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pauking5 · 7 months ago

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Runaway 🏎️ Chapter 1

Pairing: Naozumi Hiyama x fem reader oc

Synopsis: There's no place for women in the world of racing. Let alone rally. Until you show up - the daughter of a racing legend who lost everything out of nowhere - ready to stir the pot of competition and throw fuel to Naozumi's fire, burning wild in more than just one way. Just how far will you go to take your rightful place in the world of rally, restore the team to its glory and change things for the better?

Genre: racing AU, enemies to lovers, rivalry, suspense, a whole lot of teasing, gender power games, dating in secret

Word count: 4.5k+

A/N: Here it finally is. I can't believe I got to write about one of my passions in this way. Though I love rally, getting the technicalities right was rough but I researched as much as I could on it so it feels like the real thing, though there might be some minor inaccuracies, not really affecting the story.

This one has been in the works for a good period of time and though this first chapter is short and fast-paced, there's so much more coming. Trust the process cause god knows I do. I hope I can make Naozumi justice and I can't wait for you to read the next ones. Enjoy lovelies.

Now Playing: Edge of Seventeen - Wuki

Next Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

It's not about how fast you go.

It's about how long you go fast.

Fast like-

A knock reverberated against your helmet, interrupting the pre-race mantra before you even finished reciting it, bringing you back to the chaos prior to the race start.

Chaos you wanted to avoid at all costs.

Blinking your eyes open, you took in the smell of burnt rubber and the atmosphere, fully packed with the deafening roars of the crowds in the stands soaring over the music heard all the way to your station. Another voice joined in the noise, demanding your attention.

"Raiko, are you ready?"

Letting out an exasperated breath, you waved off whoever spoke to you and closed your eyes again.

"Give me a minute, will you?"

Okay, where was I?

It's not about how fast you go-

A drilling noise came from your right, annoying the living daylights out of you.

Ah, fuck it. Since we keep getting interrupted...

How about I tell you a little bit about me.

Name's Raiko Suruki.

Yes, that Suruki. Here we go again.

I'm the daughter of the famed Hiro Suruki, five times Japan World Rally Championship winner, consecutively if I may add.

Proud podium sitter for thousands of times.

Also kind of a living legend of the primetime of the rally world.

The same Hiro Suruki that started one of the best teams in the history of Japanese rally, snatching six more titles under his directory. WRC'S Golden Boy.

After his personal fifth title, he decided he wanted something more. Something that would fulfill him, beside his love for driving at the most insane speeds known to man and having his first and only child - that's me, in case you didn't know.

Anyway, without any second thoughts or doubts, he retired from the sport out of nowhere, changing the fireproofs for the laid-back team principal shirt and a cheap very 'dad' baseball cap. At barely 35 years of age, he took the biggest leap of faith of his life and Suruki Racing was born out of fuel and passion for rally.

He poured everything he had into the team and built it from scratch, taking it so high in his prime that everyone wanted a piece of it. Be it driving in a seat for the team, changing parts as a mechanic or simply having shares in it.

It was basically the shit. The pinnacle of rally in the whole of Japan.

The team became a national sensation. So many influential people, from mere businessmen to politicians, even foreigners were so interested in it and helping it expand. It genuinely felt like the only way for him was up, flying like a rocket towards the legends' hall of fame.

It went like that for a while. He was beaming with happiness, unable to understand where all that luck came from. But like everything good, it didn't last. Once he started to question it all, it was like a switch flipped inwards and it all fell to ruins.

Everything started going wrong.

All of a sudden, the cars started missing parts the night before races. They had engine failures mid-race in almost every stage, followed by DNF's on every scoreboard.

And those aren't even the most shocking things that happened. You name the disaster and it definitely happened to Suruki Racing at one point. Disastrous, life-changing, career-ending type of things.

The mess piled up more and more and it showed despite dad's efforts to stay afloat.

Contract deals with sponsors started falling through, losing funding for a lot of parts and investments in equipment. Then the drivers got fed up with the constant failed races and blamed the car or the team if they felt like it. They terminated their contracts way before their terms were up under the pretense that they wanted different things... which were not related to Suruki Racing. The mechanics chose to stay, well, a few of them anyways, but it wasn't enough.

The team ripped at the seams and slowly but surely ran into the ground and dad couldn't find at least one reason why it happened.

It was like a curse you couldn't get rid of and I saw it happen first-hand.

The late nights he would spend in the garage trying new parts that kept failing with every test on the car. The way he would go as low as begging the drivers to come back offering them money he didn't have because no driver, rookie or experienced, didn't even bat an eye once the name of the team was mentioned.

Lost, penniless and with a heavy heart, he had to watch the one thing he loved the most on earth rust little by little, no matter what he would do to prevent it.

Mom called it karma for his reckless racing days because as talented as he was, the road forgives no one. That you can be God's favourite and still lose everything. And he didn't want to understand that. He never did.

I was too young to help back then. Too young to understand what Suruki Racing meant to him. Too young to do the only thing I could to save it.

Until now.

So, let's try that again, shall we?

Name's Rai Suruki, driver for Suruki Racing 2.0.

Another knock to your helmet, echoing in your head louder than the first, brought you back to the real world for good this time. Mechanics rushed around you to finish the set up on the car before you were called up to take your spot in front of the race marshal, which from a quick glance at the scoreboard would be soon.

Looking to your left, you were met with a set of dull brown eyes, messy jet black hair, a funky moustache and an extremely creased forehead for his middle age, all belonging to your co-driver, Don Tanaka. He's another legend of the sport.

Former training coach for some of the current biggest teams in the WRC, with a CV of experiences surpassing most people that have been in rally for longer. On top of all that, he is an even bigger friend of your father's. When he called him up asking for an old favour to train you, he couldn't say no.

But if it was up to commenting, you'd say he was one of the biggest fools for giving up a lavish salary with so many perks for one favour, especially for your old fart of a father.

Driving with him was great, but training with him was hell on Earth.

"I was doing my mantra," you reasoned, trying to get him off your case.

"Your mantra sucks."

He is an absolute joy to be around, isn't he?

"Well," you turned to him in your seat with a tight-lipped smile, "you're the one choosing to be co-driver to a young adult at your ripe age of 40. If I was you I would've picked something more calming, like gardening."

Bringing his hand to his chin in thinking, he sat in silence for a moment before he spoke.

"That doesn't sound so bad right now," he went on trying to push your buttons.

"Oh, shush," you waved him off, turning back to the wheel.

If there was one thing he liked doing, it was keeping you in check by poking fun at you. He was like that one uncle you could always go to with your secrets or to ask for extra pocket money, but in return he liked to tease the fuck out of you for it. Every. Single. Time.

As much as you hated his antics, you did kind of owe him a lot. He was the one who caught your talent for racing early on, back when you would drive plastic mini cars made from scraps around the team garage like you had years of experience. A few drifting maneuvers around old tires done like a pro at the cool age of 8, and he was sold on you and your potential.

Amongst all the teasing and the pain of having to train like a man, you've spent enough time with him to know you could count on him for literally anything. He was the best co-driver you could ask for and you wouldn't want anyone else in that seat directing your fate for the world.

He knew what it took to annoy you greatly in order to deliver on the dirt track and prove yourself. Especially now, since you were the only woman on highly occupied male territory.

Racing is a man's world. With as many female advancements in motorsport as there were today, the majority of the community was still not convinced that a woman could drive better than a man or even compete alongside a whole grid of their species. They can regard you, acknowledge your existence, but they would never accept you.

Your father knew your entry to the championship would stir up a lot of unwanted attention, besides the fact that he was basically reviving a cursed team and you happened to be the poster face for it this time around. It sounded like a catastrophe in the making.

Frankly, you were ecstatic to get to drive an actual race car outside of the junior series and helping the team get back to its rightful place, restoring its deserved glory. But you knew it wasn't going to be easy work. Especially, since public enemy number one - the press - was going to try and tear you to sparkly shreds for a lot of reasons. An attack that they started before any official information was out.

A few months ago, when the announcement of Suruki Racing's comeback after ten years of inactivity hit the WRC, the media had a field day with it.

They criticized your father for being a nutjob that didn't know when to quit. They smeared Don Tanaka's name like he didn't make most of the drivers currently selling their dying papers. They even tried to get paid scoops from anyone involved with the team in the slightest.

But the team had one wildcard left to play before pulling the curtains for good and giving them the satisfaction that they ruined it.

You.

The press didn't know about you. No one in the other teams knew about you. Thanks to your father's extremely private life, no one even knew of your existence.

The only people that did were your team in the garage, from the mechanics to your PR agent.

Even walking into the circuit grounds this morning, long hair down over your shoulders, sporting the team gear in plain sight, no one batted an eye at you. Even if they did, they would think you were involved with technical or marketing - though even that was a rarity in this universe - or worse, just another groupie looking to get one of the drivers under your hood.

Your father wanted to give everyone a show they'll never forget by having you drive the first race in the calendar without a proper introduction. No car reveal. No interviews. No pre-race press conference. Just a car and its driver.

This way they would judge your driving before they actually got to judge you for being a woman at the wheel of a three hundred horsepower beast. He trusted you and your judgement on the track far more than the lousy press setting you up for fail. They would get a proper car show and speech after the race anyway.

It was out of the ordinary but that kinda summed up Hiro Suruki and his bipolar personality.

The distorted sound of a megaphone, followed by the voice of the race marshal called you to the start line.

"Car 7, Rai Suruki for Suruki Racing, you're up next!"

You could already see everyone turning their eyes to your station, booming cheers going quiet, turning into sharp murmurs.

Time to get this show going.

Rolling up your windows to block the world, you put the car in gear and drove to the start line, waiting for the green light. Looking out at the lines in the road ahead of you spotting the first hazard ahead, the nerves climbed up your spine faster than your engine could pump the pistons for pressure.

You prepared for this for most of your life, but if you were being honest, it all got a little too real now, sitting with your foot hovering above the gas pedal ahead of the moment that could make or break your career before it even started. The very moment that could be a step forward to restoring your father's name, getting the team back on track in a new age of rally racing. The moment for a change.

No pressure, right?

"Raiko," your co-driver called your name, but you couldn't tear your eyes away from the road, gloved fingers tightening on top of the wheel with a small snap. "Do you remember the course?"

"Yes."

"Good. All set?"

"I think so."

"Raiko, look at me."

"You're not my style."

"Raiko," his voice turned more serious and deep with warning. With another sigh into the small, cramped space for breathing your helmet provided, you turned to him.

"You've got this. Let's prove everyone wrong."

He was right.

Let's prove everyone wrong.

The race marshal started the countdown, walking from the front of your car to the side, each number in the count descending with your nerves. You loosened the hold on the wheel, stretched your legs to the pedals and let out a deep breath.

"3."

It's not about how fast you go.

"2."

It's about how long you go fast.

"1."

Fast like lightning.

"GO!"

A soon as the lights went green, you hit the throttle and took off into the dirt, raising the dust behind you. You skidded off to the side a little due to the gravel but you got control of it before anyone could notice.

Tokai was a pretty difficult course to rally depending on which stages got picked for the day. More forest terrain gave way to hard roads, receding in wheel control, gaining insane suspension pressure. This one was more of an open valley terrain, which was a bit safer, but the later you got the okay to race, the more dust and gravel from other drivers would pile up in front of you, making visibility dangerously low. The corners were way too tight and one second off from Tanaka's directions or a mishap of your footing could cost you and put your car on the sidelines.

"5 left over crest," Tanaka paced you for the upcoming hill and you prepared to release the throttle.

"1 left 100."

Wheels back on the ground, you resumed pressing the pedal as a hairpin portion came into view. The cloud of dust in front of you was chalky and you had to get through it before it raised higher. Putting the car in second gear, you got ready for the drift portion.

You had to be extra careful here. The mechanic in chief told you to go easy as the rear could send you into oversteer, throwing off the balance of the car and fuck up the race completely.

Listening to your gut, you waited for the right time then tapped the brake, cut the wheels and pressed the throttle, sliding across the portion. Loud cheers and whistles erupted as the crowd in the stands got up to watch you complete a perfect drift.

"3 right don't cut."

Reduce pace and prepare for a possible road hazard.

You slowed down and sure enough a bump in the road came up. If you missed that one and took it at 120 kmph, it would've projected you off the track, crashing the car hard into the rocky wall like a cereal box. Thankfully, you swerved around it, feeling the car lift off the ground on the left for a bit before it fell back down.

"6 right very long."

Hard left into a tight corner.

"Cut 8 left."

Tight corner requiring you to follow a straight line in the curb.

This was the last and worst corner on the track. You were lucky it didn't rain because this is where your car can skid off into the stands. You caught the straight line pretty fast, cutting a few seconds off your lap time without slowing down.

Following the rest of Tanaka's directions and focusing on the rest of the road, the race finished before you knew it. You liked the state you were in as you drove, mind clear of everything else because as soon as the adrenaline in your body decreased, your brain got bombarded by all kinds of issues.

Did I push the new suspensions too hard? God, I hope I didn't scratch the rear in the hairpin. Was my timing too off on that last corner? I should've practiced it more.

Driving back to your team's station, you sent all those worries at the back of your head and got out to watch the screen showing the score board just as it updated to display the new track times since you were the last to go.

1. Akira Shinkai - Sigma Racing Academy - 1.23.40

2. Naozumi Hiyama - Spica Racing Factory - 1.23.59

3. Rai Suruki - Suruki Racing - 1.24.25

"WE BAGGED THIRD PLACE?!" you yelled throwing off your helmet onto the car seat.

"WE SURE DID," Tanaka high fived you, beaming with energy just like you.

"That's 15 points on the first stage! Well done, lightning strike," he ruffled your hair as you snickered, nose scrunching up with a smile at the gesture you were already accustomed to.

"The car held up a lot better today than in testing. Maybe we lifted the curse," you wiggled your eyebrows at him at which he flicked your forehead. "Ow, what did you do that for?"

"Don't jinx it. We still have two more stages to go."

"But-"

Before you could say anything else, you were interrupted by angry shouting coming from the station next to you.

"I told you to not touch the third gear," yelled a strained voice.

You walked to the side of your station, peeking your head by the team banner, and watched the heated exchange between one of the drivers and his mechanic. Your eyes wandered to the car sitting in the middle, not one hand touching it for the regular post-race check up. From the different strokes of sky blue layered over stark white, the red and blue sponsor stickers and the carbon spoiler, you recognized it to be Spica Racing's.

"It doesn't matter now," shouted another voice, so annoyed and sure of themselves as if they owned the place. "I got a good lap record this time."

"What would you do if you had to retire in the middle of the race?" shot the mechanic, chastising the driver for being careless.

He got up in his face, towering over him though the other was much taller than him.

"We won't win if I don't attack!" he yelled back, throwing his hand in the air to make a point. "The moment I think of being scared I will lose. I won't make that mistake. So just do your job and fix the car."

With that final remark, he rounded the car to walk away from the station until he noticed you in the corner, now standing in full sight just at the line between your stations.

Quickly replacing the scowl on his face with what was probably his natural smirk, he came to you, stopping short of the barrier separating you.

"I don't do autographs, but for you I can do more than that," he added a daring wink, flashing his cocky smile at you.

Ew.

Taking a small step back hoping his vibes wouldn't envelop you, you uncrossed your arms from your chest and lifted an eyebrow at him.

"I don't want your autograph."

Taken aback at your response, he backed up slightly too and looked you up and down, taking in your deep blue and dark gold team fireproofs and the suit tied messily around your waist. The old, way out of fashion colours seemed to ring a bell.

"Suruki Racing...," he started doubtful, "the shithole that revived from the ashes? Are you a mechanic, a co-driver or something for them? If you are, why don't you jump ships? I wouldn't mind having you on my team instead," he finished his speech of intent with another shit-eating grin.

Who the fuck was this guy?

The audacity that wafted off him must definitely make him popular with the ladies.

"I don't think we've met before," you extended your hand out to him, curt and polite, like a normal person would do, introducing yourself.

"Rai Suruki, driver for Suruki Racing," emphasizing your role in the team so he got it through his head that you weren't some bimbo.

If you were, you'd make sure your fist decorated his face in pretty red tones before anything else.

He straightened back, smirk gone from his face in all sense of the word. It got replaced by some kind of curiosity. Looking between you and your palm hanging in the air he looked confused to say the least. He's heard about female racers before and seen some working in technical around the place, he's just never seen one stand against him on track.

Tired of being polite to someone who obviously has never heard about manners, you were about to retract your extended hand when he caught it in a firm grip and pulled it towards him, just holding it instead of shaking it. The move sent you forwards, almost barreling into him when your reaction response kicked in to steel you a safe distance away.

Maybe Tanaka's intense survival program pays off sometimes.

"So," he began and you wondered if he was about to say something intelligent or spew more shit with that mouth of his. He decided to choose the latter. "You're the one driving the Beetle dupe right there?"

Eh, come again?

Your eyes widened at him, looking at where his finger was pointed to confirm that he was pointing at your car and not anywhere else, then you whirled your head back at him appalled.

"B-Beetle dupe?!"

"I thought you were a guy."

Wouldn't be the first time I heard that one.

You took your hand back from his hold, wiping it on the sleeves of the suit hanging on your hips in the hopes that it would wipe off the disgust you were feeling too. It didn't but it was worth a try.

"It's the name," you replied through gritted teeth.

He backed up some more to scan you again, though more attentively this time, like you were some kind of illegality, cooked up from the pits of his imagination. You gave him your best front, hardening your jaw and rolling your shoulders backwards, proving you were more than a pair of boobs and a vagina, which was apparently his deranged first impression of you.

You deserved to be here. No amount of stares from the male specimen, surprised or with sinful intentions, could ever make you back down from this. This was yours to take on. No man could take this from you. Not him anyway.

So, you stared him down too, trying to find something else beside the extreme big dick energy and unsurmountable lack of scruples surrounding him. Struggling to see anything else but some disdain in the way he crossed his arms over his broad chest, a rich prick attitude from how he shifted on his legs like the world owed him golden lingos every time he breathed, and some leftover rage from the screaming match with his mechanic still present in the tick of his jaw, you let your eyes meet his own in conclusion of your very own analysis.

Yeah, there's nothing else in there. An ambulant douchebag. Just like I thought.

Flashing cameras were suddenly thrown in your faces, interrupting the intense stare-down between you. The press and some people, potentially fans of other teams by their t-shirts, surrounded you from every corner of the plastic barrier around the two stations, pushing each other over the race marshals that tried their hardest to keep them away. It wasn't long until they pushed over the barrier.

Too absorbed in the chaos, you didn't notice he leaned down to your ear but when you did, you stilled in your shoes, all blood draining into your pounding stomach. He spoke close and low, so only you could hear his words.

"Don't get too comfortable around here, rookie," he whispered, hot breath hitting the shell of your ear making shivers run down your extremely clothed spine. "Let's see how long you last in here because this season might just be your first and last."

Pulling away with another one of his smirks that were starting to get on your nerves, he regarded you once more before he walked off in amusement to his cool-down room, giving you a full view of his broad back.

Oh, just you wait -

A reporter shoved into the human barrier of orange and green safety vests reaching the railing, yanking it back and forth repeatedly until the poor plastic seal broke off, letting everyone else pool in around you.

Uh-oh. This wasn't good.

They packed around you like wolves on their prey, all shouting different things at you while shoving their big cameras, recording devices and phones in your face. The flashes blinded you, turning the world white and too bright for it to be natural light from the clouded sky above.

Your hands shot up on instinct to cover your eyes from the flaring lights as your ears focused on filtering through the blaring sounds of camera clicks and voices. Then the countless questions registered clear as day, hitting you like a truck at full speed.

"Are you Rai Suruki, daughter of Hiro Suruki?"

"Where did your father get the money to restart the team?"

"Is your car even going to last a season?"

"Do you consider yourself a challenge to the rest of the drivers?"

I guess that was it for mystery, dad.

Some of the other teams passed by the ruckus, sparing quick judgmental glances or sending disgusting sneers your way like that was the way they initiated your welcome ceremony at the gates of the jungle.

If this was any other series, you would've been so welcomed by the rest of the grid and treated somewhat better by the media and the fans. But this was the World Rally Championships.

Driving was dirty.

Talk was filthy, full of disrespect and unspoken trials of envy between each driver.

The press competed to see who would get your head on a pike first and parade it as the story of the century.

Respect was fought for, not earned.

It was a different game. One where you needed to play even if you didn't want to so in turn you wouldn't get played. Survival of the fittest truly.

You steeled your gaze, waving the reporters off and digging a hole through the crowd, successfully escaping away to your pit crew. Helping with packing up bits and pieces and taking your own stuff, you headed back to your team quarters, aware of the intensifying stares belonging to the rest of the teams still around their stations, talking about the first day in this season's calendar being an interesting one.

You had a feeling you and the team were the hot topic of conversation since you could feel their eyes searing deep holes into your back, burning hotter and doing more damage than flame-lit arrows aimed straight at you ever could. Tanaka wrapped an arm around you giving you his curled moustache smile, sympathizing with you.

Looking up at the sky darkening in mauve and pink, you let a small smile grace your lips. At least today was done. Your rally racing career has officially started. The team was back in business.

However, this first stage was just one of the many challenges still to come. Who knew what else was on the way?

As you trudged on the warm asphalt, warmed by the mid-spring warmth of March, there was one thing you knew for sure.

This is gonna be a long season.

Thank you for reading :) As always leave a like, comment or reblog!

#Runaway #Naozumi Hiyama #Naozumi Hiyama x reader #Naozumi Hiyama x you #Overdrive x reader #Overdrive x you #racing au #Overdrive Mackenyu

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babybatscreationsv2 · 7 months ago

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Cooling Metal

Marvel | Starker

Tony has been racing professionally for years, but the spark just isn't there anymore. When Tony catches sight of a street race happening he finds himself burning with adrenaline like he hasn't in years. Though he finds it hard to believe that a pretty boy like Peter really is the best street racer around.

Rating: Explicit

For my beautiful H <3

Warnings and tags: Racing au, praise kink, breeding kink, rough sex, hair pulling, rimming, cum play

Another race, another third place 'victory'. The tabloids were laughing at him. Saying he was past his prime, his reflexes were shot, he was washed up. Tony was afraid they were right. In fact, he was afraid of who he wasn't when he wasn't behind the wheel. Racing was all he'd known for so long. It was all he knew anymore.

That must have been what led him here. He'd been drawn in by the sound of engines revving. Then he'd followed the laughter and the bright lights. A long row of modded out cars blocked off the street. They looked like a rainbow. LEDs glowed in every color against the pavement. The cars were painted to match. Most of them were printed with noisy, eye-catching, decals.

Tony had never joined in any street races. He'd never needed to. His parents made sure he always had access to a track. This was something completely new to him. And it made his heart pound.

He parked his car on the street, out of their way and stepped out. The road began to rumble as the drivers started revving again. The noise of the crowd was drowned out by the engines. The shadow of a lithe figure passed across the headlights. They took their place in the center of the four cars, almost dancing their way along. Then they dropped a flag and the cars took off.

Adrenaline burned through him as they blurred past, sucking the air from the street as they went. Tony watched them go, a grin plastered to his face. He felt drunk just at the sight of it.

His ears followed the sound as they wrapped around the block. The crowd began screaming, waving, cheering. A car, neon green, came rocketing around the corner and finally slid to a stop just past the starting line. The next two were mere seconds too slow with the fourth and final coming up behind.

The drivers stepped out of their cars. The loser was ignored except for one woman who jogged over to give a man a consolation kiss. The winner was laughing, pouring beer over his face, screaming in victory in the center of a cheering crowd. Tony laughed along with them.

"You a cop?" A voice made him jump. Beside him now was a young man with too big eyes and not enough clothes. He'd cut his tank top off at the chest and his low rise shorts were barely long enough to cover whatever he was packing down there. He started at him curiously with his lips wrapped around a lollipop.

"Uh," Tony cleared his throat. "Just a spectator."

He pulled the candy from his mouth and let it pop between his lips. It was bubblegum pink and big to the point of being vulgar.

"We don't usually allow uninvited guests. But I know who you are," he said. "Just as long as you're not gonna cause any problems."

Tony held his hands. "No problems. Just uh... bored I guess."

"Right." The boy smiled. "We won't have much longer before we have to clear out, but feel free to mingle, Mr. Stark."

"Sure. Thanks, kid." The boy scoffed as he walked away. He joined up with a group that was chatting around a souped up Dodge Charger. With nowhere else to go, Tony followed after him.

No one seemed to recognize him or maybe they just didn't care. It was a blow to his ego, but it was also kind of refreshing. He took a spot where he could check out under the hood. He let out a soft whistle as his eyes roamed over the components.

"Nice huh?" The man beside him. He was a lot younger than Tony with a round face and a childish smile.

"Gorgeous. You put this together?"

"Nah," he shrugged. "I'm more of a computer guy. This is Peter's car. He's kind of the best of us around here, but he took the night off from racing. His aunt's been getting on him and- I uh, I guess that's personal." He blushed. "But hey, it really worked out for Bucky tonight. I don't think he's ever beaten Peter before which more or less means, he hasn't won in a decade."

They looked at the man now soaked with beer. He was making out with another man while a small and very drunk crowd stood around chatting and laughing.

"I'm Ned," he offered his hand. Tony shook it.

"Tony."

The boy laughed. "Yeah, I know. We're all pretty surprised you're here. Some of the other more legit racers show up sometimes, but no one's ever seen you around before. You havin' a midlife crisis or something?"

Tony paled. "No- uh, what makes you say that?"

Ned laughed. "I'm just messing with you. I'm sure you've done all kinds of street racing before. Guy like you. You're the best of the best, Mr. Stark."

"Yeah..."

The boy with the pretty eyes and the lack of clothes made his way over to the car. He smiled at Tony. "What do you think?"

"It's a nice car," Tony said.

"Thanks. I built it myself."

Tony laughed. "Sure, kid."

The other two started laughing. A bit hysterically even. Tony stood there, bewildered by whatever joke he wasn't in on.

"Tony," Ned sucked in a breath. "This is Peter. The guy I was telling you about."

Tony raised his eyebrows. "You're Peter? This is your car?"

"Yep." He grinned.

Tony looked at them both. "You're fucking with me."

Peter rolled his eyes and slammed the hood shut. "What would you know? You're seven flavors of washed up, Mr. Stark."

Tony glared at the back of his head. The hostility brewing in his gut didn't lessen when the boy turned and leaned against the hood.

"I am far from washed up."

"Really?" The boy reached into his back pocket and somehow retrieved a cell phone. He unlocked it and handed it over on the contact screen.

"Is this your idea of flirting, kid? Because I have to say it needs some work."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Just put your number in. I'll text you tomorrow. Then you can show me how not washed up you are."

"I don't have anything to prove to you," he said even as he typed his information in.

"No? Well I have something to prove." Peter stood and took his phone back. He was too close. His eyes were staring straight into the back of his own. Tony could hear his heart beat in his ears. Peter took a step back and sauntered around the car. He held his eye all the way until the door was shut. Tony barely noticed Ned climbing in the other side.

Sirens barely a block over made him jump. Everyone ran. Tony jogged back to his car and pulled onto the street, inching his way through the crowd. He barely made it out before the area was surrounded.

He had a few days off which should have been spent getting trashed at a party he said he wasn't going to, but instead he stayed in. He kept his phone within arms reach, jolting at every notification. The TV did little to distract him. Neither did anything else. His mind kept wandering back to candy coated lips and a determined scowl. The boy was cute. Interesting, too.

When the text finally came, Tony was ready. More than ready, he was pumped. It was hard to rein himself in to keep from running out the door early. Somehow, despite the adrenaline, he showed up at the spot just as everyone else did.

It was on the edge of the city where the roads became winding. The streets were lit only by headlights and LEDs. There were no street lamps or billboards here.

Cars were parked in the grass, but their drivers stood at the edge of the street. They watched as Tony pulled up next to the only car left in the road, Peter's Charger.

The window rolled down and Peter grinned at him from behind the wheel.

“I hope you remembered to stretch,” he teased.

“Is this a friendly race or should I have brought cash?” Tony called back.

Peter laughed. “I wouldn't want to rob an old man.”

Someone off the road called to Peter and he turned and nodded to them. Some girl Tony hadn't looked twice at stepped out between the headlights. Tony's hands adjusted on the wheel. He turned his gaze to the darkening road ahead.

The flag was dropped and they darted forward. Buildings overgrown and unkempt blurred past with increasing speed. Adrenaline burned under Tony's skin. A euphoric laugh burst from his chest.

He glanced at Peter beside him, nearly neck and neck. Even over the bumpy, cracked, streets the kid knew what he was doing. Then they hit a corner. Tony had never raced on roads that weren't paved smooth. All it took was a pothole to throw him off just enough for Peter to cut him off, drifting around the curve and leaving Tony behind. He wasn't ahead by much, but it was enough.

A small group of cars at the end of the street marked the end of the race. They sat in darkness until they spotted Peter coming around. Lights flicked on, hands waved from the windows. Tony was sure they were cheering.

No one cheered for him like that anymore.

He didn't win races anymore.

They both slid to a stop, Peter much more gracefully. They stepped out of their cars to cheering. A couple of hands clapped him on the back, but Tony only had eyes for the victor.

"Alright. You beat me, kid." Tony offered his hand and Peter shook it firmly.

He smiled sweetly, his pretty eyes aglow. "Don't take it too hard, old man."

Something bitter died on his tongue as his embarrassment faded. His eyes drifted over Peter's cocked hip, the crotch of his shorts that bulged just enough to be visible, his soft thighs that were begging to be touched. But more importantly, there was something in that tone that scratched at an entirely different sort of beast. Maybe it was stupid, but he wanted Peter's approval. Tony's slip stretched into a grin.

"I have something that will impress you."

"What's that?" Peter crossed his arms over his chest. That amused little smile on his lips made Tony's fingers twitch.

"Something even the king of New York's streets has never seen." Tony turned away and walked back to his car. He opened the door and looked at Peter. "Coming?"

He silently debated it for a moment. Tony considered just how much that sluttly little outfit and those pouting lips hid how just how smart he truly was.

"Peter!" Ned called from the group. "We gotta move!"

Peter looked at his friend with the slightest hint of anxiety as his decision hit a swift deadline. He grabbed his keys and tossed them. "Take my baby home. I'll see you later." Ned looked at them both, then sirens pricked their ears.

"You got it." He jogged over and slid into the driver's seat of Peter's car. Everyone scrambled.

Peter hopped into Tony's car and he slammed on the gas. They blew past city streets until the sound of sirens was far behind, then they slowed down and blended into the other traffic.

"Is it always like that?" Tony asked.

Peter laughed. Tony could see the adrenaline in his eyes. "Not every night, but pretty often. Someone eventually rats us out or the noise gives us away. Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

"You're not planning to drop me off a pier or anything right? Because Ned has my location and literally everyone knows where you live."

"Well if that's the case, you should know where we're going."

Peter looked at where they were and it seemed to click. "Aren't you gonna buy me dinner first?"

"That's a little presumptuous."

"I'm presumptuous? You didn't get the wrong idea about the little shorts did you? Everyone does."

"I'm sure you only dress like a whore."

Peter scoffed. "I'm not the paid kind anyway."

"That's too bad. You'd make a fortune."

Peter laughed. "I kind of already do."

"Oh yeah? You got some fancy condo around here?"

"Nah. My family has a lot of debt to pay off." Peter shrugged and looked out the window.

"Ned mentioned you had an aunt," Tony said gently. He could sense the tension coming off of him, but he was curious nonetheless.

"I don't wanna talk about that stuff."

"You got it, kid." He let it go, curiosity paused for now. But he would be lying if he said he didn't want to know every bit of Peter's story.

They reached the bottom of Stark Tower. The gate raised as the sensor recognized Tony's car and let them into the garage. The entry twisted around, up a dimly lit path.

"Fancy," Peter commented. Tony only smiled.

They turned the last corner and the walls opened up into the garage. Two rows of cars took up half the space with room in the center for the auto shop.

"Whoa..." Peter stared wide eyed at the room. "Wait, this is all yours? Just yours?"

"Yep. All mine. I built most of these. That one was a gift from Audi though, prototype. Never hit the streets."

"Holy shit."

Tony grinned. He parked the car in its spot and cut it off. He looked at Peter who smiled and jumped right out the door. His eyes were glittering. His smile lit up the room.

"Impressed yet?"

Peter laughed gently. "Don't tell me I got under your skin."

"Seems like you intended to."

"Maybe, but I figured you had thicker skin," Peter teased.

"Maybe I care what you think." It was a little honest, but Peter didn't laugh. He turned towards him, uninterested now in the cars. Tension thrummed between them.

"Why's that?" he said in a quiet voice. He drifted slowly toward him in small steps.

"I've been alive a long time," Tony laughed softly, humorlessly. "And somehow I've never been more alive than I am right now."

Peter gave the smallest nod, but it didn't even seem intended for him. More like he was answering his own question. He reached him, warm hands finding his chest. It snapped the tension like a rubber band.

Tony's hands wrapped around him, pulling him in chest to chest, pressing their mouths together. Peter made a little noise in surprise, but he melted against him. Tony's hands slid over his back to squeeze his ass and pull his hips against him. While Peter's hands slid down and found their way under Tony's shirt.

"You don't-" Peter started, struggling to pull his lips away. "You don't actually think I'm just slut do you?"

"I don't bring random sluts in here. I have a different garage for that."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Well then," he extracted himself from Tony's arms and backed away with a sly grin. He made his way back to the car and leaned against the cooling hood. "This seems like a good spot."

Tony licked his lips and followed after him. He grabbed Peter's thighs and lifted him off the ground, stepping between his spread legs. Peter gasped and reached for him. Tony leaned down into his hands and let Peter pull him in, kissing him slowly and deeply, to the rhythm of their hips grinding together. Peter whimpered. Tony could feel the way his cheeks heated in embarrassment. He gave him a soft moan in answer that had Peter pulling him in closer. But Tony was done with kissing.

His hand wrapped around Peter's neck and he pushed him down against the hood. With one hand he worked open Peter's shorts. Peter helped him shove them down, leaving them hanging off of one ankle along with his underwear. He let Tony manhandle him, flipping him onto his stomach and pulling his knees up onto the car.

Tony pressed kisses into his lower back, working his way down, until he found his hole.

"Tony," Peter gasped. His hands grabbed at the warm metal, but there was nothing but Tony's hands on his thighs to hold him up. He laid against the hood, moaning against the surface while Tony ate him out.

"Tony, fuck," Peter whined. Tony kept going, encouraged by the boy's noises until he needed more. He laid him down again against the hood only to turn him over on his belly.

Tony grabbed a fistful of his soft hair and pulled his head up. "Are you ready for me, baby?" He smirked at Peter's glassy eyes and slack lips.

"Uh huh," the boy whined.

"Tell me." Tony pressed his hips against Peter's ass. He watched his face as he tried to recover enough thought to speak.

"Fuck me, please," he breathed. His eyes finally focused on Tony's face.

"Good boy." Tony held Peter's hair in one hand and his own cock in the other, watching him as he forced himself inside him. Peter gasped, his mouth hung open, his eyes squeezed shut and a keening whine fell from his lips as Tony kept pushing in deeper.

"Fuck, you feel so good, baby," Tony groaned. Peter pushed back against him, moaning. His strong back arched. His hands pushed against the metal.

"Fuck me, Tony," he demanded. "Fucking breed me."

"Yeah? You want my cum, baby?"

"Please," Peter moaned.

Tony leaned over him, pressing kisses across his shoulders. He rocked his hips, fast but deep, enjoying that tight heat down the length of his dick. He wrapped a hand around Peter's cock, stroking him just as fast, listening to his voice pitch higher as he whined.

"So close," Peter gasped. "Please- please!"

"What do you need, baby?"

"Cum in me, please. I wanna feel it."

Tony moaned. "You got it, sweetheart." He pushed him down against the hood with a hand between his shoulders that slid down to hold the back of his neck. He was selfish now, fucking him how he wanted, but Peter only seemed to love it. He panted against the hood of the car, breath ghosting against the surface. Quiet pleas fell from his lips.

"You want it, baby?" Tony growled.

"Please, Tony," Peter begged.

"Gonna fucking breed you just like you wanted."

Peter whined. He slid against the warm metal as Tony pushed himself in deep and came inside him. Peter shivered beneath him. His hand slipped down to stroke his cock and before Tony had even recovered, Peter was cumming all over the hood.

Tony turned him over, moving him out of the mess. He kissed him, holding where his weight wanted to melt into the floor. Peter clung to his arms, breathing heavily and then finally slowing. He grinned.

"Sorry about the mess," Peter said with a soft laugh.

"You could always put those little shorts back on and make it up to me with a car wash." Tony wagged his eyebrows.

"I can do better than that."

"How's that?"

Peter slipped from his arms and bent over the hood. He met Tony's eye and held his gaze as he ran his tongue over the metal, licking his own cum from the surface.

"You tryin' to get fucked again?"

"I was hoping we could try out the backseat.”

#marvel #starker #au fic #racing au #prompt fill

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