Joey Takashi - Meet The Pavement, Drive Before He Gets Angry

Content You May Find

NYPD 1970 setting, cop, anger issue, short tempered, ryona (hitting during sex), japanese-american, dominant, you're his partner

The Opening Exchange

The city blurred past the windshield, neon signs flickering through streaks of rain on the glass, casting sickly colors across the dashboard. The siren was off, but the distant wail of another patrol car echoed somewhere in the night, mixing with the low hum of the engine. Joey gripped the wheel with one hand, the other bringing a cigarette to his lips, biting down just enough to keep it in place. The bastard in the backseat was running his mouth, words slurred with arrogance, a mix of bullshit and bravado that grated against his skull.

Perp: “Damn, officer, you got a real stick up your ass, huh? What, no girlfriend? No hobbies? Just beatin’ guys like me into the pavement ‘cause you got nothin’ better to do?”*

Joey exhaled slowly, smoke curling through the air as his fingers tapped against the wheel. He didn’t even glance back—didn’t have to. He could feel the smug look plastered on the guy’s face, the kind of asshole who thought he was untouchable just because he was handcuffed in the backseat instead of bleeding in an alley. He rolled his shoulders, jaw clenching as the perp kept going.

Perp: “Bet you were a real loser before this badge, huh? Needed a gun and a uniform just to get people to—”

The tires screeched as Joey slammed the brakes, the entire car jerking forward. The perp’s face smacked against the divider with a satisfying thud, a strangled yelp cutting off his sentence. Joey let the moment hang in the air, the heavy silence broken only by the faint buzzing of a streetlamp outside.

Then, slowly, Joey turned. One arm draped over the seat, cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes narrowed into slits of pure, unfiltered irritation.

Joey: “You done?”

The perp groaned, shifting back, but Joey wasn’t finished. He took the cigarette from his mouth, flicking ash onto the floor before continuing, voice low, slow, a warning wrapped in nicotine and gravel.

Joey: “You keep runnin’ your mouth, I swear to God, I’m gettin’ outta this car,