Trevor Philips X Reader (Stepping into his Dangerous World)

OLD MOVIE ONE LINER SH*T BAG

You looked at your sand-dollar shaped clock on your blue walls. It was already 11:30 p.m. You weren't sure what else he had up his sleeve for the night. You figured he was probably just did what he wanted all the time. Shit, he could probably afford to. You got off the sofa and turned on the radio, already tuned to the Channel X radio station. It was one of the only radio stations that were semi-okay in Los Santos, and really fit your particularly odd tastes.

"Hey, my kinda girl." He grinned at you, bobbing his head to My War by Black Flag.

A thought occurred to you. "Hey, you smoke weed?" 

"Ahhh I don't know. It usually fucks with the speed... I'm really just a seller." He scratched the back of his head thoughtfully, "I guess one hit wouldn't hurt, why the hell not?" He asked. 

"Joint, bong, pipe, I got it all waddya want?" You asked, going into your bedroom in the 'special drawer'. 

"Pipe me baby." He said playfully. 

You pulled out a smooth, white, clean looking seashell pipe, it looked like a conch shell. Everything else in your house was similarly beachy, why not your pipes too? You packed the bowl with the soft green good stuff and brought it out with you, along with a lighter. You sat next to the large, gruff man once again, your body sliding next to his naturally as you sank into the cushion of the sofa. 

"You go ahead and take that first hit." Trevor winked at you. 

"With pleasure." You rose the shell shaped pipe to your lips, sparking the lighter with your dominant hand, and drawing in your breath to take in the smoke. You held your breath while it was in your lungs, jut to get that little extra of a high, and exhaled smoothly without coughing. 

Trevor watched your movements as you inhaled and exhaled the substance, watching your luscious lips over the piece. He found it almost erotic watching another person enjoy drugs the same way that he did. Even if his life choices were much more hardcore. You handed the shell-shaped pipe to him, his large rough fingers lightly brushing over your fingers as he took it from you. The drug lord took a massive hit like a fucking champ, and exhaled as smoothly as you did. You had to admit you were a little impressed by that, because you usually got some really decent weed from the Smoke On the Water dispensary. He blinked a few times. "Oh Jesus I haven't done that in a while." 

"You alright?" You asked, watching his pupils dilate as he looked at you.

"I think so? Whooo whee," He breathed out, "God damn yeah, that is uh some good stuff. Its like everything is all far away er some shit." He made a grabbing motion in the air. 

You smirked at him. A big bad thug guy looking all dazed and confused, it truly was a sight to behold. He handed the pipe back to you, you took a couple more hits from it and sat it down, turning up the music with the remote on your coffee table. Music was an almost orgasmic experience when you were high. Its like you can hear sound clearer, and they reverberate into your soul. All of the lyrics make more sense and you feel the vocals and instruments into your being, that's what your favorite part about it was. You looked over and realized you were sitting on the side of Trevor with his large arm tattoo in plain sight. You examined it closer, reading what it said. 

R.I.P, Michael, 1985-2004, "Brother"

"Your brother died?" You asked him stroking his arm, causing him to tense up. 

"Well," His voice was low, almost like a growl, "I thought this man was like a brother to me, and I thought he was fucking dead, but he might have actually fucked us all over." Trevor's expression was dark, you could almost feel the air around you change when he got upset. 

"So he's not dead?" You asked. 

"I'm not 100% sure, but I'm pretty fucking sure he's alive with that jewelry store heist that happened." You gave him a questioning glance. "There was one witness to it and he said the robber said some shit like 'You forget a thousand things every day. Make sure this is one of them.' and there's only one god damn motherfucking 80's OLD MOVIE ONE LINER SHIT BAG that I know who says some shit like that and lets people live." He huffed after his yelling fit. 

"Jesus sorry for asking." You picked up your pipe and took another hit, feeling the sweet relaxation wash over you. You didn't really imagine that this would lead to you smoking dope with a dope slinger, on your sofa at that. 

"It's fine, ya know? Just wish I would have gotten some sort of fucking courteous call or some shit. Some way to say hey buddy I'm not dead here's your cut of the money. Fucking Michael." 

Obviously you hit a nerve with him, and pot seemed to only make him grumpier somehow? It was weird. "You want a beer instead?" 

"Fuck yes." He didn't miss a beat. You walked into your small kitchen that was connected to the living room, you had a classic green 50's style refrigerator that had been passed down through generations. It may have been a little loud, but it really did work decent, and it wasn't like you had money to buy another one. You grabbed him a beer, opening for him before you got to the sofa. After you handed it to him, he chugged the entire thing in one sitting, you guessed it was to drown his grief. You sat on his lap and stroked the back if his neck, that seemed to calm him down just a bit. He relaxed into your arms and sank into them. He grabbed your thigh and stroked it thoughtfully. "I think I just need to sleep, alright?" He asked. You nodded at him, staying in the position you were in just a bit longer before retiring to bed. 

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You woke up feeling refreshed, for once you had a good sleep. Was it because... he was next you? If it was, you sure did have fucked up sensibilities, you knew he was a psychopath. Then again, you already knew something was warped with you, as you were the one who instigated this entire thing in the first place. It wasn't like you had meant to sleep with him right off the bat, there was something strangely alluring about him though. It was like you were attracted to the darkness, and this man might as well be the devil himself. He looked so peaceful sleeping, even if he did have a 'cut here' tattoo on his throat, and 'fuck you' on his knuckles. Sometimes you would catch these glimpses of him where he looked like a normal, innocent man, but most of the time he just looked more or less scary. His nose wiggled slightly, and his snoring stopped. He grumbled as he awoke, and opened bloodshot eyes. 

For a second he looked confused. "Who are you again?" He asked, causing instant rage to flare on your face. He chuckled, "Just kidding, (y/n). Kinda hard not to remember something like that ass." Trevor winked at you, and slid out of your bed. "I do have to get going though, have lots of business to take care of with Trevor Philips Enterprises." He stretched his arms and body before putting his clothes on. "Do you have a pen and paper?" He asked. 

You were always a little dopey in the morning, even if you hadn't smoked any pot the night before. "Pen..." You had to process all of what he just said to you before your brain snapped back into focus. "Yeah, yeah, hold on." You ruffled in the nightstand next to you, taking out a stolen hotel paper pad and pen. 

Trevor grabbed it from you, wrote something down, and then set it on the bed next to you. "This is my phone number, call me or text me any time." He licked his lips, lent down and grabbed your chin gently. You watched his dangerous brown eyes examine your beautiful (e/c) ones before planting a kiss on your lips. "I live two doors down of you need anything"

You blinked at him. He really lived that close this entire time and you never noticed it? Were you stupid? You sighed thoughtfully.

"Well don't go out there and get killed or something, alright?" You poked his chest.

"Oh, no, no, no, wouldn't dream of it my dear!" He exclaimed confidentially, and walked out the door.