that's so mavin

Gavin first meets Michael as he’s being thrown out of a bar after being caught pick-pocketing. Gavin made the rather stupid mistake of trying to take the wallet of a guy three times his size, with no backup, no weapon on him, and only his drunken impulses to guide his actions. The huge guy felt his sloppy hands, grabbed Gavin’s wrist, and threatened to beat him to death. Gavin would insist later that he was already making a plan to get out of it, already spinning the starts of lies in his head, the start of a flashy smile. But if he’s being honest he was scared. He was young, he’s been in this trash of a city for all of three months, and he has no way out of this.

“Hey!” A voice calls besides Gavin and he looks to find a short curly-haired man who couldn’t be much older than himself, freckles spattering his scowl. “The dude is like eighty pounds, leave him alone.”

The man gripping Gavin’s wrist turns to the other, his snarl getting deeper. “Fuck off, this is between me and the twink.”

The strange savior insists again he find someone his own size to pick on. The giant again tells him to fuck off. At some point a punch is thrown, the police are called, and Gavin and the stranger get shoved out the back entrance being told to never come back.

“Thanks for that,” Gavin chirps to the stranger, holding out his hand to shake. “I would’ve been ok, but thanks for the help anyway. The smegpot looked outright mean.”

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anonymous asked:

Number 9, mavin pls??

9. Distracting Kiss

Michael loved Los Santos.

He knew Los Santos better than most, and he reveled in it–the dirt, the unapologetic corruption, the scum of the earth all gathered together in a united thirst for blood and depravity. It was home.

And, listening to the laughs that echoed through his comms, he knew his crew felt the same way.

“Alright, assholes,” Geoff called, the sound of sirens intermixing with his call to attention. “Ten minutes before pickup; get what you can and get the fuck out.”

Michael verbalized his agreement, already zipping up his duffel bag full of money, when a voice rang out behind him.

“Michael, boi?” He turned, smiling when he caught sight of Gavin in the entrance to the vault, his own bag slung over his shoulder.

“Ready to get the fuck outta here?” He asked. He looked at his partner with confusion when Gavin merely grinned at him.

“Fancy a wager, boi? We got plenty of time.”

“Greatest number of cop kills wins?”

“Winner chooses how to celebrate tonight,” Gavin grinned, wagging his eyebrows beneath his golden glasses.

“Your ass is mine tonight, bitch,” Michael laughed, cocking his gun. “Count it down.”

“Go!” Gavin yelped, ignoring Michael’s spluttered cry of “Cheater!”

The next few minutes were a cacophony of bullets and screams, a symphony against the crescendo of police sirens wailing and helicopter blades whirling outside. Michael couldn’t suppress the manic grin that stretched across his face.

“Die, you bitch,” he snapped, unloading an entire clip into the corpse of a particularly troublesome officer of the law. “That’s nine!“

He paused behind a destroyed counter to reload his pistol, expertly exchanging one clip for another. He gasped when blood sprayed across the right side of his body, a cop’s corpse landing inches from him with a neat hole through the center of his head.

“That’s eight.”

Michael turned from where he was crouched, pistol raised. Gavin smirked down at him, green eyes dark and glittering with adrenaline. He pulled Michael up and grabbed ahold of his jacket, pulling him flush against Gavin’s chest as Gavin kissed him.

“If you could see how you look right now,” Gavin muttered, placing aggressive, biting kisses all over Michael’s skin. Michael stuffed his pistol behind his back and pushed Gavin up against the wall, returning the favor.

Gavin broke the kiss and wrapped his arms around Michael’s waist, pressing his lips to Michael’s nose, his cheeks, his lips. The mixture of adrenaline and lust pumped through Michael’s blood, spurring him to pushGavin further into the wall and bite Gavin’s lip, feeling a burst of pride at the sound the other man made. Suddenly, there was a movement behind him, and two shots went off right next to Michael’s ear. He startled badly, nearly falling to the floor.

“Nine. Ten.”

Michael gawped, his head flitting back and forth between the two cops dead on the ground a foot next to him, and the smug Brit against the wall, spinning Michael’s gun around his finger.

“Hey, idiots! Pick up’s here! Get the fuck out, now!”

“Look’s like I win, Michael,” Gavin grinned, fixing his hair.

“You son of a bitch,” Michael whispered, absolutely dumbstruck by the turn of events. Gavin pressed a smacking kiss to his cheek, dancing out of the way when Michael growled and swiped at him.

“Don’t be like that, love! We still have to celebrate tonight!” He hefted his duffel back up, sending Michael a shit-eating grin.

“I fucking hate you, you know that?” He called after him, trying to be angry, but mostly coming off as fondly exasperated. Gavin blew him a kiss and ran outside.

Michael smiled, shaking his head. Yeah, Los Santos was definitely home.

Thank you so much for the ask! <3

Michael, I love you.
—  Gavin in Sunday Driving - The Haywood Chronicles

mavin flowershop au? mavin flowershop au.

when michael starts, it’s just a job. he does not give a single shit about flowers and arrangements, it’s all just information he rattles off to get someone the fuck out as soon as possible. and then at some point he becomes invested,  and he’s suddenly a treasure trove of tips to keep your flowers alive as long as humanely possible and he has fucking dreams about flowers.

gavin comes in after michael’s hit his “goddammit this is actually really interesting and cool” phase to get flowers for something random. fun fact about gavin: he aggressively doesn’t care about flowers because they are way too pricey for things that die in a week. another fun fact about gavin: he’s a shallow bitch. final fact: gavin thinks michael is really, really, cute.

instead of asking for michael’s number like a normal person, he starts blowing major dough on flowers. birthday? you’re getting flowers. promotion? flowers. it’s friday? flowers for you. it becomes a weekly thing. he goes in, michael grins at him and asks what the occasion is this time, and gavin flounders before he makes something up (michael thinks he’s too embarrassed to admit he’s dating someone), and gavin listens as michael’s rambling about flowers turns into rambling about the fuckin’ dog that lives two doors down from him which turns into a ramble about how nobody knows how to make grilled cheese anymore.

and then sometimes, michael listens while gavin chatters on about his day, his life, his friends, and he can’t help but wish he knew gavin, was one of the people he told stories about, rather than just the guy who rings him up once a week (he has no idea that geoff gets earfuls about him, that gavin’s friends groan when he’s brought up for the nth time and gavin still hasn’t asked him out). so he goes fuck it, like he does when he’s faced with any decision, and gives gavin his number. 

they go from strangers to friends in the amount of time it takes them to shoot a text to each other. and now michael sees gavin’s stupid smile on a semi daily basis despite the fact gavin hardly comes around to the shop anymore, because gavin’s developed a habit of showing up to his place and just… not leaving for hours, and michael’s developed a habit of letting him in and throwing a blanket over him when he crashes on the couch, what the fuck. on top of all that, not only has michael’s goddamn crush hung on for dear life instead of vanishing into the distance like it should have, it’s somehow managed to get worse.