What happens when your bike gets busted, and the garage you go to has a certain devil working.
Reader has a motorcycle, reader is a university student, nothing bad happens it's just a drabble, reader probably thinks blood is hot it's kinda implied
WC: 1,185
A/N: My first X reader šš this was original x oc but I adjusted it. if the grammar is wrong or refers to a he instead of a you.. mb it's 1:15 and I'm sitting in my nans dark spare room. Banners from here and here!! NOT BETA READ!
You frequently prided yourself on the shiny condition of your bike. It was your baby, the thing you poured a lot of your disposable income into. You cared a lot about it.
What would you do if you couldnāt risk your life going 150 on a 80 highway, after all?
It wasnāt murder, but baby steps!
The care and time you lovingly poured into its condition was the same reason you screamed so loud when you left the dorm building and found the back of it battered.
Some asshat had decided to do donuts in the parking lot while drunk, if the note half assed and stuck on the back with a bit of chewed gum was anything to go off of. But you knew that lamenting over the fury of a busted bike would do nothing.
So you scraped off the gum and drove it to the closest garage that was open at six thirty in the morning, the thick downpour of rain not helping to ease your mood.
The motorcycle lulled as you pulled it into a slow break, back wheels screeching ever so slightly at the curve of movement.
The garage was simple, grey floors and white walls, a few cars being tinkered with and an overly strong smell of bleach, paint andā¦ iron?
You pulled off your helmet, raking a hand through your hair, forcing it to bounce back to something semi presentable, and adjusted your shirt. You waved down a mechanic without particularly looking at who was coming, far too busy scowling at the dent.
You mean, really. Who would ruin such a nice coat of paint on such nice plating.
The steady sound of footfall got closer, and you crouch down to run your fingers along the indentation. āNasty mark, I know. Can I get a quote on fixing it?ā You murmur and peeled off your jacket, wrapping it around your waist with care- real leather should be taken care of.
The smell of bleach and iron got stronger, almost drowning out the paint with the added scent of grease. It smelt sharp.
āAww, and here I thought you were here to see ya favorite mechanic.ā The worker audibly pouted.
Knowing that voice, you thought, that pout would be the single most sarcastic thing heād see all week.
You launched yourself around, legs tangling beneath you where you were still crouching, and you fell straight on your ass.
Ronin. The butcher. Godās least favorite freak, and Satanās favorite representative.
He barked out a laugh, one hand resting in his jackets pocket with the other splayed out as an offering of help. āThat excited to see me, darlinā?ā
āRonin.ā you spat, knocking his hand out the way to scramble up himself. āYou work here? This is the single most unfortunate turn of events possible.ā
You looked Ronin up and down, mentally taking a note of how terrifying heād be in his alley- and how hot heād be covered in blood.
āWell my alleys not too far, is it? Only makes sense Iād be close by, wouldnāt wanna travel too far.ā Ronin grinned, hand still dangling awkwardly to the side. His eyes flickered down to it briefly, āAnd here I thought my favorite writer was all obsessed with meā¦ ya breakinā my heart.ā
You grimace, hands previously at your side falling back to lean against your bike. āGod I hope it kills you.ā you groan. āCan you justā¦ you know? Help me with my bike?ā
āWell thatās my job darlinā, and I know a pretty little way you can pay for it.ā Ronin leaned forward, still smirking as your personal space became his..
You pushed him away by the shoulders, briefly wondering if you were touching a jacket that was splattered with blood the night prior. āIāve told you before, you need more creative threats. Youāre not taking my heart for my bike. Iāll pay you with cash.ā you retort flatly, rolling his eyes at the overdramaticised attempt at āhurtā Ronin was trying to display.
Ronin continued to grin, the smile not faltering once, āOh darlinā I wasnāt talkin ābout that.ā
His eyes shifted down, lingering on your lips. āI was thinkinā something a little moreā¦ temporary. If I took your heart now, well that woulda cut our little game short.ā
He shifted closer again, head so close your foreheads were almost touching. You could feel the heat of his skin. His eyes were dark, like an endless void. He stared, unwavering and smirking. Maybe you were insane, or maybe it really was attractive. Either way you were too far gone to care.
You were a rational person, and Ronin was one of his word. He said heād cut out a heart and dedicate it to you, he did. He said heād ruin your life, well he already had in some way. It was intoxicating, the truth and nothing but it being used in such a sharp edged way. You relished the way it dug into the skin covering your ribs, getting ever closer to breaking through and sliding through bones to your heart.
But if Ronin said heād accept it as payment, he would. And who would you be to turn down a kiss from the hottest man you've seen in a long time, and a free bike repair. The pros outweighed the cons, even if the con was the fact you were about to kiss the man you were almost sure would kill him.
Surprisingly, Ronin wasnāt the one to close the distance. You leaned forward, tilting your head slightly to press three short kisses on his mouth.
Ronin was going to kill him.
Ronin laughed, mouths still lingering against each other as he snaked a hand into your hair, palm pressed flat against the back of your head as he tugged you closer and closer till your teeth clacked and you were chewing at each other's lips.
It was uncertain who bled first, but the taste of iron mixed its way into the kiss either way.
A phone buzzed a minute later, far louder than expected, and you jumped backwards with a pant.
āTease.ā Ronin breathed out, the bottom of his hand coming up to wipe at his lips, skin coming away with blood of his own for once.
You fumbled with your jacket pocket, the phone awkwardly at your knees from where it was around your waist, and you yanked it out after a few failed attempts.
Where are you? Itās been too long. Youāll be late to your lecture.
Your roommate, ever the lovely person, cared enough to remind you.
āI need to go.ā you sighed, sliding the phone back into your pocket. āI trust my darling devil will take care of the bill?ā
āIām a man of my word, baby.ā He shrugged, moving to take a better look at the damage. āAnd you fulfilled your end of the deal, maybe a little too wellā¦ Come back tonight and itāll be just as pretty as you.ā
You smiled, pressing one quick kiss onto Roninās cheek before spinning on your heel. āThink of it as a tip.ā
also also also tomura almost always eats food that youāve eaten. like you have to eat it first then heāll eat it. like you have to try it for him except its your own food he will not touch his plate unless you order him toošš
he goes ālemme have a biteā the moment your spoon makes contact with your lips, and when you do he nods, grunts. then asks for some more. and when you say no heāll scoff, does he really have to do everything around here ?
so he grabs his own spoon and starts scooping up your food. ātomuāeat your own !ā you scold, popping is hand and he immediately flies back like youād punched him āwhat the hell was that for ?!ā he grumbles. āeat your own. itās the exact same as mineā you insist, huffing.
youāre obviously a little stupid cus of course itās not the same. you ate yours, thatās the difference, and he wants yours. so heāll get yours. so when youāre looking away heāll sneakily steal bites of your food. but then he gets annoyed about sneaking around and just starts taking from your plate again, you can only sigh in frustration as he keeps munching away.
sometimes i like to think that i may be capable of making caleb laugh so hard that he gets tears in his eyes and even hunch over bc he canāt breathe š and it literallyyyy makes me smile bc wellā¦ thatās my cutieā¦ like thatās literally my babyā¦.
