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vorfreudevortex · 3 days ago

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5. an angry ghost

a street racer!ino takuma x f!reader fic

redline masterlist // previous: chapter 4

warnings // 4.8k words. swearing, alcohol, smoking, all characters in college or recently graduated, mentions of guns and bullets, mentions of breaking and entering, mentions of a knife, fake descriptions of a stabbing and blood, insinuations to stalking, anddd lots of ino fluff

the vibes for chapter five

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

takuma ino: did u get home ok? lmk when i can see u again :)

suguru smokes 6 consecutive cigarettes before the police arrive.

satoru and kento come shortly after. their tired faces look at you with worry and confusion. you’ve changed into sweatpants now, cradled in your papa’s arms on the steps to the kitchen door as he lets suguru handle the situation. you must look pathetic, letting your papa tightly hold you with dried mascara streaks on your face.

the officers are relentless with their questions but after almost an hour, no one can find where the bullet ended up. on top of this, nothing else in the garage was damaged. it was like an angry and armed ghost had floated through the walls. the strangest part was that neither papa nor suguru heard a single thing last night, not one sound.

a man with a clipboard pesters you about what time you left, where you were, who you were with, the exact minute you returned home. you don’t dare say you were with takuma ino, and the guilt of lying blazes through you the second you say it. you’re relieved when the man’s questions are finished and he does the same with suguru, then papa, satoru, and ken.

your chest aches horribly. the incredible gift your family had worked so hard to obtain had been broken and tainted. the hours they worked, the money they spent, the lessons they taught you have been defaced. you feel helpless, but not for yourself— for them.

the shattered windows and bullet hole are not the worst damage in your opinion. it’s the stolen license plate. the spot just under the hood that once said “CLUTCH” was now empty, whoever had broke in had literally torn it off the car. the bolts are crooked and strained with scraps of the aluminum still wrapped around them. you stare at this empty spot with an emptier mind. the only sound your brain registers is suguru’s muffled, angry voice demanding that the police fingerprint every inch of the silvia.

when the investigation crew arrives with gloved hands and powdered brushes, the boys take you to your room while papa stays in the garage. it’s silent as you crawl under your blankets, their distressed eyes stare you down.

“clutch,” suguru begins softly. “it’s gonna be fine. the cops will find out who broke in.” you only nod.

“we’ll fix your windows as soon as we can,” kento reassures.

“okay…” your voice is hoarse.

“do you think you know who might have done it?” satoru gently asks. “inumaki?”

“no, not him,” you mumble. inumaki and okkotsu were genuinely happy when you won earlier that night. you have a strong intuition that neither of them are capable of doing something so hateful. “i don’t know.”

“i need you to really think about it,” suguru says.

“i don’t know, suguru,” your voice is barely above a whisper, pleading your brother not to continue. you can’t meet any of their eyes. the sun is beginning to rise and you’re utterly exhausted. your heart and mind are too heavy to bear being awake right now to continue processing the situation. “i… i don’t feel safe.”

“i’ll stay with you until you fall asleep,” suguru says.

“what about papa?”

“toru and ken will stay with him in the garage.”

the boys leave and suguru settles in bed with you. it’s silent except for your shaky breathing. he sits up against your pillow with your head resting on his stomach, a protective hand rubbing into your shoulder. you can tell he’s anxious as he stares, lost in thought, at the wall. meanwhile his fingertips twitch, a habit you picked up from him years ago.

your heavy eyelids slowly close when you can’t fight the sleep anymore, repeating the boys’ words to yourself… it will be okay, it will be okay, it will be okay…

✰✰✰✰✰

the police don’t find a single thing. there are no fingerprints left anywhere in or on your car, the paint miraculously just as spotless as it was before. not a speck of dust on the rubber tires from your race was out of place, and the officers don’t seem to care too much about your illegal drifting.

the trajectory of the bullet was calculated and tracked, but never discovered. they believe a gun was fired from roughly 10 feet from the window and the bullet should have went through and into suguru’s car, but it didn’t. it was somewhat of an anomaly that the fatal shot didn’t obliterate your passenger window as well, and there wasn’t even a hint gunpowder left on a fragment of glass.

there are absolutely no signs of breaking and entering. there are no fingerprints on any of the garage doors, no forcible entry. suguru was the last person in the garage before your car was demoralized, and papa’s security camera footage proves that.

eerily enough, there are no blanks in the recordings, no strange movements in the dark were detected, even after countless rewinds from the police. mentally, you’re just relieved that no other car was damaged— the liability papa has over his customers’ cars would have proved an entirely new problem if something had happened to them.

your father and brother don’t want you leaving the house for a few days. which you’re not upset about, except that you’re incredibly unsettled here. it feels like there are eyes on you at all times, raising the hairs on the back of your neck and making your fingertips twitch.

you sleep with your lamp on and the window locked tight, sometimes joining papa or suguru in bed when you’re too unnerved to sleep. if you don’t, they check in on you every few hours throughout the night, silently cracking open the door until they see the shape of your body safely under the moonlight.

every morning and evening begins and ends the same. papa wakes at sunrise and ventures in your room to quietly tell you his plans for the day in your sleepy ear. suguru waits 30 minutes after he hears the creak of your shower turn off before coming in to sit in bed with you. he does this every few hours, every time he leaves and returns to the house. it’s always the same conversation.

“are you feeling okay, clutch?”

“i feel just fine,” you always respond. “don’t worry.”

“you’re anxious. and unhappy.”

“you’re anxious and unhappy,” you retort, thinking about all the empty cigarette boxes you’ve seen in the trash can downstairs. it’s three times as his usual habit, but you won’t pester him about it.

“because i’m worried about you and your safety.”

“i’m safe now.”

“i know,” he’d nod and hug you tightly. he’d always pause for a moment after, preparing himself for the question you hated, but he had to ask. “do you know who—”

“—no, suguru. i have no idea.” and he’d leave.

satoru and kento show their care in different ways. when satoru comes over, he’s bursting in your room and flopping on top of you in bed, making you eat the candies he brought while listening to him talk about nonsensical topics much too loudly.

kento is extra early to his shifts in the shop, making sure to quietly knock on your door before entering. he listens to you talk about the show you’re watching while you share the breakfast he brought you in bed. and every day when kento clocks out, he makes sure to say goodbye to you first.

your days on “house arrest” are spent moping, worrying, and helping papa and kento in the garage. it’s interesting to watch them work with such ease and precision, always knowing exactly what tools you should hand them or what parts to order to replace the clients’.

they always let you play whatever music you like over the speakers, except when satoru is there. he whines and moans about how terrible your music taste is before you eventually let him have it, and then he’ll just shuffle k-pop music with his tiktok audios obnoxiously playing over it.

takuma texts you all day and every day, saying anything and everything to keep your mind off your silvia. when you first told him about what had happened, he panicked more than you had. it only took 2 days for him to beg to see you again.

so each night, when papa’s asleep and suguru informs you he won’t be back for hours, you’ll sneak out out of the house and meet takuma just around the corner. he’ll walk with you 4 blocks over to the neighborhood park, where he’s left his car.

he takes you cruising on empty roads, windows open, your favorite music blaring, and your hair tossing wildly. you always end the night with hushed giggles and savory takeout food on the park bench before he walks you back home. it’s only a stolen hour or two, but it leaves you feeling flushed and light when you settle back in your bed.

and, every afternoon since, when you hear suguru’s thunderous car leave with a “be back soon. lmk if you need anything text, takuma parks his car at the same place and sneaks over. he insists that he throws pebbles at your window— even though it’s broad daylight and you know he’s there, just like the teenagers in old movies used to do— before scaling up to your second floor bedroom as quietly as he can.

takuma will lay down with you, holding you tight and close to his chest, whispering and caressing your worries away. the tv stays playing ‘initial d’ to disguise any soft voices that papa might catch through the door when he’s in the house. one day, you’re almost asleep from his gentle scratches on your scalp and steady breathe in your ear when he asks you what’s been on his mind.

“when do you leave me?”

your eyes flutter open, the brown in his irises hold something sorrowful. “leave you?”

“was it selfish of me to ask that?” takuma smiles sheepishly. “i know you have to leave your family, too. i just want to know how much longer i can have you for.”

“no, it’s not selfish…” you’ve been trying not to think about this. “…the end of august.”

“so 2 more months?” his eyes dart away to the tv screen. “uh, i leave next week.”

“what?” you sit up suddenly, your heart oddly pounding. what is he talking about… leaving? going where?

“early start at university, a special engineering class,” he giggles. “did i scare you?”

“yes— wait, so you aren’t leaving?”

“not really. i’ll be 20 minutes away instead of 10. but i can still come see you every day, and i’ll still be at all the races,” he sits up with you. “what if you come see me at my dorm?” he’s got a cheeky grin now, his eyes glitter. it’s addicting, you can’t help but smile back.

“of course i will,” you peck the tip of his nose, making his cheeks turn pink, but he pulls you back in for a real kiss. you can’t help but melt into takuma’s inviting lips as he slips a warm tongue into your mouth. but he pulls away soon after, already flustered and panting.

“are you ever gonna tell your brother about me?”

“w-what?” you’re frankly stunned, looking up at takuma with furrowed brows while he continues to hold your face in his hands. it’s another topic you’ve been trying to avoid.

“i mean, like…” he’s surprised as well, eyes wide and stomach turning at his sudden blurt. “…i don’t know.”

“do you want me to tell him?”

you’re wondering if it’s even worth telling suguru, as much as the guilt echoes through you. you’ll leave takuma behind in 2 months, most likely to never see him again. plus, you haven’t told anyone about your hours of pondering and research behind transferring to college here in japan; but even if it falls through, at the end of the day takuma is just a summer fling.

if you tell suguru now, he’ll hunt takuma down. you’ll probably endure the rest of your summer locked in the house after many, many hours of furious words of disbelief from your brother.

“do you want to?” takuma still doesn’t let go of you, your noses almost touching as he studies you with kind eyes. it’s a serious conversation, but takuma’s gentle tone is keeping your wracking nerves to a minimum. “what will it mean if you do?”

“i’ll definitely never see you again,” you admit, averting your gaze from his. “he’d probably beat the shit out of you.”

“nah, he’d probably shoot me instead,” he chuckles softly, but your face falls. his words remind you of suguru’s past ones, and you quickly remove his hands from your face. takuma blinks, confused, but doesn’t fight your change in body language. he doesn’t dare do anything that might make you uncomfortable, because he secretly daydreams of a day you come to him with as much trust as you do suguru… as much as he knows how ridiculous that thought might be.

“kuma, i need to ask you some things,” you don’t meet his eyes, but keep your hands in his on your lap. he notices all too quickly how your voice begins to shake. “i’ve heard some… stuff… about you.”

“i’ll tell you whatever you want to know,” and you know he’s telling the truth.

“suguru says you were the first in the car scene to get a gun.”

“yeah, that’s probably true,” takuma hopes you can’t hear the erratic pumping of his heart through his chest. this is what he’s been trying not to think about, hoping to avoid any questionings that might drive you away.

he knows it’s pathetic, catching hopeless feeling for you so quickly. it’s like an embarrassing school crush, chasing you around on the playground, willing to do anything for one little interaction.

“and you all got them through megumi-kun and his dad?”

“that’s true, too…” he swallows, a thick wad that barely makes it down his throat. he watches your fingertips twitch in his palms.

“is it true they got your pistols from a yakuza?” god, you hate to be interrogating takuma like this, but you need to know sooner than later. you’re almost sure takuma won’t lie to you, but if his answers are something you can’t come to terms with, you’re not sure what you’ll do.

takuma doesn’t know that he’s on your mind just as much as you’re on his, craving one more conversation, one more touch each time you’re apart.

“i really don’t know, but i wouldn’t be surprised. toji told us that we needed them to protect ourselves. the scene was getting rough then, there was lots of fighting going on,” takuma bites his lip. “i thought he had a point, and we got them the next time we saw him. i didn’t want to ask questions.”

“okay…” you find the courage to look back up to him. “what about choso?”

“what about him?”

“suguru said he used to be in a motorcycle gang, and that he used to run drugs for toji and the yakuza.”

“is this why your brother doesn’t want me around you?” takuma asks. you don’t want to give him an answer. you just look at him, silently pleading for him to simply respond to your question, and he gets it. “i know choso used to ride bikes, and he still does sometimes. but i don’t know what he did before he came around. his cousin used to ride with us before he quit. i just… don’t know. i don’t know if that’s true.”

“you’ve never asked?”

“no… i didn’t think it was important. his cousin was a good guy, and choso’s always been nice. he’s never caused any trouble.”

“okay, i get it,” you nod. “thank you for telling me.”

“of course, i’d tell you anything,” he whispers. you mindlessly fumble with his fingers, calming his wavering lack of courage.

“kuma, i don’t think i should tell my brother about us seeing each other,” you tell him with regret. you wish so badly you weren’t having this conversation, but it needs to happen. you expect him to get up and leave, but he just smiles at you, dimples and all.

“honestly? i kind of hoping you’d say that. i don’t want to stop seeing you.”

“really?”

“yeah, i mean… if this is just a stupid summer romance thing, then so be it,” he’s suddenly shy and sheepish, voice quieting and eyes darting. “it’ll hurt when you leave, but… i’m having fun now.”

“i feel the same,” you take a breathe. “and what would you say if i told you i want to stay and finish school here?”

“i’d say that you definitely, definitely should.” takuma feels a surge of excitement and tries to push it away. he tries to remind himself that you’re only temporary, even if you end up staying around. the odds of you lingering around him aren’t high, you’ll probably realize he’s not your perfect match no matter how badly he wants to be. he lays back down into your pillows, pulling you with him into his side.

“i haven’t told anyone else, but i’ve been seriously considering it,” you explain. “tokyo is still home to me, and i’m much happier here than i ever am back home— my other home.”

“you should do whatever makes you happiest.”

you hum as takuma nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, taking in the sweet smell of your hair and the comfort of your skin on his. his voice in your ear is quiet and bashful as he mutters, “sorry, i’m just… kind of addicted to you.”

“really?” you giggle nervously. “me too…”

his hands slip just under the hem of your shirt, one of suguru’s old ones, to trace gentle circles over your waist. he makes a mental note to replace your brother’s shirt with his own as you lightly scratch over his toned shoulders. he doesn’t let more than 60 seconds pass without placing a soft kiss somewhere on you.

you stay like this, in the peace of each other’s presence, until suguru’s familiar engine echoes through the neighborhood again. takuma’s quick to get up and kneel over you, caging you to the bed and listening to your sweet laugh as he plants quick, teasing kisses on any and every inch of your face.

he does this every time— always ending with a deep, soft kiss on your lips before he’s disappearing through your window.

✰✰✰✰✰

everyone’s anger and worry fizzles away when your new car windows arrive in the mail. it’s all easy smiles until you start it up for the first time and reach into the center console to grab a new air freshener to hang up— the simplest symbol of a new cycle in a car.

a frown quickly appears when you touch an unfamiliar object. looking down, it’s a black leather sheath protecting an extremely illegal knife. the blade itself must be over 6 inches long.

suddenly, your mind starts playing an imaginary scene of your own hand digging the blade into a faceless body’s chest, blood pouring over it, so dark it looks like india ink—

“just in case,” you hear suguru mutter. when your head snaps up, he’s the only one looking at you. papa, toru, and ken have their attention elsewhere on picking up the garage after the project. you and your brother just stare at each other for a moment, your expression unsure while his is certain.

without another word, you close the console.

✰✰✰✰✰

“hi, suguru!”

“hey, clutch. having a good time?”

“yeah! we’re just playing cards now.”

“sounds fun. i can’t talk for long, we’re all going out for a drink. are you coming home tonight?”

you look at takuma, who’s holding a hand over yuji’s mouth. the shadows sit on the floor of takuma’s dimly lit, freshly moved in dorm room. yuji’s face is beet red from the liqour, while takuma’s eyes glitter and shine with giddiness.

megumi has his nose in his phone, choso seems lost in thought somewhere on the ceiling, and todo is already asleep. sticky playing cards, empty bottles, and smeared cigarette ashes lie haphazardly across the table and floor.

“i better spend the night since we’ve drank a little bit… if that’s alright?”

“yeah, of course. just keep me updated.”

“i will. see you tomorrow?”

“see you tomorrow. love you.”

“love you, too.”

��✰✰✰✰

kento’s pov

for a weekday, the wheel is louder than usual tonight. it’s usually more casual, which is why suguru, satoru and i frequent it most evenings. but tonight there are people we don’t recognize, and more bodies to bump into. members of the local car scene still take up the majority of the space, but there was an odd amount of randoms, much to suguru’s disdain. we were lucky to get our usual bar seats before the crowd.

suguru sits between satoru and i, smoking and chatting with the bartender who’s asking about race times next weekend. satoru sits next to a pretty blonde foreigner, who shoko introduced him to before disappearing to another corner of the bar. luckily, no one comes up to bother me, and i swirl the whiskey in my glass as i people-watch.

i prefer it this way. after spending my day hunched underneath car hoods, fingers caked in oil, mind spinning with plans and figures… it’s nice to savor something strong and disassociate for a while. there’s something oddly enjoyable about silently observing what people are drinking, wearing, and discussing. honestly, the conversations at the wheel aren’t too compelling. it’s usually still about cars, liquor, and sex.

a tall man comes into view in my peripheral. just as a man gets up from his seat at the bar, he takes the spot, perpendicular to us and closest to me. he wears a matte black motorcycle helmet and a sleek leather jacket and gloves. the man catches suguru and satoru’s attention as well, it’s rare to see a biker in a bar ran by drifters. he pulls the helmet off, revealing a mess of unruly pink hair and brash face tattoos.

“a glass of nikka, double neat,” he tells the bartender, voice low and rough. he sheds the leather jacket off to a plain white shirt, showing the thick bands he has tattooed over his arms. there’s something off about him. he glances over to us and bares a wolfish grin. “can i help you?”

“what do ya ride?” satoru asks.

“i have a kawasaki ninja h2 with me tonight,” his eyes flicker between the three of us. i already know that suguru does not like his smug expression.

satoru hums at his answer as the bartender sets his drink down. “but do you drive?”

“no,” he takes a swig. “i have no interest in that shit.”

in the dim lighting of the wheel, the man’s sharp features stick out. the sinewy tendons that lead up to his keen jawline almost make him look ill. the hazy background of the bar and the deep black lines etched across his face make the paleness of his skin almost glow in the dark, and his red irises give me a sense of discomfort. as he sips his whiskey, i realize there is something deeply wrong about this man, although i can’t quite place what it is yet, and it makes my chest tighten.

“you look familiar,” he eyes suguru. “have we met before?”

“nope,” suguru puffs through his cigarette smoke.

“you come to this bar a lot?”

“why?” suguru smirks. “tryna cop a feel?”

the man stares emptily at suguru for a moment, before bursting out with a loud belly laugh. he holds a hand out for suguru to shake. “ryomen.”

“ryomen what?”

“just ryomen.”

it’s suguru’s turn to give him an empty stare, before reaching out and giving the man a firm handshake. “geto.”

“geto what?” he mimes.

“if i see you drive, i’ll tell you.”

ryomen seems oddly satisfied with that answer, until his eyes land on me. “i guess blondie doesn’t talk much, huh?”

don’t piss me off.

“i don’t have anything to say,” i respond as politely as i can.

“well, i hope the next time i find you three here, you do,” ryomen finishes the rest of his whiskey in one gulp, and begins to put his leather jacket back on. he couldn’t have been seated for more than 5 minutes.

“leaving so soon?” satoru rags. his usual bright blue eyes are dark with irritation. suguru still seems indifferent, but we both know better. the stranger’s aura screams at people to stay away from him.

“i have places to be,” he sets some money beneath his empty glass. “someone to see, more like.”

as ryomen walks out the door, suguru puts out his cigarette in the glittering crystal tray in front of him before he opens his mouth to speak.

“i fucking hate that guy.”

✰✰✰✰✰

“i just saw her.”

“is that right?”

“they fixed the windows.”

“well, what are you gonna do about it?”

“i have a few ideas.”

“where is she?”

“same place as your son.”

“heh, what a coincidence.”

“i’ll leave her alone for now, make her feel safe for a while.”

“whatever.”

✰✰✰✰✰

“how did we end up here?”

you giggle at takuma’s question. you don’t quite remember either. a soft blanket from his bed is the only barrier between you and the cement of the dorm’s rooftop. you both sit with your backs against the edge’s raised barrier, sharing a cigarette as you sober up. you’re snuggled into takuma’s side, warm and protected as he holds you tight. “i don’t know, but the stars look so beautiful.”

“how many do you think there are?”

“hmmm,” you pretend to think while he places the cigarette between your fingers. “should we count them and see?”

“absolutely, we should,” his voice is serious. “we can take turns.”

“you must still be drunk, kuma,” you laugh, hot smoke rolling out from your throat. “it’s impossible to count them all, you know that!”

“we could try, though.”

“it would take forever,” you pass the cigarette back.

“i’d still do it for you if you wanted me to.” you crane your head up to look at takuma. he’s already looking down at you. “and i’m not drunk,” he adds, crushing the finished butt against the cement beside him.

“you’re not?”

“not anymore. are you?”

“not anymore.”

with that, and a gentle smile, takuma takes your face in his hands and presses his lips to yours. your eyes flutter closed the same way your stomach tumbles at his touch. you’re practically swallowing the sentiment of his kiss, the passion of it radiating into your bones.

the minty, musty flavor of the tobacco makes you feel warm, enough to start sweating. your thoughts disappear and melt into his skin. you’re on the tip of euphoria when takuma pulls away to catch his breath.

“i’m fucking obsessed with you.”

your heart skips a beat, heat rushes to your cheeks. “i— uh— you are?”

“yes, one hundred percent,” he’s never spoken to you in such a serious tone, there is no playfulness in his words despite his smile. you’re absolutely flustered. you’re hesitant to share your feelings, you don’t know how to tell him you feel the same.

you’ve thought about takuma nonstop, texted him every day, longed to see him every moment. you crave his touch, his fingertips, his lips. you think about the sound of his laugh, the dimples in his smile, the feeling of his eyes on you. you’ve replayed that night in his backseat over and over again— the wet kisses on your neck, his rough digits in your heat, your slick palm around his—

“it’s only temporary.”

shit. you didn’t mean to say it out loud. it’s something you have to remind yourself about when you feel your stomach churning with butterflies at the thought of takuma. his eyes flicker with something unrecognizable. “i know.”

your face is still in his hands, the heat of them burning into your cheeks. you don’t pull away, but you force your eyes to look away from him. “…sorry.”

“why are you sorry?”

“i didn’t mean to say that, didn’t want to.”

“i’m not upset,” he sheepishly grins. “i think about that all the time, too.”

“really?”

“of course i do,” he nods, the tips of your noses tap together. “but just like we said before… if this is just a dumb summer fling, then so be it.”

“yeah,” you smile. the butterflies float back into your stomach. “so be it.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

redline masterlist // previous: chapter 4

ongoing tag list // @stillnotherapy @rieamena @magiamad0ka @mawhoreagaa @creteansailor @silentscrying @r-mich