#knockin’ on locked door

[seekers-who-are-lovers]

Yugo Aosaki, the author of “Undead Girl Murder Farce,” is the one responsible for the Japanese drama/mystery/detective series, “Knockin’ on Locked Door.” It is his forte.

Perhaps, am a sucker for any stories about detective duo (or -coded characters) that make my heart aflutter. While Yugo was in deep writing “Undead…” he also wrote about the two young detectives, like a young SH and JW, but fresh uni grads, who have different approaches on solving a case. Gotemba Tōri and Katamushi Hisame, who after their graduation, co-run a detective agency and work on the cases brought by the clients. Yet, there lies the difference, bc the huge mystery they have to solve is their own. It concerns a neck scar of Tōri. Once, when Tōri was hurt during the case, lying on the floor bloodied and unconscious, Hisame fainted. Now the question is why.

Reminds me of different modern iterations of SH and JW. Sherlock BBC, Kamonohashi Ron no kindan suiri, etc.

Height difference

Messy longish wavy hair vs straight hair

The scar neck

The onsen/bath scenes

Chaos as Tōri’s aesthetic vs Hisame’s sense of order

Tōri has the habit of twirling his hair when he’s about to do some deduction also when he’s stressed. Hisame, on the other hand, cannot stop touching his eyesglasses when he is about to make his

Tōri likes his black turtlenecks and moccasins whereas Hisame loves it formal with his suit and eyeglasses

These two reenact the crime scenes in order to analyse the events that happened during the case. They are also touchy-feely to one another. They are comfy with their familiarity. Also, the actors’ chemistry. I love it.

[just-whump-and-suffering]

Knockin' on Closed Doors

Plot: Gotenba Tori and Katanashi Hisame are private detectives who work together and run the detective agency Knockin' on Locked Door. They are partners and, at the same time, rivals. They use different methods to solve cases and also have different personalities.

Language: Japanese

No of episodes: 09

Gotenba Tori played by Matsumura Hokuto

Ep 01:

Scar on his neck

Ep 02:

Found unconscious and bleeding from his head

Ep 03:

Flashback to ep 02; is attacked and pushed. Falls and hit his head

Ep 04:

Arm twisted behind his back

Ep 06:

Flashback to when his neck got slitted; blood running down his neck

Collapse from the wound, trying to stay awake but eventually passes out

Ep 07:

Kicked in the shin a few times

Ep 09:

Flashback: In a struggle-fight (I don't know the word for this), his neck is slashed during the fight. Collasped

Is discovered by his friends, pressure applied to his wound

Wakes up in the hospital

Katanashi Hisame played by Nishihata Daigo

Ep 02:

Flashback to a traumatic memory after seeing blood and an unconscious Tori

Passes out

Ep 09:

Flashback: manhandled and shoved

Angst; his secret is revealed

Crying

[save-the-data]

Knockin’ on Locked Door | S01E05

Japanese Drama - 2023, 9 episodes

[timotey]

Hisame: Why don't you take it off? Tori: What? Hisame: The towel. There's no one else besides us right now. Tori: I'm good.

Knockin' on Locked Door, episode 1

And then Hisame reached out and touched the towel on Tori's neck and Tori completely froze - I loved how the sound just cut out.

And then it was revealed - while they were getting dressed in the locker room - that there was a huge scar on Tori's neck from when someone obviously slashed his throat.

And at the same time, the main baddie was introduced, Mikage - played by, holy smokes, Saotome Taichi, him of of the incredible Fuujinshi! - saying...

What's my relationship with them? We were in the same seminar in college. And of the four of us, one got the job of catching criminals, two got the job of exposing crime and the last one... got the job of creating it.

... while it was more than strongly implied that it was him who cut Tori's throat. Wow. Just wow!

Too bad that this drama isn't fully subbed yet - 7 out of 9 eps are done at the mo - but I just couldn't wait anymore. The relationships among the main four - the female cop, the two private detectives... and the serial killer - are so fascinating!

[downlikelighting]

[mostly-imagines]

Hi!! If you're up to it do you think you could write something about the first time Jason brings his gf to the manor. Like maybe he brings her in but doesn't tell anyone and so everyone is trying to sneak a glimpse of her??

meet the family

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason has a girlfriend???

warnings: none

The manor sits full as ever—a cloud of mild boredom sweeping over the Wayne clan.

Dick sits perched on top of an armchair reading a catalog, Stephanie’s splayed out across the couch, Cass is bundled up in blankets atop the ottoman, and Damian leans up against the center table from the floor.

It’s a relatively slow afternoon, until Tim comes bursting into the room, out of breath.

“There’s a girl here!”

Everybody looks at him, disinterest scattered across the room. “There’s a couple of ‘em.” Dick says, flipping through the pages of the magazine.

Tim huffs, “No! In Jason’s room—he has a girl in there!” Eyebrows shoot up at that.

“Now I know you’re lying.” Damian mutters.

Tims head snaps over to Damian. “Dude, go see for yourself. I heard her!”

“You really think Jason would bring a girl here and not even introduce us?” Steph asks, unconvinced.

“Yeah.”

“Yes.”

“Obviously.”

Cassandra nods fervently.

“Okay, yeah. Maybe.” Stephanie mutters. “I bet he’ll introduce me before any of you guys, though.”

Dick barks out a laugh, “You’re nothing short of delusional if you think he’s introducing any of us.”

“We’ll have to take matters into our own hands, then.” Tim says, decidedly.

Damian audibly sighs and rolls his eyes.

“I’m meeting her first.” Steph confirms. “I’ll put money down right now.”

“Meet her or see her?” Cass signs.

“Same thing.” Stephanie shrugs.

Dick shoots up from his seat, “First person to see her gets to be the ring bearer!” He announces, racing out of the room.

Knock knock knock knock knock…

Knock knock.

It takes a good forty seconds, but Jason opens the door, an annoyed frown already on his face.

Dick gives him his brightest smile. It beams of deceit in Jason's eyes. “Hey man. What’cha doing?”

He crosses his arms. “What do you want?”

Dick tries to peer around Jason into the room, but Jason made a point of barely opening the door and his large frame isn’t doing Dick any favors right now.

“Just wanted to say hey…You wanna hang out?”

“No.”

Dick lingers awkwardly. “…Are you sure?”

Jason shuts the door.

A couple minutes later, Tim comes running up the stairs. He opts to skip over the courtesy of knocking and go straight for barging through the door himself. Or he would’ve, if Jason hadn’t seen that coming from a mile away and locked it.

“Fuck off, Tim!” Jason calls from inside the room.

“You lost your right to privacy the second you walked in this house!” He shouts back, hitting his fist against the door.

And Tim swears he can hear a sweet laugh as he trudges away. The authenticity of that claim will be heavily debated downstairs for the next several minutes.

Not even a thirty seconds later, Stephanie comes a knockin’. Jason opens the door wordlessly, patience clearly dissipating more and more.

“Hey, Jason! I can’t find my comm, you wouldn’t happen to have it, would you?”

His face deadpans. “No, Steph.”

Stephanie clicks her tongue, “Can you check?”

He stares at her.

“Actually you’re right, it would be faster if I did.” Stephanie tries to push past him into the room, but Jason, unsurprisingly, doesn’t budge.

“Stephanie.”

“I just want to meet her!” She pleads. “I won’t even tell the others, I’ll just say you wouldn’t let me in either!”

“Bye.” He closes the door.

He doesn’t make it all the way back to the bed before the next knock, singular and short.

Jason snaps the door open again, looking down at Damian with a glare.

Never one to waste any time, “Is there a girl in here?” Damian asks, seeming thoroughly disinterested in the answer.

Jason shuts the door in his face.

Several minutes later, another, quieter knock. Jason’s groan can be heard from outside the room. He pulls open the door once again.

It’s Cass.

She stares at him.

He stares at her.

“Can I say hi to her?” She signs.

Jason sighs. “I’ll pass along the message.”

She smiles and turns back down the hall.

Jason closes and locks the door once again, trudging back over to the bed where you lay. He collapses onto your chest, your arms wrapping around each others bodies immediately.

“Cass says hi.” He mumbles, the sound obscured by his face-down position.

“That message would be a lot more meaningful if I actually knew Cass.”

He groans. “You don’t want to meet them.”

“I do.” You say, running your fingers through his hair. “And I think you do too, or you wouldn’t have brought me to the house where the world's best detectives live.”

“I’m starting to regret it now.”

“Come on. Please?” You plead.

He picks his head up to look at you.

“Are you sure?” He asks with a grimace.

“Absolutely.” You say, topping it off with a kiss on his cheek.

He sighs.

Well. It’s never been within Jason’s skill set to deny you, anyways.

You descend the stairs hand in hand with Jason, his energy mopier than usual. You can hear a gaggle of voices coming from a room ahead, all talking over one another.

“Okay, Tim, you climb up outside the window and—”

“—It’s your plan, you scale the side of the house.”

Jason drops his head and mutters a “Jesus Christ…” as you near the commotion.

You give him a reassuring smile and pat his back as you both move into the doorway.

Everyone’s heads snap to the doorway, eyes wide and waiting.

Jason takes a deep breath like he’s steeling himself for torture. “Guys…This is my girlfriend.”

“Hi.” You smile sweetly, waving to the room.

There’s a moment of still silence before the room erupts.

“Hold on—”

“—my god, she’s so pretty!”

“Oh wow—”

“Wait, what?”

”—You’re real?”

“—didn’t place that bet.”

Stephanie comes scurrying up to you and grabs both of your hands in hers. “Hi, I’m Steph!” She says with a beaming smile. “What’s your name?”

“I’m—”

But the others are right on her tail, crowding around you.

“We didn’t even know Jason had a girlfriend.” Tim says.

“Still not convinced.” Damian mumbles from the back.

Cass waves and signs something to you.

“She says we’re really happy to meet you, which we are.” Dick tells you.

Damian moves closer within the huddle and inspects you closely. You have no idea what he’s inspecting you for. You don’t need to dwell on it for long because Jason pushes his head away from you with mild force making Damian scowl.

Stephanie chimes in, “Did he bring you here to meet us? The others said—”

Jason cuts her off, already knowing exactly where that sentence was going. “I brought her here to show her my old room.”

Dick snickers, “Oh, is that what you were off doing?”

“Watch it.” Your boyfriend warns.

You nudge him with your elbow, be nice.

Tim moves closer to you, narrowing his eyes. “So you’ve like, spent time with him and everything? And you still want to be around him?”

“Okay and you’re done.” Jason takes your hand and leads you out of the room and back down the hallway.

“No wait!”

You’re already out of the room and into another and then another before you can even realize that you’re headed for the front door.

You stop in your tracks, pulling him to a halt as well. “What about—”

Jason shakes his head. “You don’t want to meet him.”

You lower your chin at him, “Jay. Do you want me to meet him?”

He’s silent and doesn’t look like he particularly does.

You sigh, “Okay, do you want him to meet me?”

“I—yeah…” he trails, and you give him your best sweet eyes, the ones that he knows he has no business saying no to. “I…okay. Okay.”

He leads you down another hallway, the sounds of his siblings clambering echoing in the distance. You end up in a room that looks like a never used study, where Jason pushes on one of the walls. It slides open with a bit of force from him, revealing a door with a keypad next to it.

He types a series of numbers into it, and opens it up to a narrow passageway that looks remarkably like a cave.

The passageway leads down to a set of stairs, and you can hear the loud sound of water in the distance.

You’re quite nervous about walking into the Batcave, but you know Jason wouldn’t bring you anywhere near it unless he was sure it would be okay. Okay for you that is, more so than his father.

“Careful. It’s slippery.” Jason holds your hand the whole way down anyway, making sure to linger no more than a step and a half in front of you.

You see Bruce Wayne, sitting at a desk with a large array of computer screens in front of it, and case files scattered all throughout the surface.

He doesn’t acknowledge your entrance, though you have to imagine if Jason got his observation skills from anywhere, it would be him.

As you approach, Jason switches your hands so that his left is holding your left. The result has his figure half covering you, you can only assume partially limiting Bruce’s view of you.

“Bruce.”

Bruce turns his chair around, regarding Jason with a raised chin. The greeting is somehow even more formal than you’d expected.

“Jason.” He readdresses his gaze to you. “Who’s this?”

Jason has a hell of a feeling that Bruce already knows exactly who you are. He’s probably known about you since you started dating. He would’ve had to, to not be pissed as hell that Jason brought a civilian into the cave.

Jason introduces you, his hand reluctantly letting go as you step forward to shake Bruce’s.

Bruce looks surprised, though pleasantly so. He smiles and shakes it kindly.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” He says.

“You too, I’ve heard a lot about you.” You say, smiling.

He laughs, “Oh, I bet.” Looking to Jason, he says, “I can’t say I’ve had the same pleasure, unfortunately.”

Though Jason’s behind you now, you can practically feel him roll his eyes.

“No, I can’t imagine him sharing anything unprovoked.” Bruce smiles widely at that.

He opens his mouth to say something else, but Jason, who’s probably on the brink of losing his mind down here, interrupts.

“Alright. Time to go.” Jason says, grabbing your hand again. He doesn’t give you much time to protest before he’s guiding you by the waist past him and towards the stairs.

You let him nudge you out and call over your shoulder, “It was nice meeting you!”

He’s halfway up the stairs as you exit, only to be stopped by Bruce addressing him again.

“Jason.”

Jason stalls his steps, turning around slowly. You’re out of the cave now, and Jason’s not excited to be alone with his Dad for even a minute. It doesn’t help that he has no idea what he’ll say.

“She’s kind.” Bruce says, simply.

“Yes.”

He tilts his head at Jason, observing him. “You love her?”

Jason looks at the ground. “Yes.”

Bruce nods. “Good.”

He returns to his work at the computers wordlessly, and Jason has to take a moment to realign himself before he climbs the rest of the stairs.

Jason doesn’t particularly seek his fathers approval, nor does he place any definable value on it. However, hearing him give his own version of his blessing to you struck something inside Jason. Something deep in his chest.

He re-enters the study, finding it empty. He walks out into the hallway, where you’re nowhere to be found. Despite being halfway across the house by this point, he can distinctly hear his siblings chattering in the living room. Chattering. And chattering. And chattering…

Oh god, you went back to the living room.

As Jason approaches the conversation becomes clearer.

“—long have you been together, anyways?”

“Well—”

Stephanie gasps suddenly, cutting you off. “Oh wait, you have to meet Alfred!”

“Oh, we’ve already met.” You tell her.

Dick’s head snaps up. “What? When?”

Jason enters the room, draping his arm around your shoulder. “About six months before you met her.”

A chorus of gasps and shouts ring out.

“What?”

[blossomrainbow]

Knockin On Locked Door Review (Spoiler Free!)

So I just finished watching Japanese drama Knockin on Locked Door, very much enjoyed it but felt the plot revolving the 4 main characters felt a bit rushed towards the end and also feels like a 2nd season could be good for it!

I really loved how Tori and Hisame were written though and performed by Hokuto and Daigo! Enjoyed pretty much every episode, wasn't very engaged by the episode where Hisame was out seperately but that seemed to almost act as a filler episode anyway.

Would recomend to any fans of Naniwa Danshi and SixTones but also just anyone who loves a good mystery & detective drama!

[seresinhangmanjake]

Daddy!Benny Cross x Momma!Reader

Your and Benny’s little girl gets injured playing on a bike and must go to the hospital. Benny doesn’t handle it well.

Warnings/Notes: mention of broken bones, cursing, angry but sweet dad Benny, protectiveness, typos, and I think that’s it.

Part of the Come Back Knockin’ universe. Takes place after Come Back Together and Together and More, but you don't have to read these beforehand to understand this fic.

Words: 1250

Benny Cross Masterlist

Benny’s going to lose his damn mind—that’s all you can think as you stand beside Wahoo in the hospital lobby, the both of you keeping sharp eyes out the wall-length windows to spot your husband. Facing him will be no easy feat and you need all the time you can get to prepare yourselves before he stomps through those doors. 

“Wahoo, I don't know about this. You really better go back to the meeting,” you encourage him, as you’ve done at least ten times in the last fifteen minutes. 

“Nah, I gotta stay and apologize to ‘im,” he replies. “But you shouldn’t have to wait here with me. You should go be with your girl.”

Your eyes scan the visible area from the benches in the flowered courtyard to the emergency sign attached to the building’s exterior brick before darting to the looped driveway reserved for ambulances. He’s nowhere in sight. But he will be soon enough. You called him—you peek at your watch—exactly twelve minutes and forty-three seconds ago. The shop is nineteen minutes away from the hospital and there’s no way he’s not speeding. 

“If I go, who is going to stop Benny from killing you?” you say, your heart hammering in your chest. 

You love your husband, but the man has a temper that can flare as easily as a swift strike of a match. He has started many short-lived fights, always requiring some patching up before the excitement finally settles down, but if Benny is given time to simmer, he can explode with an unrivaled rage.

Wahoo chuckles awkwardly, turning his head to look at you. 

“You got a point there, sweetheart,” he says. Then he goes silent amongst the background chattering of anxious families and ringing phone lines at the front desk.

You glance his way just in time to see the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple. 

“I won’t let him,” you promise. “You know…kill you.”

“Not sure you’re gonna be able to stop ‘im. You and the kid are the most important things in his world, and one of yous got hurt on my watch.”

A wince pinches your face at the memory and you’re so busy worrying about how the events of the next few minutes are going to unfold that you miss Benny’s entrance entirely. 

“What the fuck!” Benny shouts. It echoes throughout the room, making every head swivel, every conversation cease. 

As he storms closer, you step between him and Wahoo, your hands planting firmly on his chest. Murder is in his glare and though he could easily barrel through the barrier in his path, that would involve shoving you aside, and regardless of the circumstances, he would never do that.

Benny’s arm raises over your shoulder, finger pointed like a dagger toward his friend—well, enemy, at the moment. “What the hell you doin’ lettin’ my four-year-old on your fuckin’ bike!”

He tries to side-step you but you’re watching his feet, catching his movements before he can finish making them. 

“I’m real sorry, Benny,” Wahoo says meekly.

“Sorry? You’re sorry!” His tone is darker, fists clenching, anger overflowing and spilling onto the tiled floor. Without glancing at you, in a much softer—but still threatening—voice, he says, “Baby, move.”

You look up at him. Your hands slide from his chest to cup his cheeks in a failed effort to trap his attention. “Benny, it was an accident, ok? Alright? She was just playing pretend like she does with you and she wiggled out of his grasp and landed wrong,” you tell him. 

“I don't fuckin’ care if it was an accident.”

He’s so revved up, so locked in on his target, that your stomach twists for Wahoo. He’s been such a kind man and he’s so good with your daughter that he’s told you once or twice he wishes he could have one of his own someday.

When Lucy fell, it took all of two seconds for his visibly consuming guilt to settle in. He’d immediately picked her up, buckled her into your car, and followed you straight to the hospital where he has stressed over her injured state from the moment of arrival. He doesn’t deserve the abuse from Benny as if he was negligent. Benny, a man who regularly demonstrates little of his own self-preservation skills, but happens to go feral when his child so much as skins her knee. 

“Move.”

“Benny, please,” you say. “Honey, look at me.”

If you can get his eyes on you then he’ll be stuck to you like glue. He’ll calm down. The huffing and puffing of his chest will slow. 

And to your relief, when you stand up on your toes to invade his line of sight that is exactly what happens. The vengeance drains out of his face, replaced by a gentleness that only ever reveals itself to you and your shared child. 

“She’s fine,” you say. “She cried until the doctor gave her a sucker and now I’m not sure she even cares about her arm.”

Benny’s mouth dips into a frown. His brow pinches, then his teeth bite down hard on his bottom lip. “She got hurt,” he says, and your heart breaks for him.

You sigh. “I know.”

“I wasn’t there.”

“You wouldn’t have been able to stop it even if you were. It happened in a split-second,” you tell him. “You’re here now; that’s what matters. And wouldn’t you rather see her than argue?”

Benny’s exhale is a sharp release of air that subdues the remnants of his temper. “Where is she?”

You point to the double doors off to the side of the lobby. “Through there,” you say.

Benny swallows, nods, and takes your hand. But when he looks up, the glare resurfaces. “You're not gettin’ off,” he tells Wahoo. “I’ll deal with you later.”

As Benny pulls you along in the direction of your daughter, you quickly whisper to your friend, “I'll take care of it, but you ought to go.”

Wahoo’s smile is weak, never reaching his eyes, and his hands slip into his jeans pockets before he turns on his heel for the exit.

---

“Daddy!”

Lucy hops up from the floor where a few toys are scattered about from playing with the nurse in your absence. 

Benny plasters on a smile that barely conceals his agitation as he scoops her up in his arms. “You doin’ alright, nugget?”

“Mhmm,” Lucy hums, chipper as ever. “I finished my sucker. It tasted like grape.” She lifts her arm and Benny’s head jerks back to avoid a collision with his nose. “You like my cast?” 

You watch Benny struggle to come up with a positive reply, considering that within said cast is his little baby’s broken arm. “Y-Yea, Lu. It’s…It’s real great.”

“It’s blue!”

“I see that.”

The nurse chuckles as she rises from the floor and dusts invisible specks of dirt from her pristinely white uniform. “You’ve got yourself a lovely little girl,” she praises, tilting her head affectionately as he takes in the image of Lucy tucking her head into the crook of Benny’s neck. “The doctor says we’ll need to see you back here in six weeks.”

“Thank you.”   

She starts toward the door but pauses as she passes your daughter. “Goodbye, miss Lucy,” she says, her smile wide. 

“Bye, miss nurse!” With her good hand, Lucy gives an animated wave that the nurse returns as she closes the door behind her. 

Benny releases the sigh you’re pretty sure he’s been holding in since you called him. He cups the side of Lucy's head as if he could cradle her closer than she already is.

“You're not gonna be sittin’ up on any bikes for a real long while,” he says.

Lucy’s head shoots up, eyes widening in panic. “Nooo!” she whines. “You can't stop me!” 

“You wanna bet?”

“Yes!” she snaps back. “I…I'll do it when you aren't lookin'!”

Benny scoffs. "I'm not lettin' you out of my sight."

"I'll be real sneaky!"

The air of rebelliousness is all too familiar and it makes you snicker. Because despite the exhaustion of the day, despite the tears and the shouting and the drama that you hope will not reemerge later, all you can think as the bantering unfolds before you is that that little girl is definitely Benny Cross’s daughter.

---

Thanks for reading :)

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[pearlessance]

Locked Doors - Idle Threats [ii]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — You leave your front door unlocked. The devil invites himself in.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI, brat taming, age gap, mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt

SERIES MASTERLIST

[crossposted to AO3]

In truth, Joel is glad to be rid of you.

Not because he didn’t enjoy himself, but because he’d enjoyed the night with you too much. The two of you had fallen into an easy, respectful energy for the remainder of your watch. 

Joel discovers you’re quite funny when he isn’t the butt of all your jokes. And he knows you’re beautiful, painfully so—but when you smile at him, truly smile, it lights up your whole face and ignites a warmth inside him he can’t explain, that he doesn’t even want to think about. 

So, yeah, it’s a bit of a relief when the next two watchmen take over and you go your separate ways. Joel sleeps real heavy that night, more relaxed than he’s been since he set foot in Jackson.

Until Tommy knocks on his door that afternoon, that is. The moment Joel opens it his brother asks, “What the hell did you do to her last night?”

Joel feels his anxiety spike. Tommy knows him better than anyone else, and he’s not sure why he thought your tryst in the tree blind would ever be kept secret. And he knows he shouldn’t lie, but he’s too embarrassed, too afraid of his brother’s judgment. So he shrugs and says, “We…had a conversation.”

“Conversation?” Tommy laughs and shakes his head, pushing into Joel's house. He sits at the kitchen table beside Ellie, who’s shoveling a bite of scrambled eggs into her mouth. “Nah. Nah, I don’t believe that.”

Hesitantly, Joel asks, “Why not?”

“That girl has been a pain in my ass every single day. Someone has a complaint about her, or she’s hollerin’ about something or other. Never does as she’s told—fights Maria and I on everything.” 

You listened to him real well last night. Joel resists the smirk that tugs on his lips.

Tommy continues. “So, I’m sure you can imagine my surprise when she comes knockin’ this morning asking Maria if she can take the rest of Mike’s shifts. After she threw a big tantrum about having to cover one of them.”

No. No. Joel’s mouth goes dry. 

He can’t spend another night with you. He can’t. He’s not strong enough.

Ellie’s brows furrow together as she looks between the two brothers. “Who?”

“Strawberry scone,” Joel supplies with a casual wave of his hand.

“Oh, my future wife,” Ellie corrects. Then she turns to Tommy with a scowl. “Be nice when you talk about her.”

“She ain’t nice,” he counters. 

Joel remembers how nice you’d been, begging him for mercy, begging for his hands, his mouth, his cock. How nice it sounded when you apologized to him, using that warm, wet tongue of yours as a weapon. He swallows. “We just talked. That’s all.”

Tommy eyes him suspiciously but doesn’t push the subject and Joel’s grateful for it. Instead, he says, “Yeah, well—maybe y'all can have a conversation about her giving Maria a break. She’s been back from that run for a month and she still won’t even talk to her. Maria’s tried, but she pretends she can’t hear or see her. Like she’s invisible.”

Ellie chuckles but quiets herself with another bite of eggs when Joel turns and scowls at her.

It’s a valid concern, Joel thinks. Maria and Tommy have been good to the people of Jackson, have been good to you. Given you a place to stay, a warm bed to sleep in, the protection of monitored walls. All in exchange for a little physical labor. 

Joel doesn’t know what happened on that run for Maria’s barbecue flavored chips, but he understands being angry. Complete and total silent treatment is a bit harsh, however. And for weeks at a time? It’s childish, absurd—bratty. He gives his brother a reassuring nod. “I’ll…see what I can do.”

Tommy thanks him, steals a forkful of Ellie’s eggs, and bolts out of the door as she yells after him. 

Once he’s gone and the noise has quieted, the panic begins to set in. 

He can’t be in there with you for another night. Joel knows he has to do something, find someone to cover his watch. Maybe Bonnie will be willing to switch him for a day or two. Just until Mike returns, until Joel can control his errant desires.

“I’ve got some stuff to get done today,” he tells Ellie. 

“Stuff?”

“Yeah, just…don’t go far,” he says, evading her question. “And don’t go alone, either. Stay with Dina.”

He half expects her to make some witty remark, but she must see something in him that stops her. Ellie nods slowly and asks, “Everything okay?”

No, it wasn’t. Not even close. But there’s no subtle way to explain his turmoil, no words to make her understand that Joel was currently at odds with himself and his morals. That perhaps he’d damned himself, damned you, all for a single night of perfect bliss. So he shrugs and says, “Fine.”

Bonnie’s house is a short walk from his. And when she opens the door, Joel can see her son lying on the couch in the living room. His cheeks are red and he’s got his thumb in his mouth, staring off into space. He can’t be older than four, and Joel begins to feel guilty before he can even say a word. “Joel? Everything alright?”

God, what was with people and that question today? Joel looks away from the little boy on the couch and instead at his mother, who has the same blonde curls. 

He has to ask, doesn’t he? He has to. This is about more than just his peace of mind. It’s about your safety. Safety from him. And you deserve that, after all. Being a brat doesn’t mean you deserve to be preyed upon by an older man. 

So, Joel swallows and forces the words out. “Hey, Bonnie. I was just wondering if maybe you could switch with me tonight. I’ll take your watch today if you’ll take the night shift.”

Please say yes. Please say yes. 

Her green eyes soften, and Joel knows the answer before she speaks. “Oh, I…I’m sorry, Joel. It’s just that Sammy is sick, and…and I feel bad enough being gone all afternoon, you know? And I don’t want to leave him during the night. You can understand, right?”

He nods quickly, not wanting to make more of a scene than he already has. “No, yeah, of course. Completely. I’m sorry I asked.”

They say their goodbyes, and Bonnie suggests that he ask Greg instead. 

But that thought unnerves him even more than being alone with you himself. 

Greg is older than Joel by almost ten years, pushing sixty-five. And he doesn’t think he’s that type of guy—but Joel didn’t think he was that type of guy until he’d been left alone with you, either. 

Maybe he’s wrong, though. Maybe Greg has more morality. Maybe he’s not as bad a man as Joel. Maybe he has more resistance to the forbidden fruit.

Maybe you’re safer with him.

It’s because of that particular thought Joel winds up on Greg’s porch.

And Greg gives him that same sympathetic look Bonnie did, and Joel’s back to square one. “I’ll ask around, though,” Greg says. “See if anyone else is willing.”

Joel thanks him, and busies himself in the stables, in the armory, in anything that keeps his hands busy and his thoughts far from you. He sends a prayer to whatever god may exist, hoping Greg will find him and let him know someone is interested in his shift. Not that Joel would be deserving of forgiveness nor a favor— especially from anyone worth praying to—but it doesn’t hurt to try. 

Nightfall comes too soon and eventually, he decides that maybe it’s better to seek out the source of the problem. To tear out the rot by the roots.

You answer the door after the second knock. You’re leaning against the frame, wearing those jeans again—that dark wash denim that’s skin tight, a gentle stitch of gold down the seam of the pockets.

Joel wonders where you found them, wonders how it’s possible that he’s been reduced to finding so much sex appeal in a pair of jeans, for Christ’s sake. Your black t-shirt is cut into a low V shape, and your breasts are pushed up because of your bra, providing him with a view so tempting it hurts.

“I hear you’re trying to get rid of me,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him. “If you didn’t like me, the least you could do is say so. Kinda shitty I had to find out from Greg, of all people.” You turn away from him and walk inside, leaving the door wide open. 

It’s an invitation. But Joel hesitates, because he knows, he knows what happens when he’s alone with you. Knows just how far he’ll go, how much he wants it. He’s not sure if it’s desire or shame or excitement that coils around his spine, gripping tight.

But it’s rude, isn’t it, to refuse? It’s not like you’re doing anything to tempt him apart from existing. Joel can handle that, can’t he? He’ll just explain himself. Have a quick five minute conversation about why he needs to avoid you at all costs, why you cannot—cannot—be on watch duty with him for another day.

And then he’ll leave. Wipe his hands clean of the guilt, the sin, of you. 

Joel walks inside and closes the door behind him. “You need to tell Maria you can’t be on watch tonight,” he says. 

Your house is small but cozy, more personalized than the other homes in Jackson. Cluttered with things you no doubt picked up on some of your runs—framed photos of landscapes, whimsically shaped, half-burned candles, a crinkled and slightly water damaged band poster that reads The Bravery. The kitchen on his left is quaint, the counters occupied by stacks of old, worn books. There’s an old vase with a faded picture of a cat sitting on the stove, filled with mismatched utensils. A small, square table sits in the corner with two upholstered chairs and in front of one of them, a leather-bound journal sits with a pen beside it.

Joel suddenly, more than anything else, wants to know what’s in that journal. Thinks about sneaking in late at night to flip through it. It’s well loved, and he knows even from several feet away that inside of it is you. The parts you don’t share with others, the parts he desperately wants to unearth. 

“And why would I do that?” You follow his gaze and casually move to close the journal. You wrap the leather cord around it twice, pick up the pen, and toss both into an inconspicuous drawer.

“Because I said so,” Joel says sharply. He’s standing by the front door still, and his skin prickles as you close the distance. And for good measure, he adds, “Because you’re not feeling well. You’re sick.”

You’re standing so close now he can feel the heat of your skin, beckoning to him, pulling him in. You’re so magnetic that he doesn’t pull away when you grab his hand and place his palm against the side of your neck. “Does it feel like I have a fever?”

Feverish? No. Warm, soft, addictive? Yes. Joel can feel your pulse beneath his hand, strong and steady. He can feel himself losing the battle already. He pulls his hand away and closes it into a fist behind his back. “Stop,” he says. “We can’t do this.”

You snort but turn away to give him some much needed space. “You can’t, you mean.”

He steps forward on instinct and freezes. He can’t bring himself to retreat, but he has the strength still to keep from going to you, from seeking you out just to feel you in his hands. That has to be enough. Joel knows he needs to say what he has to say and leave, before his resistance withers into nothing. “People are already starting to talk.”

“People,” you mock. “You mean your brother?” When he doesn’t deny it, you continue. “Let me guess—he said something this morning, asking about what we did all because I said I would pick up a couple of extra shifts.”

Joel doesn’t mention the other things Tommy said, about you being a pain in his ass. Joel can relate to it. “He also said you’ve been blatantly ignoring Maria.”

“No fucking shit I’ve been ignoring her,” you snap. But your eyes widen as Joel’s whole body tightens, seeing the mistake. 

But he isn’t here for that. He’s not. If you’re going to be a foul-mouthed brat, so be it. It’s not his place to discipline you. It can’t be. “You need to give her a break. Maria’s done right by all of us.” 

“Why? Because you said so?” You laugh, and it’s a sick, maniacal sound that grates against his nerves. So different than the soft airy giggles he’d heard last night. “Cut the shit and be honest with yourself, Joel. You want me to be nice to Maria so you don’t have to hear Tommy bitch about me anymore and you want me off watch duty with you because you’re afraid of me.”

“Afraid? Of a little girl?” Joel thinks you're joking at first. But you’re not laughing anymore, and when he realizes you’re serious he lets out a long sigh of frustration. It releases the tension in his shoulders just enough to keep him from losing it. “You think you know everything, but you don’t.”

“Well I’m not wrong,” you say, brows raised. 

It’s the attitude that gets to him, the contempt. Joel can’t stand it. He wants to take you by the throat and force you up against the wall. But he doesn’t, using the last of his patience to keep his feet planted firmly on the welcome mat.

“It was so good,” you say, the cadence of your voice lowering to a near whisper. There’s a warmth in your eyes that makes his chest ache. “I know you felt it too. You can’t tell me you didn’t. And even if you did, I wouldn’t believe you. I don’t believe you, Joel.”

The sound of his name in your mouth is nearly his undoing. It’s so pretty, you’re so pretty. Joel swallows hard, suddenly aware that for all he defiled yesterday, he’s never kissed you. Not truly. 

He’s kissed your forehead, your cheek, has tasted your skin and the wetness between your thighs. But he’s never once tasted the inside of your mouth or felt your tongue against his.

Joel clenches his teeth. 

He can’t. He shouldn’t.

But he has to. Good fucking God, he has to.

Joel reaches you in two strides. Your eyes widen in fear, but the moment he places his hands on either side of your face you’re melting, becoming pliable material for him to manipulate. Joel tilts your head up and leans down, crushing his mouth to yours.

You’re gripping his brown leather jacket, trying to keep your balance. But he’s crowding you, forcing himself into your space, into your mouth, pressing himself against you as if every inch of separation pains him.

Joel thinks you taste like bad decisions, like pomegranate seeds and glowing apple slices, like poisonous peach pits, like something so tempting it’s forbidden for good reason. He bites in anyway, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and dragging it out. You moan at the deviation from heaven, and he grabs a fistful of your ass and drags you impossibly closer as a low growl leaves his throat. 

He knows you can feel his cock through his jeans, pressing hard against your belly, but Joel does his very best to ignore it as he licks every soft part of you. He wants to remember this, to savor it, because he promises himself it’ll be the last time he ever takes advantage of you.

When he pulls away, Joel’s gasping for air like he’s never been kissed before. Like this is his first time, like you’re his first. It’s certainly the only time it’s ever been like this, heavy and weighted, hot and desperate and sacrilegious.

Your eyes are glassy and beautiful as you look up at him, fingers still clutched in his jacket. “You’re afraid of me, Joel,” you repeat, snaking a hand between you and rubbing his cock, squeezing softly over the denim. “You’re afraid of how good this feels because you’ve never been able to hold onto anything good in your entire life.”

And, distracted by the soft feel of your mouth, by your hand, he’s able to listen. To rid himself of guilt, of shame, truly hearing you. Joel silently wonders if you’ve been the conductor of this mess all along, if you’ve somehow seen behind the scenes, if you are, impossibly, the one who’s manipulated him. Because how else would you be able to rip those razor-sharp truths out of him? Truths he’s never faced, truths he’s never planned to. 

“It slips through your fingers every time, like smoke,” you say. 

Joel can’t pull himself away, can’t reestablish that distance he so carelessly erased. You feel too good, touching him, sighing softly between words as if he were the one touching you.

“And so you’ll push me away, so far that you can forget whatever it is you feel for me. And it’ll work. For a little while, anyway.” You rise to your tiptoes, swollen lips a breath away from his ear. “But one day you’ll be laying in bed with some lovely, soft spoken, age-appropriate woman, and you’ll look over at her and you’ll imagine me in her place. And I think you’ll miss bossing me around, and teaching me how to behave for you, and how good it feels to be inside of me.” His cock throbs in his jeans, and he feels you smile against his skin. “I think you’ll miss me real bad, Joel Miller.”

The picture you paint is a dreary one, and it leaves Joel cold. Even colder when you finally step back and he can’t feel the warmth of your skin anymore, the heat of your breath. But he doesn’t say that, because this feels like a goodbye—the goodbye he came here for. Joel steels himself, pushing that God-forsaken image far from his brain. “Tell Maria you’re sick,” he orders. 

And then he’s leaving, and it hurts to slam the door behind him, but he does it.

For the first time in days, Joel feels a drop of redemption trickle back into his bloodstream. 

Thankfully, you don’t show up to the tree blind to relieve Greg and Bonnie. But no one else does either, and Joel knows that you never even attempted to speak to Maria. A last-ditch effort at defiance. 

When they ask about you, he lies easily and says, “She’s running a little behind. Go on home, you’ll probably pass her on the way.” 

And they do as he suggests, leaving Joel in the tree blind alone with his thoughts. 

It’s almost as dangerous as being alone with you, because your words echo in his brain. I think you’ll miss me real bad, Joel Miller. 

He will. He does. Already, he misses the way your body feels against his. He misses the taste of your soft tongue. He misses your sweet laughter and carefree demeanor. He misses the innocence in your eyes when you look up at him like he has all the answers. Joel wants to give them to you, wants to take care of you. Wants to make you feel good, to protect you, to keep you safe. 

But you’re right. Goddamnit, you’re right. He is afraid of you. Terrified, in fact—because it could so easily turn into more than just physical need, more than just sinful desire. That one day you spoke into existence could come and he’d miss more than how it feels to be inside you, he’ll just miss you.

Joel knows how dangerous that is. It’s bad enough he’s gotta worry about Tommy and Ellie. Why would he want to add another name to that list? Another person he’d die for, another person he’d kill for.

It’s no good. He’s no good. 

Joel feels the ghost of your mouth against his and can’t resist pressing his knuckles to his lips, hoping to cement your DNA there so he can keep the lingering taste of you forever. 

But if not him, who else will take care of you? It’s dangerous outside these walls.

It’s only then he remembers his conversation with Tommy and Maria, who wouldn’t let Joel be on watch alone. Yet they let you go on runs alone, and often. 

The realization has his blood boiling.

Because if not him, then who? Some other, older man? Someone capable of enduring your fury, your foolishness, of knowing when to have a heavy hand and when to touch you softly? No. 

Fuck no. 

By the time his shift is over and the next two patrolmen come to relieve him, Joel knows right where he’s headed. They ask him where you went, if you ever showed up—and he covers for you. Saying, “I cut her loose early so she could get some sleep.” 

At first, he’s not sure why there’s an innate desire within him to lie for you, to keep you safe from ridicule or consequence. 

But as he’s walking to that white house on the corner of the street, Joel realizes that it’s because he doesn’t want anyone else to punish you—ever.

That’s his job.

And, Christ, does he have plans for you. 

Joel freezes a second before he bangs his fist against the door. The night is quiet and cold. The air is still. And, through the thin walls, he can hear you.

Can hear those sweet, soft moans. It’s faint, but it’s there. And Joel knows because those cute little sounds are forever embedded in his memory. 

All the blood in his brain rushes south at the image his mind produces. He can almost see you; sprawled out on your bed, legs parted with your hand between your thighs. He wonders what you’re thinking about and selfishly hopes it’s him. 

His hand shakes as he lowers it and reaches for the doorknob. You wouldn’t be so stupid, would you? 

The question is quickly answered when he twists the handle and encounters no resistance. Joel suddenly thinks of a quote his old, southern pastor once told him when he was a kid. Fittingly enough, he’d used it in a sermon about abstinence. 

Temptation is the devil looking through the keyhole. Yielding is opening the door and inviting him in.

But what is Joel to do when the devil leaves the door unlocked and wide open with a bratty little girl on the other side of it? How is he supposed to resist the forbidden fruit knowing just how sweet it tastes? 

He just can’t help himself. 

Joel eases his way inside, carefully closing the door behind him. He shrugs off his jacket and flannel, laying it over the back of the worn leather couch as if he belongs here. Your house is dark, but he’s able to follow the sound of your whimpering down the hallway. He pushes your bedroom door open as silently as he can—and what he finds is somehow a million times better than what he’d imagined.

You’re sitting in the center of your bed, straddling a pillow that’s folded in half between your legs. You’re facing the doorway, head tilted back and eyes closed in euphoria. Joel can see everything from here. The curtain over the window is open, the moonlight casting a purplish hue over your soft skin. 

His whole body tenses up as he watches you, eyes stuck on the wet spot between your legs. Joel almost doesn’t believe you’re real, nearly convinces himself you’re some sort of backlit, demonic little thing. Sent to him by the devil himself to ensure his damnation. As if it somehow wasn’t already a guaranteed thing, because Joel doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard in his life, watching you desperately try to get yourself off.

You tilt your hips back and forth, moaning at the friction. The sounds you make are so beautiful, and Joel is thankful at this moment that you have little consideration for others. Because you’re moaning and whimpering loud enough that you don’t hear the wooden floor creak beneath his feet as he closes the space. 

In a sick, sinister way, Joel enjoys the fact that he’s watching you, so close he could reach out and touch you, and you have no idea. Pretty, stupid little girl. Joel is a bad man, you know. Real bad. And he could do whatever he wanted to you right now. Could cover your mouth with his hand so you can’t scream, could force you to your knees and have his way with you.

You let out a sweet sounding gasp, and Joel knows you’re close, nearly there. He would bet your clit is throbbing against your pillow, pussy just aching to be filled.

More than anything, more than teaching you how dangerous it is to leave your doors unlocked in the dead of night, Joel wants to help you. Wants to make you feel good. Wants to show you that yeah, one day he may be lying next to another woman thinking of you, but he will be the only man to ever satisfy your sadistic cravings. No one will ever be able to touch you again and make you feel as good as he does. 

He wraps his hand around your ankle and squeezes, anticipating the terrified cry you make in response. Joel holds tight, wrapping the other hand around your calf and pulling you to the edge of the bed. 

But not before you reach behind, pulling a serrated sawback knife from beneath the sheets. It’s clutched tight between your fingers as you hold it towards him. Your frightened eyes soften as recognition comes. He can hear your breathing settle, but your chest is still heaving. He doesn’t think you notice as his hands begin to slide up your legs, over the softness of your thighs. “Joel? What are you doing? Did you break into my house?”

There isn’t a single trace of alarm in your voice anymore, even though you’re still pointing that knife at him. “Didn’t have to,” he says, completely unfocused on the point of the weapon. Joel leans forward, running his hands over the swell of your hips, your ribs. He takes both breasts in his hands, unable to hold back the groan at the heavy feel of them. 

“I thought,” you swallow hard, inhaling a ragged breath. “I thought…you said—”

“I know what I said.” Joel takes the knife from your hand with ease and lays it on the battered nightstand. And the second he’s no longer under threat, he forces your back against the mattress and crawls between your legs, pulling them up over his hips. 

He pushes his hard cock against you, the denim of his jeans rough against your bare, sensitive skin. He watches the way you immediately soak the fabric, evidence of your near-release. You prop yourself up on your elbows, brows knitted together, the cutest little pout on your lips. “Wait,” you say, and he does. “I just…I don’t understand.”

Joel sees the concern etched on your face and thinks you’ve never looked so vulnerable in front of him as your eyes search for an explanation. He doesn’t have one that makes sense, that justifies his being here, justifies his hands as they roam freely over your skin. He pushes his hand through your hair, gently scratching your scalp. “You don’t have anyone to take care of you,” he mutters. “I’m gonna keep you safe, baby. Real safe.” 

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” you argue. “I can keep myself safe just fine.” He twists his hand in your hair, pulling lightly. His free hand comes between you, and Joel forces you to watch as he runs his thumb through your folds, spreading you open.

He doesn’t reply to your proclamation because he doesn’t believe it and he doesn’t think you do, either. He speaks as he circles your clit with the pad of his thumb softly. “But I gotta keep you safe from me, too, sweetheart. Can’t let an old man touch you like this. You’re just a little girl.”

Your back arches, pushing against his hand. You’re grinding against his cock over his jeans, and Joel can feel himself leaking at the warmth of you. You breathe his name, begging for more, begging for him like he knew you would.

Joel slides his thumb down further, smirking at the groan you let out as he pushes it inside you. “Precious little thing,” he whispers to himself. He switches his thumb for his middle finger, turning his hand palm up so he can press hard on that sweet spot inside of you. Your legs immediately start to tremble around him, and Joel smiles to himself knowing he’s barely touched you and already he’s accomplished what he set out to do. “I know, baby,” he says. “No one else can make you feel this good, huh? Not that pillow, not your hands, no other man but me.”

He releases his hold on your hair, letting you relax against the mattress. Your spine is still arched at the base, allowing him easy access to where you want him most. When he slips another thick finger inside of you, your hands clutch the sheets and your pleading gets a whole lot more convincing. “Joel, please—please just… mmm, Oh, God—”

Even though they burn his throat, Joel forces the words out before he loses the courage. “This is the last time, pretty girl. The last time I’ll ever touch you, okay? I promise. Gotta keep you safe…startin’ tomorrow.”

He almost wonders if you heard him, so lost in your satisfaction as he fucks you with his fingers. But then you lean forward, pulling eagerly at his leather belt, and he hears you say, “Liar.”

Joel knows you don’t believe him, but it’s true. He just needs to get it out of his system—to be inside of you knowing it’s the last time so he can savor it properly. To memorize it so he never forgets. He watches, enraptured, as you unbuckle his belt. Your hands are so much smaller than his, trembling lightly as you pull his cock out. He chuckles darkly as you lick your lips and hurry to line him up at your entrance. His middle and index fingers are still buried deep inside of you, hooked upwards right where you need him. “You want it now, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you say so quickly he laughs. “Please, Joel, please.”

With his free hand, he knocks yours away and presses his tip into you between his fingers. “Right now, huh? So fuckin’ needy, can’t wait one more minute. Just wanna be so full’a me you’re beggin’ for it, s’that it?”

He inches in further, leaving his fingers inside of you, watching the glorious stretch it makes, relishing in the whine you let out in response. 

“Wait,” you say, fear laced in your voice as you realize his intent. Joel does—giving you the option to deny him, to say no. But you don’t. Of course you don’t. Instead, when your pretty eyes meet his dark gaze, something heated and curious appears on your face. 

Joel sinks into you further, even as you toss your head back and force the air from your lungs in a ragged exhale. He knows it must feel so full —because he can feel every inch of you, squeezing him like a vice. 

“It hurts,” you hiss, wincing. “Joel, I can’t—!”

“Yeah you can, baby,” he encourages. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Joel pulls back out slowly, cock glistening with your slick. “You say it hurts but this pretty pussy is just cryin’ for me, little girl.” When he pushes in again, stretching you slowly, he lets out a low groan at the feeling and doesn’t stop until he’s all the way in.

“Oh my God,” you whine, hooking your legs around his back. “It’s too much.”

“Is it?” Joel mocks, rocking his hips slowly. He can feel your body react immediately—walls fluttering around him with every movement. You’re a trembling, moaning mess, making an even bigger one all over the dark hair above his cock.

A single tear falls from the corner of your eye, and Joel leans forward to kiss it away. He presses his lips to your forehead and gently strokes the side of your face with his free hand. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“I…it’s just,” you pause to let out an elated sigh as he thrusts in deep. “If this is the last time you—ohh, God, Joel—please, you’re gonna make me—”

“I know, little girl, I know,” he says. Joel thrusts his hips forward hard—once, twice, until your legs are shaking so bad he knows you’re one stroke away from combustion. And then he pulls his cock out of you, lips curling into a smirk at the whine you give in protest. “S’okay, baby, don't cry,” he promises, dropping to his knees and pulling you to the edge of the bed. “Wanna taste it, sweetheart.”

His mouth is bliss when he puts it on you, licking long, gentle strokes through your heat with his soft tongue. He uses both hands to spread your legs wide, holding you still even as you squirm, and his chest rumbles in satisfaction as he drinks you in. Joel wraps his lips around your clit and focuses his efforts there. His heart is pounding in his chest, and he groans against you as you tangle your hands in his hair, pulling him closer, grinding against his face as if you can’t get enough. 

Joel understands. He really, really does. Because even when your body pulls tight and you moan his name over and over, soaking his facial hair, his chin, his mouth—it’s not enough. He wants more, wants you impossibly closer, wants to hear nothing but your moans for the rest of his life. 

He doesn’t stop until your muscles begin to relax and your breathing slows. He releases your clit from between his lips and you shudder as he licks through your folds, devouring any trace of your orgasm left behind. The urge to praise your behavior rises in him, wanting to tell you how good you’re being, how perfect. 

But this—tonight—is about Joel. It’s a selfish act, his taking you. It’s for his memory, for his satisfaction. Which is why, when he crawls back over you, Joel rests his calloused hand against your neck and crushes his mouth to yours. You open up immediately, giving him an all access pass to your tongue, moaning at his reverence. You taste so fucking sweet, and Joel knows just how easy it would be to find obsession in kissing you.

With his free hand, he reaches down and pushes his jeans off the rest of the way, the metal belt buckle clanging to the floor. He pulls away for only a second to grip the back of his shirt collar and pull it over his head, discarding it quickly. 

And then he’s turning you over, grabbing your hips, and forcing them up. The sight of you with your face against the mattress and your arms braced in front of you, the enticing slope of your spine, your glistening, needy pussy—it’s almost too much. Joel’s cock throbs painfully, desperate to be inside of you. He runs his hands over the perfect globes of your ass, spreading you open. “You’re so pretty, baby. The cutest little girl I’ve ever seen,” he says, and your whimpering in response to his compliments is so cute it warms his heart.

You arch back for him, and Joel can’t resist his grin. You’re just so eager.

He gathers the spit in his mouth and lets it drip between your cheeks, watching it slide down your pussy until it reaches your clit. He lets out a sigh of relief as he pushes back into you, can’t resist leaning over and pressing sweet kisses to your spine. He won’t last long—not like this, buried so deep inside you there’s no end of you or beginning of him.

“Tell me how it feels,” he says. Joel’s thrusts are punishing and relentless. He slams into you, holding you down against the mattress with one hand and using the other to paw at your ass, pulling you back onto him every time he retreats. “This what you wanted? Hm? Wanted to be bent over and fucked like a whore, huh?”

“Yes,” you choke out. “It feels so good, Joel—fuck—”

His hips still. He fists his hand in your hair and pulls you up, back against his chest. His mouth is at your temple as he asks, “What was that?”

“I’m sorry—don't stop, don’t stop, please,” you beg. The words are desolate and frantic, but there’s a knowing, arrogant smirk on your face. 

You’re playing him, Joel suddenly realizes. Playing into his games to get what you want—you clever, bratty little girl. His palms twitch with the urge to force you into true submission instead of whatever this forgery of it is.

But he can’t do that in a single night. And so Joel decides to give you exactly what you want instead.

He wraps one hand around your throat, squeezing lightly as he presses your head to his shoulder. He uses the other to reach down and stroke your clit in soft circles, thrusting up into you all the while. “Aw, baby,” he tuts. “Look at you. You’re so fuckin’ easy. Doin’ whatever I want you to. Lettin’ me fuck you however I want.”

“Oh God, oh God, oh God—Joel I’m gonna—!”

Joel thrusts harder, circles your clit faster. Arousal pools low in his belly at the delicious way you say his name. “Give it to me, baby. Yeah, there you go. Mmhm, thaaaat’s it.” You squeeze him hard, and Joel has to close his eyes to hold himself back. 

Your moans are music to his ears, pretty little sounds that urge him on. His hand doesn’t stop, his hips don’t slow, and his mouth never quiets, filthy words sending you to immeasurable heights.

“Pussy was fuckin’ made for me. It’s soakin’ me so good. This what you like? Hm? Like to be fucked real rough, treated like a fuckin’ slut. That’s what makes it all wet, baby? Don’t you worry. I’ll give you everything you need, exactly what you’re beggin’ me for.” Joel feels your muscles go slack, but his hand on your neck only tightens, holding you upright. He doesn’t stop even as your hands fly to his between your legs, pulling at his wrist, needing reprieve.

“Joel, oh my God, please—I’m finished, I’m finished—!”

He presses your clit harder, fucks you deeper. “Ain’t this what you wanted? Didn’t want me to stop. Real sensitive, isn’t it?” His tone is so mocking, so mean. “Gonna fuck you till it hurts, pretty girl.”

You’re writhing in his hands, the cutest little tremors rocking through you. “It does, it does, Joel, please, it hurts so bad,” you cry. He kisses your tears away, savoring the taste of saltwater on his tongue. 

“Tell me who’s pussy this is,” he whispers in your ear. “Tell me baby, who’s pretty pussy is it? Huh?”

No answer comes right away. You’re too fucked out, fucked stupid, thoughts emptying out of your head. But Joel is there, right at the precipice, and he has to hear it before he follows you.

“C’mon little girl, use your words. Tell me,” he gently urges.

“Yours! It’s yours, I swear, Joel, fuck, fuck—!”

He pulls out of you just in time to spill his come onto your back, his cock sliding against your ass. Joel feels satisfaction down to his bones, knows that it’ll be easier to resist you now that he’s succumbed to his indulgences.

But as the euphoria fades, the guilt slowly starts to seep in. Joel lays you gently against the mattress, chest heaving.

“Don’t move,” he says. And then he’s leaving your room, picking up his flannel from the back of the couch. When he returns, he wipes away the mess he made, cleans up the lingering wetness between your legs.

While you climb up the bed and slide your shaky limbs beneath the thick comforter, Joel starts to pull his clothes back on. When he’s dressed in his boxers and t-shirt you ask, “Joel? Can you…can you stay? Just for a little bit?”

Your voice is so timid, so mousy, as if you’re embarrassed to even ask. He’s never heard you like this before. It tugs on his heartstrings, makes him feel the beginnings of exactly what he’s been trying so hard to avoid. 

That feeling chokes him, makes him feel covered in sin. Because you’re so young. So young that Joel should know better. He does know better. He’s just really, really bad at resisting temptation. Astronomically bad, in fact. And he doesn’t want to hurt you—truly, he doesn’t. Despite all he’s done and all he’s said, Joel has your best interest in mind. And he has no place there.

But, fuck, he wishes he did. 

Words don’t come easily to him. They never have. Especially when he has so much to say. “‘Course,” is all he manages.

Joel climbs in bed next to you, shoulders relaxing for what feels like the first time in a very long time as he pulls you close. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, rests his cheek against the top of your head. He’s so warm, like a big cocoon of heat and safety. 

The silence stretches on. And he thinks you may have fallen asleep already. But before you do, he says into the dark, “I didn’t mean it, you know. All the…the stuff I said. I don’t think you’re…”

You lift your head, turning those spellbinding eyes on him. He doesn’t know what to expect, but it certainly isn’t for you to give him an award-winning smile and say, “Good to know Joel Miller doesn’t think I’m an actual whore. If he did, whatever would I do?”

He doesn’t pick up on your sarcasm right away. And you must see something on his face that’s real amusing—because you burst into a fit of girlish giggles and Joel can’t help but mirror your grin. 

“I’m kidding,” you say. And then you lean up and press a chaste kiss to his jaw. “Goodnight, Joel. You can let yourself out when you’re ready.” 

He waits until you fall asleep, until your breathing evens out and you turn away from him on your side. Joel gathers his things quietly and leaves through the front door. 

This time, he locks it up tight.

[part one] [part three]

[save-the-data]

Knockin’ on Locked Door | S01E02

Japanese Drama - 2023, 9 episodes

[timotey]

I just realized, Knockin' on Locked Door is, basically, Sherlock Holmes, isn't it?

Tori is Holmes, the super observant, abrasive guy, excited by crime, only taking cases he considers fun, easily driven nuts by boredom, as he's addicted to the thrill of the chase and walking JUST this side of the line when it comes to actually doing crime.

Hisame is Watson, the one seeing the human angle in everything and coming up with the culprits' motives - Tori really does not care about the whys, just the hows - doing the legwork in their agency and making sure that Tori doesn't do anything too crazy or, gosh forbid, unlawful, smoothing feathers that Tori ruffles (very often).

Mikage is Moriarty, Tori's opposite - but not really, considering how close Tori is to actually doing crime at any given moment, being all devil may care about consequences. Just like Tori, Mikage is in this for the fun, he loves doing crime and leaving hints behind to make sure Ugachi will draw Tori and Hisame to the case. And as it's shown in the final ep, Mikage and Tori have an uncanny understanding for each other.

Ugachi is Lestrade, though she's smarter. But when it comes to Mikage, she always needs Tori's help to figure out HOW Mikage did the crime. The whys are easy for her, relatively speaking, with all her police resources but not the hows.

Tori is always so excited when they get a case that Mikage planned and handed it over to them on a silver platter to solve. He's downright improperly happy, so much so that Hisame and Ugachi have to shout him down or kick him so as not to give insult to the bereaved.

So interesting!

[icky-rickyy]

Joy Ride

Motorcyclist!Logan x Motorcyclist!reader

I am currently obsessing over street bike tik tok. Taking a short break from my multi part I am writing to supply this beauty.

Rated: E for everyone.

Should I do a part2

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” Marissa, your roommate spoke from her bed. She was laid in snuggly under the covers, chin tucked to her chest and cell phone resting on her abdomen as she dedicated the first half of the day to ‘doom scrolling’ as she called it.

“Yeah why not? I never meet anyone, and I never get to show off. I haven’t gone on a joy ride in months.”

You were tugging the zipper of your armored pants up, making sure they were fastened tightly to your body.

“You’re going to go cruising into a bike meet? A male predominant space and expect to get treated like one of the guys? Your tits are out!” She inched up in her bed, resting her back against the headboard.

“The last time I went to a bike meet was with Ethan. And I went as a backpack. I didn’t even have my own bike to show off, I was just eye candy while riding bitch and holding on to him.”

“And I look better on a bike when my tits are out anyways!” You looked down the front of your white cropped top, tugging the bottom hem down.

“Are you going by yourself?”

“Well….. no. I was going to ask Ethan to meet with me. Buutttt, if you wanna play backpack then I won’t invite him.” You were pulling on a thin zip up jacket, zipping it only a quarter of the way.

“I am so sorry but this is my only Saturday off all month, I am not getting oogled at and then being scared for my life while you drive recklessly.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“Kay fine. Don’t be mad when I come home with some biker hottie and we’re knockin boots all night.”

You grabbed your helmet from the end of her bed, tucking it under your arm with a firm slap to the top of it.

“Don’t die, and don’t get any STD’s!” She cheered after you as you headed through your apartment to the front door.

You dialed quickly on your phone, tucking it between your ear and shoulder as you pulled your keys from your pocket. It only took two rings before it answered.

“Uh hello?”

Ethan was on the other side, asking pensively.

“Are you going to the bike meet at the abandoned Jiffy on 10th?” You hung your helmet on the handle bar of your bike, swinging your leg over to mount it.

“Yes. How do you even know about that?” You could hear him shuffling on the other line.

“You’ll see. I’ll be there in 20.”

You hung up the phone quickly, locking it on to your phone stand and reaching for your helmet. You pulled it on over your hair, tucking the loose strands up in the back before fastening it tightly around your chin.

The bike roared to life beneath you, and your heart settled happily in your chest. You were excited for the evening, ready to see what the rest of the day could hold.

You weren’t even sure where to park.

The abandoned parking lot was already half filled with bikes of all shapes and sizes. Riders stood talking to one another while others stayed perched on their motorcycles simply observing or scrolling on their phones. There were at least 30 people stood waiting, and the meet wasn’t meant to actually start for another 10 minuets.

You tried not to shy away from peering eyes as you rolled into the large group of people, looking for an open spot to put the kickstand up on your bike and put it in park.

There was an open spot next to an older model Harley, the owner stood leaning against his bike puffing a half smoked cigar as he looked to the others suspiciously.

It was a stark difference, your bike next to his.

His classic looking motorcycle next to your lilac purple crotch rocket. Dark black leather next to pink and white accents and flashy rims.

You pushed the kickstand down, staying mounted on your bike as you fiddled with the helmet strap. Your hair fell from its tucked in position, setting your helmet on the gas tank and pulling your gloves off to run your hands through your messy helmet hair.

You tried not to look at the man next to you, watching his eyes scan as his large chest huffed with each inhale of his cigar. He had a leather jacket folded on the seat next to him, clad in a white beater tank top and bootcut jeans help up by a large silver belt buckle. His arms were big and muscular, covered by a vast sea of body hair. A tickle of the dark hair peeked up past the neckline of his tank top and teased at the base of his throat.

He looked many years you senior, and hot as fuck.

“Hi, nice to meet you.” You stuck your hand out to him sheepishly, introducing yourself.

“Logan. Like your bike.” He nodded down, eyes narrow with a stern look on his face. His words were curt but friendly.

“Right back at ya.” You chuckled back, pausing your next sentence when your phone began to ring in your pocket.

“Sorry.”

You dismissed yourself, answering Ethan’s incoming call and pressing it to your ear.

“Hey. Yeah. I’m next to an all black Harley. It’ll be hard to miss me. Yep. See you here.” You pushed your phone back into your pocket after ending the call, adjusting your seating on your bike.

Logan was still looking around, watching people walk past and nodding to the few that gawked openly.

A group of girls still wearing their helmets were walking by, whispering and squealing quietly to themselves at the sight of your bike. They all came by to swoon with you, asking where you got it and identifying questions you weren’t unfamiliar with answering.

You could hear the signature roar of Ethan’s bike as he approached, the girls standing near all making a clearing as he pulled in behind you and parking his own bike. He dismounted, swiftly pulling off his helmet.

“Wow. I’m impressed. You might have just out done me.” He stood with his hands on his hips, watching as you pulled your leg over your bike approaching him with a hug.

It had been nearly six months since your breakup that you had last seen Ethan. You tried a few times after the initial ending of your relationship to rekindle, but it never seemed to work out.

“I didn’t even know you got a bike.” He held you proudly by your shoulders, stepping back and putting his hands to his side when the group of people around the two of you finally registered in his brain.

“Well I was tired of being a backpack, what can I say? This is your fault though. You started this addiction.” You laughed open heartedly to him, watching him nod with a smile.

“Well I have a few buddies here to catch up with, but I’ll cruise with you when we get going later.”

You nodded as a quiet response to him, smiling as you watched him walk away and into a group of guys that all hugged and high-fived him happily.

“Boyfriend?” Logan asked from next to you.

You had almost forgot he was there, looming quietly from his bike.

“No.” You laughed to him. “Ex. This is actually the first time we’ve seen each other in months.” You pulled your phone from your pocket again, sending Marissa a quick text that you had arrived safe and sound.

“His loss.” Logan muttered quietly, pulling a final drag of his cigar. You looked over with a flash of shock, watching him smirk as he flicked the tobacco to the ground and stomped it to ash.

All you did was nod with a shy smile, looking to your street shoes and kicking a loose pebble around.

The entire group of bikers waited for another 10 minutes before everyone loaded up. You pulled on your gloves and helmet again, tugging the strap tight and hopping back on to your bike. Ethan mounted his behind you, you both shared an excited glance before you flicked down the visor of your helmet. Logan pulled on his jacket, climbing onto his bike without any protection. He smirked over to you, you blushed behind the darkness of your helmet.

Your whole body was vibrating in excitement when the group of bikes roared to life. There were at least 50 of you. It was too hard to count when the front of the group sped from the parking lot and out into the street.

Ethan replaced Logan’s spot on the side of you, keeping steady pace as you all began to race down the pavement. Logan followed shortly behind.

Passer-bys in their cars all gawked at the lot of you, heads swinging on a swivel as the singular headlights went by in a flash.

The group was picking up speed, going through main traffic until you took enough turns and ended up on an open paved backroad.

Evening was dwindling down, and the traffic was decreasing by the minute. This left the wide open pavement to the entire fleet of motorcycles to cruise in and out of the two lane road.

People were synced up to each others helmets, talking joyfully through about their lives while others shared music with each other in a collective jam session. You typically would enjoy far too loud music while riding, but you left your ears open to hear the herd of rumbling bikes race down the streets and to pick up on any important or urgent comms messages.

Logan managed to squeeze in between you and Ethan, his classic bike groaned and rumbled deeply as he yanked on his throttle in show. You laughed aloud at his ego display, looking between him and the road as he smiled brightly.

Logan leaned over as much as he could from the distance between you, sticking his hand out in invitation. You veered your bike closer to his, placing your hand in his open palm. He clasped his hand around yours, pulling your gloved knuckles up to place a soft kiss upon them. He squeezed your hand before sending you a wink and letting go.

You put your hand over the mouth of your helmet, tilting your head to mock grace at his chivalry. He threw his head back in a laugh, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

When you both quit giggling you watched Logan’s eyes flash dark with mischief. He scanned the area quickly, locating and calculating the closest bikers before he yanked down on his throttle.

His bike was absolutely screeching, hollering in a deep grumble as he pulled down harder and shifted gears. He was flying through the group, weaving in and out of everyone as he accelerated through them all.

You were almost shocked, watching him navigate the group with ease. You watched a few people flash back to you with confusion. You decided, why the hell not, and yanked down on your throttle just as hard.

The wind was whistling against you as you leaned down into the tank of your bike, feeling yourself accelerate even faster with the aerodynamics. It was a flash of headlights and rainbow colored modifications as you passed each biker swiftly in urge to catch up with Logan who was now coasting freely at the front of the group.

Your comms system was catching nearby voices, hearing them whisper in confusion or holler in excitement.

Logan was looking back as often as he could when he heard your bike accelerating behind him, a wide smile on his face when you finally caught up. You flipped up the visor of your helmet.

“You tryna race?” You yelled over to him.

He shook his head from side to side. “Not tonight doll, just wanted to show off a little.”

“Maybe next time?” You inquired with a smile, watching him roll his eyes playfully.

“Yeah, maybe next time.”

It was nearly 10 pm when you all returned back to the abandoned parking lot. Many of the bikers wished a good night as they broke up from the group to head home, the others followed back and were now parked in the meeting spot. Most were walking around in the light of the street lamps engaging in conversation or perusing the parked bikes in admiration.

You’d mainly went back to bid a goodnight to Ethan and then head home, to thank him for showing and for inspiring you to chase this particular fulfillment in your life.

It’s was hard to ever consider a time when you didn’t have a bike. From the moment you met Ethan and you began riding tandem with him, you were obsessed. The adrenaline, the quick feeling of flying through the open roads, the deep contentment that settled your soul and helped you sleep at night.

“Thanks again.” You confirmed to him, seeing his bright smile underneath his helmet. He held your shoulders kindly and his bright blue eyes shimmered down in pride.

“I’m proud of you. I hope you know that.”

You could have teared up at his endearment. Sometimes you wondered what it would have been like if this managed to work out with him.

“Thank you. Let’s plan another time to meet up, maybe without the other seven million people.”

Ethan nodded in confirmation with a laugh, pulling you in for one last tight hug before separating to head to his bike parked nearby.

He waved to the group and his friends as he drove away on his bike, peering out into the road before he filtered into the straying traffic and was gone in a flash.

Logan had still loomed by, leaning against his bike and finishing another cigar. You were ready to leave and head home, but felt compelled to talk to him.

“Thanks for the fun tonight. This was my first ever meet solo and you, uh, you just made it a lot better.” You stuck out your hand as a formality.

Logan reached out and shook it, his large hand wrapping around your gloved one like earlier.

“Thank you for playing along. Recklessness can get boring.”

You chuckled in response, nervously tucking your hand into your pocket and looking to the ground.

“Hey?” Logan asked, tentatively reaching for the bottom of your helmet. He tugged you closer, tilting your head up to look up at him.

“Let’s do this again, just you and I? Next week on Tuesday work?” He puffed a cloud of smoke out of the corner of his mouth.

You nodded wordlessly.

“Meet here? 10 am?”

You nodded again.

“Perfect. Good night, and get home safe doll.” He released his grip on your helmet, watching you stay frozen in shock. He stomped out his cigar like he did earlier, mounting his bike swiftly.

You watched in awe as he rumbled it to life. He sent a flirty wink before pulling up his own kickstand. Logan flew out of the parking lot and into the street.

“Oh fuck me.” You groaned, flicking down the visor of your helmet and mounting your own bike to head home.

[blakeswritingimagines]

The Devil's Knockin' At My Door (Kinktober)

Word Count: 3.4k

Logan, a tall, muscular man with unruly brown hair and piercing blue eyes, smirked as he watched you, walking ahead of him. Your figure was silhouetted in the light, calling to him like a siren’s song. He couldn’t help but appreciate how your hips swayed as you walked. He sauntered up behind you, his voice low as he spoke. “Hey, doll. You’re looking good today.” You stopped in your tracks, your heart beating just a little faster at the familiar voice behind you. You turned around to see Logan standing there, his smirk making your stomach flutter. You pushed back a stray lock of hair behind her ear, trying to seem nonchalant. "Well, aren't you charming?" you teased, a playful smile on your lips. "You're not so bad yourself, cowboy." Logan chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement as they roamed over your face and down your body appreciatively. He stepped closer until only a breath separated you. The scent of his cologne mingled with the earthy aroma of leather from his jacket. "Aw, shucks," he drawled, tipping an imaginary hat. "I reckon I'm just tryin' to keep up with the prettiest gal in town." His hand found the small of your back, fingers grazing the fabric of your shirt as he guided you towards the bar. "Now, why don't we get ourselves a drink and catch up proper-like?"

A shiver ran down your spine as his fingers grazed against your back. You let out a nervous laugh, trying to ignore the way your body reacted to his touch. "As if you need to try," you teased, following him towards the bar. As you both took a seat, the dim lighting of the bar cast a soft glow on his face, highlighting the angles of his jawline and the sharp features of his eyes. You felt your pulse quicken and fought against the urge to swoon. Logan leaned back in his chair, his arm brushing against yours under the guise of reaching for a menu. His gaze never left your face, studying every flicker of emotion that crossed it. "So, tell me what's been going on with you," he said, his voice low and inviting. "Been missing that pretty face of yours." He ordered himself a whiskey neat while giving the bartender a wink, a clear indication of their familiarity. His words send a flutter through your heart. You tried to play it cool, rolling your eyes playfully. "Oh, you know, the usual," you replied, trying to ignore how your heart beat a little faster each time he looked at you. "Work, hanging out with friends, nothing too exciting." You looked down at the menu, pretending to scan the options, but your mind was elsewhere. Feeling his arm brush against yours under the table sent a jolt of electricity through your body. Logan watched you closely, a knowing grin playing on his lips. He knew exactly how to push your buttons without seeming too obvious about it. "Nothing too exciting? That doesn't sound like you," he commented, his tone teasing yet sincere. When the drinks arrived, he slid one across the counter towards you. "Here, this might help liven things up a bit." His eyes locked onto yours, daring you to meet his challenge head-on.

You chuckled, taking the drink from his hand and trying not to let your fingers linger too long against his. The subtle brush of his skin against yours sent a shiver up your arm. You took a small sip of your drink, the liquid burning its way down your throat. "Is this your idea of livening things up?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "Because if it is, you're going to have to try harder than that, cowboy." He pulled away slightly, his eyes roaming over your face before settling on your lips. "But first, why don't you tell me what you've been up to? I wanna hear all about it." He settled back into his chair, his posture relaxed yet attentive, ready to listen intently to whatever you had to say. Logan listened attentively, nodding along as though genuinely interested in your day-to-day life. But when the drinks arrived, he set aside the pretense and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Let's cut to the chase here," he murmured, his eyes locked onto yours. "I've missed our late-night talks, the way your hair falls across your shoulders… And most importantly," he paused, leaning even closer, "the way your lips part when you whisper my name." Your heart hammered in your chest as he leaned closer, his words sending a wave of heat through your body. You tried to keep a cool exterior, but his eyes, fixed on yours with such unwavering intensity, made it hard to keep your composure. "You know, you always know how to get under my skin," you said, taking another sip of your drink to hide the shiver that ran down your spine. "And I didn't realize you were paying that close attention to the way I whisper your name," you added, a hint of tease in your voice.

He chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to vibrate through the air between them. "Oh, doll, you'd be surprised at how much I pay attention," he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. He reached out, tracing a finger down the side of your arm, watching the goosebumps rise in response. "It's been far too long since we've had some real fun together," he continued, his voice dropping lower still. "How 'bout we skip the chit-chat and move right along to the good stuff?" Your breath hitched as his finger traced down your arm, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. The sound of his voice, low and sultry, sent a shiver down your spine and ignited a flame within you. You felt your resolve weakening, but you still tried to play coy. "The good stuff, huh? And what exactly do you have in mind?" you asked, a coy smile playing at the corners of your lips. He leaned back, letting his gaze roam over your curves once more before locking back onto your eyes. "I think you already know," he said, his smirk returning. "But let's make it interesting," he suggested a wicked gleam in his eye. "Winner gets to call the shots." He raised his glass, clinking it lightly against yours. "Your move, doll." You swallowed hard, your breath coming a little quicker. The idea of a little game piqued your interest, and despite your best efforts to appear unaffected, your body hummed in anticipation. You lifted your glass, tapping it gently against his, meeting his gaze with a mix of challenge and desire. "You're on," you said, your voice a mix of feigned casualness and underlying excitement. "Bring it on."

Logan's lips curled into a triumphant smile as he caught sight of the spark in your eyes. "That's the spirit," he praised, his voice warm with approval. With a fluid motion, he downed his drink in one swift gulp, setting the empty glass down with a decisive thud. He looked back at you expectantly, waiting to see if you could match his pace. You couldn't help but chuckle at his display, his confidence adding fuel to the fire burning inside of you. Despite feeling a bit of trepidation, you matched his move, downing your drink in a single gulp. The liquid burned your throat as it went down, sending a pleasant wave of heat through your body. You placed the empty glass down firmly, meeting his gaze with a determined look. "Don't underestimate me, cowboy," you warned, a hint of challenge in your tone. Logan's eyes widened slightly in surprise at your bold move, but quickly recovered, a newfound respect shining in his gaze. "Damn, doll, you've got some grit," he complimented, his voice tinged with admiration. He signaled the bartender for another round, his expression turning mischievous. "Alright then, let's see if you can keep up," he challenged, downing his second drink just as swiftly as the first. He set the glass down with a smirk, his eyes never leaving yours. "Your turn, sweetheart." You couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at his reaction, a sly smile forming on your lips. However, the alcohol was starting to take effect, leaving you feeling a little more daring than usual. You downed your next drink with a confidence that surprised even you, the liquid's warmth spreading through your body like a comforting blanket. Your eyes flickered to Logan, locking onto his gaze with a mixture of defiance and attraction. "You sure you can handle me?" you taunted, your voice betraying a hint of vulnerability.

Logan's eyes darkened at your challenge, his own bravado rising to meet yours. "Handle you?" he repeated, a low chuckle escaping his lips. "Darlin', I'm not just handling you—I'm about to show you a night you won't forget." He signaled for another round, his movements deliberate and sure. As he drained his third drink, he glanced over at you, his expression smoldering. "Your move," he dared, his voice a low growl that seemed to vibrate through the room. Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the alcohol and his intense gaze making your head spin. Despite feeling a little dizzy, you didn't back down. You reached for your glass, a flicker of determination in your eyes. The liquid slid down your throat easily now, the warm buzz in your head growing stronger. You set the glass back down with more force than necessary, a slight heat growing after each drink. "You talk a big game, cowboy," you countered, a hint of breathlessness in your voice. "But let's see if you can back it up." Logan's eyes flashed with excitement at your words, his breathing growing heavier. He stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. In two long strides, he closed the distance between you, his tall frame looming over yours. "Oh, I plan to back it up, sweetheart," he promised, his voice a husky whisper. He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch sending sparks dancing across your skin. "In fact, I'm gonna show you just how well I can handle you." His lips brushed against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Care to find out?"

Your heart beat faster in your chest, his proximity and the heat of his body drawing you in. His touch sent electricity coursing through your veins, and his words left you a breathless mess. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure even as the alcohol and his presence were clouding your thoughts. "I…I think you should," you managed to utter, your voice shaky. The room felt hot, the air between you charged with tension. But instead of feeling intimidated, you found yourself eagerly anticipating what he would do next. Logan's grin grew wider at your admission, his hands moving to grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. "Glad to hear it," he murmured, his mouth hovering just inches from yours. He could taste the desire on your lips, the sweet scent of your arousal filling his senses. "Let's not waste any more time talking," he breathed out, capturing your lips with his in a searing kiss that left no doubt about his intentions as his hand moved up your thigh closer to where you needed him most. You melted against him, your body fitting perfectly against his as he pulled you closer. Your fingers clutched his shirt, seeking an anchor as your mind grew fuzzy with desire. The taste of his lips and the feel of his hands on your body sent jolts of pleasure through you, making it hard to think clearly. You responded to his kiss with equal fervor, your lips moving against his hungrily. Your breaths mingled in the heated space between you, and your hips involuntarily rocked against his hand.

Logan groaned into the kiss, his tongue delving deep to claim every inch of your mouth. His hand slipped higher, cupping your sex through the fabric of your dress. He could feel the damp heat emanating from you, and it only fueled his hunger. Breaking the kiss, he trailed his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. "Fuck, you're so wet for me already," he rasped, his fingers dipping beneath the edge of your panties to stroke your slick folds. "I've barely touched you, and you're dripping." His thumb found your clit, circling the swollen bud with increasing pressure like you both weren't still sitting down inside a bar. "Tell me you want this, baby. Tell me you need my cock inside you." His words and actions had you panting, your body writhing against his touch. The sensation of his fingers exploring your most intimate areas made your legs tremble, and you bit back a moan. "Yes," you gasped out, your voice barely above a whisper. "God, yes, I want it. I need it," you confessed, your resolve crumbling under the weight of your desire. You gripped his wrist, guiding his hand against you, desperate for more contact. Logan's eyes darkened with lust at your confession, his fingers slipping deeper into your wet heat. "That's it, baby," he coaxed, his voice rough with desire. "Let me make you feel good." He pumped his fingers slowly at first, letting you adjust to the intrusion before picking up speed. His thumb continued its relentless assault on your clit, circling and pressing until you were squirming against his hand. "So fucking tight," he groaned, his own arousal straining against his jeans. "Can't wait to feel this pretty pussy wrapped around my cock." He captured your lips again, swallowing your moans as he finger-fucked you right there in the middle of the crowded bar.

Your mind blanked out completely, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through your body. Logan's fingers plunged in and out of you, stretching and filling you in the most delicious way. The combination of his skilled touch and the liquor in your system pushed you closer and closer to the edge. Your hips bucked slowly against his hand, seeking more friction, more pressure. You broke the kiss, your breath coming in ragged pants. "Please," you whimpered, your nails digging into his arm. "I need more. I need you inside me." Logan pulled his fingers free from your drenched pussy with a wet sound, leaving you aching for more. He grinned wickedly at your plea, standing up to tower over you. "As you wish," he said, unbuckling his belt with practiced ease. He unzipped his jeans, freeing his throbbing member. "Come sit down on my lap, darlin'," he commanded, his voice thick with lust. "It's time I gave you what you're begging for, just be quiet and don't make it obvious." Your body trembled with anticipation, the thought of having him fill you completely sending waves of pleasure through you. You shifted off the stool, swaying slightly as you tried to maintain your balance. You climbed onto his lap, straddling him, the cool air hitting your exposed flesh. You lowered yourself onto his cock, taking him in inch by glorious inch. A soft moan escaped your lips despite your best efforts to stay silent, but the pleasure was too much to bear.

Logan's hands tightened on your hips, holding you steady as you took all of him. "Fuck, yeah," he groaned, his eyes locked on the sight of you impaled on his dick. He thrust upwards gently, allowing you to adjust to his size. "Ride me, baby," he urged, his voice laced with raw need. "Show me how much you love my cock." He leaned forward, his lips finding the tender skin of your neck once more, nibbling and kissing along the sensitive area. Your inner walls clenched around him instinctively, your body welcoming his girth. You began to move, rocking your hips slowly at first, savoring the fullness. Each thrust sent ripples of pleasure coursing through you, and you couldn't help but let out another soft moan. You buried your face in his shoulder, trying to muffle the sounds escaping your lips. "Logan," you whispered, your voice filled with longing. "Feels so good." Logan's control snapped at your whispered praise, The sound of your voice saying his name was music to Logan's ears, spurring him on. He tilted his head back, exposing the column of his throat, silently inviting you to mark him. "That's it, baby," he praised, his hands gripping your ass, massaging the flesh as he guided you on top of him slowly. "You're so fucking tight and warm," he growled, his breath hot against your skin. "I could fuck you all night. Shit, you feel incredible," he growled, his hands sliding up to grasp your breasts, thumbs teasing your nipples through the thin fabric of your dress. He squeezed them roughly, pinching and rolling the hardened buds as he pounded up into you. "Take it all, baby. Milk my cock with that perfect cunt." His lips claimed yours in a bruising kiss, swallowing your cries of ecstasy as he fucked you harder, the force of his thrusts causing your breasts to bounce enticingly.

The pleasure was overwhelming, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. Logan's hands on your body, his words in your ear, everything about him was designed to push you further. You arched your back, pressing your breasts into his palms, the sensation of his fingers on your nipples sending shocks of pleasure straight to your core. You met his thrusts with equal vigor, grinding down on him with abandon. "Logan!" you cried out, unable to hold back any longer. "I'm gonna…" Logan felt your walls fluttering around his shaft, signaling your impending release. He redoubled his efforts, pounding into you with wild abandon. "That's it, baby," he urged, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own climax. "Cum for me. Let everyone see how good I make you feel." He reached between your bodies, finding your clit with his thumb. He rubbed the sensitive bundle of nerves in tight circles, pushing you over the edge. "Fuck, I can feel you tightening," he groaned, his hips stuttering as he neared his own peak. "Shit, I'm gonna cum. You want my load, baby? Want me to fill this greedy little pussy?" Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body shaking uncontrollably as wave after wave of intense pleasure consumed you. "Oh god, yes!" you screamed, not caring who heard you. Your inner muscles clamped down around Logan's cock, milking him for all he was worth. The knowledge that people were watching only heightened your pleasure, adding an element of danger and excitement to the whole experience. "Fill me up," you begged, your voice hoarse from screaming. "Give me every last drop." You rocked your hips frantically, desperate to prolong your high and bring him to completion.

Logan's control shattered at your desperate pleas, his hips snapping up to meet yours in a frenzied rhythm. "Fucking take it," he roared, his voice echoing off the walls of the bar. He drove into you one final time, his cock pulsing as he spilled himself deep inside your spasming cunt. "Shit, shit, shit," he chanted, his eyes rolled back in ecstasy as he emptied his balls into you. He held you close, his arms wrapping around your waist as he rode out the aftershocks of his orgasm. When he finally stilled, he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. "Damn, that was incredible," he murmured, his chest heaving with exertion. "We may have drawn some attention, and as much as I wouldn't change a thing let's get out of here." He nuzzled your hair, already planning their next illicit encounter. As the haze of pleasure began to clear, you realized that indeed, quite a crowd had gathered around you two, whispering and pointing. Embarrassment crept up your spine, but it was quickly replaced by a sense of smug satisfaction. After all, you'd just experienced one of the most intense orgasms of your life, and Logan had made it happen. You smiled up at him, still feeling the warmth of his seed deep inside you. "Definitely time to go," you agreed, reluctantly dismounting his lap. You smoothed down your rumpled dress, trying to look presentable despite the evidence of your recent activities. As you walked out of the bar together, you glanced back at the curious onlookers, a mischievous glint in your eye. This was just the beginning of many more secret trysts with Logan.

[zaebeecee]

Drowning in Stardust

🦌 RadioDustTober: Short Story Edition 🕷️

Day 06: Comfort

Human high school/Persona AU (confused teenagers possibly dating, they haven’t figured that out yet)

CWs: Mourning, family loss

The anniversary of the death of Alastor’s mother is never easy, but he always gets through it, and he does it alone. Anthony understands, and he’s going to be there to be alone with him, whether Alastor likes that or not.

Word count: 909

•••

The first time Anthony knocked, it was soft and polite, three quick, gentle taps of knuckles on wood.

The second time, it was louder, more insistent, and delivered with the side of his fist rather than his knuckles.

He wasn’t sure if he could call the third time a knock, per se, because a knock was technically a single action that had an end. This was more an incessant, rhythmic tapping, one that started at a fast pace and stayed right there as Anthony continued to smack the door with the knuckles on the back of his hand.

His tried-and-true persuasion tactic (which he officially called Being Fucking Annoying On Purpose) paid off as he heard the dorm room door unlock, then creak open just enough for a single exhausted green eye to peer out at him in total silence.

“…hey, Alastor,” Anthony said, lowering his hand and adjusting his grip on the backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Anthony,” Alastor answered in a measured voice. “You… need something, I assume?”

“No, I just like knockin’ on doors and yours was available,” Anthony said dryly. “Coach Bee asked me to bring yer Home Ec assignment by, since you weren’t in class today. Can I come in?”

“…ah. Right. …of course.” Alastor stepped aside, opening the door further to allow Anthony to pass into his dorm room. It was dark, the way it usually was, but it felt more oppressive today. He turned as Alastor shut and locked his door again. “You can leave it on my desk.”

“Sure.” Anthony swung his backpack in front of himself and unzipped it, pulling out a sheet of paper and putting it on top of Alastor’s most recent stack of creepy library books. When he looked up again, he saw Alastor was still keeping his distance, leaning more heavily on his cane than he usually did. “Just wanted to come see how you were holdin’ up.”

Alastor narrowed his eyes slightly. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Anthony shrugged a little. “…Charlie told me.”

At that, Alastor’s eyes widened, then his expression softened and he looked away. “…I see. I assume she only told you to get you to leave me alone today?”

“Yeah, probably, since I was threatenin’ to come up here and drag you out.” Anthony smiled as Alastor’s lip twitched, which was at least an improvement. “She said you probably wanted to be alone today.”

“She’s correct.”

“Can I be alone with you?”

Alastor stared at him. “…that kinda defeats the purpose of being alone, wouldn’t you say, sha?”

“No,” Anthony said. “I can be quiet.”

That earned him a scoff. “You most certainly can’t.”

“Sure I can, watch me. Come oooonnn,” he wheedled. “Please? I brought stuff. I got some sour candies and some of those weird Cajun chips you like for some reason, and they got Gonjiam back on streamin’ if you wanna watch that again and we ain’t gotta go to class in the mornin’.”

Alastor sighed, but he was very nearly smiling again, and Anthony could tell he wasn’t upset. “You’re so stubborn. Did you know that?”

Anthony grinned proudly. “Sure am.”

“…I’m going to regret giving in to your wiles so frequently, but fine. You can stay.”

“Yesss,” Anthony hissed, plopping down on Alastor’s bed. “I got somethin’ else, too. Only planned to tell you if you let me stay.”

Alastor watched as he reached into his bag again and pulled out a bottle of rye whiskey. “…you were going to hold out on me if I threw you out? How cruel. Where did you even get that?”

“Blitz. Don’t tell my brother, he wouldn’t hesitate to get me detention just ‘cause we’re related.”

Ten minutes later, they were both sitting on Alastor’s bed with their backs against the wall, Alastor wrapped in a big, fluffy pink blanket that had taken up most of the room in Anthony’s backpack. The candy bag sat open between their knees, and Anthony’s laptop was open on the bed, close enough that they could read the subtitles while Korean influencer ghost hunters ran around a haunted asylum and pissed off the already angry spirits. At some point, Alastor drifted until his head was on Anthony’s shoulder, and as though holding up his end of an unspoken agreement, Anthony didn’t mention it. He stayed there for the rest of the film, and even when Anthony felt his arm going numb, he didn’t move. He would have sooner cut his arm off than move out from under Alastor right then.

As the movie ended, Anthony closed the laptop with his foot so he didn’t have to sit up and dislodge Alastor. Immediately, both the darkness and the silence were complete, and he let the other boy (his boyfriend? Were they dating? Were they just friends? Was it something else? Not a good time to ask) figure out what it was he wanted to say.

“…I miss her,” Alastor finally said into the darkness, his voice soft.

“I know,” Anthony answered, unsure of what else he could say to that.

When Alastor exhaled, his breath shook, and Anthony leaned his cheek against the top of his head. He’s crying. He wasn’t about to call any attention to that, of course, but the fact that Alastor felt comfortable enough to do something like this around him, even if it was in total darkness…

“Anthony?”

“Yeah?”

“…I’m glad you annoyed me into opening my door.”

“Sure. Anythin’ for you, Al.”

•••

[ilanorgratvol]

I know, there are plenty playlists for our gorgeous Wizard of Waterdeep, but I just had to let it out of my system.

What strikes me the most about this one is that like almost every song for me is associated with some stage during Gale's life (well, almost, I'm still filling the gaps). And I just can't stop and listening to it, imagining all these events in my head.

I hope someone will find this interesting.

Goddess of the Rain - the stage of ultimate devotion of Mystra. Young Gale, had just gotten the attention of the Goddess of Magic herself and is eager to prove himself worthy.

Take me to your church Teach me how to sing Show me how to pray

Break me as you will Let me be your priest Let me be your prey

Let me rise to stand Here beside your form As your right handHere within the storm

Paradise - we've gotten Stockholm syndrome, guys :) Gale is still devoted to his Goddess but started to realise all toxicity of their relationships. Is he able to go away? Well, not now.

"In the most nights, she keep returning in her weaves..."

Toxic, kinda' crazy, hot Keeps me underneath her thumb Robs me of my dignity tonight Always wants to take a piece And chew me up and spit me out Just enough to get me through the night Before I know it— I'm just doing what she says Yes, I'm doing this...

Wrong Side of Heaven - Gale has already gotten the Orb and was abandoned by Mystra. He feels frustrated and lost and locks himself in his tower.

I spoke to God today And she said that she's ashamed What have I become? What have I done? I spoke to the devil today And he swears he's not to blame And I understood 'Cause I feel the same

Goodbye Cruel World - Gale lost himself in self-pity.

Whoa, goodbye cruel world I'm off to join the circus Gonna be a brokenhearted clown Paint my face with a good-for-nothing smile 'Cause a mean, fickle woman Turned my whole world upside down

Can't Find a Way - Gale finally left his tower, hoping to make a brand new start. This is when he was captured by the Illithids and the events of the game had taken the place. He started to accept Mystra's decision and tried to disassociate from the past.

Now that youve gone again Ive found other friends You ask what you are You don't even care for me Im tired of belivin Now that youve gone away Nothings left to say You ask what you are You dont even care for me Im tired and leavin

A Place in Your World - gods, isn't it the most Golden Retriever song?)) Gale meets Tav, slowly falling in love, seeking their attention.

Would you like to see within my heart? Would you like to be there when I fall apart? The sun might scorch my eyes But no one ever cries a tear for me Is there nothing more that I can stand? I feel so displaced now I'm the lonely man But look into my eyes And maybe you can see what's in my heart

Repentance - Gale has gotten the message from Mystra and considering to follow her order. I imagine him sitting alone in his tent, illuminating only by candle on his table; his hands in his hair, his head lowered and eyes shut closed.... Oooogh, it's a tough one.

Staring at the finished page before me All the damage now so clear and evident Thinking 'bout the dreaded task in store for me A bitter fear at the thought of my amends

Hoping that the step will help restore me To face my past and ask for forgiveness Cleaning up my dirty side of this unswept street Could this be the beginning of the end?

The Cross - Tav persuades Gale not to follow Mystra's order and claim the Crown of Karsus. Gale meets Mystra to threaten her. "Not happening" Gale's line is in my mind forever.

I was young and so naive You were God and I believed You made me kneel You made me feel Like it was all my fault But now I know it wasn't mine at all

Lose Control - I mean, guys. You know what it is about ;)

Something's got a hold of me lately No, I don’t know myself anymore Feels like the walls are all closin' in And the devil's knockin’ at my door, woah Out of my mind, how many times did I tell you I'm no good at bein' alone? Yeah, it's taken a toll on me, tryin' my best to keep From tearin' the skin off my bones, don't you know

First Light - classic! Gale and Tav find comfort in their tower in Waterdeep and themselves. I don't think I need to explain anything here))

One bright mornin' changes all things Soft and easy as your breathin', you wake Your eyes open at first, a thousand miles away But turnin' shoot a silver bullet point-blank range And I can scarce believe what I'm believin' in Could this be how every day begins?

_________________

Want me to make playlists for other characters? Let me know in the comments.

[daddyygh0stface]

keep calling me pet and i will ended up traveling just to be knockin outside of your door like a stalker waiting for you to fill me up hard! (flirting)

And I'll pull you inside just to lock you in a cage, your training will start here pet. You're mine now. You will be molded into my perfect little pet (flirting)