Drift Into Me - JJK Canon x OC
Naoya Zenin was the last man any self respecting woman would be caught dead with. A spoiled rich brat pouring his family fortune into extravagant paint jobs. Unfortunately, the lot was at the mountain pass was full of them—clustered like a tumor in front of his 2017 Nissan GT-R NISMO. The piercing screams made all the other drivers seethe in silence. At these car shows there was always a gaggle of women gawking over Naoya’s car, today was no exception.
“Just look. If I see a single nail scratch on this car, you can kiss these shows goodbye.”
The Tōge scene was dominated by the Zenin’s. This was just another way to embezzle money into their “family business”. Bored salarymen drove up to the mountains every weekend to gamble their overtime pay on street racers risking their lives on hairpin turns.
Tonight—like most nights—the fastest driver was Naoya Zenin.
Well… Other than Satoru Gojo of course.
A cobalt blue Toyota Chaser pulls up in the packed parking lot, people parting to let it through. The lights were electric blue, the paint job was fresh with no decals. Gojo liked to keep things simple. He stepped out of the car causing Naoya’s fangirls to move on to their next target. “Naoya what did I say about threatening the girls. Isn't it bad for business?” His tone is playful as always with a hint of flirtatiousness to hook in the women. The girls squealed, Naoya winced at the sound. Who did this guy think he is? But Naoya held back his tongue. He had too much respect for a man like Gojo who was just naturally talented at drifting, that’s why they call him “The Six Eyes”. Despite his respect Naoya can’t help but wonder if he buys his wins.
“If it weren’t for my family you wouldn’t be able to profit off that Chaser.” Naoya kept his cool, he couldn’t let Gojo know he was irked.
“You know there’s always going to be another Street circuit blooming somewhere,” Gojo retorted. “That might be true but my family OWNS this mountain.”
The Zenin’s were a notorious gang based in the mountainous regions outside Tokyo. It was the perfect cover for underground racing. It was so well known inside car enthusiast circles that this was the best underground scene with the most skilled racers.
Gojo wore a leather vest with matching pants, a wife beater layered underneath, silver cross choker with matching chains, a chrome heart belt, black combat boots and blue circular sunglasses obscuring his chilling blue eyes. He put a hand through his feral white hair walking closer to his colleague. Gojo’s arm slung around Naoya’s broad shoulders, he was always overly friendly, pushing boundaries, wanting to get a rise out of the quick witted Zenin. Naoya was pierced up, ear and tongue, two polos layered on top, one blue one white, grey true religions a brown leather cuff on one wrist, the other showing off his Rolex Submariner, Saint Laurent Chelsea boots and two thrifted belts layered on top of one another. Naoya’s stark yellow eyes met Gojo’s trying to hide his frustration. He hated when people invaded his space. “What’s up?” Gojo didn’t even bother responding.
Gojo points past the common fangirls towards an unfamiliar face.
Naoya followed his gaze—and froze. Before he was too busy fuming inside because of Gojo trying to one up him. A lone woman completely ignoring their—no, HIS existence. Everyone adored him, even the other racers showed a decent amount of respect. She stood apart from the rest, aloof with a cigarette in hand, judging each car, categorizing them methodically on whether or not they were a heap of junk or actually worthy. ‘Who the hell does this woman think she is ignoring ME?’ Naoya’s thoughts were racing until the moonlight casted upon her.
Lush curls flowing down her shoulders with two pieces tied up with a lacy black bow, her curly hime bangs neatly contouring her round delicate face, she had a stern expression, a permanent pout, sharp big eyes with false lashes to enhance her glaring eyes, neatly tightened brows, full lips that were uptight but her full cheeks betrayed her. The moonlight enhanced her golden skin, she was clearly a foreigner. She had a cigarette held between her thin fingers, bringing it up to her lips not even bothered by the lipstick staining the end. People from outside would occasionally check out street racing but they were typically not in the know about Japanese car culture. If she was here she was definitely deep into this, but Naoya was hesitant considering she was in fact a woman. His eyes leered down to check out her fit, a Lulu Lemon define jacket in a leopard print that snatched her waist, bringing attention to her full chest, the zipper lowered to show off the pink lace top underneath and a tasteful amount of cleavage. By the look of her legs he could tell she had a nice ass underneath a short white mini skirt. Her toned legs were emphasized by black leather knee boots with white lace peeking out over her knees. Naoya smirked her way, causing her to turn her nose up. This action pissed him off, how dare she stick that perfectly cute nose up at someone as great as him.
“Oi O-hime-sama, what gives? You not into guys like us or maybe you just think you’re too good? Why don’t you come over, your prince wants to take you out in his chariot~.” Naoya teased her. He wasn’t necessarily impressed but he always wanted to try out a foreign girl.
Silence fell upon everyone like a spell. The foreigner dragged her cigarette, really taking in the situation at hand. Blowing smoke she sauntered towards him, her hips almost knocking one of the girls out of her way. “Hey!” The mysterious tanned skin woman didn’t really care, she didn’t even apologize, she had an objective. Naoya’s lips turned even more crooked at this. There was a sort of arrogance about her he wanted to crush. “So you decided to come for me. That’s a good girl~!.” Despite his flirtation she pretended like she was deaf and just walked past him to check out his car. He didn’t let this get to him, she was a car girl. She needed to check out his ride. Chicks like her wouldn’t just take a chance on some Joe Schmoe with a bland SUV. Naoya had a sleek silver car with black cheetah print decals on the side. When he drove at top speed the printed decal reminded him of a big wild cat racing the highway. Surely it was enough to make a foreign girl sink to her knees.
Leather heels clacked on the asphalt circling the car, Naoya had his head turned to her to make sure she didn’t touch it but kept his back in his default position to keep a cool demeanor.
Her eyes met him once again in a stare down, tension arising but as her body relaxed so did he now fully turn towards her. He leaned over the hood of his car, his perfume wafting over to her. She picked up lemon and linen, Monday Morning Eau De Parfum. “Like my ride? Wanna see what it’s like on the inside?” He felt a sense of superiority whenever a girl checked out his ride. “Maybe I’ll let you suck my dick in the back seat?” ‘She knows I’m the man,’ that was all that was running through his head until she pressed her cigarette on the front window.
Rage tore through Naoya, a rage he never felt before.
She flicked the cigarette towards him, she finally spoke.
“Your rear bumper isn’t even clipped in.”
That shut Naoya up, he just looked at her dumbfounded. Gojo snickered next to the other girls who watched in awe at what she did.
The foreign woman walked by the resident racers, all gawking at what occurred. Naoya almost hit the roof of his car but remembered he needed to have control, plus there was no way he was going to even let himself abuse his car. He loved her too much. “Respond when a man is speaking to you whore!” She stoically disappeared into the crowd, his words meant nothing to her which drove him crazy.
“It looks like she left a stain,” Gojo pointed to the faint yellow mark on his window, right in front of the driver seat.
Naoya’s eyebrows twitched.
That bitch was going to pay, he just needed to find her first.
Gojo doubled over laughing. Around them the crowd whispered, all eyes on Naoya to see what actions he would take next.
Naoya had never been ignored, never so humiliated—by a woman no less.
He wasn’t about to let her set the precedent.
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