked through the short, brown locks, clawing, carding, shaking as he felt a familiar tug that started in his bowels and rose up his engorged, blood-filled erection.

“How the fuck are you so… so…” He was going to say “good at this,” but couldn’t manage to get the words out. Instead, his brain recalibrated, trying to straighten himself out – but Trevor was just too persuasive, though he chided and berated him. “You’re such a…a dick…”

Trevor was getting sloppy now, his spit dribbling down his lower lip, sliding down his chin. He hadn’t come up for air, he wouldn’t want to lose his chance. If he even so much as took one millisecond to readjust, Michael might slip away, come to his senses, make him get off of him, when T was the one who wanted to get him off; he would do so before the end of it.

Up and down, back and forth, a perfect rhythm in balance with his jerking hips. Michael succumbed to a sound; it had escaped him; one of being pleased too well, nearly beyond anything he had ever felt from a call girl, a prostitute, his wife, Amanda.

Amanda …

The headlights of a car nearly eluded him, shining through the adjacent windows; Michael almost panicked, but in that moment, he came inside T's mouth. His cum rushed out of him in a torrent, collecting behind Trevor’s parted lips. He watched as the muscles in his throat undulated, guzzling his seed with every flex of Michael’s pulsing cock. He swallowed every bit, excited for it; enthusiastic. He made a loving croon of sorts before Michael scrambled backwards and pulled himself from out of his greedy gullet.

“Trevor!! A-Amanda’s… “

The garage door opened; Trevor heard it. He had been gazing into Michael’s steely blue eyes; they were hypnotizing, but then he faltered - he wouldn’t do that to the man. He had to leave, and fast. But first, a kiss.

He wiped his mouth off with the back of one tattooed hand, gruffly sweeping away the remnants of his meal. He leaned forward, snuck to the highest step that Michael had been propped up against, and planted a long, slow sensation across his lips.

He prodded with his tongue, and he was surprised when Michael allowed it. He let him taste him; it was a tease. He heard the rattling of keys.

Trevor stood and turned, running for the door that was still wide open. He wasn’t thinking, and he had slammed it closed. It made a sound loud enough for his wife to hear, as she came in carrying bags of takeout, staring at her husband who was standing unexpectedly right in front of her, sweaty, perspiring, suspiciously out of breath. And he smelled …

“What the fuck, Michael?!?! Did you have a WHORE in our house??!”

“What?! No! I …"

Amanda threw down what she was carrying and stormed in her leather thigh-high boots to the front of their garish mansion. She threw the door open, and Michael prayed to God in heaven; he was Irish Catholic, after all.

She saw something. He hadn’t waited for the automatic gate. Trevor’s boot disappeared beyond the garden wall and out onto the street.

She sighed, held her breath, took a moment to herself. It was better than a woman, and she knew this much about them. It had never been a secret, and she might never live it down. They had always snuck around.

Amanda faced her husband in the foyer, and he had used a hand to slick his hair back. He looked around nervously and she didn’t say a word. She calmly left the room, and Michael could only expel a haggard breath. His heart was racing, but he was unsure of as to why; was he afraid of his own wife, or how much he had liked it?

[theautisticcentre]

DE PHILLIPS

Father figure!Trevor Philips x De Santa!Reader

Y/F/N = Your fake name.

----------------------------------------------

Ever since you could remember, you had been living out in Sandy Shores with Trevor Phillips. You didn't much know of your actual parents, but you knew they fought. A lot. Your mother was involved in the stripper business, and your father was a notorious robber. Whatever they were like, one day, while you were out alone in the snow, Trevor found and ran away with you.

And you never saw your family again.

Today, you walked into the trailer you and Trevor shared covered in blood, finding Wade there. After a few seconds silence, you explained, "Oh, uh, don't worry, none of this is mine." Wade replied, "OK...You seen Trevor?" You shook your head, and went to shower. After a quick 10 minutes, you left the trailer with Wade, only to find Trevor walking up to the porch, causing Wade to hide.

"Heya, dad," you said, before looking to Wade, as Trevor said to him, "Get back here...You're not even hidden. Have you got it?" Wade then defeatedly said, "I've been trying, Trevor." Trevor then gestured to him to climb up, only to punch him as he did, causing you to laugh. "Ah, so, uh, I thought you were locating Michael Townley," you asked.

"There's two Michael Townley's living in Los Santos. One is 83 and the other one is in Kindergarten. I asked her to put him on the phone just to be safe...She threatened to call the cops. I ain't no molester, Y/N!" Trevor angrily respon to Wade with, "Shut up before I molest you, alright! Now, is there anything else?" Wade slowly got to his feet and responded, "I-I looked through the photo directory. I did find a Michael De Santa. About the right age, married with two kids."

"What's his wife's name?", asked Trevor.

"...Amanda."

You and Trevor knew it was Michael.

"It's him. I'll wait in the truck," you said, getting into Trevor's truck. After another few minutes of talking between Trevor, Wade and Ron, all of you except for Ron set off for the trailer park of the Lost MC, set to tie up a loose end. "So, how we doing this?", you asked, causing Trevor to reply, "We're gonna be giving them quite the explosive suprise, my dear son/daughter/child." You were quick to catch the hint.

"Um...that might be nice, but, y'know, I'm starting to get a little wet over here," said Wade, as rain started to pour as Trevor drove. "Hey, so am I, and I ain't complaining," you responded, causing Trevor to laugh. After a few more minutes of driving, you pulled up just outside the Lost MC base. Trevor said, "Wait here, kiddies. Daddy's going to work."

Later...

You and Wade were talking when multiple trailers were blown up, catching you both off guard. As you looked to the scene, you spotted Trevor walking back, a smile on his face. As he got into the truck, you noted, "Well, the Lost are gonna be living up to their name." Trevor nodded, and said, "That they are, kid. Now, let's waste no more time. Let's go find my old buddy." And with that, you three set off on the drive to Los Santos.

"This Michael Townley must've pissed you off real bad, if you wanna find him so much," said Wade. "He didn't piss me off. The guys that killed him, the government bureau. They pissed me off," replied Trevor, before he noticed a bit of blood on your knuckles. "The fuck happened?", he asked, causing you to reply, "Oh, uh, some homophobe was preaching. I preached into his face." Trevor smiled.

As the drive continued, you could sense Wade getting bored. Your sense of compassion took over, and you asked, "Hey, Wade, I got a story if you wanna hear it." Wade immediately, joyfully said, "I like stories!" You smiled and said, "Of course you do. This one's about a troll named...Y/F/N."

"Y/F/N was born to two other, shittier trolls named Amy and Michelle. Amy worked at a strip joint before and Michelle robbed people from under his bridge. Now, Y/F/N wasn't happy. Amy and Michelle argued a lot, and Y/F/N's siblings, James and Trishie, weren't any better. One day, when little Y/F/N was five years old, and left alone in the cold, Y/P ran into a boy named...Trisha. He ran way with Y/F/N, away from the snow, away from the police, away from everything."

"And they lived happily ever after?", asked Wade, to which you answered, "In a way. But the details are for another day." As you replied, you spotted it. The big sprawl of fake and greed.

Los Santos.

You drove to a nearby hill. As you pulled up, you and Trevor got out and walked to the edge, and Trevor said, "So, Michael...this is where dead men come back to life, hmm?" You followed up with, "...Nearly 10 years. Oh, but you didn't even bother looking, did ya, father?...You fucking fuck!" Trevor finished with, "I grieved for you! You weren't even fucking dead...you were my best friend. Well, guess who's coming to shit on your doorstep, you fuck!" With that, you both walked back to the truck, and drove off.

"My cousin lives in a condo in Vespucci Beach," said Wade. You nodded, and you were headed there. "So, Y/N, what you gonna have to say to your old pops when you see him again?", asked Trevor. You thought for a second, before saying, "Well, he certainly won't like my words, that's for fucking sure."

And after another drive, you arrived at the condo. Wade got out and quickly made his way to the front door, you and Trevor not too far behind. "Floyd, it's me, Wade!" "Who?" "Me, Wade, your cousin!" "Who?"

Trevor then kicked the door open, knocking over Floyd in the process.

"Your cousin! Fuck! He's come to visit you, you rude fuck." You three made your way inside. You looked around, and told Floyd, "Nice place. Now you got any Sprunk, E-Cola, shit like that?" Floyd gestured to the fridge, in which you found a can of Sprunk, and swigged it down.

You were gonna need the energy for what you and Trevor had planned.

THE END.

[findyourrp]

21+. She/Her. Looking for some of random fandom roleplays. Please be 21+ to interact! 🎃

I prefer plotting on Tumblr and writing on Discord. I write in third person, past tense. Semi-lit/lit (2-4 paragraphs). I try my hardest to reply daily. Depending on how the work week is going, it may take 2-3 days to hear back from me, though. NSFW/smut greatly preferred (with a healthy dose of plot) but not necessary.

I'm mainly interested in canon x canon pairings (MxM, FxF, or MxF). I'll take on some canon x OC (only MxM or FxF). I like canon or canon divergent plots. As long as the plot makes sense within the universe, I'll generally be okay with it.

I'll just be listing the muses I'm most interested in writing as at the moment. I can write others for most of the fandoms. I have my favorite ships but I'm open to discussing doing pretty much anything.

Doctor Who: Eleventh Doctor, Fifth Doctor, Fourteenth Doctor, Sixth Doctor

Fantastic Beasts: Albus Dumbledore, Theseus Scamander

Game of Thrones: Jaime Lannister, Margaery Tyrell, Roose Bolton, Stannis Baratheon

Ghost BC: Cardinal Copia, Papa Emeritus IV

Grand Theft Auto V: Michael De Santa, Steve Haines

Harry Potter Franchise: Barty Crouch Jr., Cedric Diggory, Cormac McLaggen, Gilderoy Lockhart, Oliver Wood, Severus Snape

Marvel: Benjamin Poindexter, Billy Russo, Bucky Barnes, Frank Castle, Loki Laufeyson, Matt Murdock, Peter Parker (Andrew!Peter only), Tony Stark, Wade Wilson

Saw Franchise: Mark Hoffman, William Schenk

Scream Franchise: Dewey Riley, Jill Roberts, Mickey Altieri, Richie Kirsch

The Walking Dead: Beth Greene, Gareth, Merle Dixon, Shane Walsh

If interested in working something out, please message me (highly preferred) or like this post and I'll message you.

.

[marchsfreakshow]

Sorry 'Bout It~! [Michael De Santa]

fluff / teasing smut // just a drabble

Being Michael's constant affair partner was a situation. Especially when you were friends with his children before-hand.

Take it. Another Michael fic because I have old man Mikey brainrot. He's invaded me with this song.

Now a wedding present for my friend @danzinmfndaze! I love you lotta daze and I hope you enjoy this when you get a chance<3

No one's perspective

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

1am.

The most silent yet noisest time of night.

Amanda, somewhere in another man's house, Tracey, 'partying' at a producer's place, Jimmy, deep in his games. Michael?

With you, in his pool out the back of his mansion. In your favourite swim suit. Enjoying the warm water in the moonlight, shining stars brightining your time together. "If only Jimmy wasn't here.." a whisper escaped your lips as you glanced up at the house.

"Useless little shit..." Michael's only response to your words.

"Hey! He's a cool guy sometimes."

"Nuh uh. Shh, this isn't about Jimmy. It's about you sweetheart." His words only served as consent, for his kisses on your neck. They never went further than kisses and caresses when you were in that warmed pool of his. A noise between a chuckle and a moan left you as those kisses became bites, licks and nibbles. Small marks pressed around the skin of your neck.

"Mikey.." the little whimper left your lips, and it served as some fuel for Michael's fire.

"c'mon...it's been so long angel."

Sudden hesitation. It froze you, and as much you were in lust with the older man...there were always worries in the back of your mind. I mean, you were friends with his kids. Close friends with Tracey and the one who would just sit with Jimmy, playing Righteous Slaughter with him. "What? You worried suddenly?" He asked gently against your ear, frowning slightly.

"I...I suppose so. I'm not sure how to describe it."

"describe it best you can to me sweetheart, c'mon.." His hand rested on your thigh, softly stroking it under the warm water. That warm voice of his. It always melted you. No matter what.

It took you a moment to find a response. But you found it, eventually. "Knowing Jimmy is like...right there, and he's my best friend it's...it's breakin my heart Mikey.."

"oh baby.." A vibrating hum left your lips in response to the nickname, escaping his eye contact. His wet fingers reached up to your chin, pulling your face close. Glassy, worried eyes meeting more stronger, confident looks. Michael would be the death of you, and you both knew it. "You are the best person i've ever bought things for. I..I love my family, you know I do...but jesus I think I love you more."

"don't say that Mike.." Awkward chuckle escaping you, smiling gently as he pressed his lips to yours. Such darling kisses, always melting you. Momentarily letting you forget the other three members of the De Santa family.

"it's true.. always will be.."

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Tag: @beetleblunt

[rreskk]

2 IN 1

A smutty oneshot between fem!reader and trikey

Summary: You had a fetish for older men. Luckily they took you into their arms and lifted the weights from your shoulders with the snap of their fingers.

Word count: 1477 TW: Smut, threesomes, perversion, dirty talk, cnc.

“I think I prefer you without the dress on.” Trevor sneered as he watched you engulf the heavy erection of Michael’s, his face scrunching with mere delight the moment your tongue made contact with his sensitive tip again after taking turns for the past hour.

You were unresponsive to his comment since your mouth remained occupied with another man.

“I like this girl,” He murmured to Michael. “She’s a real beauty… Gorgeous ass, perfect tits. I gotta know what that pussy tastes like…”

“She’s all yours.” You heard the other man croak from the immense pleasure he was facing. It excited you; being passed around like meat.

“You hear that? You’re all mine, baby.” Trevor spoke from behind. Shivers ran up your spine. While you ducked your head back onto Michael, swirling his cock around as you sucked upwards and down, enjoying the surface layer of sweat and his natural scent of booze.

You hardly noticed the way your lower body got adjusted into a kneeling position. Until his breath seized the surface of your backslide, causing you to grow sloppy and whiney.

“Oh, oh…” Michael smirked down at your reaction to Trevor’s breath facing your rear side. “I think she’s ready for you, T.”

“You don’t say?” The other man returned with a passionate gaze. “Delicate pussy, sugar… Are you sure you’re not a virgin? All I see is pureness. Such a pure, sexy pussy.”

“Mhm. Something tells me she’s experienced.” He’d grunt. “Ain’t no one suck like this before.”

Trevor’s lips switched into a hefty grin. He raised an eyebrow as his friend continued to get the royal treatment of having you devouring his lap with an apparent experienced tongue. It made him curious. If you weren’t a virgin; he wanted to gain an opportunity of giving you a newer experience.

His fingers caressed the sight of your open pussy that was building up with arousal and cum. It trailed from your clit, downwards, reaching your anus, his fingertip gently pressing against it, noticing how your back arched at the sudden sensation of having your rear side fondled.

He inserted a finger and heard a distant groan of your lips fighting against Michael’s abnormally sized cock that hardened and increased in size. Trevor smirked. He continued to insert his finger until you cried out in clear indications of your acknowledgment.

“Atta girl…” He responded and softly kissed your lower back, his finger still within your anus. “I’ll go easy, sugar. I’ll go easy.”

You whimpered into Michael as drool seeped from your lips and down his sensitive skin. The man you were tasting started to stroke your hair, a comforting gesture while his best friend explored your lower body, enjoying as much as you had to offer from your body that they craved for.

Trevor kissed down your inner thighs until he reached your pussy, pecking around the inner folds before closing his eyes and taking you into his mouth, his fingers still stationary in your anus, occasionally moving to make you grunt or whine his name.

He was gentle then turned aggressive. Michael’s grip on your head kept you occupied so you faced overstimulation of having all your holes loved. Tears were brimming and your cheeks were damp. It was all out of pleasure. You never experienced so much sensations that you stared up at Michael, sobbing on his cock as he’d tug on your hair with domination.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” He calmly encouraged you to keep sucking. Though it sounded like a demand, scaring you into bobbing your head repeatedly in case you lose favour of his praises.

The same goes to Trevor who took breaks in between your cunt so he could admire how sensual your body looked from between your legs. He saw your breasts dangle and scrape the covers whenever you throated Mikey’s cock; your nipples erected and stomach bloating out with your heavy breathes.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect, baby.” Trevor worshiped before detaching himself from your rear side and  standing up. He hovered over you instead, his hands grasping your hips and caressing your soft skin that was heated and warm with sexuality.

Michael noticed and smiled up to his friend who was going to take advantage of how loose you had got from Trevor’s tongue making love to your pussy. “That time already, T?”

“Can’t help myself,” He grunted and unbuckled his pants. “I’m in love with this slut.”

“I’m sure she’ll love it rough.”

“Keep her working, Mikey. Make use of her throat,” Winked Trevor who lowered his head down to your shoulder blade, whispering into your skin with a husky voice. “It’ll be hard to stay away from you after this, Angel.”

Your cheeks blushed and you were going to answer back but Michael pushed you back into his cock, leaving Trevor to laugh at how messy you had got with your hair tangled and tears trickling down your shiny face.

“Remember the rules, baby.” Mikey muttered.

“She’ll remember.” Trevor exhaled in relief when he lined up his own cock to your rear side. He tested the area, rubbing himself into your inner thigh and the opening of your anus before making up his mind, thrusting into your pussy instead.

Both of you made a high-pitched noise that sent shivers up Michael’s spine.

He had the luxury of seeing his best friend suddenly pound into you; his hairy chest clenching inwards as he’d inhale sharply, pleasuring himself to the feeling of your pussy around his eager cock that currently twitched and shouted for mercy.

“How’s she feeling?” Mikey asked, smirking.

“Like a billion fuckin’ bucks…” Trevor bit into his lower lip and thrusted back into your soaked cunt. “I love this girl, Mikey… She’s an Angel…”

“You hear that, darling? You’ve got him wrapped around your pretty little finger.” Both of them snickered to themselves.

You couldn’t talk back. Suffering the gag of the older man’s skin rubbing into your tongue, their banter degraded and tormented your pleasure. You wanted to initiate dirty talk back and express your satisfaction but the appeal was denied.

Trevor started to increase his pace once he grew confident. His nails pierced your hips as he thrusted with a low moan, closing his eyes for a moments rest and opening up to see Michael petting your head like a low-life pet. His lips quivered with joy; hips slamming in and out enough to hear you whimper into Michael’s cock that’s close to coming inside your throat again.

They made you swallow him for the third time when he came. The man’s groan sounded painful but you knew it was out of relief, swallowing his salty fluids and returning to his now softness. You needed to make him hard again – you were ordered to by the grip in your hair.

“Mhm… I love that,” Trevor murmur from behind, spreading your legs more so you lost balance and fell right into Michael’s cock, deep-throating it with a loud whine. Trevor thrusted into you again with a wide smirk, “Louder, sugar. Louder.”

Tears swell your eyes again.

“You’re making her cry.”

He grinned towards Mikey and recoiled inside again, “I can hear her. Is the pretty girl coping?”

“She’s coping beautifully,” Michael caressed your chin with a soft smile before repositioning his cock from your throat and rubbing into your cheek. “You had enough, sweetheart?”

“No… No.” Finally, you spoke.

“You want more?”

“Please.”

Mikey nodded and slapped his tip onto your tongue again.

“She likes us.”

“Ngh! – “ He grunted when you sucked him straight away, leaning back and giving Trevor a dazed face of bliss.

“I can feel you getting’ close, baby,” Trevor’s breath penetrated the back of your ear as he properly inserted himself deep down, hitting every surface with aggression and violence, assaulting you with consensual lust.

Your face scrunched up and body started to shake uncontrollably.

“I’m gonna cum inside you.” He demanded before pushing your head back down onto Michael’s lap and forcing himself against your core, panting as he started to orgasm, his semen buried deep within your body, breeding you with his own DNA.

Soft cries left your lips and Michael watched your back arch into Trevor’s chest. He smirked.

“Fuck, fuck… Sugar, fuck – “ His friend whinged and collapsed against you; his bodily weight trapping you against Michael’s frame, like a human sandwich toasting you alive.

Trevor’s cock remained tucked inside your beaten pussy as cum drippled out. His nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck, eyes barely opening but still gaining the sight of Michael rubbing the pre-cum from your lips.

He exhaled sharply and gave you gentle kisses against your jaw – an example of his low-effort aftercare while you took Mikey out of your mouth, finally accessing the courage to talk after the minutes of non-stop playing.

“Thank you,” Your voice wobbled. “Thank you. Both.”

[darkdoverpseeker]

21+. She/Her. Looking for some of random fandom roleplays. Please be 21+ to interact!

I prefer plotting on Tumblr and writing on Discord. I write in third person, past tense. Semi-lit/lit (2-4 paragraphs). I try my hardest to reply daily. Depending on how the work week is going, it may take 2-3 days to hear back from me, though. NSFW/smut greatly preferred (with a healthy dose of plot) but not necessary.

I'm mainly interested in canon x canon pairings (MxM, FxF, or MxF). I'll take on some canon x OC (only MxM or FxF). I like canon or canon divergent plots. As long as the plot makes sense within the universe, I'll generally be okay with it.

I'll just be listing the muses I'm most interested in writing as at the moment. I can write others for most of the fandoms. I have my favorite ships but I'm open to discussing doing pretty much anything.

Doctor Who: Eleventh Doctor, Fifth Doctor, Fourteenth Doctor, Sixth Doctor

Fantastic Beasts: Albus Dumbledore, Theseus Scamander

Game of Thrones: Jaime Lannister, Margaery Tyrell, Roose Bolton, Stannis Baratheon

Ghost BC: Cardinal Copia, Papa Emeritus IV

Grand Theft Auto V: Michael De Santa, Steve Haines

Harry Potter Franchise: Barty Crouch Jr., Cedric Diggory, Cormac McLaggen, Gilderoy Lockhart, Oliver Wood, Severus Snape

Marvel: Benjamin Poindexter, Billy Russo, Bucky Barnes, Frank Castle, Loki Laufeyson, Matt Murdock, Peter Parker (Andrew!Peter only), Tony Stark, Wade Wilson

Saw Franchise: Mark Hoffman, William Schenk

Scream Franchise: Dewey Riley, Jill Roberts, Mickey Altieri, Richie Kirsch

The Walking Dead: Beth Greene, Gareth, Merle Dixon, Shane Walsh

If interested in working something out, please message me (highly preferred) or like this post and I'll message you.

.

[d-u-s-t-9379]

Hi @tdutchartist! And Merry Christmas! I was your @gtavfest secret santa <3

I had so much fun writing this inspired by your celebration prompt! I hope you like it!

Title: Sneaking Beers

Words: 3,870

Ship: Michael x Trevor (My first time writing Trikey! I love reading it but have never been confident in my ability to write it, so I hope you enjoy!)

Summary: The boys go out for one (definitely only one) drink to celebrate a successful job. Drunkenness ensues.

No one had turned the lights on in the motel room. And as the sun had sunk, it found the windows – rosy, prying fingers of light forced through cracks – and painted the walls a sultry orange. But no one was there to witness the warm golden hour and it quickly faded to gloom. And no one turned on the lights

So that it was sitting dark; slipped into night without any acknowledgment of the march of time. No recognition of the day that had passed for all the – no doubt – innumerable creatures who inhabited the economical room. The rats in the walls; the cockroaches beneath the bath; the microbes growing between the sheets. This last should certainly have been afforded some kind of celebration for seeing in a new sunset. Given how short their lives were.

But what no one tells you, is that the question – you know the one. The one that goes If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is around to hear it. You know. That one?

Yeah.

That question is only important, or even interesting, because we assume the no one – the one who isn’t around to hear – must be human.

No one cares, or thinks about, empty motel rooms.

There must be people in them to make them interesting. To make a story.

So, let’s add some.

---

This is not an empty motel room.

This is an emphatically not empty storage lock up.

Not empty because it contains a car. And not empty because that car contains three dark clad figures.

Their faces are covered by masks – ridiculous, plastic clown masks – and they sit in the car, in the dark. They are listening to sirens outside.

Muffled by the shuttered door of the lockup, the sirens nonetheless grow louder. And louder still.

And then, once more, louder.

Then they receded.

A breath was released. Not by any of the figures in the car. No, they were far too experienced by now to hold their breath for the LSPD. They released no puff of relieved air when the patrol cars fled past without a care in the world.

By the universe then. The breath released.

As though the universe gave a shit.

Or at least, it never had before to the man who climbed out of the motionless vehicle first, yanking off the claustrophobic mask first and tossing it in the back seat. It hit the man sitting there who made a wordless noise of disapproval. Michael De Santa, nee Townley, pulled his phone from his pocket as he levered himself out of the passenger side seat. He squinted in the blinding blue light, and it took a moment for him to find the number. It rang only a couple of times.

‘Hey, Lest,’ he said into the hand piece, keeping his back to the car. ‘Yeah, we got it. Pretty easy actually. Maybe too easy. Ground forces seem to have lost us, but you mind checking they don’t got a bird in the area before we come out of here with our asses hanging out?’

A pause and then Michael said, ‘Okay. Thanks.’

He turned back to find his two accomplices had emerged from the car as well. Franklin was leaning with his arms folded on the roof – he’d taken his mask off too. The third had left his on.

Michael found the plastic eyes – with the dark holes cut out for sight – disconcerting. He looked instead at Franklin. ‘So?’ the younger man asked. ‘We good?’

Michael shrugged before saying, ‘Apparently. No more units in the area and Lester said-’

The rest of his sentence was drowned out by a whoop that filled the confined space of the garage. The third man finally ripped off the mask and Michael didn’t think what lay beneath was any easier to look at.

The lock up was hot in the early evening sun, but it was more than just that which drew the sweat from Trevor’s brow. Beneath the heavy structure, eyes glinted. Deceptively keen, deceptively clever eyes. But the grin the spread across his face, that showed all his teeth, was genuine – as much as it was chemically fuelled. Natural and synthetic.

Adrenalin and speed.

‘Lester said,’ Michael repeated loudly, avoiding looking too long at his old running buddy, ‘we should be good to leave the stuff here. Someone will come by and pick it up and we’ll get paid once it’s been verified.’

‘And we got a guarantee on that?’ Franklin asked, eyes narrowed. ‘Like, it’s for definite.’

‘What are you expecting, kid? A pro forma? Guy said he’d pay us on delivery. We gotta take him at his word.’

Trevor scoffed loudly. ‘And we all know what a man’s word means to you, Mikey.’

 This earned him a look – albeit short lived. ‘For now,’ Michael continued doggedly, ‘let’s all go home; keep quiet; and see what happens.’

Franklin nodded, but Trevor was blocking the exit. ‘Oooooor,’ he drawled, placing his feet wide and raising his hands to point at them. ‘We could not be total fucking pussies. Go out. Get a few drinks.’ His movements became more energetic as he spoke, more erratic. ‘Fucking celebrate, man! We’ve done a good, long day’s work here. Least we can do is get some beers in.’

Michael looked doubtful, but Franklin was already nodding. ‘Sure, dog. I could use a fucking drink.’

‘Alright!’ Trevor’s hands clapped together – the sound echoed off the wall. ‘Mikey? Come on, sugartits. You owe me a drink.’

‘I don’t know, T. Amanda is-’

‘Fuck Amanda!’

‘Watch it, T.’ The look Michael gave him was dangerous, but at least he was looking at him.

Trevor’s smile grew.

‘Come on,’ he wheedled. ‘One fucking drink. Just to toast our success. Come on. One.’

---

Six, Michael thought, looking down at the heavy-bottomed glass on the table. It shifted before his eyes, splashing amber liquid. No. Seven?

And Michael was laughing. Genuinely, belly-clutching, wiping tears away, laughing. Laughing like he hadn’t in years.

Because Trevor was telling stories.

There were many things about Trevor that were utterly clear to the naked human eye. Many aspects of his personality that made themselves known to even the most obtuse observer. That he hadn’t bathed in a number of months; that some substance stronger than caffeine was fuelling him; that he was dangerous.

But as clear as all these things were, there was still – even Michael must admit – much about him that was unexpected. And one of these hidden attributes, one that was making itself known tonight, was that he was a great storyteller.

‘So the guy – headless chicken in hand – looks at Michael. And Michael’s walking like he’s just shit his pants with all this cash stuffed down the back of his jeans.’ Pausing, Trevor pointed a finger at Franklin, and said, ‘Now, if there'd been a dye pack in this take, that'd’ve been quite a show.’

‘Man, fuck you,’ Franklin said, but he was laughing too.

‘I don’t know how we'd have explained that one.’

Trevor’s eyes slipped to Michael, who shrugged and suggested, ‘Explosive diarrhoea.’

‘Always did say you were full of shit, Mike. But, as it was, we never even got that far. Because before we could even ask if he had a phone we could use, he turns to us and goes-' Trevor’s voice ratcheted up an octave, taking on an exaggerated yokel twang that was completely out of character with where the story was actually set ‘- Hold on just one gosh-darn minute! I know you fel- Bang!’

The table shuddered, ice clinking in glass, as Trevor drove his fist into the surface.

‘Mikey shoots the poor old guy. Straight through the fucking chicken in his hands. Chest cavity explodes. Blood and fucking feathers everywhere!’

Not laughing any more, Franklin looked at Michael, sitting in the booth beside him. Michael shrugged again.

He knew the ending to this story.

‘Then, this man,’ Trevor continued, indicating Michael once more. ‘This man, who has just mowed down droves of pigs; who has just massacred some poor, innocent old farmer. This man steps up to the body, looks down at the gory sight, and says-'

Trevor stopped, hands held out to Michael like a showman presenting his finest act. Looking down at his drink and unable to hide the wry smile creeping across his face, Michael concluded the tale.

‘Poor chicken.’

Trevor was the only one who laughed. Head thrown back and loud enough that, even in the crowded bar, he drew some irritated looks. It was the type of place that, ten years ago, would have been considered a dive. But after a celebrity was spotted slumming it and trying to pass for a normal human being, it had experienced a brief period of trendiness – during which it had exchanged its real grit for the faux stuff. The kind that made you feel like you were somewhere with an edge, while you rubbed elbows almost exclusively with finance bros.

And though the celebrities had long since moved on to other, harder to find spots, their pictures still adorned the walls amidst the store-bought, easily consumed knickknacks of Vinewood glitz and glamour. The bar desperately clinging to their five minutes in the sun. That they had allowed Trevor on the premises was a sign that things were returning to the natural equilibrium though. Already Michael could see the nervousness settling in. Young men in suits looking uncomfortable as their favourite dive bar became just a little too realistically gritty.

Though, Michael was perhaps being unfair on them. After all, Trevor was too gritty for most people.

Grit ingrained so deep within the pores of his skin it would never come off.

‘Yo,’ Franklin said. ‘For real?’ He was looking at Michael with a perturbation he hadn’t in a long while.

‘Look, kid, it’s not what you think. The guy was a retired cop. He knew me from back in the day. Plus he was a prick. Used to beat the ever-loving shit outta his wife. Everyone knew.’

‘As if you gave a fuck about his wife,’ Trevor barked.

Franklin felt the conversation needed some steering. ‘What happened to the chicken?’

Michael looked to Trevor who shrugged and said, ‘Made a mean pot pie.’

With a chuckle and a shake of his head, Franklin slipped out of the booth and said, ‘Sure, dog. Was the chicken you put in the pie.’

‘What are you implying, Frankie?’

‘I ain’t implying nothin’, man. You may be inferring some shit, but I ain’t implying nothing.’ He gave the older man a look that was entirely innocent. ‘I’mma hit the pool table. You dogs wanna join?’

‘Nah.’ Michael burped. ‘I stand up right now I’m gon’ end up on my ass.’

‘Trevor?’

‘You go ahead, kid. I’m quite comfortable where I am.’

Michael heard Franklin walk away and concentrated on the table in front of him. The wood grain was flowing water – streaming across the surface in a rippled wave. He blinked and realised his excuse to Franklin had been truer than he'd thought.

It took an effort to raise his gaze and he wished he hadn’t. Because it was only to find Trevor’s on him. Those dark eyes that could glint no matter how dull the light was – like they contained it. Like a log in a burned low fire, black and cracked on the outside but still a scintillating, fluid inferno within. They lit a fire beneath Michael’s skin.

And it sparked his temper.

‘The fuck do you want?’ he snapped before he could stop himself.

The slow smile that unfurled across Trevor’s face was triumphant. ‘Nothin’.’

‘Then quit fuckin’ staring, creep.’

Trevor’s brow shot up. His grin was still amused, and it only pricked Michael’s nerves more. ‘Creep?’

‘Oh, fuck off.’

‘Didn’t realise it bothered you so much.’ There was a creak of cheap pleather as Trevor settled further back into his seat. ‘What, I’m not even allowed to look at you anymore?’

‘Not like this, man,’ Michael muttered. His fingers drummed on the table spanning between them, wood still shifting like sand. He could almost feel it beneath his fingertips.

That’s what they had exchanged it for, right?

What he had exchanged it for.

Fucking sand.

Fucking sand and fucking palm trees.

But he could smell snow.

‘You’ve been staring all day. It’s creepy.’

‘Only ‘cause you’ve been avoiding meeting my eye all day.’

Like a string pulled taut between them, Michael’s eyes sprung up and caught on level with Trevor’s. ‘I-‘ There was heat rising from the collar of his shirt. The AC in this stupid, pretentious dive was probably busted. ‘Like hell I have.’

Trevor’s head cocked to one side. He said nothing.

‘I haven’t,’ Michael insisted, though even to him it sounded unconvincing. ‘I-’ The lies melted on his tongue – dissolved in whisky and salt water – leaving only the truth. Still he hesitated over it. Less than honest at the best of times, Michael had always found it even more difficult where Trevor was concerned. So he took a breath before saying, ‘You look weird.’

Whatever Trevor had been expecting, this drew him up short. His brows crashed back down; fresh fuel to the fire. ‘What?’

Michael looked down again, back to the safety of his drink. He raised it to his mouth but didn’t drink yet. ‘I don’t like that you shaved your head,’ he slurred into the glass. His lips felt strange – swollen.

There was a pause and then. ‘I don’t like that you abandoned me for nine years.’

Bleary eyes found Trevor, grown around mournful frustration. ‘Can we hang out for once without you bringing that up?’

Another pause.

Michael didn’t look this time.

He couldn’t imagine a favourable response. But then Trevor said, ‘Sure, Mikey.’

Though he half suspected this to be Trevor’s intention, Michael looked up again nonetheless. But Trevor wasn’t watching him now. Face turned away, he was staring at the table. One elbow resting on the surface, he scratched at the back of his freshly shorn head.

Michael found himself watching the movement closely. The flex of his roughened fingers and the crease of skin stretched thin across bone, revealing every curve and line.

‘After all,’ Trevor continued after a moment. ‘It’s a celebration.’

---

The strip club was a mistake.

Two blocks before they arrived at its door, Michael had already realised it was a mistake.

It had seemed like such a good idea when they’d left the bar.

But somewhere in the short walk between the two establishments, Michael had sobered up enough to rethink this decision. Still, he followed Trevor and Franklin inside regardless and – after a number of whiskey shots and a couple of private dances – it was back to being the best damn idea they’d ever had.

After all, like Trevor had said, it was a celebration.

And Michael felt like celebrating.

So much so, that he didn’t even care when – several hours and another, fresher number of whiskey shots later – he was all but carried outside by Trevor.

He didn’t care. No he didn’t care. Not at all.

It’s not like there hadn’t been nights in the past, many in fact, that had ended the exact same way. There was something familiar about it. Even now, nearly a decade later and untold pounds heavier, Trevor’s arm around his torso, strong as an iron beam, kept him up. Familiar. Almost comforting.

Not that he cared.

He didn’t care.

‘Ughhh,’ he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut against the assault of night air. ‘I’m gonna throw up.’

‘Let it all out, bud.’

Michael could feel the words pass from Trevor’s chest to his. ‘Or I’ll shit the bed.’

‘Let it all out.’

‘Ay.’ Franklin’s voice. The kid was still here? Shit. Had he said anything weird? Done anything? He hadn’t- Everything was spinning.

He remembered his eyes were still closed. But opening them didn’t help.

‘He gon’ be good?’ Franklin was asking. ‘He’s pretty drunk-’

‘Yeah, I’m drunk!’ Michael agreed enthusiastically – too loudly. ‘I’m fuckin’ drunk- mm’fuckin’… Bleeeeeh.’

The world heaved and for a terrifying, stomach-lurching moment Michael thought he’d fallen, but it was only Trevor readjusting his hold – pulling Michael’s arm more firmly over his shoulders. ‘He’s fine, kid,’ he assured Franklin easily. ‘I’ve seen him worse. He just needs a bed to sleep it off. I’ll get him home. He’ll be fine.’

Doubt softened Franklin’s voice. ‘Man, you sure?’

‘Trust me.’ Trevor’s was solid as wood. ‘I know him.’

‘I- I know me,’ Michael informed them. He added, in a quieter mumble, ‘I just don’t like me.’

Trevor met Franklin’s pointed look head on and said, ‘Ahh, he’s always saying that!’

And Franklin had to admit that was true. ‘Alright,’ he said, and the word trailed into oblivion. He remembered that he was far from sober himself and suddenly his bed was the most enticing thing he could imagine. And Trevor was sober – well, as sober as T ever got. He’d see them alright.

Right?

But Franklin’s head was spinning too fast now to properly answer that question. With a shake of his head, which he quickly regretted, he waved the two men, alongside his concern, away. ‘Whatever, man,’ he slurred as he stumbled away. ‘I’ll see you next time.’

‘Safe home, kid.’

‘S’f’ome,’ Michael echoed.

And then Michael blinked and Franklin was gone. And they’d teleported several blocks over. And Michael’s head felt like it had a tent peg buried in it. The kind he’d seen fathers teach their sons how to anchor into the ground in movies. Film fathers that took their sons camping. Not like his old man who’d left before teaching him anything approaching useful. Not like his stepfather who had taught him only how to take shit that didn’t belong to him – but never got around to imparting the secret of how to enjoy it.

Not like-

Michael’s feet – half walking, half dragging along the sidewalk – stopped.

Trevor stopped too. He looked over at Michael and their faces were discomfortingly close. ‘What’s up, buddy?’

‘Hey, T?’ Michael’s tongue felt twice its usual size and he had to concentrate on forming the words.

‘Yeah, M?’

‘Did your dad ever take you camping?’ His vision was still blurry, like looking through rippling water, but Michael thought Trevor was frowning.

‘Are you fucking kidding?’

‘Yes… No.’ He laughed through his nose. ‘I always wanted to take Jimmy. But I- I never did. I don’t know why. And now- now…’ He laughed again and, flinging his arms suddenly wide, knocking Trevor away, he gestured in an expansive circle around them. ‘Now, where would I take him? If he was even interested. An alley behind Vinewood Boulevard? A homeless camp under an overpass in Mission Row?’

There was no reply. After a moment, Michael noticed Trevor watching him – not with animosity, but something that might be called thoughtfulness. Michael, swaying on his feet, looked back at him belligerently. ‘What?’ he asked, his voice husky.

He could almost feel the whisky seeping from his pores. Sobriety crept over his limbs, injected by Trevor’s fierce look.

It felt hot. Like morphine in his veins.

‘What are you fucking looking at?’ he snapped.

Trevor stepped forward.

For the first time Michael noticed where they were. The alley was bare and quiet. Gas stains mottled dusty concrete and drains steamed with heavy fug. A half-hearted street light spread a soft glow across the deserted urban landscape. Warm orange light that caught Trevor’s eye.

Michael’s heart stuttered in his chest. He felt lightheaded.

Trevor was close now. And normally that would make Michael nervous. But whether it was the alcohol, or the residual high from pulling off the job, tonight it didn’t. For some reason. Tonight, Michael didn’t step back. Didn’t pull away. Didn’t put space between them.

Still Trevor said nothing. Only looked.

And those eyes – near hidden in the shadow of his heavy brow – were inescapable.

Growing up there had been few restraints in Michael’s life. So long as he didn’t annoy the adults in his life, they couldn’t give a shit what he got up to. So long as they didn’t have to see him, he could pretty much do as he pleased.

There had only been one hard rule.

Never take his stepdad’s beers.

And so, of course, Michael had begun sneaking them at a very early age. And though he could have found other ways to get booze, and though each bottle was a risk of getting the ever-loving shit beat out of him, he kept taking them.

Because it wasn’t about the beer. It wasn’t about getting drunk.

It was about the thrill.

And there and then, in that dingy alley in Los Santos, he felt like that kid again – carefully extracting a glass bottle from an open fridge. Praying that it didn’t clink against the others; or the door didn’t open behind him and his stepdad walk in; or his hitched breathing, deafening to his own ears, give him away.

Michael felt that same thrill now as he reached up and, without looking in those eyes, brushed his fingers against the shorn, bristly stubble on Trevor’s head. He could feel the hot skin, and beneath that thin barrier, his skull.

Heart in his throat and praying the bottles didn’t clink together, Michael asked, ‘Why did you do it?’

Trevor’s voice was low and gruff, and close enough to feel. ‘It was going anyway.’

Michael’s fingers moved, rubbing the strangely soft cranium. Trevor’s face changed, but Michael wasn’t looking to see it.

‘You don’t like it, huh?’

Michael shook his head.

But even he couldn’t be blind to the grin that spread wolfishly across Trevor’s features. ‘Yeah,’ Trevor said softly. ‘You do.’

When Trevor moved it was blurry – fuzzy like a film not quite in focus. And Michael wasn’t sure if – if he’d been sober – he’d have reacted differently. But, confused and cotton-headed, he didn’t draw back. And when Trevor’s mouth crashed onto his it was as teeth. As want and need and heavy desire.

It was as heat and pain. As razors and pleasure.

He didn’t pull away.

He didn’t pull away, he kissed him back.

And the heat and pain and desire and need – it wasn’t all on one side.

In the end it was Trevor who pulled them apart. Only to look – as he had been looking all night – at Michael and, breathless, say, ‘Motel?’

Michael could feel artificially cold air on his cheeks; could smell the contents of a fridge left too long. He nodded.

Bottles clinked.

And Trevor grinned.

‘After all,’ Michael said with his heavy tongue. ‘It is a celebration.’

---

No one had turned the lights on in the motel room. And as the sun had sunk, it found the windows – rosy, prying fingers of light forced through cracks – and painted the walls a sultry orange. But no one was there to witness the warm golden hour and it quickly faded to gloom. And no one turned on the lights

So that it was sitting dark; slipped into night without any acknowledgment of the march of time.

That is, until a key – fumbled in drunken fingers – scraped against the lock.

And the door opened.

[findroleplay]

21+. She/Her. Looking for some fandom roleplays.

Please be 21+!

I write on Discord (through DMs or servers) or through Tumblr messages. I write in third person, past tense and usually around 2-4 paragraphs. I can't reply every day. I try not to make anyone wait longer than 3-5 days for replies.

Canon x canon pairings (MxM, FxF, or MxF ; please be open to writing at least two of those ; I don't write with people who only do MxF) are my favorite. I'm okay with doing some canon x OC ones (MxM or FxF only). I like my threads to be set within the universe so no AUs that are way off the beaten path. I do prefer writing romantic ships with NSFW/smut involved but also with a very healthy dose of plot. If you'd rather keep things clean and/or do platonic ships, I'm willing to take that into consideration.

All characters will be 18+!

I'll be listing my main muses for each fandom. I have my favorite ships, but I'm willing to try just about any so we can discuss those together. Any character in bold, I'm especially interested in writing as right now.

Doctor Who/Torchwood: Dhawan!Master, Eleventh Doctor, Fifth Doctor, Fourteenth Doctor, Harry Sullivan, Ian Chesterton, Jack Harkness, Second Doctor, Sixth Doctor, Tenth Doctor, Yasmin Khan

Fantastic Beasts Franchise: Albus Dumbledore, Theseus Scamander

Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire: Alliser Thorne, Daenerys Targaryen, Gerion Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Lyn Corbray, Margaery Tyrell, Petyr Baelish, Rodrik Harlaw, Roose Bolton, Sansa Stark, Stannis Baratheon, Thoros, Tywin Lannister, Yoren

Ghost/Clergy Universe: Cardinal Copia, Dewdrop Ghoul, Papa Emeritus IV

Grand Theft Auto IV: Dimitri Rascalov, Francis McReary, Gerry McReary, Mikhail Faustin, Niko Bellic, Ray Boccino

Grand Theft Auto V: Devin Weston, Michael De Santa, Steve Haines

Harry Potter Franchise: Augustus Rookwood, Barty Crouch Jr., Cedric Diggory, Cormac McLaggen, Gilderoy Lockhart, Oliver Wood, Severus Snape

House of the Dragon: Daemon Targaryen, Otto Hightower

Marvel/Marvel Cinematic Universe: Bruce Banner, Bucky Barnes, Eddie Brock, Harry Osborn, Helmut Zemo, Loki Laufeyson, Matt Murdock, Nathan Summers, Peter Parker, Piotr Rasputin, Tony Masters, Tony Stark, Wade Wilson

Saw Franchise: Mark Hoffman, William Schenk

Supernatural: Arthur Ketch, Azazel, Chuck Shurley, Dean Winchester, Lucifer, Mick Davies

Tolkien Legendarium: Bard, Beleg, Bofur, Boromir, Celeborn, Curufin, Elrond, Haldir

The Walking Dead: Beth Greene, Gareth, Merle Dixon, Paul Rovia, Shane Walsh

If you made it through to the end and would like to work something out, you can like this post and I'll reach out to you, message me on here, or add me on Discord: lindsay7046.

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