Trevor Philips X Reader (Stepping into his Dangerous World)

HOW'S THE F*CKIN BUSINESS?

The neon green light of the stolen Benedict's Light Beer sign buzzed. Cockroaches wiggled around on the floor. Trevor's snoring could be heard slightly coming from his room. Michael's cell phone rang in the dirty, small trailer that Trevor called home. Franklin was on the other line.

 "Where you at man? Your house is empty."

"Oh, hey." Michael rubbed his face groggily, he had just woken up. "I had to ah, lay low for a while. Yeh that nice Mexican we met? Me and T did that job for him. And we fell out."

"You gotta be joking." Franklin sounded serious. 

"I wish I was." 

"So where you at now?" he asked. 

Michael sighed. "Desert. Out by Alamo Sea."

"Alright, well, I'll hit you if I find anything." 

"Absolutely." The elder thug answered definitively. "Uh- oh, hey. Trevor's got his wife."

"Trevor's got a wife?" 

"No, no the Mexican's wife."

Franklin sounded amazed, "What?" He asked. "Shit, I don't know what to say about that one."

"Nothing." Michael paused. "Nothing to say about that."

"ROOOOOOON." Trevor yelled as he woke up, and Michael quickly hung up the phone. "I'm back." 

"Coming Trevor!" A raspy voice yelled from next door. 

Trevor lifted himself out of bed gruffly. "Bring me my coffee or I'm going to cut your arm off."

"Absolutely!" Ron answered. 

The thug of a man yawned and rubbed his eyes. 

"Who the hell's that? Your maid?" Michael asked while he unzipped his fly to take a piss. 

He caught Trevor at the tail end of a yawn. "Business partner." He replied. "Good guy. Very loyal." Ron ran in wearing his usual bucket hat, red plaid shirt, and khaki cargo shorts. "Ron, Ron, that is Michael..." He gestured to Michael while he walked across the trailer, "And this... Is Patricia." He ripped the duct tape off her mouth, causing the small woman to yelp. He sighed and sat down in the chair across from her. "Listen, beautiful. Y'know I'm sorry about everything that's happened. And I, y'know, I can't guarantee no harm's gonna come to you. Might have to chop you up into little pieces before spraying your pulped mess down the drain, but... I really hope it doesn't come to that." 

"I appreciate your honesty. You are a good man. I can see that." She said back to him. It was almost like she had been through this before. 

"You need your eyes examined, then." Michael remarked sarcastically. 

Trevor walked over the the sink where his business partner was. "Ron, you miss me?" He asked. 

"Yeah, Trevor, a bit I mean." He replied. 

"HOW'S THE FUCKIN BUSINESS?" The druglord yelled at him, causing Ron to shy away a bit. 

"I-I-I tried."

Trevor lowered his voice dangerously, "If you're going to give me a sob story, I'm gonna rip your fucking throat out, and shove a turd down the hole!"

"It's not a sob story. It's just not quite come good yet. But I heard about something! To do with Merryweather! BIg cache of weapons they got coming in! So I thought you might want to, uhh... requisition it..." He looked to the larger man hopefully. 

A grin was spread across his face. "Fantastic! Let's go!"

Michael stood up, "I'm in." He said casually. 

"What? Whoah, no, no, no, not you. Sit down. You're a wanted man. Stay low... and watch her, okay? She good lady. Let's go, Ron!" He walked out of the door.

Ron gave a small wave to Michael before walking off. "Good to meet you, Michael!" 

Trevor's voice still carried inside the trailer as he yelled at Ron. "Fuckin' come on? Let's go!"

The loud rev of the truck engine could be heard as the two pulled off to fight Merryweather. 

*             *             *

You yawned and woke up to an empty bed, then sighed. You read the text that he had sent you over at least three times again this morning before deciding to go over there. You also decided since you were going over, that you might as well wear something sexy, because you wanted angry sex. 

You adorned a (f/c) crop top, and the sexiest booty shorts that you could find. You did your makeup just a little bit extra, because you know he liked it when it got messed up. Once you did that, you took a hit from a little pipe and headed out the door. It was too damn hot to walk over to his trailer today, so you sparked up your black little dirt bike and went around the corner. Feeling the wind rush past your face was refreshing. The sweet smell of Alamo Sea filled your senses on your brief ride. It took a meer two minutes to get to his place. You didn't see his truck in his driveway, but heard voices coming from inside the trailer. You figured that it was Ron, so you just walked in without a thought. 

"Stop right fuckin' there." As soon as you had entered the door, a tall, dark, and handsome man was pointing a gun at you. If you didn't know any better he looked like...

"M-Michael Townley" You blurted out. What the hell? Why did you keep doing shit like this. Your hands were raised in the air, then you realized with him was a small red haired woman. The fuck was she? You felt a mix of emotions twisting inside of you. Why was there another woman in his house? And how the fuck is this guy even alive? It was all that was on the news about ten years ago. How Dave Norton shot and killed... 

The ghostly man who looked like the infamous Michael Townley squinted his blue orbs at you, "It's Michael De Santa. Got it? Who the hell are you?" 

"Uh-" Your words seemed to escape you for a moment. Who the hell are you? You knew, but in that exact part in time you couldn't for the life of you remember who you were. Your mind snapped back into reality. "I-I'm Trevor's... uh..." You blushed and looked down. 

Michael, the age old criminal looked you up and down. "You're shitting me. You? Don't really seem his type." 

"Well what fucking type am I then, huh, asshole?" You sneered. 

He rolled his eyes and lowered his gun. "That makes more sense. As you can see, Trevor's not here right now."

You looked around. "Yeah... Do you know when he's going to be back? And who's she?" You motioned towards the small Mexican woman behind the counter. 

Michael searched his mind for words that didn't scream 'your boyfriend kidnapped a bitch.' "She's an... involuntary house guest."

You gulped. "Trevor... He uh..." Michael looked real used to this shit, and it amazed you a little. 

"Yeah." He answered. Michael had a much more gruff voice than you imagined him to have, much fitting for an infamous criminal who's supposedly dead. "As for when he's coming back, I have no idea. He was going after a Merryweather plane or some shit. You're welcome to stay here and wait for him to come back with us."

"Okay." You sat down on the sofa. 

"Your lover is a very kind man, I can see that some of that probably stems from you." She smiled at you. 

"Uh, thank you?" Wow this lady was fuckin weird. 

Meanwhile, Trevor was trying to keep low to the ground in the crop duster, ready to strike at any moment...