#michael: oh for FUCKS SAKE YOU TWO

[akalikai]

I know everyone says Needles is the Michael of TMP but I'm gonna be totally honest, I think Needles is MUCH more like Nikola than Michael.

Someone should draw Michael being cool and mysterious and then there's his weird cousins Nikola and Needles just being. themselves in the background

Additional note: i do actually have a fear of needles which probably makes this post all the funnier

[popponn]

here and there, about him.

summary: is he perfect? no, just like anyone else. but there will always be something about him. (aka a snippets of one of many, many things he will do for you.)

notes: missing lovesick bllk boys trope for a hot minute while doing other stuffs. short and light stuffs to scratch the itch. was about to isagi and nagi, but turns out self control is still a thing for me. warning: none, just minor swearing + fluffs capital f of smitten boys, chigiri is ready to fight for you. reader's gender unspecified.

characters: rin, chigiri, kaiser.

itoshi rin is very, very much very obvious in his favoritism to you. so obvious that both his teammates and his brother told him to tone it down a little bit. of course, rin only scoffs and tells them to mind their own business (actually he said it more as ’fuck off, cretins’, but details). but, really, no one could exactly blame them. this guy could be in an ongoing tirade about how person a is an utterly pathetic soggy wet trash, then you greet him with a smile and he turns into a cold, suave, rich boyfriend on a snowy winter day. drape his jacket on you, hold your hand, and ’let you hug him from behind while discreetly intertwining your finger with his’ type of stuff. it’s a bit disgusting, honestly. and no one wants to start commenting on how he immediately looks in your direction after scoring a goal. also if he buys something, the only one who has the slightest bit of hope of ever receiving anything is his brother here—and that chance is very miniscule on its own since none of them are you. put simply, it’s a bit infuriating, yet undeniably infuriatingly cute in its own way to watch. especially when there is a very high chance you will be the one and only romance this anti-social guy will ever have. everyone in the team supports the two of you, but by gods maybe please do something about him a little bit?

chigiri hyoma will never let anyone hurt you. it’s common knowledge already that he takes no shit from anyone and ever since he has seen you as ‘the one’, he pretty much already thinks of you as an inseparable part of his life already. so, in other words, that means you have gotten yourself a boyfriend who is ready to become a biting guard dog at a moment's notice. someone insults you? tries to physically harm you? oh, baby, hold your boyfriend back because he is also known to get angry real quick. save his reputation and hold himself back from spouting words that would make someone’s ancestors cry or, worse, from beating someone up. this is a speedster athlete trained by ego jinpachi himself—no one could escape unscathed from something like that. but hey, this is someone who naturally turns into a shoujo manga male lead with soft gazes and flowery smiles the moment you put a hand on his cheek. this is, in a way, just another way for him to protect and make sure of your comfort. also, he needs to have an outlet for the less soft part somewhere other than soccer.

michael kaiser is very reliable and observant, despite whatever persona or deflection he will give you even in the ‘official already’ part of your relationship. this guy has a high ego and puts on an air of someone high and mighty, beyond your league. but everyone all knows if you get to the part where he proudly lets you wear his clothes or makes sure you stay pressed to his side during walks, he is down bad. still, for his sake and maybe everyone else’s, let him take care of you and act casually about it. don’t point it out when he suddenly crouches down and ties your untied shoelaces, keep talking as if nothing happened when he puts a hand in the small of your back, and just act as if nothing happened when he gives someone a ferocious glare while making sure you cling unto his arm. don’t praise or, god forbid, swoon at those. it will only make him get flustered and lose his composure or, worse, get real annoying. he is indeed good at the whole act of service thing, surprisingly, but please do remember his attitude is indeed also in the ‘piece of shit’ category most of the time. just let the yellow and blue betta fish swim at his own pace and let what means to happen in the future, happen at its own time, including giving praises to him without him reacting like a lovesick brat.

[assortedseaglass]

Talk Refined - Chapter One

Michael Gavey x Reader

[Masterlist]

Summary: When Michael Gavey unwittingly insults a fellow Oxford student, they enter into a game of intellectual cat and mouse.

Content Warnings (this chapter in bold): Language, Smut, Saltburn Spoilers

Pool was never your forte. Truth be told, you were more of a darts girl. There was something though, in the soft click of the balls knocking together and the damp thunk of them landing in the pocket that scratched an itch on your over-worked mind.

Hilary term was coming to an end, and with it brought the dread that your extended essay title had been submitted. ‘“For the sake of some colour;” women as decoration, in response to Turner’s High Street, Oxford (1810)””. No going back now.

You’d escaped the January madness that had descended on your best friend, Esme. Like most other courses, she had exams at the start of the new year and spent her days in the library and nights in the pub. Much like now, come to think of it.

“You’re up,” you called to your friend as you missed potting a red. “Esme!”

“Sorry! Sorry,” she shimmied between the pool table and a few pub patrons, taking her cue in hand and leaning over the felt green. Click, thunk. A yellow sank into the corner pocket.

“Who were you talking to?” You indicated a man in his early twenties, eyeing up Esme’s backside as she leant over the table to reach another yellow.

“Bartender,” she missed the ball and passed the cue back over the table. You took it and swiftly potted a red. “Nice one. Just borrowing this,” she lit her cigarette with a metal lighter. When she was done, she tossed it back to the bartender and he winked.

The two of you’d met at a humanities and arts, inter-college social less than two weeks into your first term. Dress as your subject and be ready for a night of frivolity even Elagabalus couldn’t imagine. You’d found some of silk scarves in a charity shop, bought cheap pearls from Primark and gone as the Girl with a Pearl Earring. Outside the Blenheim was where you first spotted her. Dressed in a bedsheet draped as a peplos, she had climbed a lamppost and was swigging wine straight from the bottle. That is a girl I want to be friends with, you’d thought, and promptly beelined for her and begged for the bottle.

“You doing philosophy?” You asked after chugging the cheap merlot.

“Classics. And you, I’m guessing history-”

“History of art, yeah.”

The next morning, you’d woken in her dorm room at Brasenose, the autumn sunlight blinding and your breath smelling as if something had crawled inside you and died there. Esme didn’t mind. Her mouth was stained red from the wine and a hickey the size of Brazil adorned her neck. You’d been inseparable ever since.

“Bollocks,” you missed potting a red and, as Esme swept to grab to pool cue, the pub erupted in song.

“RUBY RUBY RUBY RUBY!”

“Ahah ahah ahaaaaaaaah!” Esme sang the refrain in your ear as she twirled you round, the cue discarded on the table.

“DO YA DO YA DO YA DO YA!?”

“Fuck’s sake,” It was hard not to smile despite your best efforts. You felt like a twat but no-one was looking at you. All were too busy singing to notice the two tipsy girls dancing by the pool table. In any case, the only person whose opinion mattered to you was the one spinning you in her arms. One wayward spin and bumped you into the pool table. Giggling, you opened your arms to be embraced once more-

“Oh shit,” Esme whispered hastily, suddenly standing straight and flattening her hair. “Got any lip gloss?”

“Erm,” you patted your pockets. “No sorry.”

“Damn,”

“Who’ve you seen?” you smirked, standing by your best friend’s shoulder and following her line of sight. Well, it could have been any number of students in the packed pub. There were some rugby lads, double polos with both collars popped. Pretty boy Felix Catton and his posse of poshos. It could have even been that girl Eleanor, now greeting a friend at the bar. Esme and Eleanor hooked up at the Brasenose Christmas party. Esme said it was “unexpected” and “not her usual flavour”, but you’d met her once after tutorial, and the way she looked at her tutor’s bottom as it wiggled down the corridor in her Peacock’s pencil skirt was not one of envy. “Well?” You asked impatiently. “Who is it?”

“There, blue check shirt, dark hair.” Esme pointed at the bar where such a man was standing. Two pints of lager in hand, he turned and seemed to look around the pub. “Cute, isn’t he? He’s at Brasenose too, doing English I think.”

“Oh right.” As a Wadham girl, you had never seen this boy before. You supposed he was quite good-looking, in a boy-next-door sort of way. You thought perhaps he would be bonny, were it not for the solemn expression on his face. He meandered through the crowd to a small table at which sat another boy.

The two were starkly different. Where Esme’s boy was dark haired, the other was fair. Esme’s boy was stocky, but even sat down the other was gangly, and while Esme’s boy clearly wasn’t an avid reader of Esquire, the blond boy looked like he’d rolled around Oxfam’s bargain bin in total darkness and worn whatever stuck; a pair of baggy cargo shorts pulled up far too high and cinched tightly with a black belt, a pair of Merrell trainers and a novelty tshirt. THIS IS HOW I ROLL. Below the wording was an anagram and equation.

If it weren’t for the middle-aged glasses and frankly atrocious haircut, he’d be quite good looking too. Two Oxford virgins; Trinny and Susannah’s wet dream.

“What’s his name then?”

“Oliver, I think.” Esme was licking her lips and fussing with her bangles.

“You look great,” you swatted at her hand. “And the other one?”

“No idea. They’re always hanging around together. Oliver,” she said his name with some uncertainty. “Oliver never says anything, the other one’s always talking a mile a minute but I haven’t really seen him about. Doesn’t go to any parties.”

“Him and the girl with-”

“Agoraphobia.” You said in unison. The characters of Esme’s college were more vivid to you now than those in a Dickens novel.

“I bet he does maths,”

“I told you, he does English.”

“No,” you tut. “The other one.”

“I reckon it’s physics.”

“Put a pint on it?”

“You’re on,” Esme smacked your hip. “Come on, there’s a table by the bar.”

Following the plume of her cigarette smoke, Esme led you to the sticky wooden table and ordered you a pint of Thatchers. She, a pint of Stella. At the table beside you both, Maybe Oliver and The Other One were talking quickly. Well, the maths-slash-physics boy was. Maybe Oliver was staring distractedly towards the other end of the pub. You looked over your shoulder. Felix Catton was settling down with another round of beers, his stupid eyebrow piercing gleaming in the low pub lights.

“Swap with me,” Esme whispered.

“What?”

“Swap with me so I can look at Oliver.”

You sighed and stood up, shuffling round the table to sit parallel to Oliver. Esme smiled at him as she sat down and he smiled back. When she giggled, you kicked her under the table. Now across from maths-slash-physics, you could see him clearly.

This close, you stood by your assessment that he could have been handsome. His light eyes were framed by not just those hideous glasses but thick, dark lashes. He had a jawline and cheekbones that would make Agyness Deyn jealous. His lips, though strangely curved were plump, and he had a distracting habit of frequently wetting them. But there was something so distinctly and undefinably creepy about him. He talked like a snake, quickly with hissed “s”s and “t”s. You noticed with unease that he barely blinked as he watched for any minutia in his friend’s reaction, and he moved with an almost jerky stiffness. All elbows and angles. This strange combination of beautiful and revolting made him impossible to ignore. Like catching yourself in the mirror after dying your hair. A strange feeling of the uncanny.  

He caught your eye, sensing you staring at him, and you quickly glanced at Esme. Shit. She’d been talking to you about something.

“-of course, it’s easy to compare the Iliad and the Aeneid, but really they’re very different.”

Aha. She was trying to impress, hoping Maybe Oliver would hear. “Oh yes?” You leant forward on your arm and wiggled your eyebrows at her. “Tell me more.”

Esme was clearly delighted that you’d cottoned on to her plan. Brushing her hair from her shoulders and leaning forward too, she continued. “Well, you have to start with the language. One is Greek and one is Latin. Now, we go through this in linguistics. Everyone has to get up to speed with their Greek and Latin so we’re all on the same level-”

You giggled and she kicked you under the table. Esme knew you already knew this and didn’t care. You knew that Esme was just showboating. When you kicked her back she got the giggles and glanced at Maybe Oliver. His eyes were still trained on the back of the pub, and she sighed, taking a gulp of beer. In perfect symmetry, you drank your cider and in the lull you admired the lengths your friend went to flirt with a seemingly average boy.

“-Jameson spends the whole time staring at her tits, completely ignoring the fact she can barely do her times tables.”

Esme choked a little on her drink and your eyebrows shot upwards with barely contained glee. This was far more interesting. You and Esme watched each other, communing telepathically about the intriguing conversation between the boys next to you.

“-times tables, Oliver!”

“Told you it was maths!” You whispered at Esme. Without a word, she got up with a smile to buy you another pint.

“-just fuck off and do history of art, love, save us all the trouble!”

You stilled in your seat, cider halfway to your lips. Did he just-? You ran the sentence over in your mind. “Fuck off and do history of art, love, save us all the trouble.” It wasn’t the first time you’d encountered snobbery about your selected study. Friends from school deemed it “hoity-toity,” and even your parents had worried about your career prospects.

“But what can you actually do with a history of art degree?”

You’d thought Oxford would be different. Surrounded by other young minds, eager for knowledge and an appreciation of the world around them, freshly opened up like your first bottle of champagne; long-awaited, exciting and with a little bit of bite. Just for the adults.

“Excuse me?” Your heart was pounding in your chest as you leant over a little and smiled at the pair of boys. You were proud of your subject but that eagerness to prove its, and your, worth was impossible to ignore. Oliver and Maths Boy looked at you.  “Do you,” you cleared your throat. “What’s wrong with history of art?”

The gangly boy scoffed and turned rigidly in his chair to face you. Like most other nerds, you’d expected him to shy away from anyone outside of his carefully selected circle. This boy, however, seemed to take up an enormous space in your mind. He was confident. Already taken aback by his vicious comment, that threw you even more.

“What’s wrong with it? It’s an easy option that’s become an elitist haven for the middle class.” He pushed his glasses up his long nose with a bony finger. “You ever met any of those ‘students’?” He put air quotes around that last word and you flinched, neck bristling with anger. You doubt he’d have noticed if you put your top over your head and did the Cupid Shuffle; he continued as if nothing happened.

“Load of public-school wankers spouting their useless opinions on aristocrats lounging about in gilded frames, just so they can justify getting a job in daddy’s gallery. It’s an irrelevant, niche subject for people who think their view of the world is superior to us mere plebs’.”

“Michael,” Oliver murmured. He turned to you, not quite looking you in the eye. “Sorry-”

“Here’s your pint,” Esme placed another Thatchers before you. Both you and “Michael” ignored your friends.

“You think it’s irrelevant?” You took a swig of cider without taking your eyes off him. Angry little prick, this fella. You knew the like; maths, physics, economics, law. The students were all the same. Thinking they were better than everyone else because they could swan off into the sunset with £40k job straight out of uni and reap the benefits that the arts provided them without any need to know better. The designer clothes and fast cars, the beautiful buildings they worked in, the nails on the woman ripping open the condom wrapper…

“What’s irrelevant?” Esme said brightly. She held out her hand for Oliver. “Esme, hi.”

“Oliver-”

“History of art, apparently.” You said haughtily.

“Ouch. Who said that?” Esme sat down beside you, still smiling at Oliver.

“Michael.”

“Who’s Michael?”

“Michael Gavey.” The man in question announced himself by extending a long arm in Esme’s direction. She shook his with slight shock and raised her eyebrows at Oliver. He lowered his head in shame.

“Our girl here’s a history of art student.” Esme patted your hand. If you, Esme and Oliver expected this to soften Michael, it didn’t work.

“Ah,” he smiled, mirth lighting his eyes. “That’s why you’re so tetchy. Which school was it then? Cheltenham? Roedean?”

“She went to state comp actually,” Ever your champion, Esme came to your defence.

“Scholarship student?” Michael sneered.

“No,” you rebuffed quickly.

“What’s wrong with that? Me and Oliver here are.”

“Nothing You were the one trying to get me to say it was.”

Michael smiled with satisfaction and an awkward silence fell between the four of you. The clink of glasses and drunken chatter continued around you. This wasn’t the first charged student encounter that had happened in this pub, nor would it be the last.

“I suppose you think maths is superior?” You folded your arms and raised an eyebrow. A challenge. Prove it then.

“Of course it is,”

It was your turn to scoff. “Why can’t there be room for both?”

“There is room for both. Mathematics is just more important.”

“Jesus,” Oliver rubbed his hands over his face.

“Mathematics is the foundation for everything. The modern world as we know it wouldn’t exist without it. Technology, healthcare, finance, governance, everything. It prevents chaos. Without mathematics, society would collapse.” He fidgeted in his chair to turn more vividly towards you, his hands excitedly grasping for something in front of him that didn’t exist. Maths, probably. “We create predictions and complex design systems so that life as we know it can exist, and continue to exist.”

He looked at you as though you should have been impressed. You supposed his excitement was quite sweet. In truth, you knew maths was important. History of art student though you were, you weren’t an idiot. You were at one of the world’s top universities for God’s sake.

“But what’s the point of existing if there’s nothing to enjoy? To live for?”

“Pardon?” What had he expected? For you to roll over and kiss his feet? Take him round the back of the pub for a quick knee tremble? “Oh yes, Michael, tell me more about Fermat’s conjecture! More! More!”

“Art is what makes life worth living for. Its history helps us understand politics, religions, societies and peoples of the past.”

“All that from staring at a Bruegels?” Michael looked at Oliver with a laugh, hoping for back up. Oliver was tearing up a beer mat.

“Yes!”

“Well, it’s never done anything for me.”

His arrogance and ignorance was astounding. This final comment was the drop that sent you overflowing with exasperation. “Yes it has,” you snapped. Michael glared at you. “Aside from what I literally just said, art has done everything for you. Take today for example.”

At this, Michael sat forward. He couldn’t resist a reasoned argument with concrete evidence.

“You woke up this morning at Brasenose, is it?” He nodded. “At Brasenose, in a dorm with Carol Vorderman posters on the walls, posters designed by graphic designers who studied art. Those posters line the walls of a building almost five hundred years old. From barely known architects to Powell and Moya, each added to its history with their extensive understanding of art and beauty. For some reason you then got up and decided to put on that God awful tshirt which, although many would believe otherwise, was designed to be aesthetically pleasing or visually arresting. The latter it certainly is. There you go. Art.” You were on a role.

“I’m assuming you had lectures or tutorial today? The book you read? The covers were made by, you guessed it, artists. You came here with Oliver and decided to get a craft beer because you’re a pretentious prick, and got the darker of the two because, and I agree with you here, the label is prettier. You’re gonna go home in an hour or two when you’ve had one too many pints and ogled that pretty girl at the bar,” you pointed at Eleanor. “Whose thong caught your eye above her low rises. Fashion? That’s art by the way and extremely influential on society ‘as we know it’.” You quoted him back and loved the way his lips quirked into a tight line.

“And thinking of her and her pretty thong, you’ll whack out ZOO mag and whack out a swift one over some big-titted page three girl in a pair of lace knickers that were designed by someone with a fashion degree. Art.”

Esme and Oliver stared at you. A manic, self-satisfied smile was plastered on your face, and when you downed your pint to cool down from the warmth that outpouring had exerted, Oliver actually smiled. Michael said nothing. Did nothing. He was entirely, utterly unreadable. You wanted to smack him.

He glanced from you to Esme, to Oliver and at last to his pint. Like you had done, he picked it up, finish it in three gulps and placed it back on the table. “Oh, sweet baby Jesus.” What the fuck was he talking about? He spoke to his friend as if you and Esme had ceased to exist. “Going for a slash. Get me another pint please, Oliver? Thanks.” He stood from his chair, unfurling like a stick insect, and made purposefully for the gents’.

Your mouth fell open. Esme chuckled nervously. “He’s a charmer,” she said to Oliver.

“Yeah, ‘scuse,” he muttered, shuffling awkwardly to the bar.

You both sat in your chairs, baffled silence befalling of you. “Well, no double dates for us then.” Esme said.

You laughed. “No date for you fullstop.”

“Yeah,” Esme glanced at the bar where Oliver was now waving at someone. You watched as he made his way over to Felix Catton and his friends. “Bit dull, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Oliver sat down as the rest of the posho’s table cheered. “Though if he’s friends with Felix Catton…?”

“Didn’t realise you were so shallow?” Esme teased.

“I’m not! But the parties, Esme, the parties!”

“I know, I know, I’ll remember that Christmas one forever. Oh God, here he comes,” Esme shrank in her seat. Michael was weaving through the crowd back towards the table.

“Why isn’t he going to sit with Felix and Oliver?” You whispered. “He better not be coming back here.”

You and Esme watched as his approached slowed, faltering when he noticed Oliver and his pint were missing. He glanced around, looking at his feet as if to find Oliver on the floor. It was painful. Watching the realisation dawn on his face. You and Esme knew it before he did.

A hand raised in the air; he had spotted Oliver at Felix’s table. You watched, with pity and embarrassment, as Michael waved and Oliver turned away.

“Shit,” Esme said.

Hand moving to push up his glasses, Michael, with head hung low, left.

“Shit,” Esme said again. “Bet you feel like a bitch for shouting at him now.”

And despite his pomp and arrogance, his cynicism and creepiness, you really did feel awful.

Notes: The amount of research I did for this was wholly unnecessary. Added some links because 2006/2007 was quite a place. The script hit me like a fucking train. It says, “Back with Michael: CRUSHED.”

Many thanks to @thecruel for their help with the transcript of the Saltburn pub scene, and to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for the Michael Gavey inspo, your headcanons are always spot on.

Tags: @lexwolfhale* @theoneeyedprince @lovebittenbyevans @fan-goddess @ellrond @very-straight-blog @arcielee @tsujifreya @liv-cole @myfandomprompts @annoyingkittydetective* @elizarbell @solisarium @thekinslayersswordhand @nightdiamond8663* @slowlysparklyninja* @kate-to-the-ki @bellaisasleep @xxxkat3xxx @lacebvnny @moonriseoverkyoto @ewanmitchellcrumbs @moonlightfoxx @pendragora @aemonds-holy-milk @st-eve-barnes @sapphire-writes @babyblue711 @targaryenrealnessdarling @slytherincursebreaker @bottlesandbarricades @valeskafics @anjelicawrites @exitpursuedbyavulcan @barbieaemond @chattylurker @itbmojojoejo @humanpurposes @cyeco13 @heimtathurs @in-a-mountain-pool

*could not tag

[vanwritesfan-fiction]

Travis request

Travis having to carry reader. Like she’s hurt, feet hurt and has to walk barefoot, or carried just playfully

High Heels

Warning: Smut, language

You really wished you weren't so stubborn sometimes. Usually, it worked in your favor, but tonight, as you were forced to walk to your place in your five inch Mach & Mach heels that you just had to have, your feet were cursing your name with every step.

Travis walked a few feet in front of you down the sidewalk with a heavy stride, his suit jacket draped over his shoulder, as you hobbled behind him, contemplating taking your shoes off and walking on the filthy ground.

"When are you just gonna admit you can't walk in those shoes, baby?", he chuckled, throwing his voice behind him, drawing out your pet name as he spoke; his midwestern accent always came out when he'd had a couple of drinks. The two of you were leaving the Chiefs annual Christmas party, and while Travis suggested you grab an Uber to travel the couple of blocks to your apartment in downtown Kansas City because he knew your feet were hurting, you immediately declined, unwilling to admit defeat.

"I'm fine", you gritted out between clenched teeth, pain evident in your voice.

"Yeah, you sound like it."

You flipped him off, letting out a groan when you tripped over a crack in the sidewalk. "Ow! For fucks sake", you mumbled under your breath. Travis turned around to see if you were hurt, but the only thing damaged was your pride. "C'mon, baby. Let me help you."

You waved him off with a scowl on your face. "Just go, I don't need your help."

"Oh really?" He took a swipe at the clutch in your hand, making it clatter across the ground. "Why would you do that?", you whined, struggling to take another step to pick up your handbag. "Just to mess with you", Travis shrugged with a cocky grin, "and to prove a point."

"Yeah, you owe me a new handbag." You took a deep breath, just the thought of walking a second more agonizing. "Fine! Will you help me?"

"I thought you'd never ask." He bent down to help you take off your shoes, but you stopped him. "I am not walking on the nasty concrete."

"Ok", Travis rose stood back up, letting out a huff as he placed his jacket over your shoulders. In one quick movement he had you in his arms in a bridal carry, your arm loosely draped over his shoulders. He let out a playful grunt as he took his first step, earning a scoff from you. "I'm not that heavy!"

"Sure, whatever you need to tell yourself." He let out another groan, knowing it would set you off. "Ya know what? Put me down, I'll crawl the rest of the way there", you said with a slap to his chest. "I'm just kidding. I'm just kidding", Travis admitted as you finally reached your building.

You let out a squeal when he effortlessly shifted to throw you over his shoulder as he opened the door and walked to the elevator. "Travis, do not drop me", you warned, making Travis laugh. "I wasn't thinking about it until you said something, but now..."

"Travis Michael Kelce, if you drop me, you're sleeping on the couch tonight."

"Is that any way to talk your wonderful husband who literally carried you a few blocks tonight?"

"Try me if you want to." You punctuated your threat with a hiccup, all of the blood rushing to your head. You held on tight to his bicep as he walked down the hallway, hearing his key slip into the front door, and the light switch flip on as you entered the kitchen.

"Ok, let me down, please!", you called out, trying to push yourself up to no avail. Travis ignored your command, giving you a playful slap on the butt as he carried you to the bedroom, carefully dropping on the bed with a huff. "You're welcome." He moved to the closet as he unbuttoned his shirt.

"Travis?" You called out in your sweetest voice. "What baby?"

"Can you help me take my shoes off?" You could have probably done it yourself, but you enjoyed when Travis doted on you. He emerged from the closet shirtless, his pectoral muscles flexing as he moved toward you, his belt unbuckled and slung low around his waist. You didn't even need a glass of champagne to be turned on by the sight of Travis' toned body, but it certainly heightened all of your senses.

Your core twitched as he grabbed at your ankle, pressing a harmless kiss to your calf before he undid the first strap. You pressed the sole of your other heel against his chest, pressing the heel into his skin ever so slightly, making the skirt of your dress bunch up at your hips.

"Really?", Travis' voice was gruff as he noticed you weren't wearing any panties, your core already glistening with your wetness. "I didn't want any panty lines underneath my dress tonight", you coyly explained with a shrug, spreading your legs a little wider so he had a perfect view of your pussy. "You're enjoying this aren't you?" His erection began to press against his zipper as he watched you lick two of you fingers and slowly drag them through your folds, your index finger pressing against your clit, making you shiver.

"Enjoying what?" You bite at your bottom lip.

"The heels" he lifts one of your legs up, showing off your very expensive stilettoes, "the dress", he nodded to wear your dress was now laying haphardly on the ground. "Its all just a little too obvious, ya know?" Travis let out a dark chuckle as he pulled his belt from the loops, dropping it on the ground. Two years of marriage behind you, and he still had to work overtime not to bend you over in a public places at his will, you always looked so good, so it was almost unfair how much you teased him when the two of you were alone, just knowing it drove him wild.

"That was just for the party. I don't have to work overtime to get you. You're already mine." Travis nodded, biting at his bottom lip. "All day, baby. And twice on Sunday."

"Are you just gonna stand here?", you giggled, his eyes glazing over with lust as he moved to hover over you, his large hands framing your face as you locked lips. His hands were roaming every inch of your body, his mouth tracing the line of your collar bone with wet kisses before he helped you get your dress off over your head, exposing your breasts to the cold of the room.

"Fuck, Travis", you let out a sharp breath as he latched on your nipple, your hands raking through his scalp. You welcomed his body weight as he collapsed on top of you, and you could feel how hard he was as his cock pressed against your lower stomach. You ground your hips against his pelvis, making him groan out, his voice vibrating against your skin. "Why are you in such a rush?", he chuckled, raising up to look at you.

"You act like I'm the only one whose a big tease in this relationship." You glanced down at his crotch before looking back at him. "I don't wanna play any games tonight." Travis grabbed at your hips, pulling you to the edge of the bed. You felt his hot breath tickle your inner thigh as he knelt on the ground, his mouth hovering over your throbbing core. You rested your heels on his shoulders as he pressed a gentle kiss to your clit, his tongue flicking to knock at the sensitive bud a couple of times.

You were already a moaning mess, so sensitive to his touch as he drug his tongue through your folds, latching onto you like he was starved for the taste of you. You felt every muscle start to tighten as he ravished you, the sounds of your wetness echoing in the room. It was all too much, the grip he had on your thighs, the softness of his lips against your skin, you felt yourself hurdling toward your orgasm-

"Stop, Travis. Stop, I'm so close", you chest heaved as you spoke, pushing him away, desperate for him to stretch you out with his cock. Travis wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he got up, pressing a knee into the mattress between your legs. You hurriedly helped him take his pants and boxers off, his cock springing free from the band of his underwear and resting against his abs.

"My shoes- take off my shoes", you were desperately trying to hold onto your orgasm, feeling it slip away. "The shoes stay on", Travis grumbled, playfully biting you on the inner thigh. He threw your legs over his shoulders again, this time lifting your hips to place a pillow under your bottom.

You sighed as he pushed himself slowly into you, bottoming out inside of you before he started to move his hips, each stroke pushing over your g-spot, your cushiony walls clenching around him tightly. Instantly, Travis was already working against his internal clock, knowing he wasn't going to last with how wet and warm you felt, his jaw flexing as he tried to hold back.

"Fuck, please go slow." You begged, the mixture of pleasure and overstimulation rushing over your entire body, feeling every inch of him each time he disappeared into your pussy, your legs held together above your head. Travis moaned, "Fuck, babe", his words slurring as if he was drunk, even though he'd only nursed a few beers all night. He tried to focus on other parts of your body as he quickened his pace, the way your face contorted with pleasure at each movement, but the sight of your mouth hanging slightly agape, your lips forming an 'o', only made it harder. You quickly got used to the motions, feeling the warmth pool in your lower stomach.

"Travis, baby", your hands were gripping the sheets, the fabric bundled so tightly in your fists you thought you'd rip them. "What do you need, baby?", he asked, his cock twitching at the sound of your whines, your hips grinding against him, desperate to build some friction. "Tell me what you need, baby", Travis tried to get your attention, holding your hips in place as he drilled into you, but you were silent, unable to speak even if you wanted to, too cock drunk to say anything, and he was only getting started.

He knew your body, studied it closely, knew what made you tick and what sent you over the edge, so as he saw your writhing underneath him, he knew you were close, and you didn't even need to say a word.

You squealed as he stopped, pulling your legs down and wrapping them around his waist, his large body hovering over you as he continued his pace, his thumb laid flat against your clit, drawing teasing circles around it. You were so overwhelmed you could barely hear his praises for you as he whispered in your ear. "Such a good girl. Always such a good girl for me."

You were unraveling, a complete mess as you felt every inch of your body tense up before the sweetest release, a wave of pleasure washing over your body repeatedly, from your fingertips to your toes. He continued to press his fingers against your clit so you could ride your high as long as possible.

Travis' strokes were faltering as he felt himself close to his own orgasm, and with three final pumps, he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck as you milked every bit of his release out of him. The room was filled with pants and groans as he settled on top of you, his beard scratchy against your cheek as he kissed your neck.

"Fuck, that was-", you giggled as Travis rolled off of you, his hands never leaving your body. "Yeah", you agreed with a nod, closing your eyes.

"Its always that good, right?" Sex with you was always fantastic, but tonight, something was definitely different in the best way possible, he just couldn't put his finger on it. "Don't make me say it", you teased.

"Say what?"

You lifted your legs in the air, the rhinestones on your heels shining in the light.

"Oh my god. Please, it wasn't those expensive ass, painful shoes." Travis rolled his eyes, slapping at his bare chest.

"It was the only thing we did different, Travis", you teased, pulling your self close to him and placing a messy kiss on his lips.

Taglist:

@sporadicpaperchopshop

@marz22224

@rosesnothornes

@macey234

@amylouwho9

@jackharlowscumslut

@gloriousmessofagirl

@ctn26

@xangelonmyshoulderx

@livinginmyfantasies

@caelipartem

@savaneafricaine

@thatchigirl99

@sweetlittlethings15

@buonalima

@tk87kc

@m-1234

@marchmaiden

@questionable-behaviour

@queenisa17

@anacarangel

@tjkelce87

@giannalove9202

@vir-tual

@fearisthehandthatpullsourstrings

@bernelflo

@caroline334

@hufflewhore128

@urbanandjackfanpage

@trust-tequila

@lightsoutstyles

@luvvtrent

@aga21

@talicat713

@brixo

@mmb219

@queenravioli

@there-goes-thefighter

@kmc1989

@princessmermaid1289

@fantasywritersstuff

@kelcemenow

@kristinamae093

@w1ldthoughts

@iknowdatsrightbih

@purecinnamonextract

@jmamas92

@wittyjasontodd

@fanficfanatic15

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

The Golden Ratio - Part Two

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Derogatory language, angst, smut, virginity loss. Word count: ~4.7k

Chapter summary: Her and Michael struggle with the social side of university, and with each other. Series masterlist.

Author's note: For @assortedseaglass. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She is halfway through her second can of Carling, having downed the first as soon as Michael handed it to her, before she feels ready to speak.

In a rare display of empathy, he had handed her a lager the moment he’d opened his door to her, clearly having taken note of her miserable state. There isn’t a mirror in his room, so she has no idea of how puffy her eyes may still be from crying.

The beer is warm, but it’s doing its job and that’s all she really cares about right now. With every pass of the fizzy, amber liquid down her throat she feels lighter - she doesn’t normally drink, so it doesn’t take long.

“Go on then,” she says miserably, drink held in a loose grip between both hands as she perches on the edge of his bed. “You can say ‘I told you so’.”

“About what?” He says, eyeing her carefully, from where he is seated on his computer chair, turned away from his desk to face where she currently sits, the frame of it creaking slightly as he sits forward.

She exhales, keeping her gaze fixed on the ring pull of her beer. “Rich…he’s…he’s been cheating on me.”

“Oh.” 

Michael clears his throat, obviously uncomfortable, and for a moment she thinks he won’t say anything else. Her mouth turns downwards bitterly, thinking it’s best she just leaves.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, so quietly she almost doesn’t hear it.

Her head snaps up, eyes locking with his, and he leans back as though wary of her reaction.

“For what?” She asks, a mirthless smile tugging at her lips as she cocks her head.

He bows his head, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger. “I dunno,” he glances back up at her, “just something people say, isn’t it? When something bad happens…”

“I don’t want your empty words,” she tells him, setting her can down by her feet before resting back on her palms. “Tell me what you’re really thinking.”

“You’re already upset,” he states matter of factly, “I don’t think that’s wise.”

“Fuck what you think!” She exclaims, shifting back to the edge of the bed. “Tell me.”

“Alright, fine,” Michael sighs, “I think Rich is a fucking loser, and him cheating is the best thing that could have happened–”

“Wow, thanks–”

“No, let me finish. He’s reading art, for fuck’s sake! What could you possibly have in common? You can do better, you’ve got a brilliant mind.”

Brilliant. 

In two years, Rich had never once called her that. A feeling of warmth passes through her as her eyes meet the vibrant blue of Michael’s.

“You really believe that?”

“I know that.”

They stare at each other in silence for a few seconds, and she has no idea what possesses her, but suddenly she is leaning forward, pressing her lips to his. He is hesitant to respond, and when he does it’s chaste and uncertain, a marker of inexperience or unwillingness which she cannot decipher, so she pulls away.

But then he is chasing her, large hands cradling her head as he tugs her back, his mouth finding hers once more. This time the pressure is equal, their breathing heavy as the sticky sound of their saliva grows more significant. 

Moving from the bed, not breaking the kiss, she straddles his lap, ignoring the way the chair wheels back against the desk with a heavy thud. Her fingers thread into Michael’s short, sandy hair, as the embrace deepens, her tongue brushing against his. She grinds herself down upon the rapidly growing bulge she can feel beneath the zipper of his cargo shorts, causing a rumble of approval to vibrate from deep within his chest.

It feels good to feel wanted, but as their hands paw haphazardly at each other through their clothes, doubt creeps into her mind. If this is his first kiss, then it would be his first time too. He is her friend, her project partner, she has just broken up with her boyfriend. None of this is a good idea.

Reluctantly, she pulls away, sheepishly climbing from his lap. They’re both breathing heavily, and Michael gingerly adjusts his glasses as he looks up at her in silent question.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” she says breathlessly, running a hand through her hair, “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m a bit pissed and got carried away…”

“Oh,” his eyes widen, as he nods in understanding, subtly moving to adjust himself in his shorts, “of course. I wouldn’t want to take advantage.”

She reaches out a hand, not quite touching him, but wanting to placate him as she fervently shakes her head. “No, no, it’s me taking advantage. I don’t want to ruin things between us. We’re friends.”

“Friends?” The way his eyes light up as he says the word makes her smile, hopeful that she hasn’t caused irreparable damage between.

“Yeah, friends.”

She needs that more than anything right now.

“So, what are you hoping to do once you graduate?” Michael asks, glancing between her and their collective notes.

It’s the day before they are due to present back to Professor’s Byrne’s class, and they have met in the library to go over everything one final time.

In the days since their kiss they have grown closer; sitting next to each other in the remainder of their introductory lectures and meeting up to work on their project, though they both know it is complete and needs nothing else doing to it.

She has grown used to Michael’s intensity, would go as far as to say she is fond of it, and genuinely looks forward to seeing him each day. Oxford feels far less lonely with him by her side.

“Something in the field of medical research,” she says, her fingers playing absentmindedly with the delicate softness of the petals of the sunflower head they’d cut down a few days prior. I read Professor Byrne’s paper before I applied here. It inspired me.”

“The one on biomedical systems?”

Her eyes light up as she smiles at him. “You read it?”

“Hmm. An interesting read, though I much prefer mechanics.”

“Is that what you want to do?”

“Yes, I think so. I’ve been reading a lot about random matrix theory. I’d like to go into the field of statistical mechanics.”

“I look forward to reading one of your research papers one day.”

They hold each other’s gaze for a moment, though she doesn’t miss the faintest of pink that tinges his cheeks.

It’s the day of the presentations, and just as she’d suspected, almost every group in the glass has presented back a table relating to how the Fibonacci sequence creates a spiral. Her and Michael share a knowing look, a smug smirk of satisfaction on each of their faces.

Aside from one presentation, which did in fact focus on rabbits, but delved too deeply into mating habits to be considered mathematical, theirs is entirely unique.

She beams with pride as she catches the impressed smile of Professor Byrne from the corner of her eye as they stand at the front of the lecture hall, talking through their findings.

“Very well done, both of you,” she tells them as they return to their seats.

The compliment makes her heart soar, providing her with a rush that lasts long after the class has been dismissed.

“Let’s go to the pub,” she says excitedly to Michael as they walk down Woodstock Road, away from the Mathematical Institute.

“You want to go to the pub? It’s the middle of the day.”

“There are no more lectures today, and I feel like celebrating. We really impressed Professor Byrne.”

Fifteen minutes later they’re sitting in the Lamb and Flag. A bright pink straw juts out of the neck of her bottle of Smirnoff Ice, and she rolls it between her fingers playfully as she watches Michael sip his pint.

The pub is half full with other students, all either skipping lectures or making the most of a free period.

“I told you that focusing on flowers would make us stand out,” she says, unable to suppress her grin.

Michael swallows his beer, wiping his mouth the back of his hand once he’s settled the pint glass back down on the beer mat. “Yeah, you did. We made the rest of the class look like losers,” he says with a chuckle.

“Yeah, we make quite the team, don’t we?”

He smiles, lowering his gaze and nods. There it is again, that adorable pink flush that dusts his cheeks.

“I’m gonna go to the loo. Will you watch my drink for me?”

He nods, watching as she stands and walks to the ladies.

Five minutes later, she can no longer see him at their table as she returns, though both their drinks are still there. She peers around the corner, seeing him standing before a larger group of students. A few she has seen around before, though they’re not on their course.

“So, is she your girlfriend then?” She overhears one of the guys ask Michael.

“No, not my girlfriend,” he responds, “but I’m helping her get over a break up, if you know what I mean.”

She swallows, feeling her heart lurch as she listens, unable to believe what she’s hearing.

“Oh yeah? Really helping her get over it, I bet,” the guy says, earning raucous laughter from the rest of the group.

She storms towards them, deciding she’s heard enough. Despite wanting to sound angry, her voice trembles as she speaks, betraying the tears she’s fighting to hold back. “I haven’t slept with you!” She shouts at Michael, meeting his shocked, wide eyed stare. “I would never sleep with you!”

Turning on her heel, the pub door swings open with a squeak of hinges as she pulls on it. She walks quickly down St. Giles’, swiping angrily at the tears that have begun to roll down her cheeks.

How could he? They were supposed to be friends and he’d talked about her as though she was something cheap. She had thought Michael was different to everyone else.

Back in her room, a hollow ache has burrowed its way into her chest, as she lays flat on her back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. The high of that morning’s presentation is long forgotten as her mind races with thoughts of what she’d overheard in the pub.

Why had he spoken about her like that? Had he been pretending to like her all this time just for the sake of the presentation?

Nausea swirls in her gut as she’s startled from her throughs by a soft knock at her door. She knows who it will be before she even answers it, and is half tempted to simply ignore it, she doesn’t want to see him. However, curiosity gets the better of her and before she can stop herself, she’s moving towards the door to open it.

Michael stands on the other side, posture not as straight as it usually is, as his shoulders slope and he looks at her imploringly. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he looked remorseful, but he is too self assured for such emotions.

“What do you want?” She asks tiredly.

“I’m sorry,” he says meekly, his voice softer than usual. “I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” she snaps. “So why did you?!”

“When you went to the toilet, that group called me over, started asking questions and I…I don’t know…I just wanted to feel what it would be like to be normal, just once. I–”

She feels anger run hot in her blood, nostrils flaring as he speaks and cuts him off. “I’m not here to act as your fucking cloak of normality, Michael! Fortunately, we’ve already given the presentation.”

“What do you mean?” He asks, brows pinching together with concern.

“I mean that the need for us to continue speaking to one another is over.”

She slams the door in his face, choking back a sob.

Fuck Michael Gavey. She is so incredibly angry with him, she wants nothing more to do with him. And yet she can’t understand why it hurts so much, somehow this feels worse than what Rich had done to her.

The next few days are torturous. She avoids Michael as much as she can, sitting away from him in lectures, looking away when she catches him staring at her. Seeing him online on MSN makes her heart ache, yet she can’t find it in herself to simply block and delete him. It feels too final somehow, worsened by the fact that she stares obsessively at his username, a part of her hoping a message will pop up from him. It never does.

Life goes back to feeling bland and lonely, with nothing to look forward to anymore. She goes about her days, alone, and then sits in her room, alone.

A week later and she is back in Professor Byrne’s class, only this time she seats herself as far away from Michael as she possibly can, trying not to think about how happy she’d felt to present beside him the last time she was in this room.

“So, I hope you all enjoyed your introductory project,” she begins, as she enters the room, setting her briefcase down upon the desk at the front. “It wasn’t just an exercise in presenting what you know about the Fibonacci sequence, it was a test of how well you work in pairs. That being said, the person you worked with will also be the person you are paired with for your upcoming tutorials with me.”

Her heart sinks.

No, no, no.

Chancing a glance over at Michael, she feels herself grow hot as she sees he’s already looking at her, and she quickly turns away. She had hoped to be able to avoid him, but now would have to spend an hour in close confines with him once a week for the remainder of first year.

Her heart races for the rest of the lecture and she finds herself unable to concentrate, hurriedly packing her bag and rushing to leave the room the moment they’re dismissed.

Unfortunately, Michael has beaten her to it and is waiting for her in the corridor. She bows her head, moving to step around him, but he blocks her path.

“I’ll ask for a different tutorial partner,” he says, “you needn’t worry about having to interact with me.”

She looks up at him, her eyes wide with shock. Her throat tightens as she’s met with the sight of his baby blues, boring a hole into her. “Don’t…don’t do that. It would look bad to Professor Byrne. We can both be mature about this.”

Silently she forces away the sadness she feels at him not wanting to be partnered with her. He’s in the wrong, not the other way around, she has to remind herself.

“As long as you’re sure?” He asks, shifting from one foot to the other, clearly feeling as uneasy as she does.

“I’m sure. I’ll see you around,” she tells him, finally stepping past and walking away.

“See you tomorrow,” he calls after her.

What?!

She rifles in her bag, pulling out her freshly printed timetable.

There it is. Tutorial - 9.05 - Prof. Byrne.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

She is filled with restless energy until the next morning. Her leg bounces involuntarily as she sits in the armchair next to Michael’s in the small, stuffy room of Professer Byrne’s office, who is seated opposite them.

Her eyes scan the shelves of books, the various notebooks that are fanned across the table, anything to avoid looking at Michael, until the older woman speaks.

“So, I hope you’ve both come with notes prepared to discuss the various ways of describing and displaying data, as discussed yesterday?”

Her face blanches. She’d been too distracted following the tutorial announcement to pay attention, and hadn’t heard her assign this. She has done no reading or note taking.

Michael glances over at her, taking in her worried expression. “Actually,” he interjects, “I think we may have misunderstood the instructions. We worked on this as a pair too, I hope you’ll forgive us just this once?”

The professor sighs, crossing her legs and tapping her pen against her pad. “Fine. Just this once. But I require individual work moving forward, you aren’t earning your degrees as a joint effort.”

“Understood,” Michael nods, rifling through his papers. “Here,” he says, leaning across and handing her a few sheets. “These are your notes.”

Slowly she takes them from him, her eyes scanning the pages, mostly graphs and tables of data, easy enough to understand and explain, without needing context.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, offering him a small smile.

The tutorial goes ahead without any further hiccups. Michael talks passionately and competently about what he’s read and the notes he’s taken, and she manages to talk through the data points he has provided her. If Professor Byrne suspects any unpreparedness, she doesn’t say.

Once it’s over and they step out into the hallway, she hands the papers back to him. “Why did you do that?” She asks quietly.

“You hadn’t prepared anything,” he says with a shrug.

“That was really nice of you.”

“It’s the least I owe you.”

“Thank you.”

He nods. “It won’t happen a second time. Come prepared next week. I want to hear what that brilliant mind of yours can come up with.”

There it is again. Brilliant mind.

She smiles at that, though her heart twists painfully in her chest as she watches him walk away. This is what she had wanted, she has to remind herself, he’d disrespected her.

Another two weeks go by, and though she is lonely it gets easier not having to avoid Michael. She finds their weekly tutorials are something she looks forward to, enraptured by how fervently he speaks about each topic, and preening with pride as he sits clearly impressed as she talks through her own notes and findings.

She misses him, though she is too proud to admit it. He had hurt her, and she’d told him to stay away. It would be humiliating to crawl back to him after that.

It’s Friday night and she’s in desperate need of a snack, so heads out of her room in the direction of the vending machines, running straight into a group of girls from her floor as they’re walking out.

Their giggles die down to silence as they see her, all offering her awkward, but obviously fake smiles.

“Not out tonight?” One of them asks, she’s fairly certain her name is Annabel, from what she’s heard in the corridors.

She shakes her head. “No, not tonight.”

“You could come out with us? We’re off to The Bull.”

She scans the faces of the other girls, all clearly less than enthusiastic about her presence, then shakes her head. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“Oh, darling, I wasn’t asking,” Annabel giggles, grabbing her arm.

Less than thirty minutes later she finds herself squashed around a table in The Bullingdon, next to Annabel. She recognises Felix and Farleigh as part of the group they’ve joined, all passing around Jägerbombs and cigarettes.

She feels out of place and underdressed, in jeans and a long sleeved shirt. The rest of the girls are all dressed up in colourful, sparkly eyeshadow and low cut tops.

Amidst the din of their laughter and seemingly endless chatter, set to a backdrop of ‘SOS’ by Rhianna, she can barely hear herself think. She sips anxiously at her coke, pressing her lips together and shaking her head when Annabel jiggles the 35cl bottle of vodka she’s produced from her bag, asking “want some voddy in that?”

Her focus is pulled away when she spots Michael tucked away in the corner. He’s sitting opposite the guy she saw him with on the first night, whose name she has since learned is Oliver.

Her and Michael lock eyes and he gives her a polite nod before returning his focus back to his own conversation. To be so close and yet so far from him makes her ache.

Try as she might, her gaze keeps wandering back to him, unable to focus on the people around her. She watches with keen interest as he rises from his table, headed towards the gents as Oliver makes his way to the bar.

“Olly! Olly! Over here!” Shouts Felix, and to her surprise, Oliver skulks over, with the body language of someone who’s about to ask them for spare change rather than join their group.

She raises an eyebrow as Felix shuffles over, making space for him to sit down and wonders if Michael will join them too.

Her question is answered when he returns from the toilets, giving Oliver an awkward wave which goes unanswered.

“Shit sorry,” Felix says, “are you here with your mate?”

“Nah, he’s just leaving,” Oliver says nonchalantly, accepting the shot he’s been passed.

From the way Michael bows his head and leaves the pub, she knows that’s the furthest thing from the truth, and shoots Oliver a pointed look.

“‘Scuse me,” she says quietly to Annabel, pushing out of her seat and following after Michael.

The chilly October air is biting against her skin in juxtaposition with the sticky warmth of the pub, as she attempts to follow his lanky gait.

“Michael, wait!” She calls after him, hurrying her steps to catch him up.

He stops, turning to her, a look of defeat on his face. “Go back to your mates.”

“They’re not my mates, and they’re not yours either,” she says softly. “I saw what Oliver did to you, that was out of order.”

“The closest thing I’ve felt to normal since coming here is hanging out with you,” he tells her. “The rest of them are all vapid cunts.”

“Then let’s go back to hanging out again,” she offers, stepping towards him.

“After what I did to you?” He asks, raising his eyebrows.

“I miss my friend,” she says honestly, “come on, we’ll make our own fun, we don’t need those losers.”

He laughs softly, and for the first time in weeks she feels whole again.

There’s an odd sense of coming home as she steps inside of Michael’s room, the welcoming warmth wrapping itself around her like a familiar blanket.

“There’s beer under the desk,” he tells her, closing the door behind him.

She makes her way over towards it, pausing when she sees the papers on top of it.

A First Course in Random Matrix Theory for Physicists, Engineers and Data Scientists is printed in large font on the top page, she lifts it away, seeing that on the second is a simple dedication to her.

Her heart flutters as she draws in a shaky breath. “What’s this?”

“Fuck!” He exclaims, eyes going wide as he steps towards the desk. “I hadn’t expected you to come back here. I’d forgotten I’d left this out. You said in the library a few weeks ago that you’d be keen to read my first paper when I published it. It isn’t finished, but I wanted to dedicate it you, since you made my first week here so–”

She presses her lips to his, hands reaching up to cup his cheeks as she kisses him fiercely. Michael returns the gesture, long arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her close.

“...so wonderful,” he finishes breathlessly, pressing his forehead to hers when they finally part for air.

“I look forward to reading it,” she grins up at him.

“Well, if you wanted, you could–”

“Do you really want me to read your paper right now?” She asks, gripping the front of his t-shirt and pulling him towards the bed.

“On second thoughts…”

He pulls her back in and their mouths meet again, desperate and needy as they topple onto the bed, tugging eagerly at each other’s clothing, quickly undressing each other.

Their pace slows once they are fully bare, and she runs her hands up and down the length of Michael’s sturdy back, enjoying the weight of his lithe body on top of hers.

“I missed you,” she whispers.

“I was an idiot,” he tells her, holding his weight up on his palms.

“Mmmm. The most stupid genius I know.”

He huffs a laugh. “I think I know just the thing that might cheer you up,” he tells her, moving down her body.

She props herself up on her elbows, watching with keen interest as he moves down her body, placing her legs over his shoulders once he reaches the juncture of her thighs.

He is hesitant at first, studying her closely, but then presses forward. She yelps at the sensation, all of his focus is on the bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex, and it feels electrifyingly intense with the motion in which the tip of his tongue moves against it. It’s too much.

She squirms, pushing him away with a squeal.

“Did you not like that?” He asks, seeming unsure of himself as he sits on his haunches, adjusting his glasses.

“It was a bit too much,” she admits, giggling slightly.

“Oh…sorry,” he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, “I read you’re supposed to shape out the letters of the alphabet when you do that. I’ve always been more of a numbers man, so I went for Pi instead.”

She laughs loudly, reaching for him when he bows his head in embarrassment. “There’ll be plenty of time for that later. Right now, I just want you.”

“Come here,” she says, leaning over to rummage in her purse for a condom. “May I?”

He nods, shuffling closer as she tears open the packet. He hisses through his teeth when she wraps her hand around him. He’s warm and thick, foreskin silky smooth as she gently rubs her hand up and down the length of him, feeling every ridge and vein.

“Is this your first time?” She asks softly, as she rolls the rubber from tip to base.

“Um…yeah…is that a problem?” He asks, reluctantly meeting her eye.

“Not if it isn’t for you,” she tells him earnestly, free hand stroking his cheek. “Do you want me to go on top?”

He shakes his head. “No…no, I want to feel you.”

She smiles in understanding, laying back and coaxing him to move over her, spreading her legs to accommodate him.

He feels heavy against her entrance and she fights to resist the urge to cant her hips forward, wanting to take things at a pace he’s comfortable with.

His jaw slackens as he pushes forward, and she sighs in pleasure at the slow stretch of him bottoming out inside of her. Their breaths are hot against each other's necks as he stills, adjusting to the new sensation.

When he eventually withdraws to slowly push back in again, she moves her hips in time with his, encouraging him, and he quickly finds a rhythm. They are a clash of teeth and tongues as their mouths meet messily, hands exploring each other as the bed creaks beneath the exertion of their movements.

“F–fuck…you feel good..” he mutters, causing her to moan and her toes to curl, as he nudges against her sweet spot.

She could come from this if he keeps it up, and she can feel herself clenching around him as the beginnings of her peak approach. Right as she teeters on the edge, he groans, pulsating and spilling into the sheath that separates them.

“Sorry..” he whispers, looking at her with fogged up lenses.

“It’s okay,” she reassures him, her fingers stroking through the hair at the side of his head, brushing over the temple of his glasses. “It felt good.”

“But you didn’t…you know…”

“Plenty of time for that,” she says, pecking his lips. “Like I said, we’ll make our own fun, won’t we?”

“Get another condom then,” he says, pulling out of her. “I’ve still got some making up to do.”

[shoyoist]

ﾟ+* ꔫ — 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐒 + 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 !!

content: gn!reader. sfw — fluff. slightly suggestive in shidou's part. featuring: bachira meguru, mikage reo, chigiri hyoma, michael kaiser. some of these hcs were suggested to me by other tumblr users! they are credited separately under each part<3

— . ｡˚ ♡ he thinks of these special moments whenever he's feeling down, and it helps him get right back up.

° 𐐒𐐚 . bachira meguru + painting date!

credit to @katasstrophy for the idea! the bachira family has a little art studio built in their house, owned by bachira's mom. he takes you there one time, and though you'd been doing your best to keep things clean for his mother's sake, the two of you end up making a huge mess.

you're intently dabbing brown and yellow paint on your little canvas, looking back at the mental image you've conjured of your boyfriend sitting in a field of flowers and smiling at you, when you hear shuffling behind you.

"baby, baby," is all bachira says in warning. "look this way!" and you turn around, wide-eyed and inquiring as you finally look away from the canvas on which you've been meticulously painting a picture of your rogueishly adorable boyfriend—

only to be met with a splat of bright pink paint across your face. "m—meguru? what the hell?" it's on your cheek, dangerously close to your mouth that had been open in question to bachira's urgent request for you to turn around, and it's nearly in your eye. "god i could've eaten that shit!"

the sound of bachira's unapologetic giggling fills the quiet studio as you get up and pluck a wad of tissues from the box on the table nearby, wiping your face off with it. while your back is turned, he flicks his paint-sopped brush at you again, and you feel the paint hit the back of your neck. "don't do that!"

you stand up straight and turn your back to your easel, squaring your shoulders and doing your best to protect the painting.

"it's—" bachira's laughing so hard now, he snorts in between his words. "it's even worse now, baby — it's all over your face!" and you know that. because you can feel the paint smear down to your chin as you wipe. oh, you think, he's so fucking cute right now, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkly as he giggles.

but that's not going to stop you from retaliating. meguru, you're about to get it.

his mother chewed him out and made him clean the place up afterwards, but bachira would do it again and again and again, just to see your pretty smile and hear your pretty laugh, your eyes lit up as you tried to stay angry with him while the two of you made a mess of yourselves and the studio once more.

° 𐐒𐐚 . hyoma chigiri + poetry analysis date!

credit to @yakshasslut for the idea! chigiri gives you a book of his favourite love poems to read while he's away, and by the time he comes back home, you're brimming with tender feelings for him and he flusters so sweetly when you express it. ever since, it's been a tradition to share and mull over novels and poems together.

not many of chigiri's friends or teammates are well-versed in poetry or literature in general, but there is one novel of prose that each and every one of them can name and recognize within an instant — and it's a book that you gave your boyfriend as a gift, years ago.

it doesn't have much of you in it — it's a collection of poems that express the joys and pains of long distance love, and the only hint of you in it is the lipstick kiss on the front page, with a "for hyoma, my one and only<3" written on it in your handwriting.

he takes it everywhere. flicks through the pages while he's on the plane, while he's resting in his hotel room, and sometimes even takes it with him to games.

he takes so much care to keep it safe and in good condition, but it's quite worn now— he can't bring himself to shelf it, though. it's his most prized posession, almost.

he reads it and keeps in mind that while he's away, you're reading the new book that he had gifted you before he left, and he smiles to himself, imagining how you underline and draw hearts around your favourite lines and write little pencil notes about how "this is you @ me!"

don't get it wrong, chigiri loves being on the field. he loves the glamour, the adrenaline, the fire of scoring a goal — but at his heart, he's soft. domestic.

he hopes fondly for the day he'll get to lay in bed with you again (he's only going to be away for two weeks. but it feels like two months, or even years, sometimes) and have a cozy little date where you just sip on warm coffee and share sweet cakes while mulling over poems together.

it's comforting. it's home.

he thinks about the worn book of poems that sits on your shelf, back at your place. the one he gave you.

the one you read all the time, leaving new annotations bookmarked for him to find each time he picks the book up for a read.

if he ever actually tired of football, chigiri thinks he might just become a poet. for you.

° 𐐒𐐚 . mikage reo + picnic date at the beach!

credit to anonymous! reo is a rich man, and he's so used to fancy dinner dates, luxury trips, first class service, all that. so when you take him on a cute little beach date, getting him to help you cut sandwiches and bake brownies and cookies earlier in the day, it was a new experience for him. and he loves it.

“reo, what about here?” you ask, turning around to look at him as you hop in your cute little sandals on the sand. he's carrying the picnic basket and you have the blanket folded under your arms — and he's been following you across the pretty beach for about fifteen minutes now.

though you ask him if he likes the spot, he knows from the look in your eyes that you actually like this place, and it's nice! the sand is soft and there's not a lot of rocks or seaweed under foot, the shore is a short walk away, and the sunset spills so pretty onto your skin and into your eyes.

he's almost lost in the sight — but when you call his name again, sounding a little concerned as you ask, “reo? you okay?” he snaps out of it and gives you one of his signature, wide and adorable grins. “yeah! here is fine, baby.”

he doesn't know but even his eyes are lit up, the violet of them beautiful and tinted gold in the light of the setting sun, and you can't help but cup his face and kiss him as he puts the basket down and sits on the blanket beside you.

“isn't this fun?” you giggle against his lips, and he hums in agreement, taking your waist in his hands and pulling you in for another kiss. the evening has just started, but he already knows that he'll remember this moment fondly, forever. “mhm, it is fun.”

“you sure?” you ask, tracing his cheek with your thumb, and it's almost a softer, warmer feeling than that of the sun kissing his face. “it's not your usual scene, i know. we can always go to a—”

”no,” reo cuts you off, taking your hand. the smile he gives you is prettier, brighter than any he's ever given you before. it takes your breath away. “it's not my usual scene, yeah.” he chuckles. “in fact, i've never had a picnic on the beach in my life until now. but it's... nice. i love it.”

he says it so softly, and it's rare, coming from your bubbly, bright and ever-so-forward lover. and that's how you know he's telling you the truth.

“alright then.” you kiss his cheek, pulling away and sitting back, dragging the basket closer so you can take the food out. it's just a little kiss, the same as any other kiss you've given his cheek — but somehow, it holds a different sort of warmth, and it comforts him. makes him feel so softly, gently beloved.

and he swears he'll hold this warmth to his cheek, to his chest, to his heart — forever.

° 𐐒𐐚 . michael kaiser + homemade spa date!

credit to anonymous! off days with kaiser are the nicest spent indoors. you go on outdoor dates (and on dates overseas) so often, that it's a nice change to stay at home once in a while and spend some sweet, domestic time with him instead.

“mikka,” your tone is scolding as you cradle his face in your palms, stopping him from wiggling around as you try to stay balanced in his lap. “can you stop moving? the serum is getting in your hair!”

kaiser laughs, the lift of his lips making him look all the more prettier, and hence all the more fucking distracting, as you try to wipe the residual bits of the face mask you'd just peeled off your boyfriend's face, replacing the thick, opaque cleanser with softly translucent moisturizer.

he taps your palmful of moisturizer with an index finger, and with a quick move of the digit he swipes the blob on your nose, making you flinch back and blink in surprise.

“mikka!”

ah, there it is. mission successful. kaiser almost wishes he could go to sleep forever and in his dreams, listen to you calling him by that sweet little petname for the rest of his life. almost.

because he wishes more than that to kiss you all the time. like right now. he leans forward, the smile stretching his mouth giving away his intention to you, but not in time for you to escape. he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in, kissing you with soft, sweet and swollen lips that you'd just finished exfoliating with sugar and honey.

“baby,” your eyebrows furrow, but you still kiss him back and it makes him chuckle because oh, for all the fuss you make and all the scowling you do, you love him so. “we'll never get to the manipedi by movie time at this rate.”

“movie time can wait, princess,” he sighs against your lips. “all i want right now is to watch you, anyway.”

and his words are romantic, suggestive, and they'd bring a blush to your cheeks for sure — if he hadn't accidentally tipped you off balance in that second.

“mikka!—” you yelp (to his delight) as he grabs you and tries to steady you — but even as he saves you, your hand reflexively flails upwards to curl around his arm for support.

and with a smack, the moisturizer is all over his bicep instead of lathered evenly across his face as it should be.

the upset on your face is apparent, but kaiser only grins expectantly as he grips your waist, adjusts your position in his lap again, waiting.

and you don't disappoint. “look what you've done! mikka!”

[fan-goddess]

Beautiful People

Pairing: Michael Gavey x reader

Authors note: Its short, but it’s the thought that counts right? I don’t feel like I have enough of his character to write properly on him. I crave saltburn in my very blood, especially with the gossip I’ve been hearing about the movie. I’m feral I swear

Plus I realised that the version of Ophelia I used I think is in Germany currently, so let’s just pretend its in the Tate for stories sake huh?

Taglist: @valeskafics, @humanpurposes, @watercolorskyy, @omgbrcat, @st-eve-barnes

Warnings: It’s fluffy, a pre-established relationship, licks him non-sexually, suggestive content,

The painting infront of you is beautiful, gorgeous even. The woman that lays infront of you, captures your attention fully, and you can’t help but feel unable to look away.

It’s the interpretation of Ophelia, just laying there in the rivers water, looking away to something in the distance, what sets an eerie tone that sends near chills up your spine as you stare at it.

It’s almost ethereal…

“You’re a lot more pretty than her, you know.” A sudden voice speaks, breaking you from your inner thoughts.

“I mean, she’s not exactly got a lot going for her at the moment, being in a river and all that…”

The voice is paired with the distinct rustling sound of a chocolate wrapper, and with a smile you turn around and make eyes to you boyfriend Michael. Who somehow, has already managed to smear a small bit of chocolate on his nose.

It’s probably due to the slight heat, yet that doesn’t stop him from wearing those tacky yet lovable jumpers of his.

“Oh yeah? Well you’re a regular little Casanova yourself!” You smile, kissing him on his lips softly before quickly moving to lick at the chocolate smear. Laughing loudly without any care for the volume as Michael curses you for your sudden ‘affectionate’ gesture, using his sleeve to rub at the now wet patch of skin.

“The fuck was that for?”

You smile with your hand in front of your mouth in an attempt to conceal your laughter, beginning to notice the glares of the more older generation who walk around you to move to the further part of the galley. “You had a chocolate smear! How else was I gonna get it off you?”

“I dunno love, tell me so I can get a tissue out!”

“Oh… but that’s not as fun!” You giggle slightly still, but they’re muffled quickly as Michael moves and presses his lips on yours.

It makes your heart beat stronger as you continue to stand content with Michael in your arms, kissing him more deeply than you probably should be in a public space to your hearts desire.

You can hear some no doubt elderly gentleman cough in some disgusted manner, yet you can’t find yourself caring. And if anything, you begin to kiss him even harder. Swiping your tongue teasingly against his lips, loving the way he groans lightly at the sensation.

You love nothing more than teasing your nerdy boyfriend.

When the two of you pull away, you find yourself giggling all over again when you see his near bright red flustered face, unable to even look at you, even when you go to peck him again on the lips.

“Is my little love blushing huh?” You smile, holding one of his hands in your own and lovingly tracing a slightly raised vein on his knuckle with your thumb.

“You should know by now I’m not little…” He grumbles, smirking slightly as he no doubt reminisces the night before.

“I know love… I just love teasing you!” You say, using the grip you have on Michaels hand to drag him to another artwork that caught your eye, missing the way his lips curve into a fond smile. His usable hand moving to adjust his glasses and move his hair back into place.

“Come on my love! I hear the Lady of Shalott is here on display!”

[hydrobunny]

weekly special

tags: reader works as a cashier, flirting?, kaiser is a bitch but i love him anyway

if you could make one thing clear to the world, it would be this.

you are not a fan of michael kaiser. the furthest thing from it, in fact. you think he’s nothing better than an arrogant manchild, someone who desperately needed to be told to shut up as a child but just wasn’t.

so you just can’t understand why kaiser himself can’t understand it.

the clock hits 3pm, and the doorbell jingles. you already know who it is.

he’s been coming here every day, after all.

“y/n!” kaiser’s much-too-smug voice dares to say your name, and you fight the urge to slam your head into the closest wall.

but you’re a professional. you’re on the clock right now, and you actually wouldn’t be able to take the sudden loss of income in this current economy.

“what can i get for you?” you smile at him over the counter.

he smiles back at you, and you just know he’s enjoying this way too much. “i’m not too sure. what would you recommend?”

your coworkers think its adorable; that this hotshot football player’s become ‘enamored’ with a run-of-the-mill cashier working minimum wage.

on the other hand, you think he's nothing better than a nuisance.

your nails dig into the palm of your hand as you take three deep breaths. “well, i would have to go with our monthly special. it’s a mango smoothie with another scoop of our passionfruit mix right inside, topped with as much mint leaves as you would like!”

kaiser’s smile just grows. “but thats just the weekly special, no? what would the cashier actually order?”

you could kill him; you know you could.

you also know damn well his stupid strict football diet wouldn’t ever tolerate this amount of sugar, so why does he still choose to come to a fucking smoothie store every day?

you glance towards the glass door. no one in sight. your coworker’s on their lunch break.

“look, kaiser, can’t you leave me alone for one goddamn day? don’t pull that shitty ‘ooh, i don’t know the menu’ card on me.” you lean in over the counter until the two of you are almost touching noses.

when you speak again, your voice is a harsh whisper. “i got sick of your bullshit three months ago, for god’s sake.”

he blinks. you stand back up straight with a wide smile. “oh, personally, i would go with the strawberry shake with chocolate drizzle. it pairs amazing with a cheesecake slice from next door!”

kaiser stares at you in a moment of rare silence. and then he shrugs, shooting you another one of those famous smirks of his. “okay, i’ll go with that then. a strawberry smoothie with chocolate drizzle, please. size large.”

you hate how his smirks still have an effect on you.

“that’ll be six dollars and 23 cents,” you mutter.

he hands his black card to you with a flourish, and you almost jump over the counter to throttle him. the payment processes, of course, and you turn over your shoulder into the kitchen.

you make the smoothie as violently ( and slowly ) as possible, squeezing that drizzle bottle like it’s personally attacked your family. it’s almost therapeutic, actually, how you get to slam that lid onto that cup pretending it’s his head.

“large strawberry smoothie for kaiser!” you yell out as you head back into the main storefront.

you blink. the store is dead empty, sans a small plastic box right by the register.

you slowly walk to the box. it’s a goddamn slice of cheesecake from next door, black plastic fork enclosed and everything. words are scrawled on top of it in a dark blue marker.

enjoy ;)

and of course, right beneath that sits a sequence of numbers with a simple call me.

here’s another thing you need to admit. despite all your words, all your snark- you can't ever deny that kaiser always knows just the things to do to get you blushing.

[hearts4juzi]

A Shitty Brother Kinda Christmas

(7,441 words)

Evan invites Michael over for Christmas after not speaking to him for over two years now. Shenanigans ensue

Michael was cold.

He was also annoyed and bored and excited and the slightest bit nervous.

But right now, he was just cold.

He was sitting out in the middle of nowhere waiting for a bus that had either already come or was nearly a half an hour late.

He was praying it was the latter.

It didn’t help that he’d had literally no time to prepare. Evan had called him at six in the morning and he’d had to rush to find a gift and means for transportation and it didn’t help that everything was closed for Christmas. So he’d thrown on the only coat he had and went for the first bus he could catch. Now he was stuck out in the snow waiting for a bus that might not even arrive.

But some things were worth getting hypothermia for.

Unfortunately for Michael, this was not feeling like one of those things. But it was a second chance, and he’s fucked up too much to give up on a second chance. Frankly, when Evan had asked for his number, he’d already expected not to hear from him ever again, and he’d made peace with that. As much peace as he could at least. It wasn’t something he thought about a lot, and he doubted Evan thought about it much either.

But today his head’s been full of it, as unpleasant as that is.

When the bus finally pulled up, the driver assured him that the snow was what caused the delay, and apologized profusely. Michael didn’t care, he was just glad it came at all.

The bus was almost entirely empty, which made his life a lot easier. He clicked on his phone, not that there was anything to look at. It was Christmas, after all.

When Evan had invited him, he’d known it would be disappointing to Jeremy; He always looked forward to Christmas, but he promised they’d have their own little Christmas when he got back, but this was the first time he’d spoken to Evan in… Forever. His little brother had a house for god’s sake! A house! And he lived with his friend! That friend who’d punched Michael, the friend who always let Evan stay over his house, the friend he’d totally definitely not gotten into a fist fight with more than once all because of his own stubborn attitude.

So yeah, Michael was a jerk. But in his defense, Gregory was stubborn too.

His phone pinged and he picked it up. It was Evan again. Geez, why did he keep calling? Michael had already agreed, he didn’t want to talk to him right now, not yet.

But he can’t keep putting it off, and he doesn’t wanna seem like he’s avoiding Evan. (Even though he is, technically.)

“Hello? Hello, hello?” He said, “What’s up?”

“It’s me.” Evan said, “Just wanted to make sure you’re doing okay? I’m really sorry it’s such short notice.”

“It’s whatever.” Michael replied, “The bus was late though.”

“It’s Christmas, that’s expected.” Evan replied.

This was weird. Not a bad weird, but not a good weird either.

“Yeah.” Is all he said, “Uhm, is there anything else you need? The service here is ass.”

“Uh, no, I was calling to tell you if the bus hadn’t come to just forget it because I didn’t want you to keep waiting. It’s cold outside.”

“No shit.” He said with a dry laugh, “I’m gonna go now. Bad service, you know how it is.”

“Oh? O-Okay, yeah, bye.” Evan said.

“Bye.” Michael said before hanging up and sitting back against the seat.

“Shitty service?” He mumbled to himself, “Idiot.”

“Well, that sucked.” Elizabeth said. She was hanging decorations she’d brought since their house wasn’t “Christmas ready” in her words.

“He’s probably just tired.” Charlie said, “I’m sure he’s happy you invited him.”

“Well maybe the invitation isn’t what’s got him in the dumps and maybe it’s more the timing?” Elizabeth said.

Evan shrunk back, “I really didn’t notice how close it was getting to Christmas, I just… I couldn’t decide if I wanted to invite him…”

Elizabeth shrugged, “Fair, I guess. I usually invite him over but he spends his Christmas with his friends a lot.”

“His friends?” Charlie asked, “Jeremy?”

“And those other kids from middle school.”

Evan scrunched up his nose, “He still hangs out with those guys?”

“Yeah?” Elizabeth climbs down the small step ladder she was on, “They’re his friends.”

Evan huffs, “Yeah, I know.” He mutters.

Charlie offers a small smile at him, nudging him, “He’s not bringing any of them, it’s just him, Ev.” She says, “I’m sure everything will be okay.”

He nods slowly, “Yeah, yeah I guess.”

“Hey, Evan?” Gregory calls from the other room where he’s helping Sammy set up for dinner.

“O-oh, yeah?”

“Why does Michael do that weird ‘hello? Hello, hello?’ thing?”

Evan blinked, “I… I don’t know, actually.”

“Oh my god he does that all the time I don’t think he even realizes it!” Elizabeth said, “It drives me insane!”

Charlie laughed, “Yeah, Sammy says he does it every time he calls him.”

“He does!” Sammy said, “Every time. I asked him about it once and he was just as confused as me! He just does it. It’s like an instinct.”

Gregory laughed too, “That is funny as hell I’m never letting him live that down.”

“Oh, speaking of living things down,” Evan hopped off his bed and headed to the kitchen, “You’re gonna be on your best behavior. If you and him fight, I’m sticking you both outside.”

“If you put me outside with him I’ll bury him alive in the snow.” Gregory said.

“I’m serious.” Evan said, “I don’t want you fighting with him.”

It’s not that Evan didn’t appreciate Gregory standing up for him, but it was stressful. He didn’t want his friend hurt for him, and he certainly didn’t want to spend Christmas breaking up his brother and his best friend.

Gregory looked over at Evan, “Yeah, of course.” He said, “No fighting.”

“And that means no punching, kicking, swearing, snapping, pushing, shoving-”

“Okay, okay, okay, no fighting.” Gregory said, “But he needs to back off sometimes, I’m gonna let him know.”

“I can let him know.” Evan said, “We’re going to have a nice Christmas like a family!”

They all turned to look at him.

“We’re going to have a nice Christmas like a… decent dysfunctional patchwork family…” He rephrased, “I-I guess.”

Gregory laughed at that, “It’ll be fun, I’m sure.”

“I wish you could’ve invited Nessa,” Evan said, “I’m sure she’d have loved to meet Mike.”

When Michael finally arrived, he was met with the entire house laughing at him. Even Evan couldn’t hide his amusement at seeing his brother pull up to his house soaking wet and shaking like a leaf.

“You look great.” Sammy said.

“Piss off.” Michael muttered.

“Come inside, you look like you’re gonna freeze to death.” Charlie said.

“I feel like it too.” Michael muttered.

They brought him inside and Evan found himself suddenly regretting every decision that led up to this.

He felt sick, and he realized with a shock that there was a reason he had avoided Michael. He didn’t know what to say to him, what to do with him, or what to talk about. What do you say to your big brother who you ghosted for nearly two years after getting his number? What do you say to the person who ruined your life? What do you say to the person who treated you like shit and almost killed you and only formally apologized a couple years ago?

Gregory must have noticed because he discreetly led Evan back to his room and sat down with him.

“Not ready?” He asked.

“Not at all.” He said, flopping onto his back.

“What is it?” Gregory asked, laying down beside him.

“I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to him in forever and I was cool with that but then we did talk again and then we split up again and I just… How can I never speak to him again after that? How can I not give him at least a chance to be better? But at the same time… I don’t want to talk about The Thing, and I don’t want to bring it up but I can’t move on if I don’t and I feel sick thinking about it because what if it goes wrong? What if I fuck it up? What if he fucks it up? What if all this bullshit was for nothing this whole time and I’m just gonna end up hating him more than I already do?”

Gregory listens intently, staring at Evan, “You know, I told you not to invite him.”

“I know but-”

He continues speaking, interrupting Evan, “But! You insisted. Why?”

“Because I want to give him another shot.” Evan said.

“And he came because…” Gregory raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“Because he wants to take that shot.” Evan said, slowly understanding.

“So, you want to give him a chance? You don’t have you, you don’t owe anything to him, especially forgiveness. Do you wanna cut this short? Nobody would blame you if you did. I sure as hell wouldn’t.”

Evan sits up, “I guess.”

Gregory smiles, “Why don’t you take some time, dinner’s not done yet. Nobody’s rushing you, and I’m sure Michael is just as nervous. The only difference is that he deserves it.”

Evan laughs a bit at that, “Be nice.” He said.

“No promises!” Gregory called as he walked out of the room.

Frankly, Gregory was right. Michael was just as nervous. In fact, he wanted to curl up in a ball and sink into a hole and die right about now. He didn’t know where to sit so he ended up standing awkwardly off to the side.

Unfortunately for him, Sammy was quick to act like he owned the place. Gregory and him were like siblings, to be fair.

“Come on Mike, sit down.” Sammy said, “What’s wrong, are you nervous?”

“No. Not at all.” He muttered, “I just prefer standing.”

“Yeah, well, you look out of place with the Christmas decorations and I need to take photos so unless you wanna be my santa clause, I suggest you move.” Elizabeth said.

“You're as blunt as ever.” He muttered.

“Thanks, I try my best.” She replied with a grin.

He sat down next to Sammy, pulling out his phone, only to have Charlie grab it away from him, ignoring the indignant noise he made.

“Aw, Jeremy? Are you guys dating yet?” She teased.

“Wha- no! Give that back!” He lunged, reaching for it, but she snatched it away too quickly.

“Come on, Mike, you’ve gotta have something interesting in your life, how’s my dad?”

“Uncle Henry’s doing fine.” He answered as he continued to chase her around, “Give it back Charlie!”

“What pictures do you have? Aw, is that your dog?” Charlie pulled up a picture.

“No, it’s Jeremy’s! Now give it back!”

“What’s its name?” She asked.

Michael looked over at Elizabeth and exaggeratedly gestured at Charlie, but she just laughed at him.

“She missed messing with you, this is your own fault.” She said.

“She’s right, messing with Evan isn’t as fun. He doesn’t get mad like you do.” Charlie said.

Michael scowled at her, but he couldn’t deny that it made him feel a lot better though. 

When Gregory and Evan returned, Michael offered a smile and a small wave at Evan, that his brother slowly returned.

Evan was pale, but Michael didn’t mention it; He probably was too. Although that could just be from sitting out in the snow for half an hour.

He was still a bit upset about that.

Elizabeth invited him to sit beside her, which ended up sticking him right beside Evan, who had Gregory on his other side, who had Sammy next to him, and then Charlie beside him, and then it came full circle back to Elizabeth.

Great, cool, cool cool cool cool cool. This could go one of two ways:

One, it goes horrible and awful and everything that could go wrong does go wrong.

Or two, it goes fine and Michael’s overreacting.

But he could tell Evan was uncomfortable, and the tension was uncomfortable for him as well.

He took a breath before standing abruptly, “Actually, I ate at home and I could totally just grab a hotel or something so I’m gonna-”

“You’re not leaving.” Evan said.

Michael turned to him, “I’m sorry what?”

Evan shrunk back, “I-I just mean- you can stay here. Uhm… Unless you really don’t want to which is fine but you know you should stay here with us because it’ll make it easier and honestly who sleeps in a hotel on Christmas Eve I mean-”

“Okay! Okay. That- we can do that, that’s fine.” Michael said. He sat back down slowly, staring hard at his plate.

“And I can tell you didn’t eat at home.” Evan said, “I don’t like that you’re lying to me.”

Michael doesn’t reply to that, shrugging.

Evan’s eyebrows furrow, but he doesn’t say anything else. Gregory leans in next to him and whispers something, though.

So it went bad. Not awful, but bad. Michael didn’t eat much, but the food was good. Henry knew how to cook, and it seemed like he’d taught the twins how to cook as well.

Elizabeth leans back in her chair, “So, now that we’ve invited Michael, who wants to send a call to dear old dad? I have his number.”

Evan groans, “Not again with this…”

“Please, please Evan it would be so funny please.” Gregory shot up in his chair, “Please you didn’t let me do it to Michael let me do it to your dad.”

“Do what to Michael?” Michael asked.

“They wanted me to prank call you guys and send you random shit. Gregory, my dad will find and kill us all. I hope you know that.”

Prank call his dad? Prank call the William Afton?

“No wait I like this idea, Ev, we should do it one hundred percent.” Michael said.

“See? He agrees.” Elizabeth said.

Evan rolled his eyes, “You guys are the worst.”

“We’re the best actually.” Charlie said, “And it’s uhhhh… five against one.”

Evan sighed, “Do what you want. I need to set up our room anyway.”

Charlie cheered.

“I actually think I’m still in his contacts.” Michael said, “He keeps texting me, I don’t read 'em though.” He didn’t tell them that he repeatedly hesitated and refused to block his dad for a reason he himself couldn’t fathom. But to be fair, Lizzie hadn’t blocked him either. In fact, she still messaged him back sometimes. Even if the conversations weren’t friendly, he couldn’t imagine talking to his dad ever again, he didn’t know how she did it. 

“And we don’t wanna start today, let’s use Charlie’s phone.” Sammy said.

They spent the night sending random images to William until he blocked them, and then they went on to relentlessly call Jeremy, who had apparently been asleep, before they went on to call Gregory, and stayed on call with him while he and Evan set up.

It was weird how normal this was. It was weird how quickly it had become just spending Christmas together instead of unloading 15 years of bullying and 21 years of loathing.

But then again, they were the Afton family, pretending to be normal was their whole thing. They did it for the first eighteen years of Michael’s life.

But he could sit back and enjoy this before the incredibly uncomfortable conversation that was inevitable. If him and Evan would quit avoiding it.

Gregory then came in to let them know the room was ready.

Sitting down in Evan’s house was one thing. Sleeping in it was a whole other thing. He felt like a teen again, when his dad was in the hospital for one of his springlock accidents and Michael had to stay with Henry while he was gone. That had sucked. His dad hadn’t wanted to bring him over Henry’s house, so he hardly knew Charlie and Sammy, and because of that he’d felt so out of place in their house. Not to mention his siblings were there, and by then he was sick to death of them.

Thinking back on it, he did have a lot of issues as a kid. Maybe he still had them. Who was he to dwell on it, though.

Michael Afton has issues, like that’s news.

This time he made a point to sit beside Elizabeth. She wasn’t the best choice, but she was the only one who still messaged him. Despite how she acted, she always wanted a family. But she got the Aftons, which is more like a classification than a family.

She gave him a disappointed look, but he ignored it.

The decorations in the room were really cool. They had lights strung up on the walls and they’d put up blankets to hang over them, as well as covering up the window. The floor was layered with blankets and pillows, and Michael noticed it looked like a nest.

He had taught Evan how to make nest-like pillow forts when he was only four. Michael had been seven, and hadn’t even been good at teaching, but Evan had really enjoyed it. Michael hadn’t enjoyed teaching him, but it kept the kid quiet and that’s all he’d needed. But this fort was obviously not a product of his teaching, since it was unlikely Evan remembered that.

Weird that he’d remember that. It felt like a karmic “fuck you” from the universe.

Evan was really enjoying this. He didn’t feel as anxious anymore, and it felt almost normal. He had been preoccupied with everything else to think about The Thing and it made him feel a lot better about it. He was also proud of the pillow fort, which Gregory had helped with a lot. They’d had it planned for a while, and he was glad it turned out so well.

Good food, good bed, good friends, and so far no issues with Michael. None that he wanted to talk about yet, at least.

This was a good day! A great day! And hopefully a great Christmas day would follow!

He was quick to pull his friends into it and talk to them about it. He loved how cozy it looked. Like a shiny little nest. It was awesome and he loved it so much.

“Wait. Wait! I need my camera!” He went out to the kitchen, “Gregory? Do you know where I put my camera?”

“I put it in the end table drawer! The bottom one, next to the couch!” Gregory called back.

“Awesome. Thank you!” He grabbed it and ran back into the room, “Mike get in the back you’re the tallest, Gregory and Charlie, I need you guys up front. Elizabeth, get closer to Mike, come on. Sammy, you’re perfect there don’t move. It’s on a ten second timer so hold that for a moment!”

He ran over to them, positioning himself beside Michael and behind Gregory.

He went to grab his camera when it was done, smiling at the picture, “It looks awesome, I can’t wait to print it.” He said.

The others crowded over to see.

“You’re pretty good at sitting still and looking pretty.” Charlie teased Michael, “It’s your one redeeming quality.”

Michael shoved her face away with his hand, “Oh piss off.”

“He said the thing again!” Sammy cheered, “He said it earlier too. I feel like I’m in England every time I talk to him.”

“Did I tell you guys about that time Evan screamed ‘you cunt’ at the top of his lungs?” Gregory said.

“No! No! You promised you wouldn’t tell them about that!” Evan wails, grabbing Gregory’s arm.

“He was playing a racing game or something and he just lost big time. Huge time. Horribly. Awful. It was embarrassing.”

“Gregory!”

“And he just shouted at the top of his lungs. In the most British I’ve ever heard him, it was insane.” Gregory continues, “He had to apologize to our neighbors. It was hilarious.”

Evan covered his face, “It was awful, I felt so bad.” He groaned.

Michael chuckled, “That’s funny, Lizzie was always the one who used British slang. She got it from our father.”

Elizabeth shoved him playfully, “Okay Mr. I-Say-Bloody-Hell-And-Piss-Off-Every-Five-Seconds.”

“Pi- leave me alone!” Michael said indignantly.

“He almost said it again!” Charlie said, laughing.

“Jeez, you people are impossible.” He said.

At that moment, his phone rang. “Oh, shit, it’s Jeremy. I’ll be right back!”

Evan watched Michael leave, his head tilted slightly to the side.

Gregory nudged him, “Feel better?”

“A bit… Thanks.” He answered.

Gregory smiled, “I told you it’d be okay.”

Evan nodded, “I’m stressing out a bit still but I do feel better. Maybe I was just overreacting.”

“Mike is being super weird though.” Elizabeth said, “He’s not usually like this with his friends.”

“Well duh,” Charlie said, “he’s overthinking just as much as Evan is. He’s just shit at hiding it because he’s not a ball of fear and sadness the way Evan is.”

Evan frowned, “Well I wish he’d just act normal. I don’t like that he keeps lying to me. He makes everything harder than it has to be.”

Charlie hummed, “He’s just scared. Like a little animal in the woods.”

Evan couldn’t stop his sudden and loud laughter at that.

But he did feel angry. He wasn’t going to say it, he wasn’t sure he was ready to say it, but he felt it. Michael wasn’t even trying.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom real quick.” He told Gregory.

Michael knew the call wasn’t Jeremy. He also knew it would end long before he wanted it to. It’d been one of his friends from middle school, and they had hung up several minutes ago. But he liked the silence while it lasted.

“So, you’re avoiding me?” Evan asked from directly beside him. 

Michael jumped with a shout, nearly falling off the couch.

“Jesus Christ, Evan!” He gasped, “Don’t do that!”

Evan didn’t react, “Whatcha doin’?”

“Sitting… on the couch?”

Evan’s eyebrows furrowed. He looked like Dad when he did that.

“No, actually,” he said, “you’re being a bum. Alone on Christmas? Come on, we’re heading to bed now.”

Michael nodded, “Yeah, okay.”

They spent the night doing random things. Charlie told some scary stories, they watched a movie, Michael showed them his playing card collection and Evan beat Gregory at war at least ten times, and Elizabeth got a whole console out and they played a few different games.

Of course, the tension did not leave. Everytime he accidentally bumped into Evan or one of them said something a little too… Iffy… it only got thicker.

When he looked over at his little brother, he noticed he was asleep. Him and everyone else.

Well, except for one.

“Can’t sleep?” Gregory asked.

Michael shrugged, “Who can sleep on Christmas Eve?”

Gregory eyed the others, “Them, apparently.”

Michael chuckled, “Yeah, I guess so.” He said.

They fell silent, and Michael laid down on his back, staring at the blankets hung above him.

“You know I don’t want you here, right?”

“Yeah. I know.”

“But he does. Don’t ruin that for him. Or Elizabeth. She said she’s been trying to get you to come over for Christmas.”

Michael stares at him, “I don’t talk to her a lot, I thought she was just being nice.”

“She was.” Gregory said, “I don’t doubt she was. But she still likes talking to you. I don’t know, don’t you think maybe she actually cared if she asked every year?”

Michael scoffed, “I told her every year that I spend my Christmas with Jeremy. Or Henry.”

“Speaking of Henry, what’s he doing for Christmas if Charlie and Sammy aren’t there?”

Gregory sat up, “Charlie said He remarried or something.”

“Really?” Michael said, “That’s… He didn’t tell me that…”

“I might be wrong but that’s what I heard.”

 “Hm.”

Gregory looked over at him, “You’re kind of a loser, you know that?”

Michael stared at him for a moment before he burst out laughing.

Gregory shushed him, “You’re gonna wake them up, shut your mouth!” He hissed.

Michael flopped over on his back, still laughing, though he tried to keep quiet, “You are incredibly blunt.”

“Well, to be fair, I don’t particularly like you very much,” Gregory said.

“I can tell.”

When Gregory heard him go quiet, he glanced over his shoulder.

“Lightweight.”

Evan woke up with a pillow being chucked at his face the moment he sat up.

So he stayed down.

But he could hear Charlie and Michael laughing.

Michael sounded like he’d been doing this for a while, and Charlie kept squealing. The noise was quickly giving him a headache, but it made him feel better about the day, and that’s all he needed anyways.

The day?

Holy shit it’s Christmas.

Evan bolted upright, “It’s Christmas.”

Gregory laughed, “Yeah, it is.”

Elizabeth threw herself on Evan and pulled him into a hug, “Morning sleepyhead!” She said, “You’re the last one to wake up.”

“We’ve been waiting forever.” Sammy groaned, “So I started chucking pillows at you and seeing if you’d wake up.”

“I told him not to.” Gregory said.

Evan smiled, “You guys are amusing. Has anyone made breakfast?”

Charlie points at Michael, “I told him to.”

Michael pushes her finger away from his face, “And I told her that I have not cooked something edible since I was 15.”

Elizabeth shuddered, “That lasagna was not edible.”

“Har har har.” Michael muttered, “at least I tried.”

Charlie sat up, “Me and Sammy made dinner, it’s someone else’s turn.”

“I vote Greg does it.” Sammy said.

“What? Why me?” Gregory whined, “I always do it!”

“I’ll make it.” Evan said.

“I’ll come help.” Elizabeth jumped to her feet.

She grabbed Michael’s arm, “I’ll show you what edible actually means.”

Charlie waved Michael goodbye with a smirk on her face as he scowled.

Evan took out the stupid cinnamon rolls in the weird circle can thingy? He didn’t know anything about them but they were good so who cares.

Michael frowned, “This is breakfast?”

“You look like you live off ramen noodles, shut up and enjoy Christmas dinner as it should be.” Evan said.

Michael blinked a few times.

“… You don’t… You don’t actually live off noodles, do you?”

“…”

So Evan learned several unpleasant things about Michael’s eating habits.

But so far, so good. He’d only felt soul crushing anxiety twice since Michael got here!

So… Good?

He wasn’t sure but it wasn’t bad so that had to mean something.

Despite joking around, Evan was a bit irritated. Michael was still being weird and it didn’t help that Elizabeth clearly didn’t understand the tension.

“You two are too quiet, come on, it’s Christmas.” She said, “Loosen up!”

“I’m just tired, Liz.” Evan said.

She flicked his forehead, earning a yelp from Evan.

“Well, don’t be, it’s Christmas!”

He didn’t like how much this reminded him of home. He didn’t like that this reminded him of his sister avoiding and ignoring his problems or his brother never listening to him.

They were all so different, but some things never change.

Unpleasantly, his mind drifted to his dad. But he pushed those thoughts away. He didn’t know why he always thought of his dad when he talked to his siblings.

“Evan, it’s done.” Elizabeth said, “Do you wanna frost it?”

Evan nodded, “While they’re still hot.”

She smiled at him, “Then we can open gifts? You’re gonna love what I got you, I promise.”

No, his siblings were nothing like his dad. No doubt they have pieces of him in them—No doubt Evan did too—But they were not him.

Maybe he could learn to live with those pieces. He’d done it with Elizabeth.

But it was just so much harder with Michael. Even now, when they were laughing and pretending to be okay, he felt dissatisfied. He wanted more than this, he wanted reassurance that his brother actually wanted to change and didn’t just feel bad. What if Michael was doing this for himself? To make himself feel less guilty? Less at fault?

As cruel as it sounded in his head, he found himself regretting giving Michael this chance. He didn’t deserve closure, not when it had taken Evan over a decade to get his own closure. He knew Michael was trying, but why did he get to decide when this change of heart came along? Why did he get to decide when this ended?

He settled in his seat beside Gregory, who was talking to Charlie and Sammy. Elizabeth was quietly talking to Michael, and Evan stayed quiet. He had things to think over. A lot.

When they finished, Charlie and Elizabeth practically dragged him to the tree.

Michael hung back, and Evan felt a twinge of… Something. Sadness? Anger? He didn’t know. But it was something.

Elizabeth insisted he opened hers first, so he did. It was a camera. Except it was yellow and had little bear ears and…

“It’s Fredbear!” He exclaimed, “It’s so cute! Oh my god, Lizzie, this must have taken forever!”

“Charlie helped with it,” She said.

He looked it over, “And it’s brand new… Smile!” He pointed it at Elizabeth and Charlie, snapping a photo quickly, “Oh my god, I love it, Liz.”

She grinned, “I knew you would.”

Gregory smiled at Evan, pushing a small box closer to him.

Evan unwrapped it slowly, before slamming it down and giving Gregory a playfully harsh look, “You did not.”

Gregory laughed, “I really did.”

He held up the sweater, “This is so dumb I’m gonna wear it for the rest of my life.”

The sweater was black with a skull on it, but it was sporadically decorated with random Christmas things. It looked so strange and out of place and he loved it.

Of course he got Gregory an equally ugly sweater, one with flowers on it, but the middle of the flower was replaced with Glamrock Freddy, one of the characters made for Fazbear Entertainment after his father had sold it off in response to the horror rumors about it.

Evan knew they weren’t true, but they still made his skin crawl sometimes.

Sammy bought him a crochet kit, with a bunch of colors for him and Gregory to mess with. He must have remembered Evan mentioning that he wanted to pick it up as a hobby.

They continued exchanging gifts, and Michael was quiet for the most part, as if he was dreading something, which Evan found amusing; of course he was nervous, he’d had one day to find thoughtful gifts for people he hardly spoke to.

Suddenly, just as Evan was going to stand, Michael tossed something to him, and he jumped in surprise.

“I didn’t know what to get you, to be honest. I, uhm, I hope this isn’t a shitty gift…” Michael said, “I also hope it doesn’t like… ruin your day… it’s a hit or miss, so I’m taking a shot.”

Evan blinks a few times, “Alright…”

He carefully unwraps the gift, gasping softly when he sees it fully.

The fur is worn, and the stitches are messy—the handiwork of his uncle, no doubt—and one of the ears has a hole in it, but there’s no mistaking it.

It was Fredbear.

The original plushie.

The one he hadn’t seen since he moved out of his dad’s house.

He’d had another, one that Gregory’s dad had made for him, but it’d never been quite the same. It also didn’t talk to him.

… Well maybe that was a good thing.

He didn’t take his eyes off it as he spoke softly, “Where… did you get this?” 

“Dad sent it to me since he didn’t have contact with you. He didn’t give me a chance to say I didn’t either. Henry patched it up and it’s just been collecting dust for the past few months.”

He stared at it. It reminded him of a lot of things. The animatronics on stage that terrified him, being bullied, his nightmares, his dad, The Thing, meeting Gregory, that day he broke his ankle, that time Mike almost hit him with his car his first time driving it, when he spent that first night with Gregory, and so many other things.

“Huh…” He said.

“Is it… a good gift…?”

“Yeah, yeah I missed him.” He said, “Thank you.”

Michael smiled.

Elizabeth stood up, “Well, that was sweet,” she said, “let’s get this picked up now.��

They all groaned, and Lizzie clicked her tongue, “Come on, guys, this isn’t our house, we can’t trash it and leave.”

So they picked up. It wasn’t hard, but at some point Charlie bumped into Elizabeth, who playfully pushed her away, and then that ended with the two of them wrestling each other to the ground. Sammy jumped in and for a moment Evan thought Gregory would too, but he didn’t.

So the two of them just continued cleaning while Charlie squealed. And he glanced over at Michael.

He was picking up alongside them, and Evan couldn’t stop himself from laughing a bit.

Michael frowned, “What? What am I doing?”

“Nothing, nothing, it’s just funny that you’re cleaning. We were lucky if Dad got you to pick up a sock, much less your room, much less Henry’s house.”

Michael scoffed, but didn’t say anything.

Thanks for participating in the conversation, I’m glad we’re talking. Evan thought sarcastically.

Gregory looked like he wanted to say something, but he bit his tongue when Evan gave him a look.

“No fighting, I know,” He muttered.

God this sucked a lot.

Michael didn’t know what to say. And he was annoyed that Evan would bring that up. He got so much shit from his dad for not picking up his room, but he could never bring himself to care. He’d hated that house, he’d hated his dad, he’d hated his siblings, and god he’d hated his little brother.

Not that he knew exactly why, though.

His thoughts were interrupted by Elizabeth grabbing his arm, “It snowed last night, do you guys still get snow over in Utah?”

“What? Of course we do!” He said, “Why wouldn’t we?”

“I don’t know, you seem so grumpy I thought you must have never experienced a good thing in your life.” She said.

Evan winced and Michael frowned, “I’m not grumpy.” He said.

“Sure, as if you haven’t been moping around. You know, if you were just going to sulk this whole time you shouldn’t have come,” Elizabeth crossed her arms, “Nobody forced you to come, but you’re acting like this is the worst place to be right now.”

“I’m just… nervous…” He said slowly.

“Nervous? About what? You came because you wanted to see us, didn’t you?” She challenged, “You’re just being dodgy today, I don’t know. You just nudged gifts to us and mumbled ‘thank you’ and hung back, why aren’t you at least trying to participate?”

“I am trying! I’m just not feeling it, okay? Why do you even care, you’re not the one who invited me!”

Elizabeth scoffed, “I invite you every year and every year you shut me down, but not Evan? Is this even about him? Because it feels like it’s about you!”

Michael stared at her, “I’m trying my best!”

“Avoiding us is your best!?”

He fell silent. One look at Evan and Gregory told him they had been thinking the same things.

Goddammit.

He really had been neglecting his sister, hadn’t he? It’s not that he meant to, it’s just that he didn’t know how to talk to her. Her life fell apart pretty quickly once their father’s parenting… declined… but even then she still reached out to their father. Whether she actually thought he could change or if she was just doing it for herself, though, he had no idea.

He was trying to settle these things one at a time! why did he have to fuck up with both his siblings?

“She’s not wrong.” Gregory said, “You’ve been weird lately, and it’d be much easier for everyone if you just… I don’t know… talked? You’re not getting anywhere sneaking around like a dog.”

Michael felt his anger spark at that, “I’m not sneaking around! And don’t call me a dog!”

Elizabeth clenched her fists, “Well if you were really here to make amends, you’d put some effort in, but instead this feels more like a shitty way of getting closure and making yourself feel better-”

Evan stepped forward then, “Okay, that’s enough!”

“-And maybe if you hadn’t almost killed Evan he wouldn’t hate you so much!”

The whole room fell silent.

Evan stared at her, “Elizabeth…”

“It’s true!” She said, “It’s true! He’s always done this! You just avoid us, you shut us out, like that will help, and then you come crawling back for forgiveness so you don’t feel like shit about it!”

“Elizabeth!” Evan shouted.

She turned to look at Evan, and they locked eyes for a moment. She sighed, “I’m going… To go to the gas station for a bit. Call me if you need me.”

Michael watched her go, silent. His gut was twisting and he felt sick.

He was a shitty brother all around, wasn’t he?

He couldn’t even get his sister to like him. Not that he’d tried very hard. Elizabeth made herself feel untouchable. She avoided her brothers because she didn’t want to be caught in the middle of whatever they were doing. She hadn’t been talking about Evan, not entirely. She was probably lonely, he realized.

He looked at Evan, “I didn’t… I’m… I’m sorry…”

Evan stared at him, “Do you want to talk about It? Now?”

Michael laughed, but it was dry and humorless, “No, but I’m willing to, if you want to.”

“We’ll leave you guys alone.” Charlie said, grabbing Gregory and Sammy and pulling them away.

“Liz is right, you’re not really proving anything other than the fact that you feel bad. Which is… It’s annoying.” Evan said, “I know you feel bad, I’ve known that since I got out of the hospital when I was ten, Mike. I don’t need to know you feel bad, I need to know you care and want to make an effort to change.”

“Well, I am trying I just-”

“Don’t know how?”

Michael looked up at him.

“...Yeah.” He said softly, “I don’t know what to do, I hardly know you guys anymore.”

Evan sat down beside him, “None of us do, it took Elizabeth years to even look at me, and even longer for us to finally start actually talking. There’s a lot of things we can’t fix. Elizabeth will always be blunt, that will never change. It’s something she got from Dad. She can’t help that, but she can make it better.” He looked up at Michael, “And I think you can, too. If you just talk to me, but you won’t. And that’s making it hard. I don’t want to push you or bother you but I really really need to just… understand this.”

“So… About The Thing…”

“Yeah, The Thing. Me almost dying, you putting my head into heavy machinery? That Thing?”

“Yeah.”

“I… I still have the scar, you know? It healed over pretty well though, head wounds do that. But I still dream of it, you know. Do you have nightmares?”

“Of seeing my little brother’s head get crushed like a grape? Yeah,” He took a deep breath, “Hard to forget that when I spent at least five minutes staring at it.”

Evan stares at the floor, “... I don’t even remember when it happened. I didn’t feel it at all. Not until I woke up, at least.”

He takes a deep breath, “I… Can I just ask you why?”

“What?”

“Why did you do all that? Why did you treat me like that?”

Michael fell silent. He never talked about the why. It’s not that he didn’t know. He knew. He had known since he started, since he watched his brother’s skull get crunched in front of him.

“I thought it was funny,” He said, “I didn’t like that Dad did all that shit to me. He obviously enjoyed it, and I enjoyed doing it to you. Some kind of fucked up stress relief, I guess.”

Evan stares at him, looking hurt, “That’s brutally honest.”

“You said you didn’t want me to lie to you.”

Evan nodded, “Yeah.”

They sat in silence for a bit, before Evan spoke.

“I don’t know if I want to forgive you or not,” He said, “It’s not that… It’s not that I don’t think you’ve changed but… I still have nightmares. I still remember these things that happened to me and they… they suck. But sometimes I feel like a jerk because I know you’re trying and I know you don’t get why this is so hard for me but… But I really hate you. I hate that you are here for closure, I hate that you are here at all. But I invited you.”

“I think I do get it.” Michael said.

“Hm?”

“I… I haven’t blocked Dad yet, did you know that?”

“Really? I blocked him the day I moved out.” Evan said.

“I keep not wanting to. I keep thinking, ‘what if something happens? What if I need to talk to him?’ even though I know that’ll probably never happen.”

“So I guess I can get where you’re coming from. In a weird twisted way, you know? I don’t know how to cut him off, but I don’t know how to talk to him. It’s like there’s a door open in front of me and I’m too scared to walk through it but what if I close it and it locks? What if there was something good in there?”

Evan doesn’t take his eyes off Michael, before he says, “Give me your phone.”

Michael blinks at him, tilting his head, but he slowly hands Evan his phone, “What’re you doing?”

“Blocking Dad.”

“What!? Did you not hear anything I just said?” He reached for his phone, but Evan was quicker and pulled away from him.

“There’s nothing behind that door, Michael.” He says, startling Michael with his intensity, “Nothing that you want or need. You left that room forever ago and you deserve to stay out of it for the rest of your life. You and Liz.”

Michael watched him and his hand dropped back to his side.

Maybe Evan was right. Maybe there was nothing behind that door. Maybe he was just wishing there had been something in that room. It’s like he was closing and opening it in hopes for something new.

“...Thanks.”

“Always available for cutting off shitty family members. I’m incredibly good at it.”

Michael laughed, “... Yeah… you are.”

Evan stood up, “I think that’s enough for now, I don’t know if I forgive you, honestly.”

Michael shrugs, “Eh, that’s not the most of my worries,” He says, “I guess this was something of a test run?”

“If it was, I think it turned out okay.”

When Elizabeth got back, Michael took her aside to talk to her. Evan didn’t listen in, but he knew what they were talking about, and he did indeed see them hug tightly. It wasn’t Evan’s business. He left it alone.

So things weren’t fixed. But they were better. They had wrapped old wounds. Nothing was healed, but they weren’t bleeding anymore, and that was good.

The rest of the day was fun. Elizabeth insisted Michael stayed, but he had to go home eventually, and there was a mutual understanding that he needed some time alone after all that. It was overwhelming, and Evan was definitely done with seeing his family for a bit. They weren’t friends, but it was something.

He watched Michael walk outside, where Jeremy had come to pick him up.

“Hey, Mike?” He called.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for coming.”

Michael smiled at him, “Thanks for letting me.”

Not forgiveness, and in the end he would always prefer the family he’d made for himself, but otherwise this went well.

That being said, he was never inviting that many people over for Christmas again. He should’ve gotten them together for Thanksgiving instead.

Gregory pulled Evan back inside, “Dude, it’s freezing, come inside.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Gregory looked inside, “This place is a mess. What happened to ‘we can’t make a mess and leave it’?”

Evan laughed.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

REWATCHING GO S1, LIVE PLAY-BY-PLAY OF DOOMSDAY WAHOO

HELLO MAGGOTS REWATCHING SEASON 1 BECAUSE THE FIRST TIME WAS A KIDNAPPING CHAOTIC MESS. EPISODE ONE HERE GOES. I DON'T REMEMBER A LOT OF DETAILS BUT YES.

Opening scene and Earth's got vibe-checked by God and I've been gaslit about the dinosaurs

GARDEN OF EDEEEEEN wow his first appearance and Aziraphale's already so prissy and flustered might fuck around and fall in love with him idk

I finally understand who these mf's are hi Hastur and Ligur you're not zombies after all

FOR FUCK'S SAKE SECOND SCENE CROWLEY'S BEEN IN AND SHE WALKED IN, SERVED HIPS HAIR AND CUNT, AND THEN MANAGED TO TALK HER AWAY INTO A PROBLEM

LIKE GENUINELY SHE COMES AND SASHAYS WITH HER HAIR AND SAYS TIMES ARE CHANGING AND HEAD OFFICE LOVES ME AND JUST INSTANTLY HASTUR AND LIGUR USE HER WORDS AGAINST HER

idk sister mary loquacious is kinda doing it for me rn with that satanic nun's habit and losergirl energy

third crowley scene and he's misplaced THE LITERALLY GODDAMNED ANTICHRIST because he made small talk with a bloke outside without checking for details

mmmmhm yes sister mary wink again your bitchless decisions are sexy y'know what i mean

Gabriel feels like his brain was eviscerated and replaced with one of those youtuber's paid course promos at the end of their how to change your life in 45 days: three simple mindset shifts video

so THIS IS WHY EVERYONE KEEPS SAYING PAVLOVIAN IN THIS FANDOM IT'S BECAUSE OF DUCKS of course it's because of ducks

mmmhm yes sure crepes French revolu--Crowley stop eye-fucking Aziraphale you're making everyone at the Ritz horny

Aziraphale don't moan into your food man you can't take these two anywhere

Crowley thanking the driver for slowing down is everything to me

And they're drunk hu-fucking-zzah good thing we'll have 11 year olds saving the world coz these fuckers sure ain't doing shit

OH MY GOD HE WAS TRYING TO SAY BOUILLABAISSE I JUST REALISED. I THOUGHT HE WAS JUST MAKING KISSY FACES AT AZIRAPHALE I'M NOT OK-

What Aziraphale was doing back was definitely kissy faces though that mfer wasn't even trying to say bouillabaisse when Crowley said what sounded suspiciously like baby

kissy kissy from lil miss prissy [i would have made such a great high school bully shame i had no inclinations that way]

SORRY WHAT THE BLOODY FUCK WAS THAT SOBERING UP EXCUSE ME THE FANFICS MADE IT SOUND LIKE IT WAS A CLICK AND THEY'RE SUDDENLY NORMAL WHY IS THE ALCOHOL REFILLING

oop nun down nun down

i want ya see a wile ya thwart amirite on a t-shirt

"actually i encourage humans to-" just say you're a lazy bitch azi we love you

love crowley fake-manipulating azi into helping like azi wants to be manipulated y'know so it's not technically his fault he was wiled over or whatever and they're both just such ENABLERS

not azi going SOFT at being godfathers with crowley

NOT BROTHER FRANCIS PLEASE NO FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS SACRED AZI WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS PLEASE

WARLOCKKKKK I LOVE YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

HNNNG MICHAEL SHEEN HAD TOO MUCH FUN WITH THIS

why is nanny ashtoreth so seductive with that of course dear is it just crowley's inherent disastergirl sex appeal

HALF PONYTAIL CROWLEY I AM A FUCKING SLUT FOR HALF PONYTAIL

GASLIGHTING HEAVEN AND HELL THAT'S MY BABYGIRLS

erIC THE DISPOSABLE DEMON I DIDN'T KNOW THEY COME IN S1 well not come i hope unless being eaten by a hellho--nope

ANGEL CROWLEY SAID ANGEL ANGEL ANGEL

CROWLEY TRYING TO BE SUBTLE ABOUT KILLING BEFORE GETTING ANNOYED

waiter crOWLEY OUTFIT I CANNOT BE NORMAL AFTER THE WEDDING DRESS DESIGNING ABOUT THIS COSTUME

FOOLS WRONG BOY YOU FOOLS IM DEAD

DOG IS UNIRONICALLY SO CUTE EVEN BEFORE IT GOES SMOL

gonna give my roxie a kissy brb she's my angel and all this dog talk makes me miss her (she's a few feet away under the bed)

i asked her for a kissy and she crawled out and gave me a kiss i love her

DOGGGGG ADAMMM

...roxie's crying to be taken downstairs it's nearly 2 am this is on me for waking her up i crowley'd myself fml

EYYYYY WELCOME TO THE END TIMES don't mind me I'll have to take roxie down yes I know maggots I'm crowley-coded I KNOW THAT I'M A BLOODY DISASTER BYEEEEEEEE

[saintmurd0ck]

just the tip, princess | matt murdock x f!reader | one-shot

masterlist | art | thoughts

summary: it's finals week. maybe a study night turn truth-or-dare is the one thing you need to finally relax.

warnings: college matt murdock, drinking (only a little), religious references (BLASPHEMY), matt's cocky personality, oral m and f receiving, protected p in v, orgasm denial, penetration denial (i think?), look there's a lot in this

a/n: in honour of all the recent dd news, i give you this: an unholy anthology of self-indulgence. that is all.

accompanying songs: so it goes… (taylor swift) & false god (taylor swift)

Matt’s voice breaks your concentration, tearing you away from your short-response test booklet. “One more practice question, and then we’ll take a break, deal?” 

You fling a hand out to the side, swatting at him absentmindedly until your finger finds its mark against his lips. “Shh, Matty, one sec, let me finish this.”

He gives you a reluctant sigh as your pencil scratches away at the paper, movement flickering in the corner of your eye as he waves his hand around his feet. His fingers close around something quietly tucked away to the side of your desk, liquid sloshing in the bottle as he brings it up to his lips.

“Matthew Murdock,” you mock-gasp, eyeing him with a mix of awe and disdain, “we have a final in two days and you’re supposed to be studying.”

He shrugs, taking another big sip.

“Oh, give me that,” you chastise, reaching forward for the bottle, but he swerves out of the way haphazardly, wheels rattling as his chair thumps against the side of your bed. You turn to face him as he’s knocked off balance by the impact, tapping your pencil on your chin as you watch him feel for the mattress behind him, then as he hoists himself up on the bed.

“Foggy said we could have this to ourselves,” he chuckles, raising his eyebrows, then the bottle – “so I brought it with me.”

Your lips press together in disbelief before curling into a wry smile. “Fireball, Matthew? You’re drinking straight Fireball.” You shake your head as he tips the bottle into his mouth. “You’re sick.”

“It tastes go–” he rasps, fist coming up to his face as he coughs. “It tastes good!”

You set your pencil down on the paper, eyes quickly scanning over what’s been written, curt nod affirming your satisfaction of the response. “Okay then,” you lean forward on your knees, interlacing your fingers under your chin, “are you gonna share any? Since, y’know, it’s for the both of us.”

He tilts his head to the side, hand coming up to wipe his mouth before nudging his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You want some?”

You shrug indifferently. “Yeah, I’ll indulge.” 

You reach forward for the bottle but he yanks it backwards, head tipping back with roaring laughter.

“Matt, give it to me!”

He flashes you a shit-eating smirk as he raises his eyebrows. “You want it that badly?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. You hide your flustered face in your hands. “You little sh–”

He holds out the bottle in front of him, head cocked, intently listening to the shuffle of your feet against the carpet. “Well? Are you gonna come and get it?”

You huff, hand beginning to close around the bottleneck, brushing against the slippery glass where the whiskey’s spilled down the side, but he pulls backwards again. 

“Matthew Michael Murdock!” you bellow, watching him clutch his side as he breaks out into an infectious fit of laughter.

A sound of bewilderment. “How do you know my middle name?!”

You scrunch your nose, slapping his knee. “I’m your best friend, silly. It’s my job to find out.”

“Foggy told you, didn’t he?”

Silence from you.

“Maybe,” you mumble.

“Foggy looked at my state ID and told you, right?” 

“Maybe!” you yelp, suddenly very interested in your essay.

“You both looked at my ID?! You pickpocketed me?!”

You throw out a measly insult as you avert your gaze, face hot with embarrassment. “Don’t get all preachy on me now, Murdock.” 

He gasps with feigned disbelief, hand curling tighter around the bottleneck as the other points to the ceiling. “Don’t bring the big guy into this.” 

“You– oh! God, now I need a drink.”

Without second thought, you lunge at him, but as if he can predict your every movement, he sticks his foot out to trip you as you reach for the bottle. Suddenly, you’re a flurry of arms, movement and profanities, tumbling forward into something that breaks your fall… something warm, comforting, surprisingly muscular.

Not something.

Matt.

The world stops for a second as you hover on top of him, his Fireball-tinged breath mixing with yours, chest growing taut as your mouths are mere centimetres apart. It feels as if your heartbeat completely vanishes for a second, thick silence accompanied with only the sound of your stuttered breathing and the blood roaring in your head. You study the deep rise and fall of his chest, ignoring the unfamiliar feeling coursing through your veins as his arm wraps around your waist, holding you steady. 

His tongue snakes out to wet his lips, and that movement alone sends you down to hell. Your stomach falls through your body, dampening your panties with a sudden desire you didn’t think you possessed. Sure, Matt’s attractive and all, and he knows it – well, surely he has to, considering the number of people in your cohort alone who wanted to take him to bed – but you’ve never looked at him that way. He’s always been your friend, your support system. Insufferable at times.

You flick your gaze downwards to where your legs are, straddled over his hips. You’re hovering over him, but with one little movement, just one… you’d be pressed up entirely against him. You’re suspended here, unaware of how heavy your breathing has become, consumed with thoughts about your best friend that friends just… aren’t supposed to have.

This can’t happen.

It’s an awkward shuffle as you push off him and shoot straight back into your chair, but it’s followed by the exchanging of gently stifled laughter, ice quickly broken as you take advantage of his stupor, snatching the bottle off him. 

The liquor goes down easy. Easier than expected.

“Damn Murdock,” you say in between mouthfuls, “you’re lucky you didn’t spill any on my bed, or I would’ve kicked your ass.”

His retort comes out fast. “I kinda wanna see you try, but you’d get in trouble.” Your eyebrow arches at the cheeky grin that proceeds. “Y’know, for beating up a blind person.”

The opportunity to stick your tongue out at him is a moment rarely passed up, and this situation changes nothing. 

He grabs the bottle off you. “Hey, stop making faces at me. I can tell by the way your mouth moves.” His attempt to mimic you falls flat, and all he has to show for it is the cutest frown.

“Not even close, Murdock.”

Nothing prepares you for the effect his resounding snort has on you; the way it makes itself home in the centre of your chest, the sweet sound sending your brain into overdrive. You’re looking at him, big shiny eyes and all, flitting over his every breath, his every action. Fuck, it’s like he’s laced the atmosphere or something, drawing you to him like a moth to flame. 

God fucking damn it. He always knew how to tease you, how to leave you biting back a smile, but this time, the feeling isn’t irksome. He’s getting your heartrate up, making you cross your legs, leaving you wanting to twirl your hair and kick your fucking feet together.

Thank God your roommate is away, even if for a few nights. You’re thanking your lucky stars, because if she were here, she would’ve made at least ten comments about how you two needed to fuck already. You can hear her voice, clear as day, echoing in your mind. ‘Stop flirting and just do it already. It’ll probably be the best of your life.”

You clench at her latter comment, at the way she’s so nonchalantly arrived at that conclusion. Your spine tingles at the thought, at the way you secretly want to find out for yourself. 

Maybe all this is the result of the universe telling you to get laid.

By him.

No! Not by him. 

You know you want it. 

“Anyway,” you clear your throat, ignoring the angel and devil sitting on your shoulders, “I cannot believe you asked me for a break, Matt. I didn’t think the word was in your vocabulary.”

Amusement glints in his laugh.

“Ahh,” you start, nodding, “it’s because you’re drunk. I so knew ordinary Matty wouldn’t ask for a break.”

He reaches for your hand, which you give him without a second thought, to pull you and your chair towards him, wheels turning against the carpet. Suddenly you’re close to him again, knees touching as he shakes the bottle from side-to-side. “More drinking, less observing?” 

A giggle eases from your lips as you lean forwards, forehead touching against Matt’s. His skin is warm against yours, presumably from the alcohol in his system, and your lips flicker into a smile.

“What uh… what are you thinkin’ about?” he asks, tilting his chin downwards as he pushes harder against your forehead.

You bite back a yelp, fighting every instinct within you to keep your composure as his hands creep forward to interlace his fingers with yours. Every nerve in your body is firing at rates beyond your comprehension as his breath fans over your face, pearly grin tugging at the knot building behind your stomach.

“I… um–” The growing smile on your face does little to hide your thoughts, and you can only muster a few words as your voice comes out in a squeak. “Um… drink, please?” 

Matt lets out a breathy laugh as he pulls away, reaching down to retrieve the bottle by his feet. He brings it up to your face, nudging the lip of the bottle towards your mouth. Your toes curl at the action, thighs snapping together to curb the building throbbing between your legs, but you quickly polish off what little remains in the bottle, praying that the burn of the whiskey is distraction enough from your feelings.

It works well enough.

“So,” Matt asks, listening to the creak in your chair as you set the empty bottle on the ground, “what do you wanna do?”

“Hmm?” 

“C’mon, let’s do something. What about a game? Do you wanna play a game?”

You squint your eyes as you examine your nails, picking at invisible dirt along your cuticles. “A game, Matthew?”

“Yeah. Somethin’ like… I dunno, truth or dare?”

“What are you, sixteen?”

Matt scoffs, slapping his hands on his knees. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

That whiskey-burn “distraction” lasted all of thirty seconds.

The little whine in his voice widens your eyes, more so as you notice Matt’s growing smirk, and the way he tries to hide it in his hands as he waits for your answer. You’re not sure if it’s the liquor talking or well, just you, but your answer rolls off your tongue.

“Alright Matt,” you say, getting up off your chair to sit across him on the bed, leaning against the headboard. “Care to go first?”

The bed dips as he shuffles towards you, nestling his head in your lap. “Nothing would bring me a greater honour,” – a comment that makes you roll your eyes –  “truth or dare?”

“Wait a second, is there a punishment if we don’t want to do something?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like, if you ask me something and I don’t wanna answer it.”

“Oh! I mean yeah, I guess you don’t have to.”

You flash a smile at him as he relaxes his body, bending one knee as he straightens his other leg. “Truth.”

“Hmm… lemme see.” He purses his lips together as he thinks of a question. “Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

A wistful look dances across your face as you contemplate his question. “That’s– that’s surprisingly a good question. Alright, well, still close to you and Foggy, of course. And, I dunno, maybe have my own law firm. Ooh! And I wanna travel. Europe, especially.”

Matt hums at your answer. “That’s a lot of things.” He waits a moment before adding, “I like that about you. You’re ambitious.”

You swallow thickly as his words brand themselves in your head. “Y-your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“The same question then. Where are you in ten years?

Matt grins. “Still here, in the city. And… I have a law firm. It’s called Nelson and Murdock” – he brandishes an invisible sign in the air before continuing – “Attorneys at Law.” Your heart skips a beat at his earnest confession.

He goes quiet. “I, uh, I just wanna do what’s right, y’know?”

“Yeah, Matt,” you whisper. “I’m excited to see where this all takes you. And it’s sweet that you and Foggy picked that out already.”

Matt beams, in no particular direction. “Alright. Your turn again. Truth or dare?”

You hesitate for a second. “Dare.”

“Aw, but I’m so comfy lying here.” 

You hiss at him as you pinch his shoulder. 

“Fine, fine. Okay. I dare you to… tell me a secret you’ve never told anyone.”

“Matthew Murdock, is that not a thinly veiled truth?”

He reaches behind him to pat your thigh, biting his lip at your discovery.

Oh, you’re gonna make him regret being lazy. You contort yourself over him, leaning down into his ear. “When I was in high school, I snuck a friend of mine in through the window and we…” you drop your voice, whispering the rest of your story, dragging out every syllable so the words stick in his mind.

His face reddens at your admission, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he tries to find the words, but they don't come out. Your next words are laced with the smugness of your previous efforts. “You go now.”

“I choose dare.”

“I dare you to call Foggy and say you’re madly in love with him.”

Matt erupts into laughter. “You’re not serious.”

“Feel my heartbeat, Matthew.” You pick up a hand from where they’re folded on his chest, lifting his palm towards you. Your eyes lull back in your head as he flattens his hand against the left side of your chest, voice shaking as you speak. “See, Matthew? Steady.”

He sits up in a flash, holding his palm outstretched as you hand him his phone, Foggy’s number already dialling. 

Loud music blares over the phone speaker. ‘Hello? Matt? You okay?’

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine, um–”

“Matt, you’re gonna have to speak up a little.” A woman’s voice calls out Foggy’s name.

Matt clears his throat, raising his voice just a little. He bites his lip, tilting his head away from your snicker. “I love you, Foggy.”

“Oh man! I love you too, buddy.”

You nudge Matt to say the words. “No, no, I mean, I love you.”

“I love you too!”

“No!” Matt pushes his hair back, exasperated. “I mean, I’m in love with you.”

A moment of silence fills the air.

That woman’s voice again. “Foggy, is everything okay?”

“Yeah yeah,” – Foggy says to the woman, before focusing back on Matt. “Um… everything alright with you, Matt?”

“Yes! I lo– Everything’s fine. I’ll just… I'll see you tomorrow.” 

The phone clicks off without another word.

“Oops,” you tease, words slurring a little, “sounds like someone has some explaining to do.”

Matt cracks his knuckles before placing his phone back on your desk. “Oh I am definitely going to get you back.”

.

Sprawled vertically on the bed with your legs hanging off the edge, you lay shoulder-to-shoulder with Matt, the contents of the Fireball bottle already long gone. Your hands are clasped together on your chest as your eyelids flutter closed, content in Matt’s presence. The last couple hours were the most fun you had in a long time, and God knows you deserve it, especially after this semester.

Matt is the first to break your temporary silence, words quiet as he directs them towards the ceiling. “So, you think Foggy and Marci are gonna last?” 

“I dunno Matt, I think your little confession there might’ve broken them for good.”

A half-smile blossoms across his lips. “You know what? I wouldn’t blame Foggy for picking me. I am loveable after all.”

“You are very loveable. Even my roommate thinks so.”

“Really? Her? I didn’t think she could love anyone.”

“Yep,” you sigh, stretching your arms out and putting your hands behind your head. “She loves you so much she thinks that we should get together. Sorry, I mean, that we should” – you lower your voice – “hook up, for lack of a better… less rude… word.” A shiver runs through your body at what you’ve just said.

Matt’s on his side in a nanosecond, facing you as he props himself up on one elbow. His expression is unreadable, mouth tight-lipped as he cocks his head to the side.

You take it as a cue to keep going. “She’s always saying it, seriously. I think she tells people in the hallway, too. And I think Foggy knows? But I haven’t really given it much th–”

“Would that… would that be the worst thing?”

Your eyebrows furrow together, face flooding with confusion. “Huh?”

Matt goes on. “I mean, people don’t really say stuff like that if they don’t mean it, right?”

It takes a full minute for you to register what he’s saying, and you move quickly to respond as the heat begins to bloom in your chest again. “Oh trust me, she says a lot of things she doesn’t mean.”

“No, but, would it really be the worst thing in the world?”

You shudder, every subsequent breath getting heavier. “What are you asking me?”

You watch as Matt’s nostrils flare, as his tongue peeks out to lick his lips again. You’re mirroring him, in the same position that he is, propped up and lying on your side. He lifts a finger to your arm on top, tracing your skin from elbow to shoulder with a featherlight touch. It loosens a gasp that comes from your chest.

“I’m asking you… if it would be the worst thing in the world.” Something shifts in Matt’s face, and he looks uneasy now. “What if…” – he lowers his voice to a whisper – “I wanted to… do that with you?”

No fucking way.

“Do… what? Matt, where is this coming from?”

He tentatively shuffles closer to you, but still keeping a far enough distance that you can roll away if you need to. “Your roommate’s right. I think we should stop pretending.”

No. Fucking. Way.

“Matt, of course it would be the worst thing in the world. I mean, okay, not the worst thing, but sex can ruin friendships. And c’mon, I’m not ready to lose you.” Your breath hitches in your throat as you get the words out. “Besides, I’ve– I’ve never thought of you like that.”

“That’s a lie.”

You suck your cheeks in, the silence louder than anything you could’ve said to defend yourself. A shit-eating grin appears on his face. “You’ve been thinking about me like that tonight, haven’t you?”

Damn you, Matthew Murdock. “Fine. I have. Is that what you want to hear?”

He sits upright now, smirk disappearing, tilting his chin towards the ground as he plays off a nervous chuckle. It’s as if your answer isn’t what he was expecting. “Look, I just– I like you, okay? I’ve had a really great night, and I– I don’t want to do anything to ruin that. Or our friendship. So, it’s– don’t worry about it.”

He reaches for his cane, neatly folded on your desk, but you make a split-second decision, feeling your heartbeat race as you grab his wrist and tug him back onto the bed. “What if…” 

He raises his eyebrows, beckoning you to continue. “What if we, um, I don’t know, this is gonna sound stupid but, what if we explored this using the game? Using truth or dare?” You wait a moment to read his expression. “That way it’s just a game right? And it won’t mean anything, unless we want it to.”

“That’s– that’s good. That’s smart. I like that,” he nods. “And we can end the game at any time.”

You affirm what he’s saying. “Yes, if there’s something either of us don’t want to do, we can say the word.”

“Wait,” you pause. “I– maybe that was stupid. I think we’re both drunk.”

Matt furrows his eyebrows. “I’m not drunk.”

You bite your lip, answering him quietly. “Neither am I.”

“Okay, then.”

“Okay.”

“You wanna… go first?” Matt gulps.

Your chest caves inwards, heart thundering so hard it feels like it could burst out of your ribcage. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

Your knees go weak at the word. “I dare you to… come closer to me.”

Matt pauses for a moment to take his glasses off, setting them down on your desk. Then, he turns towards your voice, laying down to face you where you’re still propped up, where you’ve been this entire time. The only difference is that he’s close now, so close you can feel the heat radiating off his body, and the way his breath flutters against your lips. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” you murmur.

“When was the first time you… thought of me like that?”

A soft chuckle escapes your lips as you recall the memory. “It was the first year of college, when Foggy tried to hit on me and you apologised for his behaviour.”

Matt grimaces. “I’m sorry about that… again, and so is Foggy. But that’s… wait a minute,” his eyes narrow, “that was forever ago!” He presses his lips into a choked laugh as you punch his arm.

Ignoring him, your stomach starts to flip as you ask Matt the next question. “Truth or dare?”

His mouth moves into a cheeky grin. “Dare.”

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck– “I dare you to kiss me.”

The butterflies roil in your stomach as he smiles at you earnestly, bringing one hand up to cup your jaw. His grip is firm, melding to the contours of your face with a surprising ease. He holds you there for a second as he blows a soft chuckle your way, flooding your face with a heat that crawls up your body. He leans forward, slowly, melting his lips against yours, so softly that you can’t fight the moan that slips from your mouth. 

The kiss is everything you ever imagined it would be, his mouth moulding to yours in a way that turns your legs to jelly. He nips affectionately at your bottom lip, using your slight surprise to slip his tongue against yours; the taste of Fireball so, so faint. 

“Oh my God,” you breathe, breaking the kiss, your foreheads still touching, his hand still on your jaw. 

“Oh my God,” Matt affirms, eyes squeezed shut as he loosens a breath. 

“I pick dare,” you whisper, biting your lip as Matt reciprocates your shy smile. 

“Okay, I dare you to…,” he pauses for a second, pursing his lips, “tell me what you want.”

“That isn’t a dare.”

He’s insistent. “Tell me what you want.”

“You, Matt. I want you.”

His nostrils flare in response, tips of his ears going pink as he nods, leaning in to kiss you again. Tangling one hand in your hair, he flattens his other palm against your collarbone, mouth roving over your jaw, then trailing down your neck, sucking on a sensitive spot near your shoulder that makes you moan. Your hands press against his chest, relishing in the way he grunts at your touch. 

“Matthew,” you groan into his hair, as he soothes the bruise on your neck with his tongue, “I want to take your clothes off.”

“You wanna take my clothes off?” 

“Mmhm.” And another moan as he guides you to lay flat on your back. 

“That’s not a dare either.”

“I know what I said.”

He doesn’t waste any time in tugging his shirt over his head, leaving only his leather-corded crucifix hanging around his neck, metal cross dangling off his chest as he moves down to kiss you. You’re breathless, unable to speak, utterly incoherent as he grinds himself into your core, the evidence of his growing arousal straining against his sweatpants.

“Damn you, Matthew,” you exhale, pulling your own shirt over your head, unhooking your bra and throwing it to the side. 

“What?” he moans, hands moving over your skin, your breasts now bare to him. 

You yelp as he rolls your nipples in his fingers, expression darkening as he acquaints himself with your body, the way you buck your hips up into his. “You’re so—“

“Loveable?”

Your head tips back with a cry as his mouth seals around your nipple, tongue flicking against the hardened peak. “No— well, yes, but fuck you’re just… how long have you been hiding that… body underneath those pullovers? Has anyone told you how good you look?”

“I may or may not have heard that a few times.”

You smirk as his mouth meets yours. “Foggy doesn’t count.”

“In that case,” he rasps in your ear, deft fingers trailing up your inner thigh to then unclasp the button of your jeans, “you can be my first.”

Your lips move over his chest as the words flutter into his skin, catching the cross in your teeth. You yank at it lightly, the strained breath he gives you music to your ears. “Oh Matthew, now you’re giving me the honour.” 

Mouth curving upwards, Matt hooks his hands into the waistband of your jeans and panties simultaneously, taking his sweet time in dragging the fabric down your legs, exposing you, inch-by-inch until you’re completely bare for him. 

Even though the two of you were close before this, closer than most friends were, it feels… jarring to expose yourself like this. With other guys, you wouldn’t hesitate; you’d keep going, get them undressed, have your fun and be done with it, but it’s not like that with Matt. 

He’s one of the few people that makes you nervous.

Your legs instinctively move closer to cover yourself but he wedges a hand in between your knees. 

Oh, he’s good. He knows, somehow, what you’re feeling.

So he says something that knocks any semblance of your apprehension on its head, something that makes you throb.

“Keep ‘em open. I want you spread for me.”

You surge upwards, the intensity of his words spurring you on, pressing wet kisses down his chest. One to his crucifix, one to his sternum, one in the middle of his– Jesus Christ, those abs. He cards his fingers through your hair at the sensation of your tongue dragging up his navel before nipping at his jaw, stubble scratching at your mouth. Your pussy floods at the guttural moan he makes as your fingers graze over the outline of his cock, the idle circle you trace on his head making him twitch. Your lips meet his as you replace your fingers with your palm, shuddering at the string of dirty curses he groans into your mouth. 

You pull away only to marvel at the size of him under your hand, every thick inch of him tenting painfully against his sweatpants. Foggy had mentioned in passing that Matt was packing, but this? Oh, you didn’t expect this. 

“Matty,” you exhale, “let me taste you.”

He raises a hand to your chin, tilting your head back with his grip to deepen his next kiss. “Anything you want.”

You latch your fingers onto the elastic waistband of his sweatpants and his boxers underneath, pulling it down to his mid-thighs, unable to contain your gasp as his cock springs free. Your eyes pulsate at the sight of him, pupils completely blown as you take him in his entirety, perfection as you’ve ever seen from base to tip. 

You lick first at the precum beading at the head, the salty taste of him coating your tastebuds as he bucks his hips involuntarily onto your outstretched tongue, eyes lulling in the back of your head at the primal sound that escapes his lips. You look up at him with your doe-eyes, watching a muscle feather in his jaw as you wrap your lips around him, flicking your tongue over his tip. He caresses your face with his hands, fingers supporting your jaw as you take all of him in. He hisses as he finds the back of your throat, throwing his head back in ecstasy as you begin to bob your head, not caring that you’re sloppy, that the spit is dribbling from your mouth all over him. From the way he’s grunting your name, you don’t think he minds either.

Matt hums your name dulcetly as you begin to use your mouth and hands in tandem, begging you to let go of his cock, a string of saliva still connecting the two of you as you pull away to wipe your mouth. 

“Lay down on your back,” he commands softly, making quick work of shedding the only pieces of clothing left on his body. He kneels for you on the bed as you shuffle back, spreading your legs for him once again. It’s from this angle that your mouth goes dry; the sight of his glistening cock, wet from your spit, ready for the taking.

He leans down to nip at your earlobe as he traces himself up and down your folds, slapping your clit with his cock once. He chuckles deeply in your ear at the mewl you make, purring for you to make the sound again. 

So you do.

“Condom, Matthew,” you whisper, breath caught in your throat as you reach over to your nightstand, but he grabs a hold of your wrist and shakes his head.

Your eyes widen at his answer. “I don’t need it just yet.”

He hovers over you for a second, just long enough for you to catch his crucifix in your teeth again, before moving down, settling in between your thighs. You’re sucking your cheeks in at his hot breath against your dripping pussy, so slick with arousal that the air is thick with it, but he doesn’t do anything. He just grins.

He tilts his chin upwards to grin at you, the gesture a little mirthless; a predator about to devour their prey. The metal cross swings with his movements, and you almost bite through your bottom lip as it hits against your clit.

“Not so much a godly man now, are you Matthew? I didn’t think you were allowed to do… this,” you smirk, squeezing your eyes shut as he pinches your clit with his thumb and forefinger.

“I get a pass, y’know, since I get to make an angel feel good.”

A shaky laugh escapes your lips. “Matty… you don’t mean–”

He cuts you off, his sweet tone darkening in an instant. “But since you bring it up, yeah, I’m no saint.” He lifts your hips, shoving his hands under your ass as he brings your pussy to his face.

“But out of all the sins in the world, all that we could’ve chosen to commit…” he clicks his tongue, nostrils flaring as he inhales your scent, “I promise, sweetheart, this one will feel the best.”

And with that, he dives into you. 

You’re a squirming mess on his tongue as he licks a broad stripe up your centre, tasting all that you have to offer. He seals his lips around your clit, flicking and sucking at the sensitive bundle of nerves, until your back is arched off the bed, until you’re gasping and unable to stop the moans breaking from within. 

Matt’s always been polite, classy, the perfect person to bring home to meet your parents, but the way he’s slurping at you like you’re his last meal on earth? 

“Naughty, naughty boy,” you purr, grabbing a fistful of his hair as he slips his tongue inside you. You’re grinding into his face at this point, desperate to be filled, to be stretched out, desperate to cum for him as many times as you can. 

Your muscles go taut as you near the edge, the threads of your willpower unravelling to one final, fraying strand. He knows it too, that sly bastard, and breaks away from you with one final kiss to your clit.

“Not yet,” he grins, licking wet circles up your thigh. 

“Goddamn you, Murdock,” you huff, pulling him up by the shoulders until he’s breathing down your face. 

He runs his thumb over the seam of your lips, nudging you for entry. He grits his teeth as you flick your tongue against the pad of his finger, while reaching into your nightstand for a condom. He smirks as you slap the foil packet against your hand a few times, groaning as he pumps himself with his fist. That shit-eating, stomach-stirring smirk grows bigger as he hears you rip the packet open, then as you slide the condom out of the wrapper. 

Matt’s hand is outstretched, beckoning for the piece of latex held between your fingers, but you smack it away, wiping all the smug off his face. The moan he murmurs as you squeeze his heavy cock in your hand makes your walls flutter; it makes you ache with the idea of him fucking up into you as deep as he can.

He shudders, sharply exhaling as you roll the condom onto him, then as you tease your slick entrance with the blunt head of his cock.

“We can’t go back from this,” you mumble, breath stuttering as you coat him in your arousal.

His chest heaves with the thought of you, wrapped around him, saying his name like a prayer. “I’m pretty sure it’s a little too late, y’know, considering what we’ve already done.” 

He coaxes the tiniest whimper from your mouth as his fingers brush over your clit.

“Hear me out, Matty…” you start, flattening your palms against his chest.

“Yes, angel?”

“What if… what if you just…” 

He presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “Just what? Whatever you want, angel. I’ll give it to you.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “I dare you…” – you linger your fingertip on the curve of his jaw, before tracing his shoulder – “to put just the tip in me.”

“First of all, we’re still doing that? The game?” 

You shrug nonchalantly.

“Secondly, just the tip? You know that still counts as sex, right?”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Okay, I’ll put it in and you tell me that doesn’t count.” His smug smirk that follows spurs you to punch him in the arm.

“Alright Matthew, we’ll see about that.”

“I promise,” he rasps in your ear, teasing himself at your entrance, pushing the slightest bit of himself in, just to make you squeal, “I’ll have you begging for more.”

Your resounding yelp is poorly masked, and it only makes his coy smile grow larger. You’ve known for a long time that Matt was a bit of a manwhore, but he was always so… innocent around you. Never, never in a million years did you think he was capable of… this. 

You dig your fingernails into his shoulders, chest heaving as he grunts your name, propping a pillow under your hips. “Just the tip, Matthew.” 

He leans his weight onto the forearm bracketing your head. “Just the tip, princess.”

You hiss through your teeth as he pushes into you, words transcending you in that moment at the burn of this thick cock stretching you out. You expect the burn to follow through, waiting for the sensation of being oh-so-deliciously full of him, but he moves only a little, only until just the tip of him sits inside you. Oh fucking hell. There is absolutely no way you’re going to let him win this one.

Relaxing your grip on his shoulders, you bite back the exhale that conveys your need, forcing back the urge to squirm on his cock for the friction you so desperately want. 

“God,” he grunts, “I’m barely inside you and you feel so… fucking good.” 

You allow yourself one breathy moan. Just one. 

You’re doing so well, keeping it together, showing absolutely no indication that you need him guts deep inside you, pounding at a pace that shakes the bed.

But then he starts to move.

Cock twitching in your heat, he jerks his hips so lightly, pressing his head into your warmth, before sliding out until he barely remains inside. He repeats the movement, his half-shudder half-chuckle evidence that he’s noticed the way you’re clenching around him, or the way you’re sitting upright, peering down to see where exactly he’s joined to you.

He’s painfully hard for you, latex glistening with the sheen of your arousal. You tilt your hips upwards to get a better angle, watching as he withdraws himself just that bit further, before thrusting into you; the sight of your folds enveloping his cock enough to make you curse. 

Abs contracting, and every cord of muscle in his arms going tight, you can tell he’s holding back. You can tell by the redness that blooms in his cheeks and the vast expanse of his chest that he wants more. That he needs more, needs to be deeper; so far inside you that all he could fall apart at any second. You watch where the thick head of his cock enters you, sliding in and out deliriously slow, and that’s when the silence breaks. 

All that heavy breathing, those controlled yet shaky stutters as your mouths are pulled apart by pleasure, is interrupted with your drawn out groan as he pushes the next inch into you. Only one inch. One delicious inch.

“Fuck, Matty,” you moan at the sudden fullness, tipping your head back as he flares his nostrils, grunting your name in response to your walls fluttering around him.

It – he – feels so goddamn good, but it isn’t enough. God, for someone who begged to be teased this exact way you’re impatient, so fucking impatient, but you need to find purchase. With every thrust of his hips, the hope – no, the demand – that he says ‘fuck it’ and sheathes himself fully inside you grows, from a dull ache to one that utterly throbs; one that sends reverberating shockwaves through every nerve in your body. 

He was right. Of fucking course he’d be right. Matthew, ever-clever, devastatingly handsome, Mr. ‘I just know you’ll need more of me’ was almost never wrong.

Matt slides his lips down by your ear, voice dropping to a bare whisper as he tangles his fingers in your hair. “Let me fuck you properly, please. I don’t care about the game, I just… I need you.” He lifts one of your legs up, hooking his arm around your thigh, opening you up to him even more.

“C’mon then Matty,” you smirk, flicking your tongue against his lips. “Show me what you got.”

The cry that heaves from your chest as he slams himself into you is nothing short of unholy. He moans your name sinfully as he buries himself to the hilt, hips stuttering as he jerks involuntarily, nudging against that spot inside you that threatens to break you in an instant. You whine at the sudden loss of fullness as he retracts himself, to the point where only the tip of him remains, but he fills you again, the pain from his cock stretching you out giving way to ecstasy. It doesn’t take long for you to splinter around him, for your back to arch as you flood his cock with an earth-shattering orgasm.

And in between his steady thrusts and his languid kisses, he pins your legs back, placing one hand on your waist while the other grazes your throat. His pace is ruthless now, all grunts and groans as he works to bring you to the edge once… no, twice more. This must be what heaven feels like. 

Your legs turn to jelly as he lifts your legs up straight, crossing your ankles over, holding them there as he bites his lip, the new position turning your pussy into a vice. A vice that wants to milk him bone dry. “So… fuckin’.... tight for me, angel,” he musters, panting as every drag of his cock against your walls brings you both closer and closer to falling apart. 

Just as you’re about to cum for him again, he pulls out, flipping you onto your stomach, hoisting your ass up in the air. 

“Matty…” you groan, as he tangles his fingers in your hair, kissing your back as he fucks you, relishing the feeling of your sweat-slick skin on his in the most intimate way possible. 

“I’m not gonna last much longer,” he murmurs, kneading your ass, spreading you apart so he can be as deep in you as possible. You lean back into him, arm reaching around to grab the back of his neck; the movement exposing your throat for his hand to grab. He’s getting sloppy, eyes squeezed shut as you near the edge together.

“Fuck, angel…” he pants, holding you tighter, spilling into you with a sound that turns your world to white. You pulsate around his cock as his hips stutter into yours to give you every last drop.

He collapses into you, holding you tightly, listening just to the sound of your breathing. “I know we said it wouldn’t mean anything but…” 

Your voice comes out in a squeak as he kisses your shoulder softly. “But?” 

A moment of hesitation. “I dunno, that was too good for a once-off game.”

Your mouth curves into a cheeky grin. “Matthew Murdock, pussywhipped already? I didn’t pick you for the type.”

He bites down on your shoulder, smug at your yelp that follows. “Who says it was just tonight that had me pussywhipped?”

You scoff, pushing him off you to sit upright and poke his collarbone. “Hang on a second, was this all some… twisted grand gesture of affection?”

“No! No, I swear, I didn’t plan any of this.”

“Alright, Matty, I believe you.”

He laughs nervously, running his tongue over his teeth.

“Matthew,” you start, sitting up on your knees to throw your hands around his neck. “We just had sex. You don’t have to be nervous to ask me out.”

A shy smile creeps across his face, red blooming in his cheeks. “I’m not nervous–”

You cut him off with a taunting giggle. “Yes, Matthew, I’ll go on a date with you. Of course I will.” A beat, and you poke him in the collarbone again. “So nervous and for what?”

He chuckles lowly, the sound pooling in your core, shaking your arms off him to pounce on you, to lay you flat on your back. “Do I have to do something dramatic to shut you up?”

There’s no mistaking the growing heat between your legs. “Maybe.”

He leans down to nip at your earlobe, smirking against your ear. “Alright then.”

.

You’re awoken to Matt’s elbow in your face and a string of profanities as he scrambles to get under the sheets, laying as still as possible with his head in your thigh. 

“What’s going on?” you hiss, pulling the covers up over your naked chest. 

Your eyes widen as the doorknob to your room turns, faint voices echoing in the hallway outside. “How the fuck did you hear that?” you panic, nudging Matt with your elbow. 

It’s Foggy’s voice that sounds the closest, although he’s still muffled by the door. “... Yeah, he was saying some weird stuff to me last night and he wasn’t home when I got back so I figured they’ve passed out studying together.”

Then your roommate. “Yeah, studying, sure. It’s about time they–” 

“Oh shit.” Foggy gasps dramatically as your knuckles turn white gripping the sheets, surveying the room before him. Nevermind that your thin sheets do absolutely nothing in concealing the obvious outline of Matt’s body; the multiple open condom packets on the ground and the empty bottle of Fireball is evidence enough. Matt’s head pops up from under the covers, his sheepish smile directed at no one in particular.  

Your roommate clasps her hands, smirking as she shakes her head. “I told you, Foggy.”

Foggy’s vacant expression is startled away as his eyes narrow in on the crucifix still hanging from Matt’s neck. “Do not tell me you left that on while you had sex. Why’d you have to bring the big guy into this?” He steps backwards, holding his hands up. “You know what? I’m outta here. I’ll see you” – he points at Matt – “later.”

Your roommate follows Foggy outside a second later, calling out to you as the door shuts softly. “Can you two get dressed? I have an exam in two hours.”

You giggle, pressing a tender kiss to Matt’s lips before whispering in his ear. “Surely there’s time for a little more?”

“Oh sweetheart,” he grins, “absolutely.”

[vnmpior]

THERE'S ONE ☆ BED?!

MICHAEL ☆ AFTON

x reader (gender neutral)

summary: not only did you and michael have to run in the rain to the nearest hotel after missing the last bus, there was only one bed and one blanket

I LOVE ENEMIES TO LOVERS

yall do not know how unbelievably mad I am bc tumblr won't let me reply to your comments smh I SEE THEM N I SWEAR I'D RESPOND IF I COULD

not proofread

you scowled, water dripping down your hair and creating a small puddle on the floor. shivering, as you paid the person at the front desk.

michael was also in the same boat as you, clearly annoyed as he strung out the rain from his jacket.

"think you could pay faster? I'm not getting sick today," michael scoffed.

"hey, dipshit, tell that to her," you pointed at the woman taking her time looking for a key to give you.

he rolled his eyes, and as soon as the lady held the key out, he snatched it and made his way to the hallway of rooms.

you thanked the attendant and rushed after him.

michael hurridly unlocked the door and swung it open, only to stand there in confusion.

"what's wrong?" you asked, and then you saw it once you made it to the door.

"oh, for fucks sake."

☆

the two of you had took hot showers, but only after arguing who would go first. you had decided you were just going to take the clothes that the hotel had graciously offered you and make a break for the bathroom.

he definitely was pouting by the time you came back, jacket and shirt discarded.

you jumped in surprise at him being shirtless and turned around.

"hurry up and get into the shower," you tried to not look at him as you hung your wet clothes in the closet.

he laughed and only when you heard the door shut did you let out a breath of relief and sink onto the bed.

"man, he really does work out," you said to yourself.

"I heard that!" michael called from the shower.

"heard what?" you yelled back, embarrassed.

he needs to stop laughing.

☆

"I can sleep on the floor," he offered as the two of you sat on opposite sides of the bed.

"as much as I hate you, I'm pretty sure this floor is super dirty." you flung you legs onto the bed, laying down. "we'll just put a pillow in-between us."

"why? can't handle yourself?" he smirked.

you raised an eyebrow. "you wish. I couldn't handle myself when I was with your dad."

you let out a snicker as his eyes widened.

"maybe you should be the one to sleep on the floor." michael grabbed the blanket and pulled it over himself.

"I'll think about it," you said as you took the blanket from him.

he whined and tried taking it back.

"turn off the lights first, and I'll let you have it back." no you weren't.

he furrowed his eyebrows and got up, walking over to the light switch like a kid putting back something they really wanted.

the room turned dark, and michael jumped onto the bed.

"now give me the blanket."

"never," you rolled yourself up in the blanket so he couldn't take it from you.

"I will personally throw you on you the floor," he threatened.

"I bet you-" you let out a screech as michael grabbed onto you and began unrolling you.

"THIS IS MY BLANKET!" you tried getting away from him.

"psh, we both paid for this room. it's whoever keeps it." he kept unraveling the blanket.

you began thrashing around until michael crawled on top of you and straddle you so you wouldn't be able to stop him.

"this is going to be my blanket."

you tried to stop him, but he successfully managed to get the sheet and cheered.

and that's when the two of you noticed the position you were in.

"oh shit, my bad," he scrambled off of you as you felt your face heat up.

"it's alright," you responded, flipping over to look at the wall, back to him.

the next few minutes were silent until michael threw a bit of the blanket onto you, scooting closer.

"you looked cold," he mumbled.

"thanks," you turned over to face him. you didn't realize how close he was. your lips were almost touching, and you could see a few freckles dotting his cheeks.

"think you need that pillow now?" he teased.

you hmmphed, "I think we both know what's about to happen. just kiss me already."

he acted like he was thinking about it.

"and why should I?"

instead of answering him, you closed your eyes and pressed your lips against his for a second before turning back around.

"because now I won't kiss you for longer than that."

"hey, I'm sorryyyy," he shook you, but you were fake snoring.

"pleaseeee," he begged.

you looked towards him to see him giving you puppy dog eyes.

"who could say no to that?"

[akystaracer22]

The Exception to the Rule

Synopsis: How far do you bend your morals for someone you love?

Notes:

This is definitely a turning point to the story and is a little jump ahead of everything so far.

From here on out, there will be two different types of oneshot, flashback oneshots which happen either in Heaven or in Eden, and present day oneshots which are primarily in Hell.

This also adds a new epithet to Adams repertoire! Technically.

There are OC’s in this one, I can’t avoid it.

Heaven politics! Theres a lot going on in heaven I can’t talk about because nobody in hell knows about it, but I can finally start talking!

I listened to More than Anything, Connor’s Main Theme, and Gladiator while writing this.

In exchange for starting the extermination early, the one after would take 18 months as opposed to 12.

I have named over 60 exorcists. If you see a reference no you don’t.

Vaggie wasn’t the first angel to show mercy to a sinner.

I drop so much fucking lore in this jesus fuck.

This one shot was supposed to come so much later.

Shit

SO, MICHAEL’S INVOLVED NOW!

Hey uh, you know how I said I can’t write stupid characters? Yeah… Adam can act and think like a damn general now ig.

Adams over 6,000 years old he knows how to move quickly.

... I really like my BAMF characters huh.

Word Count: 1862

Fic under cut!

“Adam?”

“Over here Luci,” The first man replied easily, looking towards where the angel had entered the wastelands.

Well… wastelands was a bit of a stretch now.

Once he was able to improve the soil, grass was able to finally start growing and…

The oak tree Adam was taking a break under was a testament to his labour. It was still growing and would probably take another year or so with the help of Lucifer’s magic before it’d resemble the mighty trees most people knew.

It didn’t make Adam any less proud of it.

The fallen angel got up and stretched his wings as Lucifer rounded a crag and came into view.

One of Adams wings hiked up before he could shove the instinct down, it was just Lucifer.

“Charlie wanted to know if you wanted to come up for lunch or if you’re fine down here,” The devil started, “She and Maggie are making pastries from the pear’s you dropped off yesterday.”

“Vaggies baking? Better hope your daughters good then, Vaggie’s got a tendency to burn whatever she touches.”

Regardless, Adam started making his way towards the hotel, completely disregarding the unspoken offer to just teleport there.

Lucifer just laughed and unfurled his wings as Adam began the trek up the stairs, flying up beside the man.

“I doubt you have room to talk about when it comes to cooking.”

“I helped Eve cook you know,” Adam scoffed, “I had a few specialties of my own.”

“And yet Maggie can’t cook.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, plenty of my daughters can cook! Lux is extremely good at dessert foods and Needle can make some great fucking lunches.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes really! It’s Mari you have to look out for. The presentation of her food? Stunning, beautiful, gourmet even. The taste? I thought I was going to die a second time over the toilet.”

Lucifer cackled and a light chuckle escaped Adams lips as the angel almost fell out of the sky at the mental image.

“Shut up! I’m serious I thought I caught some sort of illness! They don’t even have illnesses in heaven!”

“I would pay to see that!”

“I bet you would be you sick fuck.”

“Hey! I-”

Lucifer went dead silent, and Adam almost asked what was wrong before he heard it too.

Shouting.

He didn’t even glance at his friend as they were both caught in Lucifer’s magic, bringing them both to the hotel lobby.

“I’ll stop the fight.”

“I’ll grab my fucking axe,” Adam headed down the hallways until he found the gym, carefully taking his axe off the wall and slinging it over his back before booking it to the hotel exit.

“If you’d just give me a minute-!”

“Your majesty-”

“Alastor.”

“Mom!”

“Oh for fucks sake!”

Adam slammed open the doors and jumped the stairs, “What the fuck is going on-!”

Adams brain short circuited immediately after taking in the situation.

Lucifer was frozen stiff with his wings spread wide, his head whipping around to stare open mouthed at Adam. Alastor and Lilith’s glaring contest was broken as they also stared at the first man. The princess and Vaggie were holding hands and Charlies demonic traits receded at Adams arrival.

The other residents were also still at the first mans arrival, nervousness and surprise evident in everyone expressions, even Nifty stopped moving. Under normal circumstances Adam’s gut would have twisted from all the attention.

That usual knee jerk response was completely crushed under the weight of the other three present.

Adam was barely aware of the fact that he’d dropped his axe as he took in the maskless faces of three of his exorcists.

Echo almost dropped her scimitars; her hair was undone from it’s usual bun to brush against her shoulders. She almost stepped back from him before a wing from her sisters steadied her.

Delta was much more graceful, sheathing her rapier and swallowing thickly; Adam understood how she felt. She’d recently had a haircut, her undercut looking crisper than the last time he saw her.

Nina’s war pick clattered to the ground as she brought her hands to her mouth, tears cropping up in the corners of her eyes as she took in his ruined form. In contrast to Delta, her hair had grown out; the normal buzz cut fading.

Adam stood in the silence, wings slowly folding in from where he had mantled them prior. He didn’t know what to do. These were his girls, and they were here and fuck, they were outnumbered. But… shit they were here to kill him weren’t they.

“…Sir?”

Fuck it.

The first man sprinted forward; wings spread wide as he reached out for the three of them. Weapons hit the ground as he pulled his kids into a hug.

If he was going to die, he’d like to die hugging his girls.

Adam didn’t expect the three of them to hug back. His shoulder grew wet as Nina’s tears started to fall; Echo made a soft noise as she buried her head in the feathers of his good wing. Delta’s wings were touching the tips of his own as she all but collapsed into the huddle.

Huh, seems like they were all mad here.

Adam didn’t give a fuck; he was hugging his exorcists and that was enough for him at the moment.

“So… we’re good?”

Moment over.

Adam pulled away to glare at Lucifer, “Do you fucking mind?”

“Sorry sorry! I’ll shut up now!”

“No, you’ve ruined it. Moments gone and done thanks to you,” Adam huffed, regretfully stepping away from his girls even as he kept his good wing extended to the three exorcists, guiding them by the wing towards the hotel.

“Come on, I have a feeling you three aren’t here just for show.”

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

Adam blew lightly on his tea before sipping it, leaning forward to pour the exorcists some tea as he worked to calm his still slightly frayed nerves.

He’d managed to move the girls into a private room before unceremoniously kicking everyone else out, if anything happened Lucifer would break into the room in a flash, so it wasn’t like he was in any real danger.

Besides, they were his girls, it’d be fine.

“So,” Adam swallowed, before  “What brings you three to this side of the pentagram? The hunts not on for another eight months.”

Echo swallowed thickly and Nina bowed her head, it was Delta who answered.

“I- Netto discovered that heaven knew you were alive, sir. Lute wanted to come down immediately but the rest of us were able to convince her otherwise.”

“She’s too far in the eyes of the high seraphim, if she disappeared they’d know.”

“So, we decided to go instead,” Nina finished for her sisters.

Adam stared at the three of them, horrified, “What?”

“What Nina’s saying is… we’re staying here.”

“Why the fuck would you three do that!” Adam hissed, feathers bristling at the implications, “You all have so much to lose-”

“We don’t,” Delta asserted, scowling at the window, “You know damn well what hells denizens took from us.”

Adam froze as the image flashed into the forefront of his mind.

Charlie. Echo and Delta’s missing piece to their trio. They were best friends even beyond the bonds of sisterhood. Where one was the other two were close by. Charlie was the sunshine to their storm, always taking time out of her own day to brighten up the other exorcists. She preferred to use a crossbow to keep away from sinners, something Adam was always grateful for.

Charlie’s body was missing several ribs and most of her organs, looking every part like it had been ravaged by monsters. It took effort Adam didn’t have every day to not go to cannibal town and raze it to the ground. For Charlie, for Zirco, for Steel, for Feather and Annie and every exorcist he failed.

Even-

A scream, a plea as Adam struggled against divine magic nononono please stOP PLEASE-

Wasp

Adam whole body tensed up. Fuck, Wasp. He hadn’t- shit he’d almost managed to convince himself that that had never-

Fuck.

The girls were looking at him now, Nina reaching out a hand to him.

“And you?”

The hand pulled away, “What?”

“Nina, why did you decide to come down here,” Adam rasped, “You- fuck you were planning on proposing to your girlfriend why-”

“Because your our leader,” Nina answered quietly, like she wasn’t taking Adams breath away with a single sentence, “And Regina understood, she agreed with me.”

Nina held up her phone with a sad smile, “Besides, at least this way it’s easier for me to watch out for her dad.”

Adam wanted to send the three of them back to heaven immediately, this was no place for angels. Vaggie was lucky she found Charlie immediately.

But Delta and Echo had backbones of steel, and once Nina set her mind to something there was no stopping her.

Shit, Netto and Lute were smart to send them.

Wait-

“What did you mean when you said heaven knew I fell Delta,” Adam whispered, “I should have fucking died. How did Netto find out I fell.”

Delta sighed and gazed tiredly at him, “Same way she always finds things out, she got it straight from Michaels lips.”

Adams blood froze before his mind caught up with him. Michael was involved with this. Fuck of course he was it was Michael, and if he was involved… then it stands to reason the rest of the ancient archangels had something to do with all of this too.

The first man stood up before pausing, if his gut was right, this wasn’t just about his fall. For the ancient archangels to be aware of his fall and do nothing for ten months… there was something he was missing.

He’d need to wait, maybe even bring Lucifer and the others in on this. But first…

“I’m in room 2101, Lucifer’s wing. 2100 is taken by the king of hell himself and his wife but the rest of the floor is empty,” the three exorcists perked up at Adams commanding tone, “Get set up and get settled in. Echo, send a message to the others and tell them I’m okay.”

“Already done.”

“Love that, Delta how is training looking?”

“Lute’s leading the effort sir, we’ve been working hard to fix our holes.”

“Great, get back in contact with Lute. I have a few techniques that can help. And for fucks sake tell her to use whatever prosthetic she has to her advantage; I fucking know she’s not.”

“Yes sir!”

“Nina, keep an ear out. Both for anything Netto has for us and for anything in hell. Carmilla Carmine, and the Vees are important. Especially Carmine, she’s the one with the angelic steel. Do not engage.”

“Go it sir.”

“Good, I’ll get you three for dinner. Remember, stay sharp, stay armed, and whatever you do. Don’t fucking trust the Radio Demon. He’ll kill everyone in this hotel the moment he’s off his fucking leash.”

The leader of the exorcists watched the three of them head down the hallway towards the front desk before turning and heading for the stairwell.

He had a lot to think about, and from the looks of things he still had an extermination to plan.

[blackypanther9]

Morning fun~ - Male!Reader x William Afton

WARNING!: Smut, Gay, Anal sex, pet names, short AND MORE YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED !!!

M/n woke up with William in his arms. It was currently 4AM and M/n felt horny and naughty for his Love.

‘He is so cute when he sleeps, but I really need him now…’

Very slowly and carefully M/n pulled away from William and then he removed the blanket. He carefully took off his bunny’s boxers and then turned William on his back. He positioned his legs and then he lubed up his fingers and slowly pushed the first one inside William’s hole.

“Mmmnnn…”

M/n smiled softly and the continued to work William open. Soon he had two fingers inside him and scissored him open. William was struggling in his sleep, blushing a slight shade of red and panting with some cute little moans.

“Ah~”

Soon enough M/n pulled out his fingers of his Love’s stretched hole and lubed up his cock and then slowly pushed inside, making William let out a long, drawn out moan.

‘That he is still sleeping… Fascinating~’

Then M/n pulled out and pushed back inside, slowly at first. William gave a few small moans, but it wasn’t enough for M/n, so he went a bit faster and deeper, hitting his prostate.

“Ah~! Mmmnn~!”

‘Much better~’

M/n continued at that pace and after 10 minutes, William came rope after rope with M/n’s name leaving his mouth in a long drawn out moan. M/n would have lied if he would have said that he wasn’t close himself.

After a few more thrusts he shoved himself deep inside William and spurted his cum inside him, moaning quietly.

“Fuck, yes, bunny~”, he whispered.

But he was still hard even after he was done cuming. M/n growled and pulled out slightly, then he fucked William again. Hitting his prostate over and over again, making William moan louder and causing him to slowly wake up.

“Ah~! Ha~! Mmmnnn~!”

William fully woke up when he came a second time, which was 15 minutes later. Not even a second later, M/n came deeply inside him again, but his cock still didn’t soften.

“M-Master…Again, please~”, William asked.

M/n looked and stared at his bunny.

‘He is awake…’

William moved his hips up and alarmed M/n with it to continue. M/n pulled out, making William whimper and turned him onto his right side. M/n laid behind him, lifted up his left leg and then pushed back inside William and moved in and out so fast that his testicles hit his ass cheeks every time, making loud, naughty slapping sounds.

William let some very pornographic, yet slightly quiet moans, slip out.

“Fuck~! Master~! More, please~!”

And more M/n gave William. After 10 more minutes M/n again got William to cum and he filled his bunny’s hole a third time. He finally got soft and pulled out, both panting.

M/n reached into his small dresser next to the bed and pulled out a butt plug. He held his bunny’s left ass cheek open and then pushed the butt plug into his bunny’s cunt, making William widen his eyes and moan again.

“Before you run to work in two hours, you can pull it out, but until then you have to keep it inside, bunny. You know how much I hate my cum not staying where it should be.”

William whimpered slightly, but nodded in understanding. Then the two of them snuggled up and fell back asleep.

-Timeskip-

M/n cooked breakfast for William, Michael, Evan and himself. As soon as the food was done he woke up the kids and they all sat on the dining table. William showered, got dressed for work and pulled out the plug. Nothing came out so far, so it was safe for his sake.

“Dad ?”, Evan asked William softly.

“Yes, Evan ?”

“Why was M/n hitting you ? Did it hurt ? I heard you and you sounded like you were in pain…”

William spat his coffee out and coughed, trying to get his coughing under control. He blushed a deep shade of red.

“You must have dreamt that Evan.”

“Oh…okay…”

Michael just looked at his Father and M/n with a knowing look. He knew they were in a relationship and he knew that what Evan heard was them having Sex.

William quickly ate and then sprung up from his chair.

“Well then I will be off to work. I’ll see you three later. Bye.”

“Will, wait your…”

SLAM !

“…lunch box…”, M/n sighed.

Then he looked at the two kids and smiled.

“Well then finish up and I will bring you to kindergarten and school.”

They nodded and hurried to finish up. Then M/n brought them to their places and then he took the lunch box and made his way over to Fredbear’s.

Masterlist HERE !

[sansebastinae]

(3 days before flight)

"Rocky, should I untether Mark from the pipes?"

"Don't even think about it Sebastian. I don't want to get into trouble !"

»»» 11th Day of Mission

Load LOG : // SL-21-20XX-28-12_01…

(alternate title : fuck characterisation, hello OOC. get OOC pain'd.)

###########

23:04:26:85 UTC +1 CET

Recording? Ok...so today-

("Talking into your diary again like a girl, love? ")

"Fucking…" clunk "It's my logging session. I'll throw something at you."

("Did you forget where you are?")

"Fick dich."

("…I hope that's German for 'I like you a lot?' ")

< clunk >

recording terminated due to lack of sound / voice activity.

###########

END LOG SL-21-20XX-28-12_01

// -----------------------------

Load LOG : // SL-21-20XX-28-12_02…

###########

23:11:33:02 UTC +1 CET

…Ok, the light is on, it is recording now.

This morning the Earth looked bluer than usual, and I really liked it, so I grabbed the camera and quickly snapped a picture. My photography skills are good enough!

NASA's Jackson called us the noisiest astronauts ever. Fair... But he did remark on how efficiently Mark and I get the work done around the station, given the state and the age of the machines. We would really just split the massive amount of maintenance into two and made sure we tied up any loose ends, and they were always impressed.

Today we had to do a pretty massive job of putting on the NOAX stuff on the many of the station panels. It was our second time doing a spacewalk in only eleven days, so that's a big thing. And it was…four hours outside, putting basically space caulk. Heat really gets to these big guys! The application was less than fantastic though, as we had to use spatulas to put them on…it was a really careful science experiment. There's Mark and me, stuck to only the metal railings of the station for our lives, putting state-of-the-art things with some ma's spatula. It's hot doing this the whole day, just mashing this stuff in! Sweating in space is not fun…

I looked up the stuff when I got back from the work. They use these things in Formula 1 cars…? Well you learn something new everyday and experience new things too, but I'm not sure how this caulk thing will benefit that much… probably only useful if Michael Schumacher goes 27 thousand kilometres per hour, sure…

Ok, I have been putting off talking about Mark.

The previous recordings already have them, but for memory's sake, I will just mention it here. I know, I know, I'm going to be 24 next year, and here I am, still feeling like i'm in middle school with how I'm acting.

We've been co-workers for two years now, and we've had our fair share of being at each other's necks. Horner didn't help either. The only thing he had to say to us before we left was that we were like an old married couple. And to get "our shit sorted by the end of the trip".

Well…

It really is hard to put it into words. It was pretty obvious to everyone, so I am the idiot here. Hah... I tried not to think much of it, especially during the suit up procedure for the spacewalks. it needed two people anyway.

Before we went back into the airlock, the bastard went to unhook my tether off the metal railing! Fucker!! Do you know how screwed we'll get if I wasn't anywhere with the EMU? He had the gall to laugh in his suit. I should have just beaten his face in just now.

("You didn't mention me holding your hands?")

clnk

("oh shoot--")

recording terminated due to lack of sound / voice activity.

###########

END LOG SL-21-20XX-28-12-2

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

[sugartitstownley]

Hay I love your blog!!!

Could you do some relationship preferences for michael and trevor being together cute/hot or just cute?

ABC’s of Trikey

Thanks for the ask! I’m glad you like my blog!! I took some creative liberties with this and ran with it since I’ve been wanting to do the ABC prompt. So I hope you don’t mind. :) I did the fluff version [source], but I’d be open to doing the NSFW version too if someone would want that.

Warnings: Not a lot this time. Typical GTA-esque themes. There is a brief mention in the last letter (Z) about child abuse, but that’s about it. Mostly fluffy stuff.

A is for animals  [Do they have pets? What type?]

No, they don’t have any pets. Neither of them feel too strongly about having them, but the topic has came up once or twice — Michael being the most reluctant.

“It’d be like having another kid,” Michael gripes. “We’d have to clean its shit and make sure it doesn’t tear the house up.”

“But maybe it could teach you a thing or two about loyalty, you snake,” Trevor shoots back. “Plus, it’d give Chop a friend.”

“Can you honesty promise I wouldn’t come home one day to a mutilated dog after it chewed the fuck out of your clothes or bit you?”

“Well, I can’t promise I won’t mutilate you one day, but I still keep you around.”

That didn’t convince Michael. So no, they don’t have pets. They’ll stick to chaperoned visits with Franklin, Lamar, and Chop.

B is for bathroom  [What are their bathroom habits? Do they brush teeth at the same time? Fight about the toilet? Shower together? Have weird toiletries?]

Their bathroom habits are definitely a little bit opposing. Michael, unless he’s in one of his truly depressive episodes, is fairly clean. He often opts for the same routine every day: wake up, shower, shave (unless he’s growing it out, which sometimes he does), brush teeth, put on deodorant, spray on fancy cologne he spent way too much on, and leave.

Trevor, however, has less of a set schedule. He frequently chooses to forgo the traditional approach to “getting ready” unless Michael gets on him about it.

Once they start living together, though, Trevor does start to actively seek out a good shower quite often — if only so he can join his partner in a little morning rendezvous, which, of course, Michael is happy to indulge him in.

They don’t fight too much over bathroom etiquette, but, well, Trevor is still Trevor, so it’s inevitable sometimes.

“Oh, the fuck is this?” Michael mumbles, peering into the toilet below him. “Trevor!”

Mere seconds later, Trevor’s head is popping through the bathroom door. “Mm, morning to you too, sugar.”

“Tell me what I’m looking at here.”

“That,” Trevor follows his partner’s gaze to look inside the toilet bowl, “looks like a finger.”

“Yep, it does,” Michael nods along. “Why the fuck is it in our toilet?”

Trevor raises his hands in surrender. “Excuse me, I tried to get his arm down in one go, but people don’t flush like they used to. Ya know, I think it’s all the healthy shit people eat in LS. Makes their body more immune.”

“Jesus Christ.”

C is for children  [Do they have kids? Adopted or biological? What are their names? Any random head canons you have?]

Michael obviously has Tracey and Jimmy, so that’s really enough for them. Michael knows he’s already a shit father, so there’s no need to bring any more children into his world. Plus, Trevor loves both of those kids like they’re his own anyway.

And, all things considered, they both have Franklin too. Their surrogate child. Sure, Franklin pretends to be slightly disturbed at that mental image, but both men are sure he’s still happy to have them around.

Sometimes, when he’s really trying to embarrass Franklin, Trevor will talk about him to strangers like he’s their child. Michael tries to get him to stop — for the youngest boy’s sake — but he secretly finds it both endearing and funny. So, against his better judgement, Michael joins in sometimes.

“Kids are a handful, huh?”

The woman looks up from the screaming baby in her arms to Trevor, who’s talking over her shoulder. She looks slightly uncomfortable at his proximity, like she wants to push away the cart full of baby items in front of her and make a run for it, but she nods instead.

“They sure are. Got any?”

Trevor mirrors her nod before pointing over at Franklin. “Our baby boy is right there.”

Trevor can see Franklin shrink behind Michael, trying to get out of sight, while Michael stands there smirking.

“He’s just precious,” Trevor continues, his voice cracking with a faux sob. “They grow up so fast. Right in front of your eyes.”

The woman glances at Michael, almost like she’s hoping he’ll save her, but he only puts a hand to his heart and smiles. “They never stop melting your heart, though.”

As soon as the cashier yells “next,” the woman is rushing to the counter, and the two older men are left laughing as Franklin finally moves into sight.

“Fuck you both,” he grumbles.

D is for dates  [First date? Do they go out together regularly? Who usually plans?]

Their first date was definitely weird. Not in the “we shouldn’t be doing this” way. But in the “this feels like our first date and 50th simultaneously” way.

Back in North Yankton, neither of them really went on “first dates” — with each other or other people. A date feels more like a planned time to be romantic, but their relationship was anything but planned. In fact, everything often felt rushed and spontaneous, like neither knew when their life would suddenly end by imprisonment or death.

Now, as older men who feel way too past their prime and have way too much history among them to be going out on said “first dates,” the idea feels a little juvenile and silly.

Nonetheless, they do it. They do it if only for the sake of not being able to do it before. They go out on a first date — paired with nervous sweating, awkward conversations, and careful skirting over any past issues that could put a damper on the evening. It’s a simple dinner at an upscale restaurant in Vinewood, much to Trevor’s initial dismay.

“Out of all of San Andreas, this is where you pick, Mikey?”

“It’s a nice place, T.”

“Shocker that you think that, Mr. Plastic Pants,” Trevor says mockingly. “This place is full of fake celebrities and plastic surgeons. I feel like I’m about to slip and fall and accidentally get a boob job.”

“Can you just humor me for once? Please?”

And Trevor did because, truth be told, he’d go anywhere with Michael. Their first date was good all things considered, but they don’t make it a habit to go out often. It’s just not in their style — unless you count Trevor beating Michael at golf or them chasing down bikers a date, then sure.

When they do officially go out on dates, especially for important dates like anniversaries, it’s usually Michael who plans them. He’s much more of a classic date — dinner and a movie — kind of guy. He likely gets that from the movies he watches.

E is for embarrassment  [Does one get embarrassed by PDA? Do they say things to rile each other up?]

Michael does, at times, get embarrassed by Trevor’s public displays. It’s not that he’s ashamed of Trevor; it’s just harder to kick that religious guilt he’s used to. It has caused a rift a few times when Michael would flinch at Trevor calling him “baby” around strangers or throwing his arms around him and kissing his neck — especially since Michael can see their unapproving reactions in his peripheral vision.

Trevor, usually, reacts angrily — no doubt believing that his partner is embarrassed by him and their relationship. But Michael continues to reassure him until the issue is dropped.

After a few years, and a bit more therapy, the judging glances no longer irk him like they used to. And, as a result, he’ll let Trevor’s fingers snake through his or let his touch linger, even with the prying eyes of Los Santos City.

When they’re in an argument, however, Trevor does take a few liberties now and then to rile him up.

“Fine, Burger Shot it is. But when we get home, I want a blowjob.”

“Oh, Christ,” Michael groans, looking around to see how many people heard Trevor’s loud mouth.

Trevor grins. “Hopefully, I’ll be saying that soon too.”

F is for fights  [Do they bicker a lot? About trivial things? How do they make up after a large fight?]

They bicker a lot. About trivial things. About important things. About everything. But that’s them. It’s how it’s always been, and just because they’re in love, doesn’t mean it’s going to stop.

But, at least for Michael, he almost enjoys fighting with Trevor. Fighting with him only reminds him how much he’s devoted to the guy — how much he devastatingly loves the man.

With Amanda, they loved each other, but they weren’t in love with each other. So when they fought, it left him feeling bitter and lonely. But with Trevor, every fight is born out of caring about his relationship, about Trevor’s health, about their past, about their future. He just cares so violently — both of them do — that every fight starts and ends with him being in love. At least, for the most part.

G is for gifts [Do they give gifts often? Big things or small things?]

Yes, quite often. Michael is a lavish giver, even if he knows Trevor doesn’t really care one way or another about material possessions. If Michael can gift him an “Impotent Rage” comic because he used to have it as a child, even if it’s rare now and worth thousands, he’ll do it. He wants Trevor to have nice things, and he has no problem spending money in order to make that happen.

Trevor, on the opposite side, doesn’t give material gifts very often. Not really seeing the value for himself, he doesn’t much care to buy them for others either. Even so, that doesn’t mean he’s not a gift giver in his own way. Trevor will often show his giving side by actions: making sure the new movie Michael wanted to watch is rented when he comes home, cooking something for dinner (with no eyelids, he promises!), cleaning himself up, going to events he hates just because Michael loves them, and so on.

They have their own ways, and it works for them.

H is for home  [Where do they live? When did they move in together?]

They have several different residencies. Several.

After the divorce was finalized, Amanda moved out to leave for the beachfront property that she desperately craved — and asked for — all throughout their time in LS.

Michael kept the house in Rockford Hills and decided to stay there. Despite some gentle coaxing, Trevor refused to give up his trailer in Sandy Shores, but Michael was secretly happy since it gave them an excuse to drive up there and sit by the Alamo Sea.

Trevor also ended up keeping the Vanilla Unicorn, at least for the time being. Neither man makes too many appearances there anymore, but Trevor’s back office does make for a good bed if he’s mad at Michael.

Officially, though, they live in Michael’s place in Rockford Hills. It’s close to where they need to go, Michael can commute fairly easily to Solomon’s studio, and Trevor is at a perfect distance to wreck havoc in whatever part of the state he chooses day to day. Michael, in the future, would be happy to consider moving somewhere else with his partner. But right now, he’s just happy Trevor agreed to stay with him.

“T, you listening?”

“Huh? Yeah, Mikey. What is it?”

Michael grabs the remote out of the other man’s hand and forces his eyes to leave the TV. “Trevor, ‘m serious.”

“Okay, okay,” Trevor relents. “I’m all ears, pork chop.”

“How would you feel about staying here?”

“Well, considering I’ve already drove halfway across the city, drank a shit ton, and planned to strip you naked later, I’d say I feel pretty good about staying tonight.”

Michael smirks a little. “As sweet as that is, I meant more than just tonight. Like, ya know, stay. Live here.”

“Live here,” Trevor repeats slowly, his attention clearly on Michael completely now. “With you. In Rockford Hills. Here.”

“Yes,” Michael nods, but it comes out more like a question — not sure if Trevor really wants to live here with him.

“Okay,” Trevor agrees.

“Okay?”

“Yes. Okay.

The sides of Michael’s mouth tick up into a small smile. “Okay.”

I is for illness  [Do they care for each other when they’re sick?]

They’ll definitely care for each other no matter the illness, but their reactions certainly differ depending on the illness at hand.

If it’s the common cold, they’ll both gripe at each other about how “babyish” the other is being. That won’t stop them from picking up medicine, tissues, water, or anything else the other may need to feel better. Some playful banter is just to be expected.

If it’s a more “serious” sickness, a little bit lot more worry and anger is involved.

Trevor growls. “Fucking lay down. I told you smoking all those Redwoods would kill you one day.”

Michael follows his partner’s orders and leans back onto the bed, his mouth open, trying to breathe any air he can get without coughing. “I’m fine, asshole. ‘s just a bug.”

“It’s not just a bug,” Trevor huffs, laying down next to him. “Doctor said it’s bronchitis. That can be bad, Mikey.”

“I’ll be okay,” Michael mumbles, giving Trevor’s hand a squeeze to reassure him. “A lot of people get it.”

“A lot of people die from it, too. Especially if it’s chronic. More than 300 people.”

“That’s not a lot, T,” Michael reasons, shutting his eyes. “Mm, plus, doc said she doesn’t think it’s chronic.”

“Doesn’t think,” Trevor growls. “Fucking doctors. They don’t know shit until you’re dead.”

At that, Michael opens his eyes. “Calm down, T. It’s not that serious.”

“It is, Michael,” he says, spitting out his name. “I don’t want to lose your fat ass just because you can’t let go of your stupid habits, and the doctors in this city are too lazy to give a shit!”

Finally realizing the issue, Michael turns over in the bed to cuddle into Trevor’s side. “You won’t lose me, baby.”

“You don’t know that. I have before.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. But I’m here for the long haul now. You’re stuck with me.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

And when Michael stops smoking — for the most part — and convinces Trevor to try and get clean from the drugs — again, for the most part — he’s there with him every step of the way through the withdrawal symptoms.

The nightmares, lack of sleep, paranoia, irritability — all of it. Those months are probably the most Michael has ever cried, or seen Trevor cry, but it’s worth it in the end when they’re both a lot happier.

J is for jokes [Do they tease each other a lot? Do they have inside jokes nobody else gets?]

They definitely tease each other a lot. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell whether they’re teasing or bickering unless you really know them since most of their teasing is harsher words paired with playful undertones.

“I had an idea for our next anniversary.”

Trevor smirks. “Not sure if you’ll make it to our next anniversary, you fat fuck.”

Or

“Nice outfit, T. I can see you’re finally embracing the ‘I liked it before it was cool’ lifestyle.”

“Fuck off, Townley.”

K is for kisses [First kiss? Do they kiss a lot?]

Their first kiss was long ago, back in North Yankton. It was after one particularly good job in ‘86. They came away with more money than they’d ever gotten together, and it took them half the time it usually does to ward off police presence and make it back to their motel.

“Fuckin’ A,” Michael shouts as soon as the motel door is closed. “We did it!”

“Fuck yeah!”

Both boys laugh, their hearts still pumping with adrenaline. Suddenly, Michael is overcome by the excitement of the success of the job or the smile on Trevor’s face, and so he pushes him against the motel door and kisses him roughly.

The kiss only realistically lasts around five seconds, but it’s enough.

“What the fuck was that?” Trevor asks once they part.

“What?”

“You kissed me.”

Michael nods and shrugs a bit, trying not to blush. “Yeah, so what?”

Trevor doesn’t say anything. In fact, the room is deadly silent for several seconds before Trevor lunges forward and captures Michael’s mouth again.

Between then and the time he meets Amanda, Michael kisses Trevor a lot. If he’s being honest, he kisses Trevor a lot after he meets Amanda too.

When they officially reconcile their relationship and decide to give being together a real shot after the Union Depository job, they — of course — kiss a lot. They have to make up for lost time after all.

L is for love [Who said ‘I love you’ first? How do they show their love?]

Although Michael kissed him first, Trevor said “I love you” first. This, too, was back in North Yankton after a night full of celebratory drinking and sex after a big job.

However, after their reconciliation in 2013, Trevor, once again, was the one to take the lead. When it comes to emotions, Trevor’s always said exactly what he was thinking. Where Michael struggles with expressing himself, Trevor does nothing but express himself.

“What?”

Trevor shakes his head lightly at Michael’s questioning. “Nothing.”

“No, come on,” Michael pushes. “You’re lookin’ at me funny.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Trevor sighs, glancing around the restaurant they’re currently sat in. “Can’t we eat?”

“You don’t want to tell me? When have you ever held your tongue? About literally anything?”

“Maybe I’m holding my tongue because I’m reluctant to say anything since last time I said it, it must have not meant shit because you married a stripper.”

“T, things with Amanda were complicated, you know that,” Michael says, grabbing his partner’s hand that’s resting on their table. “But it’s different now.”

Trevor gives a slight nod of agreement. “Yeah. It is.”

“So? What do you want to tell me?”

“I- I love you.”

Michael looks momentarily shocked, but he quickly recovers and breathes out a chuckle. “Oh.”

“You better say it back, Townley. You’re too old to have second thoughts.”

Despite Trevor’s quip, Michael grins. “I was just hoping I’d get to say it first this time. I love you too.”

M is for meals [Who cooks?]

Surprisingly, Trevor usually cooks. Or, rather, they do it together. Trevor likes the company, and Michael likes the assurance that no part of the food is human.

Trevor is a pretty good cook since he took care of his mom a lot when he was young between her copious amounts of “male friends.”

Although Michael usually is reluctant to relinquish control on a lot of things, he’s happy to sit back and watch Trevor cook, only helping when needed.

And if he gets to kiss the chef while he cooks, well, that’s just a bonus.

N is for nicknames [Do they shorten their names? Pet names?]

God, they never end — at least for Trevor. Michael does use the usual nicknames for his partner: T or Trev. After they started dating, “baby” will become a frequent contender.

For Trevor, he never stops coming up with nicknames — most of them being for his own amusement. Mikey, Mike, M, sugar, sugar tits, pork chop.

Some of them are more on-the-whim ideas: Mr. Plastic City and moneybags being quite popular.

Michael has asked Trevor to cool it down, but he doesn’t have much luck on that part.

“Get in, sugar tits.”

Michael climbs into the Bodhi, shooting Trevor a glare. “Can you stop calling me that?”

“I’m getting déjà vu. Thought we’ve had this conversation before, and I said no.”

“We have,” Michael rolls his eyes. “But I thought that once we, you know, started being together — you’d stop.”

“Aw,” Trevor smiles, linking their fingers together as he pulls out of the driveway. “No such luck, sugar tits.”

O is for outsiders [What do other people think about their relationship?]

Their relationship is a paradox to most — both surprising and not surprising in the slightest.

Amanda, who’s known them the longest outside of Lester, was initially shocked. With the way Michael talked about Trevor if she ever brought him up, it usually seemed like a one-sided friendship that was destined to end.

Though, when she looks back on it after the divorce, she’s not all that surprised after all.

“I should’ve known.”

Michael pauses before giving a half shrug to his soon-to-be ex wife. “I barely knew. It’s just always been … complicated.”

Amanda snorts. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it, Michael. Still, you just … never wanted to talk about him. Even after everything — especially not after everything.”

“I know, Mand.”

“I always thought that maybe it was just because you felt guilty, but, well,” she trails off. “You loved — love — him.”

“Yeah,” he breathes out. “Yeah, I do.”

Lester was even easier. He knew from beginning that the boys had a long history, and even after all the years apart, he knew the barely functioning friendship between Michael and Trevor was just years of pent up sexual tension, betrayals, and love waiting to topple over.

Franklin and Lamar were equally supportive, but Lamar did ask a lot of questions that made Franklin gently kick him under the table.

“Yo, so you and crazy dude are in love?” Lamar asks. “For real? This whole time?”

Michael glances at Franklin, who’s smirking at the exchange, before he meets Lamar’s eyes again and nods. “Yeah, we are.”

Lamar chuckles. “Good luck, homie. Bet that dude is into some freaky shit in bed.”

“What he means to say is that we’re happy for you, dog,” Franklin says while nudging Lamar. “Maybe now I won’t have to hear T bitch about you every time we grab a drink.”

“Yeah, doubtful,” Michael smirks. “I’m sure he’ll find somethin’ new to complain about.”

“Yeah, like how your ass is too fat to get in the sex swing I ordered.”

All three boys whip their heads around to see Trevor stalking up and plopping into the seat next to Michael.

“That’s not- he’s kidding,” Michael fumbles.

Franklin, looking caught between amusement and horror, just nods. “Sure, whatever you say, homie.”

P is for proposal [Who proposed first? How did they do it? A lot of planning?]

Michael proposed first. He values the traditional act of marriage a little more. Not to mention, Trevor didn’t want to ruin their relationship or scare Mike off since he only just got him back. If it was up to Trevor, though, they would have just got hitched immediately.

Although Michael considers himself a bit of a romantic with his partner — a cliché, in Trevor’s words — he didn’t plan a fancy proposal paired with dinner, a moonlit walk down Vespucci Beach, and skywriting asking the big question. No, instead, he just looked at Trevor one night and asked. He asked right then and there because, for once in his life, he just let his emotions take over.

“I understand how economics work and what the working class needs! They want a six pack of beer! An eager girl in their pickup truck! And a depressing folk tune playing on the radio!”

Michael faintly hears the voice of Impotent Rage coming from the TV in front of him, but he’s barely listening as his eyes keep glancing over at Trevor, who’s sitting next to him under their blanket, munching on a bowl of popcorn and watching the superhero chant with full attention.

A soft smile tugs at his lips as he listens to Trevor belt out a laugh at whatever’s happening in the show, and suddenly, he’s speaking without even realizing.

“T.”

“Hm?”

The man’s eyes don’t move from the television, so Michael tries again. “Trevor.”

Finally, his partner’s eyes peel away from the screen and look his way. “What, Mikey? I’m missing good TV here.”

Michael watches him for several seconds, the small smile from before still present. “Marry me.”

At that, the show fades into the background completely, and Trevor’s attention is focused. “You’re gonna have to repeat that, sugar. Think I misheard you.”

“I said, ‘Marry me.’”

“Jesus,” Trevor shuts the TV off and turns to face Michael, the blanket falling off them to their feet. “You serious? You better not be fucking with me.”

“I’m not,” Michael shakes his head, taking Trevor’s hands in his. “We should do it. Get married.”

There’s a long gap of silence where Michael’s not sure if Trevor’s going to laugh at him, punch him, or have another overt reaction. But in the end, he feels his partner’s body slam into his as they topple over onto the couch. And it takes a few seconds for it to register that Trevor is hugging him.

Michael laughs. “Is this a yes?”

“Fuck yes.”

And if Trevor cried a little too that night, well, that’s their business.

Q is for quest [Have they ever been on a quest together? Has one done something completely crazy for the other?]

Honestly, their whole lives together have been nothing but a series of quests. But, outside of the normal robbery, revenge, avoid-dying quests, they’ll absolutely go on day-to-day missions for the other — especially Trevor.

Is Michael out of that one specific product he uses for his hair and no store in Los Santos seems to carry it? Trevor will find it.

Have one of the actors on set gone missing? Trevor’s already got their location.

It doesn’t matter how utterly dumb he thinks Michael is for caring about certain things, he’ll get it done. Somehow, some way.

“You’re welcome,” Trevor says, sitting down the black, sleek bottle on the kitchen counter. “Only one I could find, Mr. Suede Bucks.”

“You got the cologne? The fuck did you find this? It ain’t been at Ponsonbys forever.”

Trevor leans down and kisses Michael, smiling proudly. “I know. It wasn’t easy.”

“Yeah, I bet, it wa-” Michael stops. “Uh, Trev?”

Trevor walks over to the fridge and pulls out a beer. “Yeah?”

Michael wipes at the bottle before holding up a red-coated finger to Trevor. “Is this blood?”

Trevor pretends to inspect it before shrugging. “Not sure.”

“Oh, really? This just happened to be here?”

“Don’t ask too many questions, Mikey. Just accept the gift.”

“I didn’t want it that bad,” Michael protests. “Not at some poor bastard’s expense.”

“I got you the cologne,” Trevor says pointedly. “Just be happy, you miserable fuck.”

Rolling his eyes, Michael smiles and leans up to connect their lips again. “Well, thank you.”

R is for rainy day [What do they do when it’s raining outside?]

What better way to spend a rainy day than a movie session that your boyfriend forces you into? Right?

Michael loves to watch movies — that much is obvious. And, since Trevor loves him, he’ll indulge him on days where it’s too wet to do anything else.

Plus, a bonus of staying indoors all day is more time for … extracurricular activities.

S is for secrets [Do they keep secrets from each other?]

Trevor’s not the type to keep secrets, so anything he does, says, or thinks pretty much goes straight to Michael.

For Mike, though, he has trouble not keeping secrets. It’s not that he actively wants to lie to people, especially those he loves, but he’s done it for so long that it’s become second nature. So much so that he even expressed the worry to his new therapist.

“I don’t want to lie to anyone, ‘specially not Trevor,” Michael admits. “But it’s like I don’t know how to stop!”

“What exactly do you lie about?”

He glances around the office, shrugging. “I don’t know. The way I feel sometimes. What I want. What I don’t want. Christ, I don’t know if I’m lying or if I just don’t know the answers.”

“I think you know the answers, Michael.”

“Maybe. I just … don’t ever want to hurt Trevor again.”

Months in therapy with an actual qualified doctor — unlike Dr. Friedlander — helped Michael find new ways to cope with his knee jerk reaction to lie.

So, no, they both try not to keep anymore secrets between the two of them.

T is for travelling [Do they go on holiday together? On journeys?]

They don’t get away very often. It’s not that they don’t have the money because obviously they do. But they’re busy with their respective jobs. Michael is often working on a movie set these days, and that can take up a lot of time. And Trevor can be found running TPI, the Vanilla Unicorn, and — of course — getting up to various shenanigans.

In a last ditch effort to connect to his kids, he did invite them on a small trip, where they ended up going to the zoo alongside Trevor.

“Ew, daddy, what is that?”

Before Michael can answer Tracey’s question, he sees her reach out toward the animal. “Trace! Don’t fuckin’ touch it!”

“Hey, you better watch out, kid, or it’ll eat you,” Trevor says, putting his arm around Tracey.

“You’d save her, uncle T,” Jimmy pipes up.

Trevor smirks. “We’d just sacrifice your dad. He’d take one for the team.”

Tracey giggles, nodding. “Totes.”

Michael pulls Trevor’s arm off of Tracey before giving him a playful shove. “Yeah, fuck you. If anything, we’d sacrifice your ass. With the way you smell, it’d probably think you’re a dead animal anyway.”

“As if you’d give me up that easily,” Trevor says, brushing their hands together as they walk along the zoo path. “You love me, Michael Townley.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Besides that, they mostly stick with San Andreas. But Michael’s been thinking about planning a trip back to North Yankton. He knows Trevor misses the Midwest, and he thinks they’re grown enough now in their relationship to relive nostalgic, good memories while there instead of being thrown back into painful ones.

U is for urges [Do they pine after each other? How often to they think about each other?]

They do pine — in their own ways. For Trevor, it’s more blatant, obvious longing.

Before getting together officially, Trevor made it a point to drudge up the past or make snippy comments about how much Michael’s changed. Under all the semi-faux anger, all he wanted was for Michael to realize how much he’s missed him.

As for Michael himself, his pining came in the form of silence. He didn’t want to ever talk about Trevor, or hear about him, or think about him. He missed him too, but every thought surrounding the man was laced with guilt.

“We did it, T!” Michael cheers. “Fuckin’ A. Pulled off the Big One.”

“Sure did, Mikey,” Trevor smiles slightly as he whips the car down the LS Freeway. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“I know. I figured we’d be settling into prison by now if we ever attempted it. I mean, we-”

“No,” Trevor stops him. “Never thought I’d see the day since you were dead.”

The air in the car grows thicker than it usually does with Trevor’s quips as Michael struggles with how to respond.

Eventually, Michael sighs. “Thought you said we were good.”

“We are.”

“Then why do you have to bring it up? Can’t we have one decent conversation without you always having to mention it? Jesus Christ, T.”

Trevor grinds his teeth, facing Michael with an accusatory finger as the car comes to a stop on the side of the road. “Fuck you! I’m going to bring it up until you’re so sick and tired of hearing about it that you rip your own ears off!”

“Oh, well, if I’d known that was all it’d take to shut your ass up, I would’ve ripped ‘em off months ago!”

“Good! I wish you fucking would!”

Both of them lean back into the silence as Trevor slams on the gas and buzzes past the cars around them.

After pulling into his driveway, Michael gets out and slams the door behind him, leaving Trevor in the car without another word. He slowly starts the trek up to his door, suddenly realizing that — once the door shuts — he’s going to be alone once again.

Chancing a look back, he checks to see if Trevor’s still sitting in the car, and he is — unmoving.

Michael turns around and makes his way to the window, not even having to knock before Trevor’s rolling it down.

Michael gestures vaguely. “Want to come in?”

Trevor gives a curt nod and moves to get out of the car. “You better have beer.”

After popping open a few drinks and settling onto the couch, Trevor’s voice fills the otherwise quiet room. “Look, ‘m sorry. Okay? I know we’re trying to move on. But fuck, Michael. It’s hard. You … you left me, and you didn’t even think twice.”

“Didn’t think twice? You kidding me? I thought twice. I thought three times, four times, a hundred times. But I had a family, and I didn’t know what else to do. I messed up. I know that. And I’ve had to live with that every day. Every day, I thought about you — hoped that you weren’t dead, or when I was really fuckin’ depressed, hoped that you were so I didn’t have to feel so damn guilty. So don’t tell me that I didn’t think twice, asshole.”

Seconds later, the air is knocked out of Michael as Trevor pushes his lips roughly against his. He lets out a small hiss when he feels Trevor bite down on his bottom lip before his tongue brushes against his.

“I’ve missed you,” Michael breathes out against Trevor’s lips.

“I’ve missed you too, sugar.”

V is for virtues [What’s their favourite thing about each other?]

Trevor loves that Michael is, well, Michael. Despite the long list of qualities he could ramble off that he doesn’t like about him: constant sarcasm, hypocritical, arrogant …

He’s also fond of those qualities because that’s who Michael is. He’s an asshole, and Trevor likes him that way. Secretly.

Michael, on the other hand, has a distinct quality of Trevor that he’s most fond of — loyalty. Michael himself has never been loyal. He’s cheated, lied, hurt, coerced, and backstabbed almost everyone he’s ever known. Although Trevor’s physically hurt his fair share of people, his loyalty to his friends is unshakable.

Michael almost hates that about him too. He’ll often wish Trevor gave less of a shit about him because, maybe then, their past wouldn’t cut as deep.

Still, Michael will hold tightly on to every last bit of loyalty Trevor’s willing to give him now.

W is for wedding [Who plans it? Big or small? Does it go smooth?]

It’s a pretty small event considering Michael’s already done the whole marriage thing before. Neither of them really care about a monumental party paired with dancing, catering, and people galore. They really only want to get hitched for the sake of being together forever and, as Trevor jokes, so it’s practically legally required for them to love one another.

Does it go smooth? Ha! If you asked anyone — anyone — that they know if anything ever has gone smooth when it comes to Michael and Trevor, they’d laugh.

It wasn’t a total disaster or anything, but there were certainly hiccups along the way.

“The fuck do you mean he’s missing?” Michael pulls the phone away from his ear as the lady on the other end tries to explain the whereabouts of his suit tailor. “Trevor!”

“But I assure you that we’re trying to find him, Mr. De Santa.”

Michael barely catches the end of what she’s saying as he pushes the phone back against his ear. “Look, lady. I don’t give a shit where your boss is. Do you have my suit?”

“We don’t have it here with us,” she explains. “He likely took it home, but I assure you-”

Michael hangs up the phone as Trevor finally comes strutting into the kitchen.

“What’s up, pork chop? Trouble at the studio?”

“No, trouble with the suit guy. Apparently, he’s gone missing.”

“Huh.”

Michael narrows his eyes. “That was a short answer. And ya don’t seem that shocked.”

“It’s Los Santos,” Trevor shrugs. “People go missing all the time. He probably found the one hot broad in this city that likes 50-year-old men with braces and hit the road with her.”

“How did you know he had braces? I’ve never hold you that.”

“What the fuck is this, Mikey? An interrogation?”

Michael steps around the kitchen table until he’s face to face with his partner, giving him a sharp, piercing look. “Trevor.”

“Fine! I met the guy for a bit,” Trevor relents. “Went to talk to him about fixing up my outfit as well, but we didn’t see eye to eye.”

“Oh, God. What does that mean?”

Trevor’s eyes shine in light amusement. “I think we’re going to have to look for someone else.”

X is for xenia [What’s it like to be their guest?]

Well, they don’t really have a lot of people over. The only people who ever visit them are Franklin and Lamar, sometimes Tracey and Jimmy, and on the rarest occasions, Lester. But that’s usually only if he needs something.

When they’re in Sandy Shores, they’ll have Ron over, and occasionally, they’ll bring Wade when Trevor wants to get him out of the strip club.

Being their guest is like going to a haunted house. It can be fun, but you have a chance of getting traumatized in some way.

“Hey, do y’all two have any-” Franklin stops, throwing his hands over his eyes as he jumps back into the hallway. “What the fuck?”

Trevor’s laughter fills in the room as Michael blushes, fumbling for the zipper on his pants before pulling Trevor up from his knees.

“Fuck,” Michael starts. “Sorry. We ain’t doing anything. I promise.”

“Yeah, whatever you say, dog,” Franklin shudders, finally peaking through his fingers. “Look, I just came to ask if y’all had any beer. But I can see you’re busy.”

“We weren’t …” Michael trails off, knowing there’s no point in denying it. “I’ll show you where it is.”

The three boys walk downstairs, Trevor still snickering to himself as Michael nudges him every so often to try and get him to quit.

“Maybe next time, wait for your guests to leave before you start messing around up there,” Franklin chuckles.

The boys’ heads glance over when Lamar pipes up beside them, apparently catching the end of the conversation. “Yo, you and crazy dude was fuckin’ up there?”

“Kill me,” Michael mumbles while Trevor cackles beside him.

Yeah, they don’t have guests over very often anymore.

Y is for yearly [Any traditions? Anniversaries?]

They’ve picked up some new traditions and brought back some old. Back in North Yankton, before Michael ever met Amanda, there were several years that he and Trevor would bake holiday cookies for Christmas. Were they good at it? No. But that never stopped them. Neither of them grew up in particularly warm households, so it was up to them to create some kind of holiday cheer.

Plus, when Tracey was born, she loved to help out. Oftentimes, you could find her in Trevor’s arms as they used cookie cutters to make the dough into little trees and reindeer.

Deciding to carry that tradition into their relationship and marriage, every Christmas they bake cookies, and every year, they taste a little like shit. But they both love it.

“Merry Christmas, daddy,” Tracey says, hugging Michael and Trevor. “Merry Christmas, uncle T.”

“Merry Christmas, kid,” Trevor pats her back before going to grab a few of the supplies needed for the recipe they’re making.

Michael hands her a bowl for the dough. “Merry Christmas, Trace. Glad you could come over. How’s college going?”

“Good! Classes, like, totally rock!”

He smiles, nodding approvingly. “Good.”

“What about your brother? He too good to hang out with us tonight?” Trevor jokes, setting the butter, milk, and eggs down on to the table.

Tracey giggles. “I think he’s working.”

“I’m still not used to hearing that,” Michael laughs. “What about your mom?”

“She’s good too. She’s, and I quote, ‘finally relaxed now that you’re someone else’s problem.’”

Trevor snorts. “Ain’t that the truth.”

“You wouldn’t want it any other way,” Michael shoves him lightly.

“Maybe not.”

Michael, Trevor, and Tracey work in unison for the next 20 minutes until they finally have some semi-decent cookies that are ready to be baked. Sticking them in the oven and setting a timer, they all get cleaned up and move to the living room.

Michael flops down onto the couch, and Trevor falls next to him, putting his arm around his shoulders. Tracey makes her way to the other side of the couch so she can stretch her legs as they all wait for the cookies to be done.

“We should make this a tradition again! Now that you and daddy are together, we could do this, like, every year. Remember when we used to do this when I was young, uncle T?”

“Sure do, kiddo,” Trevor grins. “With Jimmy too.”

She shrugs. “Yeah, I guess he could even come next year. What do you think?”

Michael sees that Tracey and Trevor are looking at him for an answer, so he nods. “Yeah, we could probably make that happen.”

The three of them talk about the future, Tracey mostly supplying the conversation with her babbling while Michael and Trevor happily sit back, leaning into each other as they listen.

When it comes to anniversaries, they also celebrate those every year. They’re not as uptight as some couples about them, but they tend to mean a lot to Trevor, and it’s a concrete way for Michael to show that he’s putting work into their relationship and cares about it enough to do so. So, they celebrate them every year.

Z is for Zzz [Sleep habits? Who’s the big spoon? What do they wear in bed? Are they coddlers?]

Michael’s never really gotten a perfect night’s rest — not since he was a baby presumably. He’s had okay nights and even, what he’d consider, good nights. But never perfect. Never the full eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Nightmares often plague his nighttime life. When he was a teen, it used to be flashes of his father hitting him — beating him black and blue until he was coughing blood days after. As a young adult, he dreamt of robberies gone wrong, getting shot, going to prison, and so on. As an older man, his dreams are a toss-up between his past worries and his future ones. Hurting Trevor, dying, or, most often, both.

Trevor, in the past, didn’t sleep a lot either. Some nightmares, sure, but mostly from the drugs coursing through his veins at any given time. Since Michael and him got together and he started working on being clean, he’s gotten a bit more sleep than the usual.

The same can be said for Michael, though. Sleeping next to Trevor has helped tremendously, especially for his Trevor-themed nightmares. Knowing he’ll wake up next to the man is comforting.

Because of their shaky sleep schedule, they both take turns being the big spoon/little spoon depending on who needs what.

Trevor gently nudges Michael, who’s restlessly tossing around. “Mikey … Mikey.”

Michael’s eyes fly open, and Trevor grabs his arms to stop them from reaching for the gun by the bed.

The dark room stays silent for a minute as Michael’s breathing levels out before he sighs. “Sorry. Did I wake you up?”

Trevor gives a noncommittal hum. “You haven’t had a dream like that in awhile.”

“Yeah, we’ve been sleepin’ good recently, huh?”

Trevor puts his arms around Michael, feeling his bare chest rise and fall steadily. “Yeah, sure have. What were you dreamin’ about?”

“Just … North Yankton,” Michael admits, pulling Trevor close. “Being back there — what could have happened, I guess.”

“There’s no use thinking about the past since we can’t change it. Ain’t that what your new shrink said?”

“She said I should let it go,” he corrects. “But I can’t.”

Trevor frowns, tracing circles on Michael’s chest. “Why not? Still sad you missed your opportunity to put me down?

“Knock it off,” Michael grabs his hand, scratching where Trevor was lightly brushing before. “And that ain’t funny, T.”

Trevor rolls his eyes but decides not to push it. “Look, sugar, we all have things we regret. But we’re here now, and that’s what matters, right? We’ve got your spoiled kids, Franklin, Lamar, hell, even Lester. We’re good.”

“I know,” Michael says quietly, agreeing. “I really am sorry, though. For a lot shit.”

“Yeah, me too. For a lot of shit.”

Michael leans down and kisses Trevor’s head before pulling the blankets up over them again and going back to sleep.

When they can’t sleep, it’s usually filled with just that — banter, soft comforts, and an insult or two so the other can feel right at home. It’s not always picture perfect, but they wouldn’t trade it for anything else.