reid

| she/they | artist | yeah, you've changed.

[lights-on-the-ridge]

Commissions are open :D

[thenightwinggf]

pet names

You are extremely normal about Dex.

Yes. Yup. You are very well-adjusted and there is nothing weird or obsessive about your love for Dex. You have a normal, non-toxic, non-codependent relationship with him and your friends are not deeply concerned. 

They really don’t even know the half of it. Really, they think you broke up with him the first time he went to prison and just haven’t gotten over him since and that’s for the best, because if they knew how desperately and painfully you love Dex, they might call a Bullseye sighting in. Which  doesn’t work for you, because that would mean that Dex is gone and when he is gone, you feel that a piece of you has been violently taken--in your defense, that is how he would go.

You are staring at his back, the raised scar along his spine and the other occasional wounds you are scratching across. There are sporadic bite marks along his torso, his biceps and forearms. You really can’t help yourself. He’s just so cute that you can't help bite him, can't help but want to squeeze him and shake him and your arm is beginning to cramp. 

Dex must be asleep, you’ve been scratching his back for at least thirty minutes now, so you let your hand fall from his back, flipping over and lightly pressing your back against his.  

you feel his back begin to rumble against yours, at first you thought he was sleep talking—new, but whatever, he was cute no matter what. Then you comprehended that it was coherent speech and worse, what he was saying, “Do you want your alarm to not go off or not be able to use your laptop tomorrow?” You couldn’t fucking believe this motherfucker, who used his status as being closest to the wall plugs, thus your phone and work laptop as leverage against you, “Fine.” 

You rolled back over and began to begrudgingly scratch his back. 

There were red flags, you absentmindedly thought as Dex hummed in contentment, as if he hadn’t threatened you to get what he wanted. Your friends thought the way he stood sentinel behind you was terrifying, that he was more conjured golem than man. How could you explain to them that his preternatural stillness wasn’t what you found concerning, but how eager to please he was. 

Yes—how could you explain that you had once, passively, mentioned how the trash would need to be taken out soon, how much you hated doing such a small task and then when you came home, it had been replaced. 

Dex didn’t live with you, but he had a spare key. How could you possibly explain to anyone that it was that which unnerved you? 

How to explain that when you had inevitably moved in and asked Dex, please, maybe, stop stress-vacuuming in the middle of the night you had expected an argument, had expected to beg him to please for the love of fucking god stop vacuuming at 3am. 

Sure, you were definitely jaded by the string of ex-boyfriends who would’ve literally killed themselves before something you asked the first time, but there was undercurrent of something in his actions that caused you to go past vague unease and right off the ledge into terror. 

How to fucking explain that? Huh? That it was being taken care of that was the most difficult adjustment?

How to explain that his ease in which he changed his coping mechanism for you was the most terrifying thing he had ever done? This was the same man who you would later know had killed men with office supplies, who you had watched take a discarded cap and shoot right through a man’s eye, this is the man that you knew had killed AVTF agents with straws and lobsters. 

When you lived separately, you had ordered a new cabinet and it had taken you three hours and multiple fits of rage crying before you even debated on asking Dex for help. You had expected to need to beg, to plead, to bargain with him, probably threaten him as your patience waned. You had been pacing, still crying and in your fit, hadn’t realized how much Dex had been trying to get in contact with you—thirteen missed calls, five voicemails, twenty-five text messages that you had accidentally ignored. 

You stilled when your front door knob began to jiggle, then after a few failed attempts the key had been inserted and Dex stepped in, looking just as panicked as you thought you might've. His hand was shaking, his eyes were rimmed red—he looked positively desperate. 

“Why haven’t you been answering me?” 

You gestured towards the cabinet. “I’ve been trying to build it, but..” You looked at the disorganized mess in front of you—haphazard, every semblance of order from when you had pulled it out of the packaging had been lost. 

Dex had crowded you, had pulled you against him while looking at you like you might flee from him before he squeezed, “I thought you were leaving me.” That was when the first cracks had really began to show, but you, so upset over the cabinet had just resumed crying but into his shoulder while apologizing, that it wasn’t him it was the stupid cabinet. 

He had looked down at you, brows furrowed and lower lip trembling because he used to be so openly pathetic, “Why didn’t you ask me?” and you had only stared stupidly at him, because it didn’t occur to you that might’ve wanted to help you. It had never once crossed your mind that that Dex would be more upset that you hadn’t asked because wasn’t he useful to you? Why weren’t you relying on him? 

So he built the cabinet. You had sat beside him with your legs to your chest and watched him work and every time he made progress he looked towards you with those big fucking puppy dog eyes and you had felt so lucky. 

Basically, whatever was wrong with you, was ten times more wrong in Dex and made you look considerably more well-adjusted in comparison and it was ten years too late to back out now. 

You listen to the sounds of Hell’s Kitchen, distant shouting, laughing and the sounds of cars running. There’s a far honk that triggers a few more, a little excessive, but what do you know? You listen to the scratch of your nails against Dex’s back, occasionally pausing to rub the pad of your index finger against the raised edges of his spinal scar. 

“Bebé?” 

“Hm?” 

“Just testing if you’re sleeping yet.” 

“Why? Got plans?” You pinch the skin near his armpit. “No, my fucking arm is tired.” You waited another ten minutes, “Schnookums?”

“What did you call me?”

“Schnookums.”

“That’s ridiculous.” 

“Okay, well, what about babygirl?” 

“I’m not remotely a babygirl.”

“If not babygirl, why babygirl shaped?” Dex shifted, your hand slid down to the fabric beneath, still warm. Dex turned over to face you, eyes narrowed--the only person who might've dared to call him something so ridiculous.

“Grown men are the opposite of babygirl shaped.” But there is just enough moonlight seeping through the curtains for you to tell that the tips of his ears are red.

You looked past him, contemplative. Your expression too serious for the jovial nature of your conversation. 

“Hm. Princess?” Dex shook his head, “Pookie?” He physically cringed, “Tough crowd. Okay, Dillo?” His lip curled, “I wasn’t a fan of that either.” 

A minute of silence, “Dexcito?” he inched closer, “Not bad.” that was all you needed to spurn you forward, “Dexy.”

“Dexcito is better.” You hated how easily he picked up the pronunciation. ‘All about precision’ he would tell you about how easily he picked up languages—what the fuck ever. 

[lights-on-the-ridge]

Please please please more kissy kisses from Dex? 🙏🏾In love with that concept of him being the type to kiss with his eyes open. 🫶🏽💙

[lights-on-the-ridge]

Pumpkin patch, pumpkin spice cold brew and corn maze with Lars send tweet

[panic-alec]

"Petals for March"

Drawing Holland March in pretty suits is one of my favorite activities

[d-ark0]

Drive is socially awkward

I just wanted to talk about how weird Driver is because I think sometimes people forget that part of him :3

He is such a complex character and I love him for that, writing about him is really fun because of his personality

I made two posts in the past about Driver and how people mischaracterize him a lot, making his character a yandere, stalker, abuser and someone who hurts people because he likes it. I said that so many times that I think people can't take it anymore (sorry for that i just really against the romanticization of SA). But now I want to talk about the other way around, because sometimes people forget that even though Driver isn't an abuser, he is in fact a weird person. To the point where he is just portrayed as a small little baby. He is neither of those two things, he is a character who exists somewhere between being a strange person who commits crimes and someone who is loving toward others.

Ignoring the fact that Driver is a socially awkward person loses the point of his character. He is supposed to be weird in the eyes of other people who don't know him, giving them that impression that he is someone you should avoid. It is also something that Driver learns during his life, he understands that he needs to be alert to his surroundings since he was a kid. Not only when he was helping his dad to rob, but also when his mom killed his dad, because at that moment Driver realises that his mom could also kill him. The fact that she wasn't that affectionate towards him fueled the idea that Driver should pay close attention to the things around him.

He keeps doing that his whole life, even though he isn't in danger he still pays attention to every single detail. In the book he watched his neighbours so much that he memorized their routine by only looking through the window. He recognized other people's patterns so he could understand them easily, probably something he learned to understand his mother too. By what the book shows us about her, she was a quiet woman, not making her emotions clear to Driver, so he learns how to spot the patterns in her behaviour to be able to read her.

Driver spent so much time trying to survive and be prepared for imminent danger that he didn’t have time to build a personality, another thing that people would find unsettling about him. His autonomy is basically nil, most of his choices throughout the movie are made or influenced by other people, he just does whatever Shannon tells him to do because he lost the ability to do it. Yes there are some small things he does because he wants to, like driving, but they are so little because he never had the opportunity to have an actual life.

He is also really methodical, following things to the letter. Driver have to follow his routine to have a sense of control. We see in the movie that he is clearly nervous when things don’t go as he planned, he loses the only control he has over his life in seconds. It is something other people don’t understand about him, how he needs to do all those things to feel safe, even though it is something that is not that important. Driver likes the sense of security that following these patterns gives him, because he can let his guard down a bit.

Also he does stalk people, but what people get it wrong when portraying it is the fact that Driver stalks people because he needed to. Not because he liked to do it, all the crimes he committed after the failed robbery came from the need to protect the people he loves and himself (Kinda similar to what his mother did when he was a kid). The point of his character is that he is capable of killing others, but it's something that he hates to do, he feels like he doesn't deserve to be around irene and benicio because he is dangerous.

The difference from Irene, Shannon and even Standard is that they see past that. They understand that Driver is not as dangerous as people think, he can be gentle in his own silent way, he doesn't show his emotions in a conventional way and some people may feel uncomfortable with that. The point of his character is that he is weird and violent, but he can be kind and protect the people he loves at the same time. He is in between these two things, he is a complex character that can't be fit into an exact box. All his sides have to be taken into account to create a good portrayal of his character.

I wrote all this just to explain how Driver is autistic

The next one is going to be grace :3

[gottabegreyhound]

Cut to me screaming ‘Driver is autistic, you fucking morons’. He so clearly is. I’ve had these screenshots of the book (sequel actually) for months because I love it so much.

He is a weirdo, but why wouldn’t he be? His environment sucked growing up and he had zero autonomy. Of course he’s fucking weird. But he doesn’t take any enjoyment in hurting people. It’s always done to protect someone, just like you said.

Driver is such a melancholy character. I don’t know why people don’t utilize his obvious mental health problems more in their fics.

Also, little thing I loved about him: the routine of setting up his father’s razor in the bathroom of whatever place he was staying in. The razor is always situated perfectly too. He knows when someone has been in the apartment if the razor has even moved ever so slightly.

[lights-on-the-ridge]

Self insert Lars stuff 🫶

[chris-continues]

Lars x reader fics r cute and most of them rely on the concept that reader’s touch doesn’t physically pain him, but i think it’s more meaningful and realistic if it does pain him. You don’t push him into physical touch but he sees how you almost reach instinctively then hesitate. He wants to introduce that aspect into your relationship, not because you demand it, but because he loves you. And he loves you so much he’ll work to become more comfortable. And that’s love if I’ve ever seen it.

[mossycliff]

KEROSENE! ─ LUKE GLANTON

luke wants to share a part of himself with you, and you’re more than willing to take all of him.

luke glanton/gender-neutral reader. 2.3K. (18+) smoking, reckless biking, public sex. blowjobs, masturbation, kissing, tattoo-licking, some tongue stuff. handsome luke’s a dirty sweetheart.

you usually hear the groan of luke’s bike before you see him.

his cheeks apple when he sees you, smiling sweet and sugary like he’s seeing you for the first time. only luke could find something about you to smile about as you leave your apartment.

“you’re loud,” you moan. “where we going?”

the thrum of luke’s bike is enough to throw your nerves out of whack and make you grip onto him from excitement, knowing how far he’ll want to push the limits of his bike and your bodies. your nails dig into the muscle on his side. he arches his back gradually, pushing your nails further, enjoying the sting.

“i’ll take you anywhere you want,” he slurs, shedding the ash of his cigarette over his boot.

“somewhere special?”

“special to you?”

you refute with a hum.

“to you,” you point, poking his pec, burrowing yourself into him. “where do you go to get your mind off things?”

luke smiles to himself before taking a last drag of his cigarette. he puts it out on the thigh of his bleach-splattered pants and hoists you onto his bike wordlessly.

it’s not meant to be a long ride, but luke makes it so, taking every corner and turn to show himself right off. he doesn’t need to, but he likes how your grip tightens on his forearms when he squeezes through spaces not meant for two bodies and a bike. it’s like you need him more than you let on, and he’s quick to assure you he won’t do anything too stupid.

once luke’s done burning out his tires into asphalt, he parks under a streetlight to get a good look at you. your shirt’s bunched up near your chest and wrinkled from pressing yourself into him. your eyes light up like fire, and luke licks his lips at his reflection in them.

fuck, you love it.

and so does luke. he twists his body to lean in to you, lips barely brushing yours, breath fanning hot and dry over your lips.

“you fucking love it.”

you can’t help it—a chill runs down your spine. he gives you zero time to process before he’s kickstarting, revving once, two, three, and turning away from you, hiding his smile. luke’s soon speeding out of the parking lot and into the midnight with you clinging to his waist.

lights pop and flash and fade in your peripheral. daylight withers quickly and the night air begs to kiss yours and luke’s skin cool. luke’s bike thrums in your veins and whatever luke’s been drinking tonight rips off of him. it undulates in rhythm to your heart, thumping gently on his back, and you think for a moment that you might be right where you need to be.

it’s not the first time he’s taken you for a night ride; you note the way his silhouette coalesces with the dark and take it with you to bed, forcing him into your dreams—an obliged guardian, perhaps, or maybe just some fucked up version of him that scares you into loving him. either way, you love the way his shadow clings to yours, smushed together by metal and cracked leather, even between the heavy layers of cotton. you whisper sweet-nothings over his exposed bicep knowing well he can’t hear them through his helmet, yet the whispers turn to kisses to suckles, and you lick the edges of ink on his salt beaten skin, basking in the way goosebumps warm and rise on him.

he pulls into a hidden stretch of garden not soon after—one you never knew existed in this tight little town. it’s almost trashed, save for a patch of overgrown wildflowers and a comically short streetlight that luke parks under. again. it’s almost like he wants to see your every angle and between each crevice. he takes his sweet time to make sure no part of you goes unnoticed.

and you let him indulge. what’s more interesting right now is this realm he’s brought you to. it’s sort of otherworldly. liminal. it’s hard not to question why he chose this place of every place, but once you’re quiet, you can see it. the lights flicker in a weird, cryptic way. the ground gives a little when you stand in one place too long, and you think you might sink into the earth, let it eat you. you can feel that he brought you here for a good reason. when the realization fully settles, you soften and let go of your judgment.

you don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve been sitting on this bike, but you know for sure that your ass hurts. it moves you to the broken gravel that support’s luke’s shifting stance.

you stretch and he watches as you squeal to yourself. “you see something you like?”

luke whips out a second cigarette from his pocket and tucks it between his lips. no—behind his ear. he’s fidgety yet still so confident in his composure, just watching you watch him watch you watching everything else.

he nods up to you. “c’mere.”

finally luke kisses you once he has his steady hold on you. he always kisses you like it’s the last time he ever might, so thoroughly and utterly full. you feel every millimeter of his lips and every sliver of his skin on your own. he’s never afraid to deepen your kisses; your tongues have learned so easily how to slide against each other and which posture the other curves to.

sure he can start it, but you can finish it, too.

you grasp onto his jaw to turn his head away from you, and luke lets out a laugh. it’s not so funny, though, when your tongue swirls over the letters inked on his collarbone. heartthrob, sure. and also so obedient when he wants to be. the cross of the t touches the tip of your tongue, and luke plays with a strangled gasp. you try moving to the inky webbing on his shoulder, tugging the collar of his shirt down for a better view. he’s warm and especially salty here, so tender you could rip him apart with your teeth.

he’s usually so gentle when you’re loving on him. this time he’s making you, begging you silently to map those kisses and licks down his chest, and to the tight waistline of his leather pants until you’re on your knees in the gravel, looking up at him through thick wisps of lust skeined in hunger.

luke fucking loves it. he loves how you play with the notions on his pants with your lips and teeth and drag them over the shape of him through his leather.

“please don’t play with me.”

“i’m not,” you quip, rubbing your hands on his thighs and consecutively squeezing your own. truthfully, you’re getting used to him again. he tents out from his clothes so easily and your stomach throbs. suddenly the wait is all too much—you’re pulling at his waistband and his blue briefs. they kind of match his eyes when they’re not blown out from greed ‘cause he’s twitching at the way his cock slaps you on the lip.

something about the way you look up at luke, eyes glimmering from the lamp post above him, makes his stomach tighten and churn. you’re angelic in the limelight; luke knows he wants nothing else but to call you his pretty one and have you look up at him the way you do forever with his cock ghosting your lips.

“too pretty,” he whispers, voice high and taut, tracing figure eights over the shell of your ear. his back curves to you and he kisses your forehead. luke cups your jaw. it doesn’t mean much, but your lips part in a kiss to the jut of his pubic bone as he holds you.

you never break your gaze. luke huffs to himself. it’s pure disbelief at how he got so lucky with you in the most unlucky stretch of his own life. he’s taken to pickpocketing—the lowest he could go under the sun’s guise—to make sure he has every means to treat you like the nobility you are. he only imagined you’d ever want to do the same for him. and here you are, on your knees in gravel, chasing the tip of his cock with your mouth as he spreads his pre-cum on your lips, chin, cheek, and a mellow bump of his tip to the nose. luke wants you covered in and full of him all the time, and he’s so prepared to lean into his gluttony.

“you want it.” it’s less of a question, more of a statement. you hum lowly, kissing his beaded tip and its underside. luke pinches your bottom lip, impatient. you can’t tease him anymore when he’s so close to filling you up.

luke’s breadth puffs up your cheeks and quickly kisses your uvula, over, and over, and over, and over. spit and pre-cum threaten to spill from your lips but luke’s quick—he thumbs away the excess and makes space in your mouth for his coated finger where your top and bottom lip both meet his cock.

it really doesn’t matter to him who sees; this part of town’s dead, anyway. it’s luke’s personal hideout when he’s trying his hardest to hide from you so he can indulge in his own shit. right now you’re running laps through his mind and tracing lines with your tongue on his hot pulsing skin. luke’s exposed himself to you, and you’re handling him so good, he thinks. holding him gently, anxiously, making yourself so ready for anything he wants to show you.

“you want all of me?” his voice is somewhere in his chest and his cock restricts you from speaking. you groan when the length of him slides over the buds on your tongue and you can’t help it—luke’s earthy taste makes your eyes watery. you try to blink through the saltwater burn. it’s the gag and the quiet glory that tugs the tears from your eyes. luke’s quick to wipe them away.

“don’t cry, baby,” the twinge of the stones prodding into your flesh and luke’s lust over you shakes you up even more. “only me,” you know it, “only me. you’re doin’ so good.”

it’s a fight to hush yourself when you feel this good, this secure, even under the eyes of this neighborhood. luke ogles you like you hung the moon and strung each and every star just for him, and the way he blinks through you makes you feel that you can breathe. his verve for you is palpable and you absorb him further, faster, forcing out a grungy whine from his throat as you suck.

“keep going, baby, keep going—fuck,” and fuck and fuck and fuck. luke wants prettier words for how unbelievable you look right now but his mind’s gone and his knees keep failing him.

you’re his—always have been—and he moves to cup your jaw more steady, holding you still to drag himself in and out of you. you’re his and he feels his orgasm building as he runs through the one million ways he can claim you this way. you’re his and luke grows sporadic as he finds his pace to your own pleasure, watching you tremble and wobble beneath him as you chase your high between your own legs. the bike groans under the brunt of luke’s weight ‘cause your need’s making him sloppy. it’s nasty how luke loves you like this: openly, voraciously, inviting you into him and letting you take up space in his psyche while he does the same to you.

there’s a split second where your bodies come together in synchronicity. the lamppost above you flickers and the world grows quiet. your pulse and his own unknowingly sync and for a moment it’s just you and him. like it always should be: you taking him, him taking care of you.

the surety knots up your stomach and by the tangle of moans leaving luke’s lips, you’re sure he’s hitting his peak.

“doing so good,” he says. “so good. so, so good—fuck!”

in unison you cry out between luke’s praises, both spending stupid and falling over each other as your orgasms rip through your bodies. it’s rare that you cum together in union like this. it makes luke trust himself all the more for it—for letting you in and loving you, so, so hard.

luke doesn’t hesitate to continue fucking his cum down your throat. he’s careless and together your music is rancid, echoing off of apartment walls and right back under your skin. you shake and jerk and shiver until you can free yourself from luke’s hold with a pop. luke hurls his head back and exposes his cherried throat: showing you all the work you’ve done and now rewarding you with it for making him feel good and tolerating him even when he caves.

“get up here.” luke pulls you up off of your shins and envelopes you in his body, his mind, his soul. prickly pebbles fall from your knees as you press into each other and both go limp, further melting into one warm and sticky muddle from the thrill.

“i’ll always take care of you. let me take care of you?” luke’s puffing hard and still lathering your face with small, cold kisses. there’s no reason to say no, and really no energy left in you to fight. he loves that you speak your affirmation to him and in return he plants a deep, sour kiss over your swollen lips and pulls you so close to him that you might as well become one.

[caskethrill]

drive inn daydream ༊*·˚

pairing: driver x afab!reader

summary: driver takes you to the drive inn, but not to watch a movie.

warnings: brief allusions to death, soft dom! driver, faux pity, very light exhibitionism, fingering (f! receiving). nothing too crazy for once folks!

word count: 1.4k

authors note: why is moonlight by ariana grande playing

what started as hand-holding at the concession stand and taking turns sipping at a large cherry cola turned into buttered popcorn littered all over the floorboard, bucket swiped haphazardly by your foot when you’d leaned over the center console and pressed a wet, fizzy-flavoured kiss to driver’s lips.

“you should come see a movie with me.” he didn’t explicitly say it; he didn’t call it a date like you hankered for, but it went without saying when he opened the passenger side door and told you how pretty you looked or how he inched closer and puffed out his broad chest when the canteen started to bustle with strangers. he dropped his shoulder and closed the distance between your mouth and his ear with a tilted head after he asked what you wanted. you noticed he smelled faintly of cedar underneath all of that gasoline. he ordered for you. he paid. this was a date.

for a man that worshipped at the altar of vintage chevy’s and clothes dirtied by stale motor oil, the drive inn was a prudent choice. you ignored the spatter of blood on the primer grey rocker panel when you climbed back in with your snacks, got too comfy for a girl with fruitless expectations; fuzzy, thick blankets didn’t make for easy access.

sometimes it felt like driver forgot that he was in possession of his own free will. he practiced boundaries better than any of the forlorn men that had taken you out before— the ones that pawed at your chest like a newborn and shoved their tongues down your throat like they were searching for something. no, the most you’d felt of those big gloved-hands of his were through accidental brushes. he was considerate, perceptive even, and that made it an even more infeasible challenge to keep your underwear dry. you’d usually wear button-up jeans and a belt to keep things locked up like fort knox with men in the past, but tonight you wore a skimpy skirt… one that driver had shimmied up to your mid-section after you squeezed at his biceps and pulled at the collar of his henley until he was hovering over you. you were one of those forlorn men for the evening.

“lemme see.” he murmured, pinning your legs open with a firm hand. your right knee was jammed between the door and the glove compartment, while the left was hiked up and over the cubby box. you’d lasted forty-five excruciating minutes filled with movie dialogue and nothing else— practically a feat when driver settled a hand just below your thigh on minute twenty. you kissed him when he held out the paperboard cup as an offer, straw surely still wet with his saliva. he took you by surprise, slotting his mouth back against yours when you expected him to freeze.

“look at that button.” driver cooed, tone thick with pride. your arousal had bloomed, painting an embarrassingly large blotch of wetness at the centre of your lacy pair of panties. the fabric thinned out enough for him to ogle what you were so poorly hiding underneath. “all swollen and wet. why’s that?”

when you didn’t answer outside of the heave of your chest, driver grazed the pad of his calloused thumb over the pinochle of nerves— just enough to make your hips buck. he found just the right spot with those slender fingers, tracing at your seam in a way that was featherlight and excruciating. when he spoke, he was all faux pity, creased brows and downturned lips like he was concerned— like you were an animal in pain that he couldn’t help.

“who did this to you?” he asked like an accusation. your blunt nails were driven into his taut forearm now, a pathetic mewl of his name stumbling out of your mouth as an answer.

he smirked then, satisfaction sheathed deep in his chest with every sound you made. he was crossing into dangerous territory now that he’d seen you so vulnerable. he nudged his fingertip against your core, just enough to jostle the hem aside and sink two of his slender digits into you. driver’s jaw fell slack, lips parted silently in awe when he felt the hot slick already pooling at his knuckles. it eased the ache, but only for a moment.

“s’that all for me, sweetheart?”

your eyes were screwed shut now. you’d adjusted to settle your calf at driver’s shoulder, face scrunched up in pleasure.

“hm?” driver prompted, slow to start retracting his touch, knuckles dragging against your insides that were so painfully-delicious. you yelped like a dog.

it wasn’t until he murmured out an unimpressed “what was that?” that you realized he wasn’t going to budge without an answer. so, you nodded your head, fast and disjointed. “yes! for you!”

the rhythmic wet thrust of his fingers drowned out the ostentatious explosions of whatever action film was being projected on the screen and bleeding through the radio. driver was fixated on memorizing every twitch of your toes and each shift in your expression; how you sucked in a breath every time he nearly pulled out all of the way just to stuff you full again, or the way your back arched when he tweaked your pebbled nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. he’d need it for next time— he’d use it to relieve himself of the desperation straining his jeans later.

he kissed you this time. it was claiming, slow and deep while he pumped his wrist with such precision. he was giving you just enough, but too little to get you where you wanted. driver liked the long game. he wanted to see how long it took to break you down and mould you into a pliant play-thing. his, all the same.

he wanted you to beg for it, and he was giving you all of the incentive when he pet your clit in soft strokes, practically clinical with how little pressure he used… with those same hands that had beaten the life out of men that you’d never have to worry your pretty little head about.

your hips were starting to ache. your throat was tight from how many whines and whimpers you’d swallowed. driver’s windows might’ve been tinted, but his car certainly wasn’t sound-proof. his vehicle was the most isolated in the lot— always with intent, but for different reasons tonight now that he had some precious cargo. albeit, occasional shadows still stalked by, in search of food or bathrooms.

your mouths broke apart, but not without a long string of spit that had gathered at the very tip of your tongue, tying the two of you together.

“what if someone caught us like this, hm?” your head had been so thick with desire that you’d barely considered, hadn’t even recalled the carloads of bodies surrounding them. the risk to reward ratio was well-worth it when he curled his fingers so perfectly, just ghosting his touch over the deepest parts of your insides. “all spread open for me, takin’ my fingers so well.”

his voice was dizzying; soft and tender in ways that betrayed the lewd, all-consuming stretch of his digits. you moaned, ankle clambering into the side of his neck.

“wouldn’t you be so embarrassed? you’d get in so much trouble, baby… such a bad girl.”

you were fucking yourself onto his hand now— hips shifting back in a clumsy haste then pulling him back in with your knee bent at his shoulder. it was depraved; dirty and unprincipled underneath him. he thought he’d have to put in hours of work to get you falling apart like this, but no… you were just… perfect. if he didn’t bear the self-control of a major general, he’d ruin you right then and there.

“you’re going to cum for me now, yeah?” his gaze was devouring you when you looked up at him through bleary eyes. it wasn’t a question, but it was proposed like one. it was a fact; your gummy walls were sputtering, sinking further back into the leather of the seat he’d reclined minutes ago.

“mhm,” was the best you could manage, high-pitched and drawn-out. you were squirming, but that didn’t slow the drive of his fingers.

his lips grazed the shell of your ear then, breath hot and humid when he spoke. “think i’ve earned it, honey. give it to me.”

driver knew it was coming anyway, but a few words to throw you over the edge didn’t hurt. he knew you’d agree when your climax coiled in your gut, starting with an earth-shattering pulse between your legs and then a tingling in your toes. you gasped, frantically fisting at the material at his chest. it was strong enough to wet your eyes, but you could still make out that shit-eating grin when you opened them.

he spends the rest of the night pushing your eager hands aside with the constant promise of ”next time” and told you to watch the movie like a dismissive father. he got too much enjoyment out of seeing you all blissed out to cut it short so soon.

[lights-on-the-ridge]

Ohhh my god wow okay

[etheireimagined]

practice painting

[derangedfirefly]

Studies for today

[maxxie-or-smth]

you've met me at a very "yeah i'm trying to work on that" time in my life

[pup3nough]

first post.. kinda nervy… followda main.. @jun3bug-mp3

[rb2so4]

One pie with extra special agent on it please

[mewnbuns]

a man using all of his weight to hold you down so he can pepper you in little kisses

[reactionimagesdaily]