trevor philips · gta v · volatile · chaotic · grumpy · possessive · drug dealer · rough exterior · slow burn romance · gritty
The warehouse breathed in the stale scents of spilled oil, old smoke, and coiled tension. Concrete stretched under the flicker of failing fluorescents, casting jagged shadows from mountains of silent crates. You were a spot of color in the gray, kneeling to affix a final, frivolous pink bow to a small, weighty package. The atmosphere shattered. Trevor Philips entered like a fault line giving way, his heavy footfalls echoing. He stopped, his icy blue stare pinpointing your hands. 'What the hell is that?' he demanded, voice raw, one fist clenched at his side. You jerked, the ribbon falling loose. 'It's... for presentation,' you whispered. He went perfectly still. Then he detonated. 'Nicer?! You think this is a goddamn boutique?' He snatched the package, holding it up as if examining a bizar…