Initial D one shots

x reader

For Xqseme who requested this.

You had never had much interest in cars, never much caring for the parts and pieces that put it together, simply caring that it runs, runs well and does not cost you too much money nor that you get in an accident. You're not a bad driver, and you're most certainly not a racer, but you can enjoy occasionally driving faster than you should late at night or sometimes early in the morning when the likeability of being spotted by a cop is lower. 

You work a part time job at a coffee shop, and you are friends with people nobody would think you know, let alone hang out with. A criminal, an emo and something of  an enthusiastic emo, though you are perfectly normal, in comparison to them. You had heard rumors and theories about a race happening tonight, but this town is not well known for anything, not even it's mountain pass and so you have no need to believe it.

Your friend, the criminal, however, has reason to believe it's true and so she drags you to the mountain pass, excitedly chattering about this and that, things that concern racing, cars and everything in between.  You had not expected to be coming out, so while you are wearing a sweater, it's not nearly heavy enough so you spare your friend a glare as she practically dances in place where you stand near the finish line.

The wind picks up and you shiver, muttering unpleasant things about your friend under your breath, and then everyone goes silent. You can hear the rev of engines and you wait, interested in nothing except which team wins and nothing more. The downhill is won by a Toyota, which has a nice purr to it's engine but not anything to get you excited. Your pretty little thing, black with blue lines, has a lovely purr, so smooth and nice you barely notice it, but it's still there and you love it. 

You had yet to find someone who can appreciate it, none of your boyfriends understanding your need for a car with a smooth purr, because while you want it to run smoothly and that's about it, the car has to have a certain purr or you just won't take it.  The downhill racers head back up to the top, the wind they created chilling you further, causing you to yet again glare and mutter at your friend, who does not hear you, far too excited with the amazing race that had just ended.

You're not sure what was amazing about it, but you nod along to everything she tells you as the next pair get set up and ready for the up hill race. You notice nothing too interesting, though the guy driving the lovely yellow Mazda catches your attention, that blonde hair and brown eyes drawing you in. It's not until the cars start that you realize you were fantasizing about how that hair would feel running through your fingers. 

You shake your head, pushing your hair behind your ear absentmindedly, sighing and shivering as another gust blasts through, your friend hyped up beside you and other people gathering that will hopefully keep the warmth close by. Then you realize the engines had started and one of them is purring, just the way you like it too, the way few other people care to find or enjoy when they have it. You can feel it though, in your feet, in the way the car is well cared for, in the way the driver has settled in the car itself. 

This driver, he knows what it means to have a nice purr and he enjoys it, even if he races and you are overjoyed, wanting to know how he goes fast and does his turns with the purr, and you start paying more attention. You start to pay more attention, watching the person who steps between, who glances at both drivers and nods to both of them after getting some kind of signal from the drivers. He raises one hand and starts counting down from ten, and you can't help the shiver as the purr goes down your spine, giving you chills. 

"...three, two, one!"

The cars blast off, neither quite taking the lead, but you close your eyes and listen. The steady purr of the car never leaves, though it is occasionally overrun by the screeching of cars drifting on corners and the noise of the crowd down here. You would've left already, but the sound of that engine draws you to stay here and listen, so you do, not even bothering to appear to be watching the race. Something in your chest tugs, lets you know what's happening, based simply on the purr of that engine, and so it's no surprise when the guy at the bottom, from one of the two teams, sporting a walkie talkie claims the yellow car won, and had beaten them with very little problem.