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Part 3 - With flying colors
Masterlist
Series Masterlist
Part 2 -- Part 4
Pairing: Mike x OFC (Danielle)
Warnings: Smut! 18+ (Minors DNI). shower sex, oral (M receiving), swearing, general awkwardness. There's some footnotes... Those always scare me...
Summary: Dani spends the night at 179th Crescent Street and meets the roommates in the morning...
Word count: 5.8k
If you catch any mistakes, just know that Daddy August doesn't take kindly to tattletales... 😏😏
A/N: Not a lot of smut here - but some of it. Lot's of ~social interaction~. Also, for anyone trying to figure out where exactly these guys go to uni: CANDYLAND, okay? I'm most familiar with Dutch uni's, but some US College-type things snuck in... It's a hot mess, and we're gonna keep it that way.
Finding the perfect movie to watch on a date is not easy. The tragedy commences as soon as someone shoves their Netflix account in your face. Let’s be really clear about one thing: Everything on Netflix blows. There’s too much and too little at the same time, the suggestions are all terrible, they always have that one movie that reminds you of the one you’re actually looking for, but that’s never on there. It’s a nightmare. Then, there’s the selection process itself - and with that a shocking amount of social protocol to navigate. As a woman, you obviously can’t make any unsavory intentions too obvious. Which means you can’t pick something that’s so bad that he instantly knows you’re not interested in watching, but you don’t want to pick something you actually end up watching. And it is slim goddamn pickings in that ‘don’t mind watching, but don’t mind not watching’-category.
“Hi, guys!” It sounded dull, what with the door being closed and everything, but it was definitely Mikey.
Someone else, whose voice you didn’t recognise, replied to his greeting. “Don’t you have company?”
“Yeah, speaking of: Could you keep it down tomorrow morning?” Mike again. Who was he asking? He’d said ‘hey guys’, plural. Who else was out there?
“Of course.” That was definitely a second mystery voice.
“Thanks! G‘night, guys! Nice to meet you, Elena!” Mike’s voice got louder until you could tell he was right outside the door.
“Hey!” Mike smiled at you when he walked in. He quickly shut the door behind him. “Pick something?”
“Eh, no,” you said. Why were you blushing? Why was your heart already out of control?
“Stakes aren’t high, babe,” he walked over and pressed his face into your neck. “Probably won’t see much of it, anyway.” His intentions were probably just sweet and cheeky in a 'can't keep my hands off you' kind of way, but your insecurities really saw their chance and took it.
“That’s the only reason I’m here, isn’t it?” You knew it. You fucking knew it. It took everything you had to not burst into tears; they already burned behind your eyes.
“Are you kidding me? I like you!” Mike looked at you, entirely confused - the only thing missing were cartoon question marks over his head. You scoffed and rolled your eyes. How many times had you heard that before? Mike closed the distance between the two of you and took your face in his hands. “I don’t take girls I don’t like out on dates, Dani.” He looked at you, brows furrowed, one side raised. And that smile. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his lips, your thoughts went from “punch” to “kiss” and back again so fast it gave you an emotional whiplash.
Your voice was barely more than a whisper when you finally said something: “You’re not exactly taking me out, now are you?” Fuck, you could just about kill him right now. It wasn’t that you had an issue with hooking up, absolutely not, but you did have a problem with being led on.
“Woah, okay, back up.” He put his hands on your shoulders and stepped away from you. “So we agree that this,” he gestured at the both of you, “is a date?”
You snorted derisively. “I’ll agree that I thought this was a date, until about two minutes ago.”
Mike breathed in deeply, his head fell back and you could practically see him count to ten.
“Okay, we agree that when you stepped through this door, like, two hours ago, you thought this was a date, then?” The way he held you messed with your head; at arm's length, hands heavy on your shoulders. Intimate, but distant... You just nodded in reply to this question.
“And so did I. Still do.” He said it so matter-of-factly that you almost laughed. When he took another deep breath, it seemed like he had a better handle on himself than before.
“Okay, so I mentioned taking you out on a date, and you said that this wasn’t ‘out’,” he thought about that for a second. “Does that mean that you think this is the only time we’ve been together that the word date could refer to?”
“Mike, could you fucking stop treating this like a programming issue?” It was your turn to grow impatient.
“How is this not like a programming issue?” He retorted. “If I don’t get the output I’m after, something’s gotta be wrong with the input. Just… Humor me, okay?” You rolled your eyes.
“Alright: yes. Mostly because you asked me out two days ago, and I haven’t seen you since.”
“Okay, I see,” Mike grinned. God, how that annoyed you right now. “Dani, when I asked you if you wanted to go to the movies with me, and you said yes, and we, y’know… Went.” Oh Jesus. “I meant for that to be a date. I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear about that.”
You tried to convince yourself that this could have happened to anyone. It had happened to you, but it could have been anyone. Ariel and Sloane would have a field day if they heard this. Despite that, you were still going to tell them. Mike looked at you questioningly.
“You didn’t kiss me or anything,” you murmured, while you looked at the floor.
“Too nervous,” he chuckled, “that’s what I tried to make up for when you came in.” The distance between your bodies got smaller as you stepped forward, your arms reaching for him, and pulling him in. Strong arms wrapped around you and squeezed gently. With a sigh, you let yourself be enveloped by the warmth of his body.
“See,” he said softly, his head buried in your neck, “fix the input, get the right output. Programming issue.”
“Damn, computer nerd,” you laughed as you nudged him with your shoulder as best you could. All of a sudden, he put his hands back on your shoulders and pushed you away. For a second, you were afraid you had offended him with the nerd-remark, but then you saw his face. On it, was hands down the dirtiest fucking grin you had ever seen in your life. He licked his lips - you had to choke back a moan when he did: it was so incredibly sexy.
“What?” You asked, but he just looked at you. “Mike, what the fuck is going on?”
“You hooked up with me on what you thought was our first date.” There were three options: you were losing your mind, needed glasses, or he found that thought very entertaining.
Your cheeks burned, and you were sure he could tell. He followed up on his observation with a single word that set every nerve in your body on edge: “Hot.”
The kiss that followed ended way too soon. When he let go of you and stepped away, you noticed it was quite cold. You made your way over to the bed so you could get back under the covers, but Mike grabbed your waist when you passed him and grinned at you. The sudden touch - and the cold - made you shiver. You looked up when Mike chuckled. His eyes summarized him perfectly: horny and cheeky.
“Well, I’m going to take a shower…” You didn’t need much time to pick up on that hint.
The bathroom wasn’t big, but it was nicer than you’d expected. You didn’t realize you were looking around with an open mouth until Mike pointed it out.
“It’s just so… clean.” It was nothing like the student bathrooms you were familiar with - especially not the ones in houses with only men living in them. Or mostly men - or any men. Hell, your own bathroom - and your house was all girls - was messier than this. If by messy you meant: ‘regularly looked like someone bombed a Sephora’. You just couldn’t connect the state of the room to the idea that it was shared by four guys.
“I am one hundred percent sure August will commit bloody fucking murder if we make a mess of this place,” Mike laughed, as he turned the water on, “and I’m about eighty percent convinced that Sherlock won’t think twice to help him cover it up.”
“These guys sound colorful,” you said hesitantly, not quite sure what to make of the remark.
“Oh, things get interesting, for sure,” his laugh echoed a lot less now that the water was running, “but I don’t really want to talk about my roommates right now, if you don’t mind.”
“Well, what did you want to talk about, then?” The whole false naivety schtick worked very well on Mike, you noticed, as you closely watched his reaction to your doe-eyed coyness. He stepped around you, with his signature playful laugh on his face, and reached out to lock the door. In the meantime, you let your sweatpants drop to the floor. Luckily, his t-shirt was long enough to cover you up - you knew you wouldn’t be wearing it for much longer, but it was nice to not be completely exposed.
“I wasn’t planning on talking much, ba-” the shape of his mouth changed from the interrupted a into a silent o. As his eyes changed and his mouth morphed - once again - into a devilish smirk, you were certain that this mischievous piece of work would be the death of you.
“I think that’s mine.” He said dryly, holding out his hand to signal that he wanted his t-shirt back. Now that you no longer felt in control, shyness started to set in. Your fingers rolled the hem of the fabric between them, and it suddenly felt extremely hot in the room. He noticed - of course he noticed! It’s Mike, and he noticed things nobody noticed. As far as he was concerned, it wasn’t always a fair trade against missing things no one else missed. That’s what he’d told you right after you had asked him why he was like that - he had quoted Awolnation’s Sail1 by means of an answer.
“C’mon beautiful, I want that back,” he grinned, his tongue darting briefly, wetting his lips. The only thing you could think about was the way he called you beautiful, and the hungry look in his eyes. Very slowly, and as sensually as you could manage, you started to undress. Your fingers trailed your thighs, your hips, your stomach, to finally linger at your chest before pulling the shirt over your head and tossing it to him. Before he could get to you, you stepped into the shower.
“Your turn,” you giggled softly, and blew him a kiss.
It took him less than ten seconds to join you. Hands wrapped around your waist and spun you around so fast that you were sure you'd both slip and fall. When you didn’t, you looked at the non-slippery floor in surprise.
“One of us almost broke his neck once,” Mike said while running a hand through his hair, “and we tend to learn from past mistakes.”
“And this guy,” you laughed, “did he happen to be you?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny that.” His face told you more than enough. Even with his hair all wet, and in this horrible bathroom lighting, Mike was cute. The horrible lighting probably wasn’t something you should have thought about. Why did it have to be so bright? And there was nowhere to hide! You looked around, almost frantically. There was one place to hide, or at least conceal most of your body from his sight. You leaned into his body, and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you even closer. He was hard, and the feeling of his cock against your body made you wince.
“Sorry, baby,” he apologized, “can’t help it. You’re just so fucking gorgeous.” The way he said it was so sincere, so reassuring, that you finally allowed yourself to relax and melt into his embrace. The heat of the water running over your back really helped. You traced the muscles of his back for a while, and he moaned quietly at your touch. After some time, you moved your hands to his chest, resulting in a groan that sounded almost offended.
“Sorry, my hands are getting a little cold,” you said without thinking about it.
“Imagine how my back feels,” he retorted. You must have looked really guilty, because his signature grin broke through the almost cynical mask on his face and he laughed. “It’s okay, baby, I would’ve said something if it wasn’t.” He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you. There was a rough edge to it that made your heart pound in your chest - a roughness that hadn’t been there before. For the second time today, you could hardly believe what this guy did to you. Mike was grinding against you as his mouth left yours and dipped into your neck, instead. Your fingers snaked into his hair and pulled him closer while he licked and nipped at the skin of your neck, sucking the most sensitive spots. He occasionally moved up to moan into your ear, and it drove you absolutely wild. Hot water, cold air, soft lips - there were plenty of sensations to choose from, and they all seemed to turn you on one way or another. You both let your hands wander over each other's bodies while entangled in that very wet kiss. Shocked by your own initiative, you reached a hand between your bodies and wrapped your fingers around him. Mike’s mouth found yours again and he turned both of you around so he could lean back against the wall. You stroked him a couple of times, chuckling softly as he moaned into your ear. It felt great, seeing him like this. He sucked your bottom lip in between his teeth.
“No, keep going,” he groaned into your mouth when your hand stopped moving. You pulled your lip free from his grip and moved to his ear. He shivered when you licked his earlobe, and you felt his cock twitch in your hand.
“Is it good?” You whispered.
“Mhm,” he nodded, “very.” You kissed his neck below his ear, then his jaw, his throat. The sound he made when he realized where you were headed2 was charmingly depraved - you couldn’t smile any wider if you tried. Unfortunately, you hadn’t thought this all the way through; the shower floor was rough on your knees, but you figured you’d just have to suck it up3. The bigger problem was the water: most of it came down straight on your head right now, and it made the task at hand4 significantly more difficult. Luckily, Mike reached up to solve this little problem. Part of you expected him to hog all the water and leave you there, freezing, but he didn’t - you decided that these levels of consideration deserved a reward. He struggled to keep quiet as you dragged your tongue all the way along his length. It seemed less scary now. You easily settled on the comfortable depth and rhythm you had before - with similar reactions from Mike - yet something in the back of your mind encouraged you to take it a bit further. Slowly, carefully, you took more of him into your mouth. It wasn’t easy, but the ecstatic squeal that Mike let out made it more than worth it.
“Fuck,” he breathed so softly that you could barely hear him over the sound of the water. You could tell he was trying really hard to stay still, which was very much appreciated. It was already difficult enough to focus on not choking without having to worry about him bruising the back of your throat. His ragged breathing and the slew of profanity that erupted from him as your lips finally reached the base of his cock were beginning to make you feel very good about yourself. You should have known - right when everything seems to go well, tragedy strikes.
“Hey, lovebirds, get out of the fuckin’ shower!” The voice appeared suddenly, accompanied by the slamming of a fist against the door - hard. Twice - and it startled both of you. Mike’s brilliant reflexes made him jerk his hips, which hurt - like a bitch, by the way - and made you gag. Your reaction, however, was far worse. As soon as you could, you let go of him and curled up on the floor in the opposite corner of the shower, making yourself as small as possible. Sloane’s hysterical laughter echoed through your head already. How exactly were you going to tell them this? We were getting it on in the shower and I was going down on him and it was going remarkably well, until his roommate knocked on the door and startled me so much I bit him, or something? Actually, that was probably exactly what you were going to tell them - before dying of embarrassment, that is.
“Sy, fuck off,” Mike yelled back through gritted teeth. That name sounded strangely familiar to you, you just couldn’t figure out why. Not that you were really trying to. “I swear to God, I’m going to fucking kill you!” He turned his attention to you, pulling you into his arms. You hadn’t even noticed him getting down onto the floor with you. “Dani, are you okay? Did I hurt you?” It was nice to rest your head against his chest.
“You’re asking me?” It sounded like a bad joke. “What about you?”
“I’m fine, come here.” He chuckled. “You never answered me.”
“Mortified, but not hurt,” you declared in a surprisingly upbeat way.
“Noted,” Mike nodded, “then, if neither of us are hurt, do I have your permission to find this whole thing fucking hilarious?”
“Maybe tomorrow,” you said, but you were already laughing.
Mike owned a suspiciously large amount of pillows - for a man, anyway. He’d tossed all of them into the corner, and then he’d grabbed you and sent you flying the same way like it was absolutely nothing. Now, you were curled up beside him with your head on his shoulder while you played with his hair. It was still damp from the shower.
“So, who else lives here,” you were already pretty anxious about running into any of the guys in the house tomorrow morning - to the point of wanting to escape out the window in the middle of the night.
“Alright,” Mikey smiled, “no need to be nervous. They’re all great guys!” You hid your face in his shoulder, embarrassed at how he always just knew. Maybe you were just anxious a lot, that was entirely thinkable. You didn’t get a lot of time to think that through - and you probably shouldn’t have wanted to, anyway - because Mike continued: “You’ve met Marshall - eh, Walter. We usually use his last name. Criminology major.” He paused again, trying to organize his thoughts.
“Ok, on the ground floor, we have Napoleon. We usually call him Leon - you get why. Does something along the lines of Business Administration, with a minor in Art History.” Art history - not immediately something you had expected to come across in a house like this.
“First floor: Marshall. And then Walker, eh, I mean: August. Third year Political Science with a minor in Criminal Justice."
"The guy who would kill you for making a mess of the bathroom."
"I feel Walker would kill me for a bunch of reasons…" Something about the way he said it made you wonder whether or not Mike was joking. You couldn’t help but point out that this Walker guy didn’t sound very nice.
"Nah! He's great! Very consistent, I like it. He's a good time when he's drunk."
"He sounds like a jerk, Mike."
"And he kinda is, but he also isn't." He laughed at the puzzled look on your face. " He’s complicated. You'll see what I mean."
"I'll take your word for it. Who's next?"
"Charles Brandon, he…" Mike's eyebrows shot up when you interrupted him.
"Ladies man, very much opposed to the concept of monogamy. Little respect for other people's relationships. Does that cover it?"
"Just about. He majors in Political Science, same year as Walker, and he's very good friends with the dean's son," Mike continued the profile, "He's a great wingman, too." He added thoughtlessly.
"Don't need to know, Mikey!" You shoved him so hard he almost fell over.
"Ow! Sorry! Second floor; Geralt. Majors in Mythology and Folklore. And then Sy, the guy who…”
“Made me almost bite your dick off?” A sarcastic laugh escaped from your throat. You absolutely dreaded meeting this guy; he was already responsible for one of the most awkward moments of your life - so far - and you still couldn’t shake the thought that his name sounded very familiar.
“Yup,” Mike laughed, “he’s cool though. Not a great wingman, had a habit of stealing my chicks... OW! Would you stop that, I’m just joking.”
“Are you?” You hated when the insecurities hit you like this.
“Well, mostly. Trust me, I don’t miss striking out at the bar.”
“Do you miss… not striking out?” You looked at Mike, waiting for him to say ‘no’.
“That sounds like a trap, I’m not going to answer that.” Smart man. You shrieked when he tickled you. “Anyway, that’s Sy. Then upstairs; Sherlock. Holmes. Third year Law and second year Philosophy, last thing I heard he was also taking some classes in Psychology. He’s not even nineteen, by the way.” It took you a while to process all of that. You had enough trouble with one major, let alone two. And did Mikey just say this guy was not only your age, but two years above you? Mike saw your face, and laughed. “He’s a genius.”
“I think I’ve heard of him,” you said. You weren’t quite sure where you’d heard the name before, but it was unusual enough that you remembered it very distinctly.
Mike’s next sentence cleared up that confusion: “Oh, and he’s the first violinist of the university orchestra. He and the second violinist, Elena - I actually just saw her for the first time - practice together every Saturday afternoon. He usually starts in the morning, though, but I’ve asked him to keep it down.”
“And he said he would?” Sherlock sounded like the friendliest guy in the house so far.
“Oh, yeah, he never makes a point of it when we ask. But we let him have the two or so days before a concert, that’s the deal.”
“So, with seven other guys in the house, he never gets to really play?” You wondered out loud.
“Oh, no, you’re safe until about eleven. But he’s good, a billion times better than any alarm. I stopped asking him to keep it quiet for anything other than a potential hangover a long time ago.”
“But you did ask him just now?”
“Yeah, for you. Didn’t want it to wake you up if you didn’t want that.” He presses a kiss on your hair. You buried your face in his neck, in hopes of hiding the fact that you were blushing like crazy, but you were well aware that Mike was onto you.
“And the girl? Are they, like, together?” You never imagined that you’d be so invested in the goings-on in this house.
“We don’t know for sure. Leon keeps track of the bets. I’m pretty sure all of us are in on one of those, at least. I believe I’m out twenty if he doesn’t sleep with her by Christmas.” Ah, there it was: The kind of stuff you expected from a house like this. You rolled your eyes and pulled the comforter snugly around you as Mike put on the movie you’d settled on.
Walking into that kitchen was definitely one of the scarier things you’d ever done. Luckily, there was only one person in it when you and Mikey got there. His appearance was striking, with the silvery hair and very light-brown eyes that were almost the color of honey.
“Morning,” the guy said stoically when you walked in, and he put the newspaper he was reading down on the table.
“Danielle, Geralt. Geralt, Danielle.” You were really grateful that Mike took care of the introductions. “Coffee, Dani? G?” Both of you nodded. The kitchen was big and bright, and looked well taken care of. You noticed that the appliances weren’t falling apart like they were at your house.
“You can sit down, I don’t bite my roommates' girlfriends,” Geralt said dryly.
“Just your own?” It was out before you even realized you opened your mouth in the first place. You were about ready to sink into a hole in the floor when Geralt laughed. He didn’t get a chance to answer, because someone else stepped into the kitchen.
“Damn, Mikey, she might actually be able to survive this circus!” How many Brits lived in this house? And why did all of these guys look like they had run away from the covers of magazines? The guy in question turned around to you: “Charles, nice to meet you.”
“Hi, I’m…”
“Danielle. The girl who stole my wingman.” He extended a hand to you, and you took it with the intention to shake it. Instead, he brought it to is lips and placed a soft kiss on the back of your hand.
“Hands off, Brandon,” Mike slapped him against the back of his head with a teatowel. “And take Leon, if you need a wingman so badly.”
“Leon doesn’t need a wingman, girls flock to him offering services in exchange for a discount.” Charles started laughing, while your confusion grew.
“And some of those girls, I sent to you,” a new voice retorted. The kitchen was quickly becoming crowded. “Or to Mikey.” You saw Mike make a not-so-subtle gesture in your direction to signal the newcomer - whom you guessed had to be Napoleon - to shut up.
“I’m sorry, didn’t see you there. Napoleon, call me Leon.” He actually shook your hand. “If you ever need anything, term paper, answers to a test, talk to Mikey.” He laughed. This guy was dangerously charming.
“Thanks, but I don’t suck dick for good grades.”
“Well, maybe computer science,” Mikey said with a wink. You stared at him, unable to believe he just threw you in front of the bus like that - careful not to let your mouth fall open: you were sure it would look even weirder than it already did. Luckily, Geralt caught your distress and kicked Mike in the shins.
“Thanks, I couldn’t reach.” You said sourly while Geralt grinned and the rest laughed. Mike put two cups of coffee on the table and sat next to you. Charles took the last cup from the pot and left the kitchen with it.
“No coffee?” you asked Mike.
“Not if I want to stay awake,” he laughed. When you looked at him funny, he pointed at his head. “My wacky brain,” was the only explanation he offered, and then he shrugged. Leon took it upon himself to make a new pot of coffee.
“Walker here?” A somewhat familiar voice sounded from just outside the kitchen. It belonged to Walter Marshall, whom you had met when you arrived yesterday.
“Don’t think he will be,” Geralt answered. You noticed that his voice startled you - despite having heard it before. It seemed to go against some law of nature for him to speak.
“How so?” Mike was often a tad too curious, but this time you didn’t mind - it sounded like there was some kind of drama here, and you were invested already.
“Anjelica showed up.” For anyone who lived here - or anyone else who knew who Anjelica was and what she was to August Walker, that was enough information. Mike turned his head to you.
“Girlfriend,” he said plainly, and you figured you could fill in the rest.
“Not if you ask him,” Leon scoffed. He leaned casually against the counter, waiting for the coffee to brew.
“He loves her,” Geralt interjected dryly, as if that settled the matter.
“You hear anything?” Mike asked with a filthy grin on his face.
“I hear everything, Mikey,” Geralt sighed. Your eyes went wide and your face turned red. Leon and Marshall laughed when they saw it; Mike tried to grab your hand off your knee, but you pulled it away.
“Ooh,” Leon and Marshall sounded at the same time. Leon murmured something along the lines of ‘someones in trouble’, while Marshall slapped the back of Mike’s head and told him: “You tell a girl about the roommate with the super senses before things get serious, Mikey.”
“What are they talking about, Mike?” You hissed at him, absolutely beyond furious. From the corner of your eye, you saw Leon pour himself a cup of coffee, before holding the pot up to Marshall, who nodded, but didn’t dare speak - they were a little too keen to see how this would play out.
“I can hear Sherlock play the violin,” Geralt said calmly, “he’s three floors up, and using a practice mute.” You were just about ready to slap Mike in the face and storm off; this was definitely something he could have shared before all of yesterday happened.
“It’s exhausting enough as is, so believe me when I say I don’t listen to everything.” He still wasn’t looking up from his newspaper. “Besides; if something is ever… repeatedly annoying…” he chose this time to shoot a meaningful look your way, “Let me put it this way: I’m sure it’s not the reason headphones were invented, but I thank my lucky stars every fucking day that they were.” Now all five of you burst out in laughter. Leon hurried to answer the door the second the doorbell rang, and didn’t return. It wasn’t long, though, before another housemate walked through the door.
“Marshall.”
“Walker.” Ah. The infamous August Walker finally made an appearance. He turned to you as soon as he set foot in the kitchen.
“You must be Danielle,” he said, “nice to meet you.” Whether he assumed you knew his name, or simply didn’t care if you did, you didn’t - and couldn’t - know. He grabbed the coffee pot off the counter, only to find it empty. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” he muttered under his breath.
“Better make plenty, Sherlock’s on his way down and Sy just woke up. And I could do with another cup, too, if you don’t mind.” Geralt said.
“Then why, pray tell, don’t you do this?” August hissed as he turned the kettle on.
“Alright, I could use a second cup as well, but now I know better than to ask you for anything in the morning, so why don’t you move out of the way and let me do it?” You shocked yourself; you were never this forward. Geralt made a half-attempt to hide his impressed smirk behind his paper, while Marshall and Mike didn’t try at all. Even August had trouble keeping his face in check - unsurprising, it had to be exhausting to frown that goddamn much.
“Charles was right,” Gerald chuckled, “you might be able to survive this circus.”
“The biggest clown is already mine,” you sighed as you got up and waved at August to get out of your way. The boys - including Mike - laughed.
“Is there any coffee left,” someone asked. The voice was soft and polite, and sounded like its owner was in desperate need of coffee.
“Coming up!” You said cheerfully as you pressed the button on the coffee maker.
“First time here and they already put you to work?”
“A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do if she wants coffee,” you laughed, “and I couldn’t ask Mike to do it. His coffee is terrible.” Geralt and Marshall raised their cups in agreement while Walker murmured ‘Amen’. Sherlock chuckled, somehow sounding a lot like a British version of Mike. The five of you drank your coffee mostly in silence. After August had finished drinking his, he made a cup of tea. On his way out of the kitchen with it, he was almost knocked over by Mike as he went to take some orange juice from the fridge.
“Sorry, Walker!” He said. August just mumbled something unintelligible as he went back upstairs. Mike shrugged and put the carton to his lips. You weren’t surprised that this was a habit of his, but you’d expected more protest from the other guys.
“We tried,” Sherlock answered your question - nevermind that you hadn’t actually asked it, “he just gets his own carton, now.”
“You’ll get used to the unusual communication,” a female voice said, “Anjelica Madden, hi!” She greeted you with a hug. “Sherlock, Geralt, Marshall and August you don’t even have to ask anything once,” this woman was awfully cheerful in the morning, “but Charles, Sy, Leon and that dork over there you have to ask everything twice, so it evens out.” She disappeared about as quickly and suddenly as she had appeared.
“Speaking of Sy, he’s taking his sweet time,” Marshall noted.
“Probably taking a shower,” Sherlock responded, “I understand it was occupied for quite some time yesterday.” Geralt, Marshall and Mike looked at each other in surprise. It wasn't like Sherlock to say things like that.
“And on a similar note,” Mike laughed, “have any of us won any bets yet?”
“I heard her leave, so my guess would be ‘no’,” Marshall added.
“You would be correct,” Sherlock muttered. All of a sudden, he looked so much younger than the rest of the guys in the kitchen.
“Will she be here after lunch, though?” Mike asked curiously as he got up and turned to you. “Breakfast?”
“I have no reason to assume the contrary.” Sherlock replied dryly.
“There’s food in the house?” You exclaimed quasi-surprised.
“There better be, I’m starvin’,” a familiar voice sounded behind you. Finally, now that you weren’t concerned that you had maimed Mike, you recognized the voice. Your legs felt like they were made of lead when you turned around while praying it wasn’t true. Unfortunately, when you finally looked up at the man who had just spoken, your suspicions were confirmed.
“Ari, help!” You groaned into the phone as soon as Ariel had picked up.
“Dan, what’s up?”
“I met his housemates - all of them, it was an experience, holy shit, more on that later. But, bitch, I…”
You heard some mumbling in the background - it was probably Sloane.
“Girl, Slo is here, I’m putting you on speaker.”
“Hey babe!”
“Slo, oh my god, sit down. Ari, you too. Remember the guy from orientation?” There was no point in drawing this out any longer; you had to tell them.
“You mean your spectacular Southern stud, the Don of dinner down there? The prince of pussy eating perfection?” Sloane yelled in your ear.
“Enough with the alliterations, S.,” Ari laughed, “clearly, we remember. What about him?” How were they not connecting the dots on this? Normally, you were the one who was slow to pick up on these things.
“Nathan motherfucking Syverson is one of Mike’s goddamn roommates.” You felt like you were about to cry. It stayed awfully quiet on the other end of the line.
“So, red or white?” Ari asked in a deviously perky tone. You could hear Sloane’s muffled laughter in the background.
“Red,” you sighed.
A/N: Whoops, some footnotes. 1: “Blame it on my ADD” is the line we're talking about... 2: Pun intended 3: Pun not intended. Happy accident. I promise 4: I am so sorry
#179 crescent street#henry cavill fanfiction#mike (hellraiser)#mike (hellraiser) x ofc#henry cavill characters#mike hellraiser smut#captain syverson#hc sherlock#napoleon solo#august walker#geralt of rivia#walter marshall#charles brandon#mike hellraiser fanfiction#179cs#179cs3
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