It was a stupid idea—even dumber with alcohol involved. But did either of you care? No.

The Rolls Royce took a sharp turn, the tires screeched on the asphalt as a nearby road sign was almost hit. You were grabbing the seat, lowkey panicking, but the alcohol in your system made your mind fuzzy… so you were also… excited?? Behind the wheel was—of course—Tyler Baudelaire. Yeah… Tyler the motherfucking Creator. He laughed out loud as he sped up even more. He looked over at you from under his chunky sunglasses, which he claims are vintage and straight imported from France in the '90s. His smirk softened as he bumped his shoulder against yours.

“Damn… You aight over there?” Tyler asked, turning his gaze back to the road, making sure he didn’t hit anything alive.

You just nodded, too shaken up to say any words yet. He looked at the screen before switching to Spotify with his right hand, while his left stayed on the wheel. He hummed softly as he picked a N.E.R.D song, then drifted his gaze back to you with a smirk.

“You a whole ass pussy, you know that? I can see you shakin’...” he teased lightly.

You scoffed, hitting his arm gently—but hard enough to send a message. He winced dramatically, putting one hand to his forehead like he’d been truly wounded.

A minute of silence passed before you both burst into laughter. You leaned back, closing your eyes as you calmed down… But your ears picked up on his soft muttering…

“Hmph… drivin’ with my darling… faster than I should…”