— welcome to my page. i've been writing since i was very young, and now have been creatively inspired by several authors on writeblr that i wanted to also join in.
— this blog is not safe for work. i am an adult and i will write for other adults; minors, for your own safety and for my peace of mind, do not interact. if i find out you have been interacting, your page will be blocked.
— current writings are aimed towards rygos! i have a particular affinity for some of the snl characters, lars from lars and the real girl, driver from drive, ryland grace from project hail mary, and sure to add more to the list soon.
— wips as of posting this intro include; monty mctreats [nsfw one shot | afab reader] & ryland grace [mild nsfw one shot | gender neutral reader]
i hope you will stick around as i learn how to make my page look visually pleasing (i am not good at learning formatting for websites) and i start to fill up the tags for the rygos along with some very very talented writers i look up to.
in which driver is pleased simply by teasing you, he enjoys hearing you tell him what you want, and he finds every part of you more than enticing.
word count: 993
content: oneshot! driver from hit movie drive (2011), fem reader (referred to as good girl, afab anatomy used and inferred), driver being a shithead to you because he loves you, he's talking??omg, teasing teasing teasing, i black screen on you right when it gets good, filthy dirty smut but not like so bad i promise, 18+ only
NOT PROOFREAD WE RAW DOG THIS.
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fingers sink into the supple flesh of thighs, teeth meeting the hot pulse that quivers under his breath. “keep your eyes on me,” he mumbles out onto the skin under his lips, feeling the way the muscles tense the closer his mouth trails. the blue of his eyes stare up into the softly clear beauty of his lover’s own, gaze lingering away from his. “ah-ah, eye contact, c’mon. that’s it.”
your pupils are blown wide, shaking under the guise of his touch and the heat of his lips as they press kisses in the sensitive skin of your legs. “s..stop,” you whimper, and he pauses, a brow quirking. the absence automatically of open-mouthed kisses makes your brain kick into overdrive, shaking your head as best as you can from your half propped position on a stack of pillows. “no.. no, keep going. just–stop teasing.”
he hums, leaving a firm yet forgiving bite on the skin he’s already sucked red and purple between his teeth. tears prickle at your eyes, burning and soothing the skin when you blearily blink them away. one of his hands moves to your own, pushing against the palm with his fingers, pushing further until you intertwines your trembling digits with his own composed ones. he relishes in the feeling of your hand squeezing his own, pulling and tugging as if to bring him closer, closer, so close that it hurts.
“you like it when i do this,” he finally replies, his remaining hand loosening the grip on your thigh and trailing across your skin. it runs across your hip, then up to your stomach where he presses down at the very bottom of your abdomen, causing you to make a depraved sound of a whine and gasp abruptly when the pressure leaves as suddenly as it came.
“irrelevant,” you whisper, pushing your hips up, stopped only by the placement of his body, his head lazing on your left hip bone. blond hair finds it starkness against your skin, messily mused, the way you like it in order to thread your fingers into and grip until it almost makes him hiss in pain. “please.”
he swallows, hard against his throat, tilting his head to kiss your hip. the waistband of your underwear brushes against his face and he realizes that he wants this more than air. it hits him like a truck, making him swallow nothing but emptiness as his knees push on the plush of the bed, moving him forward. you greet his mouth with a groan of greed, your hands pinned beside your head, laced with his, grasping for purchase and awareness.
“you’re so pretty,” he speaks into the kiss, and you opens your mouth in a pathetic sound, his tongue finding a place against your own. between gasping breaths and the obscene sounds of wetness from open mouths, his fingers dance along the final piece of your clothing, almost trembling in reverence when they slide down, the wetness and the heat a testament of your desire, your need for him.
“please, keep going–” you barely manage to breathe out, your thighs twitching when his thumb traces down to gather the slickness and bring it back up, swirling little circles delicately over the bundle of nerves that makes your whole body tremble with excitement. "please, please."
"keep going?" he questions, his mouth meeting the place where your pulse thrums with eager wings in your throat and biting, bruisingly. "keep going and do what, baby?"
you whine, pressing your hands to his shoulders, gripping onto anything that can keep you from squirming around under his touch. "don't make me say it," you mumble, and he shakes his head, sucking another hickey into your skin before pulling away.
"you gotta," he replies, softly, plain as day. there's a rhythm to the way he circles his thumb right on your clit, to the way he drags it down and pushes it against the wetness of your hole before dragging it right back to its rightful place. "say it, baby, say it f'me."
"i want you.."
"hm? not good enough."
you want to almost hit him, he can feels the way you dig your fingers further into his shoulders, the way you tense up like you're preparing for some sort of strike. he doesn't really care, though; he wants to hear it come straight from your mouth, needy and with almost drunken hums. there's a distinct trembling he can almost draw out without thinking about it, the way it shakes like a needle on a lie detector test when he asks what you want. he loves it. he'd eat it whole if he could, swallow every sound you've ever made and keep it in the back of his mind.
you finally relent, eyes moving to meet his and squeezing your thighs together, trapping his hand in its place. "inside, i want you inside."
he hums out a breathy laugh and kisses you, quietly speaking against your mouth. "there you go. good girl, knew you could do it." there's a moment where he relents from the circles he's drawing into you, and his other hand grips your knee, forcing your thighs open again and holding it down against the bed. there's no fighting it, either, with how his fingertips press deeply into you, keeping you in place.
he slips back down to his previous place, barely giving you time to react before he sinks his ring and middle finger right into the place you had requested, so sweetly, so perfectly. his thumb places itself right back where it had been, rubbing gently while he curls his fingers inside of you. he sets a steady pace, watching your face as his fingers move in and out of you, heavy lidded and nursing the heat that boils in his own stomach simply from the look and the sounds that are starting to escape you.
in which ryland is sleepy, he's willing to plead, and he gets what he wants because he's just so cute
content: 881 words, gender neutral reader (referred to as gorgeous), second person pov, general ryland being eepy wanting you, suggestive content but not straight up filth, and first time posting author getting used to layout <3 do not open unless you are 18+
tag list: @jesterdeer
He’s oh so sleepy.
Really, his face pressed right into your neck, his breathing is even and his arms are around your torso, lazed like an animal right under a sunny spot. You had told him earlier to take his glasses off–he’s only going to squish them, with the way he’s buried himself into you–but he had huffed and whined at the very idea of not being able to see you. Relenting, your fingers had buried into his hair instead, dirty blond strands sticking up, untamed.
It’s barely ten, you realize, when your eyes flit over to the clock on the nightstand. Your back is to the headboard and Ryland is sitting between your thighs, breathing you in with such comfort that it’s a wonder he’s not fallen asleep yet. He mumbles something that’s barely audible, making you hum in response, gently tugging at the hair towards the base of his head.
“What’s that?” you question, and he nips at the skin of your neck, soothing it over with a flick of his tongue, basking in the little shiver that goes up your spine.
“Can I please…” he starts, voice soft and full of a simmering heat, “please, please, please, take your shirt off? Not… not even for anything funny, promise, s’just, I wanna see you.”
His hands are moving already, barely grazing the skin underneath the hem. They’re warm and slow, hardly going further than just a soft caress, waiting for you to give permission. He’s always been considerate and such a gentleman, when he needs to be. It amuses you how quickly he can change from Grace softly tracing the inside of your wrist into Ryland who’s knuckle deep and practically purring out filth. You hum and laugh when he kisses you again, a little ticklish spot, and you nod. “Since you asked so nicely, who am I to say no?”
Permission granted, he slides his hands up further, over your waist, tugging at the unneeded material so he can finally get to the one thing he’s looking for–skin. It’s the first time he’s moved his face away from your neck in at least an hour, and his face is flushed with sleepiness and excitement. There’s something delicate to the fine line between dreamland and alertness, something about the way his tongue darts out to lick his lips that feels both like witnessing God itself and seeing pure adoration. He’s riddled with it, the way his fingers sink and squeeze into flesh like it’s his final meal. There’s no hurry to the pathway his hands trace along you, just soft and gentle and entirely in love.
The first kiss to your shoulder is tentative, sweet and humming with warmth. He sighs what sounds like pure relief against your skin, pressing another kiss and speaking against you. “You’re so gorgeous, you know? So, so gorgeous… Gonna go further, m’kay..?”
He makes true on it. Open mouthed, languid kisses go to your collarbone, along the slope of it, the way he tries to map you out like a constellation almost reverent. You let out a little breath, a sound that hitches ever so slightly when one hand comes up and gently grabs your jaw, thumb rubbing along your skin like he wants to be everywhere at once. “Ryland–” you start, and he shushes you before his mouth meets your sternum, pressing another kiss near where your heart flutters with affection.
No other syllables leave you, just tracing his path with your eyes. His own eyes are shut as he relishes in the taste of you, his kisses leaving wet patches that catch the lamp light and show the proof of his existence on you. He sucks in a little piece of your skin, catching it between his teeth and pulling the blood to the surface, easing his tongue flat over it afterwards. He groans against your skin, both his hands dropping to your waist and squeezing. Ryland flutters his eyes open to look up at you, another barely there please leaving his mouth when your fingers sink into his hair and hold tight.
The quiet of the evening is only barely interrupted with the tired sounds of need he lets out, the occasional pop when he releases the skin he’s sucking against. You know in the morning he’ll say something about how you should have moved him, how he must have been some sort of suckling puppy with how many marks he’s leaving, but for now, your head falls back against the headboard when he moves down again.
His tongue trails along a dip of your stomach, the way your body melts into his touch, into his kisses. He sinks into the bed, lying down between your thighs, his head pressed against the softness of your skin as he leaves multiple kisses at your lower stomach. Pleased with his resting place, and the marks he’s left on his journey, he wraps one arm around you to hold. Ryland’s eyes are closed again, and he’s humming softly into you when he kisses, hands kneading your flesh with a delicate pressure.
“I love you,” he finally whispers, looking up at you heavy lidded, fingers tracing his line from your lower stomach to your neck, sighing out a pleased sound. “Love you so much.”
