tags | casual, smut (dryhumping, coming in pants, the usual), driver x male reader, actor reader, undefined relationship, established relationship
words | 1.7k
request? | by anon
summary | driver is your stunt double, and after a day of filming you unwind in your trailer with some dry humping
notes | send in requests! (especially sub! / bottom! ryland grace). writing a fic for someone without a name was an experience. can't wait to do it again for the next one lol. i was going to jump straight into smut, but i've developed a bad habit of making some plot pre-smut. reblog if you liked it!
you cringed at the metallic screech of the car crashing into the metal pole. almost instantly, the response crew ran across the open set and swarmed the car, fire extinguishers in hand like they’d done this a million times before. which, you supposed they might as well had considering how many stunts were in this movie alone.
you stayed put, watching with bated breath as your stunt double was helped out of the racecar. he had his helmet tucked under his arm, already moving away, even as the physicians tried to check him over.
at their insistence, he stayed put for a few moments, giving a nod in response to the medical team’s questions. his eyes met yours briefly.
for a moment, the world seemed to blur. everyone else fell out of focus, except for him. maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was just your imagination—but you could’ve sworn you saw the barest curve of a smile on his face. a private acknowledgement, meant just for you.
“alright, great work everyone!” kristoff, the director, clapped his hands a few times, breaking the private trance. “don’t forget! we’re back here tomorrow at six, sharp! great work today, guys. great work.”
you nodded briefly at the director, already turned towards your trailer to avoid being pulled into another conversation. while you normally loved to speak, especially about your work and passion, there was something you were more interested in that evening.
you lingered behind, letting your steps slow without making it obvious. your eyes flicked back, and there he was again. wearing that same faint, almost smug smile, held just long enough for you to catch it. it was just a little more deliberate than last time, enough for you to be sure that it was directed to you. meant for you.
you responded with a subtle motion toward your trailer, careful and casual. his nod back was just as discreet, and the stupid little grin that crept onto your face felt completely justified.
by the time you got to your trailer, the chaos of the set felt distant, replaced by the quiet hum of the air conditioning and the sound of the door shutting behind you. you leaned back against it for a second, trying to let your blood settle.
the adrenaline from the stunt, even as a bystander, hadn’t left you completely. seeing the way he handled the car, twisting and turning as if it was an extension of himself… it left a feeling in your chest that you didn’t even bother trying to name. you’d spent the last few weeks trying not to name it.
you kicked off your shoes, almost walking past before doubling back to rearrange them a little bit neater. the smell of leather and coffee was strong in the trailer, a mix of all the costumes and cheap drink you’d consumed in the past weeks. when a short knock sounded on the door, you weren’t surprised.
you merely turned and found him slipping inside the trailer before anyone caught him. he still had some grease and fake soot on his face—remnants from the stunt he’d just completed. his short hair was sticking up in places, like he hadn’t bothered to smooth it down after removing his helmet.
“hey there, hotshot,” you smirked teasingly, leaning your hip sideways against the inside of the trailer. “i was wondering how long it’d take for you to get here.”
your grin widened when he didn’t even roll his eyes in response to the teasing. instead his smirk turned sharper, and your chest tightened at the sight.
“would’ve been quicker if i could teleport,” he said.
you laughed at that, head tipped back as you couldn’t hold it in anymore. you saw the crinkle in his own eyes before he stepped in towards you. your laughter died, but the smile remained on both of your faces as the distance between you closed in two steps.
“hey,” you whispered, unable to stand the silence.
your hand lifted, brushing lightly over the back of his neck. you watched almost in awe as he leaned into it, lashes fluttering shut for a moment. he didn’t use words, but you could understand him anyways. your noses nearly touched, breaths mingling as your lips drew nearer.
you closed the gap, mouth moving over his slowly at first. getting reacquainted after an entire day apart. your other hand lifted to graze his hip, and you pulled him closer. his hips knocked into yours and he let out a sound so sweet that you had to pry apart his lips to drink it up. the hand on his hip drifted to the small of his back, before dipping lower and resting on the curve of his ass.
the corners of his lips tipped up enough just for you to feel it into the kiss. you grinned back, nipping his lower lip before letting your lips trail down. you settled your lips against a spot below his neck where a fading hickey still remained.
“makeup department give you any trouble?” you murmured against his skin.
“not as much as medical,” he responded quietly after a moment.
you smiled and bit the spot again, before soothing the sting with a swipe of your tongue.
he let out a low hiss, his fingers tangling into your hair as you began to suck the spot. after a few moments, he began to get impatient, if the way he repeatedly tugged on your hair was any indication.
“eager,” you teased with a chuckle, pressing a kiss to his pulse point.
“we’re on a time constraint,” he responded, sharply tugging at your hair once again. “i’d rather not have the janitors walk in on us again.”
“that was one time,” you defended yourself while smiling stupidly. “and they never recognized you. besides, i thought i apologized for that already. multiple times.”
“you did,” he said. “but i’ll still bring it up.”
your eyes crinkled with your grin, but you let him back you up onto the couch in your trailer. the leather creaked below you as you sat down, getting comfortable. you pulled your shirt off and threw it aside, arms spread over the back of the couch as you looked up at him.
he was standing still above you, brows slightly furrowed as if he was contemplating something.
“what?” you laughed. “getting cold feet after four weeks of this?”
he shook his head simply, taking off his own shirt as well before settling onto your lap, his knees on either side of your thighs. you raised a brow, about to ask him if you should take your pants off first, when he rocked his hips suddenly.
the moan you let out was echoed by him, a sudden sound in the quiet of the trailer.
“fuck,” you murmured, bringing both hands around to settle onto his hips. you tilted your head back, letting him come down to mark the column of your throat.
“let’s do it like this,” he said against your skin.
your response was lost as he rubbed his clothed erection against your own, this time more deliberately.
“y-yeah,” you managed to ground out. “like this is perfectly fine.”
your hands on his hips guided his slow rocking, while your own hips twitched upwards to chase more of that friction and meet him in the middle. your mouths were pressed together again in a kiss, but it was little more than an exchange of moans and heavy breaths. he ground his hips faster, and you could feel his cock twitch despite the layers between you.
you wanted to say something, anything, but your brain had short circuited so that nothing was clear except for him and the way he moved against you. the way he fit, like a missing puzzle piece.
one of your hands slid down from his hips to the globe of his ass, and squeezed.
“fuck,” he responded breathily into your own mouth.
you felt him reposition himself slightly, reangle just so. in a way that the friction was nearly unbearable as he continued his motions. the shape of his cock was already familiar to you, but the way it pressed against your own like this had to be a form of heaven.
“i’m—fuck, i could cum like this,” he murmured, lips wet as he spoke against yours.
“then do it,” you responded, the breath suddenly knocked out of your lungs. just the thought of bringing him over the edge like this was enough to make your cock twitch in your pants.
he bit your jaw, and then picked up the pace once more. you rocked your hips up each time, meeting him in the middle of each movement. the layers of fabric between the two of you, and the way you could still feel the outline of his cock made you desperate for relief. you rubbed against him quicker, whispering a mixture of honey-slick encouragement. you didn’t even think they made sense, the words leaving your mouth, but you were too far gone to even care.
you felt him drop his head against the crook of your neck, just barely covering up the sound of his broken moan as his movements slowed down. it took a few moments for your lust-addled brain to catch up, but then you felt the wetness of his pants against your own. heat rolled low in your stomach, and it didn’t take long for you to follow him over the edge.
you panted quietly, one hand rubbing his lower back while the other brushed the short hair along his nape. when he finally lifted his head, his forehead was drenched in sweat, and he was flushed a pretty pink. he looked wrecked, considering you guys hadn’t even taken all of your clothes off. you were sure that you didn’t look any better.
you couldn’t help but brush back some of the sweaty strands against his forehead. “remind me to do this again soon.”
this time he rolled his eyes, a quiet laugh escaping him. “if you don’t get dressed and get out of here before the janitors come by, there won’t be anything happening soon.”
you watched with a fond smile as he got up, collecting a shirt off the ground and prepared to make his way back to his car. you stayed close behind him the entire way.
maybe you’d be getting your repeat performance sooner than expected.
Summary: When Driver ends up at a small town diner after escaping LA, he doesn't expect to meet you, the very woman who wants to leave more than anyone. When you offer him help after he refuses a doctor, you see beneath a man on the run as he tries to convince you leaving isn't that scary and maybe...all you need is a small push and a man with blue eyes and a sad little face.
Warnings: Mentions of blood and a pretty bad injury on Driver but most of this is all fluff.
Tags: Drive 2011, The Driver, fluff, he speaks more in this, smalltown diners, smalltown aesthetic, being stuck and being helped, he's a softie, we just gonna pretend this man survived okay. He lived in my heart.
NOTES: Set after the events of Drive(2011), as if Driver survived and just kept going.
AN: Hello!! Got inspired by Drive which is amazing btw, and decided to write something short and sweet for one of my fav of the Ryan's. I love Driver, he's adorable, bestest boy and deserves an AU where he's happy. Dividers by @strangergraphics
Still the Same
“There's something inside you, It's hard to explain, They're talking about you, boy. But you're still the same.”
Middle of Nowhere
For years you had wanted an escape, a grand exit like someone was holding the string that tied you to your hometown and had finally cut it. But for the moment, it was pulled tight, locked around your wrist like a cuff and things had never been anything but the same. The place was small, a blink while on Main Street and you’ll end up on the outside of town type of place with people who knew all and wouldn’t keep their mouth shut about what it is they knew. They infected social lives with town gossip of who dated who, who married that year and what crazy person left to go and find something not contained within three streets and a handful of streetlights.
You weren’t that brave and were scared that since your ID said you were born there, one day it would also say you died there. Obituary ending up in a small town paper with the ending line, “she was loved by all who knew her, the population of a town situated between Nowhere and Nothing.” Maybe one day you’d end up there because you got married to some farmer with a good collection of land and a house with a porch built for two rocking chairs and nothing more, simplistic and easy, the exact life you were destined for. Your mom appeared years back, gas tank empty and didn’t leave when it was full because a man told her she looked pretty in the checkout line of the singular grocery store. She dressed in lace and baby blues, attended church and baked cookies for Sunday brunches and never did the one thing you wanted to do…leave.
Exodus was nothing but a chapter in a bible you no longer fully believed in, not a truth, not a thing you could do, nothing but a dream. A dream that made you restless, hands twitching as you poured coffee for a trucker who stopped in the small diner you worked in. A neon sign out front declared it was open and named after some pun involving waffles that everyone liked to comment on. You dubbed it jail, the trap you built for yourself and gave him a warm smile, heart of ice heavy in your chest as he called you a sweetheart and went back to his midnight cup of coffee. And you meandered back to Janet, a woman who also never left and leaned against the counter, brushing a hand along the lace trim of your apron, tied in a bow around the waist of a baby blue dress.
“Slow night,” Janet muttered since her sentences never got bigger than three words, spoken with a clipped tone like she hated talking.
“Quite,” you said and she frowned.
“Sal has extra food.”
“From dinner.”
“From lunch, a sandwich.”
“I’ll eat it on break,” you muttered and glanced at the clock, shift only half over and let out a sigh, grabbing a freshly made pot of coffee and doing a round.
The diner was open all day and all night, the one spot in the whole of your nowhere town where you could grab something to eat after 8pm on a Wednesday and was a haven for truck drivers. Most of the time, they were the only people you served and had been debating on asking for a ride for years but didn’t, chose to still stay, make some money while doing online schooling a couple days a week and it was finally done. You graduated with a degree that was impressive enough to do something else and had a letter sitting on your kitchen table, the whole of your future printed on A24 paper with a stamp in the corner.
“I finished my degree,” you said and Janet nodded. “I could leave. I applied for a teaching school but it’s in Raleigh.”
“That’s far.”
“A whole new town,” you agreed and sighed, watching as the door opened and a man walked in, keeping his head down as he sank into the booth in the far corner.
“I wonder what his problem is.”
“Long night,” you guessed and grabbed a mug of coffee before walking over. “Coffee?”
He looked up, eyes bloodshot and nodded, resting a hand on the tabletop as your eyes narrowed at the redness on the leather of his fingerless gloves. It was the kind of red that was concerning, that bloomed from places it shouldn’t and you half debated calling someone to help when he grabbed your hand. It wasn’t rough, it was gentle, the most gentle grab you had ever felt, as if he was scared of holding on too tight and making you leave.
“Uh…”
“Coffee is enough,” he muttered and you nodded, giving over the mug and also grabbing a collection of napkins, ignoring the red on his white jacket.
“Can you give me a half hour?” you asked and he looked at you like you’d hit him. “I need to tell her I’m leaving, you need help.”
“No.”
“Not a doctor. I can help, I live across the street in the apartment above the hardware store and have a pretty good first aid kit, a gift from my dad.”
“Okay,” he said and sat back, sighing and drinking half his cup of black coffee as you smiled and wandered back to Janet, pulling off your apron.
“I’m leaving early.”
“Why?”
“I know him, an old family friend and he needs my help.”
“What’s his name?”
“Uh…Mike…It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”
“Be…”
“I got it, I’ll be careful. But don’t worry, I know he’s fine,” you said and didn’t believe it for a second as you punched out, grabbing a couple sandwiches and a key lime pie that had been made three days back before pulling on your coat.
He was still sitting there, mug empty and staring at the tabletop as he breathed heavily, red stained white coat heaving and you swallowed hard, taking a seat across from him. He didn’t look up, eyes still locked on nothing but you reached out, gentle as can be and placed a hand on his, fingers brushing against the burgundy leather of the gloves.
“Can I trust you?”
“No.”
“Why are you here?”
“I drove.”
“From?”
“LA.”
“That’s hours from here.”
“I know.”
“If I take you to my apartment you’re not gonna kill me right?”
“Nope,” he assured and there was more trust in that one syllable than anything else he’d said yet.
“Good,” you said and he stood, stumbling a bit but keeping himself upright and trailing after you as you tried to ignore the look that Janet gave you, eyes narrowed like always. “We don’t get a lot of strangers like you. Mostly truck drivers. Why drive here?”
“Not here…just…away,” he assured and you helped him up the narrow outdoor steps to the balcony on the second floor that led to your apartment and dug a key into the lock.
“Well this is a hell of a place to land. We have nothing.”
“I like nothing.”
“You’ll get tired of it,” you said and he chuckled, dryly and struggling but the noise was a welcome change. “Come in. I’ll grab a blanket, take that jacket and shirt off.”
“Are you sure?”
“You wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” you shot back and he nodded, doing as you said, pulling off the white coat with a gold scorpion embroidered on the back, white shirt following as your eyes widened.
Despite the very obvious bullet wound, his back was a myriad of scars from years of abuse and you wanted to reach out and trace them, ask about every dip. His skin told so many stories, ones you wanted to beg to hear, to have him whisper in the dark of your apartment or on nights when the nowhere town ran out of power because of a storm a county over. But there were more pressing matters like the splotch of blood on his lower stomach, the source revealing itself as a bullet wound that had an exit on his lower back much to your relief. Sure it likely hurt like hell, even worse from driving for so many hours but if he was still moving around, it meant it didn’t hit anything important and your new houseguest wasn’t about to drop dead.
“Well…it exited,” you deadpanned after he had taken a seat on your blanket draped couch. “So that’s good and it means you won’t die because I’m not a surgeon. I have some gauze and padding so you won’t bleed out either but there is a story to be told.”
“About the wound?” he guessed and you chuckled.
“Yes, about the wound,” you assured and reached forward, gently wrapping the gauze around his midsection until it was tight as he stayed tense, barely breathing until your hands left his skin. “Grammy Merna would tell me all about the perils of California but she left out the guns. Was she wrong or is this a special case?”
“Got wrapped up in bad men, took care of it.”
“Clearly,” you muttered and stood as he moved back, leaning against the back of the couch with a sigh, finally looking a small bit relaxed. “You never said your name.”
“People at home called me the Driver.”
“Do you drive?”
“I drive,” he agreed and you chuckled. “What is your actual name?”
“That was always the ironic part…my real name is Driver.”
“Driver is one hell of a name.”
“Ended up doing what I was named for,” he shot back and you nodded before telling him yours.
“I was not named waitress so I’m not following fate.”
“Should be named saviour,” he shot back and you chuckled, moving to your small kitchen and grabbing him a glass of water.
“Just ended up in the right place.”
“Fate sounds better,” he said and leaned back, drinking back half the water as you smiled. “Without you I would’ve kept going.”
“Any stopping point?”
“When I couldn’t drive anymore,” he shot back and you frowned.
“Good thing you stopped before that.”
“Needed coffee, first place open for miles,” he said and stood, cringing but continuing and looking out the window, face framed by the neon greens and blues of the diners sign.
When you got the apartment the glare of that sign pissed you off, always there in the background like a reminder that the place was as far as you could get, living across the street from work. But now…as it made the blue of his eyes pop and the dips and divots of the scars on his shoulders stand out like they were made with the utmost care you loved it. Maybe all the window needed despite a good clean was a fresh face to look out of it, someone who could still appreciate neon signs and 24/7 waffle themed diners on small country roads that cut through a nowhere town like a river.
“Butter Me Up?” he asked with a laugh and you groaned.
“Waffle pun. It sells.”
“To who?”
“Truck drivers with no sense of humour,” you admitted and yawned. “I’m beat. Take the couch, I brought out some blankets and some clothes from my dad in a bag on the chair. There’s a bathroom by the front door, fully stocked and even some plastic wrap so that the bandage can stay dry.”
“You trust me not to rob you and run?” Driver asked and turned, hands crossed across his chest, still coated in the blood stained leather gloves.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“You don’t look like the robbing type.”
“What do I look like?”
“Someone who stopped less for a coffee and more because he had to.”
“To die?”
“To hope someone like me would offer some help,” you shot back and he looked away, gaze not meeting yours and you knew you had figured him out. “Sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Wait…”
“Yes?”
“Thank you,” Driver said and you knew he meant it.
“Of course,” you said and moved into your bedroom, changing into a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt before getting into bed, listening to the road outside your bedroom window as people drove through your town.
You were glad that he chose to stop, to grab that coffee and accept your help and hoped that he’d be there when the morning light made the place look less lonely.
Driver stayed.
He slept on the couch like you told him to and woke up to the smell of bacon cooking, finding him slumped over the stove in your small kitchen, eyes narrowed as he made sure the breakfast was perfect. You raised a brow, leaning on the doorframe in a robe as he cracked an egg into another pan and let out a curse when a piece of shell got in, scrambling to fix it as you chuckled and he looked up, eyes widening.
“Sorry.”
“Why?”
“I used your kitchen.”
“I barely use it, it deserves it,” you said and nodded out the window at the diner. “I normally eat there.”
“Do you work a lot?”
“Most nights,” you admitted and took a seat at the breakfast nook, wishing it wasn’t full of papers. “I split my time between there and online school.”
“For?”
“Education,” you admitted and he made sure the eggs wouldn’t burn before turning and moving to lean against a counter, giving you his full attention. “I want to be a teacher.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“The schooling I need is out of state, in North Carolina and sure I have enough money but it’s far…out there and I’m not…I’m here.”
“But you could be out there.”
“I could,” you said and sighed. “My dad died six months ago, he left me all his money and told me to leave, to get out of this place and see the world but I didn’t…I stayed.”
“Why?”
“Too scared,” you admitted and he scoffed. “Here is small but familiar. I know every face and when John at the grocery store gets the good apples in. I wouldn’t know any of that in a big city, wouldn’t even know myself.”
“Did you get in?” he asked and turned back around, plating the eggs and adding some toast and bacon before walking it over to the table. “To the school in Raleigh?”
“No…Or…I don’t know.”
“You don’t?”
“This is my ticket,” you said and grabbed a letter from North Carolina State University. “It arrived two days ago.”
“And?”
“It has stayed like this for two days.”
“Not going to open it?”
“Maybe.”
“You’re scared,” he accused and you nearly dropped your fork at that very bold accusation. “That letter is your excuse. Never look at it, never get an excuse.”
“Never look at it, never be disappointed,” you shot back and he rolled his eyes. “I’m not like you, I don’t pack it all up and drive with a bullet wound in my stomach, hoping to crash land in some town.”
“You may not have the bullet hole but you do have the pain,” he pointed out and you never would’ve invited someone so philosophical into your house.
“Still keeping it sealed.”
“Maybe by the time I leave.”
“Are you?”
“Maybe. I need to keep going, find myself somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“Don’t know,” he admitted and sipped his coffee. “That gunshot was done by a man who wants me dead…he’s dead too but he had friends, angry ones. I left LA to get away from that and I don’t think I’m far enough away yet.”
“This town is pretty empty, you’d fall off the radar.”
“Maybe…but I can’t take that risk.”
“At least stay long enough to relax,” you suggested and glanced out the window at the sun shining. “It’s sunny today and there’s a lake not far from here, could be a nice change.”
“The bandage?”
“Don’t swim,” you shot back and he rolled his eyes. “Come on…I grabbed some sandwiches and a pie from work, it’ll be fun.”
“What kind of pie?”
“Key lime.”
“Nah…I’m more of a lemon meringue guy.”
“Driver…”
“What?”
“Come on.”
“I can enjoy limes,” he muttered and you rolled your eyes, finishing off your breakfast, changing and grabbing a few items as he stood by the front door, eyeing the blood stains on his white coat.
“Here,” you said and handed over a black jacket that was Yankees themed and hoped that he was secretly a fan.
“Not a baseball fan.”
“It was my dads.”
“Why?”
“He can’t wear it,” you said and Driver nodded, grabbing it and pulling it on, smiling at the fit and shoving his hands in the pocket. “Perfect.”
“Maybe I’ll end up in New York and wear it to a game,” he muttered and you nodded in agreement, grabbing your bag and following him out to his car, a smile on your face.
The car he drove was nice by the standards of someone who didn’t know cars and was black and sleek looking, an older model with nice but worn tires since he drove it to the brink for hours on end. He admitted he didn’t get all the way from LA to your small little town in one night, it took three days and he slept in the back seat on the side of the highway and in truck stops, avoiding people until he met you, the first person who begged to offer some semblance of help. He took it because you looked as desperate to give it as he was to receive it and liked the tenderness in your voice, even though all you did was offer him some coffee.
“Been here your whole life?”
“Forced to,” you admitted and he raised a brow.
“Mom lived here, had me and died here. It felt like it was in my blood.”
“Blood is made to be shed.”
“I don’t think that sounds like you want it to.”
“I drive…I rarely speak,” he shot back and followed your lead when you told him to turn, pulling onto a dirt road that led to a lake you loved, the one good thing in your town.
“You’re talking with me?”
“I have exceptions,” he shot back and parked the car in the lot, slipping out and grabbing your bag out of the back and handing it over. “This was worth it.”
“Wasn’t it?” you said and smiled, making your way down to the shore of the lake and spreading out a picnic blanket that had seen better days. “This place was like an escape from the rest of the town, a small piece of something new.”
“You could leave.”
“Driver…”
“I know.”
“I can’t,” you muttered and grabbed a wrapped sandwich from the bag, handing him one and he nodded in thanks. “It’s a big world out there…full of people and I’m just me…sitting here and staring at a lake I’ve stared at a hundred times before and will continue to stare at until I die. Like my mother and father.”
“Or you could open that letter.”
“What if it says I made it?”
“Leave,” he suggested and you rolled your eyes. “Back in LA, I got all mixed up in that stuff because of a woman named Irene and her young son, my neighbours and she had a husband in jail and he got out and went right back to it. My favorite day with them was at a place like this, a piece of paradise in a city of nothing.”
“You were in LA,” you said and he shrugged.
“Even big places can be full of nothing. I lived there, worked there, almost died there. LA felt as lonely as a place like this with one road and very few stoplights.”
“See that's why I'm worried about leaving, at least I know people here, I have the diner and my coworker Janet. Maybe one day I'll also have a nice guy with a piece of land and a smile.”
“Sounds like a boring life.”
“At least I’m not driving forever,” you shot back and shoved the plastic wrap in the bag before heading towards the water, pulling off your shirt and shorts and stepping slowly into it, feeling the coolness start around your ankles.
You went further out, feeling it run up your legs and onto your chest before sinking deep into the cold water and embracing the bit of shock that always came with dipping into a cold lake in early spring. It brought you back to your dad and his love of the place, the way he called it magic and would spend his time in the middle, catching fish to roast on a fire as you swam like there was no tomorrow. Today there was a tomorrow and you looked back at the shore to find Driver was missing, a pile of clothes in his wake and in seconds the man popped up out of the water, blonde hair slicked back and a smile on his face.
“What about the bandage?”
“Excuse to get close,” he shot back and swam closer, able to touch thanks to his height as you clung to his chest, laughing and shaking droplets off the top of your head. “You should open the letter.”
“Driver…”
“I brought it,” he said and your eyes narrowed.
“You stole my mail?”
“Sorry.”
“Why?”
“Because you deserve more than this town. It deserves you, you make it better but you need to leave it and find yourself in a new place with new people.”
“Come with me.”
“I can’t,” he said and you frowned. “The people after Irene won’t stop, they know I lived.”
“Change your name,” you said and got even closer, clinging to him.
“Driver fits too well,” he shot back and you chuckled, dipping your head down as he reached up, kissing your forehead. “Thank you.”
“For?”
“For a coffee,” he said and you looked at him closer, hands pressed to his cheeks as you ran a thumb under his eyes. “And the help.”
“I wasn’t about to let you bleed to death.”
“No…but you could have,” he muttered and you rolled your eyes, wrapping him in a hug, shivering despite yourself since the lake was cold, not warmed yet by the summer sun. “You could have moved on, treated me like another customer.”
“Maybe I was looking for an escape from that shift as much as you were looking for help.”
“So…not at all?”
“No,” you said and he laughed, blue eyes brighter than last night, catching the reflection of the few beams of sunlight getting through the clouds. “When are you leaving?”
“Soon.”
“Stay,” you said again and he shook his head. “If you won’t stay…kiss me.”
“I…”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fair.”
“No…but I want it,” you said and it felt rash, like a bad choice but Driver complied, dipping his head down and capturing your lips in a kiss that was barely there.
You grabbed the back of his neck with both hands to deepen it and he complied, kissing you harder as you hooked your legs around his midsection and pulled him closer, swaying in the cool water of that lake. You had a sneaking suspicion you were never going to see him again, that he was going to drive out of that town like he was destined to and leave you to wonder what could have been. But you had that moment, that small piece of something more and rested your head on his chest after he pulled back, staying in that water until his legs began to shake, they were so cold. You moved back to the blanket and Driver pulled the letter out of the pocket of the Yankees jacket you gave him, draping the fabric across your shoulders and nodding for you to break the seal and see what your fate was.
“Are you sure?”
“Come on, drive off.”
“Very funny,” you muttered and he smiled, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and leaning back as you followed, practically laying on his chest as you pulled open the letter. “Alrighty…God…”
“Would you like me?”
“A stranger I just met…sure.”
“Here we go,” he said and grabbed the letter, skimming it with the world's greatest poker face as you bit your lip. “Alright…”
“And…”
“Well…” he began and read out your full name, a smile on his face. “We here at North Carolina State University would like to congratulate you on acceptance into the professional development program for teachers this coming fall semester. Please register for classes no later than August and we’ll be happy to see you in September.”
“Well then.”
“I guess you’ll have to move to North Carolina,” he said and you nodded.
“I guess I will.”
“Maybe I’ll go to Raleigh one day.”
“Maybe I’ll go to New York,” you said and he chuckled, remembering the suggestion. “We’ll run into each other and before you even speak, I’ll remember your name.”
“Maybe,” he agreed and you closed your eyes, drifting off to the sound of his heartbeat and wishing the day wouldn’t end.
New York, Somewhere
Driver left.
During the night he got up and left, getting in his car and never looking back and you woke up to an empty apartment like he was never even there, only a blood stained jacket in his wake. He also left a note of encouragement to go and see your dreams come true and you took it to heart, selling the apartment, telling Janet to screw off and getting in your car and never looking back, making sure to wash that jacket before you left. It became a staple piece of your wardrobe all through the two years of school, a reminder of someone you helped when he finally decided to stop and hoped that he’d found somewhere safe. You had no way of contacting him, he didn’t leave a number on that note and you assumed a guy like him didn’t carry a phone. He was an enigma that you had spent the last 4 years looking over your shoulder for when you spent less than 14 hours together.
But it felt like more and you sighed, paying for the coffee you bought and heading out into the city since you were even crazy enough to move to New York, getting a job at a private high school and a small apartment with no neon lights shining through the windows. You even still wore his coat, bundled in the one thing besides encouragement that he left behind and sipped the latte in hand, holding the cup for warmth since that April was chilly.
“Did you drop this?”
“Probably not,” you said and turned, not interested in whatever the guy was pulling when your eyes widened and you spotted him standing there, dressed in that black Yankees jacket like nothing had changed. “Driver.”
“You remembered.”
“I said I would,” you told him and placed the coffee on the edge of a trash bin before wrapping him in a tight hug as the guy picked you up. “You made it.”
“I’ve been here a few years.”
“Still driving?”
“Always,” he assured and you chuckled. “But for better people. A good company and I got this tiny place with a view of some trees. Spend most of my time at a garage, fixing up cars, was always what I enjoyed.”
“Those men never came looking?”
“They gave up. Maybe I could have stayed.”
“I couldn’t,” you admitted and he nodded, grinning. “I also stole your coat.”
“It looks better on you.”
“I think so too,” you shot back and he chuckled. “We should catch up, it’s been a while, I have a lot to say, a lot to discuss and…”
“We should,” he agreed and placed a hand on your shoulder. “Are you free now?”
“Why?” you asked and he smiled before digging into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulling out a set of keys.
“Care for a drive?”
The ending is a bit ambiguous haha but I like to think it worked out, maybe even one day he went back and told Irene he lived. But for now...picture you and him, driving into the sunset. Also expect more for Ryan and his cast of characters who I adore....a massive Holland March fic is next!!
Summary: Driver takes you out to his favorite spot - you just happen to give him another reason as to why it's his favorite.
Word Count: 4.2K
Warnings: NSFW, SMUT (18+ ONLY PLEASE), p in v, unprotected sex (DON'T DO THIS. WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT.), praise kink, size kink, lots of pining, fucking in a car but not in public, some cockwarming at the end, swearing, little overstimulation, little fluff, Driver thinks sundresses are hot, let me know if I missed anything<3
A/N: Please only interact if you are 18+! Blank/empty blogs and blogs with no ages will be blocked! Just because I wrote this does not mean I will write more smut, this is just an itch my brain needed to write! Sooooo I wrote this in almost a day because the horny hit so hard. I guess I write smut now? - Birch<3
Please proceed with caution!!! NSFW BELOW THE CUT!!!
The afternoon is peaceful. The wind from your rolled-down window toys with the ends of your hair, whipping them around playfully. The air is warm and refreshing, the sun is shining its rays onto your lap, and your right arm is hanging out the side of the car.
Your left hand sits in your lap, fingers smoothing out the fabric of your light sundress. There's a song spilling out of the radio - it had taken you a long time to convince Driver that music is just as good as listening to his favorite ball games.
The blonde-haired mechanic sits in the driver's seat right next to you, a toothpick hanging from his mouth. He's guiding the 1973 Chevy Malibu down the two-lane road - not another vehicle in sight.
The wind is playing with his short blonde locks, too. They brush over his forehead, lining the sharpness of his crystal blue gaze. There's a softness to them, though, a smile on his lips that crinkles the corners of his eyes. He's happy.
Your gaze is fixed on the trees whipping past your open window, taking in the natural view that lies away from the city. The bright greens of the trees are laced with a pleasant, yellow glow from the sun's rays, and for a moment, you think the angle of the light has shifted as warmth settles on your left thigh.
But when Driver eases the car around a winding bend in the road and the light shifts - the warmth doesn't disappear. Confusion draws your brows into a soft frown, and you look over at him with curiosity. There, you can see his right arm extended, his palm settled over the fabric on your left thigh.
Butterflies start fluttering low in your belly at the tender touch, the warmth seeping from his hand making your toes curl. Driver had that effect on you, the bastard. Then, like he had done it every day of his life, Driver's fingers gently start gathering the fabric of your dress upwards.
The long digits inch the material together, hiking the hem of your dress up the length of your thigh so he can rub circles onto the soft skin there. The touch - fairly innocent in nature - has your thighs shifting together and a heat beginning to trill throughout your body. Chills shoot up your spine at the softness of his touch, your nerves tingling with anticipation.
Painfully, Driver is none the wiser, his eyes still set on the road, the soft smile still tugging on the corner of his mouth. Or at least that's what he wanted you to think.
Slowly but surely, Driver's fingers nonchalantly circle higher and higher up your thigh. Each brush of his thumb on the sensitive skin has goosebumps spreading across your arms and your heart fluttering in your chest. Deep down, you are trying to decide if he knew what he was doing, or if he was just that absentmindedly happy for once.
Either way, you weren't going to complain.
Just when you think his hand can't get any closer to your core, he pulls his hand away to downshift the Chevy, pulling off to the side of the road. To his spot. The paved road turns to gravel, the rocks crunching and popping under the tires as he eases it down the narrow path.
Your thighs clamp together helplessly, the constant friction and touch from Driver now gone. You squirm a little in your seat, uncomfortable with the ache building between your thighs and the feeling of your sundress brushing against your pebbled nipples. Damn Driver.
The blonde-haired mechanic slowly glances at you out of the corner of his eye, and then he murmurs, "You alright, love?" His voice is rough and smooth all at once - it's gritty from not speaking for a while, but it has that rich timbre, like honey oozing from a beehive.
And it goes straight to your cunt.
You can't help but clamp down around nothing, rapidly crossing your thighs before twisting your head to look at Driver. You clear your throat before stuttering out, "H-huh? Yeah, I'm alright, we're almost there, right?"
Trying to distract yourself, you motion toward the front of the vehicle, where you can see the faint twinkle of water up ahead. When Driver's gaze follows your movement, he nods once in response. The creek sits fairly shallow as you and Driver get closer to it, with the clear water trickling over rocks making pleasant background noise.
Driver maneuvers the Chevy right up to the water's edge, carefully putting it in park but not shutting the engine off. The blonde sets his gaze on you again, disbelieving in your hasty words. His blue eyes flit over your face, a bead of sweat just starting to form on your temple.
His gaze wanders lower to your mouth - your pretty lips are parted slightly, your breath shakily slipping in and out. He follows the curve of your lips before dipping to your throat. There, he can see the way you swallow every few seconds. Nervous. Anticipating.
The blonde-haired mechanic isn't done, though. His blue gaze trails down your neck to your delicate collarbones, taking their time to appreciate the swell of your chest rapidly rising and falling. Skirting down your torso to your hips, now unbuckled from the seat, he can see your hands digging into the meat of your thighs.
The skin he had been caressing minutes ago remains revealed for his viewing pleasure, your fingers dug into the pliable flesh. Immediately, it all clicks into place for him. But he's not going to let it get to his head.
Instead, the mechanic waits. He had incredible patience and knew that you would give in eventually. Besides, all he did was touch your skin, right?
He can't lie, he is craving you just as much as you are craving him. He hadn't gotten to whisk you away from the city in so long, and then you climbed into his car wearing that dress? He was ruined.
He had wanted to cut the engine the second you shut your door, lean over, and kiss you hard on the mouth. He wanted to convince you to stay home, let him treat you right in the comfort of your apartment, but he didn't.
No, he just offered you a sweet greeting, put the car in drive, and took off down the road. Then, he just gently rested his palm on your thigh and let his mind wander as he drove.
Both of you sit still as statues now, looking out over the dashboard of the Chevy to the water in front of you. The engine purrs low, almost inaudible for how accustomed to it you've become. It blends in with the water crackling in front of you and the birds singing their songs in the tree tops high above.
With the windows rolled down, the breeze rustling the trees floats by, bringing with it the smell of the creekbed and the sweet aroma from where flowers are growing on the bank.
That, and Driver can smell your arousal from his spot in the driver's seat. The wind is picking up the hem of your sundress and fiddling with it, and from the edges of his vision, Driver can see the pretty light pink shade of your panties.
It makes his dick twitch in his jeans, knowing that you are mere inches away, just as turned on as he is. Driver wants to cough, to clear his throat and force his mind somewhere else, but he just can't.
And neither can you. You are practically vibrating with want. You can feel Driver's eyes fluttering over you, watching you carefully. You already felt warm from his touch, but now with his gaze on you - it's almost too much to bear.
You shuffle again, uncrossing your legs just as the breeze picks up again, toying with the hem of your dress. The air cools as it swirls into the car, and when it hits the damp spot on your panties, you can't help the quiet gasp that falls from your lips.
Ashamed at the noise, you steadily glance at Driver from the corner of your eye, and he's just simply watching you. His gaze grows darker when he catches your (colored) one, and he swallows thickly as his Adam's apple bobs up and down.
There is a silent plea to your gaze, an unmistakable one. Please fuck me. The blonde watches you for a second, debating on letting you go a little longer without relief, but then he slowly moves his hand from the steering wheel and sets it on his lap.
His palm accidentally brushes the tent forming in the crotch of his jeans, and a hiss crawls up the back of his throat as he glances down at it. You follow his gaze downwards, soon taking in the thick bulge that now sits between Driver and the steering wheel.
Slowly, Driver looks up to meet your gaze again. You can see pink curling up his neck and dusting the tops of his ears, but he doesn't say anything. He just raises an eyebrow at you as his gaze grows dark again.
Now, it's your turn to swallow thickly as you look him over. His short blonde locks fall delicately onto his forehead, his own sheen of sweat making his skin glisten. There's a white t-shirt wrapped around his torso, clinging to his thick biceps and lean abdomen.
The hem of his shirt bunches at his belt, which is cinched around his trim waist to hold up the dark wash jeans he's got on. The dark wash jeans that are sporting his hard-on. And then he's looking at you with those eyes... Those deep blue, mesmerizing eyes.
A soft blink at you is all that it takes for your resolve to crumble. You shuffle to face him, crawling up into your seat, kicking your shoes off to sit on the floor. Driver's lip begins to curl upwards when he sees the defeat in your eyes, and he reaches down next to him to fumble with the seat position.
He quickly slides the seat back the entire way from the steering wheel, and then watches you as he slowly lowers the angle of the seat. He was making more room for you.
When Driver's seat stops moving, you take a moment for a deep breath, and then you unsteadily climb over the center console. The blonde-haired mechanic's hands are on you the second you move, carefully guiding your body so you don't hurt yourself.
Unconsciously, Driver widens his legs so you have room between his thighs, his feet settling over the pedals on the floor. You fumble slightly as you get situated on his lap, your legs hooking over his and your hands settling on his chest.
Driver's gaze doesn't leave your face as you get comfortable; he takes in the furrow of your brow as your elbow bumps the edge of the window, the way your mouth pulls to the side as your back arches against the steering wheel.
He can't help but watch you.
"You're beautiful," he murmurs as you start to lean closer, his right hand sliding up to cup your jaw and push the hair out of your face. His gentle compliment has the heat coursing through your body sparking as it rushes to cover your cheeks.
You don't know what to say for a moment. Your body is undeniably turned on by the man underneath you, but his words are beyond sweet despite being so simple.
You opt to lean forward, your nose brushing against his as you whisper back shyly, "And so are you." You can feel the way his mouth draws into that smile you love, and then he's closing the distance between the two of you.
Despite the electricity crackling through the air of the car, Driver's mouth captures yours unhurriedly. His mouth is warm, and so, so soft. He slots his mouth over yours as slowly as the water flowing outside, unrushed and carefree.
You follow his easy lead as he kisses you - your right hand slides from his chest to loosely hang around his neck, crawling up to play with the short hair at the base of his nape. The touch has a soft hum falling from Driver's lips, a sound that you hungrily catch in another languid kiss.
Driver's left hand sits on your waist, but dips lower to cup your ass and pull you further onto his crotch. The friction of his tented jeans against your dampened panties has you whining into the kiss - which the blonde-haired mechanic takes full advantage of.
He easily slips his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss with the tilt of his head. Your hand on his chest grabs at the thin material of his white tee in an attempt to ground yourself, but it's fruitless when Driver experimentally rolls his clothed hips up to meet yours.
This time, you can't help the moan that pulls from your mouth, your tongue fighting with Driver's for dominance. His touch and taste are everywhere, and you can't think straight as he floods your senses.
Your response eggs Driver on, his hand slipping even further down your ass to tug on the hem of your dress. You lift yourself up a few inches as Driver pulls the material free from underneath you, but pulls you back down right as he rolls his hips again in search of friction.
"F-fuck," you whine against Driver's mouth, having to pull away from him to catch your breath. He lets you pull back, his blue eyes fluttering open to catch the dazed look on your face. Satisfaction pools deep in his stomach as he catches the way your eyes hang half-open, your mouth parted.
"So good for me," he mumbles as he threads his fingers deeper into your (colored) locks. You lean into his touch, but withdraw your hands from his neck and chest. The blonde-haired mechanic watches you intently, following the way your hands slide down his chest, his abdomen flexing under your touch, and down to the buckle of his belt.
You pause silently at the buckle, your fingers stilling as you blink up at him through your lashes. Driver gives you a silent nod, pulling you forward to crash his lips against yours in another bruisingly slow kiss. You catch his eager mouth with a soft hum, your fingers blindly working over the buckle as your eyes flit closed.
You undo the buckle fairly easily, next fumbling with the button holding his jeans together. Driver softly moans against you when you finally get it to pop open, tugging down the zipper to release some of the pressure in his pants.
The moan of pleasure from Driver spurs you on, your fingers working faster to cup the tent in his boxers while also reaching for the waistband of them. He's the one who pulls back from the kiss this time, panting as he fully leans back against his seat.
Driver's eyes are screwed shut as you tug him out of his boxers, his cock hard to the touch, throbbing with the need for a release. The tip is flushed a pretty pink, the whole length curving slightly to the left with a thick vein running up the underside.
A grunt tears its way out of the blonde mechanic's throat, "Need you, pretty girl." With Driver sitting back against his seat, you wobble a little as you start to lose your balance. You pump his cock in your hand a few times as you coo, "Gotta make you feel good."
At the end of your words, Driver's hands settle on your waist to hold you still as your free hand travels between your two bodies. There, you carefully push your pink panties to the side, your fingers easily gliding through your slick folds.
An unashamed moan falls from your mouth at the simple touch, your hips rolling forward at the slight friction. Driver patiently waits for you, his eyes opening as he watches the way your sundress bunches around your waist.
He swears he could cum just by looking at you - holding his cock in your hand, pushing your panties to the side, and locking your eyes on him as you sink yourself lower and lower until your bodies make contact. Driver hisses when his dick hits the wet warmth of your pussy, the tip sensitive as he unknowingly ruts against you.
It makes your job a little harder as you guide into your entrance, but it also makes it a lot hotter knowing he needs you that badly. Then slowly, you sink down onto him, a gasp catching in the back of your throat at the protrusion.
Driver grunts in time with you, your pussy firmly wrapping itself around the head of his cock. Slowly, he rolls his hips forward to carefully inch you further and further down his length, his hands resting on your waist tugging you closer to him.
You whimper at the burn that pulses through your core - Driver was no small feat to take in. Driver immediately hones in on the cry in your voice, pushing past the pleasure he was feeling to gently probe, "You're doing so good taking me like this, love."
Your thighs want to ache at the position, but Driver rolling his hips up distracts you, another whine curling up your throat. You shake your head slightly as you mumble dejectedly, "It's not all gonna fit like this."
The blonde mechanic can't help the way his ego swells with you sitting so prettily on his lap, pussy clamped around his dick, unable to take it all. One of Driver's hands slips from your waist to cup your jaw, his thumb gently rubbing over your cheek as he waits for you to look at him.
When your disheartened gaze lands on his, he smiles. Then, he murmurs, "You can take it." In his blue eyes, you can see nothing but honesty - it's not fueled by untamed want or desire, although you can tell he wants you. He knows that you can take all of him.
Driver's earnestness has you clamping down around him, and the two of you groan in sync at the feeling. He manages to hiss through gritted teeth, "Sweetheart, you're gonna have to relax." You force yourself to take a deep breath, and then you grumble, "I'm trying."
He can tell you're a little upset, so he pulls another trick out of his sleeve. He brushes the hair out of your face before he lets go of your chin, leaning forward to press a chaste peck to your pouty lips. Then, his hand is snaking between your bodies to find just what he wants.
His long, warm fingers ease their way through your folds, circling gently until they find your clit. Driver knows he's found it by the way your pussy releases it's vice-like clamp around his dick and your jaw drops slack in pleasure.
"That's my girl," he praises you quietly, his fingers continuing their slow pace over your clit as he rolls his hips to further seat you on his cock. Almost immediately, your body wants to tense up, but you force it to relax under Driver's ministrations.
His fingers, despite moving slowly, have a coil in your stomach growing tighter and tighter. The blonde-haired mechanic senses this and slows his fingers down as he finishes nestling his hips against yours.
You whine at the loss of friction, the fire burning low in your belly dimming to a simmer as you lock eyes onto Driver. His gaze is firmly set on your face, watching the way your features twist at the loss of pleasure. He smiles lightly when that pout returns to your lips, and then he hums, "Look at you."
You glance down at his instruction, immediately noting you are fully seated on his cock. A shiver of excitement shoots up your spine, your pussy clenching down around him in turn. You can feel the way he twitches deep inside of you, and you hesitantly roll your hips to test if you've adjusted to his girth.
Driver grunts lowly again as your hips grind against his, still fully sheathed inside of you. His eyes threaten to snap closed, but he manages to keep them open as he pleads, "I'm not gonna last with you sitting on me, love."
At his words, you feel a warm pulse of precum leak from his tip, and you force yourself to relax one more time before ushering, "'m good now. Just wanna make you feel good." You try rolling your hips again, and despite the aching burn still stretching your cunt open, it's managable.
With a thrill of excitement washing over you again, you brace your hands on Driver's chest. Then, you carefully start rising up and down the length of his cock - the slick from your folds and his precum mixing to act as lubrication.
The blonde mechanic watches where your two bodies are joined together, a milky ring just beginning to form at the base of his cock. Your mouth hangs open as pleasure takes over the burning pain, whimpers fading into moans as you feel every ridge of Driver's cock drill up into you.
He begins thrusting in time with you riding him, rolling his hips to slam up against yours as his hands hold you in place. A particularly harsh thrust has you moaning his name, and Driver almost cums right then and there.
The pace isn't fast - it's deliberate. Driver's cock has you stretched to the absolute limit, his dark blonde, wiry pubic hair grazing your sensitive clit. It has the coil curling tighter and tighter in your stomach, and your movements start to become sloppy as you tiredly chase towards your release.
"I'm- I'm close," you stutter out as one of your hands slips from his chest to grab at your breast, fingers harshly kneading at the soft, clothed mound. Driver groans at the sight of you getting yourself off on him, his hips stuttering as your pussy clamps down around him.
"Me too," he manages to pant as he wills himself to hold out a little longer. His cock aches to release, but he wants you to cum first. You always need to cum first.
Driver's back arches off the back of his seat as he ruts his hips up against yours, and you yelp out, "D-Driver, fuck-" your voice catching as you feel the coil in your lower stomach ready to snap.
"Cum for me," he grunts out, bucking his hips up sporadically so his cock brushes against your cervix. Just as you feel him reach the deepest point in your cunt - you clamp down around him, your vision fading to black at the edges as you orgasm.
A broken moan of the blonde mechanic's name falls from your lips as pleasure crashes over you. Your nerves sing with delight as endorphins flood your body, making your toes curl and your back arch.
With the increased pressure on his cock, Driver's hips stutter one last time as your orgasm pushes him off the edge toward his own. He can't help the way his leg kicks out as thick ropes of his cum start to fill you up, his foot slamming down on the throttle to rev the Chevy Malibu's rebuilt engine.
Driver swears he's in heaven as he hears his car purr underneath him, his cock twitching deep in your cunt as he lazily thrusts his seed up into you. A whimper of your name crackles through his throat as his cock grows sensitive in the warmth of your pussy, and you hiss in response at the sharp shoots of overstimulation.
"'m so full," you slur tiredly, your hands rubbing over the white t-shirt clinging ever more desperately to Driver's chest. The words stroke Driver's ego just a little, and he rubs his hands up and down your hips to soothe the skin he knows he likely bruised.
"You took me so well," he praises you lightly as he rocks you forward on his lap, still seated inside you. With his cock softening, you whimper as he brushes your sensitive clit. Slowly, he tugs you down onto his chest, his feet releasing from the pedals of the Chevy.
Shyly coming back to your senses, you tuck your head into his neck as his hands slide up your back soothingly. He can't help but chuckle when you don't respond, heat dusting your cheekbones as you ride out the wave of endorphins floating through you.
"You were perfect," he mumbles in your ear before going quiet, holding you close to his chest as the sound of the creek trickling washes back over the two of you. The smell of sex hangs in the air of the car, even as the breeze rustles through with the sound of the birds singing.
With your cunt stuffed full of Driver's seed and soft, twitching cock, you can't help but sigh, content. The blonde haired mechanic may have started the whole thing, but damn, he did know how to finish it.
I don’t have twitter so my trusty pal @heresthestorymorningglory took one for the team and described the content to me (WARNING if you follow the link it is NSFW and may require headphones!). It reminded us of the first Driver fic she wrote which is delicious (you can find it here). And in answer to your ask dear anon,
Imagine wearing only Driver’s jacket in the passenger seat ∘₊✧
Driver never takes long to rest a hand at your thigh when you reach the deserted bit of road you’ve made a habit of frequenting.
His breath hitches. Even through the conditioned leather he can feel the silky warmth of bare skin. You’re wearing nothing below the waist. He smirks.
You’d snuck so quickly into his car in the pitch dark, his eyes distracted by your upper body clad in his beloved scorpion jacket, shining in the dim glow of the courtesy light, that he hadn’t thought to check the rest of you out.
He wonders if you’re wearing anything under the jacket, whether your soft flesh is rubbing up against the lining each time you take a breath, silk dragging deliciously over your hardened nipples and sending shivers running through your sensitive body.
He wonders if it will still smell like you tonight when he’s alone again.
He knows you like his gloves, like it even better when he fucks you on them, rocking his fingers in and out with calculating precision. Your reactions drive him wild, your scent on his gloves makes him dizzy. He never imagined how much he would like his own jacket on you, though. His cock twitches.
Foot pressed firmly to the accelerator, the hand at your thigh doesn’t grip you, digging fingers deep into flesh to tease as he normally would. Instead it darts between your closed legs, dipping immediately into your slick folds and curling up inside your entrance. God, you’re so wet already. He feels his cock leak against the denim.
He shudders as your legs drop apart for him, spread out, dripping onto the passenger seat, breath heavy and laced with quiet moans. He nestles the heel of his palm against your heat, each thrust of his fingers inside you dragging leather over your clit in turn. It’s a rhythm that feels fucking incredible, but isn’t enough to tip you over the edge yet, and he knows it.
You grab at his wrist, rolling your hips to meet his movements.
His blood is boiling, pounding in his ears, mingling with your moans. He needs to bury himself inside you or he might lose control. He needs to stay inside you forever, in fact. Warm and wet and safe.
Summary: You decide to walk home from a friend’s apartment that’s only a few blocks away from yours late at night. When a group of men try to corner and grab you, your hot new neighbor shows up to save you.
Warnings: fighting, reader being grabbed by a group of men (she’s saved before anything happens, but the thought that it could’ve been bad is implied), blood.
Word Count: 2.6k
A/N: If you haven’t seen Ryan Gosling in the movie Drive yet....you need to. I don’t know how much of a fandom he has, but it should be bigger than what it is. Especially since I already have a ideas to make a few parts to this Hot Neighbor series. Thank you to @truesblue for being my beta (and damn near co-writer for helping add details and make changes) I hope you all enjoy this! <3
You pulled your jacket tighter around your body as you walked against the chill of the night. You should’ve left your friend’s apartment hours ago, but one drink turned into another, and sharing a few stories turned into endless conversations above the rim of your glass. Before you knew it, it was past midnight and you really needed to get home. The short walk during the daylight had been pleasant, as your own apartment was only a few blocks away, but now that the sun had dipped beneath the horizon you regretted that decision. Your friend offered for you to sleep on their couch, which you declined, as you had an appointment the next day and you’d rather be in your own bed. But the moment you stepped out onto the sidewalk you felt a bad feeling growing in the pit of your stomach. You tried shaking it off, convincing yourself you were just being paranoid.
There were hardly any lights on your walk back home, with most businesses being closed for the day, and only the harsh yellows of a few street lamps to illuminate your path. You stayed alert, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious that you may need to run from. That’s when you saw them. A group of about three men, standing in a circle, smoking, straight ahead. Shit, you thought. You’d have to walk right past them to get to your street. Clenching your phone tightly in your left hand and moving your keys to slide between your fingers as a make-shift weapon in your right, you took a deep breath and kept walking. Maybe if you walked by quick enough with a purpose, they wouldn’t bother you. Oh, how wrong you were.
You weren’t more than ten feet away when one of their voices broke through the silence of the night. “Hey, baby, where are you headed?”
You faltered slightly in your step, heart now hammering in your chest. “Headed home.” You called back in an emotionless tone, or at least you tried to. You hoped they couldn’t hear the quiver of fear in your voice. The smell of their cigarette smoke reached you, making your nose scrunch in disgust. Your fingers flexed around your keys as you grew nearer to their little group.
“Why don’t you come home with us, instead?” Another piped up, blowing out smoke through his nose.
You shook your head, “No, thank you. Got work in the morning.” The lie rolled off of your tongue easily. By now you were passing right in front of them, your pace quickening to make the turn onto your street.
“Aww, baby, don’t be like that.” The first man spoke up again, reaching out to grab your arm as you walked past. He was much taller than you, actually, all three of them were, and his grip was rough.
“Hey, let go of me!” You shouted, trying and failing to yank your arm away from his grasp. Your make-shift weapon of keys was no help, as he held you by your right forearm. All you could do was struggle against the nails digging into the fabric of your jacket, and panic was beginning to set in.
You heard a familiar roar of an engine coming down the street and turned your head towards the noise. The first man took your momentary lack of attention to his advantage, and pulled you in closer to his chest. Whipping your head back around to face him, you brought your knee up into his crotch. When he was bent over, hollering in pain, you shoved him away from you. Unfortunately, the third man was too quick. Grabbing you before you could make a run for it. He pulled both of your arms behind your back as the first man approached, his finger pointed directly at your face. You truly pissed them off now. “You bitch! You’re gonna regret that!”
You tried with all of your might to break free from the third man’s grasp, but it was no use. The first man’s hand wrapped around your throat, cutting off your ability to breathe. Not even a second later, you hear the familiar car come to a screeching halt behind you followed by a door opening and slamming shut.
“Hey, get off of her!” An angry voice shouts and then the hand around your throat is gone. You blink a few times to clear your vision, and you catch the figure of your hot neighbor throwing punches left and right. So that’s why you recognized the engine of the car. The third man let go of you to help his friend, so you stood there silently in shock, watching the scene unfold in front of you.
You didn’t know your neighbor all that well. He was new, and you’ve only had a few conversations with him. Mostly in the elevator, when he was kind enough to ask what floor you were headed to–just to find out it was the same floor he was. Then you’d greet each other in passing, comment on the weather, and even share a few flirtatious compliments. But, he had never introduced himself to you, therefore you were forced to give him a nickname in your head. He was tall, lanky, but muscular, and had the prettiest blue eyes. It was safe to say that you found him attractive, and that was when the lame nickname of hot neighbor was born. Your friend teased you mercilessly over your choice when you told her about him earlier, but when you didn’t know much else about the man, it was all you really had.
Hot neighbor had the first man knocked out on the ground with just a few punches, but then he had to go up against the other two. You let out a gasp as he was tackled to the asphalt, the third man landing a few blows to his face before he was able to get the upper hand. You watched as your neighbor pinned the third man to the ground just as he had been moments before, his fist connecting with the man’s face over and over again. You were sure the man had been knocked out a few blows ago, but your neighbor didn’t stop. The second man had been hovering around, trying to get the first to wake up–but was unsuccessful. When he realized how bad of a beating the third man was receiving, he hightailed it out of there.
Hot neighbor’s head turned towards the sound of the second man running away, and he moved to stand. The street lamp didn’t cover too much of the area you were standing in, and you were thankful for that, because you were certain you didn’t want to see the man’s face that your neighbor had just been bashing in.
“Are you okay?” He asked softly, slowly approaching you.
You nodded, “Y-yeah, are you?” You questioned, taking in his appearance as he stepped closer. His nose was bleeding, his lip was busted, and he had a laceration above his brow. Yeah, if that’s what he looked like with just a few blows, you didn’t want to know what the other guy looked like. If those men hadn’t been getting what they deserved, you’d probably be a bit afraid of the brute force he had just shown.
Your neighbor stared at you for a moment with his hand pinching the bridge of his nose to stem the bleeding, only answering your question with a quick nod. He then turned his attention towards his car, which was still running. “Can I drive you the rest of the way home?”
“Please,” you respond with a nod. He moves to open the passenger side door for you, waiting until you’re seated before he shuts it and walks around to the driver side. As he shifts into first gear and pulls away from the curb, you let out a sigh of relief. It was warmer inside of his car than it had been outside, and you felt safe with your neighbor sitting beside you–even if you still didn’t know his name.
The ride to the parking garage beneath your apartment building was short and filled with silence. You figured the both of you probably needed that time to process what had just happened–or at least you certainly did. Once his car was in park, you opened the door and climbed out. As you walked to the elevator, he was by your side every step of the way, his head turning at every sound as if he was on high alert. The fact that he was looking out for you, making sure that you were safe even now, had warm feelings stirring in your chest.
The elevator dinged as it reached the ground floor, the doors opening to welcome you both inside. Hot neighbor was the one to push the fourth floor button, and you took that moment to eye him over in the light. You had seen him dirty before–he worked as a mechanic and you’d run into each other after he’d gotten off work–but to see his face covered in blood was different. Him covered in oil and sweat after a hard day’s work was attractive, a look that may or may not have appeared in your fantasies. But this provoked a new feeling within you, one that made you want to take care of him.
You hadn’t realized how long you had been staring at him until he turned his head to meet your gaze. “Why don’t you come over to my apartment so I can patch you up?” You suggested.
He shook his head, breaking eye contact to stare at the elevator doors. “You don’t have to. I’ll be fine.”
Now it was your turn to shake your head. “No, I want to. It’s the least I could do to thank you. If you hadn’t…” You paused, swallowing thickly. “I don’t want to think about what could’ve happened.”
You watched as he clenched his jaw, a look of anger flashing across his face for a second as he seemed to think about what could’ve happened to you. Once his expression had shifted back to neutral, he nodded. “Okay.” He finally agreed, just in time for the elevator doors to click open onto your shared floor. Satisfied with his answer, you led the way to your apartment door–right across from his–and slid your key into the lock. With a quick twist, you pushed open the door and entered the space you called home.
You gestured towards the kitchen as you set your keys down onto a table. “Help yourself to a drink from the fridge, I’m gonna go grab the first aid kit.” You didn’t wait to see if he listened, but the sound of his footsteps on the tiled floor let you know that he had. Entering your bathroom, you crouched down to open the cabinets beneath the sink. You rummaged around for a few moments before finding the kit, grabbing the rubbing alcohol and a few wash cloths before heading back to the kitchen.
Your neighbor was drinking from a bottle of water when you returned, leaning against the counter. You sat everything down on the kitchen table, kicking a chair out from under it. “Sit,” you ordered gently, pointing towards the chair. As he screwed the cap back onto the bottle you caught a glimpse of his hand. His knuckles were already beginning to turn into shades of purple, and a few were split open. You moved to the sink as he complied with your command, dropping down into the seat without a word. After soaking one of the washcloths with warm water to clean his face with, you turned towards the freezer. Luckily, there was still a bag of frozen peas hidden behind a container of lasagna that had seen better days. He didn’t protest when you reached for the injured hand in his lap, gently guiding him to rest it on the table and placing the peas on top to ease the swelling. He did, however, let out a grunt from the contact to his bruised knuckles.
“If you think that hurts, just wait until I clean this cut,” you teased softly, gently wiping away the dried blood that trailed down his temple from the cut above his brow. The corner of his lips curled up into a smile as he breathed a short laugh through his nose in response. As you moved to wipe the blood that had gathered above his cupid’s bow, your fingertips pressed underneath his chin, coaxing him to tilt his head back so that you’d have a better angle. You could see that he was staring up at you with a look that had butterflies swarming in your stomach, but you refused to meet his gaze as you focused on your task. He hadn’t spoken a word since he agreed to come to your apartment, and it was clear to you that he wasn’t used to being taken care of, but everything felt…oddly comfortable.
You saved wiping the blood from his busted lip for last, as it had bled the least. He looked a lot better now that his face was clean, a warm smile spreading across your face as you finally met his eyes. “That’s much better,” you began as you sat the dirty cloth on the table, “but I’m not done.” You continued, reaching for the bottle of rubbing alcohol and a new washcloth, wetting it with the antiseptic. You dabbed carefully at the cut above his brow, but he still hissed in response. You murmured out an apology, trading the cloth in your hand for a bandage that you applied to his wound.
You took a step away from him as you finally finished. “All done,” you announced.
He gave you another smile, glancing up at you before dropping his gaze to the floor. “Thank you,” he murmured after a quiet moment.
“Anytime,” you responded with a nod, beginning to clean up the mess you had made on the table.
Your neighbor hadn’t moved an inch as you busied yourself with tossing the bloody washcloths into the trash. He did, however, look at you curiously before asking a question he must’ve been pondering all night. “What were you doing walking home so late?”
You turned your attention back to him upon hearing his question. You sucked in a deep breath, your shoulders slumping, “I walked over to my friend’s place earlier, and I stayed far too long. It wasn’t that far of a walk…I thought I’d be okay.” You explained softly.
Your neighbor nodded slowly, taking in your response. He was quiet for another moment before finally speaking. “Well, next time….you should call me. I’ll come get you.” He offered.
Your heart leaped in your chest, a small smile pulling at your lips. “Okay,” you agreed. You pulled your phone from your back pocket and let him rattle off his number to you. It was saved under the contact of hot neighbor.
He then moved to stand, glancing around your apartment for a moment. “I should go.”
You nod, “Have a good night—and thank you, again.” Your last words were spoken sincerely. You weren’t sure how many times you had thanked him tonight, but in your eyes it would never be enough.
He nodded in response before walking across the room to reach your front door. He turned his head to give you one last look before opening it and stepping out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him. You stared at the door longingly for a few moments, the sudden anxious feeling of being alone washing over you. Gathering up the rest of the supplies used to patch your neighbor up, you head off to the bathroom to put them away and get yourself ready for bed. After the whirlwind of a night you’d had, you could use a good night’s sleep.
Summary: Colt's accident was hard to deal with. He shut everyone out and blamed himself. Especially his partner. When it gets to be too much, Driver is there to take care of him.
Word Count: 2.4K
Warnings: NSFW, SMUT (18+ ONLY PLEASE), handjob, praise, very slight overstimulation, slight dacryphilia, otherwise lots of angst, pining, sadness, and a smidge of fluff but lots of comfort.
A/N: Peep the new dividers! Also... I wrote this? I've never written character x character and I don't know if I will again, but I wanted to give it a try! I adore both Colt and Driver and I think they make so much sense. Please enjoy! - Birch<3
Please proceed with caution!!! NSFW BELOW THE CUT!!!
"I think you need to soak your back," the words fall from Driver's mouth with a quiet definitiveness. He's staring at Colt from across the stuntman's bedroom, his blue eyes narrowed with a silent determination. Colt stares back, his usually bright expression dulled with a melancholy emotion.
It had only been a few months since the worst day of Colt's life. The sound of his back breaking, the scream tearing from his throat, and the pain that followed were scorched into the stuntman's mind forever.
Colt had closed himself off from everyone after that day.
No visitors at the hospital. No family. No friends. No coworkers. No Driver. Colt wasn't sure what he had with the mechanic or where they had stood before the accident. They'd started fooling around a few months into filming a project together, but that's what it was.
Fooling around.
But it wasn't, and Colt knew that. Driver knew that. It was never just fooling around. The stuntmen cared for each other. Neither could say the three words that every relationship dreaded, but they didn't need to.
Not when Driver showed up to the hospital every day after Colt was hauled away from that set in an ambulance, throwing him a thumbs up with his neck stabilized in a brace. Colt wouldn't let him up to his room. Wouldn't let him in.
It had been a tense few weeks after his admission to the hospital. Colt was pissed. The nurses knew no visitors meant no visitors. Their patient wouldn't talk. Would barely eat. He would sit in his bed, seething.
It took Colt's doctors telling him he would have irreversible damage if he didn't get up and move for his perspective to shift. Only then did he listen. Barely.
And every day, Driver stopped at the front desk, asking for Colt. The receptionists knew his face by the second week after the accident. He didn't even have to say anything - the workers would just shake their heads left and right. No visitation today.
So Driver would sit in the waiting room, his gloved hands fiddling in quiet but anxious thought for the whole day until visiting hours were over. Because maybe, just maybe, Colt would change his mind one day.
And it happened. 2 months after the accident.
Colt had a lapse in judgment, as he called it. When the nurse stopped by his door to ask if he wanted to let a visitor up, he almost reflexively said no. But he paused. Who could be so dedicated to coming to see him every day for almost 2 months?
When the blonde mechanic walked through the door, Colt almost asked the nurse to have him leave. But he didn't. He didn't say anything to Driver. Driver didn't say anything to Colt.
They sat in silence for over a week.
Then, Driver spoke. He got no response. It stayed like that for another week. Driver didn't know what to say. What to do. What could he do? The brightest ray of sunshine in his life was dulled into an angry storm cloud, with winds blowing fast to keep everyone away.
A grunt was the first noise Colt made toward Driver. In reference to the weather, Driver thinks. It didn't really matter to him - all that mattered was that Colt answered him. Then, day by day, visit by visit, Colt spoke. The storm clouds lessened, and the wind stopped blowing as fiercely.
It had been a long and hard road for Colt to allow Driver back into his life, and now, at this point in his recovery, he got to go home. While he had been initially reluctant to interact with Driver post-fall, Colt was thankful the mechanic had silently pestered him and stuck by his side.
"I think a shower would be better," Colt grumbles, running a hand over his blonde locks. His hair was longer than it had ever been, but Driver didn't push him to cut it. Reclaiming himself was the thought process.
The blonde-haired mechanic frowns silently, his expression pulling downward. "A bath will be better. You need the long heat exposure," he reasons. "You need to relax, Colt. That's the only way to heal."
Driver's words ring with truth, and Colt knows it. And he knows he's been beaten. But Colt doesn't think he can do it alone. He takes a deep breath and nods, "Okay, you're right." A few moments pass between the stuntmen, and then Colt whispers pleadingly, "Join me?"
To say the least, it surprises Driver. Colt had been very adamant about cleaning himself alone for the past few weeks. This was the first time he wanted anyone to be with him while he was so vulnerable. Stripped bare. And not just of his clothes.
"Of course," is Driver's quick response. He doesn't even have to think about it. He crosses the room in a few strides, silently gesturing toward the bathroom with his chin. "After you."
The two work in silence, getting the bathroom put together. Colt runs water into the tub, stripping himself bare before slipping in, unable to meet Driver's gaze. The blonde mechanic, on the other hand, grabs a pair of clothes for each of them, setting them on the counter before following in Colt's footsteps.
Driver stands bare next to the bath for a moment, waiting for Colt to acknowledge him. He knows not to push. Not to rush him. Colt had leaned forward to fiddle with the water temperature, glancing out of the corner of his eye to see Driver.
"Sorry," Colt murmurs, slipping forward, leaving a large gap behind him. His cheeks are a little flushed as he offers, "Hold me?" Driver dips his chin in response before moving to the edge of the tub. He slides in behind Colt, using his grip on the lip of the tub to gently lower himself in behind the larger stuntman.
"Is this okay?" Driver asks quietly, parting his legs so that Colt can slot in between them. Colt hums in thought, turning the steaming hot water off before slowly leaning back. Driver catches sight of the angry red line near the bottom of Colt's spine, and he swallows thickly, tearing his eyes away from it.
Colt nods once as a groan falls from his lips, slowly but surely guiding himself to lean against Driver's bare chest, "Y-yeah." It's followed by a hiss, and Driver can't help the way his hands slip into the water, grasping at Colt's waist to steady him.
The larger stuntman shivers at the feeling of Driver's hands, but he does nothing to stop him. If anything, the touch is something he's needed but hasn't allowed himself to ask for. He had kept Driver at a distance for so long. He had barely been touched by his fellow stuntman in the months since the accident.
The two of them sit in silence as Colt gets comfortable, and Driver lets him take his time. There's no rush. No hurry. Just the two of them and the rest of the evening.
Driver finds some comfort in the hot water, gently swiping his thumbs over the delicate skin on Colt's waist. Colt, however, is still wound as tight as a coil. His frame is rigid despite being submerged in the pleasantly warm water, the smell of Epsom salts filling the bathroom.
Colt's tense figure makes Driver frown. This is supposed to be helping. And it's not. No sooner does Driver have the thought do Colt's hands find his own. Colt's fingers are large and thick, and they slot through Driver's satisfyingly. Like a zipper clicking together.
The silence grows. It shifts from being tolerable to being stifling in the span of a few seconds. Colt's the one to break it. He interlocks his fingers with Driver's, pulling one of the mechanic's hands up to rest on his chest. The other, he guides down to rest on Colt's thigh.
The movements cause water to lap at the edge of the tub, gently splashing, but neither stuntman says anything. A shaky breath falls from Colt's lips as he guides Driver's hands to truly touch him for the first time in months.
It's a little overwhelming for Colt at first, but Driver is patient. So, so patient. He lets Colt guide his hands at a slow, methodical pace, gently feeling over the smooth skin for lumps in the muscles that he can try to work out with the pads of his fingers. Driver's fingers circle over Colt's leg and over his abdomen, soaking in the feeling of his partner in his hands.
Colt then releases Driver's hand on his abdomen with a quiet whimper. Driver's gaze instantly widens, thinking that Colt is in some type of pain or upset at something he did. The mechanic moves his hand upwards, but that's when he bumps against Colt.
Both of them freeze at the contact. Driver's mind swirls. He hadn't touched anyone or even himself since Colt's accident. Colt is no different. He's afraid he'll scare Driver off. They were meant to be relaxing. And here he was, taunt and on the muscle.
Then Driver surprises both of them. His fingers float downward through the hot water for a moment before they dip forward. His fingers make soft contact with Colt's cock, gently grasping it and rubbing at the tip with his thumb.
He's already hard. That was what the whimper was from.
Colt whines, his head falling forward and his hips jerking at the sudden touch. Driver swears it's one of the most beautiful and heartbreaking sounds he's ever heard. So he continues.
Driver carefully pumps Colt's cock in his hand, the movements long and slow as if to not overwhelm him. This time, Colt moans as Driver gently squeezes his cock down at the base, and it fills Driver with an emotion he hasn't felt in a while.
Happiness.
He's happy that his touch is making Colt feel good. Lord knows Colt hasn't felt good in months. "It's okay," Driver soothes as he feels Colt's hips jolt forward in want, and then rapidly leans back in reprieve from Driver's touch. "It's okay." A ragged gasp tears from Colt's throat as he processes Driver's words, the mechanic's hand still slowly working up and down the length of his cock.
Tears flood Colt's eyes. He can't help it. It's too much. It's too much. It's. Too. Much. "It is okay," Driver's voice cuts in, his voice low and gentle. A sob pulls from deep in Colt's chest, and he manages to cry out, "You know, you don't have to do this for me..."
"...I want to," is Driver's sturdy response. Colt doesn't say anything, biting at his bottom lip, and Driver leans forward, pressing his chest firmly against Colt's back. Then he repeats it, "I want to."
At the end of his words, Driver swipes his thumb over the flushed, swollen tip of Colt's cock to further his point. Colt whimpers again at Driver's touch, leaning back into the mechanic's constant presence. Both of them needed this. Without saying anything, Driver continues sliding his hand up and down, his fingers running over the thick vein on the underside.
Colt's hips rut in time with Driver's hand pumping and squeezing, and the mechanic watches keenly over Colt's shoulder. He presses a few soft kisses to the sensitive skin there, along with some murmured encouragements.
That's my boy.
You're doing so good.
It's alright.
Let go.
Faster than Colt ever has, the coil burning deep in his stomach snaps, and he cums hard in Driver's hand. A moan of Driver's name morphs into a muffled cry as Colt's hands come up to cover sobs pulling from his lips.
Driver works Colt's heavy cock through his orgasm, milking all of the cum from him and draining him of the tears, sadness, loneliness, and heartbreak. The mechanic presses soft, open-mouthed kisses to Colt's shoulder as his hand eventually starts to slow.
Colt's body shudders under Driver's ministrations, his sobs growing louder until Driver wraps his other arm around Colt's waist. Only when Colt squirms and his cock starts to grow soft does Driver relent, bringing his damp hand up to cup Colt's cheek.
With all of the love and tenderness Driver can muster, he gently lifts Colt's chin and tilts the blonde stuntman's head around. He leans forward and around him, closing the distance between them for the first time in months.
Driver's mouth hits Colt's slow. He can taste the salt from Colt's tears on his lips, but he doesn't care. And Colt, his cries settle down at the encompassing feeling of Driver's mouth on his after so long.
Their lips chase each other with no hurry, no rush. Driver's brow furrows in concentration as he ever so slightly twitches his fingers on Colt's chin. That single movement is enough for his mind to give in, and he fully cups Colt's bearded cheek.
Colt isn't sure what to do with his hands, so he opts to rest them on Driver's legs on either side of his waist. It's more than enough for Driver. He wasn't worried about himself or his own pleasure. This was for Colt. This was for his partner.
When Driver pulls back a minute later, his lips burn with the passion from the kiss. And before he knows it, Colt is following his mouth. Colt rolls from leaning back against Driver to lying on his stomach.
The cries that had once quieted now come back full swing. But Driver doesn't panic. This is good. Colt weeps. All of his pain. All of his fear. All of it unleashes.
The mechanic slips his hands around Colt's back, gently soothing up and down the atrophied muscles. He hopes that this release, his touch, and this moment will help Colt realize he's never been alone. He's not a dud. Not broken. Not worthless.
Driver wonders for a moment if there is something he should say to Colt. Some ask to whisper. If he's feeling some type of relief or weight lifted off his shoulders. Then, he considers otherwise. Maybe there is nothing to say.
So the blonde mechanic does what he knows best - he holds Colt close. He holds him for a long, long time. The water will run cool, and with neither of them having scrubbed up, a shower inevitable.
But for now, the stuntmen are content to hold onto one another as all of the tension releases. Because to each of them - the other is all that is important.
Summary: When music from down the hall is relentless, you find yourself stuck between a rock and a hard place with the man your heart beats for.
Word Count: 5.4K
Warnings: blood/gore/violence/murder directly in line with canon, angsty vibes in line with canon, swearing, happy ending(?)
A/N: Special thank you to @blade-driver for fueling this rot non-stop. I hope you enjoy some hot Driver, bc I know I sure did :) - Birch<3
The music playing down the hall is louder than it has ever been. It passes through your walls as if they are made of paper, drowning out the sound of your TV and the sizzling of your dinner on the stovetop. It's enough for your head to throb with a pulsing ache, and you know you won't be able to manage to sleep until it dies down.
It's not a bad time of night to go for a walk. The thought gently washes to the front of your mind. It's past my normal bedtime, but there's no way I'm sleeping normally tonight. You mull it over before peering out your fourth-floor window to see a clear sky and the stars managing to shine through the city lights for once. Time to get out of here.
You go through the motions of getting ready to leave your sparsely decorated apartment. Slipping on a comfortable pair of sneakers, you tuck your dinner in the fridge, shut off the TV, and throw on a sweatshirt in case it's cool out. Don't forget your keys, phone, and yep, should be good, you think to yourself.
Ensuring your phone is safely stored in your pants' pocket, you pick your way to the front door of your apartment. You casually swing it open, and the music, which you can now place by the Latin rhythms, grows louder. A grimace pulls on your lips while you shut your door and fumble with your keys, locking your door as quickly as you can.
With annoyance on your features, you shove your keys into your other pocket and spin on your heel to head toward the elevator. You can feel the bass rattling the floor, thumping deep in your chest. Now, you can pinpoint the noise coming from Standard and Irene's apartment, as if the choice of music wasn't a telltale sign.
Since Standard had gotten out of prison, they seemed to host a party every other night, keeping you up and causing you to lose sleep. You let a sigh slip out of your nose as you sluggishly drag one foot in front of the other, your (colored) eyes half-lidded, riddled with exhaustion.
The apartment door off to your right swings open hastily as you go to pass it, making you blink in surprise. You step to the side as you regard the man who appears in the door frame, silent as ever. Driver.
He had a habit of being out at night, and with the loud evening, you couldn't blame him for wanting some peace and quiet. Still, the tall, blonde-haired mechanic catches the edge of your eye, making you halt in your tracks. You can't help the wave of butterflies that bounces around your stomach as you take in his appearance.
He's got his white scorpion jacket on, one you've found him in many days and nights. A pair of jeans and boots hang on his legs and feet, a tired but pleasant look in his blue eyes. His soft blonde locks are tucked off his forehead, barely combed back, and out of his eyes.
"Hey," you breathe out as you turn to face him, watching as he steps out of his apartment and shuts the door behind him. All without taking his eyes off of you. "Hey," he murmurs back, the sounds of your voices drowned out by the loud music still bursting from down the hall.
Driver can't help but let his eyes wander over you. He immediately places the tired look on your own face, no thanks to Irene and Standard's party. But frankly, you're as adorable as ever. You've got that twinkle in your eyes, that kind smile on your lips.
Then you're speaking to him, "What are you up to tonight?" Your voice is gentle, tender, despite cutting through the harsh music. It makes Driver's lip curl upwards as he turns away from you slightly, locking his apartment door behind him with a skilled hand.
"Trying to get away from the noise," is his dry response. He faces you again, ensuring his door is locked, to gauge your reaction with a single glance. You roll your eyes knowingly, the smile on your mouth only growing as you chuckle back, "I get that."
He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he finds your gaze again, holding it level. His mouth is still set in that soft, kind smile you've always known him to have, and he asks, "You?"
You shuffle slightly, letting one of your hands rub over the material of your sweatshirt covering your arm, and then you sigh out, "Going for a walk." You motion down the hall to the next door and mumble, "They've given me a bit of a headache."
Driver's eyes flash briefly with an undetectable emotion. It's not anger; his brows hadn't furrowed, and his smile never faltered. He takes a step closer to you, his presence flooding your senses as his eyes soften. They're calculating, as always.
"Want to go for a drive?"
The simple question has your once-calmly beating heart slamming against your chest; the gentle smile on your mouth widens to give Driver a toothy grin. A second passes, and you realize you were perhaps too eager with your reaction, and you glance away, tucking a stray lock behind your ear.
Driver eats up the shy look on your face. You're beyond adorable. Again shuffling on your feet, you nod and say lightly, "Yeah, that would be nice." Without saying another word, Driver juts his chin toward the elevator, his body encouraging yours forward silently.
You step in front of the blonde-haired mechanic, willing your nervous system to calm the fuck down. It's just Driver. He's taken you out on drives before. He's taken you out to eat at a couple of restaurants. Hell, he's even picked you up from work when your car didn't want to start.
The two of you leave Driver's apartment door, setting off for the elevator in silence. The beat of the drums and strumming of guitars grow louder yet, making the thump in your forehead pulse stronger. Your eyes flutter shut as you come to a stop by the elevator doors, willing the throbbing sensation to go away.
Driver moves around you to get to the elevator panel, his long digits scouting out the down button before slowly pushing it and returning his hand to his pocket. His eyes then focus on you and the crease that now lines your brow.
Before he can stop himself, he's pulling his left hand out of his pocket and reaching toward your blissfully ignorant face. His fingers hover in the air millimeters away from your cheek before he takes a step closer toward you, flooding your personal space.
Then, Driver lets his hand settle on the skin of your cheekbone, his rough fingers carefully swiping under your eye. The warmth his touch brings has you lurching forward in surprise, almost right into his chest. You catch yourself at the last moment. Or better, Driver's hand on your cheek steadies you.
The sounds of the elevator creeping up and down the shaft and the Latin music seem to dull as your eyes flutter open. They search for the bright blue of Driver's, your lips parting at the soothing tenderness of his touch.
You can see the concern in his eyes. There are a million silent questions there, but the main one that you see is: Are you alright? You don't realize you start leaning into his grasp after a few seconds of holding his gaze.
Driver doesn't realize he's leaning into you, either. He's so enraptured with the shade of your wide, (colored) eyes, he can't help but stare. You force yourself to take a shallow breath when all of the air seems to be sucked out of your lungs, and that's when you catch the scent of his cologne.
It's pleasant. It's rich and slightly smoky. You immediately think it matches his look when he's got grease smeared on his cheek and dirt caked into his jumpsuit. There's something else to his scent, but a part of you thinks it might just be what makes him so... Driver.
The distance between you is rapidly decreasing as you wait for the elevator. Your heart rate cannot say the same; it steadily beats faster and faster as your gaze flits back and forth nervously between his eyes. You can feel air sighing from his nose fan out across your face, and a twinge of nerves takes hold of your chest.
Just as his nose goes to brush yours, the elevator dings. It's arrived on the fourth floor. Without saying anything, Driver swallows thickly and softens his already gentle grip on your face. He takes a measured step backwards and releases you, your eyes wide with loss.
His arms drop back down to his sides silently as the doors to the elevator slide open. His blue gaze remains on you, his brows slightly furrowed in thought. You give him a reassuring smile despite your heart sitting in your throat, and you turn to regard the elevator shaft.
The doors lock open, and inside, you can see a man wearing a tan suit. He's got dark brown hair, and you see him glance between you and Driver with interest. He doesn't move for a second despite the elevator coming to a halt on his designated floor.
He glances at the button panel inside the elevator and states dumbly, "Sorry, uh, wrong floor." The man in the tan suit's words fall a little flat to you, but who are you to judge? It's later in the evening. It could just be a simple mistake.
You give him a polite, tight-lipped smile before shifting your body to face the elevator. Driver's gaze lingers on you as you move, silently slipping into the corner of the elevator on the far side of the unknown man. There's a yearning in Driver's gaze, but you miss it as his gaze flits up to meet the man in the tan suit.
The blonde-haired mechanic moves a second later, the Latin music flooding the elevator as it had in the hallway. Driver's strides are long and sweeping as he moves into the confines of the elevator, splitting the difference between you and the stranger.
Deathly silent, Driver reaches forward with his right hand, pushing the ground floor button. He doesn't ask the man where he's going. Odd, considering the man didn't push a button to go to another floor.
The thought brushes through your mind, but you can't bring yourself to care. You're too tired, and the elevator doors are sliding shut, giving you a break from the loud, obnoxious music. Driver comes to stand next to you, the inner mechanisms of the elevator slowly ringing out as the doors click shut.
The man in the tan suit glances over at Driver after the elevator slowly starts to descend, the blonde-haired mechanic's gaze set straight ahead of him. It's hard for the man to read Driver's cold expression. He gets the feeling that he interrupted something when the doors opened.
You opt to glance tiredly at your shoes, your hands resting by your sides, swinging slightly in boredom. That's when the man in the tan suit carefully glances away from Driver using the corner of his eye. He blinks away, staring evenly ahead, just as the blonde next to him is.
Now, it's Driver's turn to peer over at the stranger. His blue eyes have shifted from being cold and emotionless - now his gaze is dark and weary. Untrusting. Taking his time, Driver's eyes trail down the figure of the man on his right.
His suit is impeccably fresh for being so late in the evening. Finely pressed, newly put on. Driver's mind reels. Why? His blue eyes sink lower over the man in the tan suit's frame. Despite the stranger's suit being finely pressed, Driver notices a lump on the right side of the man's jacket.
Driver's stomach drops. It's a lump he knows well. Too well.
Then, the man in the tan suit shifts his weight slightly, the opening of his suit jacket tugging back a few inches. Driver's suspicions are confirmed as his eyes settle on the handle of a pistol tucked inside the tan suit jacket.
The blonde-haired mechanic's gaze drifts away slowly as horror and realization wash over him. What can he do? What can he do? Driver's eyes float to his feet as his jaw works for a second and then sets in a hard clench. The blonde locks of hair that had been neatly tucked back now dangle over his forehead, taunting him.
Without wasting another second, Driver knows he needs to move. His right hand clenches into a fist as he tries to work out a plan in his head. He needs time. But he doesn't have that luxury. And you're here. The thought of you makes his heart beat harder and his stomach lurch.
You.
He moves before he thinks about it. He needs to keep you safe. And if this ends poorly... He can't entertain those ideas. Driver sweeps his right arm back toward you, releasing his fingers from the tight ball they had contorted into.
His long, lithe fingers grasp you by the arm, curling around your limb and gently pushing you behind him. It's a soft push, one that you willingly follow as your eyes leave your sneakers. Your eyes come to a soft landing on the back of Driver's blonde head, his eyes still trained directly in front of him.
You don't stop moving into the farthest corner of the elevator until Driver releases the pressure from his hand, instead loosely holding onto you. That's when he turns to his right, following the length of his arm to look at you over his shoulder. He slowly releases his hand from your arm as his wide, blue eyes catch yours.
The usually bright blue of his eyes has softened, full of some kind of emotion you aren't sure you can place a name on. His right hand still hangs in the air from where he moved you, and now it reaches forward. His knuckles graze your stomach, showing you that he's still here. Still with you.
Then, the blonde-haired mechanic reaches forward with that same right hand, slipping it around your waist with a certainness that makes the dormant butterflies in your stomach flutter. He fully faces you now, taking a long step into your personal space, flooding your senses.
Your eyes can't help but focus on him, looking up at his tall figure blocking the man in the tan suit, and shielding your eyes from the light on the ceiling. Surprise and confusion lace your features as flashes of memory hit the front of your head from moments ago.
But you don't stop him. Not when he's leaning into you slowly. Deliberately. Holding onto you like you're his world. His everything. The conviction in his eyes makes your heart slam against your chest, threatening to burst as your eyes flash from his and down to his mouth.
Driver continues his steady but slow swoop toward your mouth with no hesitation. It's methodical. Calculated. Just like him. It feels like you're living in slow motion, but you know that's not possible. His eyes have you pinned in place, focused on you and nothing else.
Realization hits you as to what his intentions are, and this time, there is no question about it. Driver's head tilts to the right as he finishes his descent to your lips. You let your eyes snap shut, and then it's like walking through the gates of heaven.
His mouth hits yours with a fervent passion. Warm and soft. Familiar and foreign. Old and new. Driver tilts your head back as he lets his mouth slot against yours, pouring his heart into the kiss.
His brows furrow with an intense concentration as you accept his kiss, your hands fumbling to grip onto the elevator railing behind you. You let Driver use you the way he wants, you're helpless with the way his lips dance over your parted mouth, his nose bumping against yours.
When Driver feels no resistance from you, he slowly straightens his back. His body shifts from directly in front of you to blocking your entire frame from the man in the tan suit. You hardly even notice it, not when your brain is thinking of one thing, and one thing only.
Driver.
The move is fluid and natural - it feels protective and encompassing all at once. You could stay in this moment, the taste of his mouth on yours addicting. It's slightly minty, like he was chewing on spearmint gum not long before leaving his apartment.
His body frames yours, keeping you out of sight from the man in the tan suit. Driver wants to let himself enjoy every moment of your lips pressed against his, but he can't. Not when he's the only thing separating you from the man with the weapon.
The blonde-haired mechanic rolls his broad shoulders ever so slightly to hide the angle of your face from the stranger. He lets his mouth work over yours, slow and tantalizing. Driver wants to remember the taste of your mouth, the feeling of you pressed against him, and the way your mouth chases after his.
But it's not enough for him. He tilts his head again to deepen the kiss, pressing your back against the elevator wall. You can feel the handrail press into your spine, but you let Driver move as he wants. Your hands flutter down to your side, unsure where to rest as the blonde-haired mechanic shifts back in front of you.
There, Driver is pouring every single emotion into his kiss. Every late-night drive. Every afternoon spent at the diner. Every morning you passed him on your separate commutes to work.
The soft touches on the arm. The grazes of his knuckles against yours when passing him a greased rag. The way you would smile at him while making a shared dinner. The comfort of your head slumping against his shoulder when you fell asleep in his apartment.
All of these emotions and memories run to the front of Driver's mind as he again straightens to his full, looming height. He doesn't dare break the kiss; he needs his mouth on yours for as long as possible. He pulls your mouth up with his, your back flattening as his hand splays out against your spine, stretching it.
Your weight shifts forward and onto your toes as your mouth follows his, the kiss remaining slow yet desperate. With the emotion Driver is infusing into the kiss, you return it with as much vigor as you can. Your lips burn from the way he's kissing you, but you can't stop, not even with your lungs aching for respite.
But as soon as he's kissing you - he's drawing back painfully slow. Your body follows him as if it's become addicted in only mere seconds. His body pulls away first, the distance between your torsos increasing steadily.
Then it's his mouth drawing back, like he wants to stay connected to you forever, but he knows he can't. His lips slide over yours in longing before they separate from yours, remaining parted to try to retain the feeling of your mouth on his.
Driver pulls away from you, his eyes shut in want and wonder. But then they're peeling open to look down at you as he leans back. His blue eyes are dark and half-lidded, taking in the blissful look on your face. Your eyes are still shut, but they flutter open to meet his a moment later, hazy and dazed.
Your mouth hangs open like you want to say something, shock making your nerves thrum with electricity. He has you speechless. The two of you stare at each other in silence, a million words shared with just one look.
There is so much conviction and meaning in Driver's eyes - you know he's trying to say something. But he can't bring himself to say it. Not with the gun on the stranger's hip.
Driver's eyes flit from your wide (colored) ones down to your mouth, his emotions twisting with the dark realization that you don't understand the panic in his eyes. You've never seen him panicked. How would you know? It makes his jaw clench tightly again, and then he's leaning close to you.
He fills your space naturally, and you let him. He analyzes your face, contemplating his options. Say something. Push a button. Let the man in the tan suit move first. None of the options are the right choice.
The blonde-haired mechanic lets a shallow sigh out through his nose, the air gently fanning across your face. You are just starting to get comfortable with him being so near. Your eyes flit from his down to his mouth, same as he had done to you. They only linger on his pink, plush lips for a moment before snapping back up to his eyes.
Then - he moves.
His head whips to his left, where the man in the tan suit is watching. He had been watching you and Driver from the corner of his eye, sharp and waiting. Patiently, like a cat waiting to pounce on its prey.
Driver's left hand has been safely tucked in the pocket of his jacket, but now it flashes out faster than you can comprehend to deflect the man in the tan suit's advance. In fact, Driver's right arm raises toward the stranger's head as the stranger positions himself to attack Driver.
Immediately, you duck in fear, adrenaline shooting up your spine faster than you can blink. You're wide awake now. The fast movement has your already rapidly beating heart slamming in your chest, crouching down to avoid the fight.
Driver uses the momentum of his right arm swinging through the air to grip the man in the tan suit's neck with his large palm. With a forceful shove, the blonde-haired mechanic slams his opponent's head into the elevator wall in front of them. The stranger's head crashes into the spot next to the doors with a sickening thunk.
The sound makes you recoil, lunging forward into the opposite corner of the elevator to hide. From there, Driver doesn't waste his moment of attack. The man in the tan suit stumbles back, and Driver slides his right hand to the front of the man's face, slamming his back against the furthest wall of the elevator.
Driver's hands work at the stranger's face, disorienting him enough that he can throw his opponent into the corner where he had just kissed you. That moment is long gone now. Fear runs high in the elevator - all parties included.
The man in the tan suit hits the ground before you can move, and it takes your brain a second to lock in. Move! Move! Move! You skitter forward, lunging toward the corner of the elevator with the button panel where the stranger first appeared.
Everyone in the elevator has done a complete 180 in positions, Driver now stands over the stranger where you had been. You stand in horror where the man in the tan suit had been. Driver stands menacingly over the man in the tan suit as blood starts to seep from the stranger's head.
Oh my gosh. The thought hits you in horror. Your lungs aren't moving. You aren't breathing. What. Is. Happening? You can't bring yourself to look away. You know you should.
The stranger is out of breath and disoriented from the tussle with Driver, whose skin is shining with exertion, his muscles rigid and ready. It's... terrifying. The man who has been nothing but kind, loving, and sweet to you... is... scary.
Then, Driver draws his right knee up and slams his foot down once into the man in the tan suit's face. It makes a gasp of fear fall from your lips, horror flooding your already wide eyes. You brace yourself against the corner, a primal, instinctual fear making you freeze in place.
You watch silently as Driver brings his arms up to balance himself, then he again crashes his foot downwards and into the stranger's face for a second time.
Then a third time.
And again.
...and again.
All you can do is helplessly watch as Driver's foot bashes into the man in the tan suit's skull repetitively. Over, and over, and over again. After the first few kicks, Driver's left hand grabs onto the railing for balance as he mutilates the man, his blonde locks messily falling over his forehead and sticking to the sweaty skin.
Broken jaw. Smashed in skull. There's blood everywhere, pooling in the corner of the elevator. You can hear Driver wheezing out air with effort as he works, but you can't focus on that.
No, your subconscious manages to count seventeen individual stomps to the stranger's head - blood and brain matter oozing across the floor in thick, red and pink chunks. The biologic material covers Driver's right boot, soaking it in his opponent's blood.
His boot is slick as it comes to a rest under him normally, supporting his own weight. The lower part of his pant leg is splattered with blood and brain matter, too - his jeans now stained a dark red rather than the medium wash they had been.
You can't help but watch the blonde-haired mechanic in a fascinated horror - you didn't know he was capable of killing a man. He had been nothing but normal. Kind. Sweet. A little dry and quiet at times... but not this.
Then, as Driver takes a step back from the now mutilated man, the elevator doors slide open. Ground floor. You stumble out of the elevator in terror at the scene in front of you, your mind somehow both empty and scrambling with the facts of what had happened.
The blood pools faster now that the man in the tan suit's head lies undisturbed on the floor of the elevator. Driver is breathing hard, panting as his body runs high on adrenaline and short of oxygen. He can only stare down at the man he killed, silent.
His body is still slightly hunched over as he turns over his left shoulder to look at you. His eyes are wide and distant-looking when you first catch sight of them, a full sheen of sweat now coating his tan skin. You can make out a bead trailing the left side of his cheek, and then you glance down.
Blood has spattered over the front of his jacket thanks to the vigor of his kicks. It coats what had been soft, white material, but is now forever stained red.
It is dead silent.
There is not a single sound in the air. It's thick with tension, there's no doubt about that. Driver had just killed a man. And there's a level of unsureness that hangs in the air. What are you going to do? How are you going to react?
But you're drawn back up to Driver's wild gaze, his blue eyes dark and shadowed as he watches you. Waiting. His eyes are untamed. You've never seen that look on a man's face. Or any human, for that matter. He looks downright deadly. And it shakes you to your core. It's terrifying.
You know that the man in front of you is the man you've come to surely but quietly love - even if you haven't verbally told him your feelings. He wouldn't... do this to you, right? This was self-defense. The man in the tan suit had a gun.
Driver shuffles on his feet to face you a little more clearly, helping to draw your attention away from your spiraling mind. His brows start to draw together in a worried frown, and there you see the humanity in his eyes. It's a silent ask.
You have stumbled just outside the mouth of the elevator, your hands by your sides. You stare at him, again frozen in place. Your lips have parted, your eyes wide with horror. You're pretty sure your fingers have gone numb. But you can't really tell.
The blonde-haired mechanic doesn't say anything as he watches you, catching his breath. You can see the way his chest rises and falls, his eyes flooding with fear. Anxiety. Nervousness.
There's a pleading look in his eye. You aren't sure how, but there is. Despite being covered in brain matter and blood - Driver looks like a scared, kicked puppy at the pound. Waiting for a helping hand to gently caress him. To comfort him.
Any semblance of the violence you just witnessed is gone. This is Driver in front of you. Not a cold-blooded killer. So you focus on his heavy breathing in silence, trying to sort out your thoughts faster than you ever have before, your late-night drive long forgotten.
Movement in front of you has you blinking out of your locked-knee stance. It's the elevator doors beginning to slide shut. Without thinking of the consequences, you lunge forward, pressing your body in between the doors to stop them from closing on Driver.
Now that you're up close to the blonde-haired mechanic, you can see the emotion in his stormy gaze much more clearly. There's surprise. Intrigue. You stop in front of him, the elevator doors retreating back, and you shakily state, "Y-you, you need to t-take your shoes off."
He dips his chin down at you, his eyes still wide as he watches you. Not calculating. Not methodical. His blue gaze just flits over the features of your face rapidly, his breathing slowing as he focuses on you. You, standing in front of him.
Another bead of sweat rolls off his brow and slides down his cheek, but he doesn't bat an eye at it. You're not even sure he's blinked in the last few seconds, but then he's doing as you asked. He's toeing off his soiled boots silently, holding your gaze level as you stare up at him.
The elevator threatens to close again, but you once again stop it. Patiently. Then, Driver carefully reaches down and clasps both shoes in one of his hands, slowly standing up to his full height.
His eyes blink at you now, and you can see some of his usual self in his features. His jaw is still clamped shut, tense in the muscles there, but his eyes have grown less wild. Less untamed.
It takes everything in you, but you reach for his left hand, which is free of his blood-riddled shoes. Your fingers brush his tenderly, and his digits twitch against the soft touch. Driver blinks at you, his vision becoming even more focused, and then he lets you thread your fingers through his own.
Then, as smoothly as you can, you pull Driver out of the elevator, letting his socked feet pick their own pace. You can tell he's in as much shock as you. He couldn't believe you were here, holding his hand after witnessing that.
The blonde-haired mechanic can't take his eyes off of you as he lugs the blood-soaked shoes with him. The elevator doors slide shut behind him a moment later, carrying the gruesome scene higher into the apartment complex.
The two of you stand there for a moment in silence, staring at one another. You're both breathing heavily. Driver's heart rate and breathing are slowing down, resetting. Your's are speeding up. Logic is setting in. What are you going to do?!
You know you aren't thinking straight, but you step forward. Into Driver's personal space. His gaze is so finely concentrated on you that it feels like a laser cutting through you. His mind is running a million miles a minute, and his adrenaline is slowly wearing off.
Careful as if not to spook him, you bring your free hand up to cup the slick skin of Driver's jaw. Your fingers are trembling. Quivering with fear and anxiety, you can't stop it. Driver doesn't say anything, too enraptured with the way you're looking up at him, tightening his loose grip on your hand to be firmer.
He almost flinches when you make contact with his skin - his reaction causes him to rapidly blink at you. But then he softens. It's you. He quietly leans into your gentle touch, bringing himself forward to equally crowd into your personal space.
Then, in one smooth move, you shift your weight onto your toes and let your mouth crash against his.
Summary: Car troubles leave you with no other option, and you find yourself outside an auto shop. When things get dicey, a handsome mechanic steps in.
Prompt: “Of course it rains on the one day I want to go to the beach.”
Word Count: 3.3K
Warnings: Drunk employee hassles reader, Shannon is a lil shit, Driver is hot as fuck, meet-cute, otherwise fluff :)
A/N: Somehow I made this into a submission for the @goosegroupiechallenges' first summer time theme, Beach/Pool Day! Yes, I have 2 submissions for this theme😭 First time writing for Driver so please let me know how this is! - Birch<3
The shop doors are wide open as you step out of your car, with each of the bays donning a vehicle up on blocks or on a lift. Most are likely in for routine maintenance - others are getting completely gutted and rebuilt.
You hadn't been to this auto shop before - you'd never needed to. Most of the maintenance on your car was simple enough that you did it yourself. Rotate your tires, change the oil. Even the occasional spark plug swap wasn't a big deal.
But now, your dashboard was lit up like a Christmas tree, and your motor seemed to struggle when it usually purred. So, you managed to creep it up to the auto shop, hoping that someone could help you out.
There are a few guys around the shop. Some are under the hoods of torn-up cars, while others seem to discuss problems with the newest engines. You quietly shut your car door as you try to scope out someone to talk to, nervously shuffling your keys in your hands.
You step up onto the thick pad of pavement outside the garage's entrance, (colored) eyes honing in on a tall, thin brunette who is walking up to you. There's a thick beard covering the lower half of his face, which is pulled up into a scowl, all of which is complemented by sweat and grime running down the side of his forehead.
"This ain't your normal garage, sweetheart," he grumbles as he stops in front of you, puffing out his chest to rest his hands on his hips. His frown deepens as he looks you up and down with open judgment.
You can feel the hostility radiating from him, but you swallow thickly and take a deep breath. Nervously, you take a quick glance around the other work bays, noting how the group of men is still talking at one end, and no other workers seem to care about your presence.
You force yourself to look up at the brunette, and motioning to your car, stutter, "I- I'm not sure where else to take it." The statement is simple - it's a plea for help. Unfortunately, the brunette doesn't seem the least bit interested and raises one eyebrow at you to scoff, "Not my problem. This is a stunt car garage, not ma' and pa's place."
The bitter tone of his voice makes your heart rate start to pick up as a lump forms in the back of your throat. Not now, you think to yourself as your gaze flits over the brunette, Please, just give me a chance, man. I need the help.
You part your lips and try again shakily, "I just, I really need the help-" "An' what I tell ya? Ain't my problem. Now git outta here before I make ya," he snarls, taking a threatening step toward you. You catch the sharp scent of gin on his dirty clothes, and you immediately retreat a few steps.
The threat of the man in front of you has you on edge, and suddenly you feel foolish for ever stopping by the shop. You don't get to dwell on the thought long, though, as a soothing male voice cuts in, "Hey Skeet, leave her alone."
The low timbre call comes from just behind the tall, bearded brunette. The owner of the voice appears a moment later - he's tall, too. Built somewhere between broad and lanky, there's a certain size to his frame that makes you nervous, but not afraid.
He dons a greasy and oiled-up blue jumpsuit and a pair of scuffed work boots to match. When you settle your eyes on his face, you're sure your heart is fluttering in your chest. But not from fear.
His blonde hair hangs over his forehead, likely cropped to be short and neat, but has fallen out of place while working under a car. There's some dirt smudged on his left cheek, but it draws you to his gaze.
Bright blue.
His eyes are instantly captivating - they sparkle like water in the early morning sunshine. They aren't trained on you, though. They're set on the bearded man in front of you, who turns to face the new figure with a scowl.
"What's it to you, Driver? She ain't gonna be makin' us any money with that rust bucket anyways," the brunette, Skeet, challenges, pointing at your car. The low dig draws a frown on your face, and you can't help but snap back, "Hey!"
Skeet whips around to face you again, and just as he moves to take another menacing step toward you, the blonde steps between you and Skeet, his long, grease-coated fingers grabbing the front collar of the brunette's shirt. Then, with a forceful shove, he's throwing him back a few paces and scoffs, "Get the hell out of here, Skeet."
The brunette grunts as he stumbles back and almost trips, but he relents, turning around and staggering back into a bay with a deep blue car up on blocks. With the threat of Skeet disappearing, you can finally catch your breath, willing your heart rate to slow down.
Now, the blonde-haired man has his back to you, watching Skeet haul himself away. The display of slight aggression has you slightly overwhelmed, but you can't help but find his defense of you... nice.
As you take a deep breath in through your nose, you catch sight of the group of men over the blonde's shoulder. They aren't talking anymore.
It seems they had watched the little scuffle, and now they have their gazes set on you and the blonde-haired mechanic in front of you. A gentle sigh falls from your mouth as you shuffle on your feet, "This was a stupid idea, I'm sorry for bothering you guys."
With shaking fingers, you brush a piece of hair out of your eyes just as the blonde turns to face you. His posture softens at the dejected look on your face, his dirty fingers fiddling next to his sides for a moment before he replies lightly, "You ain't bothering anyone. That drunk bastard doesn't know up from down."
You glance up at the sound of his smooth, quiet voice, your eyes flitting between his dazzling blue ones. You swallow thickly as heat threatens to dust your cheeks, and your arms come up to wrap around yourself as you reply, "I don't mean to intrude."
He watches you for a moment, noting the way your fingers toy with the sleeve of your cropped t-shirt. It makes a smile begin to tug at his lips as his gaze dances over you. It's the first time he's gotten to take a good look at you up close, and you are certainly cute.
"You aren't," he states simply, his hands easily sliding into the pockets of his jumpsuit. Now, you're the one who can't fight the smile curling on your mouth as you regard the kind look on his face.
You chuckle once, more to help your nerves than anything else, and then motion to your car and admit, "Not sure what's going on with my car. I usually do all of the basic maintenance, but this one is above my head."
The blonde glances over your head to look at the vehicle sitting on the driveway in front of the shop, and then sets his gaze back on you. He shrugs nonchalantly and offers, "I can take a look at it this afternoon, if you want to leave it here."
Your expression brightens at that, and your hands release from across your chest as you rock back on your heels, your fingers holding your keys clasping together in front of you as you chirp, "That would be amazing!"
A grin has spread across your face now, and the blonde returns your cheerful energy with a smile of his own. The dirt smudged on his cheek matches the curve of his smile, and you can't help but think it makes him look boyish.
Dazed for a moment by the beauty of this stranger, you almost miss him asking, "What name can I put your car under... Miss?" You blink once before realizing your silence, and you blurt, "Y/n! Y/n is fine."
His smile softens at the embarrassed look on your face, and he gives you a silent nod of recognition. A moment of silence passes, not entirely uncomfortable, and then you hold out your hand and mumble, "Here are my keys."
Carefully, he pulls one grease-stained hand out of his jumpsuit and extends it out flat so you can gently set the keys in his palm. You do just that, and then you find yourself tucking your arms behind your back as you glance away.
"I don't think I caught your name," you state shyly, quickly glancing up at him before looking away when you see his gaze is still trained on you. He retracts his hand and delicately places your keys in his pocket, and then he hums out, "Driver."
Your smile returns at his short response, and then you nod once as you repeat, "Driver. Thank you for your help." You pointedly motion over his shoulder to the slumped figure of Skeet next to a toolbox further into the garage, "For everything," you finish.
Driver looks over his shoulder to see the brunette's head resting against the metal cabinet and scoffs. He turns back to you and, blinking softly, murmurs, "Anytime."
A voice yelling from behind Driver catches both of your attention. It's the group of men who had been watching and waiting, and you can see them waving to Driver to get his attention.
You jut your chin out toward them and hum, "You probably should go see what they want. Thank you again, Driver. I'll stop by later to see what you've figured out." Without another word, you take a few steps back across the pavement.
As you move, you watch as Driver glances at you from the corner of his eye. The smile in his eye distracts you for a moment, and you bump into the front bumper of your car clumsily. An embarrassed heat floods your body, butterflies blooming deep in your stomach.
You force yourself to look away, ashamed, and try to focus on walking to the shuttle stop just up the street. Your lack of awareness and clumsy nature cause you to miss the fond twinkle in Driver's eye as he makes his way back inside the shop, the curl of your smile engraved in his mind.
"Excuse me?" The quiet question falls from your lips as you step into the nearly empty garage of the auto shop. The fans running overhead all but drown out your voice, and you don't see figures mingling around now.
You slowly step a little further into an empty bay, looking at the cars on either side to try to find someone. Half expecting a mechanic to pop out from underneath a car, you carefully scour the area, eyes peeled for any sign of the blonde-haired one that helped you that morning.
Just as you make it to the front of a torn-up and gutted Mercedes, you catch sight of an older gentleman ducking into its engine. You halt as a fresh wave of anxiety washes over you, your hands fiddling with the plate of cookies clasped in your hands.
After you had made it home on the shuttle, you knew you needed to do something to thank Driver for stepping in the way he had and offering to look at your car. Yes, you would be paying the garage out of pocket to fix your car, but it was the least you could do.
So, you spent the rest of your late morning and early afternoon fluttering around your apartment, scraping together the materials needed to make your favorite chocolate chip cookies. Now, with the plate clamped firmly in your hands, you can't help but think maybe it was a silly idea.
Taking a breath to steel yourself, you try again, "Excuse me, sir?" The older gentleman just barely startles as he pulls himself out of the engine to give you a closer look. Instantly, his gaze flashes with recognition, and he offers, "Heya there, darlin'!"
An unsettled feeling washes over you, and you swallow thickly, give him a timid smile, and just as you open your mouth to reply, he cuts in, "You're that girl from this mornin', right? The one Driver fancies?"
Suddenly, it clicks in your head. He was in that group of men that was talking when you got to the shop. A heat rushes over you at his implication, and you shrug, unsure, as you sputter out, "I don't, I-I'm just here to give him these."
The words come flooding out of your mouth, and your stomach ties itself in knots as you watch the older gentleman give you a knowing smile and a laugh.
"I'm just teasin' ya, honey. Name's Shannon, I run this place. I saw how he handled Skeet this mornin'," the older gentleman chuckles as he catches a glance at the plate in your hands. Then, his gaze flashes up to meet yours as he sighs, "Driver's a good kid."
Another wave of embarrassment washes over you at Shannon's teasing, and your eyes settle on the wrapped plate of chocolate chip cookies as memories of that morning float through your mind.
You take a quick breath and reply quietly, "He was very kind to me this morning. And he was very kind to look at my car since this is a closed shop." You look up to meet Shannon's gaze and let the smile return to your face, "I just wanted to drop these off to thank him."
Shannon's gaze softens at your explanation, and he glances at the rag in his hand, fiddling with it, before musing, "The kid just stepped out for a minute. He should be back soon, so feel free to wait around for him or- There he is!" He cuts himself off as he catches sight of the blonde-haired mechanic entering the garage from the far side.
There's a relaxed, calm look on Driver's face as he glances over the cars in the shop, not having yet noticed you tucked back behind the Mercedes. His blue gaze rakes over parts and misplaced tools as he makes his way up the length of the garage.
Now, the blonde is in a clean white t-shirt and a pair of jeans, and your heart slams against your chest at the sight of him.
The jeans cinch tight around his trim waist, a brown belt neatly holding them up. The t-shirt doesn't leave much to the imagination - you can see defined muscle shifting on his pecs and torso, his thick arms lined with prominent veins.
He is hot.
A moment later, he catches sight of you next to the gutted black car, surprise dancing in his eyes as his blue gaze flits between your figure, Shannon's, and back. He slows to a stop next to you, and you give him a timid smile in greeting as Shannon exclaims, "She was just telling me about how you treated her this morning, kid."
Shannon's grin widens as he continues, "You know, you ought to ask this one-" "Don't," Driver deadpans as he shuts his eyes and shakes his head, a shy look dusting over his angled features. The blonde-haired mechanic's hands clamp shut by his sides, but Shannon just laughs and claps him on the back before nodding over his shoulder, "Alright, kids, I'll be here if you need me."
Driver blinks at him with fond acknowledgement as he turns to face you. Then, he motions toward the end of the garage he just came from, gently cupping your shoulder to guide you.
The feeling of his hand on your shoulder makes a strong heat pulse through you - your nerves tingling and quivering as they shoot into overdrive. Almost instantly, you're more nervous than you've ever been, and your fingers quiver on your plate as you try to focus on keeping your steps even.
Driver is quiet as he leads the way, and you swear all you can hear is the sound of blood roaring in your ears. He guides you to the end of the garage, where you see your car lifted in the air. It makes a pit form in your stomach as the thought washes over you - something is really wrong with your car.
The blonde-haired mechanic must pick up on your unease as he states quietly, "I'm still trying to figure out what's wrong with it." You blink away from your car as you give him a tight-lipped smile, "No, no, it's alright. I'm just thinking about how much this is going to cost me."
A sigh falls from your lips at the end of your words, and you glance back at the car as your smile becomes sad. "That car has seen me through a lot," you murmur as your gaze flits over it.
Driver doesn't say anything for a moment, he just watches you - backlit from the overcast, cloudy afternoon sun. Then, he replies, "It won't cost you much." You whip around to face him, a frown lacing your features as you part your mouth in question.
"What do you mean? There's no way this won't cost me an arm and a leg!" you try to joke as you take one hand off the plate to point to your airborne car. Driver blinks at you with a soft look, and then he shrugs, "It won't. Maybe some for a part if it needs it."
You turn to face him fully, and you take a step closer as confusion dances in your eyes. He offers you a closed-lip smile and then murmurs, "No charges from the shop, Miss. Y/n." Butterflies swarm your stomach at the realization of his words, and you stutter, "Y-you don't need to do that!"
Driver shrugs and then glances away, a slightly more bashful look on his face as he prompts, "All it'll cost is letting me take you out sometime." His proposition makes the butterflies bloom tenfold, and you swear there's a bead of sweat running down your forehead.
He so did not just ask you out.
You blink at him in awe for a moment, heat burning across your cheeks and nose, dusting your chest, and raising goosebumps on your arms. He's patient as he waits for your response, and all you can manage to rush out is, "Y-yeah."
The response is clumsy, but there's a smile tugging on your mouth. Driver has your tongue twisted with a couple of words and the soft look in his eye. It's not fair. His smile widens at your acceptance, but he decides to have mercy on you as he silently points to the plate in your hands.
"Oh!" you yelp out as you thrust the plate of cookies toward him, "I made these after this morning, of course it rains on the one day I want to go to the beach, so I baked instead," you ramble as Driver silently reaches out to accept them.
There's a question in his gaze now as you draw your hands back, clasping them nervously in front of you. Your teeth tug at your bottom lip nervously as you explain, "They're to thank you for all of your help."
The blonde-haired mechanic glances from your (colored) eyes to the tray, and he murmurs, "Anytime. It's no problem." You nod at him as he gently sets the tray of cookies down next to a white jacket decorated with a scorpion on a nearby workbench.
Bravely, you gush, "I don't know if you have any plans for tonight, and I don't really have a vehicle to get home, but-" "I'll drive," he cuts your spiralling ramble off gently. He hikes a thumb over his shoulder as he replies lowly, "My car's just out back."
You offer him a smile of thanks and hum out, "Let's go!"
