#franklin clinton fanfiction

[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.

[starksinner]

Why Didn't You Stop Me?

Summary: You left and you horribly wish he would’ve forced you to stay.

Pairing: Trevor Philips x AFAB!Reader, Franklin Clinton x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Sexual Content, Possessiveness, Fuckbuddies, Unhealthy Relationship, Average GTA Stuff

November 16th, 2017.

It was easy to regret not catching a ride back to Los Santos with Franklin in his sexy white Bravado Buffalo S. 

Regret is easy, regret you know. Regret can grow and grow it does as you make eye contact with the hillbilly jacking off next to the icebox in front of the Yellow Jack Inn. 

After a couple of days gallivanting around the desert shit-pile that was Sandy Shores, Franklin deemed that your weed-fuelled, fuck-filled adventures had reached a necessary end.

Despite his intriguing offers of more shenanigans and freaky sex once you both got back home, you weren’t all that keen on leaving the town of meth production and Republican rednecks just yet. 

“M’gonna go see him,” you sighed, resting your head back against the stained motel pillow. 

Moments before, as Franklin had fucked you raw into the cheap motel mattress, you were met with the smell of blood and piss and cum as your face was shoved into the shitty cushion.

Despite the abysmal scent, the man was taking you so good and so fuckin’ hard, you couldn’t force yourself to care. 

Now though, as you laid sated in your post-climax glow of sweat and semen, the smell against your cheek served as an unignorable reminder of your still bleeding heart. 

That man, that asshole, that meth-head-Trevor-Philips-piece-of-fucking-shit—goddamnit.

You still hopelessly, stupidly, selfishly loved him. The fucked kind of love.

Always caked in blood, smelling like piss after running off to get high and grinning like an evil bitch as he came all over your chin and tits. The smell of the Derelict Motel—the sheets, the pillow, the musty air—was all just a nauseating reminder of how much you missed him. 

Your therapist was gonna kill you. 

“You know that ain’t a good idea,” Franklin murmured, running his thumb over the plushness of your bottom lip.

Your eyes met his and you couldn’t help but shiver at the way he looked at you, his gaze so soft and so full of adoration. 

He made you feel like you weren't just a burning shitpile of flesh, bones, and substance abuse issues.

Frank is a good friend, a great man, a nice fuck. He was always there to bring you back down to Earth. He was so easy to love and you sure as shit loved him a whole lot. Beautiful fuckin’ man. “He ain’t right in the head about you.”

“We both know he ain’t right the head about nothin’,” you argued, leaning your body over his. Beautiful man.

“And he’s a big boy. He can take it. Whatever I wanna throw at him.” Your legs quickly became tangled, Frank’s hands resting over your hips as you smiled and played with his chest hair. “He can fuck all the people he wants, but I can’t touch or look or fuckin' breathe around anyone but him? He’s a fuckin’ ass.”

“He fell for you, girl. T’s always been crazy an’ possessive, his shit ain’t nothin’ new.” Franklin snuggled your body closer to his, sighing softly as he pressed his face into the warm crevice of your neck. 

He couldn’t control himself, not when he had you like this. You were so hot and so sweet and just so fucking delicious. 

Shit. 

His lips lingered over the sensitive spot at the base of your throat, his tongue reaching out to tease a fading bruise. He did that. He made that. He marked you. 

Fuck.

He groaned as you gave him easier access by raising your chin, letting him worship you like the real fuckin’ princess he always thought you were.

“He was fuckin’ paranoid and possessive in all the worst fuckin’ ways, Frank. I fuckin’ hate him for how he acted when I said I was leavin’ but I still...miss him.” You hummed softly as you felt Franklin’s lips suck right over your pulse point, his teeth just brushing over your delicate skin.

You held down the urge to beg him to bite you.

“Yeah, you miss him, but ain’t nothin’ gonna be solved if you both end up killin’ each other...or fuckin’ each other,” Frank breathed roughly against the shell of your ear as his hand wandered across your stomach and down to your aching clit. 

He immediately preened at your wetness and teased the bundle of nerves with soft, circular motions. You gasped as you felt his cock harden and twitch against your thigh, begging for your pretty fucking attention.

He grinned and quickly shoved a finger into your cunt, making you moan and writhe oh so beautifully against him. “Jus’ come back home with me, baby…”

You could barely solidify your thoughts, whimpering like you were.

His motions were so smooth and perfect and rhythmic. Frank was good at a lot of things, but you considered his talent of fucking you mindless as one of his top three.

You immediately felt your wetness start to leak down your thighs. “If he still isn’t over it...I’ll fuck off, hitch a ride, meet you back at your place…yeah?”

“Yeah, baby,” he gripped your throat just how you like and shoved another finger into you, leaving you mewling and squirming in his grasp. You reached for him, hard and thick in your palm, and squeezed. 

The best girl.

If you were parting ways, Franklin was gonna have you one last time. He understood Trevor’s possessiveness. You were great company, a great fuck, a great woman.

Addicting, hell blazing, heavenly—you were everything. So fuck yeah, he was gonna have you as many times as he possibly could. “Lemme take care of you, babygirl, then you’ll be all good to go.”

The Yellow Jack Inn has never been known for its posh customers or regular demonstrations of human decency, but a man jacking it in front of such a fine all-American establishment is still a sight you couldn’t have properly braced yourself for.

As the ash of your blunt falls to the dirt, your eyes stay transfixed on the man by the icebox as he lets out a disturbing howl and drops to the ground.

His pants are stained, his dick disgusting and soft. He lets out a series of groans as he turns to lie flat on his stomach, his cock scraping against the sand.  

Jesus H. Christ. What a charmer. 

You manage to twist away from the scene in repugnance and perhaps a more sinister part of you in mild delight, settling yourself in the alley next to the bar.

You restlessly attempt to calm yourself against the brick, picking at its shoddy green paint job before you begin rolling another blunt. 

You’re stalling. Like a little bitch. It's embarrassing how much a man can turn you into such a conniving fickle coward. Perhaps not just any man. Your paranoid fuckin’ shitshow of a somewhat ex-lover. 

Embarrassing. Unbecoming. Completely mindfucked. 

You know Trevor’s inside. He’s an enigma, a loud, idiot one at that. Over the noise of clanked bottles and shitty laughter, you can hear him.

Stupid, how much of him you can hear. And see. And smell. And understand. In everything and anywhere and with anyone. He never leaves you even when he’s left you. He never leaves you even when you've left him. He’s a parasite that you’ve coddled, and cared for, and loved and fucked. 

The timber of his voice warms you in a special, fucked up kind of way. It’s familiar and it’s settling and it kills you to know that he’s spent fourteen months ridding you of it. Of him. His clinical insanity has rubbed off on you beautifully. You left and you horribly wish he would’ve forced you to stay. 

God.

Would he kill you? Kiss you? Fuck you? You’re still stalling.

Maybe all three?

Being the oil to a homicidal cannibal’s match, you could never really know what the fuck you were gonna get. You anticipate an explosion, but you’re clueless to its degree. 

You pocket your blunt, walk over the man with his dick in the sand, and open the door to the biggest health hazard in California. 

Chapter 2

a/n: found this oldie from 2021 that i was in the mood to refresh & post! i haven't written in literal years, be nice to me! also, happy ten years to this stupid fucking game. i love u. i feel old (i'm not) and i'm tired (constantly) and i hope you enjoyed (lie to me if you didn't) :3

✧ masterlist ✧ ao3 ✧ send me an ask / let's chat! ✧

[nevergonnasimpyoumikey]

Did I write the first Franklin/Lamar/Jimmy fic? I think I might have. It's not as silly as it sounds but also... it's just as silly as it sounds.

Happy late birthday to @despitethecold! <33

***

He only agreed to let Jimmy come over because he got tired of the constant begging and pleading. He knew that he was going to get pissed off at some point, but Jimmy wasn’t malicious. Just stupid. And lonely.

And somehow, Franklin seemed to attract stupid and lonely people who pissed him off.

[gtafest]

Feels Like Summer (GTA Summer Fest 2023)

It's a cruel summer, late nights in the middle of June, this summer's gonna hurt like a motherfucker

Welcome to the GTA Summer Fest 2023! Creators of any kind are hereby invited to join the event: whether it's art, fics, roleplay scenes, screenshots from the games, memes, mood boards, headcanons or something I can't even imagine to mention here! All GTA games and all characters, including OC's, are welcome.

This time the theme is summer songs! You're free to use your favorite summer-themed songs as inspiration for your work but I'd also love for every participant to send an ask or a message with a few of your favorite songs so I can make a post with them, and maybe others can find some inspiration from those if needed!

Other than that, there's no need to sign up, just post your work in July or before August 15th with the tag #gtafest and tag this blog (notice the new hashtag and name since the events aren't only for GTA V anymore!). If you do NSFW work, please censor it and link the full work somewhere.

Happy creating and have a lovely summer! <3 Consider reblogging this post for visibility.

mod: @nevergonnasimpyoumikey

[tigertofu]

taking TrevorxReader requests!

ive never done this b4 but im in a writing rut rn and wanna work on smth other than my WIPs for once so if anyone has any requests pls put em in my ask box ! preferably trevor-centric ones, tho i'll write abt mikey or frank too ! trevor is just like,, my specialty 🩷

things i will write :

nsfw, stuff about trevor, michael, or franklin, headcanon lists, xReader stuff, mildly kinky stuff (so long as they arent any of the kinks listed below)

things i won't write :

incest, rape (or cnc), anything racist/homophobic, pedophilia, scat/piss/vomit kinks (blood is OK)

if ur unsure if i'll take ur request, pls feel free to dm me and we can talk abt it 🫶 (i promise i wont judge. i am in NO place to judge other folks for their tastes LOL)

also if i get more than one request, i'll work on them in the order they are asked for !

[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.

[bortchorton]

A poly story about Michael, Trevor, Franklin, and my OC, Bunny. Self-indulgent? Maybe. But there is a plot, I promise.

There are plenty of conflicting feelings regarding Michael and Trevor's relationship which only intensifies the more time they spend with each other, and with Frank and Bunny.

Franklin struggles with his sexuality, and his confusion has rippling affects on the people around him. Bunny struggles with her anger and the bad decisions her anger leads her to.

Michael is still convinced he can fix things with his family and strings just about everyone along. Trevor is angry, and lonely, and he gives his love while waiting, impatiently, for it to be returned. That's kind of it, really.

[whipp-slash]

Once upon a time in Los Santos

Franklin discovered his clone wandering around Michael's property during a stakeout. He was wondering why Michael had been acting so strangely around him. Why Michael seemed to back away and hesitate whenever they gathered for their heist preps and whenever they passed each other on the street. He took it upon himself to scope out the old robber's place and lo and behold, HE, HIMSELF was there.

Franklin decided enough was enough. He took out his shot gun, jumped down from the garage roof of Michael's house, aimed down sights and pulled the trigger.

"You ain't nothin' but a punk," he said. Franklin's clone.

One shot wasn't enough. He smacked his clone in the head then pulled the trigger again, and again, and again.

"Chill out, a'ight?" he spoke once more.

"Who the fuck are you?" the 'real' Franklin asked.

But the clone didn't speak.

He just realised... he shot himself, his clone, yet there were no bullet holes. The clone rose to his feet and came up face to face with Franklin.

"You don't get it, man. I'm you, my n*. I been waitin' so long fo' you to get yo ass over here and find me."

"...What?!" Franklin was aghast.

The clone wrapped his arms around Franklin and fused himself with himself.

"Shit, man, what the fuck?!" Franklin exclaimed, finding himself unable to tear away from his own longing grasp.

"Let it go, dude. We meant to be together and you know dat."

Those words. They were the truest words Franklin had ever heard in his whole life. Memories of all his brothers in the hood surfaced in his mind but the one droplet that sent a ripple throughout, the one droplet that brought sense in this crazy, fucked up city, was the man holding tightly onto him.

"Yeah, dat's right, homie. I do know that."

Franklin reciprocated the clone's embrace and let his head rest in the comfortable nook of the clone's neck and sunk into a deep euphoria that not even the best weed could grant a high of equal proportions.

Years down the line the two grew closer. Some would say a little TOO close.

Geralt, a newcomer to the agency, once walked into their office at an... inappropriate time.

"God, it was so weird," he'd say if he could speak. "I was just dropping off something I got from a contract job. I didn't realise they were fusing, or tearing... Whatever, bruh, I never wanna witness that shit again."

Back in the office, with the two Franklins alone...

"Hey, why can'tchu jusy stay inside me, damn."

And they lived after.

[laviedavantgarde]

If I asked you what the most memorable scene/line from any of my writing that you've read is, what's the first thing that comes to mind?

"Liz couldn't deny the energy between them. They were close, even from the beginning. There were drunk and stoned texts between the two about some funny internet meme or those short Internet videos they bonded over with. She even had (safe for work) selfies of him and Chop, him and Lamar, and some of his other crew. Of course, she had to save them somewhere where he couldn't get them and get the wrong idea very quickly. She thought Franklin was sexy and smooth. He thought Liz was gorgeous and delectable. They'd be one hot couple, one that everyone wanted to be like or at least mimic.

Baby steps, chica. Liz reminded herself."

- A Good Kind of Dive

I'm cleaning out my drafts and asks, so this is why it took so long to respond!

I'm so happy you enjoyed A Good Kind of Dive! I remember you writing such a nice comment about this and how much you really wanted this prompt to be written for the 2021 GTA Summerfest. (I also noticed through your posts that you really liked Franklin and Liz, and that was a pairing I wanted to explore more about!)

[kitschkicks]

So I've been meaning to do another Franklin/Lester fic for a while because there are only two on Ao3 (I gotta do my part for the little ships!) and I finally finished it! ...and it's a monster! Not crazy long (under 40k) but the longest thing I've ever put on Ao3 and I know that means it's even less likely to be read but I honestly just don't care. I think I could have kept writing it forever because their dynamic is simultaneously so cute and so fucked up (y'know because of all the murder and crime).

Anyway, check it out if you're interested:

[rreskk]

Hey! Can you write a fic about groki.aep, sangsluvr and planetlamar in the GTA universe? They’re my favourite editors ever!!!

The editors were very happy to have a fan request this (as I had to make sure they were comfortable). Follow them on tiktok: -@Groki.aep -@Planetlamar -@sangsluvr

Summary: Three editors had fallen into the GTA verse. The beginning of their adventures were riddled with shock and fear, but they managed to loosen up and found themselves in favour by one criminal in particular.

TW: -Suggestive content (near the end).

Word count: 2070

“Who the fuck are you?”

Trevor, Michael, Franklin stood opposite these newly (not to mention confused) strangers. Each of them looked fearfully alarmed of their new surroundings. They were stood within the busy streets of Los Santos, happening to be situated outside a strip club called “The Vanilla Unicorn.” They found these three strangers coincidentally; until one of them recognised the Unholy criminals, their eyes growing wider in familiarity.

“Hellooooo? Am I speaking to myself here?” Trevor growled – taking offence to their startled silence.

“Chill out, T. They’re probably tourists.”

“Franklin, when have you ever seen tourists stand miserably outside of a strip-club? I’m just sayin’… It don’t sit right with me.” The aggressor spoke again before pointing at the middle stranger, who happened to be the well-known “sangsluvr”, but of course… None of the Unholy trinity knew currently.

“You.”

Sangsluvr pointed to themselves, clearly intimidated by Trevor’s unpredictable nature. They tried to take a step back but he was already in their reach, pushing a finger into their chest with no mannerism.

“Don’t run away, I don’t bite,” Trevor mewled, “Now… Where’d you come from, ay? Where are you and your friends based? You got kidnapped? Oi!” He snapped his fingers to recollect all of their dazed attentions (thanks to the surreal situation) – “I’m speaking to you all. Why ain’t you in there…? Havin’ some fuckin’ fun, hm?”

They all followed his finger which motioned towards the strip-club.

“Oh, Jesus… Leave em alone, Trevor.”

“No can do! Mikey, hey, come on… Look at these losers… All they do is stare. Fuckin’ rude, am I right?”

“We ain’t got time for this.” Franklin breathed out, finding himself fed up and tired of Trevor antagonising these poor strangers. He noticed how pressured and panicky they were. I mean… Each of them failed to form words in response to Trevor’s aggressive (and disrespectful) curiosity.

“Fuck… Not you too, ay? Frankie, c’mon –“

“This is… Los Santos?” One of the strangers weakly said. People called him “Planetlamar”.

“Yeah, this is Los Santos. This ain’t Liberty City, or Vice City.” Michael squinted his eyes at the strangers unusual inquiry. He observed the three of them; thinking it was too niche to call them tourists since they aren’t even aware of what city they’re in.

“Los Santos? Not… Los Angeles?” Planetlamar found his heart beginning to race faster.

Trevor scoffed, “Los Ang – what now? You playing games with us, huh? You think this is fuckin’ funny?”

“Man, he must be high as shit.”

“No, Franklin. They just don’t…” Michael found himself looking at “groki.aep” with sudden curiosity. He tilted his head and uttered some of his own conclusions and questions; “Do you all know each other?”

He hoped “groki.aep” would speak considering she remained quiet amongst her group. This had captured Trevor’s observation. He maintained sturdy eye-contact with her, an attempt to scare out some more information.

“Uh, yeah… We do know each other.” Groki-aep peered at the two others beside her, and they nodded at her answer.

“Huh…” Franklin crossed his arms and studied each of them, “How’d you get around here then?”

“We don’t know.”

“The fuck? How the fuck do you not know, sugartits?” Trevor glared at “sangsluvr”.

“We literally don’t know – “

“Oh, shut up!” He shouted at them again before Michael held him back with a firm grip upon the shoulder.

Sangsluvr seemed relieved when the main intimidator was restrained from approaching them further. Nevertheless, the one who recognised the criminals first (Planetlamar) had found the confidence to speak up after Trevor’s almost fatal barking rage.

“Are you… Michael… De Santa, Franklin Clinton and – “ He paused; speaking of the Devil, “Trevor Philips?”

Suddenly the group of men in front of them grew stiff and silent. They were completely took off-guard with these bundle of strange super-recognisers. It made Michael wonder if he was familiar with the wrong… Idea.

“How’d you know us?”

Planetlamar looked at Groki.aep for support, realising it was a bad idea to confess knowing the criminals. While they both seemed speechless with not a single explanation that could possibly convince Michael.

“How do you know us?” He’d demand again.

There was silence.

“Fucks sakes. They’re definitely high,” Trevor grumbled darkly as he inspected the three strangers, “I want what they’re on… Shit… Oi, you!” He pointed at Groki.aep with a grin – “How ‘bout we trade, ay? The finest meth for… The stuff you’re on. Ain’t that an idea…?”

She was beyond flabbergasted, her mouth open ajar at the weird request.

“Unless you’re actually a customer and living on my meth. I don’t know…” Trevor scanned her confusion, “My meth don’t make anyone this demented, unless you’re overdosing. Are you?”

“Trevor, come on bro… Leave her alone.”

“Frankie, they know us. Now- now, I know you ain’t that familiar with the criminal lifestyle, but it’s not exactly a friendly thing to be recognised. Especially when you don’t know the bastards.”

“Shit, man, they are all probably high or somethin’.” Franklin sighed.

“Why? Do you know some weed that makes you act like a total clown?”

“Maybe not weed… But I’ve seen drugs do stuff like that.” He replied to T.

Michael ignored their bickering as he glared towards the unknown visitors. His mind was racing. He has a family, a life, a “normal” record – but also promises he has to keep. He can’t let these people run off without knowing how they know him. It was all too much to understand.

“- In my opinion, Frankie, I think we should… Maybe test them.”

“Not with a fucking gun, you idiot.”

“You’re just like Michael!” Cried Trevor and turned his back to Franklin. He huffed childishly before reinserting his focus upon the situation.

In the meantime, Sangsluvr had managed to use their limbs after the momentary phase of shock and fear. They took a few steps forward and glanced back at their friends, urging them to follow. Initially it was a definite no, but they had to either avoid or merely… Gaslight the guys. Whether or not the “Vanilla Unicorn” would make them seem less suspicious, maybe a bit of fun would help defuse the tension.

“Woahhh, hey! Cupcakes, where ya goin’?” Trevor snarled and stopped Groki.aep from walking with the rest. His hand lied on her stomach, the force upon his palm so inhumanly difficult to project and fight against.

“The club.” Replied Planetlamar. He reached for Groki’s hand and untangled her from T’s massacred hands.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna happen.”

“Oh, shut up, Mikey. Let’s join em.”

“Join them?” Michael laughed in disbelief, “Trevor, are you kidding me?”

“Dead serious brother. In fact, they seem like great fun. Maybe I can persuade them for the drugs they’re on.” He sparked and smirked, rushing after the group in anticipation.  

Franklin had no other choice but to walk beside Michael as they trailed Trevor’s footsteps. When they entered the club, they both saw Trevor leant against the table of the strangers with a pathetic grin. His whole demeanour had changed from hostile and “macho” to sensual and a little bit eager. The whole belief of drugs had made him skip from one personality to each other. While the three groupies were consistently dismaying the presence of substances and drugs, it wasn’t convinced, instead, Trevor likes the challenge.

“Oh, come on now… Just because I was a little mean…” He gave them all pleading eyes, “That shouldn’t stop you from giving me some.”

Sangsluvr shook their head – “Trevor, we don’t have anything.”

“If you ain’t on anything, you can fuck me sideways and under. That’s hard to believe.”

“Leave em alone.” Michael warned as he sat on a nearby table with Franklin. They were close enough to eardrop the conversation and maybe stop T from causing a scene or catching himself a case (legal and illegal cases).

“Ignore him, cupcakes, he don’t know what fun is.”

“Anyone want some drinks?” Planetlamar offered with the menu in his hand.

“Ooooh! You guys want to party, ay?” The menu was snatched from his hands as Trevor threw it away, “You don’t need that propaganda shit. I know a good cheap and strong drink. Who wants one?”

Hesitantly nodding, this sent T into a trance. The man shook his arms in excitement and jumped towards the bar to gather the ideal drinks for his newly interesting “friends”.

Meanwhile, Michael was watching the scene and frowned.

“I don’t trust em.”

“Shit man, I don’t know… They seem harmless.” Franklin placed his cap down and observed the strippers walking by.

“Yeah, well, whatever happens. We’ll put the blame on Trevor.” He’d respond in a monotonal voice.

“Pfft… Yeah, sure man.”

The “retired” criminal slumped into his seat further before making eye-contact with Planetlamar. Michael tried to shake it off, but he couldn’t help looking back again. He got curious and wanted to know more. He couldn’t help it. Franklin watched as he gestured the stranger to come over, presumably wanting to talk in a more friendly manner. Mikey had shuffled aside for Planetlamar to seat himself at. Unlike the other table where it was more in the open, the booth they were currently under had dim lights and more privacy. It suited Michael more.

“What’s up?” Planetlamar asked with a raised eyebrow, plotting beside the older man.

“Oh… Uh, we just wanna talk.”

-

“Alrighty, sugartits, we have ourselves some fuel for tonight.” Trevor snickered and slammed down some bottles before realising an empty seat. He frowned, “Where’s the other rascal at?”

“Michael called for him.” Groki imputed. She was sat on the chair besides the madman himself while Sangsluvr was tucked further away.

“Unlucky guy. He’s probably gonna deal with Mikey’s whining and shitty family life or whatever that is. Hey, let’s not get into that bouche shit. We are here to drriiiinkkk!”

Sangsluvr nodded and raised their drink, “Amen.”

They all took a sip of the alcohol.

And it was like a baptism. Groki immediately gagged at the taste. It tasted like pure gasoline and beer combined. Both their throats began burning at the strong sensation, but Trevor was gulping his drink without a reaction. He let it dribble down his chin in the process as well. He was fully immune to the acidic drink, it was quite absurd and… Well, purely insane.

“How are you drinking that?” Sangsluvr coughed.

“Ahh, you’ll get used to this,” Trevor outstretched his arm around Groki’s shoulder, giving her a playful shake before grinning at Sangs, “Alcohol makes me very endearing and warm inside. Why don’t we share a nice hug, ay?”

They were both pulled into a hug unwillingly. He wrapped his arms around them, occasionally lowering his hands but it was dismissed once the two grew uncomfortable at his sudden antiques.

“Oh, come on… Not a little playtime? If you ain’t gonna gimme some drugs, how about something else? Why don’t you get your friend in the shit as well. The more, the merrier.”

Glancing over, Planetlamar was being haggled and held captive. Michael had a beer in his hand, rambling on passionately while Franklin seemed to be in the same sticky situation, just watching the older man fall into a complete emotional abyss. Trevor snickered and intertwined his fingers with Groki.aep and Sangsluvr.

“He’s having some fun, ay? I told you; Mikey ain’t a fun guy to be around… For a long period of time. He’s a little snake in my ass.”

“In your ass?”

He raised an eyebrow at Groki, “Yes. In my ass, up my ass. Whatever. The moral of the story is – “ He gently nudged her shoulder before winking at Sangs – “Don’t befriend turds. Get yourself a guy like me. Got that, sugartits?”

“Sounds reasonable.” Sangsluvr remarked.

“Oh it is. Very reasonable. You know what else is reasonable?” Grinned Trevor.

He watched them both look at each other.

“It’s either the drugs or something other. Choose your pick. I have a lap and two legs for a reason. I’m a two seater joyride…”

It’s not every day you wake up in the GTA universe. It’s either they’ll wake up at home or this is a continuous nightmare… Either way, the two editors mutually agreed through non-verbal communication. The odds of sharing a moment with your favourite character and not experience it again. Heads or tails; giving heads, or being kicked in the tails.

“Something other.”

Trevor smirked, “Jackpot.”

[bleak-writes]

The Best Friend - trevor philips x reader

— y/n and tracey go to a club where things go south pretty quick. soon, y/n has to help trevor take out some a-holes (who knew guns could bring people closer together?)

a/n: i love trevor philips with my whole soul and am thinking about writing a series on my ao3 (@bleak_writes)! gta v will always have a special place in my heart :,) look out for a sequel to this oneshot! thanks for reading <3

The club’s music was pounding in Y/N’s ears as she bounced to the beat in front of her best friend, Tracey De Santa. The blonde had dragged her out to listen to her favorite DJ play and Y/N couldn’t help but enjoy the night off from her relentless work schedule. Tracey was drunk out of her mind, had already flirted with about six different men, and had dropped her ass to the floor too many times to count. Y/N was a little tipsy herself but wanted to stay sober enough to laugh at her friend for the duration of their evening.

The atmosphere was somewhere Y/N wanted to remain for the rest of her life until a deep familiar voice shouted out Tracey’s full name -- her middle one included. Y/N’s eyes darted behind her friend’s moving form, her heart almost stopping at the sight of her father who was being followed by another man through the club’s entrance and towards them.

“Trace, I think your dad’s here,” Y/N yelled over the dubstep noise, to which Tracey gave her a dazed and distant face. Her warnings fell short as the girls were met face to face with Michael De Santa, who gripped his daughter’s shoulder with concern etched across his features.

“Tracey, you and your friend need to get the fuck outta here right now!” Michael yelled, scanning her and Y/N’s reactions for any comprehension of his insistence and possible sense of sobriety. Tracey immediately shoved his hand away, scowling at the two men.

“You have some nerve, Dad! I told you where I was gonna be and you STILL manage to FUCK UP my night out with Y/N!” Tracey’s face was flushed red, the alcohol only helping the effects. “AND you brought TREVOR? God fucking hell, just bury me six feet under already!”

The man named Trevor, who towered a bit over Michael, had a very rough appearance. He looked like he’s seen some shit, Y/N had concluded, suddenly feeling embarrassed about her clubbing attire that left little to the imagination. The fact that Trevor’s eyes hadn’t stopped roaming her body since he first laid eyes on her was made that theory evident, despite his friend’s urgency.

“Listen, Tracey, you and Y/N have to leave right fucking now,” Michael repeated as he desperately tried to move her towards the back exit. Y/N realized just how alarmed her friend’s father looked.

“Mr. De Santa, what’s going on?” she finally questioned.

“There are five S.T. grenades planted on the outside surfaces of the club’s perimeter,” the Trevor guy gruffed, pushing the girls more adamantly towards the exit as Michael’s attempts proved lackluster. “Aaaaand I’m not about to watch my best friend’s little girl and her hot friend be blown to pieces!”

Y/N’s eyes widened, sober enough to question why this man was so forward considering the circumstances they were currently under.

“Shouldn’t we notify the whole club?” Trevor laughed.

“Sweetheart, Daddy Mikey and I have warrants out for our arrest, not to paint your bestie’s family in a shit light.” With the information you knew prior about Michael De Santa, somehow his words didn’t surprise you. They weren’t the only ones with...records.

Mere feet from being pushed out the back door, gunshots fired off as men entered the club entrance pointing their weapons towards the drunk mob of people on the dancefloor. The four of them immediately knelt to the ground behind one of the big speakers which quickly became overcome with a much deeper voice than Tracey’s beloved DJ.

“We have a timed execution on this building, no one’s leaving until Tracey De Santa leaves with us in the next fucking minute.”

Y/N tensed up, her and the men looking to a drunk Tracey with no perception as to what was going on aside from her father and uncle ruining what was a really fun night.

“They knew she was here,” Michael explained as visible anger bubbled through him. Y/N looked out cautiously, seeing all the club members either on the floor or remaining in their seats at the bar with their heads down. The tactical side of her viewed the vantage points and tried to map out how they could go about this. The stiff weapon hidden in the back of her dress was feeling more prominent than ever, and it was moments like these she was grateful she knew the skills that she knew.

She didn’t want Tracey to know more about what she did during the day and on various nights, but her friend being drunk out of her mind at the moment gave Y/N the opportunity to get away with her best-kept secret. If the two men could have secrets, so could she.

“Sweet bottom,” Trevor whispered to her, bringing the young woman out of her planning. “Stay low and make sure Trace doesn’t get fucking seen.” She nodded as Trevor watched her for a moment longer before pulling a pistol from the back of his dirtied jeans.

“Mike I’m going in.”

It all happened so fast, Trevor taking out two guys before moving to another hiding spot behind a pillar, a spot Y/N had considered when surveying the area. Michael assured Tracey to stay down as he went and joined him, darting to another speaker by the mixer.

Y/N was watching as Trevor laughed and shouted maniacally, shooting more criminals as he proceeded to be scuffed by bullets that blazed towards him. He was a true piece of work; Y/N almost wished she had the guts he had...to a lesser extent, of course. Regardless, he was getting the job done.

A loud grunt sounded from the other side of the club, Y/N seeing Michael go down in record time. Trevor called his name (or rather “M”) and took cover where he could see Y/N and Tracey crouched down. Y/N knew what she had to do; Trevor was going to be killed without some backup and they had to get the two De Santas out of here as fast as possible. Making eye contact with Trevor, Y/N reached her hand up the back end of her dress, the man looking more than confused, and was overcome with something. Y/N didn’t have time to decipher as she turned the safety off her gun and groped it.

Without much thought, she stood from her secure spot and began plowing down the hooded gunman that lined the room, taking out a few at a time at record speed and efficiency. Trevor laughed uncontrollably as he joined her massacre, shooting down the ones farther from them while Y/N handled those close to the civilians. The rush of energy she felt with a gun in her hands, the desire to save her friend, and the help she garnered from this special stranger gave her all she needed to get the job done.

Soon there were no more perpetrators as the club-goers fled the scene, running out the entrance before any other possible shit could go down. Y/N’s heart was still pounding a mile a minute as she turned to her companion in crime who looked dazed and confused.

“Okay, what in the actual shit hole was that?” Trevor dared to ask, acknowledging the pistol wedged in her manicured hand.

“Long story,” she kept it simple, putting it away and rushing to her friend who was now crying on the floor. “Check Michael!”

Trevor assessed that his friend would live, they just needed to bandage him up and get the two of them home. Trevor led them all out to the side of the club towards his rundown red truck that had probably seen better days. He insisted Y/N drive to the De Santa residence while he worked on Michael in the backseat. Tracey couldn’t stop rambling on about something, her eyes still watery over not getting to meet the DJ and still somewhat pissed at her father.

Michael had gained partial consciousness by the time Y/N pulled into his driveway, Trevor helping him out of the car and inside. Y/N coaxed Tracey out of the truck, walking her inside and up to her room on the second floor.

“Y/N?” the blonde asked as she sat down on her bed slowly. “What the fuck happened back there? I’m starting to realize things I saw and, uh, hear.”

Y/N wanted to be honest so badly, but the terms of the job weighed heavily on her shoulders. Tracey didn’t need more shit to worry about, much less after knowing that people were out to get her, and the fact that her father was a wanted criminal every other day of the week. She shook her head.

“It was a scary night, Trace. Your dad and Trevor really saved us, and I’m just glad you’re alright.”

Y/N exited the house rubbing her arm, guilt making her reconsider what form of the truth she should tell her friend. It wasn’t that she couldn’t trust Tracey -- it was the changes her job entailed that made her worry the most. Compromising missions with her relationships could only lead to problems, and it just wasn’t worth it. She would never forgive herself if a repeat of the night’s events occurred on her watch, and Y/N refused to put her best friend into that position again.

Her thoughts came to an abrupt halt upon hearing the front door slam shut behind her, and she turned to see Trevor casually making his way down the steps.

“How’s Mr. De Santa?”

“He’s gonna be just peachy,” Trevor muttered. “His wound was pretty severe and we can’t just go to the hospital all willy nilly, so it’s gonna be his bitch to deal with.” The way he spoke was unapologetically raw, Y/N would have laughed at his phrasing of things if the circumstances were not so dire. He was so unfiltered and it was really refreshing compared to the line of work she was in. Made her wonder about his own line of work, although she knew it was evidently illegal.

“I don’t wanna seem like a pulsating cock,” he continued. “But I heard you white lyin’ to Tracey and I figured I’d do the same with Mikey. Yer whole...gun up your ass thing doesn’t seem to be something everyone knows about you already.”

Y/N was taken aback. He lied for her? Or withheld the truth, same difference, to his own best friend. For her sake.

“You didn’t have to do that, Trevor, really. I knew Michael wouldn’t be weirded out but I just can’t have more people I care about to be burdened with knowing something that could easily make them a target,” another thought flashed across her mind. “Like what probably happened tonight.”

Trevor shook his head. “That was not your doing, babe. More shit is going on with Mike and me more than you might think. The only difference is that this family’s privacy might be getting cracked down on. And I can’t let anything happen to these people.”

Y/N sighed, too tired and weary to really question the depth of the De Santa family lore. She really felt like she could fall and sleep on the floor right then and there.

“Well, thank you, Trevor,” she looked him in the eyes, a warm chestnut color. “You clearly care about them a lot, Tracey is lucky to have you and Mr. De Santa.”

The older man grinned, his eyes wrinkling even more so. “I think you’re the one who did most of the work steppin’ up and lookin’ damn hot doing so.”

Y/N blushed properly for the first time that night, Trevor’s prior advancements not going unnoticed.

“You’re pretty blunt, you know that?” she joked.

“I find it better than beating around the bush.” He whipped out his keys from his back pocket. “Need a ride to a place? Possibly even my own?”

“Okay, funny,” Y/N shook her head. “But how could I refuse a free ride from an accomplished gunman?”

With that, Trevor opened the door for her and quickly hopped in on the driver’s side, racing the truck out the driveway and towards wherever Y/N was willing to let him take her. Yeah. this was going to be the beginning of something very interesting.

[nevergonnasimpyoumikey]

Thank you so much for answering the other time <3 Can we get a Drabble of Michael reacting to Franklin’s first child with Tanisha? Much love to you

"I forgot how small they can be," Michael hummed with a smile, putting his finger against the baby's palm; she reflexively curled her fingers around it. Big brown eyes stared in his general direction.

"Been a while, huh?"

"Thank God. The day either of my kids have kids, we're all doomed."

He didn't let go until the baby was sound asleep, both silently watching over her.

"I'm real happy for you, Frank," Michael said as he was leaving, making Franklin stop and stare at him from the doorstep. "You're a great dad."

He smiled. "Thanks, Mike. I know."

[gtafest]

GTA Valentine's Day Secret Art Exchange

Is that title way too long? Absolutely. Do I care? Absolutely not.

There was some interest in Valentine's Day event, so here it is! The difference to Secret Santa is that this time the focus is on romance and love instead of Christmas. And, the bigger change: nsfw gifts between adults will be allowed due to popular demand. This is why the form asks your age and is a bit different in other ways too.

Here's the drill:

We do art trade as an exchange between artists and writers who create fics/fan arts/graphics/etc for one another as a gift. Secret means that you can’t tell anyone what you are working on until it’s time to post your work. You make a gift and get a gift.

This event is for all GTA games despite the name of the blog. You can ask for gifts about any GTA games or even your original characters, but make sure the prompt is very clear on what you want. Leaving many different kinds of prompts is preferable! The mod will do their best to match up everyone so that there is representation for as many games as possible.

The theme is love and romance, but you can also leave other kinds of prompts if you want. Platonic love definitely counts! This is a good time for all your fluffy, romantic, soft, cute, or sexy prompts. Themes so heavy that they could make people uncomfortable are not allowed. Always ask if you’re unsure! You will be contacted if there’s a problem with the matchmaking or your prompts, so be sure to leave the correct information on your social medias.

You can join by filling in this form. It will only be available until January 10, so be quick! By the end of next week, you will receive the information about the person you’re going to gift your work. Then you will have until Valentine's Day to work on your gift.

The moderator will ask you for progress a couple of times before the deadline to make sure that everyone gets their gift. If there are any problems and you can’t participate any longer, contact the mod ASAP and be honest. We've had a few issues with this before, and I hope it won't repeat again. If you're unsure if you can partake in this exchange, think twice before signing up.

That’s about it! Feel free to reblog this post (my tagging system is lacking tbh) and hopefully, we get a lot of participants!

Mod: @nevergonnasimpyoumikey

[tigertofu]

chapter 35 of A Toxic Strain is up !

sm fun writing lamar, my beloved 💞💞💞

srry for kacie being a bitch to mikey, just know i do not share her sentiments abt him LOL

[d-u-s-t-9379]

Chapter 74: The Silence

Wishing you a very merry posting-this-on-the-25th-felt-too-pretentious-so-marginally-less-pretentious-24th secular winter celebration day!

And words cannot describe how bad I felt for doing this!

***

The Suggestion of Silence (300636 words) by d_U_s_t

Chapters: 74/74

Fandom: Grand Theft Auto V, Grand Theft Auto Series (Video Games)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Relationships: Michael De Santa/Original Female Character(s), Trevor Philips/Original Female Character(s)

Characters: Michael De Santa, Trevor Philips, Franklin Clinton, Lester Crest, Original Female Character(s), Steve Haines, Devin Weston

Additional Tags: Kidnapping, Science Fiction, Romance, Slow Burn, Violence, Humor, Action, Non-Explicit Sex, Protectiveness, Possessive Behavior, Age Difference, Slow Build, Jealousy, Love Triangles, Older Man/Younger Woman, Sexual Tension, Canon Era, Canon Rewrite, Angst, Pining, Some Fluff, Whump

Summary:

‘Because that’s how you get people to stay. You tie them to you with strings of crime; drugs; violence; murder. And then they can’t ever leave, because they’re either like Wade – too addicted and useless to survive without you – or Floyd – too culpable in your insanity to get away clean.’

‘I don’t give a fuck about Wade or Floyd! I just want you…’

 

How does a rescue become a kidnapping?

Well, after encountering the unholy trinity Ashley Harding is about to find out. And with secrets in her past she would rather not be brought to light, there’s nothing that could be less conducive to the quiet life of her dreams than the sudden scrutiny she’s found herself under. So why does she find the lives of these three hot-headed, criminally inclined, completely psychotic men so alluring?

When the intelligent thing would be to run as far and as fast in the opposite direction – why is she finding herself drawn ever deeper into this strange, dangerous, and ultimately thrilling new world?