#steel road bikes

[shachormet]

[fuzzyimages]

Bicycles and snacks go hand in hand.

[mykg]

[townpostin]

Road Safety Campaign Organized by Rotary Club of Jamshedpur West

RCJW partners with Jamshedpur Police, Kolhan Petroleum Dealers Association, and others to promote road safety awareness. The Rotary Club of Jamshedpur West (RCJW), in collaboration with Jamshedpur Police, Kolhan Petroleum Dealers Association, Tata Steel UISL, Rotaract Club of Karim City College, and Rotaractors of Jamshedpur, organized a road safety campaign and a safety bike rally to raise…

[410md-shredneck]

Breezer style dropout on this Burley in the shop. Full credit given to Joe on the back of the hanger.

[kingtomura]

Uber Eats

synopsis: What a crappy Friday night! You’re the only driver for your restaurant and you have to deliver to this Tomura S. guy. The worst part? He never tips. wc: 2.7k content: tomura shigaraki x female reader, quirkless au, oral (f! receiving), overstim, degredation, vaginal fingering, mdni cross posted to ao3

You hated this guy. 

He ordered every week without fail, like clockwork. 

“Do I have to make this delivery?” You ask your manager, wishing the ticket in your hand would burst into flames. 

It did not. 

The black ink only stared back at you as you stewed in your own misery: 

Tomura S. 

“You’re the only driver we have!” Your manager calls back to you, tossing some rice around in a wok before dropping it into a takeout container. “But after this, you’re good to go.” he placed the next order into the wok and the hiss of the food only added to the bustle of the restaurant.

You sigh, accepting your fate and crumple the receipt in your hand. It was the last delivery of the night so you find solace in at least being able to leave once you were done.

This guy was a known regular, and better known for not leaving a tip. Ever. It didn’t matter how big the order was and it didn’t matter what the weather had been outside — Tomura S. would not tip. And unfortunately for you it seemed he was more likely to order on your shift so you had to be the one to deliver. What awful luck.

Your manager waves you off after he finishes packing Tomura’s order and you step outside to your bike. It was about a fifteen minute bike ride, and the sweet promise of going home was all the motivation you needed to get it over and done. You put the order in the front basket of your bike and were off, hitting more than a few bumps in the road on your way.

Once you reach the apartment complex, you set your bike aside and head up to his door.

You’ve been here many times before, but that doesnt stop the nerves. 

Tomura was an… interesting fellow. Never a smile on his face and rarely a thank you. 

You steel yourself at the door of his apartment, taking a breath before raising your fist to knock. Maybe today would be different, you ponder, shifting your weight to cool your nerves. Maybe he would tip generously and send you on your way.

Everything could all be a big misunderstanding and you start to feel yourself get a little hopeful. He could be a nice guy under that rocky demeanor — maybe you’ve misjudged him.

The door opens with a little too much force and a vermillion glare meets your eyes. 

You feel yourself falter under his gaze. “Um, Tomura?" You put on the best smile you could and extend your arm, the bag of takeout presented to him. "Here’s your order.”

He looks down at the bag and then back up to you — carmine eyes giving away ill hidden boredom before ripping it from your hand and turning on his heels. The slam of his door making you jolt as you strained to hear his muttered thanks. So quiet you’re sure you may have imagined it. 

It would be generous to say you were shocked, but tonight had not been a kind night to you. A few too many potholes on your way here and a few too little tips given out has your lips pursed and fists clenching in anger. You had just about had it with this man. 

What was his deal? You come all this way, make sure his food is hot — hell, you even smile and that's still not enough. Well, you were done playing nice and found your fist tapping against his door before your brain could process your actions.

In less than a few seconds the door swung open, this time a much more annoyed Tomura greeting you. 

“What?” He rasped, face turned down into a scowl, much different from his earlier indifference. 

You don't waver, “What is your deal?”

His brows shoot up in surprise, “Excuse me?”

“I said, what is your deal? I’ve been delivering to you for months and not a single time have you tipped me! You know that's how I make a living right? It's just unfair.” you huff, exasperated.

This seems to surprise him further, and if you weren't crazy you would think that was amusement on his lips. “Tip? Is that what you want?”

You are surprised, but you nod. 

He huffs, taking a step back, “Fine.”

And then he’s gone. 

You’re not sure if he intends for you to follow him inside the apartment, but you have an idea that he wouldn't leave his door open otherwise — so, against your better judgment, you go in. 

It's dark in the apartment, and not very spacious. The dim lighting gives you little to work with but the blue light from the idle game screen playing on the tv in the living room helps you make out what you're looking at. Tomura has already gone deeper into the home, no doubt to his bedroom or wherever he may keep his money. You decide to stay where you are in the living room and look around a little.

The space wasn’t… awful, messy — yes, but not disgusting. It looked average to what any other twenty-something living alone would look like. 

You try not to make a habit of getting to know customers you deliver to, but judging from the nintendo switch docked near his television, it seems you may have a little in common. 

What surprises you are the anime figurines and plushies lining the bookshelf near the television. He didn’t strike you as a plushie enjoyer. Finding yourself smiling, you walk over to one. A green dino with goofy teeth and cute eyes. Cute. You reach out to touch it, the plushie feeling as soft as it looked.

The sound of footsteps on hardwood break your focus and you look back to see a grumpy Tomura, looking through his – assumedly empty –  wallet, “I don’t have any cash on me.”

His hair is fluffy and white, but looks a pale blue in the hue of the paused game on the television screen. His frustration is prominent in his scowl and you take this moment to really look at him, carmine eyes focused and brooding. He was taller than you originally thought and his black shirt was loose around the collar area, exposing his collar bones and you find your eyes drifting lower. You could tell he was toned under the thin black shirt he wore but you had never had a chance to really notice. Unconsciously, you lick your lips.

“Did you hear me?” 

Your eyes snap up, cheeks flushing, “Y-yeah!”

He huffed, irritation obvious but continued anyway, “well, what do you want?”

You don't know what you want anymore. If he doesn't have cash then it doesn’t matter. This seems like it may have just been an oversight on his part, so you may be better off letting this go. Maybe he would order again and tip you extra next time.

You take a few steps forward, every intention to walk by him and get to the front door when you stop, finally responding to his question, “nothing, just remember next time.” Your gaze catches his and then drifts lower, to his lips. Tomura catches the trail of your gaze and it forces you to look away. You swore there was a hint of a smile on his lips but maybe you were tired, it has been a long day. 

You shift your weight, ready to continue on your way out when Tomura reaches for your arm, grip tight and demanding. It takes you by surprise, but surprises you even further when he dips down and crashes his lips into yours, rough ones meeting the softness of yours. The kiss is not smooth or slow, but needy and hungry, Tomura playfully nipping your bottom lip before pulling away. 

“I have an idea,” he breathes and pulls you by the hand to his couch, falling ungracefully onto it and in an instant he's on top of you. 

Your cheeks are burning as you place both palms onto his chest to halt his movements, “H-hey, what are you doing?”

His laugh is low as if you should already know the plan. “I’m going to give you your tip.” 

And then he's down again, lips warm and demanding. A moan escapes your throat and you fist a hand in his hair, overwhelmed and desperate to get more of him. His tongue swipes your bottom lip and you waste no time letting him in. His large hand trailed down your side, and you pressed closer to him. He felt intoxicating, and arousal pooled in your belly as Tomura pulled away, panting. He was just as flushed as you knew you were, the wild look in his eyes only making the arousal between your thighs slicker.

Tomura trailed kisses down your jaw and neck, leaving soft bites in between licks. A particularly hard bite made you gasp, gripping his shoulder and turning your head, giving him better access to your neck.

He only chuckled, sitting back and looking down at you, “You look like whore.” he spat, teasing tone in his smile. “All spread out on my couch like this.”

His hands moved to your pants, popping the buttons and pulling them down. You should stop him, tell him to wait because you barely know him and it's a little soon, but his words have you biting your lip and lifting your hips to help him get your pants down and off. 

That only makes Tomura shake his head in disbelief, a pleased smile betraying his false disappointment. 

He reaches down and presses his middle finger to your clothed cunt, rubbing soft circles and laughs, “You’re soaked. Didn’t take you for such a slut.”

The words only spurred you on, spreading your legs further and closing your eyes. It felt good to finally get some kind of contact – he was right where he needed to be. Until he pulled away, leaving you more desperate and a complaint on your lips. You stop in your tracks though as Tomura leans down, tongue licking you through your panties. 

Your hands fly to his hair, moan erupting from your lips. You’re unsure how thin his apartment walls are, but you don't care. The feeling sends pleasure shooting up your spine and your heart picks up its pace.

Tomura laps at your clothed cunt, fabric muting the full feeling but giving you enough to cry out. You find yourself grinding closer, body begging him to keep going and he obliges, only for a moment. He gives your cunt one more kiss before pulling back and pulling your soaked panties down and off, tossing them across the living room. 

He wastes no time diving back in, tongue licking a strip from your hole to your clit and your back arches. The hold you have on Tomura’s hair is so tight, you're sure it’s painful at this point, but he only groans, wet muscle lapping your clit eagerly. Your thighs reflexively try to close, but Tomura is faster, hand stopping them and thumb rubbing soothing circles. 

“Oh, god,” you squeeze your eyes shut, the pleasure building quickly and you will yourself not to go over – not yet. That would be embarrassing. 

You feel the pressure in your abdomen tighten and it's clear you won't last much longer. Tomura took that moment to suck your sensitive nub and you spill over, mouth open in a silent moan and thighs quivering.

Tomura rides you through it, only pulling away from his ministrations once you catch your breath. “That soon, huh?” There's no bite to his words and you only give him a halfhearted glare, heavy lidded eyes still reeling from your orgasm. 

You’re distracted and don’t notice Tomura’s not finished with his antics. It wasn’t until you felt a digit pressing at your heat, slipping in slowly and making you mewl in pleasure. You were soaked, and the pressure making your head loll onto the armrest of the couch. It felt so full already. 

“Ah!” you gasped, feeling the familiar glide of Tomura’s tongue against your oversensitive clit once more. 

It was almost too much, your cries reaching new heights as he pumped his digit in and out of your sopping cunt, juices from your arousal mixing with his saliva. He was taking his time building your next orgasm, moving slow and steady, making your toes curl in pleasure. 

The push of a second finger against your hole had you tapping Tomura’s shoulder, “t-too much! Tomura!” 

Your cries fell on deaf ears as he continued, tip of his tongue flicking your clit as the second finger pushed in to join the first, waisting no time fucking you in earnest. His fingers were thick and the feeling of being so full made you dizzy, pleasure spiraling as you tried to ground yourself mentally. You grabbed Tomura’s shoulder, fisting his shirt in your hand as you lost yourself in the pleasure once more. 

Tomura’s motions ceased as his eyes met yours. You could only imagine how blissed out you looked in this moment, breath ragged and sweat clinging to your brow. Tomura wasn’t much better off — he was as desperate as you, hair splayed in wild directions after your hands ravaged through it. You open your mouth – impatient words on the tip of your tongue and Tomura curls his fingers, digits hitting that spongy spot inside that made you see stars.

He flattens his tongue, giving your clit a final lap and it sends you over – for the second time tonight. 

Your back arches and your legs shake as your orgasm washes over you. The feeling sends waves of pleasure throughout your body, eyes squeezed shut and mind buzzing. 

Tomura watches as you come apart, palming his erection in awe. You meet his eyes once you come down from your second high of the night and Tomura wastes no time in crashing his lips to yours, clumsy and wet. You could taste yourself on his lips and groan when he pulls you closer. 

There's a trail of saliva linking the two of you once he pulls away, but Tomura’s heavy gaze is only on you. He leans back in once more to give you a much softer kiss, before pulling away again and giving the same soft kiss on your cheek — heat rushing to them for reasons entirely different from what just transpired between you both. 

It was very… intimate – in a way you did not expect from someone who had just called you a slut. 

It makes you want to reach out for him when he pulls away further, eyes seemingly pondering something you’re unaware of. He looked down at you one more time, before looking to his television and his unopened takeout bag on the coffee table. 

“My show is about to start, so…” he starts, picking up the remote to change the channel of the television, screen lighting up and noise filling the room. You stare as Tomura sits back and gets comfortable, opening his takeout bag and removing the contents. 

Was he… was he kicking you out right now? Seriously? 

Your brows fly up, eyes widened in disbelief — his lack of reaction at your scoff only proves you right. He was kicking you out. Bullshit. The humiliation is evident as you scurry to find your pants, not bothering to find wherever the hell he tossed your underwear earlier, and get the hell out of there before you said something you would regret. 

The only thing on your mind was the front door as you brushed by Tomura one last time. 

“Hey!” he called, gluing you to your spot. Your heart jumped as you turned back to him vaguely hoping he would offer you to stay a little longer.

That small flame of hope died as soon as it came because Tomura was only extending your long forgotten phone to you. 

You snatch the device from his hand and make your way out the door, face burning and legs still tingling from the way he made you come undone mere moments before. 

Once you reach your bike you find yourself huffing in annoyance. What else did you expect? Him to offer you some of his takeout? That would just be silly. You’re walking your bike to the sidewalk, ready to hop on and go back to the restaurant – sure your manager is worried sick about his only driver – before your phone buzzes in your back pocket. 

Tomura S.

Your eyes widened as you read a text from the name you knew you hadn't saved in your contacts before. 

You forgot my drink.

[evilgwrl]

TF 141 x Reader (Apocalypse!AU)

Immune: Nine

WARNING: This is a 18+ Poly!141 series (MDNI)

CW: Attempted suicide, unknown watching as someone gets changed, SIMON BEING THE CUTEST MAN ALIVE, kissing and bum spanking

Taglist: @beebeechaos @h3art3at3rr @johannxseb @cndy-l0v3 @nylluns @pomegranategum @tapioca-marzipan

ANYTHING IN ITALICS IS A FLASHBACK

Masterlist

The summer air was a broil of wet leaves and burnt tar, roads simmering with clouded fogs of steam that snipped at the exposed flesh of your leg. Your bike was worn, tyres nearly flat from the consistent rummaging of scarred rocks tearing the innocent rubber into a battered mess.

Your legs were inflamed from the constant use, thighs straining against bones and weathered skin. Sweat stuck to you in a damp layer, the occasional fly suckling at the salty residue. There was a gentle strum of moans, ripped jaws sloshing against rotten teeth, skin a ghastly contrast against the greenery. They didn’t care for you, walking past you like you were one of them.

It was a sick punishment.

You thought back to the first couple of days after. After Vienna. Steel supported rough fingers, muzzle pointed under your chin, the chill of cold tickling down your throat, trapping your oesophagus with an arrogant choke. Nimble fingers unclicked the safety, a line of tears streaming down your face pathetically.

You didn’t do it. You weren’t sure which was weaker, staying or leaving.

Blood ran through your chest, beating down to the tips of your wrists, eyes gauging through the flesh as if you had x-ray vision. You would no doubt be scorned with blisters later, the sun kissing you with fat welts filled with liquid medicine as you rolled in used sheets, unable to sleep.

You stared down the winding road, a companion of butchered shops lined up by the corner, untouched. It wasn’t rare for you to venture far, always taking a main road that would eventually lead you home.

You pushed through glass doors, majority of the crystal shattered across the concrete. There was a gentle ding of a bell as you entered, a lone zombie trailing towards the noise, disappointed at the sudden disappearance of its senses as you smashed a blade into the centre of its head, the stench of death filling the shop as you gagged. You weren’t sure you would ever get used to the smell.

The store was disappointing at the front, but you knew the stock room held liquid gold. Your knees skidded over the counter, a till smashed across the floor as you laughed. You wriggled the STAFF ONLY door, your shoulders working to barge it open. There were unopened boxes of candy that caught your attention, sticky tape quickly stuck to the wall as you delved through, a child-like innocence adorning your face as you tore apart a chocolate wrapper.

A sick moan of satisfaction ran through you as you stuffed more bars in your bag, teeth rotting with gooey caramel. Your feet padded against the floor, achy limbs begging for a rest as you sat down on a bench, uncomfortable wood barely supporting you. You scoffed back an apple, a small container full of buttered bread soon resting in your stomach.

You groaned as you chugged the majority of your water, the liquid quenching the Sahara in your throat as it stained your chest, a light dribble working down your chin as you sighed. Eyes stared at the bike resting against a brick wall as you looked up, noticing the flock of birds make their way through the sky, gradual darkness soon blending into the baby blue.

Dirtied nails scraped against the glass of your final destination, a small boutique with a flickering sign greeting you with the smell of dust as you pushed the door open. Nimble fingers worked your sweaty top off as you tried clothes on, wiping the grotty mirror down with an ugly rag of a shirt.

Dark eyes watched you from a rooftop, covered face twisting into a scowl as he watched you prod at yourself in the mirror. Your flesh was greasy, a sweet shine covering your muscles as he fixated on the way you moved. He stared at you through the lens of a sniper before placing it next to him as you walked out, bag round with clothes and the minimal amount of food you could find.

You didn’t notice him, his body stealthy as he adjusted, eyes immersed in you as you rode off. They would head your way tomorrow, he decided.

Thick hands ploughed at the wood; an axe gripped between his fingers as you watched him intensely. Your eyes gawked at his biceps, chiselled muscles bulging under the sun, a glisten against his skin from his work.

“That enough?” His voice was thick, a mixture of molten and sweet honey lacing him. His aura was earthy and masculine, his need to prove himself to you evident as he looked to you for approval.

“Good enough for me,” you replied, attempting to grab a log of wood before he barked that he would do it, snatching it from your grip.

Your eyebrows twisted up in annoyance as you crossed your arms over your chest. “I’m not useless, I was the one doing this before you all came along.”

“Didn’t mean to offend you, sweet’art, just don’t want you to hurt yourself again.”

It was impressive watching him work; his forearms stuffed full of wood as he placed it in the small collector next to the fireplace. This was your first time being alone with him, his large frame was intimidating at first, but his shitty dad jokes couldn’t help but pull a smile from you.

You pulled him into the barn, introducing him to your cows, Daisy and Ted. He wasn’t fond of the names, but he felt himself nodding, watching the way you greeted them like they could speak, eyes full of admiration at the way you handled yourself.

“I’m hoping she gets pregnant, she’s my lifesaver,” you cooed, swatting the cow gently against her rump as she huffed out a breath. Simon raised a brow at you, a cocky smirk against his face.

“Don’t think about it,” you scowled as he turned around. Quick hands swatted at his ass as he grunted. Ghost was trained for anything, his hands at your waist as you squealed, quickly thrown over his shoulder with a huff before you were dropped in a bale of hay, endless giggles wracking through your chest as he peered down at you with a grumpy look.

You noticed his eyes crinkle as your laughter slowly subsided, both of you staring at each other with an amused look. His hands stilled at your waist, gripping them slightly with a warming touch.

“What’s your real name?”

He paused for a moment, thumb rubbing at your rising tummy, a pool of butterflies sinking into every crevice of the muscle. “Simon.”

You repeated it several times back to him, enjoying the way it fell from your lips as battered eyes focused on them, watching the way your tongue wriggled in the heat of your mouth as you spoke.

“You like it?” He asked, voice lower with nerves. He wasn’t sure why he was nervous. But he was.

You nodded at him, glancing from his eyes down to his mouth. Your fingers wrapped around his wrist, bringing his hand to your cheek as your mouth opened slightly, eyes never leaving his. He paused, ready to turn away from you.

He didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in, pushing the mask down his chin in a rough manner before he kissed you, his tongue swiping against your bottom lip before easing it into your throat. He was strangely gentle, almost like he was scared to hurt you. The Lieutenant’s hands gripped your face as you pulled him in by the scruff of his neck, deepening the motion. 

His eyes were voids of burnt sugar, a hinge of toffee speckling through as they merged into his iris. He was warm and inviting, the slight tang of his saliva running through your taste buds as he welcomed the sensation of you, a hand dropping to your throat with a delicate squeeze. 

Simon pulled away with a slight gasp, catching the breath he wasn’t sure he was holding.

“I don’t want to rush you.”

You only smiled and brought him back in.

[echoalyssa]

Counterparts | Brian O’Conner

The night air is warm, almost comforting. The city of Los Angeles seemed to have decided to go to sleep tonight. The city, normally bustling with life, was quiet, peaceful. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barks up at the moon.

I’m standing in front of Mercy Park’s garage checking the oil level of my bike. My brother Logan is lingering by the bay doors, rearranging a stack of Husky jacks that really did not need to be rearranged. He was skeptical about me going riding with someone outside of our crew, but I had known Brian for years.

He drove with Dominic Toretto. Toretto’s crew were technically our rivals as we worked out of the same part of LA. Though Dom and Kaneko, the leader of the Mercy Park Crew, had come to an agreement to coexist.

We’d decided to leave the JDM’s at home tonight. It was perfect weather to take the bikes out and we’d both been neglecting the machines.

         The loud thrum of Brian’s bike alerts me that he is around the corner. I glance at Logan and narrow my eyes at him, begging him to go back inside and talk to Toby or Ximena. He was ridiculously worried about Brian considering his girlfriend’s dad was the cop who had almost brought us all in. 

Brian comes around the corner and pulls into the garage’s parking lot. He nudges the kickstand out with his right booted foot and then turns the key in the ignition to shut the machine off. He tugs his helmet off, revealing his blonde curls and striking blue eyes. The smile that he aims at me is intoxicating.

He dismounts his bike and crosses the distance towards me. I open my arms for him immediately. His arms go around my waist, and I loop mine around his neck. He smells like oil mixed with an earthy undertone. Brian holds me for a good minute before he steps back and flashes me with that grin again. 

“It’s been too long.” He glances over your shoulder and raises his hand in a wave, “Hey Logan!”

I hear the garage door close and know that my brother has finally left us alone.

“You look good.” I murmur back to him. And he does, he’s wearing a plain white t-shirt and black jeans. He has his steel toes on and a thin gold chair dangles around his neck. He’s showered recently, his hair bearing the signs of water. Though somehow there is a dirt smudge just under his jaw, as if he just can’t quite seem to stay away from the grime of working on cars.

Brian pokes the tip of my nose with his index finger and then glances at the garage behind me. He tilts his head in the direction of the street. Even though both crews were on good terms did not mean that we should be hanging out together in broad view.

I pull my hair into a loose braid before sliding my helmet on. Brian starts his bike again, throwing a leg over. He maneuvers it backwards so that he can pull back out onto the road. It’s currently wrapped in white with the signature Toretto decals on the gas tank.

My own bike, a Kawasaki Ninja is blacked out. I went for stealth. The machine roars to life underneath me. Brian nods in my direction and together we rev the engines before taking off down the road.

I let Brian lead; I didn’t mind where we went as long as I would get an adrenaline rush. He takes us through a few side streets before we hit the ramp to the highway. He turns his head, checking to make sure that I am still behind him.

The second he confirms that I am still following behind him like his little shadow, he tucks and takes off down the empty highway. My heart soars as I accelerate after him. The red needle on my speedometer quickly craws into the triple digits.

We’re absolutely soaring, breaking felony speeds, but neither of us have plates. The wind whips his t-shirt around, making the fabric crawl upward so it bunches around his chest and exposes the hard planes of muscle. 

There aren’t many people out on the highway, but we weave through the ones that are. We’re perfectly in sync, reading each other’s movements without needing to communicate. I give the throttle a little more and go surging past him, but only for a moment. He overtakes me. It continues like this for miles, each of us going for the lead. The city is a blur around us.

I outstretch a hand to the wind, feeling the way it pushes my arm back in because of the speed. Anyone who saw us together must have been in awe, we give off an almost ethereal aura. Yin and Yang. Light and dark. One and the same.

We were brothers. But bound by more than blood. We were twins as well. Counterparts. Gangster princes of the city we met.

No amount of words could describe the perfection of the moment between the two of us. A picture would do no justice.

Adrenaline pumps through my veins, one mistake and we would be dead, but there was no fear. Only the urge to go faster, to push the limits. That was the thing about Brian, he understood. That if speed was to lead to our demise, we would go out smiling.

Almost too soon, Brian drops a hand to his side, signaling that he is going to take the next exit ramp. He leans into the turn and checks once more, that I’m behind him. We maneuver down a few side roads and then come to a stop atop a hill. The stars are bright tonight, almost defying nature. 

Brian dismounts his bike first, and then he’s in front of me. I haven’t even finished setting up my kickstand before his hands are pulling my helmet off and his lips are brushing against mine. I sigh into him, trusting that I can tip toe the bike and kiss him back. It’s like a weight has been lifted off of my chest

He pulls away but rests his forehead against mine, his fingers brush the strands of hair that had escaped my braid back behind my ears. “I missed you.”

The only response I can find is to pull him back towards me. There wasn’t much time to spare for either of us, both crews were constantly traveling for boosts, but the time that we did have together… we savored it. Loyalties to the crews aside, the two of us would always come back to one another.

[cheesus-doodles]

Going Home: Chapter 4

Yandere Platonic Toman + Time Leaper Darling

Masterlist

‎

Going Home: Chapter 1 | 2 | 3

I kept my promise!! Editing tmr, I'm dead on my feet rn

The neighborhood that Takemichi and Naoto found themselves in was a far cry from the dazzling city lights of Shibuya City that Draken once called home: a suburb outside of the bustling city, where houses and apartments alike that lined the streets as far as the eye can see with the occasional shop breaking the facade. Yet even with the shop entrance nestled off on a side alley, the roads still noticeably buzzed with life as the time drew closer to noon, the hustle and bustle of non-stop traffic and office workers swarming through town that Takemichi remembered had instead been replaced smaller, livelier groups of students filing past with nay a glance at the duo, too caught up in their chatter and gossip of the day.

It was jarring, the former Toman member had to admit, watching the rest of the world go by uncaringly at its own relaxed pace when compared against the urgency of the sticky situation he was in the midst of. Whatever time he spent in the present was time that he couldn’t spend twelve years in the past fixing the future after all. Blue eyes nervously glanced around at every passing soul, before they turned to meet gray ones for the umpteenth time. “Are you sure this is the right place?” The former delinquent asked again, anxiously wringing his hands. He couldn’t help himself, even if Naoto’s sympathetic look had long given way to an annoyed frown. “Maybe we should ring again?”

"No, just give it a minute."

Something felt wrong, yet this ordinary bike shop was precisely where the detective’s digging had pointed him too, the name on the business license unmistakable. So why did it feel so strange? So out-of-place? Takemichi glanced at the shop sign again, the unlit signboard ominously looming over the small alley. 

The questions quickly faded as footsteps started to thunder down what must have been a flight of steps after the doorbell announced their presence outside the nondescript motorcycle shop, the sound of annoyed mumbling growing louder as the footsteps approached. Takemichi held his breath. The door rattled for a brief moment before it was yanked open.

"What?"

The single word was growled out before the figure behind the door was fully visible, and Takemichi’s soul nearly left his body as he came face to face with a clearly pissed off Draken. The former Vice Captain of Toman had only grown taller and more intimidating with every passed year, and now twelve years in the future, he made for one formidable figure, blond hair now back to its natural black. A minute of silence as Draken looked between the two, before recognition sparked behind those abyss eyes. “Takemichi?” 

“It’s me,” was all said man managed to squeak back.

Letting out a sigh, the bike mechanic dressed in overalls visibly relaxed, the hand clutching a wrench dropping to hang loosely by his side. “It’s been years.”

"It has been," Takemichi nervously laughed, before waving over to a very calm Naoto. “This is Naoto, a friend of mine.”

"So what do the two of you want?"

Straight to the point huh. The time leaper took a gulp of air, steeling his nerves. “W-well, um, Draken-kun, we actually wanted to ask about the… seventh founding member of Toman.” They wanted to ask about you was what Takemichi wanted to say, but all those instances of being drilled again and again by Chifuyu to avoid saying your name at all costs twelve years ago stopped his heavy tongue from spitting it out.

Another pause as the larger man stared him down, and this time, the stillness was palpable. Takemichi could feel the sweat rolling down the side of his head, waiting for a reaction. His gut only churned more. This was not good.

Quicker than he could see, the next thing the time traveller could process was him being lifted cleanly off the ground by the front of his shirt, his face suddenly leveled with a furious Draken’s. “What?” The Toman founder hissed, the vein on his forehead throbbing. “Wanna repeat that?”

Fuck.

ㅤ

ㅤ

Slamming the door shut behind him, the once-Toman Vice President cursed under his breath as he stormed out from the back room. How fucking dare he. How dare Takemichi come asking for information on you. He had been inches from turning that turd face into a smear on the ground for soiling the memory of you with his thoughts.

Yet for all the anger smeared across his face in plain sight for customers and passers-by alike to see, it was an uncomfortable turmoil that brewed in the base of his gut, one that Draken knew came from a lack of closure. Of course he had been keeping his ear to the ground all these years - how could he not, when you meant and still mean the world to him - but the last thing he expected to happen today would be to be reminded of you and your sudden disappearance twelve years ago and the quick downfall of everything else that followed. You had always been the center of the Tokyo Manji Gang, after all. 

In a vain attempt to distract himself from the sudden flurry of memories and thoughts, the former delinquent picked up a socket wrench and pulled out a stool. There was nothing more he could do at the moment, Draken tried to convince himself, busying his hands with loosening the bolts of a motorcycle engine; all Takemichi and his detective friend had brought were more questions instead of answers, but he was certain that he would have heard of any news regarding you.

A buzz as the bell to the backroom door went off once more, and every last shred of concentration the man with the dragon tattoo had left instantly went down the gutter. His mind leapt straight back to Takemichi as the vulgarities and curses started to flow once more. If it was that bastard again with his questions, he swears- “What?!” He barked out as the door flew open once more with a bang, not sparing a second glance as to who it was.

But it wasn’t the two black mobs of hair he had expected to see standing outside, instead being greeted by an awfully familiar swish of a ponytail that Draken hadn’t seen in years, the green of an apron with the logo of a pet shop striking against the backdrop of a dull, gray alley. Those distinct yellow eyes of Baji, once sharp and methodical, were instead completely blown wide with panic, the other shoving the screen of a smartphone straight at him. “It��s- it’s-” The words died away before they could leave his tongue; the former Toman’s First Division Captain clearly too shocked by something to say a hello or even notice Draken’s foul mood. And the temperamental pet shop delinquent would have never let that kind of tone drop without a fight.

The motorcycle engineer simply snatched up the phone to take a better look himself. “What am I looking at?” A pause, a sudden silence as Draken continued to squint at the screen while Baji collected his thoughts and emotions.

“It’s her.”

Draken almost dropped the phone as soon as the other blurted out those two laden words. “What?” The man muttered, his voice lost to disbelief. He knew, of course, who Baji was referring to. “That’s not possible.” It simply wasn’t. He would have known if you had been seen.

“Look.” Snatching back his phone, Baji clicked into one of his conversations, before turning the screen back around. “A message from her number. Yesterday night. I only saw it when I woke up.”

Draken’s mind instantly jumped to his earlier visit, and Takemichi’s probing questions about you. Was this related? Did he know something that Draken did not? Logic told the tattooed man otherwise - as much as he would have liked for you to have appeared out of thin air, there must be a different explanation. “Could it have been Mikey?” It must be, since they both knew that Bonten had continued to maintain your number all these years, Mikey having never really gotten over your sudden disappearance.

“So you don’t know about this either, huh?” The once First Division Captain shook his head, frowning as he concentrated. “Why would he send something like this?” 

And that was true: the way the message started with a very hesitant “to whoever this number now belongs to” and directly addressed to a “hopefully Baji-kun”, there was no doubt that it must be you. What was the chance someone else with the same name as you would also know that this was Baji’s personal number? But how?

Any conversation left between the two died away, the two men left to ponder. The world, of course, simply kept turning, passersby eagerly making their way to unknown destinations, strolling past the small alley without a second glance at the duo, while the occasional vehicle rattled and raced down wide, empty roads.

Letting out a sigh, Draken stepped aside, waving at his once close-friend into the dimly-lit backroom. “I think you best come in. I’ll close up shop for the day.”

ㅤ

ㅤ

Twelve years in the past, despite your best efforts, you once again found yourself in the thick of things.

You sighed. “This is a bit of an overkill, don’t you think boys?” The rattling of chains seemed to agree with you, the metal links rubbing and clanking against each other as they followed the cuffed hand you raised to shake amusedly at the Toman founders huddled around you. Back twelve years in the past and once more separate from Takemichi’s time leaping woes, things were hardly going any better for you. “I’m really not going anywhere, I promise.”

To no one’s surprise, the boys disagreed, and they were far from afraid to make that known despite your assurances; you could tell from the tightening clutches and tugging on your shirt, and that was if you could ignore the immediate protests and whining and whimpering that broke out. But you couldn’t really blame them, you suppose, musing to yourself as you rested your chin atop a shifty Mikey’s head, unchained hand moving to gently hold Draken’s much larger one as Kazutora tried his best to snuggle his way into the crook of your neck and probably under your skin as well. After all, it had been just a single night since you had made your sudden reappearance in the small alley a stone’s throw away from your school in a gust of wind, and three nights since you first disappeared. You were sure this was the first and longest time your boys had been apart from you ever since they entered your life.

“You did disappear though,” Mitsuya’s voice cut above the others, those dark, heavy eyebags that clung to the bottom of his and everyone else’s eyes telling you everything you needed to know. “And we still haven’t figured out what caused you to… vanish.”

“To time travel,” you corrected gently. It was easy to tell that the delinquents around you were still uncertain about how you managed to slip their grasp without their knowledge, let alone accept the idea of you having somehow leapt into the future, somewhere that they were unable to follow you to. They had always been protective of you, perhaps because of the difference between their strength and yours.

Allowing your gaze to take a wander away from the mobs of hair of various colors gathered around you, your bedroom was exactly how you remembered it had been even twelve years in the future, your belongings having been left in the exact same spot all those years. Well, aside from the unmade bed where you had fallen asleep amidst the pile of delinquents the previous night, that is. Your present blankets were left still tossed aside into a messy pile, and you couldn’t help but wonder how your Toman friends knew how to fold them back the same way you always had. Did they also take turns keeping your home clean all those years? You wondered if they had managed to share such a difficult task that would have carried so many possibly painful memories. Which inevitably led your line of thought straight back to the various questions that had been plaguing your mind: where was the future you? What happened to Mikey that left him in such a state? And where were the rest of your Toman friends?

Yet all you had were more and more questions. Shaking yourself out of your ponderings, you focused your gaze back onto the lively group of delinquents. “I don’t know what’s going on either, but it’s probably linked to the onomori you boys gave me for safekeeping.” The same purple-and-gold charm from the very founding of the gang, the same onomori that had been stabbed during that life-threatening attack on Ken-chin you tried in vain to stop, the same one that Sanzu had accidentally discovered could summon you back from the future: it now hung from a metal chain under said Vice Captain’s shirt, pressed tight against his sternum where it could get constant skin contact, and more importantly, safe from the grabby fingers of Mikey and Kazutora.

The blond-haired delinquent with the intimidating dragon tattoo only instinctively reached for the onomori once more, as if to assure himself it was still there, the collar of his shirt crumpling as he closed his fist around the bloodstained, amateurishly-patched charm. Now that they had it, you mused, there shouldn’t be any more issues.

Baji, who had earlier been shoved aside by a bawling Kazutora, grumpily poked your side, and you jumped a little in response. “So what happens in the future?” The black-haired boy asked, as you beckoned him closer, patting an empty spot to your right where he could lean up against your shoulder.

Ah, you had hoped that their line of thought wouldn’t have gone there. Because how were you supposed to respond? You hesitated, the white-haired bony, tired figure of the future Mikey roaring straight back to the front of your mind with that question. Should you be telling them about the future? Sure that would be the easiest way to ensure that that particular timeline never happened, given you were sure this would be the first time your boys will have ever heard of this predicament you found yourself in, but what if you accidentally changed the future for the worse? What if you did something irreversible that only made a bigger mess?

Maybe it would be better if you kept things to yourself first - you could always tell them the full truth later on if you needed to. Keeping that in mind, you were quick to school your face back to a neutral expression, though the brief flash of internal panic across your face at that question was enough to raise suspicion. Kazutora instantly leapt to his feet, tears that had already been dried starting to well once more at the corner of reddened eyes, lips starting to quaver once more as he jabbed a finger in your direction. “Y-you left us,” his word ladened with accusation, those sandy brown eyes clouding over as the waterworks flowed. “You did, didn’t you? You m-married someone else in the future.”

And he sounded so convinced by his own words too, you amusedly noted, as if it had already happened because he said so. “I did not,” you stated simply, reaching over to affectionately pat his knee. “I told you, you boys will always be my priority.” You weren’t sure how the delinquent with the duo-colored hair came to that particular conclusion, though you supposed it was simply just jealous. 

Draken raised an imposing eyebrow. “And you don’t want to tell us what happens because?”

“Because I’m afraid it changes the future for the worse.”

“What can you tell us?”

You hummed, your eyes glancing momentarily towards the ceiling as you thought before returning to meet Draken’s gaze. “My room was still exactly the same in the future.”

“Really?” Pah looked intrigued at the idea.

“Yup! Whoever did it did a good job too, my blankets were even folded back neatly.”

Outside, your neighbor was quiet as it always was right at noon, with students yet to be released from their classes and workers still congregated under the big city lights. It was strange, looking over roads and houses that you knew would stand the test of time, leaving you to wonder if the neighbors you were well-acquainted with still occupied their homes in the future you came from. Letting out a sigh as you leaned back onto your bedroom wall, you stretched out lazily as best as you could. “Say,” you ventured. “Did you happen to meet future me?”

Kazutora sniffled, just as Mikey lifted his head to stare blankly at you, as if your question had been asked in Martian. “W-what?” “What?”

”Nothing,” you hastily concluded. Seems like the ‘future you’ was somehow missing, and you noted that down mentally in case you needed that.

ㅤ

Thankfully the subject of your apparently strange question was dropped before you had to elaborate any further on your awkward question, with dirty looks immediately being exchanged between the two still clung to you, though the black-and-yellow haired boy’s ire was quickly stolen 

You hadn’t missed Mitsuya’s unwillingness to mingle with the rest for the entire length of the time the six boys had been gathered, the lilac-haired boy keeping a careful distance from Kazutora in particular, nor did you miss Kazutora’s and Mikey’s seeming aversion to each other’s presence as well, the ugly stink eyes they shot at each other over your shoulders while attempting to jab at each other when they thought you weren’t looking hard to pass over. It was clear that your disappearance had sparked a fight between the Toman founders, and though the exact details were still lost on you, it wouldn’t do to leave this crack to split any further as far as you could help it. Huffing at Kazutora’s more insistent grip around your waist, an indulgent smile pulled at the corner of your lips as you beckoned at Mitsuya to join the huddle, before your hand moved to gently stroke a pouting Mikey’s back. “Have you boys been fighting again?”

“No.” “No.” The immediate denials, combined with their gazes instantly dropping from yours, were suspicious to say the least. You imagined that they had, in fact, been fighting while you were lost to the flow of time. You wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest.

Tutting, you dished out forehead kisses to the beefing delinquents, feeling them melt away against you. “If I cook some tempura for everyone for lunch, would you be willing to make up?”

You didn’t need to wait long to get your answer.

ㅤ

Days started to pass, the hours slipping through your fingers like water. Every minute brought you further and further from your little trip to the future, your disappearance from this present. Your boys had yet to let up with their obsessive observations of you as you expected. It had, after all, just been four days since your return. You simply took it in stride, having no qualms about them wanting to tail you anywhere and everywhere, clinging to a limb or to your back as you went about your day; it definitely beat being confined to just your bedroom and cuffed to your bedpost. With enough reassurances about how you really wouldn’t leave them, and that no, you couldn’t control your time traveling, you even managed to convince your delinquents to let you back out into the wider world for accompanied trips to the supermarket and snack shops. School, however, was still out of the question for the foreseeable future (you tried).

The afternoon sky overhead was unusually overcast, the threat of rain only growing more convincing with every passing minute. Strong gusts of wind rattled windows and doors, ferrying the heavy gray clouds straight in your direction as the humidity only seemed to climb higher and higher, and you were very certain that a thunderstorm was brewing despite the continued absence of thunder. Yet here you were, you mused, as you sat on a curb with a drink in hand, alone outside for the first time in a week while you waited for Baji to settle some differences with the other delinquents inside the store. Come to think of it, you couldn’t remember the last time you had been left truly alone ever since your disappearance, though clearly, Baji not wanting you to watch him fight sat higher on the priority list. It probably wasn’t going to take long anyway.

A pause as you scratched mindlessly at your skin under the cuff. Did Baji from the future also like to fight as much as your current Baji?

Despite the possibility of you returning to that particular future being close to zero in your opinion, given that the boys had a good handle on that purple-gold charm, but you couldn’t help but think back on the white-haired Mikey from the future that had melted in your arms, that you had left behind. Ah no, not left behind, you corrected yourself, as you tried to wave away the instant guilt that settled in your heart. Technically - technically it was just one of many possible futures, and that particular future where your friend had suffered so much could have already been changed.

But something deep in your gut told you that you were wrong. Pushing that line of thinking to the back of your head, you instead opted to amuse yourself with the shenanigans of the past few days as you waited.

You had, for one, been cooking almost non-stop for your boys ever since your return: breakfast, lunch, dinner, dessert and snacks. Unusual, certainly, and you didn’t have to of course: no one was forcing you to, even if your clingy trio had the strongest pouty faces and watery eyes you knew, but you did feel like you had to make it up to them for all the worry. You did however get a lot of amusement attempting to send them to the supermarket with a grocery list. 

And then there was the matter of Sanzu and the residue guilt that you couldn’t shake off. Sure, this Sanzu was not the same as the pink-haired man from the future with the crazy eyes, but you still wanted to put things right. Consoling yourself that even if it did change the future, a Sanzu that you were on amicable terms on was much better than dealing with someone that absolutely hated your guts for reasons beyond you, and apologizing in advance never caused any harm. It did take a lot of pleading, cajoling and outright bribery, but you finally manage to get Mikey and Draken to reluctantly agree to allow you to meet with the Fifth Division Vice Captain, though the two did remain very suspicious of how you knew the other.

Your lips were sealed from any further details, and you said your apologies and your thanks without giving out much information to the confusion of the boy with the mask, though thankfully for everyone involved, the meeting went rather uneventfully. Much to your dismay, the other was most likely forbidden from speaking to you, simply opting to listen quietly and then nodding at the end of your rambling, but you didn’t want to give him any more trouble - you didn’t trust your boys’ usual excuse that Sanzu was just quiet by nature and didn’t like to talk; they have been using that excuse for years by now. At least, you comforted yourself, you did manage to slip him another bag of karaage while a pouting Mikey was distracted.

You breathed out, watching another car whizz by as you took a sip from the bottle of iced tea. Beaded sweat that clung to your hair was dabbed off with a handkerchief, the humidity of the already hot afternoon only rising as the rain-laden clouds, gray from their load, rolled threateningly closer.

ㅤ

Glancing at your watch, you decided that it had been a long enough period of time for you to venture back into the small shop, the plastic bag hanging from your wrist rustling as you stood - your delinquent friend should be about done by now. But all you managed to take was a single step before you were quickly stopped once more. “Oh-” You blinked, shaking off the surprise, the black of the other’s shirt that you ran into momentarily blocking your entire field of vision. “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

An annoyed tsk was all you earned it seemed as you quickly moved aside, and as your gaze was raised from the ground to meet the other, your obstacle was quickly revealed to be a boy with streaked yellow and blue hair, pierced violet eyes staring down at you through the circle lens of gold-rimmed glasses. A face you didn’t recognize from anywhere, not even the future. One that you would usually apologize again, write to the back of your mind, and then quickly move on to avoid any trouble, though the trailing blood leaking from the other’s nose and the bruises that decorated his face made you pause. “You’re hurt! Are you okay?”

”Fuck off.”

You didn’t let that bother you. “Don’t worry,” you assured, showing the other the scar left on your palm back from when you tried to save Ken-chin from that knife attack. “I’m a professional.” 

That seemed to confuse the boy enough for you to leap into action as his violet eyes looked bewilderedly between the small mark and your confident gaze. Whipping open your bag, you produced a small bottle of ointment and a few bandages, basic supplies that you always kept on hand for your own delinquent boys. “What’s your name?” You asked cheerfully as you ever so gently dabbed the dark spots before sticking a bandage over. 

“Rindo,” the boy answered. You replied with your own name, and that was that.

Carefully rinsing and repeating your procedure with each bruise till you were done (you were rather surprise he let you, if you were being honest), you passed him a tissue for his nose after with strict instructions to blow out the blood and not swallow it.

The other obediently held the tissue to his nose without complaints, as if silently asking if you were done now and to leave him alone. Not that you noticed, too busy rummaging through the convenience store plastic bag and retrieving a wrapped piece of taiyaki, to which you pressed it into his hand. “Here! For you,” you lifted your own open drink. “Sorry, I only bought one drink.” 

The ring of the convenience store door opening again was a bell that cut off any further conversations, and you waved a short bye to your newfound friend before rushing over to meet an exiting and very grumpy Baji.

ㅤ

ㅤ

Once more separated from you by simple time, the gunshot shattered the tension weighing down the freezing air of the refrigerated warehouse, finally silencing the annoying muffled begging as the bullet cleaved through flesh as effortlessly as a butcher’s knife through tuna. A click as the used shell was expelled, yet hushness was quick to fall once more over the warehouse despite the area being far from empty. Mikey exhaled, his warm breath leaving a trail of fog behind in the cold air even as the man simply continued to stare blankly ahead, abyss eyes fixed on some unknown spot off from where the traitor’s head had been just a minute earlier, gun lowered to hang limply by his side. 

A stone’s throw away, unusually alert green eyes framed by long pink lashes remained trained on the unmoving Mikey, the corners of Sanzu’s scarred mouth remained downturned as he contemplated what he had just witnessed. Far from the blood and death that bothered the made man, it was rather the sight of Mikey being there amidst the pooling blood instead of him, Bonten’s Hammer. After all, it was rare - unheard of - for the boss to personally bloody his hands with the dirty work, yet this was far from being the first instance of such an exception happening this week alone, be it to rivals, traitors or Bonten members alike. There had been several close calls for even the executives where the various members had found themselves at the business end of Mikey’s gun, Sanzu included, though fortunately there hadn’t been any accidental deaths yet. 

And it was clear they remembered the past week’s incidents, Bonten’s Number Two breaking from his thoughts to throw an accusatory glance Kakucho’s way, given how everyone else was happy to let the boss stew, content with their quiet observation from a safe distance. Said black-haired man returned Sanzu’s icy look with a shrug that said everything: no one was too sure what was going to accidentally set Mikey off next, and with how trigger happy the man has been in the past few days, no one was quite keen to find out either. 

Which left only Sanzu to do the job - the same man who had just been discharged from hospital after committing the ultimate sin and still very much neck deep in Mikey’s shit list - but still the only person left willing to risk his life. And he didn’t even have any drugs left - that shithead of a doctor in Bonten’s infirmary ward had confiscated his own stash on top of denying him any painkillers. Traitors, the whole lot of them. 

The soles of Sanzu’s handcrafted shoes crunched atop the icy floor as he hesitantly took a few steps in the direction of his king.“Mikey?” 

No response. Not a twitch. 

The white-haired man seemed to barely even be breathing, lost to the breaking world in his mind. And there was no doubt about what caused this spiral. After all, it had been a mere three nights since you disappeared from his arms. Four days since Mikey had completely stopped eating or sleeping; and the few times Sanzu had caught the other nodding off for a few minutes before something wretched him back awake once more didn’t count. Short stubble dotting his chin, his mob of white, uncombed hair unkept atop his head, and still dressed in the same days-old clothes, it was as if he had ceased to function completely, and it was because of you that Sanzu’s king was rotting away, perishing before his eyes. A ruthless, cold man Mikey was as the head of the largest criminal syndicate in Japan, but twelve long years apart and for him to have only a taste of his darling you before some unknown force wretched you away from him again; it was as if the spark to keep slugging onwards had finally been extinguished from the broken man, and the strongman facade was starting to crack. 

Despite the pink-haired man’s continued disdain for you, he understood, but there was nothing more he could do. Every available resource at Bonten’s disposal had already been committed to combing every inch of Tokyo, and all they could do now was wait. Letting out a sigh, Sanzu closed the distance, taking the few steps that brought him elbow to elbow with the boss, with just a couple of inches between the two. “Mikey? You alright?” He tried again.

Silence once more blanketed the area as his words drifted off and died, the freezing air in the refrigerated warehouse thick and heavy and hard to breathe. Off in the distance, Rindo shivered from behind the seat of a forklift, the chill finally getting to the younger of the Haitani brothers, but the world still fell silent. 

At least this time Mikey did react, though not to Sanzu, the Bonten boss simply turning away from his right hand man, slippers making nay a sound as he padded away towards the exit, body listing from side to side with every step. “Ah, is it?” The ragged whisper that fell from Mikey’s lips seemed to echo louder than the earlier gunshot, unsteady steps threatening to give way under the man’s frail frame as he muttered to himself. “It was me? I see.”

All Sanzu could do was watch and grimace, hand moving to grip the bottom of his striped vest, knuckles turning white from his tight, frustrated clench. Mikey wasn’t speaking to any of the executives present, no, but to you: the whispering, taunting version of you that lived rent-free in Mikey’s hallucinations and delusions. Like a ghost that refused to depart, your shade haunting the white-haired man’s every move despite your absence, staying just beyond his grasp yet so mockingly close - who knew what kind of vicious words you were tormenting him with?

Even as he still questioned what had led to his intense dislike of you in the first place, he knew that the real you would never do such a thing, especially considering the tenderness with which he had previously witnessed you holding Mikey’s bony hand with. Definitely not to Mikey, but that was a matter for a different time. Shaking his head to clear his mind, the second-in-command tuned out those nagging voices, letting out a sigh that instantly fogged up into a cloud of white fog as he turned his attention back on the unstable man in front of him. Truly, having to live with this amount of clarity at all times was painful.

ㅤ

One step wrongly placed, and time felt as if it came to a crawl as Mikey’s slipper failed to get a grasp on the thin layer of ice that coated the cement tiles, the already lethargic man looked as if he would be meeting the ground under his own weakened legs, white hair streaming out behind the Bonten boss as he descended. 

Sanzu moved. “Wait Mikey, you’re-” Calloused hands shot out in an attempt to catch his falling king, though it seemed too little too late, that signature black shirt brushing past the tips of his fingers.

But in that instant, the former up-and-coming delinquent was quicker, a speed reminiscent of his glory days as Toman’s President as he caught himself with little difficulty. “Don’t you fucking touch her,” the guttural growl reverberated across the tin-roofed building, and in one smooth move, the black pistol whipped around to lined straight up with the centre of Sanzu’s forehead, the black, heavy eyebags that clung to the bottom of Mikey’s eyes scrunching up as his gaze narrowed dangerously.

The world held its breath as green eyes met abyss ones. 

A second ticked by. 

A bead of sweat gathered along Sanzu’s pink hairline despite the freezing temperature, trickling down the side of his face. Was this it?

Another second.

Perhaps it was a mere moment of recognition that glimmered behind those exhausted eyes to which clung black, heavy eyebags, perhaps it was your specter taking pity on him, saving him from what was an unenviable fate. Whatever it had been, the heaved sigh of relief that slipped out from Sanzu’s scarred lips started his world spinning once more as the barrel of the gun was lowered, the other’s bony arm shaking from the effort of holding up the pistol. He hadn’t been sure if Mikey would squeeze the trigger, and even though he wouldn’t have been too angry to die by his liege’s hands, it was far from the right time to leave the other to those spiralling thoughts. He did, after all, swear an oath to keep the former Toman President safe; he had for all this time and he will continue to do so, even if it meant keeping Mikey safe from himself.

The palpable stillness persisted as seven pairs of various colored eyes watched Mikey turn once more to leave, soundless steps reverberating through the tense air as his abnormally delicate figure grew smaller and smaller until it finally disappeared behind the half-open warehouse door, long tendrils of cold fog lazily trailing out after him.

Running one hand through his mob of pink hair, Sanzu took a glance around at the rest of the executives present as a silent grumble slipped his lips; it was rare to see anything but amusement on the faces of these usually desensitized criminals, and even rarer for everyone present to be of the same thought. And if it had been anything but this conundrum, the pink-haired second in command wouldn’t have wasted any time in giving it to them for showing such useless emotions. But with the quickly deteriorating state of their boss as the hours and days go by and no sign of your return or your presence anywhere, there was little they could do but watch with concern as Mikey wasted away. 

Despite the already ongoing search looking non-stop for you, all day and all night, a tightening knot at the base of his gut combined with a nagging feeling told Sanzu that they were unlikely to find you anywhere, his mind instantly leaping back to the pounding headache and the change in his memory back when he awoke in the infirmary four days ago. Why did he stop hating you with every fiber of his being previously? How did you do that? No matter what the others said, there was definitely something off about his sudden change of heart with regards to you, Sanzu knew without doubt, and he would get to the bottom of this.

For now, what he needed to figure out was what combination of begging and groveling would be enough to get Mikey to at least accept some water.

ㅤ

Yet just three hours later, Mikey’s situation had already taken a turn for the worse. Four days without food, let alone sleep, would do anyone in, and even the once undefeated Toman President was no exception. Now standing alone, consumed by the darkness of the last untrodden area in Bonten headquarters, Sanzu knew he was breaking every rule worth remembering, doing something so explicitly forbidden by his king. But as he rummaged through mostly empty cupboards and amidst the little belongings owned by the infinitely wealthy yakuza boss in a bid to find something, anything that could help, the black hole of spiraling thoughts that encompassed the events of the past thirty minutes overriding any awareness he had the items passing through his hands. 

After all, it had been him who had come across Mikey, his near-skeletal figure sprawled unconscious across plush carpets halfway down Executive Row, just meters away from the worn white door of his bedroom. It had been him who had scooped the man into his arms and rushed him down to the infirmary, grimly noting how the man weighed barely anything. And it had also been him, on his knees and his forehead to the ground, pleading with a conscious Mikey to allow the doctor to administer a fluid IV, only for the other to reject his fervent imploring with a simple turn of his head, those exhausted abyss eyes breaking from his teary green ones wordlessly to stare blankly at the ceiling. Because no words needed to be said for Sanzu to know what the boss demanded: he would accept nothing less than your return and your cooking.

Despite the white-haired man not being present, allowing the light from the hallway outside to pour into the usually unilluminated room - the gloom and morbidness just as Mikey likes it - felt too much like the discretion of such a sacred space to the ever-loyal Sanzu, though this did leave him to conduct his hunt with just the sliver of light that sipped in from under the door. The cold sweat that gathered and pooled on his palms was hastily wiped away on striped pants as the usually high second-in-command attempted to focus back on his searching, green eyes scanning around in a desperate attempt to find something that could help, a clue that could point to where you were, anything. 

This was all your fault. Was there nothing he could do but let fate play out?

It was only as Sanzu threw up his arms in exasperation did a glimmer from the furthest end of the room catch the corner of his eye; the small amount of light that reflected back seemed to sparkle even in the dark. The faintest shimmer of gold. What was that? A cautious few steps revealed the source to be a school bag - your school bag, judging from the neatly written name on the tag - that you had failed to take with you for whatever reason. And more importantly, hanging from the front of the bag from a zipper was that notorious purple-and-gold onomori that had him recoil his hand as if burnt. 

No doubt it was the same one that still haunted his every step, one that marked you as off-limits all those years ago on the threat of torture and death. Yet -

The Bonten man reached out, gripping the onomori with one fist. He vaguely remembered something from many years ago, maybe twelve or more, when you first disappeared, when you first gave him that bag of karaage. He had been the one to find your charm, and if his scrambled memory hasn’t failed him, the simple of act of picking up this charm had summoned you out of thin air. Though after holding it for a rough five minutes, Sanzu sighed, undoing the simple note that kept the charm tied to your bag before standing. He probably just dreamt that particular one up during one of his highs.

Still, the man noted as he wrapped the small item ever so carefully in a clean handkerchief and tucked it into his breast pocket, it was probably precious to Mikey. Something to lift his spirits a bit maybe, if it did nothing else - anything that would keep his king going until you could be located. 

And pressing it into said man’s weak hand later, and watching the charm disappear under sterile white blankets as Mikey retracted his thin arm, it was all too clear to Sanzu that the other was running out of time. If they don't find you soon, Mikey dies. 

Turning to leave his boss to his thoughts, the right-hand man decided that he didn’t quite enjoy all the stress. He could use a smoke about now.

ㅤ

ㅤ

The sight of the empty lot where your school building formerly sat brought that familiar gut-sinking feeling back to your abdomen, one that you didn’t think you would be feeling again. Running one hand through your hair, you let a sigh escape your lips. You were back in the future again, it seems. Whether this was the same future or a different one, or even if you had skipped ahead the same number of years was something that was beyond you at the moment, and you had even less on you this time then the previous incident, having been caught in your literal pajamas right as you were about to head to bed. Which came with a secondary problem, one that you found by simply looking up - it was still the middle of night.

The neighborhood where your school once was was silent as it always was at this time of day, with most students and adults alike usually asleep by this time of day. Slipping your phone out from your pocket, you noted that the battery was dead once more: was it just a side effect of the time leaping?

Patting down the rest of your pajamas only confirmed that you had none of your house keys on you unlike your previous experience, which only meant that you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. Though heading back home wouldn’t be a bad idea if this was still the same timeline, and your feet started to carry you down familiar paths once more. Yes, you were sure at least someone would know you were back if you waited by the front door.

ㅤ

ㅤ

Takemichi let out an exasperated grunt, ruffling his hands through his hair. He had been back and forth from the future twice in the last four days alone, plus that disaster meeting with Draken, and nothing. No clues, no progress, nothing. You were still nowhere to be found. Kicking a stone down empty roads, the former Toman delinquent felt truly helpless for the first time. If his time leaping ability was being overridden by yours, then there was no point to what he was putting himself through - he couldn’t change the future until they could figure out how to stop yours.

And that meant…

The black-haired man shook his head vigorously in an attempt to stop his thoughts from going down that beckoning abyss. No, he couldn’t give up now. Taking a deep breath, Takemichi looked up, fists clenched determined by his side. 

It was the middle of the night now, and the streets were completely empty of souls, with the exception of him wandering down aimlessly. In the distant, an occasional rumble of the engine of a passing vehicle, though none passed his way. But Naoto had mentioned that this area was where your school once stood, plus you lived not too far away as well, and therefore if you were really a time leaper, then there was a high chance this was the place you would return to. It made sense, Takemichi agreed, but this was already the umpteeth time he had searched.

Pulling one hand down his face, a flash of hair in the distance caught the man’s eye before it quickly disappeared behind a wall, too fast for him to even register. That looked like…you? Was that a hallucination? 

A quick jog forward took Takemichi to the bend in the street, but when he looked round the corner, whatever trace of whoever it had been walking the roads was already gone.

ㅤ

ㅤ

Across the bustling city of Tokyo, Rindo froze mid-step. 

Yet the sudden lack of movement was lost on Ran. The evening traffic had yet to let up outside, the rumbling of cars and the occasional horn cutting through the unnatural silence that hung inside the tiny shop tucked just a street away from the main road, though it was precisely the quietness that had carried with it the promise of an earlier rest. Careful to avoid dirtying his shoes with blood, the older Haitani had already made his way to the exit, suit jacket casually swung over one shoulder, gun tucked away safely and out of his side under his vest. “Let’s head straight back to base, Rindo,” Ran groaned, running one hand through his short purple hair only to grimace upon realizing that said hand was caked with someone else’s blood. Today was really not going his way. “You can grab a drink at the rooftop bar or something, I don’t know.”

Yanking the front door open with a grunt, said Bonten executive didn’t stop to hear if there was a response from his younger brother, instead opting to step straight out and back onto the narrow side alley, the buzzing streetlight overhead as if a welcome back from the grim of that filthy store and its dead, traitorous owner. Taking a breath of the comparatively better smelling air outside, Ran stuffed his hands into the pockets of his pants, pulling out a sole crumpled cigarette and a handful of change - but no lighter. Not even a match. Fuck this fucking disgusting job.

Ran turned, hand already outstretched. “Rindo, do you have a light -” And it was only then did it hit him that his brother had not followed him out. Rindo was still in the store for some goddamn reason, and he had to go back in there. The feared mafia officer sighed. This had better be important.

Alas, he spoke too soon.

“I think my memories just changed,” was seemingly all that Rindo could bring himself to mumble at the chime that came with the opening door, the man with the long purple hair still standing by the row of unpowered display refrigerators where Ran had last seen him, violet eyes staring down at the blood pooling around the cooling bodies sprawled on the floor. The stench of iron didn’t seem to bother the younger Haitani, too caught up in his jumbled mind as Rindo tried to make head or tail of what had just happened.

Ran, however, was far from impressed, simply propping both his hands on his hips and raising one eyebrow at that statement. “Did you get into Sanzu’s drug stash?”

The sheer vileness of that statement alone was enough to shake Rindo out from his own little world, with said man snapping straight back into reality ready for a fight. “How dare you-” the younger of the two let out a cough, the sudden thick smell of death and blood that made itself known to his previously oblivious nostrils choking up his airway momentarily. “How dare you say that.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to say when you talk dumb shit?”

“It’s not dumb shit, fuck you Ran! My memories changed!” Rindo insisted, carelessly stepping over the bodies at his feet, Ran wincing at the blood splattering up and all over his brother’s shoes. That would be a pain to clean later. 

But still, the older Haitani led the way back outside and into the fresher air of the alleyway, before turning around to better understand the situation his dear brother seemed to have found himself in. “Alright, if not pink pills, then what happened?”

Rindo himself still seemed to be struggling to make head or tail of what had just happened, letting out a groan as the man with the long purple hair rubbed his temple with one hand. “It was after we shot those two inside. All of a sudden, my head felt like it was about to explode for a second, and I suddenly knew…stuff. Things that I didn’t know before."

“Like what?”

“You know you were telling me about Mikey’s girl earlier?”

“Uh huh.”

“I’ve never met her, and before the job, I couldn’t tell you what color her hair was. I can pick her out from a line of schoolgirls now.”

“Oh.”

Violet eyes met each other, and as if on instinct, both men thought back to the Bonten infirmary just days earlier, where an eerily similar sentence had been muttered. Sanzu. Ran sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So it wasn’t the drugs.” This day was just getting worse and worse. “Let’s head back and sync up.”

“Sure,’ Rindo shrugged, scratching the back of his head as he nonchalantly followed his older brother, the purple-haired duo stepping out onto the busy main street and blending into the crowd, blood splattered shoes a distant thought. “I do remember her being pretty nice though.”

Ran raised an eyebrow, as he absentmindedly fiddled with his earring. “Pretty nice or pretty and nice?”

The younger Haitani audibly tsked, raising one leg to kick at the other’s. “You know what I said.”

ㅤ

The lighter, joky mood that the brothers shared didn’t last past their return to Bonten HQ, much to Ran’s disappointment, the usually silent place abuzz with a rare, panic atmosphere. Men and women alike dressed in neatly pressed suits rushing every which way, the small bulge under their suit jacket where their guns were strapped to an unspoken reminder of where they were - no doubt the communicators fixed to their ears were all but alight with barked orders and updates. Casually grabbing a passing grunt, it took a mere moment and single shouted objection for the poor soul to realize who exactly had grabbed him by the back of his shirt, the purple and green striped suits too iconic to be mistaken. “Ah- oh, Haitani-sama.”

“What’s going on?” Ran didn’t need to see through those dark sunglasses to see the other’s shifty look: the nameless Bonten grunt was definitely contemplating the chance of him being dead within the next five minutes as opposed to the next hour.

”Uh-“

Rindo reached threateningly into the depths of his suit, and sweat began to pour off the other’s forehead. “You know,” the younger of the two Haitanis started. “I’ve had a really bad day.”

”No, please, Haitani-sama, I’m not sure-“

Fortunately for all three men involved, the interrogation was brought to quick and uneventful close with the appearance of an all-too familiar mob of pink hair just as Rindo pulled a lollipop out to pop into his mouth. The grunt was let go to scramble off as both sets of violet eyes snapped to the unusual sight of Sanzu impatiently tapping his foot soundlessly against the plush carpet of the foyer, smoking cigarette held between scarred lips as the man looked around before glancing once more at his watch. 

A smirk instantly began to pull at Ran’s lips as he stuffed both hands into the pockets of his pants, strolling over. “Oh Sanzu~”

“I’m busy,” came the other’s curt reply, green eyes looking Ran up and down a mere moment before turning away.

”We know, we know,” the man with the short purple hair pacified. “It’s just that-“

Rindo quickly butted in, having closely followed his older brother over. It was clear that Sanzu, far from his usual drugged up and easily bullied state, actually had things to do and places to be. “My memories changed.”

Sanzu’s unusually alert gaze slid over once more to meet Rindo’s, and it seemed the severity of what the younger Haitani said set in quickly as his eyes steeled. “Mine did too. Again,” the Bonten second-in-command disclosed, though he said no more as the glass doors of the foyer slid open and Kakucho stepped out, gloved hand lightly touching where his gun was strapped to his chest under his jacket. “We’ll talk about this later. House alarm tripped again.”

Ah, your little pick-up party, Ran noted from the side, watching the two top Bonten executives slip effortlessly into a black, featureless car that quickly pulled away from the compound. So you were back - and your arrival must have something to do with the changing memories.

How interesting.

ㅤ

ㅤ

Across town, Draken cursed out loud as his feet flew over concrete paths down empty streets. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

You were a fucking time leaper.

He had been working late on a client’s bike as he always did, the closed garage a quiet refuge after the hustle of the normal work day. The headache had hit him like a clap of thunder, with his brain feeling it was pressing up against his skull; and memories of twelve years past suddenly started to flood back, a recollection he couldn’t control. But they were all memories that he didn’t previously have, freshly added memories: some of your reappearance in his past, some of a fight he never recalled having with the other Toman founders, and most importantly, memories of you telling them what had happened.

It changed him, Draken admitted. It gave him a renewed hope that he didn’t remember possessing, that they might be able to fix this entire mess, that you were somewhere out there. All this time you were missing - it was true. You couldn’t control it like you had admitted. But if the past him still had that onomori, then why were you back in the future? 

Turning a corner, a quick step aside was the only thing that kept him from running straight into someone else, though those fast, honed reflexes also almost had Draken swinging his fist into an all-too familiar face. 

Baji was panting as if he had ran a full marathon, his apron half undone and left swinging from his neck, his hand clutching his open phone. It seemed like the other Toman founder had been struck with the same revelations, Draken determined, judging from the half-dressed state he was in. 

And then those two fateful words tumbled from Baji’s lips. “Time leaper.”

[shachormet]

[fuzzyimages]

Down right pleasant gravel.

[white-poppie]

VROOM'ING INTO YOU HEART ⎯⎯ ♡ biker!Getou x reader

Synopsis: a surprise, late night, romantic date with your Biker bf Getou at a silent beach with just two of you, the sea and the moon Genre: FLUFF!! Warnings: fluff so cute you will want to take a bath with your toaster, also sugu being all breathy n' shit.. (twirls hair) wc: 0.9k+

Getou’s standing outside your house, leaning on his voguish bike. The steel of the bike glints like dark tides under the moonlight; a fitting imagery for the way his bike glides on the road like the lapping ocean torrents.

He's clad in a turtleneck, hugging his pectorals like a vice, dark leather pants topped by his signature biker-gear, leather jacket.

And of course, his air tied in his hslf up, half down, signature Suguru man bun.

His gaze is stuck to the screen of his phone, eyebrows furrowed in a soft arch. Behind him are two helmets, perched prettily on the bike. A larger black one for him and a white one for you.

As soon as Suguru hears the door close open, he puts his phone inside his pocket, greeting you with a soft lift of his lips into a smile.

"Took you long enough," he jests, walking a step closer such that he just has to peer down a bit to graze his nose against yours. The smell of his label perfume permeating through the air

You smile and point at your pretty outfit, styled hair and makeup. He chuckled, gloved hand coming to your face to gently caress your cheek. Cute excuse, nonetheless he accepts.

Getou hums a random love song, taking the helmet from the seat, putting it on your head, adjusting it to your size. A soft smile on his face as he peers down at at you from the bottom of his lashes, his arms flexing in the tight material of his turtleneck.

“Ready.” You exclaim and he tsks, smacking the helmet gently like you would a naughty cat.

“Not ready, you wanna freeze in the cold or sum’?” He crosses his arms and locks down at you as he clicks his helmet on, his eyes glinting through the helmet vizier; you can never miss the tender glow in them when he looks at you, nothing else.

Suguru removed his leather jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, his wooden turtleneck enough an insulator for him. “There you go, you look even prettier when you show me off.” He him, mounting his bike and lets you to the same.

“Okay backpack, here we go.”

“Hey!” You retaliate at the nickname and he just sniggers, looking back at you as you mount the bike too.

He revs up the engine, gearing the bike with a slight jerk which causes your body to lurch forward and hit his back. Sly mf. Sighing you wrap you arms around his waist and he smirks, turning the gear as the engine revves alluringly as you drive off into the night.

The wispy air hits your face making you shiver as you rest your head against his back. He chuckles slightly, the muscles of his back relaxing involuntarily as the engine hums in the night.

"Hold on tight," he says and takes a sharp turn that has you clinging to the fabric of his jacket for your dear life. His low voice muffled against the roar of the engine and sizzle of the night air against your helmet. His low laugh rumbles through the night.

"Where are we going? Sugu?” you scream, his perfume musk wafting through the the harsh air.

“Just somewhere.” He mumbles, kicking off, speeding off into the night.

You both come to stop at a beach, getting off the bike and handing the helmet to him. You wrap his jacket tighter around yourself, eyes fluttering at the seascape. The moonlight shines on the waves that stir and hit the rocks, silvery sand and dark waters.

Suguru hops off the bike, his dark eyes just calmly looking at you, the moonlight reflecting in your irises, your pretty lips parted as you look at the sea. You would kill him one of these days with how pretty you are.

He looks at you as you take small dazed steps towards the shore, taking out you phone and then clicking a few pictures. He follows suit, his hair blowing in the wind.

You look over at him, he's literally the ocean, dark, silvery, soothing and albeit dangerous. You hear a soft crunch under your shoes and bend down to see some sea shells, scraping them from the sand, you hold them in your palm and Suguru chuckles breathily.

Eventually squatting to help you pick some shells, his thick fingers searching through the sand, trying to find the uncracked ones in the dim light. It were a silent 5 minutes, eventually the two of you collected enough to fill the pockets of his jacket.

The two of you sit on sand, side my side, knees drawn to your chests. Your arm is flush against his, sighing as you play with his hair and he lets you.

"Having fun, angel?" he asks softly and you chuckle, leaning over to plant a kiss on his cheek.

"So much fun, Sugu. Thank you for bringing me here." You say, looking into his eyes as they gleam with adoration when you peck him.

Getou reaches over and grabs your jaw slightly, your eyes flashing with the sight of your hairtie that he always keeps on his wrist, before pulling you close. He presses his lips flush against yours, your trembling fingers gravitate towards his face, you can feel his skin heat up.

"M' pretty baby." He whisper, parting only slightly. His eyes flicker up from your lips into your eyes, a soft, breathy chuckles leaves his throat at the lovesick look in your eyes.

"Are you trying to make me over heat?" you ask, wrapping your arms around his neck as you tilt you chin upwards. Getou smiles, his silver ringsand that one chain you gifted him on your 3 month anniversary, glowing in like moonlight shimmering upon the surface and you are underwater.

"Is it working?" He smirks, before he leans in again, knocking the breath out of your lungs.

He's the ocean in the night, and you are drowning.

© white-poppie 2023. all rights reserved. do not repost, modify, or translate without permission. do not claim work or layout as yours.

"Of Vengeance and Ashes” -> BUY NOW!!!! [Synopsis: Read full synopsis HERE ... The year is 1759, London. Shakespeare’s new estate is set on fire by Reverend Francis Gastrell. History repeats itself, 250 years later when Luna Gastrell stands in turmoil due to her ancestry taking a sinister turn. A ploy of vengeance, illusions, betrayals, blooming romance and morally conflicting measures, and the cards lie in favour of none.] I am a 16-year-old author who needs support, I assure you it won't disappoint! It's okay if you don't buy, it would be enough to share the link with someone else who might be interested! I humbly request you support my career as a child author by purchasing my book. This would help me to write more books in future!

Also Check out: L'appel du vide (✔️) (Synopsis: Your husband, Hanma Shuji is dead! With no memories of what transpired two days before his death, you team up with Tachibana Naoto, Chifuyu Matsuno, Ryuguji Ken and Mitsuya Takashi, you go on a journey full of betrayals and twists. Can you find out what really happened to your husband? )

— JUJUTSU KAISEN - Fanfictions

TAGS: @httpshujii @akumicchi, @nanaseishiro @cleaningfairylevi, @buttercupspotify, @euphoricbi @ynjimenez

﹒ Taglist   (lmk in the comments in case you wanna be added and the link doesn't work!)

[nayziiz]

Speed | CS55

Summary: In a chance encounter at a gas station, a mysterious woman on a Yamaha YZF R6 catches the attention of Carlos, a charming Ferrari driver. Little did they know the journey they would both go on.

Warning: Smut, fluff

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x OC (Lola)

Masterlist

Chapter 12 - final chapter

The driver pulled up in front of massive industrial steel gates as a security guard approached the vehicle.

“Sainz for a plant tour,” the driver advised the security guard, who scanned his licence before proceeding to open the gates. Lola looked around, her curiosity piqued.

“Where are we?” she asked, turning to Carlos.

“You’ll see,” He just smiled, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

As the car drove through the gates, Lola noticed the sprawling complex ahead, a blend of sleek modern architecture and industrial design. The driver navigated through the winding roads until they reached a parking area. Carlos and Lola stepped out, and she took in the sight of the massive facility.

“You’re not going to murder me in an abandoned warehouse in Japan, right?” Lola wondered, her voice tinged with mock suspicion.

“No, mon amor, I would never,” Carlos chuckled, shaking his head as they drove toward the reception area. He pointed at the Yamaha sign above the aluminium doors. “We’re visiting the Yamaha factory today.”

Lola’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“You’re joking, right?” she gasped as the realisation hit her. “This can’t be real.”

“It’s real. I wanted to surprise you with something special,” Carlos grinned, enjoying her reaction.

Carlos’s smile widened as he watched the excitement grow in Lola’s eyes, her body shifting closer to the window to catch every glimpse of the factory. The anticipation was palpable, and he couldn’t wait to see her reaction unfold.

When the vehicle finally parked, they stepped out and were greeted by several executives, all eager to take the couple on their tour. As they walked through the factory, Lola’s amazement was evident. She observed each process intently, from the initial assembly lines to the final touches on the motorcycles. The efficiency and precision of the operation left her in awe.

"Seeing it all come together like this is just... wow," Lola murmured, her eyes darting from one workstation to the next. Carlos chuckled at her enthusiasm, happy to see her so engaged.

After the comprehensive tour of the manufacturing process, the executives led them to a sleek showroom filled with limited edition motorcycles. The range of bikes on display was impressive, each one more stunning than the last.

“These are some of our latest limited edition models,” one of the executives explained, pointing out the unique specs of each motorcycle. Lola absorbed every detail, her fingers tracing the lines of the bikes as she listened.

Carlos, though not as technically inclined, tried to keep up with the flood of information. He admired Lola’s ability to understand and appreciate the finer points of the machinery. Watching her excitement, he felt a sense of pride swell within him.

When they were left to study the machines on their own, Lola finally turned to Carlos, her eyes shining with gratitude and excitement.

“I cannot believe you did this for me,” she told him, her voice filled with emotion.

“Was it a good surprise?” he teased, pulling her into his arms, feeling her warmth against him.

“The absolute best, Carlos,” she assured him, her smile wide and genuine. Carlos grinned, clearly pleased with her reaction.

“There’s just one more surprise,” he started, taking her hand in his and leading her towards one of the motorcycles on display. The bike was a stunning, limited edition model, gleaming under the showroom lights.

It was a deep red R-series Pedigree, a motorcycle she had always dreamed of and he had seen pop up several times on her Instagram feed in the videos she watched over and over.

“This, mon amour, is a fully customised YZF-R7, but you already know that,” Carlos chuckled while Lola looked between him and the bike, standing firmly under his arm. “What makes this one so special is the colour. Its deep red matches what my Ferrari looked like under the lights in Bahrain earlier this year, the perfect scarlet red tone.”

“Please tell me you didn’t buy yourself a bike, Carlos. You scare me enough in that car of yours,” Lola quickly groaned, sensing where the conversation was headed.

“Hang on. There’s more to it than just the colour. It has my number right over here,” he told her, pointing out the ‘55’ behind the passenger seat. “It also has custom rims.”

Lola chuckled in disbelief. “Carlos, you’re too scared to ride my bike. How on earth are you going to ride this one?”

“Well, as a passenger,” he told her, his expression dead serious. Lola's eyes widened, and she burst into laughter.

“What?” she scoffed. “Carlos, no.”

“I had them put the number there so I know where my place is on this bike. And, you’ll have a piece of me when you go out on it,” Carlos nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. Touched by his thoughtfulness and amused by his logic, Lola shook her head.

“I… Carlos… this is, wow,” she was stunned and teary-eyed as he nudged her closer to the bike.

“They’ll ship it to your house next week, so expect a delivery,” he added.

“This is too much, Carlos. I can’t accept this, it must have cost you an arm and a leg,” she whispered, her voice too fragile to be any louder.

“And, of course, you need proper safety gear as you told me on our first date, so I have ordered you a custom red leather suit and a very beautiful red helmet to match the bike. I had them put your parent’s wedding anniversary on the back of the helmet, so you have them with you when you go out riding too. And, your brother's birthday as well. Kind of to have us all together,” Carlos continued.

“Baby…” she gulped, the tears finally cascading over her cheeks. He pulled her into a warm embrace, his arms enveloping her in a cocoon of warmth and safety.

“You’ve given me so much, Lola,” Carlos murmured into her hair. “This is just a small way to show you how much I appreciate you, how much I love you.”

Lola tightened her grip around him, burying her face in his chest. “No one has ever done anything like this for me. I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Carlos reassured her, gently rubbing her back. “You lit a fire in me the second I saw you on that bike before I even got a look at your pretty face. It was either the biggest mistake of my life chasing after you or… the rest of my life zooming past me on two wheels. And, I am so happy it was the latter. And, If I have to sit on the back of your bike for the rest of my life, I would, because you’d be steering, guiding, leading.”

Her tears didn’t stop flowing as they drenched his shirt. Carlos was a fresh breeze in her life, a reminder that even after a long period of pain and unresolved trauma, she could find something blissfully wonderful, without conditions, without expectations, just pure affection and love.

The bike wasn’t just some valuable thing he shoved at her to assuage her doubts or erase her insecurities and pain; it was a memento to keep her grounded, to keep her wheels rolling forward, to keep her going even when life threw everything at her. He saw her for who she truly was and not just for what she did or how she looked—wholly her, even the things she hated most about herself.

Carlos held her tighter, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. She looked up at him, her eyes red but shining with gratitude and love.

“Carlos, I don't know how to thank you. Not just for this,” she gestured towards the bike, “but for seeing me, really seeing me.”

“Just keep being you, Lola. That's all I need,” He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs gently brushing away the tears.

For a moment, they just stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, the world around them fading away. In that intimate bubble, there was no pain, no past, no future—just the present moment and the overwhelming love they shared.

“So, when do you think we can go for a ride together?” Lola finally pulled back, a small, genuine smile on her face.

“As soon as that beauty arrives at your house,” Carlos grinned, his eyes twinkling with excitement. 

“I can't wait,” She laughed, the sound light and full of hope.

-----------------------

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @notyouraveragemochii @heyheyheyggg @laneyspaulding19

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

Message Received

jason todd x reader, sequel to Outgoing Call

Big warnings for this one folks. Reader is an addict who relapses, there is a long stretch of fierce self-loathing. Please know yourself and what you can handle. Also, reader's father has died. Again, know yourself and what you can handle.

Also, vomit and swearing.

I don't know how long this is

——————

The night wind whips by as Jason races to Jess’ apartment, ripping through Gotham on his motorcycle. He hopes to god you're still there. He's got one eye on the road, the other on the speedometer. Squeezing the accelerator, he lets the dial tick up five, ten, fifteen miles per hour. He tears past cars and trucks, squeezes into tight spaces, takes turns dangerously fast. It's some of the most reckless biking he's ever done, but he doesn't care. The stakes are high, high in a way they haven't been before. High because this is his fault. Jason has to get to you before you relapse, before you hurt yourself too badly.

Most of his focus goes toward controlling the bike, but he reserves some for trying to figure out how to explain showing up unannounced at your friend's apartment 24 hours after he broke up with you. Over text.

And he only has to come get you because he knows from a bug Bruce placed in Jess' apartment that his text made you fall back into an alcohol habit he didn't know you had.

Jesus. He really fucked this one up.

Jason shakes his head. The excuse is a problem for later. He’ll think one up. Or he won't. It doesn't matter.

The road melts away under his tires, and soon he’s barreling up Jess’ street. He cuts the ignition, jumps off the bike, and scales the fire escape before he even realizes what he’s done. Crouching down, he peers through the windows. Fifth floor, west, rear apartment. Jason’s in the right place.

Through the first window, he has a view of Jess sitting in front of a computer, back facing Jason. He quickly moves onto the next. It’s a living room, empty, and the window is cracked open. Jason gently opens it further and slips inside, landing on the rug. He peers into the bathroom and then the kitchen of the shoebox apartment, but you’re not there. Shit. You must have already left.

He’s back through the window and on the street in seconds. You can’t have gone far, and Jason doesn’t have to guess where you went. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hastily types “bar” into Google Maps. You’re at the first one he walks into.

Jason takes a moment to get his bearings. It's a dive bar, and mostly empty. Only five barstools are occupied, including yours. You're talking to the bartender animatedly, an easy smile on your face. You seem relaxed. To Jason's dismay, there's already a drink in your hand.

Fuck. He's too late. He has to stop you before you do any more damage.

Steeling himself, Jason moves toward you, silently positioning himself on your left side. It takes you a couple of seconds to notice him, but when you do, your eyes travel up his body slowly. When they meet his own your face is mean, your mouth set into a sneer. "Hey, sweetheart," you drawl, tone hard. You bring the glass to your lips.

Jason reaches out to stop you, laying a hand on your wrist. "Baby, don't. Don't do this."

"Fuck you.”

He winces. Not like he doesn’t deserve it.

“Let me take you home,” he pleads with you. “C’mon, let’s go home.”

You turn away from him, let him wait out the silence. Jason sighs, looks to the bartender. “How much has she had to drink?”

The bartender eyes you warily. “Seven shots of vodka in the last twenty minutes, plus that whiskey sour in her hand.”

Fuck. Fuck. He has to get you out of here.

“Sweetheart, we gotta go home,” he tries again, pitching his voice low. “Let me take you back to your apartment.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you spit at him. Again, you try to take a sip of your drink, but Jason’s arm keeps yours in place. “Get off me,” you hiss at him. “Get the fuck off me!”

“Uh, ma’am, do you know this guy? Do you want him here?” the bartender cuts in, eyeing Jason. “Because if not, I’m gonna have to call the police.”

Jason almost rolls his eyes. Trust his luck to find the one bartender in Gotham actually doing a good job.

The bartender looks at you expectantly. So does Jason. Depending on your answer, things could get complicated. But he’s not leaving without you.

You roll your eyes, then wave a hand at the bartender. “Don’t sic the cops on him, he’s just my ex,” you mutter. Jason swallows down the easy way ‘ex’ had rolled off your tongue. Can’t get upset about that now. The bartender nods, then moves toward another customer, giving you some privacy.

Jason tries a third time. “I’m cutting you off, doll. You’ve had too much, too fast. Let me take you home.”

You glare at him, jaw working. Eventually, you sigh. “You’re not going to leave me alone,” you grumble.

“I’m not going to leave you alone." He won't.

“Fine. Whatever.” You hop off the barstool, flagging the bartender down to close out your tab. “Let’s go home, sweetie!” you say with mock cheer.

Jason follows you outside, briefly checking to see if you had brought a coat with you. You hadn’t, and it’s cold. Cold enough that you’ll feel it with your bare arms and t-shirt. Silently, he shrugs off his jacket, offering it to you.

“Are you fucking serious?” you say in disgusted disbelief. “Don’t make me laugh, Jason.”

Jason sets his jaw, turns onto the street to hail a cab. It’s too far to walk, especially in the cold, and odds are you’re not going to get on the back of his bike.

He observes you from his peripheral vision as he waits. You stare sightlessly at the pavement, expression blank, but your hands are curled into fists and the hair on your arms is standing up. You’re stressed, or cold, or both. Not a lot Jason can do to help.

A taxi pulls up, and Jason gives the driver your address before opening the door for you. You roll your eyes at him but slide into the cab. Jason follows, pulling the door shut behind him. You’re pressed against the opposite window, as far from him as you can get in the close space. Jason makes a show of putting on his seatbelt. You roll your eyes at him a second time before copying.

The driver pulls away from the bar, and you set your gaze resolutely out your window. Jason shifts uncomfortably in his seat, wondering what to do next. He’d gotten you out of the bar, but he can’t just drop you off at your apartment. What if you leave again, or god forbid you have some alcohol at home? No, he can’t leave you alone. He has to convince you to let him stay the night. How the hell he’s going to manage that, after he broke up with you, is beyond him.

Jason sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d really gone and made a mess for himself. Not to mention you.

“How did you find me?” Your voice slices into the silence of the cab. Jason’s not expecting you to talk, but he’s had time to think about this one. The bar was close to a safe house, the one he’d been pretending was his permanent apartment when you came over. The one you had seen through, apparently. “I was in the area, you know I’m just around the corner.”

You nod. “What were you doing at the bar?”

Jason holds his tongue. Here is an opportunity to lie again, to say that he just wanted to blow off some steam, or some other shit, and get you off his back. He chooses neither.

“I—I wanted to find you,” he admits. “I don’t know...how I knew,” he hedges, “but I was hoping you’d be there.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to—to talk.” You snort, turn back to the window. “Baby, please,” he starts, “I want to—”

“Stop.” You shake your head. “Stop.” Jason falls silent, stays that way until the cabbie reaches your building.

Immediately, you shuck off your seatbelt and slip out the door. Jason rushes to pay the driver and follow you, catching up by the time you’ve reached your lobby door. “This is your stop, Jason,” you say sharply.

He’s shaking his head before you’ve even finished. “Listen. I know. I know. But you’ve had a lot to drink, doll. Let me get you upstairs. Please. I want to make sure you’re okay.” This is unfair, and he knows it, but he can’t leave you alone.

You keep silent but step through your building's lobby and onto the elevator. Jason hits the button, and soon enough you’re on your floor, walking to your unit. Surprisingly, you don’t stop him from coming in, finding the click of the key of the lock and gently closing the door behind him.

“What do you want, Jason?” you say tiredly. “What do you want?”

He looks at you helplessly, tongue thick and heavy in his mouth as his words fail him. Sighing, you move toward your bedroom. Unthinking, Jason falls in step behind you, and you freeze, spear him with a look. “You’re a fool if you think I’m going to let you come in here again.”

Jason takes a deep breath. He's been dreading this. “Look, I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry but I—I can’t leave you like this. Please, baby, let me stay the night.”

“Why?” you say disdainfully. “You don’t care about me.”

Ouch.

“I know I said—what I said, but I was wrong. I was scared,” he admits.

You stare at him, narrowing your eyes, saying nothing. Jason takes it for the cue that it is.

“I was scared, and, and I’m scared now,” he says in a low voice. “You had a lot to drink, and on an empty stomach, doll.” And he has to make sure you don’t drink any more tonight. He has to.

You snort at him. “I’ll be fine. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

Jason keeps his eyes on yours. “Please,” he asks quietly. He’s not above begging, not for you. “Please let me stay the night.”

Staying still, you exhale slowly, breathing out through your nose. Your hard eyes don’t soften. “On the couch,” you order, then disappear into your bedroom.

Jason breathes a sigh of relief. At least now he can keep you safe.

—

You wake up in your bed.

There is no prelude. You don't get a soft, gradual ascent from your sleep. You aren't awake, and then you are.

Shame cloaks you like a vice.

More pressing, however, is the vomit you can taste in the back of your throat.

You stagger to the bathroom, slamming the door behind you and thumbing the lock. Your knees hit the cracked tile of the floor, the toilet lid smacks against the tank, and your face is in the bowl. You heave. The smell is vile, the retching tears your throat apart.

You cradle your head in your arms, elbows resting on the cool porcelain of the seat as your stomach empties itself. You don't move when it's over, although the smell fills your nose and the ends of your hair drip into the toilet.

Fuck. Fuck. You've gone and ruined it all.

Exhaling, you allow yourself to collapse to the floor, not bothering to flush. Curling your arms into your chest, you begin to sob. You'd gone and fucked it all up, just like you'd always known you would.

You knew, you knew, that you would end up back here. Sobriety was a sham. Everyone thought you could do it, but you're the one who has to sleep in your skin every night. You knew you didn't have it in you, that addiction was ground into your bones, a black hole emanating out from your center that you could never keep a lid on. You had always known that there was something awful inside of you that you would never quite be able to manage, and now here it was, crawling up your throat and spilling out into the toilet.

Quick as they started, your sobs leave you in a rush. You stay on the floor, smelling the vomit, staring at your bathroom ceiling. You were never going to be able to hack it.

The doorknob jiggles. "Baby?" Jason calls out cautiously.

"Don't."

That asshole. Of course he's still here, of course he gets to see you like this. It's not enough that he broke your heart over text, where at least you could hide, instead he has to show up in person and see what a mess he's made you.

The doorknob shakes again. “Baby, please—”

“Get out.” You squeeze your eyes shut. Please leave. Leave. Leaveleaveleave—

“No. Not until we talk,” he says stubbornly.

Fuck that. Suddenly, you’re furious, anger ripping through your gut. You greedily latch onto it, using it to distract from your self-loathing. That asshole thinks he can stay, thinks he has any right to be here, after what he did to you?

Fuck him.

“Get the fuck out of my apartment,” you snarl at him through the door.

“I’m not leaving,” he insists. You let out a shocked laugh, then inhale sharply, gritting your teeth.

Fine. Fine. Guess you’re doing this.

You pull yourself to your feet, survey your reflection in the mirror. Jason may have heard your retching, may have seen you at your lowest last night, but you will not, you will not let him see you like that now. You wash your face, run water over your hair to get the vomit out, brush your teeth. Flush the toilet. Your face is puffy but when your eyes are clear, you unlock the bathroom door and throw it open.

“What the fuck do you want?” you snap at him. As always, Jason looks gorgeous, even after spending a night on your couch. Hair a messy bedhead, clothes deliciously rumpled. You want him so bad it makes you sick. Then you think of your own appearance, last night’s clothes that reek of sweat sticking ugly to your skin, hair frizzy and unkempt, and you want to kill him. Fuck this motherfucker for looking so perfect while you look and feel like trash.

Jason holds something out to you. Pulling your eyes down, you realize he’s offering you a glass of water. You want to hurl it against the wall. Instead, you take it from him, turn, and dump it into the toilet. Handing it back, you stalk past him into the kitchen and get yourself a bottle of water. You’re not taking anything from him.

“Baby,” he follows. “Please, let me—”

“Get out of my apartment.”

“Wait,” Jason says. “Wait. I want to—”

“Get out of my apartment.”

“Sweetheart.” He starts to sound frustrated. Good. If he wants to stay, he's going to get the fight you're itching for. “Let me finish. I have to—”

“Get out of my apartment before I call the police.”

He’s angry now, you can see it on his face. You feel vicious. “You’re not listening. Listen, you have to listen to me.”

How dare he. “I don’t have to do anything!” you shout at him. “I don’t have to do anything for you, not after what you did to me!”

“I was wrong,” Jason presses on, raising his voice to talk over you. “I was wrong, I shouldn’t have said that, I was sc—”

“I don’t care!” you scream at him. “You ended it! It’s over!”

“I still care about you!” Jason shouts back, “I care about you, I’m telling you I made a mistake!”

“I don’t care what you think of me now! Too late! I don’t care anymore! You broke up with me!” You will yourself not to cry as your anger surges. “You made your bed, now lie in it!”

“I’m telling you I shouldn’t have done it, I’m telling you I was wrong, I’m trying to apologize! Why can’t you—”

"You can't just take it back! You already did it, it's too late, I don't want to—"

"Shut up!" Jason roars. "Shut up and listen to me, I'm trying to apologize!"

"No!" You stalk towards him, and something in your face makes him take a step back. "I don't owe you anything! You already said everything you need to say. You already hurt me, now I'm never going to trust you again!"

Jason looks like you've knocked the wind out of him. Some part of you grins cruelly. You want to do it again. "You hurt me, so I'm never going to trust you again."

Jason exhales, remains of his anger sliding off his face. You're still breathing heavily, glowering at him, waiting for what he’s going to say next.

"You're right," he says eventually, voice low. "You're right, you don't owe me anything. I—I'm sorry I yelled at you. You don't owe me anything."

You stare at him through narrowed eyes, coming down off your own fury. Jason isn't looking at you, he's looking at the floor, jaw flexing as he chews on the inside of his cheek. He looks...he looks upset.

You slam your eyes shut before you can register the thought. Who cares if he looks upset, you think to yourself harshly. Who cares? The motherfucker deserves it, after what he did. Still, the savagery that burned bright inside you dwindles to a candle with a single wick, threatening to go out entirely.

Maybe he's just tricking you, manipulating you, you try and remind yourself, but you don't really believe it. That was never Jason's style. You crack your eyes open. If anything, he looks even worse now, but he's still not looking at you, not analyzing you to gauge your reaction, to see if his words had any pull. He's not pleading with you anymore, either. Jason must really be upset. Now you have to figure out what to do with that.

You sigh, clearing your throat. Jason flinches and tries to school his expression into place before giving up and meeting your eyes. He doesn't say anything, waiting for you to make the next move. The ball is in your court.

You stare at him for several moments, trying to work out what to do. Jason stares back silently. "I'll leave," Jason says, voice cracking. You open your mouth, then close it, unsure of what to say. "Do you still want me to go?" Jason's face is a mess, but his brow is furrowed as he tries to figure you out, figure out what you want him to do.

You run a hand across your face. Damn it. Damn this asshole for the hold he has over you. The same idiocy that has you reaching for the bottle moves you to offer him another chance.

"I don't want to talk here," you whisper. Jason sucks in a breath, but you talk over him. "We can talk later. Another time."

"Today?"

You shake your head. "No. In a couple days. I'll text you." You leave yourself an out you can slither through if you need it. You won't give him anything else.

Jason's looks like he's going to argue, but you give him a warning look. He shuts himself down. "Okay," he says quietly. "Okay. I'll wait for your text."

You nod, exhausted. "Get out of my apartment," you say, but without heat. This time, Jason goes. You shut the door heavily behind him, then rest your shoulder against it as the tears start to fall. You bite your tongue sharp enough to draw blood to keep the sobs inside you.

Fuck him, you think again, but this time with despair instead of anger. Fuck him for sending you back to that place, for shoving you a thousand steps backward. You're faced again with how you slipped last night, self-loathing threatening to pull you under. But you're not on the bathroom floor anymore, and you realize that cleaning yourself up has put you back in control, if only slightly. You take a deep breath, reaching for the strategies you practiced with your therapist. You force yourself into positive self-talk. It’s okay, you resolutely assure yourself. It’s okay. Everyone makes mistakes. Everybody slips. This doesn’t have to mean the end. It doesn’t. It doesn’t mean you’re going to fall back head over heels into addiction. You’re not twenty-two anymore. You’re not…where you were, when things got really bad. When you broke yourself on the alcohol because you couldn’t tell when a bad habit became a crutch, couldn’t recognize when a few drinks here and there became active addiction. Your family is much closer now, your mom and your sister are back in touch and they know what you’re struggling with. Your friends and family have supported you before, they’ll do it again.

You put your face in your hands and take deep, measured breaths. You’ve pulled yourself out of active addiction before. You can do it again. That doesn't mean you'll have to, but you can. If you need to.

You stand up off the floor, pick up your water from where you left it on the counter. Take a long drink, then wipe your hand over your mouth. You can do this. You can do this. You can take a shower, find some breakfast, go to work in the morning, and move on. You can text Jason. Maybe.

But first, you need to get through the next fifteen minutes. You pick up your phone and call your mom.

—

Jason sits on a park bench, drumming his fingers anxiously on his thigh. He’s ten blocks south of your apartment, in one of those fancy new city parks Bruce had funded. It’s a cool, crisp fall day in Gotham, and Jason was supposed to meet you here thirteen minutes ago.

He’s been here for nearly thirty minutes. He was fifteen minutes early, nerves driving him out of his apartment and onto his bike. Since he left your place last week he’d waited anxiously for you to text him about meeting up, but after 72 hours of radio silence he’d nearly given up hope. Your text had almost come as a surprise, a terse message telling him when and where. Jason had fired back a reply instantly, he had no room left to be suave. He was just grateful you’d decided to give him a second chance.

And now here he was, searching for your face in the people that walk past, waiting again, hoping you didn’t stand him up.

But no, there you are, moving resolutely toward him with a face that gives nothing away. Jason stands almost before he decides to. As anxious as he is, he’s thrilled to see you again. “Hi, sweetheart,” he says, unable to stop the grin from splitting his face in half.

You nod. “Sorry I’m late.”

Jason waves you off, sitting back down. You eye him before sitting down carefully, perched just close enough to have a conversation with him but no closer. You look at him expectantly.

Right.

Jason takes a deep breath to steady himself. “I—I’m so sorry, baby. I shouldn’t have—shouldn’t have sent you that text.” He digs his fingernails into his palms. “I—I really care about you, and I got scared, and—”

“If you’re about to tell me that you were scared by how much you care about me, I’m walking out of here right now,” you interrupt with a warning. “I won’t be manipulated.”

“I’m, I’m not trying to manipulate you,” Jason says gently, afraid that you think he ever would. He lies to you when he has to, and he's not proud of it, but he’d never mess you around like that. “I’m not. I wouldn’t do that, doll. I’m telling the truth.” You stare at him, gaze hard. “Honest,” Jason adds, hoping you believe him.

“Are you saying you regret breaking up with me over text, or you regret breaking up with me?” you demand.

“I regret breaking up with you!” The words tumble out of Jason’s mouth. “I messed up, I was a fuckhead who got scared of my own feelings. Not trying to manipulate you,” he adds hurriedly. “Just telling the truth. It’s—it's been a long time since I’ve been serious with someone. Actually,” he takes another deep breath. “This is the only time I’ve been serious with someone. Being with you is the longest relationship I’ve been in to date.”

He stops here to see how you’re taking his words, and to give himself a break. He's doing so shockingly well at sharing his feelings with you, he's almost surprised.

He's glad he showed up for himself. You're worth it.

Jason peers over at you from his side of the bench, trying to gauge where you're at. Your eyes haven't softened, but the line of your mouth has loosened, jaw more relaxed. Jason pushes onward.

"I—I've got some shit, sweetheart," he says quietly, carefully. "I grew up in Crime Alley. My dad wasn't around, and my mother was a druggie. She died when I was ten." He closes his eyes. Jason is so far removed from that life, so distant from that distant past, but it doesn't get any easier to talk about. It's—it's hard. It's still hard.

"I went into...foster care," he says. He has to lie here, he can't chance you putting together the Jason Todd that went to live with Bruce Wayne and the Jason Todd that died tragically two years later. He isn't ready to tell you about that, not yet. He figures he's allowed this much. "At first, it was great with my foster father, but then...it wasn't. I ran away a few years later." Jason maneuvers around the snarled timeline. "I was on and off the streets for a bit there. I got into some...bad shit. But things are better now. I'm trying to be better," he finishes stubbornly. He is, despite what Bruce might say.

Jason can't get himself to look at you, not after depositing all that shit into your lap. Instead, he glares emptily into the horizon until you sigh, then clear your throat.

"Thank you for telling me that," you say evenly. Jason whips his head up to stare at you. "I appreciate you..." You pause, sucking on your teeth as you choose your words. "You giving me some background."

Jason is silent, still. He doesn't want to move, doesn't want to breathe until you've finished. Until you tell him...what you want to do next.

If you're even considering staying with him, after all this.

You sigh again, swallow thickly. "I've...you're not the only one who has shit." You go silent, looking away. He waits patiently, guessing at what's coming.

"I'm a recovering alcoholic," you say, matter-of-fact. Jason winces, even though he already knew. Still, he has to ask.

"Does that mean...last night..." he trails off.

You look at him steadily. "Yeah. That's what that was."

"Fuck, princess, I'm...I'm so sorry," he says brokenly, guilt spilling out. "I'm so sorry I did that to you."

"Thanks," you say quietly. "Look, I, I want to explain. Uh..." you look away, blinking. "It got really bad when my Dad died. It was really sudden, car accident. Hit and run."

Shit. Jason grips the sleeves of his jacket, tension rippling through his forearms.

"My family just kind of...fell apart, after that. My sister and my mom got really distant, and I was away at college and I just...yeah." You suck in a breath. "A couple of years later, I got into a car accident. It was a DUI. I was okay, but it kind of...woke my sister and my mom up, I guess. They helped me recover."

Jason waits a couple of moments after you go silent, making sure you're finished. "Thank you for telling me," he says, copying you. "I'm so sorry that happened to you, that you lost your father like that," he says gently. "That...that sounds really bad."

You shrug. "We all have our shit, you know?" Yeah.

The two of you fall silent, chewing through your confessions. Jason runs a hand through his hair, across the back of his neck. He didn’t realize you were carrying all that on your shoulders. It makes him view you differently. You’re…tougher, than he thought. You’re made of stronger stuff. He needs someone like that, he thinks. Someone who might understand. Maybe the two of you are well-suited for each other.

That is, if you’re still willing to try.

He clears his throat, and you glance at him. “So, what, uh,” he coughs awkwardly. “What happens now?” Jason holds his breath.

You stare at him for a moment, eyes narrow. Then you sigh, slide over to him. “Now,” you let your shoulders bump against his, “you’re going to take me to the coffee shop across the street and buy me an overpriced latte. As an apology.”

Jason’s heart soars. “Not one of those stupid flavors,” he snorts through a grin.

“Yeah, one of those stupid flavors. It’s going to be a large, and I’m going to add, like, four extra flavor pumps, because you were being such an ass. And I’m getting a cookie.” You raise an eyebrow at him, daring him to comment.

Jason stands up, offering you a hand. “Anything for you, doll.”

You accept his hand, but then surprise him, pulling hard enough to make him stumble, legs hitting the bench. He regains his balance as you laugh at him, hopping up. “That’s right,” you look at him meaningfully over your shoulder. “Anything for me.”

Raising his eyebrows, Jason nods at your challenge. Yeah. He can do that.

Satisfied, you slip your hand in his and lead him towards the coffee shop.

----

anyway. that was fun. i hope you had fun.

tagging: @candlewitch-cryptic @somenerdydancer

[morganpdf]

guy who doesnt like talking to his dad BUT knows his dad has extreme bicycle autism w a specialty in road bikes & would be able to tell him if its actually as good of a deal as it looks or not

man. i miss riding a bike

[the-dixon-effect]

A/N: pic doesn't look like a chevy but we roll :| couldn't find any aesthetic pick-up trucks on pinterest 😔 thanks for the request my love, such a cute idea xx

requested by: @dixonsgirl93 -> masterlist

words: 509

The inky-black sky was scattered with twinkling constellations, a divine sight that so often went forgotten about these days. The sound of eagerly buzzing crickets from the surrounding forest was overpowered by the roaring engine. Perhaps if you weren't overcome with fatigue from the day you had, you would have noticed the truck vibrating beneath you and wince at every bump in the road. After the ambush at Woodbury starting in the early hours of the morning, you needed rest. And you couldn't wait much longer.

Daryl felt a little uneasy as he settled into his spot in the back of the Chevy pick-up. Maybe it was the rough day he'd had, maybe it was being in such close proximity to you. Needless to say, he felt every bump in the road and the vibration of the engine as he leaned against the cool steel wall. Then he felt the soft thump as your head rested on his shoulder, innocently asleep taking in hushed little breaths through your nose.

He turned his head sharply, on instinct at first, still a little on edge. Only to be met with the sight of you, so sweet and pretty, unconsciously snuggled up to him as the car headed for home. Daryl revelled in the moment, enjoying the idea that a part of you trusted (and liked) him enough to let yourself physically relax around him. He liked the closeness, the sense of comfort he could bring to you, the feeling of your head on his shoulder and hands so near each other, that they were practically intertwined. Right now, he was glad that he agreed not to take his bike, on the grounds of getting separated from the others. Immediately he tensed up, realising that any sudden movement could wake you from your slumber. God forbid you would awaken to him gazing down at you like some lovesick teenager. Luckily, the pick-up was at the back of the queue of cars so nobody had to watch him get flustered this way. He remained motionless. Completely still until the truck rolled into the gates of the prison, when Daryl started to wonder how to deal with the situation.

"Oh.. sorry," you hummed and rubbed your eyes as recognised those familiar metal fences, and realised that you had been sleeping on Daryl's shoulder for the whole ride home.

"Oh, nah, dun' worry 'bout it," he tried to muster the best smile he could, but it came out a little more like a grimace. You thought it was cute, though.

You chuckled, asking, "How long was the ride? I don't remember any of it," still half-asleep as Rick opened the tailgate allowing you both to hop off the truck. You figured he must've noticed judging by the mischievous look he was giving Daryl.

"'Bout an hour," he drawled, taking your hand to guide you down to the ground.

"Shit, sorry.. You should've woken me," you said with a laugh as you looked up at him, beginning to stroll up to the prison entrance.

"Wouldn't dream of it."