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rreskk · 1 month

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Things to consider about Trevor and his character:

Everything is draining me but I got some energy for some “consider” factors :)

-We all know Trevor is maths smart and very intelligent. He is no idiot. He has some serious gut intuition and, despite being so undermined, his intelligence is extremely high through knowledge and street-smarts. However, I’ve noticed low literacy development from his text messages and subtle handwritten notes around his safe houses and liquor store. Although he speaks in metaphors and riddles, I can only imagine he may suffer from slight dyslexia. Whether or not that’s him being lazy (most likely), but it would make sense considering his broken education and temperaments. It’s something to consider and suits his character!

-Also consider the fact that maybe, due to his drug and substance use, his height shortened from over the years. He may be 6’1 now but before he fell into the addiction loop, he could have been possibly taller. Like 6’2, maybe a bit taller? Shit like that happens when you grow older with such addictions.

-Trevor mentioned to Michael before that he’s “in the best shape” of his life. This makes me all giggly because — as a North Yankton slut — this basically implies that he was a bigger boy before Los Santos. Man had some fat on him, and his ID from 2004 (cos of his old picture) says his weight initially was 206. A BIG boy. Need to serve him on a golden platter.

-The biggest question in my mind: who introduced him to helicopters and planes. Trevor joined the military with talent of flying. He had his cargo-plane side-job before meeting Mikey in the Midwest, where they met. This brings to think about how exactly he managed to get hands on a plane in the first place…

-Think about his life-style, and think about how flexible his sexuality would’ve been before the professional criminality happened — or just after it started. His ability without the drugs washing the chances of impregnating. His likeness of sex and intimacy. Expect him to have unknown children roaming the states with his genes and DNA.

-He mentioned doing only “petty” crimes before Michael, meaning that he probably hadn’t of killed a human person. (Unless I’m wrong). Petty crimes, for those who don’t know, includes offences like shoplifting, disorderly conduct, common assaults (usually drunk). Real petty crimes without purpose or intent. This meant that Trevor was weirdly innocent, if we are comparing him to present Trevor. With his anger issues as well. Without Michael, he would’ve had a relatively different life with a CHANCE to reparate himself and become something more.

-Following this, consider that it’s not all Michael’s fault that his criminality and incline in mental health was partially responsible for his discharge of the airforce. We all know how Trevor felt about it, I shouldn’t have to explain how distraught he was about it.

-Also consider Trevor and Michael fucking :)

#grand theft auto 5 #trevor philips #gta v #grand theft 5 #grand theft auto #gta 5 #trevor gta #grand theft auto v #Michael de santa #Michael townley #my headcanons #my writing #north Yankton #gta trevor #grand theft v

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rreskk · 5 months

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MIDWEST DESIRES

Summary: A desire. All it took was the desire to spiral out of control. You didn’t want to ignore the past argument but he had persuaded you with pure confidence. That man was the death of you and he left you breathless.

TW: Smut.

Pairings: Fem!reader/Trevor Philips

Word count: 2496

Daring to touch, he stood motionless in front of you, shoulders just about fitting the doorway of your humble home. Them puffy sleeves from the winter coat he was wearing thickened the width of his shoulders, hence the slight mishap of size. Yet the winter coat warmed him up greatly, his cheeks turning a bushed red and his nose sniffling with the after effects of seizing the cold North Yankton snow outside. The blizzard was only an open doors away, and you could already feel the radiation from his shivering frame. The front door – that was open in retaliation of his presence – interrogated the warmth of your home.

“Trevor.” You addressed as the last time you had said his name, it wasn’t in a wanting manner. Not at all. You felt the urge to close the door since you were developing the shivers as well, and you were dressed in clothes for bedtime. It was selfish of him to keep the door open with his wide figure and snarky face that didn’t exactly express the delightfulness of you answering his knocks in the first place. Bitter, you thought, but you couldn’t shut him out. He had no other home. Nothing.

“Mph…” He’d huff and refuse to acknowledge the changing temperatures of your house. His mullet was hidden, shying away in this ushanka that covered his ears as well, only leaving the crest of his face and shifty, all-knowing eyes, the moustache sitting over his top lip that you couldn’t see it shiver at the cold. His breath even struggled to straighten it’s posture when speaking after the shortened grunt. “Don’t say my name like that.”

The irony of not wanting to be named was almost alien to his personality as everything resulting to this argument would be the product of his attention-seeking tongue. So your interest was instantly aroused. There was lack of corresponsive evidence to believe it.

“Why?” You questioned, moving aside and gently tugging the door closed. The freezing bite of the weather evaporated within that second.

Trevor hung his head low and ignored your question. He took the signal of the door closing and misunderstood it for a “I’m making myself at home” note, claiming the sofa as his own, his scrawny, long limbs hogging the two seats. There wasn’t even a space for you. But it wasn’t like you wanted to sit next to him. The grudge remained; the distance thickening as he’d spitefully avoid the need to communicate.

It placed you in a position of risking another fight, or letting him toy you around with his unpredictable mannerism. Neither you wanted to happen. The last thing you wanted was his dirty, scandal-grasping fingers touching any surface of your house while he’s sitting in the spotlight of the local FEDs. Knowing someone has probably died in his arms through the last 24 hours would always stain your mind, yet it didn’t repel you from him.

He threw off his ushanka and ruffled up the messy locks that were thinning and lessening. Even his hair looked unbothered about the situation your relationship was it. This is when you decided to stand up for yourself and walked over to the sofa, standing before him, his eyes inspecting you with judgement and annoyance.

“What?” Trevor grumbled lowly, his voice rumbling deep from his chest.

Pretending it didn’t give you butterflies, you tried to remain monotonal. “This wasn’t an invite for you to stay.” However, it came off like you were struggling to maintain a stern tone. It wobbled a bit.

“You closed the door.” He scoffed when rolling his neck and staring at your chest area with confliction and pervasion.

“To keep the heat in.”

“Sure.” Sarcasm dripping from his abrasive mouth.

“Why’d you come?” For once, you wanted a truer word from him, not just some smart-ass remark that’s not really smart. It would just be irritating and dimly witted.

His eyes searched your face and his shoulders shrugged in response. His coat would even rustle from his forced movement, the silence disturbed and your will-power to embrace disapproval collapsed. It made you tick, itch, clench your jaw, the slightest sounds from his stupid, green coa –

“The fuck you glaring at?” Trevor murmured, “I wasn’t the one starting the argument. On my behalf, I was the peacemaker.”

This made you laugh, stomach clenching and your posture bending as you’d hold your knees for stability. The seriousness of his defence made it worse. He has to be joking, you thought. There was no way he was playing the peacemaker when he spiralled the debate into an argument and refused to solve it as he’d disappear for 3 days straight, leaving you with the suspense of believing your relationship had ended.

“Yeah, because that’s the truth.” You mocked, not laughing anymore.

“Are you calling me a liar?” He eruptively stood up from the sofa – livid. You were stunned when he stood less than an arms-length away, finding your little mockery offensive and disrespectful. “Don’t be a fucking prude, eh? Don’t you wanna make-up? Don’t you wanna have dear ol’ Trevy back? Or have you never loved me.”

“Oh, I’ve loved you. Still do. And it gives me a migraine.” You whispered.

“A migraine I can cure, baby. You know how it is…” His softness was inviting but you knew this was just a manipulation tactic to avoid the blame. He took notice of your sudden shyness the moment he stood up, and he abused it. That dickhead.

“I don’t think you can cure it this time.”

“How so?” Trevor tickled and placed a bare hand, so cold and cruel, around your waist. You could feel it through the fabrics of your shirt. Like you’d imagine, he grazed the surface of your neck with his shivering lips that were dry as desert. It felt like prickles whenever he spoke against you. “Don’t stay mad forever, sugar.”

Future corpse: death by Trevor and his charismatic density. Even if you tried to fight back, your body language denied access. You fell into him, his arms – without hesitation – suffocating you and his lips immediately trailed up your sweet neck with his sweet kisses.

His hungry mouth fell over your throat and jawline, mercilessly slandering the acres of your skin like there was no sign of life in you. You had to clench the back of his jacket for stability as he was diving in – big time. If you lessened your grip, you’d both fall backwards and into the coffee table. Praise be, you weren’t going to let anything disrupt this process of “making-up”, or whatever he referred it. Make-up, make-out; his moto, most likely? Who knows. He doesn’t do communication despite blaming the lack of understanding on you.

But ignoring the present problems as you were too busy growing eager for the heat.

Trevor reached your lips and was stealing words, thoughts, your breath. His kisses were intense to the point of panting, your lungs struggling to sway around the oxygen he’s threatening to take. You both were heavily breathing, the blood rushing over to your head, the room becoming increasingly hot. God knows how he’s coping in that coat. While he selfishly abused your lips with his own, your hands grasped the zip and tugged it down. Trevor grunted lowly when it was thrown off his shoulders and onto the floor. The chills crawled down his spine when the air touched his naked arms. You felt him shiver, the closeness between you both becoming inseparable.

“I can’t fucking wait anymore,” He whined and clenched your wrist, “Lemme see you, ay? Take it off…” You made eye-contact and he pressed his forehead against yours, grinning. “Take it all off.”

The thought of facing the chilly temperatures with only his body temperature aroused you beyond belief. And it wasn’t like you had a choice. Before you could answer, Trevor had plunged the back of your shirt, disregarding it by tossing it over your head, the forceable nature causing the material to rip a bit as you’d hear a small stretch. The cold punched you in the stomach and your arms crawled with the need of comfort. As you rubbed yourself for warmth, he threw off his own shirt and wasted no time, pulling you back into the proximity, his touchy fingers groping the cups of your bra, smirking and giggling at the feeling of your clothed breasts.

Trevor toyed you around for a few minutes. The bra stayed on but he pulled one of the cups down as your breast would hang out and into his sight. He made it bounce, squishing it, caressing it, worshipping it. You had to stand there with a throbbing throat, becoming ugly for him. Nonetheless, you were left red and puffy. He had poked for too long that you breast had marks of his hands outlining around the nipples. Such pride, he groaned kiddingly, biting down his bottom lip.

And your neck. Fuck. His moustache left rashes all over your jaw and neck. Even your mouth. Just like your chest area, you were becoming red all over. The kind touch of Mr Philips was as guilty as any murderer.

“Mhm.” You winced at the itchiness of the perceived rashes. It was silenced when Trevor returned his attention onto you and them hands harshly gripped your backside, edging you closer to the wall behind where he turned you around in a ridiculous speed. Swearing you were experiencing whiplash, it wasn’t know. Not like you could say anyway. He pushed you against the wall with your breasts being pressed and your hips being pushed against him. You felt a trembling hardness fight against your ass, making you murmur his name as pleas.

“I need you,” He said, “I’m gonna have you – “ He ruffled his belt and hissed with frustration when his jeans struggling to lower. You were forced against the wall anyways, not being able to help but hearing him groan so sensually.

“Just fuck me!” You protested to rile him up. There wasn’t anything like an angry Trevor treating you like a little to no person. It was hot, sexy, a desire.

Something zipped and then your arms were pinned against your back, your face planting the wall. The roughness you wanted; you got.

“I’ll fuck you so good.” Smirked Trevor, ripping off your trousers that dangled around your ankles. He gently felt around your naked backside before pushing you against his erection that sat to bully your pussy. It wasn’t in, but it was there, warming you both up. The fact it was there was winding you up. So bad, you wanted it, so bad.

“C’mon.” You pled and grinded against him.

A sigh of pleasure escaped his throat when you took control. He held onto your waist and watched the way your ass moved against him. The wonders came wondering and you gasped in surprise when he removed himself before digging into your pussy, fucking the Hell out of you.

Trevor rocked you back and forth as he thrusting in and out. You both groaned and made sexual noises at the matched efforts to feel each other’s skin and friction.

“Atta girl…” He panted, “Jesus, argh!”

You took him in, wetness seeping and drooling. Trevor used a hand and grabbed the back of your neck, making sure he was keeping you in your place with your face, all scrunched up with pleasure, against the wall. A little power-play made it better. While you were sizing him up from your aggressive rocking hips, he maintained that place and kept you working while he groaned.

“Fuck, fuck!”

“I love your voice, sugar.” He murmured, the sound of slapping making it harder to hear him.

Now the room was the opposite of cold. It was fucking boiling. You kept your arms invisibly tied to your back during this but it itched to wipe the sweat from your brow. The overstimulating yell storming around your lower stomach. It was approaching, all that bottled up annoyance dissolving into a waiting release.

“I fucking missed you. Couldn’t stay away, angel. Just wanted to feel you.” Trevor whined when fastening the pace. He was due to get emotional when having sex with you. Always has, since the first-time. It was sweetening. It comforted you despite being hammered sloppily. It made you want to forgive him for every ungodly thing he has ever done while living.

“More…” You needed more reassurance, “Please. I want more. More. Trevor. More…”

“I fucking want more! Shit. Just gonna fuck you… Forever, damn, baby… I’m gonna fucking cum.” His words were broken in several pauses breathlessly. His hands deepened, now bruising your body. The way he was stammering forwards. There was no more thrusting. He was deep inside, letting himself beat against you.

You moaned against the wall and flattened out your chest, losing control. Unable to produce words, you could only weakly grunt and cry softly. Your pussy throbbed with him inside and he was visibly twitching. The sensation was going to kill you.

“I’m gonna…” He repeated dramatically, “Shit. Shit. Shit!” Then in a haze, like the blizzard happening outside your front door, he came inside you, his hips jerking and legs threatening to fall. Trevor leaned back and sobbed a painful moan as he attempted to move with the orgasm, leaving marks of himself and making you struggle with him.

After he had came, it was no longer an ability to deny your body. Stimulatingly, your core shrieked and it trickled down your thighs, drooling down his cock as well that laid inside you. There were no moans to moan since you were all out. You panted and gagged with your cheek hot from the wall. The orgasm spiralled out of control and you fell back into him, his arms grabbing your waist and his chest hitting your back.

“There she is…” Encouraged his raspy voice.

You whimpered, “Shit… Oh, yeah.”

“How’s that for an apology? Made you feel good, eh? I love my girl, would stay like this forever.”

“I… Accept – “ You took deep breaths, “ – Your apology. Jesus…”

Trevor pecked the back of your ear before swaying you to the sofa where you sunk into the cushions. He massaged your inner thighs as you were based in his lap, nakedly hogging each other’s personal space with the smell of nasty sex filling your living room space.

“More of this,” He pointed to your smile before smirking, “And less of your grumpiness, yeah?”

“Standard practice for you to say.”

“And less of the fucking cheek. I’m just a guy wanting his girl to love him.”

“Poor Trevor.” You teased.

“Love me…” He whined and rested his chin on your shoulder.

“I do love you.”

“What was that?”

“I think you stink.”

“Of your sweet cunt, baby.”

“And dirt.”

Trevor glared but remained quiet, trapping you in his embrace as you both finally recovered from that argument. In a bang, as per usual.

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