I initially did not intend to post art here but Oh god jskdsfhksarghhhh ⬇️⬇️⬇️
I cant stop staring like Good god he's not the biggest engine by any means but when I'm outside his cab I'm just so little. His face is the size of my body. Unfortunately his buffer beam has no footing but imagine the possibilities. I just hrmhjjkiuuuhjjjjjjj trying to get the words out and be less shameful Imagine his tongue so easily enveloping the entirety of your crotch, and wrapping your arms around his nose to brace yourself and by proxy he gets to smell you and all the gross scents he's stuck onto you during the day. Also to be beyond vulnerable and to have your life so critically jeopardized laying on the tracks in front of him
There is a need to smell human d’s sweaty dirty grossness, or be forced to with his vice grip around your body so your face is buried in his shirt and folded into his coat, and god he fucking smells and he’s definitely hard
Stupid stupid Human D.iesel x Driver somno-esque cnc thing, reader recieving.
(~1.1k words)
You're burnt out and D helps you home after a long, long day, initially without ulterior motives (his feelings for you are. Complicated). You are absolutely spent, and he uses his best judgement to determine that it may not be the safest idea for you to drive. He takes you to his dingy flat just to crash for the night (wow) on account of it being "closer to the station" than your house, at least another 20 odd minutes out. Still, only out what little goodness exists in his heart. He feels you're his, and needs you to be safe.
Being tired exacerbates the whole thing. Normally, if this really was your only option, you would sleep in your work clothes on the floor, whether it was D's house or some other coworker's place. But he's saying so quietly "Go to bed." ushering your jacket off your shoulders and smoothing out his bed. He turns around to do the same, taking his coat, shoes, hat off.
But lord, you are so, so, so tired and worn through.
Now, you start taking your clothes off. So naturally, as if you were already at home about to slip into your own bed. You're left in your button up and your underwear. D.iesel's stupefied splutterings fall on deaf ears as you crawl into his bed. Eyes track you. He realizes what he's caught.
"You don't mind me on top, do you?"
Such a mocking question, his awful smirk practically leering at you. He knows your eyes are hardly even capable of focusing on his form. He's on top of you now clearly, in his underwear, just as you had imagined a man like him would sleep. You don't care. Your mind is numb and body aching from the infinitely stretched work week. You try not to care that what you crave so badly is laid out in front of you, hot and hungry and prodding at your stripped body, because you can't even bring yourself to lift a finger.
D.iesel's strained against his briefs and rutting hard against your crotch, nose buried in the crook of your neck and puffing hot air into the valley of your collarbone. Roughened, definitely dirty hands come to feel up your chest from under your shirt, goading weakened unwilling mewls from you. You're pawing him away with what little strength you have, pushing away his arms in an attempt to halt him. You're moaning hoarse pleas of Dee, stop, D.iesel, stop, I can't. He doesn't, and briefs are becoming soaked through from pre, cock dragging against your own heat. "You love it, you love it." D.iesel's senseless groaning is riling you up as much as it is for himself. You notice your underwear are none the more dry.
The state of your body and mental burnout doesn't change the fact that you do want this. It must be nonsense to deny that now, only because of what? You're tired? You'd rather do this some other time? Don't kid yourself.
Of course, the filter between your mind and your mouth is virtually nonexistent in your stupor. "Stop," a whine.
"I want you inside me."
That makes D.iesel pause. Only for a breath, then he's pulling away to tear his underwear to his knees, and yours just to the side. He mounts you proper and aligns himself. His length fills you at an excruciatingly slow pace. Your body aches for the gap to be filled to the hilt, needing him wholly, hard and fast, as much as you can get. Handfuls of him. Your moans of protest have ebbed into those of pleasure, of want, of equal hunger, stubby fingernails dragging across his back in an attempt to bring him closer.
"You really are gullible when you're tired like this."
Moans from the both of you fill the hot air with an absolute lack of inhibition, D.iesel groaning into you whilst you keen upwards into him. How exquisite is it to relish the freedom of privacy, to break open the silence and secrets and suppression in a space where no one else can see. There's no pretending. You don't have to worry about the barrier you've set up within yourself, the one to keep him away from you, all of it entirely dissolved by exhaustion. You don't have to worry about being honest with yourself.
"I never thought I would get this far," he punctuates by bottoming out inside you. You whine.
"But, hah, the way your hips move tells me that..." he pauses, stamina not all that, but it gives him a breath to indulge in your noises.
"...Neither of us have any issues with this."
Every hard thrust rushes a whimper out of you. It's so hot. The both of you are so dirty. Your skin is wet from your sweat, his sweat, and his hot breath. You need his filth.
Hands hook under his arms to pull him in tight, and you keen to bury your nose in D.iesel's repugnant scent, straight into his armpit. If you were any bit more conscious, you would easily envision your average self as an angel on your shoulder screaming WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING????? But, you're not. He smells perfectly repulsive, the work from the day, or days, tracked on him, old and new sweat, sex, want... Your unabashed thoughts are as good as spoken. Simple-minded and foolish, it spills out: "You smell, so, badddd."
Disbelief aside, D.iesel can only grunt a breathy What the fuck? in response.
It's muffled, of course, but you keep groaning in positively mindless euphoria, words slurred nearly incomprehensible, Dee, fuck, D.iesel, guhhh, Dies-uhh, so, fucking, bad,
D.iesel's cock markedly jams hard against the tangled mess of heat inside your womb. He's impassioned by the completely abased state you've found yourself in at the hands of him, along with your active touch, and he's aroused to pump deeper, faster, you're practically sobbing with lust into his touch and scent, both bodies easily reaching climax with resounding cries and moans.
D.iesel, being D.iesel, is no stranger to pulling out. His mess soils your shirt from the bottom to nearly up to your chin. To his satisfaction, you have to sleep in strictly your undergarments now. There's no aftercare for you beyond a towel. It's what you wanted, right?
There's little sound beyond panting and sheets rustling.
Your mind is blank. There's still a residual blush of ecstasy across your face, and a kindled warmth burning your stomach. He towels himself off too before pulling up his briefs and settling into bed next to you.
"God, you're sick."
Ahah.
Cheers to your first night together. Surely this'll be a one-off deal.
I literally do not know what's overcome me this month and slowly weaning onto being a sort of feedee, I have no interest in wg stuff myself and I'm objectively skinny but I've been gaining a smidge of adult-weight as I go into proper-adulthood and it just won't leave my head that I need to lose the weight.
But then the parasites start talking and I imagine... I imagine spending many workdays with Diesel (human, still not sure how the work works with a human engine and a human driver but still) and being close enough to share your typically isolated lunch hour with him and, after a while, he starts to watch ever so closely, fascinated by as mundane of a process as eating. Fascinated by how much you could enjoy something he has little interest in, beyond keeping his body moving. Soon, he's sliding scraps he meant for himself towards you with an expectant cock of his brow and a near darkness in his face. You must've poisoned it, you joke before graciously accepting. He'll turn down your offer of a snack just to see you shrug and take a bite yourself.
Diesel sees the subtle way your body changes after your new job. Even if it's muscle mass, there's undeniably more weight packed onto your body. In all the places he likes to see it, too. Your thighs, your ass, the small puff of your stomach, your powerful arms... "Look at you... you've sure filled out" he'd say in that gross sleazy groan before pulling you out of sight to grab handfuls of you, exposing you so clearly and splitting your unspoken worries wide open. I... fuck no! It's all just muscle. I've only gained a little weight... All while he palms your softest, ample parts. Groping groping groping ensues
I will finish writing about this soon but D.iesel not having a spot for footing above his buffer beam won’t stop me… I can’t not take advantage of the perfect height his face would be at in relation to my body once I get myself up there, just buffer up right to the buffer stop and hop up on there and pray it’s enough room.
Though it depends if we’re talking mouth to mouth, which will probably require some other setup, but standing up on a buffer stop seems like justtt the right height for mouth to crotch… but I need to draw it out to be sure
