#Equalizer 2

[iamasaddie]

I ain't no fucking hero, I'm just trying to survive myself...

#pedro pascal #iamasaddie gif #dave york #equalizer 2

[pedritapascal]

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #pedro is daddy #pedro x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #dave york #equalizer 2 #fanfic do personagem pedro pascal #joel miller #fanfic #pedrito #the mandaloria/reader

[aurorawritestoescape]

WATCHING YOU

Pairing: Dave York x f!reader

Summary/prompt: reader stalks Dave and he’s super turned on by it.

Tw: 18+, mdni, smut, voyeurism, so much of it, m/f masturbation, infidelity, unsafe piv(wrap it up obv), creampie, f/oral, light pussy slapping, fingering, swearing.

Word count: 4,2k

A/n: Happy holidays, @bonezone44 !🎄❤️ It’s an honor to write for you and I hope you’ll like my present! Love you, friend! Merry Christmas!🫂💖

Drabble || MASTERLIST

It’s another day. You’re in your work car, fast food trash lying on the seat next to you. You’re waiting for him, your current target, David York.

You’ve been surveilling him for some time now. Why? You don’t know. For your boss you’re just a pair of eyes so you follow, watch, take notes and monitor who he meets and who visits him and sometimes you take pictures of him, the hottest man you’ve ever seen.

David York, Dave as you call him... or not exactly. In your head you’ve been calling him Daddy all this time. Daddy was a family man. A loving, driving to and picking up from school, helping with homework, building tree houses, perfect dad. He was attentive to his wife, kissing her goodbye in the morning, making her breakfast in bed from time to time, fucking her missionary style once a week in their bed. See? You’ve been a great pair of eyes! You would gather everything you could and send it to your boss. All the information, every minor thing.

Except.. you might have omitted some details. Like sometimes when he sees his wife to her car in the morning his gaze slides along the street and pauses for a moment at whatever car you’re in that day. He kisses her glancing in your direction.

It might be a coincidence, you think. You just got too close, grew a little infatuated with your target and his warm eyes, kind smile and hot body. Maybe subconsciously you want him to see you. Clearly that would ruin the whole mission so you continue watching him and taking notes.

There is another reason you feel your heart and pussy flutter when you set your eyes on him. Every Tuesday and Thursday when his wife takes their daughters to their dance class he sits down in an armchair in the living room, a laptop in front of him on the coffee table and gets himself off. Watching in your car outside his house you have a great view of the whole process. He discards his belt, unzips his usual slacks and takes out his perfect cock. It’s big and thick, a little curved to the side, veiny but not too much. Perfect!

The first time it happened you reached for your binoculars so fast you spilled your coffee all over the car mat and then nearly choked on your spit at the sight of his length. He began stroking it slowly at first watching whatever was happening on the screen of his laptop while your heart was pounding in your chest and your pussy tingled making you squirm in your seat. With his hand sliding up and down his cock at a growing pace, he closed his eyes, turned his head towards the window, towards you, and bit his lower lip. You couldn’t help but whimper witnessing the sign of pleasure on his handsome face through the lenses. That moment you wished for nothing more than to be between his strong thighs, give him that ecstasy with your own hot mouth.

It happens regularly now. He chokes and milks his cock every Tuesday and Thursday and you watch him and ruin your panties. You don’t dare to do anything else right then and there but as soon as you come home on those days you plop on your bed, shove your hand into your panties and make yourself come sliding your fingers in and out of your tortured pussy. You don’t need your toys, just the image of his hand jerking his cock is enough to make every nerve in your body scream with ecstasy. You know every vein of his member, know the way he loves to start pleasuring himself and know his expression when he comes. It’s in your mind constantly.

You’re in your car waiting for Daddy to return with his daughters after picking them up from school. He’s late. He’s never late. You know his habits, his punctuality so you get nervous. Is he ok? Are the girls?

You’re deep in your thoughts staring at the road waiting for his car to show up and bring your nerves some relief.

TAP TAP

You jump in your seat, as your hand darts to your hip but you stop yourself remembering you’re in a suburban area with lots of civilians around and not armed.

When you turn your head your heart plummets to your stomach and you freeze, eyes wide. Him, Dave, Daddy is standing outside, with a hand on his hip apparently waiting for you to roll down the window. He’s wearing a light blue shirt with no tie and dark blue slacks with his ever present prominent bulge.

You try to compose yourself ready to lie through your teeth, and after taking a deep calming breath, you push the button opening a crack in the window.

He bends over and you see his face, his plush lips, a pronounced nose and warm eyes.

You must be worried, scared, shocked but your contradictory heart is fluttering at the realization that he finally sees you.

“Hello!” he says with a polite smile as his gaze quickly scans the inside of your car. You feel embarrassed scolding yourself for not cleaning up earlier and then another fear sneaks into your mind- have I left anything in the open showing that I’m surveilling him?

“Can we talk?” you hear his deep, velvet-like voice and stare up at him trying to control your breathing and your rushing thoughts.

“I’m sorry I’ve been waiting for my friend. I’ll leave. I don’t think she’s comin….”

He interrupts you, raising his hand in the air.

“Please,..” And then he calls you by your name.

Fuck!

You curse inwardly and begin thinking of your way out. You’re trying to read his expression and immediately drown in his eyes.

Fuck! I need to focus.

He knows. He’s known for some time. You’d be happy to say you’re surprised but in reality you aren’t. Your heart starts beating even faster. Is he dangerous? Of course he is. Why else would they need you to watch him?

“We need to talk,” he tells you, “can we go inside?”

You should say no, make up an excuse or just hit the gas and drive away but he’s here and the way he’s looking at you with his sad puppy eyes pushes you to stay. You can protect yourself if necessary, you think. So you make a decision.

“Yeah.. we can talk”. You open the car door, get out and follow him to his house.

He’s sitting across from you at the dinner table, staring intently at your face, his brows furrowed. He shifts his jaw as if in deep thought. The memory of him fucking his fist flashes in your mind and you quickly avert your eyes. You focus on the table in front of you, crayons and children’s drawings scattered across the surface. You clear your throat and return your gaze to him.

“So.. how long have you known?” you ask, making your voice sound more confident that you really feel.

“How long have you been stalking me?”

“Oh great! I’m that bad,” you chuckle nervously.

“Or I’m just that good,” he retorts with a smile.

“I’m sure you’re,” you breathe out and he raises his brow hearing an almost whimper in your tone. You feel your cheeks burning and you scold yourself mentally for showing your emotions. You want to fill the awkward silence and blurt out, “I'm definitely going to be fired now.”

It’s his turn to surprise you when he leans forward getting closer to you placing his forearm on the table and says looking right into your eyes.

“You don’t have to report this conversation. It can be our secret.”

You laugh bitterly expecting it to be a joke. Yet when you glance back at him you find his expression serious and intense. Why is he looking at you like this, why are you in his house? Your pulse quickens as his gaze slides down from your eyes to your lips and then your cleavage peeking out of your black shirt’s neckline.

“You can tell your boss that you failed or you can keep quiet and continue your mission,” he says, his voice calm and alluring.

“My mission…You mean - secretly surveilling you while you know all about it?” you ask as sarcasm coats your words.

“You’ve been doing it all this time so… you may as well continue,” he smirks. You feel offended by his remark and your instinct makes you to bite back with a question,

“Do you think I like watching you jerk your cock twice a week?”

The words fly out of your mouth before you can stop them and his expression changes.

“ I know you do,” a lopsided smile appears on his face as if he’s been waiting for these words all along. Your breath catches when suddenly he scoots closer to you moving his chair and you feel his knees touch yours. You look down at his thighs and his hand flies and brushes a hair strand away from your face. You grab his wrist and hold it as adrenaline is coursing through your veins. The faint smell of his cologne, oaky and deep, his face, his body, so close overwhelm you, and you feel yourself gush.

Your body wants him. You want him.

Still holding his wrist you bring his hand to your face and press your cheek to his warm palm. Your heart is pounding in your ears and you’re about to apologize for your inappropriate behavior and storm off when he cups your cheek and mumbles, “Oh, baby..”

You’re looking at each other for a few moments which feel like an eternity before he shifts his hand a little, swipes your lower lip with his thumb and murmurs, “Nosy kitten.”

You stop breathing completely, afraid to ruin the moment or make a wrong move. He pushes his thumb between your waiting lips and you readily open them for him. You take it in your mouth and begin sucking on it. It’s thick and heavy on your tongue. You moan and shut your eyes imagining something thicker and longer of his in your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the pad of his finger and hear his chair creak.

When you open your eyes Dave’s moved even closer to you, so close that your knees are between his thighs and you tingle all over seeing his broad shoulders, strong arms, all of him right in front of you.

“Mmm, my kitten is naughty,” he coos at you leaning to your face until he places his nose into the crook of your neck and takes a deep breath.

“You smell as good as you look, baby,” he whispers and you feel him kissing your delicate skin there while you’re still sucking on his digit.

Then his hand grabs your thigh and even through the jeans you sense how big and warm it is. He slides it up and you stop sucking focused on the hand itching closer to the place where you need him desperately. His lips leave your neck, he pulls his thumb out of your mouth and looks you in the eye again, his gaze soft yet intent.

“Can I…?” He asks and your breath hitches for a moment. You nod.

“Let me hear it, kitten. You have a very pretty voice,” he says, squeezing your thigh.

His touch gives you some courage and you reply with a tint of plea in your voice, “You can do whatever you want to me.”

He smiles and asks you softly,

“Could you stand up for me?”

You get up and he takes your hands and tugs you closer to him. You're between his legs now looking down at him. Even sitting down he feels bigger and stronger, more dominant than you. His hand moves to your belly and you bite your lower lip with anticipation. He slowly unbuttons and unzips your jeans and glances up at you. With his eyes not leaving yours he hooks his fingers under your waistband and slowly pulls your jeans and panties down. You whimper feeling cold air on your wet pussy. He bends down, sliding the clothes off your body and helping you to take them off completely while you’re grasping his strong shoulders for stability.

He sits up again and takes you all in, naked from the waist down, still wearing your shirt.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs as his gaze stops at your pussy and you gasp when he leans down and plants an open mouth kiss on your mound.

Dave caresses it with his lips and bends down a little more running his tongue along your wet slit. He pushes it in between your folds and swirls it around your clit. Your hand darts to his head to grip a fist of his hair and you part your feet to make room for his tongue between your legs.

He parts from your pussy, a string of his spit and your slick still connecting you two, and you whine with desperation.

“Fuck, baby, your taste amazing,” his hand darts to your folds, massaging them and then giving your clit a rub. With his middle finger he takes a scoop of your juices gliding it from your entrance to your clit. He brings it to his mouth and licks it clean, not tearing his eyes off your parted lips and hazy gaze.

“Wanna show you something,” he says getting up and you furrow your brows with confusion and a pinch of fear. He might be dangerous. Having noticed your hesitancy Dave takes your hand in his and squeezes it a little. If he wanted to harm you he’d have done it already, you think.

When your mind clears a bit it dawns on you and your ask with excitement, “is it those movies you watch twice a week?” He nods with a smile, gets up, takes your hand and leads you to the living room.

“I thought they were different every time,” you mumble as you see the familiar armchair and the coffee table with the laptop.

“I have a few favorites, kitten,” he tells you with a smirk taking his usual seat. He spreads his thighs and you glance at the tent in his slacks. Then you turn your head right and look out of the window. That’s where you’d be, watching and squirming in your car seat. You shift on your feet feeling a new surge of arousal between your legs. At this point you must be dripping on his carpet. Dave pats his thigh with his hand and half asks half commands,

“Take a seat.”

You hesitate for a second, glancing out of the window at his car drive, your mind suddenly flooded with images of his wife driving up the road. He takes you out of your thoughts,

“They won’t be here for some time. Don’t worry. Take your shirt off,” he adds and you do as you’re told undoing a few top buttons and then impatiently taking it off over your head.

His dark eyes slide from your face and down to your breasts, your belly and then to your pussy glistening with your slick and his spit. He growls at the sight and adjusts himself palming his growing bulge,

“Hop on, kitten. I know you’ve been itching to see what’s in here,” he taunts you pointing at the laptop.

You can’t wait any longer as well, so you turn your back to him and sit down on his clothed lap. His cock is stiff and big under the back of your thigh and you feel it twitch. Then he flexes his thigh muscles and your pussy cries at the pressure. You hold back a moan and try to focus on the black screen in front of you.

“Lean back,” his hands on your waist pull you to his chest and you rest your back on him as his hands are holding you close. You’re completely exposed and vulnerable, pussy and breasts completely on display for him and you love the feeling of being so naked while he’s fully clothed.

His breath is warm on your neck and then his fingers push on your cheek turning your face to him. His parted lips, hungry eyes are right in front of you, your chest is heaving and the heart is pounding.

He pulls you in for a kiss, gentle and soft at first but gradually desire overtakes your both and you seem to want to devour each other, your tongues tangling as you’re licking into each other’s mouths with impatience.

You melt into his body so strong and broad around you getting drunk on the kiss when his free hand cups your pussy and he begins massaging your folds and clit with his thick fingers, your moans muffled by his mouth.

He drinks your sweet sounds and when he parts from your lips and you both look down at the place where he’s making you a complete mess with his hand.

“Oh, fuck, kitten… look how wet you’re.”

His clothed thigh is glistening with your slick but none of you care, captivated by the sight of his skilful fingers sliding between your folds and rubbing your bud just perfectly.

Your climax is so close you legs are already shaking and you plead, voice quiet and desperate, “Fuck me, daddy.”

He chuckles but his tone lacks humor, “you’ve seen my cock, kitten.. don’t wanna hurt you. Need to get you ready first.”

You whine having dreamed of him inside you for so long, but he slaps your pussy gently and you gasp almost coming from the soft stroke.

“No whining on daddy’s lap,” you hear and your breath hitches when he calls himself that.

His two fingers move down from your clit to your entrance and he easily pushes them in. He starts pumping them in and out of your crying hole, curving them and massaging your g-spot. He adds a third and it’s a stretch but you take it well spreading your legs wider.

His stiff member is pulsing under your thigh and you feel your pussy contracting when you imagine his cock inside of you right now.

“Gonna come..,” you mumble and immediately start shaking in his arms as your walls squeeze his digits.

“Oh yeah.., good girl!” he praises as his fingers are thrusting into you fast and rough, the heel of his palm hitting your clit. Your orgasm flashes white behind your eyelids and you soak Dave’s slacks squirting all over his thighs and knees.

“Yeah… messy kitten,” he says almost triumphantly, panting in your ear, “Should daddy make you lick it all off?”

You whimper, completely spent and his hand slows down.

When your climax subsides and all your muscles relax you’re resting against his broad chest, trying to catch your breath, your eyes closed.

He gives you a minute but then you feel his hand under your thigh as he unbuckles his belt, takes it off and throws it on the floor. You hear a zipper open, and he plants a kiss on your shoulder asking for your attention,

“Come on, kitten, time to sit on daddy’s cock.”

You’ve just come but his words immediately reignite the burning in your core.

You get up clumsily, your legs weak from the hard orgasm, and look back to see him pull down his slacks and boxers. His cock springs out of its confines and you widen your eyes. It looks quite intimidating up close and you worry if you can take him, even after his fingers stretched you.

Seeing your worried expression, Dave smirks as his hand holds his hard cock at the base,

“Don’t be so scared, baby. You two can finally meet in person.” He spreads precum over the head with his thumb. You stare at his girthy shaft and angry red tip, shamelessly licking your lips and he notices, “I’d love that. But daddy really wants to stick it in your pussy now .” Dave takes your hips in his big hands and pulls you down closer to his lap.

Your ass is hovering over him as you’re holding onto the sides of the armchair until his tip nudges your wet hole. You begin sinking down and it aches pleasantly. He’s groaning behind you while you’re slowly taking every inch of him. His hands on your waist are helping you hold your weight, not rushing, giving your pussy time to adjust and accommodate his girthy cock.

Finally your folds and ass are flush against him and you take a deep breath sitting fully on his member.

“Are you ok, kitten?” he asks, his chest heaving deeply against your back.

Your ‘yes’ sounds more like a mewl and you look in front of you at the laptop reflecting your naked breasts and his face, eyes focused on your ass.

He glances up and your eyes meet in the reflection of the screen. He twitches inside of your core and you both moan.

“You wanted to show me something,” you mumble beginning to move a little on his cock and he leans forward. You do too, your bodies flush against each other. You feel him stiff and powerful inside of you and whimper at every movement.

Dave finds a file in one of the folders and clicks the icon. He sits up, pulling you with him and making you lean on his broad chest. You both watch the black screen for a few moments until a video starts and you see a busy street. Dave begins moving his hips and you can’t pay the video much attention focused on his cock sliding in and out as he’s holding you in his arms, thrusting his length up into you.

“Watch it, baby. Made it myself. Bet you’ll love it,” he murmurs as your pussy is dripping around his cock on his balls.

Your fingers grasp the sides of the armchair when he speeds up his movements and starts fucking you hard and deep.

You look down to see him splitting you in half on his cock before he grabs a fist of your hair and tugs on it making you look forward.

“I said watch, kitten.”

You whimper when he gets rough and you stare at the screen feeling the second climax build.

It’s still a busy street and you’re trying to comprehend what exactly you’re watching when you recognise the place and then a person walking through the crowd with their back to the camera.

It’s you.

You, walking home from the local market a few weeks ago.

You sit up watching the screen closer but with his hands under your arms he lifts your hips and uses you like a fuck toy pleasuring himself with your pussy.

The video changes and it’s night time. You know this place. It’s a dark alley behind your favorite bar. You see yourself coming through the back door, a man following you. He pins you against the wall and you’re making out. You remember you two fucked that night, just a one night stand and all the time you’d been thinking about Dave.

“What the fuck?” you ask your shocked eyes glued to the screen.

“What is it, kitten? You've been stalking me, I’ve been stalking you. Think it’s fair,” he grumbles panting hard still manhandling you on his cock.

You’re speechless. The sounds of his hips slapping against your ass fill the room. Your climax is close and you mumble,

“You’ve been getting off on watching me. You’re sick.”

He chuckles as his hand slaps your pussy again and you moan,

“That’s cute. Calling me sick when you’re bouncing on your target’s cock.”

You can’t say he’s wrong and a smile tugs at your lips.

“Fuck off,” you retort, leaning back on him, then turn your head and kiss him. He growls against your lips, close to his own climax. When you part he holds you close and murmurs into your cheek,

“All that time… watching you, kitten…wanted to fuck you so much.” The head of his cock is hitting the spongy spot inside you as you whine and moan. He continues, “Nearly took you in your sleep once… Wanted to slip my cock inside you..my beautiful stalker.”

You come, the bliss opening your mouth in a silent scream, and choke his cock as he quickly follows shooting his cum deep inside your core. He moans your name, his cock pumping all of his seed inside you, to the last drop.

When you open your eyes, slowly coming down from your high, and look at the screen you see yourself sleeping in your bedroom. He’s watching you, lying on your back, with your nipple peeking out of your nighty. The camera shakes as he takes it in the other hand, probably adjusting himself. Then he goes to your mirror. You see his reflection, wearing a black hat and a dark hoodie. He opens his mouth and breathes out on the mirror creating a misty spot on the surface. Then Dave draws something with his gloved finger.

The camera gets close and you see three letters written there.

ICU

Thank you for reading!

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!!💖

After Watching You - drabble

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @bbyanarchist @harriedandharassed @missannwinchester @nervousmumbling

#pedro pascal #dave york #pedro pascal characters #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york smut #dave york x female reader #equalizer 2 #dave york x f!reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

Drop those hips into me like you’re adjusting your prone sniper position.

#dave york #dave york pit #Dave York did nothing wrong #justice for Dave York #the equalizer #the equalizer 2 #equalizer 2 #Pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

[ladamedusoif]

Room Service

A Dave York x F!Reader one-shot

Pairing: Dave York x F!Reader

Word count: 2290

Warnings: EXPLICIT 18+ basically PWP; smut central; alcohol consumption; strong language; thigh riding; oral sex (F receiving); fingering; light bondage; unprotected PiV; praise kink; a little aftercare; sweetness among the smut. No physical description of F! Reader beyond her outfit (dress, stockings, high heeled shoes).

Summary: You’ve been summoned to Room 755 of the conference hotel by a man you know only as Dave.

A/N: Does this need explanation? I’m firmly in the Dave York Pit. I had to get this out of my system. Smut is the result.

Please follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to stay up to date!

The trick with passing unnoticed through the lobby and to the elevators is to walk like you should be there. Dress like you should be there. Don’t give them any reason to think you aren’t actually a guest at this glossy but generic business hotel, the kind of place that makes all of its money on conferences and overnights on company accounts.

The kind of place you’ve been called to before, for exactly the same reason.

Room 755. You have taken a note of it in your phone. You get into the elevator, adjust your belted trench-coat and dress, and check your hair in the mirror before pressing “7”.

He had confirmed he’d be there at this time. A clear schedule for the rest of the day, he said, and he would like to make the most of it.

You walk confidently down the neverending hallway towards the hotel room. A firm knock. You can sense that he’s peeking through the peephole to make sure it’s who he’s expecting. And then it opens.

”Hi there. You found it okay, then?”

”I did.” You step past him into the room, undoing your belt and unbuttoning the coat to reveal the fitted red dress beneath. “So what do I call you? What would you like me to call you?”

He double-locks the door to avoid any unwanted interruption before taking your coat.

“Dave is fine.”

***

Dave offers you a glass of red wine and you sit beside him on the small sofa near the hotel room window. You can feel his eyes roving over your body, taking you in inch by inch. Your high heels. Your stockings. The glimpse of your thighs. The way the dress clings perfectly to your tits.

He sips his wine and licks his lips lasciviously, edging closer to you.

“So you’ve got a free afternoon, Dave?”

He nods.

“Completely free. And I’d like to enjoy it.”

You cross and uncross your legs as you shift your body and lean forward, letting the line of your tits brush ever so slightly off his chest. “That can be arranged. I’d like to enjoy it too, though.”

Dave’s dark eyes sparkle with lust and he grins, eyes locked on your lips. “I won’t have a good time if you don’t.”

You chuckle. “I’ll hold you to that, Dave. Even if I’m the one providing the…service.”

He whines softly, so quietly you almost miss it. But it’s there. You can feel it. Sense how much he wants it. How much he wants you.

“So with that in mind… where would you like me to start?”

Your fingers find the sturdy muscle of his thigh, trailing over the grey fabric of his dress pants and nudging closer and closer to his crotch.

Dave gasps as he reaches for you, leaning in for a kiss.

“Tell me, Dave. I’m at your service.”

”Get on my leg. My…fuck, get on my thigh.”

You break the kiss and stand up to hitch the skirt of your dress up, exposing the lacy tops of the stay-up stockings you’ve chosen for today. He instantly reaches for your thighs, squeezing the flesh as he pulls you towards him.

“Get on my fucking thigh, baby.”

You straddle his firm, thick leg and wrap your arms around his neck. Dave’s dark eyes are burning, now; the lusty sparkle replaced by wanton desire and need. He puts his hands on your hips and starts to move them for you, dragging over and back.

“Ride like this.”

You nod obediently and kiss him deeply as you start to move, crying out at the sensitivity of your swollen clit and pussy dragging over the fabric. Dave never takes his eyes off you, occasionally grabbing your ass firmly or reaching for your tits.

“Fuck, Dave, feels so fucking good. Wanna get off on you like this.”

He begins to suck at your neck, making you moan loudly with pleasure and sending a wave of wetness to your core as you fuck his thigh faster and harder.

“Let me hear you, baby. C’mon. I want to hear you.”

You give him what he wants. It’s his time, after all. You grip his shoulders and ride his leg like a woman possessed until you come on him with a roar. Even before you’ve lifted yourself off him, you know there’s going to be a wet patch.

“Good girl.” He pulls you to him, still sitting on the sofa, and presses his face to your belly. His long, clever fingers work their way under the folds of your pulled-up dress and find the lace trim of your panties, tugging down the fabric over your ass and thighs. He takes you in, encouraging you to part your legs slightly, before he buries his face against your pussy, bending and tilting his head just so in order to sweep his tongue through your soaking folds.

”Taste good, Dave?”

He nods, lapping up your wetness like it’s his last meal. “Fucking delicious. Fucking delicious little pussy, so fucking sweet and wet for me.”

When he breaks away you see your own slick glistening over his perfect mouth and the tip of that beautiful nose. You lean in and kiss him deeply.

“Tasting yourself?”

You nod. “With a little of you mixed in.”

He laughs, low and purposeful. “Get on the bed. Keep the dress on.”

***

He kneels at the foot of the bed, looking up at you sitting pretty above him.

“Like butter wouldn’t melt.”

You huff a laugh. “Appearances are deceptive, you know.”

His broad hands start to caress your thighs, slipping over and back against the silky nylon stockings and hitching up your dress a little further with each pass.

He hisses at the sight of your flesh, the tops of your thighs bare above the stockings, the promise of your wet, warm, perfect cunt primed and ready for him.

“Lie back.”

You follow his orders. Dave’s hands move down to the bend of your knees as he tugs your body forward until his nose is rubbing gently off your pussy. You whine with anticipation, thighs pressed against his cheeks. He’s clean shaven, but with enough stubble to tease and titillate your sensitive skin.

“What do you want to do to me, Dave? I was here for you, not the other way around.”

He chuckles and presses his tongue flat against you, sending your hips bucking upwards. “I want to eat you out until you’ve come twice more. And then I want to fuck you until you come again around my cock.” He traces a slow circle over your swollen clit with the tip of his tongue, pulling a cry of need from your throat.

“Does that sound okay to you?”

You nod, desperate for his mouth to be back on you.

“Words.”

“That sounds fucking perfect to me, Dave.”

He looks up at you for a moment, hips and pussy exposed for him, dress hitched around your waist, black stockings emphasising the flesh of your thighs. His hardening cock twitches in his pants, and he undoes the belt and tugs down the zipper before focusing again on you.

And then he pauses.

“You okay?”

He stands up and walks around to the side of the bed, belt in hand. “Arms above your head, baby.”

You don’t break his penetrating gaze as you follow his instructions, stretching your arms out above you. A mewl of pleasure and submission escapes your lips as he wraps his belt around your wrists: not too tightly, he checks; just enough to keep your hands together.

Dave settles back between your thighs, taking a final look at your prone form before licking a long, slow stripe through the lips of your pussy. Your hips buck and writhe at the sensation, the feeling intensified by the restraints on your wrists.

He chuckles as he comes back for more, and he makes good his promise. You come for a second time as he’s sucking on your clit, for a third time as he’s flicking the tip of his tongue over the swollen bud while his fingers work you from the inside, expertly finding and massaging the perfect spot until he has you wrung out, boneless; slick covering his clean-shaven face and coating your inner thighs.

He lies beside you, naked now, shirt and dress pants discarded, and undoes the belt from around your wrists before pulling you tight to him, enveloping you in a kiss that sets your body aflame. Dave carefully helps you sit up and unzips your dress before easing it off you, pausing to admire you stretched out before him in your bra and stockings.

His broad palm follows the curves of your hips and belly, eyebrows furrowed as he studies your body from head to toe.

“You said you’d fuck me until I came again.”

Dave’s eyes sparkle as he chuckles, a smile spreading across his handsome face. “I did.”

“And…?”

“And…how would you like it?”

You sit up and caress his face, placing gentle kisses on his nose and forehead, before moving into position on all fours.

“Like this, I think. Does this work for you?” You can’t resist offering him a little wiggle of your ass, and you smirk with satisfaction when you hear Dave moan in response behind you.

He shifts into place, hands squeezing your ass and stroking your back before slowly sinking into your pussy with a long, low whine of pleasure. “It works fucking perfectly, baby.”

The angle is just right, and the combination of his rhythm, the feel of his cock massaging your most sensitive places, and his fingers seeking out your clit has you careening over the edge before long. Your ecstatic cries are muffled, thankfully, by the duvet and pillows as he tilts you forward and fucks you until your cunt flutters, delighted, around him.

He pulls out and watches you flop onto the mattress, chest rising and falling as you come down from your high.

“Good?”

“That’s…fuck. That’s one way of putting it.”

You reach for his cock, hard and ready, and languidly stroke it with one hand as you move to straddle him.

“Your turn.” He grins up at you. “Arms above your head.” He obeys, and you reach for his belt to return the favour before sinking down onto him, pussy still throbbing and sensitive from your own orgasms.

“Do you want to come for me?”

Your hips roll over and over in a perfect, steady rhythm that has Dave panting and moaning with every pass.

“Y-y-yes. Want to come.”

Pick up the pace, a little. He whines.

“Good boy, you’re so close.” You watch the flicker of excitement in his eyes at your praise, and take satisfaction in how well you can read him. “So good, baby. Good, good boy.”

You lean back a little, cupping his balls with one hand while the other reaches for his, bound and stretched above his head. Your fingers intertwine as you watch him edge closer and closer to release, pleasure written all over his face.

“Tell me when you want to come, Dave.”

He’s bucking up against you now, desperate for it, eyes closed and mouth open as his breath hitches and stutters.

“Now…need to come now. Now, baby.”

You purr the words into his ear.

“Come.”

He lets go with a roar, coming hard inside you until he has nothing left to give. Both spent, you flop back beside him on the bed, fingers tracing over the rivulets of perspiration on his beautiful, strong body.

Gently, you remove the belt, examining his wrists for any friction or pressure marks. He does the same in turn, turning your hands over gently as he studies the skin.

“I’ve got some skin balm stuff in the bathroom, if you’d like.” He kisses your palm with a kind of delicate care that belies the man who’d been begging to come just moments before.

“I’m fine.” Your eyes meet his, lost in the chocolate warmth of his hazy, post-coital gaze. “You want some, though?”

Dave shakes his head and pulls you to him for a kiss.

***

You weren’t supposed to fall asleep. You blink awake an hour later, naked under the hotel covers, Dave snoring lightly beside you.

“Dave. Dave.”

He mumbles as he warily opens one eye, turning to face you.

“Hi.”

“I fell asleep. Shit.”

His mouth meets yours before dropping to your breasts as he absentmindedly sucks on your nipples.

“‘S okay, though. Right? You were going to stay anyway.”

You feel the strong muscles of his forearms, fingertips following the pattern of the freckles speckled across his golden skin.

“You want me to stay, Dave?”

He furrows his brow. “That was the plan, wasn’t it? Did you bring your bag?”

“I did. Left it in the car, though, just to - I dunno. Add to the atmosphere, I guess.”

Dave chuckles as he pulls you in again, his laugh resonating through your two bodies as they press together: warm, soft skin on skin; the dew of post-sex perspiration still fresh.

“Well, it fucking worked, baby.” He kisses your forehead affectionately and caresses your cheek. “And the kids didn’t mind going to Mai’s?”

You grin. “A long weekend at their cool single aunt’s house with a pool in the backyard? I didn’t see them for dust.”

He lies back and laughs. You nuzzle into his side, admiring the glint and gleam of your wedding band as you rest your left hand on Dave’s tummy.

A tell-tale rumble interrupts the blissed-out, post-coital mood.

“Hungry, are we, Mr York?”

Your husband smiles at you like a mischievous kid. “Worked up an appetite, baby.”

“Then let’s call room service. We’re not done here.”

(MDNI banner by @cafekitsune)

#room service fic #dave york smut #dave york x reader #dave york x f!reader #dave york fanfiction #equalizer 2 #the dave york pit #davide yorque #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal

[wannab-urs]

Eat You Whole

Pairing: Dave York x F!Reader

Summary: An interplay between violence and love OR Dave shows up at your door looking half dead. WC: ~1400

Image disclaimer: The header is not meant to represent reader in any physical way. It’s more about the whole idea of dipping your tongue into a blood red fruit that has been cracked wide open. 

Content/Warnings: Love as violence; smidge of love as consumption; technically minor offscreen character death – not described in the slightest; Dave is severely injured and the injuries are described; aggressive kissing, blood, oral m!receiving (facefucking), hair pulling (reader has hair), pain kink, crying, spit/drool, rough sex, dom!dave kinda, no prep for reader, unprotected PIV (do better), creampie, reader and dave hit each other (but like sexually), marking, treatment of injuries. No use of Y/N. 

A/N: I really am blown away by the response to Ouroboros and was very inspired to continue the story due to your lovely comments! Technically can be a standalone. See endnotes for timeline explanation. Thanks to @beskarandblasters, @atinylittlepain, @idolatrybarbie, @theywhowriteandknowthings, and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for letting me bounce ideas off you and sorry Kel, you got outvoted <3

Dave York Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

If you must die, I’ll envy even the earth that wraps your body –Albert Camus

I even wanted to bruise him, so that he would not be able to forget me –Françoise Sagan

You can have my heart if you have the stomach to take it. Kiss me hard enough to invert me –Yves Olade

He’s at the door. You know it’s him though it’s been 9 days since the last. Skin mottled more yellow than purple, torn flesh knitted back together, barely anything left of him on you now. 

He’s a lot worse off than you’d done to him. A bandage haphazardly wrapped around his head, covering his left eye and what you can see of his face swollen and bruised beyond recognition. 

You dance fingertips over his cheek bone where vibrant fuschia and buttercup yellow marr normally golden skin. He flinches away from you. Split lip, swollen, still a shine of deep red in the cut, curling into a snarl. 

You pull him inside by his shirt collar, kick the door shut. You’re furious. Sure hands sliding under his shirt, he grits his teeth as you pull it over his head. Now shaking hands trace the edges of a soaked gauze strip taped to wine stained ribs and he whimpers. Winces and trembles in a way you’ve never been privy to. He’s always taken stinging palms, digging claws, sinking teeth with little more than a growl. He’s never shown you his pain this blatantly before. 

And it terrifies you. His job has always existed as an abstract concept, something that maybe explains his bent toward brutality, but not something you talked about. The battered state of the man in front of you rips whatever wool had covered your eyes away and it is devastating. 

You could lose him. Nearly did. And you’d never have known what happened. This man who is both everything and nothing to you could be swept away with the ocean tide and you’d be left adrift. Wondering. 

You press a kiss to his collarbone. Soft. Maybe softer than you have ever touched him before. Certainly with more care. His breath is shuddering as he wraps his arms around you, cradling you to his chest. You’re afraid to lean into him for fear of breaking him – this man you thought invincible not two minutes ago. 

“Touch me, god damnit,” his voice rough as though he’d been screaming. Maybe he had. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, David.” You say it into his chest. Forehead just barely grazing the skin there. 

“Since when?” He grips you tighter, pulls you into him. His breath leaves his mouth in a huff like you gut punched him, but you feel his cock twitch against you. 

Sick fuck. You unbuckle his belt and stuff your hand down his pants. He’s achingly hard, leaking into his boxers. He fists your hair in both hands and drags your mouth to his. You taste iron as you lick into his mouth, bite down on his already split lip. 

You swallow his groans, you want to swallow him whole so that he can never come so close to leaving you again. Your fingertips dig in between his ribs reclaiming the flesh there. He is yours to tear apart, to put back together, and to dismantle all over again. Yours. 

Your lips drag down sucking your claim into his neck, his shoulder, his chest. You sink to the floor, drag his pants down with you so his cock springs out. You have to have him in your mouth. It’s a desperation bordering on delirium. You take him down to the very root.

Hands still fisted in your hair, he drags you off him only to thrust back in. No care for your need to breathe or the bruises he batters into your soft palate and no care for your teeth clipping his cock. Tears stream down your face unchecked meeting drool spilling from the corners of your lips and settling in the hollow of your throat. 

You think you could come like this, with him taking your throat and your hands wrapped around his thighs egging him on. He jerks you off of him with a guttural, almost primal yell, throwing you to the floor. He drops to his knees in front of your sprawled form.

“Take your clothes off.” Dominant even in such a supplicant pose, even when his features are etched with pain, his shoulders hunched as if to ward it off. You tear your shirt off, shorts and utterly soaked panties quickly following. 

He surges forward, sheathes himself inside you, and oh it hurts. He has torn you open and spilled your guts on the floor. Your wetness does little to ease the feeling of being split open like this. You bring your hands to his face, press your thumbs into his purpling cheek bones in retaliation. 

The snarl he lets out is feral, animal, but he crashes his lips into yours. He snaps his hips into you again and again, your moans and his broken, strangled cries mingling on your tongues. You drive a knee into his ribcage and he screams, rears back and slaps you across the face. You come instantly, writhing beneath him on the floor as your cunt seizes around him. His hips stutter to a stop as he comes deep inside you. He falls into you, covering and filling you completely. 

After an eternity or only a moment he slides off of you, not recoiling in his usual manner. His body still touches yours, legs tangled, his arm across your torso. He must have bled through the bandage on his ribs, your skin smeared red below his arm. 

“What happened to you, Dave?” Now he recoils. Rolls completely away from you and sits up, his back to you. You have to know. It’s burning you up inside. The fear. You crawl to him on your hands and knees. Tentatively, for fear of him running away, you reach out. Let your hand rest on his shoulder. When he doesn’t flinch away you run your fingers up his neck, into his hair, onto the bandage. 

You start to unwind it and he sits, statuesque, facing away. The fabric falls to the floor and he turns to look at you. There’s an empty space where his left eye should be. Crusted blood like smeared mascara below the gaping wound of his eye socket. 

“Fuck.” You whisper it before you can stop yourself. It’s grotesque. Brutalist.  

He jerks his head back around to face the wall, but you grip his chin and pull him back to you. You press the barest kiss to his left brow. “Will this happen again?” He shakes his head minutely. Whatever threat caused this has been dealt with. You feel like you can breathe for the first time since he showed up at your door.

Another gentle kiss. You’ve never been gentle with him or he with you. It puts a crack through your chest, the way his one brown eye clouds with something like longing.

You let go of his face and he drops his head into his hands. You stand and go to your bathroom. You do not stop to take stock of your marked skin in the mirror this time. Instead, you collect gauze, medical tape, bandages, rubbing alcohol, a needle and thread. 

This is not the first time you’ve needed it. Not when the darkest parts of you slither out to meet the darkest parts of Dave and you rend flesh from each other’s bodies. And this is not the first time Dave has shown up with the remnants of a job still on him. 

You kneel between his bent knees, peel the ruined bandage from his skin. You brush your lips down his chest and over the gaping chasm between his ribs.  His breath hitches in his throat. He slips a hand into your hair and pulls your mouth to his. Licks blood you for once did not draw yourself off your lips. No teeth clacking, biting, tearing – soft and plush lips pressed firm over yours. 

You clean the blood from his wounds. Rewrap his eye. Stitch the skin of his ribs while he grinds his teeth, a whimper falling out from behind closed lips. Another press of lips over new gauze.

When you’re finished you stand and tug his hair til he stands too. You kiss him softly before crossing the room and crawling into bed. 

He looks up at the ceiling and takes two deep breaths, taps his fingers on his thigh, and then he joins you. 

–------

Timeline notes: I’ve done some timeline fuckery. In Ouroboros, Robert has already loaded up Carol and the kids and taken them off to some safe house a few months before. Dave meets reader after that. This installment takes place after what is his SPOILER [Death Scene] in the movie, but he wins the fight. Barely. Robert meets the same fate that Dave did in the movie. 

Tagging people who seemed to like the first one! 

@pr0ximamidnight @gasolinerainbowpuddles @bonezone44 @catchallfangirl @heareball @cool-iguana @youmeand5bucks @morallyinept @janaispunk @ireallyreallylikeyourwriting @sin-djarin @toxicanonymity @rootytootyvoodooty @blackfemalenerd @axshadows @heavennumber2 @pedrostories

#Dave York #Dave York fics #Dave York fanfiction #Dave York x reader #Dave York x f!reader #Dave York x you #Equalizer 2 #Equalizer 2 fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro fics #pedro pascal character fanfiction

[kiwisbell]

Larks and Katydids [dave york]

There's something sweet about you that keeps him coming back to this little diner. You do not know the dark corners of the world he lives in. But you will.

my masterlist!

pairing: dave york x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings: dom/sub dynamic, age gap (20s/40s), blood, violence, murder, soft!dave, dom!dave, stalker!dave, but in a cute way, it's for your own good, obsession, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected sex (wrapping before tapping etc.), brief orgasm denial, submissive reader, dave is a bamf, protective!dave, possessive!dave, dave is nice but only to you, shirley jackson references, fingering, creampie, daddy kink, sweet girl being a dave york staple, kidnapping, implied innocence kink

word count: ~ 14.7k

a/n: y'know what.. now that i'm looking back it.. this fic kinda gives red light and now i'm wondering if i might need some serious introspection for writing shit like this. anyway ☠️ some of you know may already be aware that my earlier fics were inspired by hozier songs. this one was somewhat of an ode to nfwmb, but that may just be because i listened to it non-stop while writing. anyway, if you haven't already read this one-shot, please enjoy!! xoxo

LARKS AND KATYDIDS

His eyes keep drifting toward the sweet, pretty thing behind the counter. 

Dave has instincts. Good ones. For one, he knows that the idiot sitting across from him is not the type of client he wants to make a deal with. Senator Isaiah Berkeley may have the means and motive to kill his cheating wife, but Dave’s instincts prickle up the back of his neck. Berkeley is flighty, nervous, visibly sweating at the brow. He’ll be a liability. Some men are not built for the jagged edges of this life. The man still wears his wedding ring, for fuck’s sake. He’d regret hiring Dave the second he found his wife’s body after a fall down the stairs.

Dave never doubts his instincts. Now, they sink their claws into his eyes until he cannot help but flick them toward your pretty face. Jesus, you’re pretty. This diner is a hole in the wall, a red-and-white and black-checkered-floor retro nightmare that smells vaguely of syrup, and he’s surprised the staff aren’t wearing fucking rollerskates to deliver the food. But the coffee is good, and the food is real, and there’s not another soul here. Except for you.

He likes the simple black shirt and skirt you wear, and he likes the way you roll up your apron to make it fit the curves of your body. He likes the shape of your mouth, the gentle touch to your eyes, the way you beamed at him when they entered the diner. Best seat in the house, you said when you sat them in the corner. Dave tasted honey when he tried your name out loud and took his order: two coffees, black. You smiled, like you could have guessed, and said, Be right up. You don’t carry a notepad. It makes him like you more: you’re clever. You remember things. 

You’re standing behind the counter and reading a book, your chin in your palm, and he’s fascinated by the speed of your eyes across the pages. He understands why you’re so quick when a gruff male voice erupts from the kitchen, calling a name that must be yours. “Get back to work,” he snaps. 

You scramble to hold your place in the book and scurry around the counter to check up on your only two customers. As if you hadn’t been so good, so attentive. You’re good. He knows it. You should be treated like it. Dave’s fingers twitch, like he can swipe at the faint frown that furrows your brow. Fuck, you’re adorable, even flustered, especially flustered. 

“How you folks doing?” you ask, that sweet smile a poison that festers in his blood. “Sure I can’t get you anything else?”

“No,” says Berkeley shortly, not meeting your eye. Could he be any more conspicuous?

Dave, rubbing his fingertips over his bottom lip, doesn’t want to leave it at that. “What are you reading?” he asks.

You blink as if you’ve never heard the question before, but you don’t ask him to repeat himself. He likes that, too. “Oh,” you say, and it sounds like a trembling sigh of excitement. Dave feels himself swell up a little with pride. “It’s called We Have Always Lived in the Castle.”

He hums. “Jackson.”

He likes being the one who dropped that sparkle into your eyes. “You like her?”

“I know her,” he says. Across from him, Berkeley’s fingers are white-knuckling the handle of his coffee mug. He’s staring into the dregs like he expects them to tell him his fortune. “Don’t have a lot of time for reading nowadays. Do you like it?”

You nod eagerly, and he doesn’t think he’s imagining the way you lean toward him slightly, as if frantic to answer his question. “I’m reading it for a literature course I’m taking. I think she’s one of my favourites now. But I really shouldn’t have my nose in a book at work.”

Oh. You’re young. You’re young, still in college, and you’re goddamn smart. The interest stirring in his pants mirrors that in his head. 

“Our secret,” says Dave. “I’ll have more coffee, please, honey.”

He certainly does not imagine the way you bite your lip to suppress your grin and hurry off for the coffee pot, a little mouse. You like to please. He doesn’t need more coffee; he and Berkeley are almost done, whether he knows it or not. 

“I can’t take your contract, Senator,” says Dave, still watching your perky ass as you walk away. “You’ll have to find somebody else.”

Berkeley’s mouth opens in preparation for what Dave presumes will be a flurry of feeble threats and reassurances that I can pay you well, but Dave slips out of the booth and walks away—not before slapping down a couple bills that will cover the cost of their coffees. 

He should go back into town, sleep, and get Kovac to reach out to some more potential clients. But he wants to linger for a bit, hang around, see why his instincts are pushing him toward you, you pretty young thing with a smile that dims all other light. You’re on your way back to their table, holding the coffee pot, and nearly bump into him in your rush. “Oh!”

Dave steadies you with a firm grip around your elbow and doesn’t let go. Your skin is soft, prickled with goosebumps. 

You bow your head in instant submission, instant apology, and he tilts his head to the side. He makes you nervous. “Could’ve hurt yourself,” he says softly. 

“I’m sorry. Guess I was excited.” Your eyes flicker up toward him, and he forces them to stay there when he lifts your chin with his finger. 

“Exceptional customer service,” says Dave. Your laugh is breathless. “I was just leaving. Don’t worry about that second cup, sweetheart.” He drops his hand only to dig out a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet and place it in your palm. “Wrong Jackson, I know.”

Your eyes widen at it. “This is way more than your coffee.”

Dave lifts his brow. “You want me to put it in your pocket myself?”

You slowly pocket the bill. “Thank you,” you tell him. It’s strong and clear, and he likes the way it sounds coming from your mouth. 

“I was in college once,” he says good-naturedly. “In ancient times. I know the costs.”

Your laugh, your real laugh, is the chimes of dawn. You’re so bright. You’re the sun slowly painting the sky orange as it rises. “I’ll be done in a few months.”

“Yeah?” Dave frowns. “What’ll you do after?”

You shrug one shoulder. Your other arm is still burdened with holding up the coffee pot. “Hopefully, get as far away from here as I can.”

“Your parents suffocating you?” He’s good at digging, at unearthing treasures with only words; he shouldn’t have to be, in this line of work, but he likes to know things. Likes the control that comes with being prepared for anything, everything. 

“They’re dead,” you tell him. It’s plain, colourless, and Dave’s curiosity deepens. “I live with my uncle.”

There it is. 

Everybody has a trigger. People are like guns. They are predictable, but if you handle them wrong, they’ll jam. He catches the way your eyes shutter at the mention of your uncle, the way your shoulders round slightly, even though that brilliant smile is still on your face. Dave doesn’t like it. 

“Does he treat you good?”

Your slow blink is trancelike. “He’s family,” you say simply, and Dave knows that’s the answer you give every time the man doesn’t treat you so good. 

He grinds his teeth a little bit, an old habit from his smoking days. “Well, I hope you get the hell out of dodge,” he says. 

“Please come again,” you say. “God knows I’ll still be here.”

Oh, he’ll come again. In fact, he decides, he may not even leave.

~

Dave follows you home. 

It’s a short drive once you pull your beat-up Cooper off the highway and enter a little courtyard surrounded by dilapidated apartments. He knows the area. And he knows it’s not safe. Dave turns off his headlights and idles in the hazard zone, watching as you exit your car and rush to the front door with your purse clutched to your chest. He shakes his head, clicks his tongue to himself. Scared little bird, too pretty to live in a place like this.

He waits a little longer. Eventually, he sees you—he knows it’s you, even five storeys up, from the length of your hair and the way it moves—shuck the curtains open. It’s a small window of orange glowing light in the darkness, but he can see you. A man—your uncle—approaches the window, too, lifting the pane and blowing a cloud of smoke outside. Dave rolls down his window and strains his ear. It’s useless; he can’t hear a thing. And yet, he waits. 

He doesn’t know what he waits for. Maybe he’s expecting him to hit you, to lash out, to do something. Something that would let Dave scratch the itch in his knuckles. Instead, he’s only waiting, until your uncle tosses his cigarette out the window and latches it shut. He is evicted from your world for tonight. But he will not go quietly.

It begins with a phone call. Ari. Need you to track someone down for me. 

Your uncle’s name is Jason. He doesn’t share your last name, having been a half-brother to your father, but it’s him. Felony charges: breaking and entering, assault, possession. Run-of-the-mill, except it isn’t, because the fucker lives with you. As far as Dave has been able to dig up, you’ve never reported a word against him, but it seems you like to stay away most of the time, anyway.

Oh, yes. Dave has been digging into you, too.

Senior in college, majoring in Environmental Science at Northeastern. Long-standing and passionate affair with nature. Event Coordinator for SAF (Students for a Future), where you’ve organised speaker panels with renowned climatologists and planted trees in Franklin Park. You write for the association’s newsletter. 

All of it makes Dave frown, rubbing at his brow, hunched over his desk under the light of a single lamp. You’re so good. You’re clever and optimistic and ambitious, and you deserve a hell of a lot better than living in that shithole and working such a lacklustre job. He looks at the picture that accompanies your file, pulled from your social media, and adjusts the hard length in his pants. You’re photographed in the sunlight, smiling bright, your hair loose and gently blown about in the breeze, wearing a skimpy little sundress. Dave hisses and squeezes himself at the base of his stiffening cock. Jesus, get it together, he scolds himself. It’s a fucking photograph. 

Oh, but he’s thinking about you. He’s remembering the tenderness of you, the kind heart, the way you belong nowhere near him. Your soul is snow-white. He will bloody it. 

You've had boyfriends. Of course you have. A young woman who looks like you doesn't go her whole life without boys clumsily tossing themselves at your feet. It doesn't mean Dave refrains from investigating them, too. Two of them were from high school, short-term, and went to different colleges to live different lives. The third—Jack—lasted a year and a half, and you met him in a first-year sciences course. Both of you were from different towns, fish out of water, and gravitated to one another because you had no other friends. None of your friends were surprised when you and Jack began dating, but they were surprised to discover he'd been cheating on you for the last two months of your relationship. 

Jack said you got busy and couldn't fulfil his needs. According to Dave’s thorough research, the girl he crawled to was his roommate's girlfriend. Dave grinds his teeth as he examines the kid’s picture. He's a fucking kid. He's clean-cut, a trust fund baby, never planted a tree in Franklin Park despite your attempts to convince him. He's never gotten his hands dirty the way Dave has. He's never bloodied them. 

Another sip of whiskey, and his cock won’t rest. Dave grunts, unzipping his pants and whipping his belt off, pulling himself out. “Fuck,” he hisses, eyes fixed on your smiling face as he spits into his hand and begins to stroke himself. “Fuck.”

His head tips back against the headrest of his office chair. You’re kneeling in front of him, your sweet doe’s eyes awaiting his instruction. He takes you through it, step-by-step, because he’s a bad man, but he’d be good to you. Your perfect lips wrap around his head, your tongue lapping up the precum that beads out, greedy but obedient. You take him deeper, choking around his length and his girth, your mascara smearing as he cups your face and encourages you to take me, you can take me, sweet girl. You do—of course you do—making a low, satisfied hum around his cock when you manage to take him down your throat, happily swallowing around him as he begins to pump his cum inside you. That’s it. That’s it, baby. 

Dave’s hips jerk as he comes, and splatters his cum across his stomach and his hand. Some of it, though, lands on the picture of you, which he does not remember picking up, clenching in his fist.

Is there a circle of hell darker than the one he’s already destined for?

Dave returns to the diner the next week, and your grin when you see him soaks through his bones. You nearly bruise your hips in your rush to get around the counter to greet him. 

“I loved it,” you tell him right away, “the Jackson book. I think I’m gonna write my paper on it.”

He likes that you want to tell him about your life. He likes that you trust him with the small details. He doesn't want you to trust another man like that. It's a dangerous world and being so trusting will burn you. He can't let that happen. Little bird, with your glass bones so breakable. 

He unwinds his arm from behind his back and offers his gift to you. Your eyes glimmer when you see it, then slide slowly up to meet his. “You brought me a book,” you gasp, “and I don’t even know your name yet.”

“It’s Dave,” he tells you, placing the book into your hand. “I looked her up. Thought you might be interested in more.”

“Dark Tales,” you read, beaming up at him with the same smile from the picture he’d jerked his cock over. Fucking Christ. He’s going to hell. You step closer to him and, tentatively, as if he might lash out at you, lift up onto your toes and kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you, Dave.”

He tries to quell the arousal that’s pumping blood double-time to his cock. He really tries. But he cannot quell the memory of your lips on his skin. Why should he deny himself the heavenly indulgence of your attention? 

“I expect a book report,” he says, all stern brows and unwavering eye contact. 

You hug the book to your chest and he wants to shove you to your knees, bend you over the counter, bury his face in your needy pussy. You say his name, and it’s a whispering shockwave that trembles all the way down his spine. “After such a thoughtful gift… I’ll do anything you want me to.”

Yes. Yes, he knows.

Dave knows what you need. He is what you need. 

You need a man who will treat you right. You need someone to handle you properly, assuredly. You need a man who will hold you like you’re precious, shimmering granules of a crushed diamond. You want to be told what to do. You want to be dominated, protected, fucked. You want to be wrecked, and you want it to put you back together. 

You need a man who will treat you right for the first time in your life. 

Dave continues to come into the diner once a week. He steals you away for conversation whenever you aren’t attending to your other customers, and he gets a tick in his jaw whenever you’re whisked away. Your very existence evicts reason from his head. He wants to give you all the money you could ever want just to get you away from those wandering eyes and too-close hands. He wants to come in every single night you work just so he can keep an eye out: your silent, deadly protector. He wants to slash all the tires that aren’t his so nobody can come here and invade his private time with you. He knows he cannot do any of this because it’s something close to clinically insane. 

Instead, he only talks to you. And really fucking enjoys it. 

“And then Kate broke up with Garrett, even though she still loves him, but once she realised it, she realised Emily was totally in love with Garrett, so by the time Kate went back to beg him to take her back, he was already in bed with Emily, and now none of them are talking. And I’m down three club members.”

You speed through all of this while pouring his coffee, and Dave tries to wrap his head around the plot. “So… what did Emily do wrong?”

You click your tongue. “You would fail a test on girl code, Mr. York. We don’t go after one another’s boyfriends, crushes, or exes. We definitely don’t fuck them.”

Dave vaguely shakes his head. “They didn’t teach me that in school, sweet girl.”

“Good thing you’ve got me, then,” you say, and Dave never gets tired of the way your cheeks flush at the nickname. “What did you study?”

“Never went to college. Joined up when I was eighteen.”

“Oh.” You’re flustered right away, opening your mouth to stumble over the words, “Thank you for—”

Dave silences you with a mere flick of his eyes upward. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew the shit I did.”

The quiet lingers heavy and stifling, but it’s you who breaks it. “So,” you try, clearing your throat, “what did you do after?”

“Apparently, I thought serving my country was the only way to go. I was C.I.A.” He notes the way you blink in astonishment, and he feels compelled to make you learn that he isn’t good. “Now, I own a security company.”

“Does that mean you protect people’s homes from break-ins, or people hire you to professionally break in?”

The twist of your lips is wicked and shoots right to his cock. Dave leans over the counter. “Wanna take a guess?”

“Sorry, Mr. York. Anyone that secretive about their job description is up to something shifty.” Your eyes still tease him. “And I don’t want to end up dead in a ditch somewhere. Bills to pay.”

“You know I’d keep you safe, sweet girl.”

You’re cleaning the counter with a rag and he’s sipping his coffee, but both of you are smiling behind your respective tasks. “I know,” you say, your eyes briefly meeting.

Every so often, he follows you to school. It’s nice: friendly, modern with natural touches, good to look at among the fall leaves that crunch underfoot. And there you are, walking down the steps, wearing a Northeastern sweatshirt, a pair of jeans, and sneakers, your hair loose. You're laughing at something your friend said; in fact, you seem to be surrounded by friends. Dave slips his sunglasses further down his nose as he leans back against the Lincoln. His popular butterfly, so happy and brilliant. 

He doesn't know how your eyes find him so quickly, but they meet across the courtyard. And a game begins. 

You stop in your tracks. Your friend puts a hand on your shoulder (“Are you okay?” he imagines she asks), and you nod, making up some excuse. Dave folds his arms over his chest and watches you continue your walk down the path, departing with all but one of your friends with friendly waves good-bye. 

He knows your class schedule, which means he knows you have to walk right by his parking spot to get to the building. You make it to the end of the path and your friend finally spots Dave. Oh my God, he sees her whisper. The rest is unintelligible, but he's smug as a motherfucker when you bite down on your lip to hide the grin that's tugging on your pretty mouth. And then your hand twitches, and something falls to the ground behind you. 

Dave smirks. Clever thing. He rushes to pick up the key ring while you and your friend keep walking. “Excuse me, miss,” he calls out. 

You turn around, all coy and demure, and he wants to drag you inside his car and sit you right on his cock to straighten out your behaviour. “You dropped your keys,” says Dave, lifting them up with a jingle. 

You feign a gasp. “Oh, thank you, sir.” You make sure to brush your fingers along his knuckles as you pluck the key ring from his hand. “You're a hero.”

Dave lifts his brows in acknowledgement, looking at you over his sunglasses. “I've heard those are good,” he says, eyes flicking down toward Dark Tales, bookmarked near the end and tucked under your arm. Behind you, your friend has her thumbnail in her mouth, enraptured in the conversation that's unfolding. 

He’ll have to rectify your lip-biting habit. “I got it as a present,” you tell him, your fingers tracing the title on the cover. You know exactly what you're doing, and the thrill of knowing you're attracted to him thrills Dave. 

“Very thoughtful,” he muses. “I’m sorry to keep you. You must have somewhere to be.”

“Thank you again.” You look up at him through your lashes and Dave feels his nostrils flare. Your friend tugs on your elbow and he can hear the vague whisper as you both retreat from him: … so hot. 

It's been a few months since he met you. He finds himself following you home and sleeping in his car outside your apartment more than in his own home. It irks him that he can't look inside and see that you're okay, knowing with absolute confidence that he hasn't hurt you. 

The night something goes wrong, you sense it long before he does. 

The diner is occupied by two other customers, one in the corner and the other by the door. Not unusual for this time. Dave approaches the counter and prepares to tease you about your incidental meeting yesterday. 

But you just smile politely at him and ask, “What can I get for you tonight?”

Dave frowns. “Sweet girl—”

“Coffee?” You pick up the pot and Dave starts at the way your hand trembles so badly the coffee spills over the rim of the cup. He wants to touch you, reach out and wrap his firm hand around your wrist, steady your nerves. Why are you so frightened? “I’m sorry,” you say shakily, scrambling for the rag under the counter. 

Dave’s instincts are never wrong. Something, or someone, has put you out of sorts. His blood reaches a simmer at the thought. His job is to protect you. He's supposed to keep you safe and happy. But your eyes are stricken with fear and your posture is stiff. The rag in your hand won't stop shaking. 

It’s the way your apron sits askew, like you've been anxiously twisting it, or it's the way you smile like he's a stranger and hand him something small, “a little something extra,” on the house. 

He unfurls his palm and finds a note. 

The man in the corner has a gun, it says. 

You don’t once stop smiling.

He doesn't recognise the man. He wears a leather jacket and jeans; there's a scar on his cheek and over the bridge of his nose, which is bent from one too many breaks; and he's looking right at Dave with a crooked smile on his face. He lifts a hand and waves. There's a tattoo on his wrist: the sigil of the Lukov Brotherhood. Dave dips his chin in greeting. Cordial. A farce. They both know it.

Dave takes a sip from his cup. “Spill coffee on me,” he says behind the rim, obscuring his mouth from the view of the man in the corner. 

You go to top up his drink and overshoot, staining the front of his white dress shirt. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” you squeak. 

Dave feigns a mild-mannered annoyance. “Where's your bathroom?” he asks, shucking off his jacket. 

You gesture for him to follow you and usher him into the tiny, one-stall bathroom. You slump against the door and put your hands over your face. A shudder racks your whole body. 

Dave can't have this. He crowds you, taking your wrists and prying them from your face. “Sweetheart.” He brushes a knuckle over your cheek. “Did he hurt you?”

You swallow thickly. “No. No, he just walked in and asked for a table, but he pointed the gun at me and said he was waiting for the right person. Said I wouldn't get hurt if I didn't get in the way.” Your eyes meet his, frantic. “Oh, God, did I just get in the way?”

Dave pulls you into his chest and lets you rest your cheek on his heart. Your breathing evens out as you listen to it beat, strong and steady. “He's a hired killer. He’s probably here for me.”

“No.” You shake your head, shoving away from him. “No, he can't… He can't do that. Why would he—?”

“I lied to you, sweet girl.” Dave cups the back of your head and bunches your hair in his fist. He needs to make you understand. “The first night we met, a senator was asking me to kill his wife for him.”

“You…” For a moment, you trail off, lingering on the silence. He can't tell whether you want to flee or bury yourself in his chest again. To his shock, a small burst of laughter escapes you, and you slap your hand over your mouth to stay quiet. “I knew you didn't just break into houses. Someone with a car like yours, all those nice suits… God, I’m stupid.”

You're trembling a little from the shock, but Dave needs to take care of the problem and get you out safely. “I need you to work with me,” he tells you. “You listening to me?”

You nod vigorously. “I’m listening, Dave.”

“Good. Good girl.” He squeezes your hip. “You need to get out through the back. I’m going to give you my keys; get in my car and lock the doors. Not your car. Mine.” 

“What about you? Dave, what if he hurts you?”

It fills him with a certain courage to know how deeply you care for him. “He's a lackey, sweetheart. Joined a so-called brotherhood just to scratch an itch.” Dave leans in and kisses your forehead. “He's not gonna get me.”

He's certainly not going to get you. 

Dave reaches past you to open the door, but you grab his wrist. “Wait.”

He barely opens his mouth before you're standing on your toes and pressing your lips to his. It's a frantic, hurried kiss, but it's enough. It's enough for Dave. He's going to win because he needs to take you home with him. 

When you pull away, he pins you with a stern look. “My car, sweet girl. No detours.”

He opens the door and lets you flee, and then Dave is rolling up his sleeves, rolling his head around his neck. 

The other customer has left, meaning Dave and the Lukov lackey are alone. “Mr. York,” he greets, toasting his cup of coffee with a grin. He's fucking cocky, thinks Dave, lifting the drink you poured for him. “She's very pretty.”

Yeah, he's going to make this hurt. 

“Let's get this over with,” says Dave, approaching the man’s table and sitting across from him in the booth. “Who sent you? Why did they send you? And how many more are coming?”

“You don't even wanna know my name?” He pouts. “Ouch.”

Dave lifts a brow. “Answer my questions. If you're good, I’ll let you die quickly.”

The man leans back in the booth, acting like he doesn't know enough about Dave York’s reputation to give him the respect he's owed. New to the game. “Well, my name is Jonah, and since I’ve got a gun pointed at your precious bits under this table, I’ll skip the questions. If that's okay.”

He could have killed Dave the second he walked through the door tonight, but he wants to tell a good story, move up the ranks. It’s childish. Dave kicks out his leg and jolts Jonah’s arm aside just as the man’s instincts kick in and the shot goes off. It rings in Dave’s ears and the sound of the weapon clattering onto the floor, safety still off, echoes in the little diner, but he’s diving across the table and grabbing Jonah by the collar. He jerks the killer’s head forward so it cracks against the porcelain saucer next to his mug. Dave picks up the cup and tosses the contents directly into Jonah’s face. The man howls, the blood from the new gash in his forehead mingling with steaming coffee, but Dave is already kicking the gun toward himself under the table and weighing it in his own hand. 

Dave slides out of the booth and drags Jonah with him, tossing him into a heap on the floor. “I don’t like to repeat myself,” says Dave, aiming the gun between his eyes. “But I guess I will, since you’re clearly new to this. Answer my questions, kid.”

“I’m not answering shi—”

Dave lowers the gun and blows off the man’s left kneecap. The resounding yowl can be heard for miles, no doubt. He frantically grasps for the gory heap of flesh, bone, and blood that soaks through his jeans, seething through his teeth and spattering saliva down his chin. It’s almost pitiful. 

“FUCK!” he screams. “It was fucking Berkeley! Isaiah fucking Berkeley hired me. FUCK!”

Dave isn’t surprised. “Better. That’s one down.”

Jonah lifts his hand as if pleading for mercy, his breaths tedious and his face waxy. “Please, please, I—”

Dave fires a shot straight through his begging hand. The bones shatter and the muscles tear, and the blood is a river down the would-be killer’s wrist. He’s a screaming, growling, cursing heap on the blood-soaked floor. “FUCK, FUCK, FUCK! Fucking cunt, fucking son of a bitch, you knew too fucking much, man! He wanted to fucking shut you up, and he wanted me to kill your fucking bitch once I was done with you! FUCK!” Jonah cradles his useless hand to his chest and his face rapidly greying, going ashen with terror and agony and blood loss. “And if I couldn’t do it, he said he’d sent the rest of the fucking Brotherhood to take you both down. Fucking… please, let me fucking go, it fucking hurts.”

Berkeley wants him dead. Not surprising. He took a risk approaching Dave to fulfil his contract; he knew he would get the job done, but only if he said yes. And because he didn’t, Berkeley’s got his reputation on the line if Dave decides to blab about the plot to have his wife killed.

He wanted me to kill your fucking bitch once I was done with you.

How interesting. How very fucking curious. 

The third shot tears through the soft flesh of Jonah’s stomach, and he doesn’t even scream this time. He crumples to the floor and stares at the ceiling, every tremulous breath a labour to suck in. 

“You won’t live,” says Dave, cool and detached. “You’ve lost too much blood. Do you want me to kill you, kid, or do you want to lie there in pain a bit longer?”

Jonah shakes his head vaguely. His face is white. His saliva is brilliantly red. “Kill… me. Just fucking kill me.”

Dave ejects the remaining three bullets from the clip and kneels next to the man’s body. He places one bullet in the hole where his knee once was, another in the hole where his limp hand once was, and he digs the final one into the weeping wound in his stomach. “I hope, in your next life,” he whispers to Jonah, “you aren’t as stupid.”

He leaves without firing another shot, but he suspects the life has fled the man’s body by the time the bell above the door chimes to signal Dave’s exit. 

You’re sitting in the car, your hands folded neatly in your lap. They seemed to have stopped trembling. “Dave,” you whisper as he slides into the driver's seat. “You’re covered in blood.”

“It isn’t mine.” He presses the ignition and reverses out of his spot. He allows himself to look at you, and your eyes are already glued to him. “I’m going to take you to my home, sweet girl. Are you okay with that?”

You nod, and his eyes dip to watch the way your throat hollows when you swallow. “Yes,” you say breathlessly. “You killed him. I saw it.”

His eyes capture yours again. They’re two beacons in the dark, glowing neon red under the light of the diner lights. “Does that scare you?”

It should. And he isn’t surprised to see you tilt your head forward in another nod. “But—” Your tongue darts out, wetting your lips, and Dave has to look away to avoid veering off the road once he merges onto the highway. “But I don’t want to leave you.” It leaves you all in one breath, like your clothes are suffocating you, the closeness of your two bodies in the car, the stifling darkness.

“Why don’t you want to leave me, sweetheart?” It’s a test, and your eyes glimmer with confirmation that yes, you know it is. 

Your hand finds his, your fingers threading through his and resting on the console between you and him. “Because you keep me safe.”

He lifts your joined hands and kisses your soft, unmarred knuckles. It goes unspoken: I always will.

~

“Wow. I didn’t know assassins paid so well. Maybe I should take it up as a side gig.”

He’s absolved himself of the blood on his hands and changed into a new shirt, but he still smells faintly of iron and sweat from the scuffle. Dave watches you spin in a circle on the spot, staring up at the crystal chandelier in his foyer, your eyes dancing like they’re full of stars. “Sweet girl. You told me you refused to step on ants when you were little.”

“Insects and people are different.”

Dave steps up behind you and circles an arm around your waist, his fingers splaying over your rib cage and tugging you back against his chest. “You’re right,” he says into your ear. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes find the phantom bloodstain on your apron in the shape of a perfect handprint, nor the way you shiver. “People would point their guns at you and splatter your pretty brains all over the wall. People would hurt you. That man…” Dave’s lips press against the curve of your neck. You smell so sweet: rich like coffee and a bit salty with sweat. “He would have slit your pretty throat. You see how I couldn’t let that happen, right, baby?”

Your head lolls a bit, resting against Dave’s shoulder. “I know,” you say, clear as sunshine in a stream. 

“I need you to tell me something, my beautiful girl.” Dave uses his hand on your abdomen to turn you in his grasp. You stare unflinchingly into his eyes. “Has your uncle ever hurt you? Has he ever given you any reason to make you believe he would?”

You blink at the change in subject. “He’s never lifted a finger against me,” you tell him. “But he’s… I don’t know, Dave. It started after my parents died. He comes home late some nights, high on something. He’s despondent most days, but he’s never hurt me. He just…”

“Isn’t there.” You nod your head, and Dave is somewhat glad he doesn’t have a reason to take the life of your only remaining relative. “Would you like me to look into it?”

Your lips twist in a tiny smirk. “Like how you’ve looked into me?”

His clever girl. “You like to play,” he murmurs, twisting a lock of your hair around his finger. “That trick with dropping your keys.”

You tilt your head to the side, brows curving up in that oh-so delicious way, and he wants to shove you onto your knees, right here in his fucking foyer. “I’m not tricky,” you say innocently.

“Reading too many books,” he grunts, his breath hot against your jaw when he leans in close and brings his lips next to your ear. 

“Well, when you keep buying me books…” You gasp when he takes your lobe between his teeth.

He huffs into your skin and sucks at the spot beneath your ear. You taste… Fuck, you taste so soft, tangy with sweat, sweet as the syrup you pour. His brain is hazy with how desperately he needs you. 

“Dave,” you gasp, your fingers greedily grasping a handful of his hair to keep him close. “I need… please, I need—”

He cuts you off with a teasing slap to your ass. Your yelp is music to his ears. You just clutch onto him, trying to pull him closer. 

“You don't know what you need, sweet girl. I know what you need. I say what you need,” he says softly, cupping your chin in his palm. “Understand?”

You're honey in his palm, dripping through his fingers, warm. “Yes, Daddy.”

“That’s right.” Dave cradles the back of your head and watches you melt into the touch, your body like a doll’s in his hands and your pupils eclipsing your irises. His cock is a hard and heavy weight in his pants, twitching at the beast that awakens at the use of your nickname. “You need Daddy to fuck you,” he coos. 

He's thrilled and achingly hard, knowing he was right about you, knowing you want him to take the reins away from you and give you what you need. Your eyes are syrupy. “Yeah, I do,” you sigh, pressing your body up against him. 

He takes your hand and leads you up the staircase. Your footsteps are eager as you scurry after him to his bedroom. There's a large mirror next to his king-sized bed, neatly made with neutral greys and crisp white bedsheets. “You need a plant or two,” you point out, but he's pressing his body up against yours and your words diminish to a soft moan. 

“I’ll let you decorate, sweet girl,” he says, gripping your hips and letting you feel the hard line of his cock against your belly. You grind into him, rasping his name. 

Dave chuckles, and you whimper at the way the vibrations rumble through your spine. “So needy.” The stubble on his jaw scratches lightly against your cheek as he continues to kiss his way down your neck, taking his fill of you. “Such a busy girl. Always working, always studying. You must be so tense, under all these clothes…” He nudges his nose against your cheek and reaches around you to tug at the bow that holds your apron in place. “Let me take them off. Hmm?”

“Please,” you whine, letting him manhandle you in front of the mirror and turn you so you’re forced to watch yourself. Dave ducks his head and puts his mouth back on you, drawn to your soft skin and the soft sounds of pleasure he can pull from you. He unties your blood-stained apron in one tug and lifts it over your head, his deft fingers shifting to the zipper that holds up your dress. When he finally finds more of your skin beneath that black fabric, a little impatient in the way he shucks it off your shoulders, Dave eagerly kisses your shoulders, the back of your neck, licking and sucking every new dip and plane he can reach. You tilt your head to give him more access, wherever he wants, moaning his name and begging, begging, “Please, Daddy.”

“Watch yourself,” he says softly, licking up the side of your neck, “in the mirror. I want you to watch yourself. Can you do that for me?”

Your eyes are lidded and your head is being mostly supported by his shoulder, but you keep your eyes on your reflection as he begins to lower himself behind you, taking the dress with him. He’s pressing kisses to each knob of your spine as he exposes you to the cool air, your nipples perking up and your skin erupting with goosebumps. He handles you reverently, on his knees behind you by the time your dress pools around your ankles, his hands reaching up and squeezing your ass. You jump slightly on the spot, and his laugh is rough—like dragging a wet cloth over gravel. “So beautiful,” he says, and it echoes in the cold room. You feel (and watch) two of his fingers slide through your legs until he finds your slit, wet and glistening. He hums, apparently satisfied. “Who did this to you, sweet girl? Who made you so wet and needy?”

You whisper his name, but it’s not good enough for him. Dave bites into the flesh of your left cheek and lands a smack to it at the same time. “You!” you squeal, grateful for the way he holds you, steadies you, before you can fall. You’re so wet it begins to drip down your thighs. “You, Daddy. It’s you.”

“That’s right.” Dave rises to his feet and lifts his two fingers, soaked in your arousal, to your lips. Once you open your mouth, he fixes them against your tongue, forcing your jaw to remain open as you swirl your tongue around his digits. Tasting yourself. His eyes are so dark they’re black in the dim light, and you want to be so good. You want to please him. He’s strong, capable, so gentle with you, and yet you feel yourself cleaving in two under his lightest touch. You’re splitting, wrecked, soft and pliable as velvet in his hands, and this is what you need. You let your mind fade, sinking into the sweet honey of skin and sex and oblivion. 

The man with his body pressed up against yours is a wraith, dealing in death and dark corners and the cool grooves of a bullet—its ever-certain path through the air. He is wrath itself. His hands have squeezed out life and carried it home with him. His hands now caress your body, and you can almost call it worship. 

You twist your heart from your body and place it gingerly in his palm. He will keep it safe. It thrums like a live current through your chest to his. He wraps his murderous fingers around your throat and squeezes gently, forcing your chin to tilt upward. “I want you to get on your knees,” he says, breathing it into your skin as he kisses along your jaw, making the filthy act of it sound so loving, “and I want you to suck my cock.”

Your core is tight with the arousal that soaks your cunt, and you reach behind you to squeeze his length over his pants. Fuck, he’s big. He’s long and thick and you’re dizzy at thought of him splitting you open on it, fucking your throat. “I want to make you feel good, Dave. Please.”

Dave backs away from you and sits on the regal grey velvet upholstery of the chair in the corner. You turn toward him and begin to follow, bared before him, but he leans one elbow on the armrest, still-wet fingers tracing his mouth, the outline of his cock mouthwatering. 

“Don't walk,” he says. “Crawl to me.”

The thrill of the command, clear and uncompromising, sends you to your hands and knees. It should be humiliating, bruising your knees on the hardwood while dripping down your thighs, but the way he’s devouring you with the yawning black of his pupils, thirsty, makes you add a sway to your hips, a prowl to your crawl. When you reach him, you nuzzle your cheek against his thigh, and he tips your chin up with his finger. “My beautiful girl. Take me out. Go on, baby.”

You slide down the zipper of his dress pants and pull his heavy, thick cock from his briefs. It’s weeping precum, twitching in your grasp, and you can’t help but flatten your tongue against the vein on the underside of his shaft. He hisses, “Fuck,” and it’s delicious. He smells like the iron of blood and something wholly him, all man, and your lips meet the tip of his cock in a reverent kiss. He’s being patient, generous in his time with you because he’s finally fucking here: he’s with you, and you’re safe, and you’ve got your lips wrapped gently around the head of his cock. He will not ask you to rush. He will only coax you gently through giving him the pleasure he’s only let himself imagine taking from you.

You let a trail of spit fall from your mouth onto his cock, and it jumps under your teasing touches, the way you lap at him like a kitten at a bowl of milk. You’re so greedy, like he knew you’d be, but he’s so fucking close by the time you tuck your teeth under your lips and slide his cock into your mouth, deep and hot and tight, the girth of him prodding the soft walls of your throat. If you keep this up, he won’t last long enough to do all the things he wants to do with your body.

“Jesus,” groans Dave. His head tips back and his eyes find the ceiling, but that’s not fair, because your eyes are fixed on his. He keeps watching you, the fucking picture of all his fantasies, your pretty eyes wide and smudged with your mascara, your body bare for him. Tears carve paths down your cheeks as you bob your head on his cock, taking him deeper each time, choking and crying. 

Dave’s hand finds the crown of your head and rests there. “Fuck, sweetheart. Fuck, you’re good. You suck cock a lot? Hmm?” His fingers curl in your hair, and you moan around him. “Mine’s the only one you really want, though, isn’t it?” he coos. “Mine’s the only cock you need. You’re my good little slut, sweet girl, on your knees for me.”

Your throat chokes him when you swallow him down, his leaking tip prodding the back of your throat, so fucking eager to please, so good for him even though you’re leaking onto the floor. You love being treated like a slut for him. You love being the one who gets to make his chest heave, his breaths laboured with the effort not to come down your throat. Dave wants to paint your tongue and your face with his cum, but Jesus, he needs to be inside your tight little cunt, and he knows it’s what you need, too. He slips out of your throat, even as you chase his cock with your tongue, and holds you back by the hand that still rests on your head. 

“I wasn’t finished,” you say, and the little whine that pitches up in your used throat makes him drag you up onto his lap and drag his hand between your bodies, his fingers slapping lightly against your clit. You moan, rolling your hips against him, burying your face in his shoulder. 

Dave mocks your pout, yanking your head back so you’ll look him in the eyes. You look positively wrecked, makeup smeared and eyes unfocused with lust. Your cunt leaves a wet patch on his pants. “Poor thing,” he says softly, teasing his fingers through your folds. “You want to come, don’t you?”

“I do,” you say, your throat raspy. “I want to come so badly. Please let me come.”

“Mmm.” Dave acts like he’s pondering it, circling your clit slowly—too slowly—as his mouth explores your throat before he finally makes it back to your lips. He kisses you tenderly, his tongue sliding against yours, tasting himself in your mouth. He slides two fingers inside your soaked cunt and drinks down your gasp. “That what you wanted?” he breathes into your mouth. “My fingers?”

“Any—nnnngh!” you moan, rocking against his palm as his fingers curl up against a spot inside you that makes your thighs tremble. “Anything you’ll give me, Daddy. Oh, fuck, please, make me come.”

“Such a good girl,” he hums, letting you ride his fingers, licking up the sweat that beads down your neck. “Such a needy whore for me, baby. I want to hear my name when you come.”

“Mmmm, Dave,” you mewl, body keen and wanting against him, your nipples rubbing against the fabric of his dress shirt, grinding into his hand as you near your high. Another smack, this time to the side of your thigh, another soothing touch to the welt forming there, and you’re sobbing his name, coming in a sudden trill of lightning down your spine, freezing you on his hand as your eyes roll back in your head. 

He likes the way you slump against him, your face once again finding solace in his neck, nipping and sucking at him as you quiver in the aftershocks of your orgasm. He likes you so supple and malleable in his hands as he stands and wraps your legs around his hips, only to deposit you on his bed. “Spread your legs,” he orders. “I want to see the mess you’ve made of yourself.”

His words send new shocks of arousal to your core, and you ease your thighs open for him. You’re fucking soaking. Soaking and ready for him. Too bad he isn’t through with you. Dave briefly tucks his aching cock into his pants and crawls onto the bed, yanking your thighs up around his shoulders and flattening his tongue against your slit. 

Still sensitive from your orgasm, you cry out, pushing gently at his head. “Can’t… Dave…”

“Said you wanted to come, sweet girl.” His hand presses down on your belly as his tongue flicks your clit, and your eyes roll back. “Didn’t say how many times. Be good and let me taste you.”

You can only whimper as he begins to lap up your slick and lavish his attention on your clit, keeping your body flush to the sheets even as you writhe and moan. He's fucking good at this, paying the right amount of attention to your clit and knowing when to pull back when it's overwhelming. He keeps his eyes on you as he eats you out, devouring you the way he likes and making you take it. “Fuck, fuck,” you croak, white sparks snapping behind your eyes. “Daddy, I’m gonna—ah, I’m gonna—!”

He keeps his tongue firm against your clit, wiggling slightly as you soak him, coming hard and fast and without mercy. Dave smacks your thigh again, and you can't tell if he wants to send another surge of pleasure through you or if he just needs to take out the frustration of having not come yet. 

Dave pulls his cock out of his pants again, so hard it looks painful, and manhandles you until you're on your stomach. He slips a pillow under your hips and kneads your ass like he's getting out stress. You moan like a whore when you feel the tip of his cock tapping at your entrance, back arching. Dave covers your body with his and nips your earlobe. “You gonna be good, honey? Gonna let me fuck you the way you need?”

You're so desperate and dazed with lust that you reach back to grasp his cock, take him inside you—

Dave grabs your wrist and, for good measure, your other one too, pinning them at the small of your back. “That… wasn't good,” he says coolly, biting down on your shoulder. “I say what you need.”

You nod your head in absolute submission, your cheek pressed into the mattress. “I’m your good girl,” you tell him. “I’ll be good for you.”

Dave slides his cock through your wetness and notches it inside your entrance. Your moan is breathy and desperate, your cunt clenching around him, trying to suck him in deeper. He wrenches you open slowly, big thick cock splitting you in two, hot and slick and the thick haze of want. “Take me, baby,” he urges, halfway inside you and pushing deeper. “You can take me.”

“I can, I can.” You're nodding, wiggling your hips to take him inside you to the base, wanting all of him filling you, claiming you. Nobody’s ever come close to the way Dave is making you feel, and he knows it. He fucking basks in it like warm sunshine. 

“Look at you,” he grunts, hips meeting the flesh of your ass as he finally sinks in all the way. “So beautiful. All mine.” A short thrust knocks his tip against your cervix, and you cry out with the pain and the pleasure. 

“You're so big, Daddy,” you gasp, short of breath despite doing nothing but lie here.

“Yeah?” He pulls out halfway and thrusts back inside, groaning at the same time you do. “You like my big cock? You like me deep, right in your belly?” His hand slips beneath you and settles at your lower abdomen as he establishes a punishing rhythm. 

You can't breathe. You can't speak. You can't exist like this, ruined and scattered into tiny pieces, your mind floating somewhere above you in the aether. It's glorious and it's agonising and you can't even remember how words taste. 

Dave fucks you. He really fucks you, grinding deep and fast and using your body the way he wants to. You clench around him in your desperate quest to come again, the pleasure all-encompassing, liquid. He drips praise over your body like honey, encouraging your body deeper into that place of blissful nothing. Here, you relinquish control. Here, you feel. He gives you exactly what you need. 

His fingers find your clit and you scream his name. He fucks you like an animal as he lowers his body over your again, biting then tonguing the marks on your shoulder, grunting into your ear. “Dave,” you moan weakly. 

He bites again, like a punishment, his hips angling his cock deeper, somehow, sliding up against your front wall. “Spoiled,” he mutters into your skin. “Spoiled girl, you’ll want my cock all the time now, won't you?” You choke on your groan, and your core tightens as his fingers work your clit. “Who owns this little cunt? Hmm?”

“You,” comes your wrecked moan. “It's yours, Daddy. Oh, fuck, please… Daddy, please, I’m yours… I’m gonna—gonna come!” 

And you do. Christ, you clamp down on his cock, your hips bucking uselessly under him and your eyes squeezing shut as you keep him tucked so deeply inside you with your tightness, milking his cock. It works: Dave pushes your name out of his mouth in a hot breath against your shoulder, hot cum spurting into your needy cunt. You take it the way you take his cock: zealous and whining, his sweet, spoiled thing, your body sucking him in and taking every drop. 

“Dave,” you whisper, tears still streaming down your face. “‘M sorry, I got mascara on your bedsheets.”

Dave chuckles, lifting himself off you even as his body protests, seeking your warmth. “You got a lot of things on my bedsheets, sweet girl. It's okay. Take my hand.”

You turn yourself over and stand with his help, thighs quivering. “Oh,” you gasp, “wow. That was good.”

He presses his lips to your cheek. “Adorable,” he laughs. “Need to clean you up. Get your pretty ass in the shower.”

Your giggle is a little wobbly, a little drunk, but your drunken, beaming face is a reward to him. “Yes, sir.”

Dave smacks your ass as he follows you into the bathroom, watching you steady yourself on the glass doors as you step inside. “I've got class tomorrow,” you grumble. “Gonna have to teach myself how to walk again.”

“I don't know,” muses Dave, purposefully sliding his body up against yours as he reaches into the shower and sends the water streaming down over your head, “I like you like this.”

“Of course you do.” You flip your hair back and get it wet under the water while Dave strips out of his clothes. He steps inside with you and gently swipes a washcloth between your thighs, watching you shudder as he cleans the cum and slick from your thighs. 

You hold onto his forearm and stare, eyes lidded and ringed with smudged makeup, at his strong, scarred body. “You've been through a war zone,” you mutter. 

“A few of them.” Dave wrings out the washcloth and uses the water streaming down your face to wipe away your ruined mascara. You trace a scar on his pec, an old knife wound he barely remembers getting, and your eyes are so full of reverence for his past, his life, that it winds him a little. 

“How’d I get so lucky?” you whisper. 

Dave shakes his head, squirting shampoo onto his palm and lathering it in your hair. He finds he likes this: the quiet mundanity of it, the ease of being close to you, the thrill of being the one who takes care of you. “I’m not the kind of man who walks away from something he wants,” he tells you. 

Your voice is hushed, vulnerable in the wake of all he's done to you. “And you wanted me?”

Dave presses his lips to your forehead. “I still do.”

“They won't stop, will they.” Your fingers finish the job of washing your hair as Dave mirrors your actions, cleansing himself of the blood and grime of the day. “They'll keep trying to… kill you.”

“They will.” There isn't a point in being false. You can take the truth. You deserve it. “That idiot senator wants me dead. He’ll keep sending people after me until he's sure I won't blab to anyone else.”

“Anyone else?” Your throat dips as you swallow down steam and water and the scent of linen. “So he knows… about you and me.”

“He knows that you matter,” says Dave, “and—”

“And that's why he wants me dead, too.”

You're smart. He's known it since the first day. But his vision is a red mist at the thought of some fucking coward putting a target on your back just for knowing him. “He's not going to hurt you,” says Dave, a bit more forcefully than he intended, telling you and himself and the whole world. He softens his voice, smooths it over like icing on cake, kissing you on the mouth for good measure. “He wants me dead because he knows I can fuck his life over in a couple hours. You… you’re…”

You lift your brows knowingly. “Leverage?”

“Good leverage,” he says, his hand resting at the nape of your neck. “If he wants to get to me, you're the best way.”

“I don't like that, Dave.” He wants to eradicate every memory of your frown from his head. “Doesn't it scare you—being hunted like an animal?”

“You know what scares me?” He pulls your body close, your tits pressed up against his chest. His thigh nudges both of yours open. “Someone… some fucking politician… wants to take you away from me. My beautiful, smart girl.” Dave catches the gasp that leaves you when his thigh brushes your sensitive clit and swallows it down with his mouth on yours. “They want to use you. Point their guns at you, the way people do.”

“And insects never do,” you mumble, rolling your hips and sighing at the white-hot pleasure that erupts each time your clit drags along his naked thigh. 

The shower walls are thick with condensation and the closeness of your bodies is immeasurable. Dave crowds you until your back smacks wetly against the cold tile wall, and the hunger in his eyes only makes you feel wanted. His cock is stiffening against your hip, his desire cloying and clotting in your brain. 

“Daddy…”

It’s soft and pitched high, and it gets lost in the relentless pattering of the hot water against his back, the walls, the floor. Dave grabs your thigh and hauls it over his hip, sliding his cock through your folds with no warning, no abandon. You think you say his name again, but he's pushing into you in one hard thrust, cleaving you in two and baring his teeth against your jaw. And nothing matters but this. 

~

You aren't in the diner next week. You aren't at school the next day. Your contact in his phone—something new you both decided to share with one another—yields no new messages. When he calls you, it goes straight to voicemail. He wants to be reasonable. You're sick. Your phone isn't working. No—your phone is brand-new; you just bought it yourself. You were perfectly healthy when you saw him two nights ago, when he made you sit in his lap on his desk chair and fucked you until you were muffling your screams in his neck. He wants to be reasonable, but there's no reason you should be missing. 

So, that night, Dave breaks into your apartment. 

Your car isn't in your parking space: the first alarm bell. The second: your door is unlocked. The place has been left in a haste, the latch bolt sliding harmlessly against the plate as Dave gives the door a shove. It opens without the turn of a knob. He curses when he sees your purse hanging on the hook just inside. 

Dave lifts his flashlight and makes a quick sweep of the room. It’s so small —there’s barely a kitchenette and a single couch, which sits in front of a box-shaped television. He kicks aside a cushion that’s fallen to the floor and investigates the bathroom—he’s horrified to see mould and mildew so blatantly mocking you on the walls—and finds nothing in the bedroom. There’s only one bedroom. Dave opens a drawer and finds men’s boxer briefs, socks, jeans. Nothing of your warm, bright touch linger in this bedroom. What the fuck? 

You sleep on the couch every single night.

Underneath the socks in your uncle Jason’s top drawer, Dave hears a faint rattle. He picks up an amber bottle with a white cap. Blood pressure medication, supposedly. He tosses these aside and searches for more. He needs more. He needs to keep this methodical, or he will explode with anger. 

Dave slides his hand beneath the mattress. A couple more bottles, indicating his forgotten problems are perhaps not quite behind him, and a number of late-notice bills. It’s nothing. It’s fucking useless, useless… 

He wasn’t fast enough. He should never have trusted this man to stay with you. You should be living with Dave. You’ll decorate his home with plants and bright colours and your shampoo will be next to his. His home will smell of you, not just the faint tang of blood that he can’t seem to expel. 

“Fuck!” Dave yanks out Jason’s top drawer and tosses it across the room, somewhat vindicated when it smashes into splinters against the wall. It draws his eye toward the desk in the corner. The little black shape underneath it, tucked underneath the carpet. 

It’s a cell phone. Dave picks it up and finds one message blinking up at him. The battery is almost dead. 

Coordinates. 

Dave fumbles to pull out his own phone and take a picture of the screen. Then, he pockets both devices and leaves. He’s lingered too long already.

~

The coordinates take him next to the Charles River, a shipping dock whose workers seem to have left in a haste. He’s surrounded by large wooden shipping crates, rain-soaked and creaking in the lashing mist that lifts out of the river in the rainstorm that’s begun. Tarps flutter around the crates, not quite pinned down. If you’re crying out for help, there’s little chance to distinguish your voice from the rain and the general din of the city. 

It’s nearing midnight, and Dave’s cell phone begins to buzz in his back pocket. Your face lights up the screen, bright and smiling and posing extravagantly (he took it in the diner, when the two of you were alone, about to exchange phone numbers; “You’ll need a glamour shot,” you said, and Dave was happy to oblige). 

He puts the phone to his ear. “Tell me which crate you’ve put her in, and I’ll make it quick for all of you.”

“I promised I wouldn’t harm her,” says a male voice he doesn’t recognise. Another Brotherhood lackey, he guesses. “She’s being very good for us, Mr. York. Very obedient. Did you break her in for us?”

Dave will not take this bait. “Put her on the phone.”

There’s a faint rustling, and his vision goes blood-red at the sound of your little yelp of pain. “Dave,” comes your trembling voice. “Dave, I’m sorry.”

Dave begins to splash along the rain-slick pavement. Oil runoff stains the water and colours it like a prism. He has a cap on his head and the hood of his jacket is secure atop it. “Shh. None of that, beautiful girl. Are you hurt?” 

“N—no, just… No.” It isn’t a satisfying answer for him, but you’re panicking. “Jason… It was Jason. He took me.”

“Why did he take you, baby?” Dave pushes open a shipping crate and finds nobody inside. 

Your whimper indicates the man is holding you somehow, likely by the hair. “He… please… He told me he would get the money he needed.”

“Your boss offered to pay him, then?” says Dave, directing his attention briefly to her captor as he moves further east along the waterfront. He’s straining his ear for any indication of nearby voices. “In exchange for his niece?”

“More like in exchange for you. I guess he knew she’s the only way you’d come.” The man seems ecstatic with the power of holding onto such a special piece of leverage. “You’ll behave, won’t you, Dave? I know she will.”

“Dave, west! TURN WEST—”

The sound of a hand striking your cheek makes Dave jerk away from the phone and kick his foot through a nearby crate, his heart thundering with the rage that clogs his chest all the way up to his throat. The crate’s door swings open, empty. “If your girl doesn’t shut up, York, I’m going to stuff her mouth with my dick.”

His ears are ringing, the rain spitting and the wind rattling his brain around his head. This man truly believes he’ll get away with taking Dave York’s woman. It’s almost laughable. 

And it’s too late for him. Dave’s already heard your scream from a crate further down the waterfront. 

So the man on the phone can see him. Dave looks up to find a security camera fixed to the scaffolding above him, winking a red eye at him through the mist and rain. He waves, as if to an old friend. “You get off on watching me, huh?” 

“Fun to see you flail around,” says the man, “like a chicken with his head cut off.”

Dave can’t help but grin. “Keep watching.” He stops in his tracks and raises his gun to eye-level. “Sweetheart? You still there?”

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I’m here.”

“Duck,” he commands, and the shot rings out through the rain.

A little hole perforates the wooden crate, and Dave can hear your scream through the phone. He drops his shoulder to force open the door and finds his victim writhing on the floor. The shot struck him in the shoulder, but Dave puts another between his eyes. It’s merciful and too quick for what he’s done to you, but you’re what matters. And here you are, tied by your wrists and ankles to a chair, your hair matted with rainwater and an angry welt on your cheek. You cry out in relief when you see Dave kneel in front of you and cup your face in his palms. “Oh, sweet girl,” he says. “So smart. You did good, baby.”

You don’t cradle your chafed wrists to your chest or shrink away from him when you’re free, the way you should. Your arms wind up around his neck and you nearly knock him over in your rush to embrace him. “Easy,” he mumbles, burying his face in your hair, breathing in your scent mixed with the saltwater mist. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

“I know,” you whisper. “I knew you’d find me.”

He chuckles. “Your uncle didn’t make it easy for me.”

“That man…” You pull away and gesture toward the dead man on the floor. “He was the one who called Jason. Said he’d be cleared of his charges and given a huge lump of cash if he brought me to him.”

He helps you to your feet. You’re shivering like a leaf in your little dress and apron. Dave almost rips his jacket in his haste to secure it around your shoulders. “There’s going to be more,” he says. “A man as paranoid as Berkeley didn’t just send one asshole to kill me. I need you to run, sweet girl. Do you understand me? Run to the car, near the park, and stay away from the streetlights.”

You dip your chin in a nod, but a flick of your eyes over his shoulder has him stiffening. “Dave, get—!”

He’s pulling you to the ground and covering your body with his before the shot fires. When it does, it cuts clean through two walls of the crate, but another follows in its stead. Dave rolls off you, flipping onto his back, and fires at the man just visible behind the door of the crate. The first strikes his leg, which doubles him over. His brain matter falls in chunks to the wet pavement before his body crumples. Dave stands up as you crawl across the floor and dig around your captor’s dead body, producing his gun. “You know how to shoot that thing, baby?”

“Of course not!” you squeak. “Feel a bit better holding it, though.”

He flicks the safety on. “Good. Stay behind me.”

You’re dutiful in the way you follow him outside, the gun useless in your hands but Dave’s gun pointed and ready in his. The crates make it difficult, but his ears are fine-tuned to the noises of footsteps. He hears them from his left and his right simultaneously, firing one shot at the glimpse of a boot and another at a shoulder. The leftward man collapses, clutching his foot, and Dave puts a bullet in his head. The one to his right makes an almost-impressive shot from around the corner that takes out the bulb of a streetlight behind them. But his skull shatters from the impact of Dave’s flashlight striking him in the head, and he collapses. 

You’re stunned by the ease with which he kills. He's meticulous and he's accurate. The muscles in his face are set, determined, a soldier moving before your eyes. He never wavers. He never flinched nor grimaces. You wonder if he would even hear you if you uttered his name. His mission clouds his eyes and wraps cloth around his ears. It's a murderer you watch at work now, a professional one, a wraith whose eyes glimmer like oil slick in the darkness. The gun clutched clumsily in your untrained hands trembles. 

How can such a man handle you so lovingly?

He ushers you inside his car once you wind your way back through the maze of crates, but a shout of your name makes you spin around and lift the gun you have no idea how to handle. It's a cold, dead weight, trapped between your fingers. 

“Jason,” you warn, “don't come any closer.”

“Kiddo, just let me explain.” Jason lifts his hands, indicating he's unarmed. He's standing by your car, wet hair plaster to his forehead, eyes sunken and cheeks gaunt. Behind you, Dave places a hand on your lower back. He isn't lifting his own weapon. He's letting you decide. 

“You can't explain this to me,” you say through your chattering teeth. “You put me there. You traded me for money. I’ve paid everything, I’ve put up with you being high all the time, and I’ve let you sleep in my bed. Because you were family.”

“I wanted to repay you. I wanted to get a fresh start.” He stumbles forward in his haste to reach out to you, and Dave steps in front of you slightly. 

Jason scowls. “And you. Are you fucking her? You know my niece is still in college? You know you're old enough to be her father? You're fucking sick.”

Dave’s nostrils flare. “I saved her fucking life. I'm the one keeping her safe while you run around with your mouth glued to a joint. How many times has she bailed you out, huh?”

Jason lurches forward, deliberately this time, aiming a fist at Dave’s face. Dave grabs his arm before it can wind back and twists it around his back. “Stay fucking still,” he sneers into his ear. Something inside you coils tight like a poised serpent, the very depths of you inexplicably wound for need of something you cannot yet name.

You stare into your uncle’s face. “You’re the sick one. I hope you get your money, because you're leaving. Dave, can we please drop him at the police station?”

~

You can't sit still. 

Dave’s ordered you to sit on the edge of his bed while he cleans up from his massacre by the river. He hasn't let you leave his sight since last night, which means you've missed two days of school and nobody knows where you are. Your phone shattered when he murdered your captor, but Dave lent you a replacement from his desk. Apparently, he owns twelve cell phones. 

“Which one of these do you use to buy drugs?” you asked. 

“Guess you’ll find out.” Dave smirked at you and handed you a brand-new model. “If they ask for York, say I’m dead.”

You told your friends that you'd come down with a deathly case of the flu and they bought it, dutifully sending their notes to you in bulk through your group chat. Since you shut off the phone and placed it next to you on the mattress, you haven't been able to stop from squirming, your thighs rubbing together as the itch you've been fighting for hours clambers down the knobs of your spine. 

“Dave?”

He emerges from the ensuite, still drying his hands on a bath towel, his sleeves rolled to his elbows and his face freshly shaven. You know and he knows that he’s been purposefully torturing you, and now all you can do is straighten up, not-so subtly pushing out your breasts toward him. A soft whine leaves your lips at the sight of him standing above you, so strong and deadly. 

He doesn’t speak for a moment, and you wonder if he’s angry with you. You feel his knuckle brush under your chin until it’s directing your gaze, forcing you to look up at him. “Sweet girl,” he says, thumb caressing your cheekbone. “You’re all trouble. Know that?”

You bite your lip, your desire a pounding, beastly thing, clawing up your throat. “I think you should remind me.”

Dave chuckles, his hand leaving your face only to trail downward, finding the top button of his shirt, which is draped over your own body. “Wearing my clothes,” he says, circling the button with his finger until it pops out. His eyes are black, thrilled by the sight of your collarbones, flexing in and out thanks to your fluttering breaths. “Sitting so still and pretty for me…” He clicks his tongue like he’s disappointed in you. “Would you stay sitting here all night if I asked you to?”

“You know I would, Dave,” comes your shuddering sigh. 

“You’d be safe that way,” he muses. Another button comes undone, and the soft skin between your breasts tempts him closer until he’s standing between your thighs. His fingers trace your hard nipples, visible through his dress shirt. “Such a dangerous girl, going missing on me. Do you know how much you scared me?” You go to dip your head in apology, but he grasps a chunk of your hair and pulls it back. “I asked you a question, baby. Answer it.”

“I never meant to scare you,” you tell him, still seeking his touch as you push your tits against his fingers. “I was so scared… thought he would try to…”

Dave shushes you. “I know, sweetheart, I know. Do you know what I would have done to him if he did?”

You shake your head. “Tell me.”

His hand leaves your hair and winds around your throat, his thumb and index finger pressing at your pulse. “I would have cut off his dick. I would have made him watch me do it. I would take off each. Fucking. Finger.” Dave’s other hand, done fondling your tits, ghosts along your arm until it finds your hand, which he lifts to the hard outline of his bulge. “I’d make sure you never remember him touching you.” The hand on your throat squeezes, and your core floods with arousal, another whine slipping out. Dave tips his chin toward you. “You trust me to keep you safe from men like him. Don't you?”

Frantically, you breathe out a yes, your brows curving up in the middle in the delicious way he loves so much. He enjoys the delicate curve of your body against him as it seeks his. Your tits are smushed against his abdomen, your face so close your chin nearly brushes his sternum. You're warm and so soft. Dave is nearly doubled over with the affection you show him and the affection he craves to show you. But he knows what you need—to be shown that you're safe in his arms. 

You gently squeeze his length over his pants and Dave hisses, prying your wrist away and pressing your hand to your own breast. “If you’re going to tease,” he says, “tease yourself. Go on, sweet girl. Touch your pretty tits.”

You roll your head back on your shoulders as you squeeze your tits over the fabric of his shirt, pinching your nipples and puffing out soft moans of his name. Dave’s cock twitches in his pants, and he pulls it out swiftly, hard and heavy against his stomach, jerking himself slowly while he watches you. 

“So beautiful. Does it feel good?” Your eyes are fixed on his hand working his cock, another needy moan slipping past your lips. “Would you rather be the one touching me, baby? Is that what you need?”

Your tongue darts out to lick up his slit when he squeezes the base of his cock, and Dave grunts, hips lurching forward, momentarily losing control. You eagerly take the tip between your lips, but he pulls away and slaps his cock on your tongue. “Such a bad girl, not listening. Lie back.”

Your eyes are black holes, and Dave presses his palm on your sternum to guide you onto your back when you can’t seem to think through your haze of lust. He drops to his knees and shucks your panties off your legs so roughly they tear, dangling off your ankle. It only fans the flames licking at your core, and he can see the glistening wetness of your cunt, begging to be touched. “If I ask you a question,” says Dave, blowing on your cunt and making your stomach clench, making your moan pitch high, “I expect you to answer me. I know you want me, sweet girl, but you should learn to listen to me. Hmm?”

He yanks your thigh over his shoulder and parts your folds with two fingers. “I’m… oh, I’m sorry, Daddy. Please… please let me feel you. I want to feel you. I’ll be good. I’ll be—fuck!”

You squeal when he licks up your tempting slit, groaning at the taste of your sweet tang, mingled with the scent of body wash and linen and something ineffably you. “And if I want to taste you,” he says, pressing sloppy kisses to your cunt, gripping your thighs so tightly his fingers will leave bruises, “I expect you to lie down and spread your legs for me.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you gasp at the white-hot pleasure from his warm tongue lavishing attention through your folds. “Yes, Daddy, anything you want, anytime. I’ll do anything—ohhh, fuck, Daddy, please…”

A hand presses firmly against your belly to keep you grounded as he tastes his fill of you the way he wants. This is your punishment, you realise: being at his mercy, spread out like a meal for him, disregarding your pleasure and just feasting on you at his own pace. Always at his own pace. You want to curl your fingers in his hair and keep his face in your pussy, but the idea that he’s between your legs because he wants to just taste you is so delectable that you lift your arms above your head, wrists together, and refrain from urging him anywhere. He’s in charge. He wants to remind you. As if you need reminding.

Dave notices. He sees the curve of your back, your tits straining out of his shirt, your body stretched out for him like a lounging cat. He pulls away from your cunt and bites down on the flesh of your inner thigh. You yelp, the muscles in your legs flexing around his head. “You like this,” he hums, flattening his tongue against your clit. You moan long and low. “Yeah, you do. My good little slut, letting me do what I want with your body.”

“Mmmmoh!” He nips your clit and it makes you tremble, your orgasm clawing at you despite his negligence. “I’m your slut, I’m just a whore for you, your good little whore. Feels so good.”

He and his cock love your babbling. It twitches against his stomach as he laps at you, a cat at his bowl of milk, drinking you down on his tongue. Your moans grow closer together, more frequent, and he knows you’re about to come. So he pulls away from your soaking pussy. 

Your hips chase him until your mind catches up, realising he hasn’t given you your orgasm. It isn’t surprising, but it still makes you pout. “Oh, my poor girl,” says Dave, mocking your expression, crawling up onto the bed and over your body, taking your lower lip between his teeth. You try to kiss him, desperate to be touched, but he pulls away again. “You wanted to come, didn’t you?”

“Only…” You swallow thickly, the desire evident in your eyes. “Only if you want me to.”

Dave grins, his fingers sliding down to your clit and slapping it lightly. “So good for me,” he says, ducking his head again and slanting his mouth over yours. You sigh into him. “I can do whatever I want with this pussy. Tell me.”

“You can do whatever you want with my pussy,” you say between inhaling lungfuls of air as he relentlessly devours your mouth. “I’m yours, it’s yours.”

You look so beautiful spread out beneath him, steadfast in putting your trust in him even as he tore an orgasm away from you, that Dave can’t bear to withhold any longer. He guides his cock to your entrance and slides inside you without warning. You gasp, your eyes unwavering from his. 

It’s intimate like this, and he’s surprised by how much it chokes him. You’re looking at one another as he establishes a deep, grinding rhythm inside you, your legs wrapping around his waist and his mouth connecting with yours in long, sloppy kisses that leave you both breathless. Dave holds you reverently, the way a follower carries offerings to the altar, his hand around your waist and bowing your back to deepen the angle. His other hand, balanced with his elbow, cradles your head as he keeps his mouth close to yours and refuses to let you look away. 

He knows you’re getting close, and he is, too. He takes the opportunity to explore your body, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt and sliding his hand up your ribs, tracing them with fascination for the way you breathe. He feels your rapid pulse under his fingers, circles your nipples with his rough fingers, and basks in the curves of your perfect, smooth body beneath him. You’re perfect. You’re everything he’s been waiting for, his sweet, clever girl. 

“You’re mine,” he says, whisper-quiet, his hips sliding against yours, deliciously slow and rubbing up on your clit in just the right way. He won’t deny you this time. 

“I’m yours,” you say, your nose nudging against his. He grins. Happy.

You come just before he does, your entire body tightening and quivering, your cunt squeezing him, ironclad around his cock. Your brows lift in pleasure and your eyes droop, your lips parting just enough for a small gasp to escape. He huffs into your hair when he comes, spilling his hot cum deep into you and bucking his hips flush to keep it snug inside. 

His body is a canopy over yours, and he finds he doesn’t want to move. You smooth his hair back, your touch so gentle and calming to his erratic heartbeat that he lets out a chest-deep sound that sounds like a purr. “You’re beautiful,” you whisper to him, and there’s so much more awe in your voice than he deserves. 

He lifts his chin to capture your mouth. His heart is swelling up into his throat. “Stay with me,” he says. 

It’s not an order and it isn’t jagged-edged. It’s him asking, pleading. It’s him opening his palm and offering a key to you. It’s soft as the brush of sunlight over your skin in the earliest hours. “I’ll stay with you,” you tell him, pressing your lips to his. “You need some touches of colour in this place.”

Dave chuckles, rolling you over until you’re lying on top of him. You’re all the colour he gives a fuck about.

~

There’s a skip in your step as you walk to his car and slide inside. Dave traps your jaw between his thumb and forefinger and pulls you toward him for a kiss before you can even tug on your seat belt. “Hi, baby.” He grins into your mouth. “How was class?”

“You know, it’s funny,” you muse, checking your reflection in the visor. “Everyone was talking about it. Apparently, Senator Berkeley was found in his home with a gunshot wound to his head. They said it was suicide.”

Dave makes a noncommittal noise. “Shame. He must’ve been caught up in something he couldn’t deal with.”

You shrug, getting situated as Dave pulls out of the parking lot. “I started reading the book you got me.”

He places his hand, palm-up, on the centre console, and you take the invitation to thread your fingers through his. “You like it?” he asks. 

You lift your joined hands to your cheek and rest it there. “I’ll tell you about it on the way home.”

THE END.

#kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal #dave york #dave york smut #equalizer 2 #dave york x f!reader #dave york fanfiction #dave york x you #dave york x reader #dave york x female reader #dave york fic #suburban murder daddy

[creedslove]

Proving Dave York's marriage wasn't going that great - Equalizer 2

First of all, I'd like to remind you all besties that I'm a Dave York apologist and I will forever defend this man no matter how many atrocities he's done (and were those really atrocities? Debatable) and I have also villainized Carol and I have zero regrets about it, so let's go:

• Exhibit A: The trip to Belgium

Susan and Dave are in a virtual meeting talking about the recent case, she knows shes gonna have to travel all the way to Belgium to investigate and invites Dave, who immediately goes like "and leaving this shitty office?"

But, what if the office isn't really his main problem? What if Dave was also looking forward to leaving the house for a little while? A trip to another country seems refreshing and also the belgium chocolate? Dave's excited... And as a husband and a father of two not once he thinks of bringing his family some chocolate? It's a sign of a stressed man who needs some time on his own

• Exhibit B: the hotel hall

Dave and Susan are going over the evidence they found in the crime scene, gathering hypothesis on what could've happened and Dave says there's no records of the victim cheating on his wife with anyone, not even flirty texts and Susan is like "come on, Dave women fuck around too"

And that's Dave's reaction:

He's like: well....

(also, sorry for the horrible quality of the pic but you besties get the point and also his tummy 🤤)

And then Susan asks him when was the last time Dave sent his wife flowers and all Dave says is: "noted, noted"

So that indicates it has been a long time since Dave has sent her flowers... So the romance is dead, and if the romance is dead so is their sexual life. Was Dave thinking about the possibility of Carol herself fucking around? And let's face it, she probably is

• Exhibit C: the kitchen scene

Commonly used to prove the point that no matter if Dave's an assassin, he's also a good father, the kitchen scene reveals more about his marriage than anything else; we see Dave's got a huge, beautiful house, and then we go to the kitchen. It's spacious, nice, and modern... And messy. One of the kids is whining about grapes and going to the dentist and the other one is doing the homework and Dave and Carol? Absolutely no sign of a loving couple, no pecking on the lips, exchanging glances, a little flirting... Nothing. They are just ignoring each other, Dave's got his cup of coffee and hand and checking his phone as if he's alone.

Then when Carol goes to answer the door, he's giving his youngest daughter attention, he is a good dad, but it isn't a heartwarming interaction between them, and above all, he seems bored, like yeah the kids are cute but he's got more important things to do

And then, when Carol takes a while to come back with McCall, Dave calls her by her name twice, of course he raised his voice because she was in another room and he wanted her to hear him, but it always seemed just so dry and harsh to me and I couldn't exactly figure why it was like that, until I finally got it:

no pet names at all

Seriously?! No darling, honey, baby, sweetheart?! Just a simple dry "CAROL" a couple of times and that's it? It smells like a marriage crisis to me...

• Exhibit D: the driveway scene

The scene where McCall runs into his old team and promises to kill them all; there's enough tension as it is, they all know McCall means business and he is low-key threatening Dave's family by pretending he's so nice and friendly and wanting to get a ride

(I just need to address how dumb and careless is to allow McCall, a man she's never seen in her life get a ride with her and get so cozy around her kids, I mean yeah, he's her husband's army buddy but he's also an old man who also happens to be a complete stranger and he suddenly wants to be around her and her kids, I mean, fuck off)

And Dave knows it's likely one of the last times he's gonna see his family... And what does he do? Does he hug them? Give Carol a peck on the lips? He does NOTHING!!!

So you know what it means? Carol wasn't worthy of her husband, they didn't love each other anymore and Dave would be way better off with me instead 😉🤪

#pedro pascal #dave york #random #personal #equalizer 2 #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x y/n #i love dave so much #i hope you besties enjoy him too

[juletheghoul]

Amarum

A/N: What if Dave was the guy you met at a bar, and what if that guy absolutely rocked your shit? Well, it might go a little something like this. For any of you that have read my work, imagine Dave from Dulcis, only without the toxicity. A well-adjusted, divorced dad, who likes to tell good girls what to do. I am still on my little break, but I wanted to throw this on here and then fuck off into the sunset. Thanks to my girlie-pop @wheresarizona for listening to my ramblings and for beta-ing this. Enjoy xoxo

Dave York x f!Reader

Pairing: David York x F!Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: NSFW 18+ language, Smut, PIV sex (wrap it up), slight dom-Dave, dirty talk, mentions of alcohol, oral (both m & f rec'g), spanking, a thumb in the booty- let me know if I missed any!

Masterlist

There was a pleasant buzz flowing through your veins when the bartender placed a drink you definitely didn’t order on the counter in front of you. 

“Sorry! I didn’t order this!” You frowned at him, but he waved away your protest, pointing to a man across the bar. 

“Courtesy of the gentleman.” He left you with the drink, moving to serve other patrons. 

The man he’d indicated to was watching you with clear interest on his face. He was handsome, very handsome. Clean cut from what you could see, dark hair and dark eyes, well dressed, and just your type. You raised the drink to him in thanks, and he smiled, raising his own in return.

Vodka cranberry, classic. 

He held your gaze, his smile widening, his eyes raking over you without shame. He pushed away from his place at the bar, and your heart leapt that he was coming over. 

You adjusted your dress as best you could, doing a quick sweep over your general appearance, dress smoothed, hair in place, perfect.

“Hi,” he smiled, coming close enough to be heard over the soundtrack of the bar, his voice deep and lovely in your ear. “I’m David. I noticed you from the other side of the room.” He smelled good enough to make your mouth water.

“Hi David,” you introduced yourself, “You did? And what did you think?” 

“Thought it must be my lucky day.” His eyes travelled down the length of you without a single attempt at subtlety.

“Do you still think that? Now that you’re up close?” His watch face flashed for a moment, drawing your attention to his hands. They were big and instantly, you imagined them on your hips, at your throat. You swallowed thickly.

“Well, that depends on whether or not you’re looking for the same thing I’m looking for.” He had caught you staring at his hands and made a show of using them to swirl his drink, to fix the collar at his throat; placing one on the bar just beside where you leaned against it. He moved closer, and your focus shifted to the long line of his throat. “I think you are. I think you might be exactly what I’m looking for.”

Your heart was racing, thumping wildly in your chest that this gorgeous man was showing interest. He pressed a little closer, speaking the words right into your ear.

“I think you want to come home with me.” His thumb made contact with your side, a gentle pass that had heat clawing its way through your veins. Your eyes closed of their own accord, an attempt at keeping your cool despite the buzz, despite your body’s reaction to him. 

“You’re quite forward.” You smiled, a little nervous, a little intimidated, but very excited. 

“Yes, I don’t like to waste time. I find you very attractive, and I’d like to take you home. I’d very much like to show you a good time.” He tipped back his glass, finishing his drink. You did the same. “If I have read you wrong, I apologize, and I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable.” 

“No, no.” You put your hand on his arm, your skin sizzling with the small touch, “You’re good.” You thought about it for a minute, questioning whether this was something you really wanted to do. He smiled, his eyes solely focused on you, and for better or worse, you’d already made up your mind. “I would like to go home with you, David.” Adrenaline raced through your body, chasing some of the buzz away, and when he offered his hand, you took it.

-

“This place is lovely.” You walk through his airy loft, smiling to yourself because of course he lives in a loft. The ceilings are insanely high, and the whole place has an open, yet homey, lived-in feel. It’s all one giant room, with a staircase leading up to an open second level facing a wall of windows. The gorgeous cityscape laid out before you.

“Thank you, I’m glad you like it.” He sets his sport coat down on an expensive-looking leather chair, “Would you like something to drink?” He gestures towards the minimalist dream that is his kitchen. 

“No, thank you, I’m okay for now.” You smile up at him, the nerves in your stomach fluttering wildly. Your eyes continue to take in the space while he makes his way past you. 

“Well,” He opens up the fridge, grabbing two bottles of water. “I’m going to bring water for you anyway.” He smiles. “Let me show you the bedroom.”

There’s a slight tremble in your hands as you make your way up the stairs, a clear indication of just how excited you are at the prospect of him getting you naked. 

God, I hope he’s a good fuck. 

The thought repeats in your head like a mantra, but there’s something about him, an energy he carries that negates any doubt before anything even happens. In truth, you don’t know anything about him. There are little things you can guess–he’s definitely older, for one. Somewhere in his late thirties, early forties. 

His bedroom is sparse but neatly organized. Evidence of military experience, maybe?

“Now.” He sets the waters down on one of the nightstands, “Here’s how this is going to go.” He turns to you, his eyes intense, “I’m going to tell you what to do, and you’re going to do it.” He’s moving towards you now, his fingers making quick work of rolling his sleeves up to expose his forearms. “You think you could do that for me?”

“I–yes, I can.” He stands beside you, his body a hair's breadth away. 

“I knew you would. I knew you’d be on your best behaviour for me.” His fingers come up, skimming across the expanse of your collarbone, sending a shiver down your spine. “Before we get to all the fun I have planned… I would like to check in. I want you to enjoy this, so I’ll set a few guidelines.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder, and it makes your stomach flutter. “For your comfort, we’ll use the traffic light system. Green means all good, continue–yellow means slow down, and red is a full stop.” He pulls the strap of your dress to the side and places another kiss to your heated skin. “How does that sound?” 

You nod at him. 

“I need vocal, enthusiastic consent, honey.” 

“Yes, yes. I want this.” You turn to him, sliding your hands up to rest on his ribs. 

“That’s what I like to hear. Final item, I have been tested and have a clean bill of health. How about you?” His hands caress your arms, almost distracting you from his words. 

“Clean. I was tested a few months ago, haven’t been with anyone since then. I’m also on birth control.”

“Lovely, I’m looking forward to filling you to the brim.” He presses a little closer, his finger tilting your chin up, bringing your mouth to his in a soft, surprisingly tender kiss. His lips are plush, pressing against yours while his hand moves from your chin to curl around the column of your neck. 

It’s soft, gentle, until it isn’t. 

He licks into your mouth, pulling threads of arousal out to pool in your panties. He pushes everything but him out of your mind before giving you a final kiss, rewarding you with a groan, and then pulling away. Your mouth chases his, almost making you stumble, but he holds you in place.

“I want you to sit at the edge of the bed.” 

You obey, the nerves replaced with pure arousal and a curious need to make him happy. 

“Lovely.” He stands over you, his thumb pressing against your lower lip, “Hands behind your back, please, baby. You’re going to keep them there, is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.” The words come out unbidden, but he smiles a gorgeous smile, and something inside of you preens.

“That’s my good girl. Keep them there.” His hands go to his belt, and you can almost feel your eyes dilating with excitement. The clink of the belt, the sound of his zipper, best of all, the sight of him hard and thick in front of your face makes your heart race. It makes your mouth water.

“What colour are we at?” His cock bobs in front of him, angry red and weeping, but his thumb at your lip is feather soft.

“Bright green, I want it.” You give him your most seductive look before opening your mouth.

“You’re being so good for me,” he gives his cock a few slow strokes, using his own arousal before moving towards your mouth once more. “Stick out your tongue for me, sweetheart. That's it.” You comply with gusto, sticking your tongue out for him. His big hand holds the hinge of your jaw, fingers pressing gently into the heated skin of your face. Your arousal is something huge, something with claws and teeth and a feral edge—it holds you tight enough to hurt, makes you ache for him. “That’s my pretty girl.” He guides the tip of his cock into your mouth, sliding it against your tongue. 

Every instinct, every desire in your body begs to act. It compels you to hold his hips, to suck at the fat head of him, to swallow his dick down and make him come so hard he babbles, but you hold still, let the sweat bead at your temples. Obey.

He has a mischievous smile on his face, enjoying the conflict evident on your face. 

“I am very proud of how good you’re being for me, holding your hands where I told you to, opening up that pretty mouth for me.” He slides in a little further, pressing the tip to the back of your throat with each shallow thrust of his hips. “See how hard you made me?” He taps his cock against your tongue a couple of times before pulling out of your mouth completely. “Colour?”

“Green.” You moan the word, and he smiles. He leans towards you and gifts you with another toe-curling kiss, his tongue obscene while his hands pull down the straps of your dress, your bra as well to expose your tits. 

“That’s better.” He moves back into position, and you hurry to stick out your tongue again, “Close your lips around me; I’m going to fuck that pretty face.” You let out a moan, pressing your thighs together to ease the aching emptiness of your arousal, “Sit still.” You let out a breath and do as he says. 

The sounds don’t help. They only make it harder to sit still. 

He makes you gag on his cock, makes you feel dirty with how he’s using your mouth, how your spit drips down onto your tits, how your eyes water. He makes you feel divine with how wrecked he looks towering above you, how reverently his hands hold onto your face. 

“God, I could just come down your fucking throat, baby.” He pulls out and lets you catch your breath, his voice sinful.

You wait for instructions. You know you must look a mess, but you don’t care. The thing inside you is too happy; the bruising grip of arousal is too strong. 

“Good girls get rewarded, and you, baby, have been a very good girl for me. How are we on colour?” He moves to take his shirt off, tossing it into a hamper, watching you as he takes everything off. 

“Bright green, but-“You take a deep breath, and he pauses.

“Tell me,” instantly, there’s a shift from confident and commanding to genuine concern. “Too much?”

“No, no, it’s really good, I could suck your dick all night, but I am so fucking wet, I need something.” You pout at him, and he smiles, the so-far benevolent authority back in place.

“How wet?” He’s fully naked now, and your heart races, your cunt itching to be filled by him.

“So fucking wet, David, I’m dying—“ His hand holds your throat, and you whimper.

“Aw, my poor little thing, come, let’s get you out of these clothes.” You let him pull you up from the bed, and within moments, you’re just as naked as him. His mouth fuses to yours, hard, all teeth and tongues, as you both fall onto his bed, a frantic shuffle to move up and align yourselves. 

“Fuck me, please.” You grip his hair, sliding your legs high onto his hips. 

“Good manners, but no. I’m going to do something else first.” You almost complain, but his mouth moves down and latches onto a nipple, and then all the words float out of your brain. First, one, then the other before he moves lower still, and all of a sudden, your legs are open wide from the breadth of his shoulders, and he’s staring at your pussy like it’s the gates of heaven.

“Good god, it’s so fucking pretty.” He spreads you open with one hand, exposing the plump pearl of your pleasure. 

He spits on it, and you feel the warmth of it slip down towards your entrance, but it never makes it; he dives in, and your heart races.

His tongue is a holy thing, and its pilgrimage across your sex is nothing short of sacred. The grip of arousal tightens further, and with his tongue honing in on the center of your universe, your orgasm is shockingly close. He must feel the muscles in your stomach contract under his arm because he pulls away. His eyebrows raise at the strangled whine you let out, a low laugh from somewhere in his throat at the way your hips chase his mouth.

“I never said you could come.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your engorged little clit. “You’ve been so fucking good for me. You aren’t going to start misbehaving now, are you?” He kisses it again, his bottom lip gliding against it just right. Tears slip out, unbidden.  “Colour?” His hand smooths over the silky skin of your inner thighs, calming the slight tremble in them. 

“Green, please, Sir, please—I need to come. I wanna come so bad. Your tongue feels so fucking good.” You aren’t above begging, and something passes over his face, something inside him being fed by you, something that is languishing in your desperation for him.

“No.” 

He presses his tongue to your pussy again, broad licks from your dripping entrance up to circle around your sensitive clit. You let out a pitiful whine, squeezing your eyes together to try—really try to focus on something other than the mounting pleasure blooming between your thighs. 

“Yellow, yellow!” You scream out the word, letting out a shaky breath when he pulls away from where you pulse under his tongue. 

“Good girl, thank you for warning me. How close are you?” He presses kisses to your inner thigh, seemingly content to take all the time in the world while you hang on by a fucking thread. 

“It’s right there, so close.” You whine, every muscle in your body pulled taut. 

“Okay baby, when you can, on your knees.” He taps your thigh lightly before pressing a kiss to your mound. 

You take a few long breaths to steady yourself, clear your mind, and let the orgasm slip away before getting into position. It’s hard to concentrate on anything but how charged your whole body is, and when your nipples graze against the silky fabric of his bedspread, it sends a shiver down your spine. 

He wastes no time; his big hands land heavy on your hips, pulling you toward his hips, letting you feel the way his cock slips and slides between your legs. 

“You ready to take me, honey? Ready for me to stretch your tight little pussy on my cock?” His hands spread you open, and you know he’s staring at where your bodies meet, his thumb dipping into your dripping entrance. He lands a solid crack on your ass, and you jolt. 

“Answer me.” His hand smooths the sting away, and you gulp down your excitement.

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s better.” He glides the tip of his cock against your clit for a moment before slipping inside, the sheer size of him pulls a moan from somewhere in your throat. “So fucking wet for me huh, baby, you needed this cock didn’t you?” He fucks you slow, too slow.

“Yes, god yes, more, please.” The sheets near your face dampen with your words, and with your breath, your arms stretch out in front of you, clutching wildly at the sheets. He tuts when you start to push back and fuck yourself harder. Another solid crack sounds through the room, the sting of the spank only heightens your arousal. 

“None of that. You’ll take it how I want to give it.” He holds you in place, letting you feel him deep. 

You whine. He laughs.

“What’s wrong, baby?” His hands spread you open wider, “You don’t wanna be good for me anymore?” He lands another crack, and more tears slip down your face. “I’m speaking to you. Answer me.” 

“David, please.” A sob claws its way out of your mouth. “Please let me come.”

“Colour?”

“Green, but please, I am begging, please sir.” You know in your heart that the game would end if you said yellow or even red. You know it in your gut, but this is the most aroused you’ve ever been in your life. The feeling of him controlling you, of him withholding your orgasm, has you delirious with excitement, and despite the desperation, you want to be good for him. 

He starts to move, shallow at first, but he picks up the pace, and soon the wet sounds of his thrusts echo through the apartment. Until he stops again, and you whine pitifully. 

His hand moves, and you feel it swipe the arousal upwards from the stretched mouth of your cunt, up towards your asshole, where something wet and warm has landed, and you know it’s his spit again. Your stomach leapt, a dark thrill running through you like a lightning strike. 

“Oh god, green,” the moan you let out was obscene, your body a livewire at the way he circles your back door. 

“My dirty girl likes that, huh?” He speeds back up, and with a wet press, he breaches the tight ring of muscle, and your world implodes. The orgasm burns through you, your stomach clenching, your cunt fluttering around his cock, your asshole pulsing around his thumb. 

He fucks you through it, his thumb in place, his cock a battering ram against your womb, and when you scream in ecstasy, he pulls away. 

“Bad girl, I never gave you permission—“ Your body is jelly in his hands, “Now you’re going to get fucked like a bad girl.” He manoeuvres you onto your back, a pillow shoved under your hips and within a minute he’s slipping back inside you. He fucks the thoughts right out of your head, not bothering to wait until you’ve caught your breath. “Now you’re going to take what I give you.” He’s breathing hard, his cock punching into you over and over, one of his hands holding both of yours above your head, the other wrapped around your throat.

Your mind blanks with every thrust, tears slip out, and into your temples in your altered state of euphoria; you might actually be drooling. 

He presses his forehead to yours, panting into your mouth for a handful of thrusts before he grinds himself deep.

He shoves his face into the crook of your neck, his hips grinding through the oversensitivity, babbling incoherent words into your ear. Well, they might be incoherent. Or you might have come so hard that you’ve gone deaf. Who knows.

“—pussy milked me dry.” His face is red with his exertion, sweat beading at his temples, a gorgeous flush crawling up his neck. 

“Hmm?” You’re in a daze, your body an untethered thing.

“I said—“ he smiles, “Your pussy milked me dry. I almost don’t want to pull out. I want to stay here all night.” He leans in to kiss, and you whimper into his mouth. Relishing how soft it is after—well, that.

“Sounds nice.” Your voice is hoarse, and exhaustion hits you lightning-quick.

“Stay there.” He pulls out with a hiss and moves towards his en suite. You’re not even sure you respond. Your eyes close for a moment, and then something wonderfully cool wipes at the mess between your legs. “Come on, up for a minute, honey.” He pulls you up gently. “Need you to drink some water.” He’s wearing a pair of grey sweats when you sit up, and he presses the bottle to your mouth, gulping it down eagerly. “Drink it all, please, then you can go to the bathroom, and we can cuddle.” 

You do as he says, chug the water, head to the bathroom, and take care of your business. Finally rinsing the makeup and tears and spit from off your face before heading back into the now blessedly dark bedroom. He opens the covers for you, and you slip in, craving intimacy but falling asleep as soon as your head hits the wall of his chest.

-

You wake to the sound of rain, heavy sheets of it. Lightning strikes, filling the room with a flash of white light, and then the boom comes, and you stretch within the warm comfort of David’s bed. When you turn, he yawns.

“Rain woke me up too.” His voice is soft, sleep ridden. “How did you sleep?” He turns to look at his clock, and it draws your attention. Not yet six am.

“Slept like a rock. I think you fucked me into a coma.” He laughs at this, full throated, and the sound makes you feel warm. 

“Come-“ He opens his arms, and you shuffle into them quickly, sighing contentedly into the warmth of his chest. “I want to check in again. What did you like? Any room for improvement on my end?” His hand swept over your back, a soothing stroke from the back of your neck down to your ass and back again. 

“No notes, really, it was really good. I don’t think anyone’s ever made me cry with their dick before, in a good way.” You lift your head a little and snuggle into the crook of his neck. “You tease a lot, but I enjoyed it.” He chuckles.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. What about after? Anything I could have done better?” 

“Nope, I think I passed out, but good call on the water.” You press a kiss to his neck. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Well, I work for the government. I’m divorced, I have two beautiful daughters who I see every other week, and I have a friendly relationship with my ex wife. My parents are retired, and I have no siblings.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “What about you?”

You tell him about yourself, your work, your family, the important beats of your life, and he listens intently. Eventually though you just get a little antsy, your legs restless while you press yourself closer. 

“You need closeness now, hm?” He turns onto his side to face you, “Feeling a little needy?” It isn't asked unkindly. You nod into his shoulder. 

“I got you, honey. You did really good for me; made me feel amazing.” He pulls your face up towards his for a kiss, a soft, languid thing that makes you whimper into his mouth. “You’re so warm and soft,” another kiss. “And I don’t ever want you to leave this bed.” 

Your hands rub at his back, they pull him closer, needing to feel all of him, and he lets you, continuing to stroke any and all skin available to him. Content to hold you close in the rainy glow of early dawn until exhaustion pulls you down again into the warmth of sleep. 

------

Tag list: @foli-vora @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @ezrasbirdie @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @sherala007 @marydjarin @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @maxwell--lord @princessxkenobi @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi @dihra-vesa @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @mrs-ghuleh @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @quica-quica-quica @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @deadhumourist @felicisimor @sophiefatale2495 @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @localddreamers @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @maievdenoir @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @softsweetedbeauty @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @squidwell @allthatsleftbehind @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed @swtaura @send-me-to-valhalla @shirks-all-responsibilities @androah @alwaysachorusgirl @dindjarinsmut @captain-jebi @gallowsjoker @oliviajdjarin @actuallyanita @tusk89 @dadbodfanatic-x @naiomiwinchester @blazedprince @rosymythologies @avidreader73 @mr-underhills-things @avengersfan25 @tastygoldentaters @nyotamalfoy

#dave x reader #dave york #pedro pascal characters #equalizer 2 #david york #david york x reader #dave york x female reader #dave york x you #dave york x reader #pedro pascal #equalizer 2 fanfic

[iamasaddie]

I am so fucking overwhelmed by the love my recent Dave York fic 'WEBCAM FOR BEGINNERS' got, I can't even put it into words!

please accept this little gifset as a humble gift for my fellow Dave York girlies (gn), I love y'all, you are supreme <3

#pedro pascal #iamasaddie gif #dave york #equalizer 2

[proxima-writes]

ISN’T SHE A DOLL?

Pairing: Dave York x Female Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Word Count: 1978

Summary:

Dave York comes over to play.

Dear Reader:

This work is a contribution for the Haunted Hoedown! If you liked this fic, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging 💕 Support and MDNI banners by @saradika and dollhouse divider by me

Content Warnings:

explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), dubcon - stockholm syndrome, captive reader, dollhouse au, begging, breath play, dom/sub dynamics, cockwarming, mirror sex, oral sex (m & f receiving), cum play, vaginal fingering, pet names, praise.

Every morning with Dave is the same.

His alarm rings at 5 a.m., jolting you from a light sleep. He groans, a tan arm reaching for the alarm clock and smacking it until the shrill noise stops. You stare into the inky darkness of the room as he pulls you against his body, the hard length of his cock pressing between the cheeks of your ass.

“Morning,” he says, deep voice rough with sleep.

“Good morning,” you whisper back.

“Better go fix your hair up.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “You don’t want to make me late, do you?”

“Of course not,” you reply, slipping from his grasp and getting up from the bed, stepping lightly across the wood floor to the en-suite bathroom.

You go through your skincare routine, dutifully applying the serums and lotions in the order the bottles are lined up on the counter. You brush your teeth and fix your hair to Dave’s preferred style, scrutinizing yourself in the mirror before you join him again in the bedroom.

He’s sitting at your vanity now, watching you through the mirror as he fixes the cuffs of his dress shirt, his pants around his ankles and his boxers pulled down. You swallow nervously as you approach.

“Don’t have all day, doll,” he says, patting his thigh. His other hand grips his hard cock at the base, the flushed head already weeping as you stare at it.

You hook your fingers into the elastic of your sleep shorts, sliding the silk material down your legs until it pools at your feet. You steady your shaky hands on the vanity as you straddle him and he positions himself at your entrance and urges your body down his length, groaning as you envelope him in your heat.

“Fuck,” he grunts, his forehead pressed to your shoulder blade. The stretch of him is near painful and you bite your lip until you taste copper as you adjust to him. “You better get started.”

You reach for the makeup bag and take out each item you’ll need, lining them up in order of application. Dave presses kisses to your neck as you work, his lips focusing on your pulse point because he likes to feel the rapid beat of your heart when you’re at his mercy like this.

You’re coating your lashes with mascara when his hand wanders between your spread legs, calloused fingers finding your clit and drawing slow circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves. The mascara wand clatters to the vanity.

“Lean back,” Dave commands. You do as you’re told, your head resting against his shoulder. “Watch while I play with you, sweetheart.”

You meet his gaze in the mirror, his dark eyes drawing you in like a moth to a flame. Your hips chase his fingers, silently begging him for more and the unspoken desperation has him chuckling.

“Squeezing me so tight,” he says. “Always so pretty wrapped around my cock, aren’t you?”

You nod your head, knowing he wants an answer but not trusting your voice with the task. Heat gathers in your low belly, your muscles growing tense with the release he’s expertly pulling from your body.

“Come on,” he growls. A hand wraps around your throat, fingers digging into the sides hard enough to have you feeling light headed. “Come for me.”

Your pussy clenches around his cock, drawing a deep groan that you feel against your back. Your fingers curl tightly into his thigh as your orgasm washes over you and leaves you gasping for breath. When you start to come down from the high, he’s gently prying your fingers from his leg and tapping your hip in a signal to stand up.

You slowly lift yourself from his lap and drop to your knees, the cold floor biting into your skin. Dave stands, his glistening cock level with your face.

“Clean it up,” he demands. You lean forward and take him into your mouth, glancing up to watch his head drop back and the muscles in his neck tense as you suck hard and move your mouth quickly, just as he likes it.

It doesn’t take long before his cock pulses in your mouth, warm cum splashing against the back of your throat. He slips himself from your mouth and reaches down to tip your chin back.

“Open,” he says. You open your mouth to show him the cum gathered on your tongue and he smiles.

“Good girl. Swallow.”

And like always, you do as you’re told.

Dave pulls up his pants and leaves you to clean up your vanity. He returns with a blue dress in his hands that he gently lays on the bed, smoothing out a wrinkle with his hands. You step up to him and lift your arms, allowing him to pull your silk camisole over your head. He gathers the dress, pulling down the zipper and kneeling at your feet, holding it open.

You step into the fabric, your hands on his shoulders for balance, and he slides the dress up your bare body, his hands leaving goosebumps in their wake. He fixes the sleeves on your shoulders then turns you around, pulling the zipper slowly up your back.

“Perfect.”

You’ve just set the vegetables in the oven alongside the chicken that’s been roasting for an hour already when the front door alarm sounds and heavy footsteps echo through the front hall, approaching the kitchen. You wipe your hands clean just as Dave appears in the doorway.

The furrow between his brow eases when he sees you, his lips spreading in a grin that makes your pulse race. “What’s for dinner?” He asks.

“Roasted vegetables and chicken,” you reply dutifully, though he knows the answer. He picks the menu.

“Sounds good, doll,” he says. He pulls a chair away from the dining table, removing his suit jacket and draping it over the back of it. As he unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt and rolls the sleeves to his elbows, exposing toned forearms, he asks, “How long until the chicken is ready?”

“Thirty minutes.”

His eyes grow dark. “Excellent. Just enough time for an appetizer.”

You panic for a moment because an appetizer wasn’t on the menu, you don’t have anything prepared, but he smirks and crooks his fingers, beckoning you over, and you quickly realize he doesn’t mean food.

Your heels click on the tile floor as you approach the table and he pats the wood surface twice, indicating the place he wants you to take a seat. You lift yourself up, your legs swinging over the edge as you wait for instruction.

“Make room, sweetheart,” he says, sitting down on the chair and scooting it closer. You spread your legs for him and he gathers the skirt of your dress in his hands, hiking it up over your hips and exposing your bare pussy.

He drapes your legs over his broad shoulders, your nude stilettos against his back as he leans in and kisses the inside of your knee, his eyes locked on your face. His lips move higher, higher, until they land in the crease between your thigh and pussy.

“You smell good,” he comments, hot breath ghosting across your heated flesh. “You like that new perfume I got for you?”

“Of course,” you reply, voice uneven. He hums, licking through your folds and your head drops back at the sensation.

Dave knows your body well by now. He knows exactly how to swirl his tongue around your clit to make your thighs shake around his head and he knows that slipping two fingers into your soaked cunt, curling them with each drag from your body will finally have you unable to hold back the noises he’s desperate to pull from you.

“That’s it, baby,” he groans. “Let me hear you.”

You whimper, tears pricking the corners of your eyes at the sensation he’s building in you, your core hot and tight and your nerves on fire. He pulls your clit between his lips and hums, his fingers pressing pressing deep inside of you as you shatter with a cry of his name. He pulls back, a smile on his face that’s equal parts satisfied and sinister.

Dave stands, the chair screeching across the tile as his hands wrestle with his belt. He tugs the leather strap free, tossing it carelessly to the floor and undoing the fly of his pants enough to shove the fabric down his hips to expose his leaking cock.

“Say you want my cock, doll,” he demands, a fist wrapping around the base of his length. He slides himself through the wetness he’s created, coating his cock in your juices before he notches the thick head at your entrance. “Be a good girl.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat. “I want your cock.”

“I think you can do better than that,” he taunts. “Say it again.”

“I want your cock,” you repeat.

“Where’s your manners, doll?” He asks. “Say ‘please’.”

“Please.”

Dave drives his cock into you with so much force the table shifts and you cry out at the sudden fullness despite how thoroughly he’d prepared you. He’s immediately pounding into you, all the frustration he carries through the day being taken out on your body. Gone is any of the gentility he’d afforded you earlier that day — Dave is on a mission to use your body to his liking.

He grabs your shoulder and drags you up into a seated position, a hand around the back of your neck pulling your lips to his in a sloppy kiss, his teeth digging into your bottom lip so hard that you swear you taste copper with the next swipe of his tongue against yours. His kisses shift across your jaw and to your neck, his teeth latching over your pulse point and sinking in as you shout.

“Fuck,” he growls. “So goddamn tight for me.”

Your cunt clenches tightly as his words and he moans your name, your real name. Not doll or sweetheart or baby, and hearing it has you gasping, unable to breathe with weight bearing down on your chest.

“Dave,” you murmur, reaching up and tangling a shaky hand into his short hair. “Say it again. Please,” you beg.

He does. He repeats your name like a prayer and hearing him say it has you unraveling, physically and emotionally, tears spilling from your eyes as your orgasm washes over you. Dave’s thrusts grow sloppy until he’s slamming deep inside of you, warmth erupting in your core.

His forehead drops to your shoulder, his breathing labored. When he lifts his head, his palms come up to frame your face and he pulls you into a deep kiss. His thumbs wipe away the tracks left by your tears and he brings one to his lips so that he can lick the salty essence away.

The oven timer goes off and Dave steps back, fixing his pants as you hurry off the table to retrieve the chicken before it burns.

After dinner, when everything has been cleaned up and the kitchen is once again spotless, Dave’s phone rings.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says. “Yeah, my plane just landed, I’ll be home in about an hour.” A pause. “No, no, you don’t have to worry about dinner, I already ate. Are the girls in bed already?” Another pause. “Alright, I’ll see you soon. I love you.”

His smile drops as soon as the call disconnects and he reaches for your hand, pulling you against his chest.

“I have to go. Be a good girl while I’m gone,” he says, pressing a rough kiss to your lips. “I’ll know if you’re not.”

You nod and just like that, Dave York returns home.

And you remain in your perfect box until he’s ready to play with you again.

#dave york #dave york x reader #dave york x female reader #dave york x you #dave york x f!reader #equalizer 2 #haunted hoedown #cw dubcon

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

The Princess and the Duke Masterlist

Main Chapter List:

Chapter 1 - Homecoming [AO3]

Chapter 2 - More than meets the Eye [AO3]

Chapter 3 - Eye of the Storm [AO3]

Chapter 3.5 - My Kink is Karma [AO3]

Chapter 4 - Like real people do [AO3]

Chapter 5 - Ready to Fall [AO3]

Chapter 6 - Living in my head [AO3]

Chapter 7 - Tempest [AO3]

Chapter 8 - Moving On [AO3]

Chapter 9 - You Can't Always Get What You Want [AO3]

Chapter 10 - Pandemonium [AO3] {NEW}

Chapter 11 - TBC

Chapter 12 - TBC

Epilogue 1 - TBC

AO3 Link for full series.

One shot drabbles and smut:

Taboo - You catch Dave swimming and it gets you way too hot and bothered. [Read on AO3]

Daddy, Please - Dave finds out your dirty little secret, and you finally get what you want. [Read on AO3]

Dave York has a Breeding Kink - Does what it says on the tin folks [Read on AO3]

Seeking Comfort - When Dave comes home after a hard mission, you comfort each other the best way you know how. [Read on AO3]

Use Me - Pegging fic submission for PMAMC 2024 [Read on AO3]

Dream a Little Dream of Me Dave wakes you up with his sweet moans, you try to take care of your needs quietly, Dave catches you. [AO3]

No-longer canon but still nice to look at.

4th of July - Dave makes you feel like shit, but he more than makes it up to you. [Read on AO3]

Phone Sex - Things get hot and heavy over the phone, until you almost slip up and ruin it. [Read on AO3]

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #fanfic #smut #dave york pit #dave york #dave york fanfiction #equalizer 2 #dave york smut #dave york x female reader #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x ofc #dave york x oc #The Princess and The Duke #Princess Luna x Duke Silver #forbidden love #forbidden romance #forbidden fruit #tw stepcest #stepcest cw #stepdad #stepdaughter #soft!dave york #dom!dave york #soft dom!Dave York #longing #vi writes #my writing

[lionlena]

Headcanon: How do they cook for you? (Pedro Pascal characters) 🥕🧑‍🍳🍓

🍳 Joel Miller

Joel is not the best cook. Of course, he had to learn how to cook for Sarah, but he always kept things simple.

He is a supporter of one-pot meals. What he cooks for you is really delicious, but simple. There is no culinary madness about it. That's why Joel prefers it when you make dinner.

But it doesn't bother you anyway. Especially since Joel loves making breakfast for you. Whenever he can, he will get up earlier and make you a delicious breakfast: scrambled eggs, pancakes, waffles... Everything you like.

And if he finishes making breakfast and you're still asleep, he'll bring you breakfast in bed. He will kiss your forehead and whisper, "Get up, baby girl. I made you coffee and breakfast."

From time to time, Joel will also take you to your favorite little restaurant. This way neither of you has to cook and you can enjoy your time together.

🍽️ Oberyn Martell

Cooking is the last skill he needs, which is why he can't cook. As a prince, he never had to worry about this. Food was always served to him on silver trays. Even when he was a warrior, he didn't have to worry about it.

Of course, if he and you find yourself in a wild desert, he can easily hunt something and roast it over a fire. He would never let his Queen starve to death.

However, you can't count on Oberyn to stand in the kitchen and prepare something for you.

On the other hand, you don't have to do this either. Just tell the servants what you want and your dish will be brought to you after a few minutes.

Oberyn loves to surprise you and organize picnics for you. By the river, in an oasis in the desert, in the gardens... Once he even organized an evening picnic for you on the roof of the palace.

🌮 Javier Peña

Cooking isn't something he's great at. But he is a specialist in making drinks.

For most of his adult life, Javier learned to eat out or buy home-cooked meals.

However, it's not like Javier can't cook anything. There are a few special dishes that his mom taught him to make. And although Javier may feel insecure about his culinary skills at the beginning of your relationship, the longer you are together, the more willing he will be to prepare these dishes for you.

If you cook, you can always count on Javier to wash the dishes and clean the kitchen. After all, he doesn't want your beautiful nails to get damaged.

You just have to sit on the couch and enjoy the drink he prepares for you.

🥞 Jack Daniels

This may come as a surprise, but Jack is very good at cooking. All because he was a mama's boy when he was a kid. He loved helping his mom in the kitchen and cooking with her.

Now he loves cooking for you and you can't help but admire how Jack transforms in the kitchen.

It's so cute to see him without a stetson and jacket, with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and wearing an apron with the "Kiss the Cook" written on it.

Sometimes you just can't help yourself and hug him from behind and then steal a piece of carrot or sausage. You then hear his scolding voice: "Sugar, don't steal... Remember your manners."

But you know he's actually smiling and it doesn't bother him at all.

But what Jack does even better than dinner is... Cakes and desserts! You've never eaten such delicious muffins, desserts, croissants... Jack always watches with a wide smile as you eat these sweets, knowing full well that you will reward him later...

🍴 Dave York

Dave doesn't cook, he doesn't even try to learn. He thinks you're better suited for it because you're a woman.

Don't get me wrong, Dave is not some fucking misogynist. He will support you in your career and support your passion and women's rights. He doesn't think that women are only good for cooking and bearing children, but... Dave grew up in a traditional home with a traditional division of roles. And he just never felt like cooking.

You don't even know if he's bad at it because he's just never tried it.

But that doesn't mean he doesn't help you with other household chores. Dave doesn't mind cleaning. In fact, he's actually really good at it, because it's part of his job (cleaning up the crime scene). He can also do laundry or iron his shirts without any problems, but... He stays away from the kitchen.

But that doesn't mean you have to cook all the time. If you don't feel like it, no problem. Dave will make sure to take you out to a restaurant or order takeout at least three times a week. You are his princess and he will never let you think otherwise.

Besides, the kitchen is sometimes not meant for cooking (if you know what I mean.)

🍔 Frankie Morales

To say that Frankie is a disaster in the kitchen is an understatement. Frankie tries really hard, but he can burn anything... You never thought that somebody could burn scrambled eggs.

But he is a great helper in the kitchen. Nobody cuts vegetables as quickly and precisely as Frankie. To top it off, he never has a problem doing shopping for groceries. He doesn't even need a list. Just tell him what dish you want to make and he will know what to buy.

Frankie also knows all the best places to eat cheap and delicious food.

But surprisingly. Frankie is excellent at making barbecue. You don't understand how this is possible, but it is. And no one makes burgers as delicious as Frankie.

🍲 Din Djarin

Din hardly cooks. Most often, he makes broth and always adds too few spices. Sometimes he will also roast what he hunt over the fire, but he doesn't care what he eats.

Years spent as a bounty hunter and many planets visited had taught him to eat anything. Literally everything. Sometimes you think Din's stomach is made of beskar too.

Unfortunately for you, Grogu also has some strange food preferences (like father like son). You've seen him eat a frog more than once! But he, like you, thinks that soup with live 'octopus' is not normal!

That's why you forced Din to add a kitchen to your little house on Nevarro.

"Yes, Din, we need a kitchen!"

And you like cooking, especially for Grogu, who always accompanies you in the kitchen, because this little one is always hungry. But Din appreciates your cooking too, and you know it when he sneaks up behind you while you're cooking and gives you a sweet kiss on the cheek.

🥗 Marcus Pike

Marcus loves cooking for you! And he's great at it, he just needs to have time for it. He used to order takeaway food very often, but not because he didn't like cooking, because he didn't have time.

But since you became his wife, he slowed down, wanting to focus more on family life. Cooking is his form of love language.

Sometimes you even have to force him out of the kitchen and tell him that this time you will make dinner. But even then, Marcus will offer to help you with cleaning and washing the dishes.

Marcus loves experimenting in the kitchen. He doesn't always get everything right, but you always praise him because you love seeing his happy smile and his eyes shining with joy.

If you get pregnant, Marcus will fulfill your strangest kitchen whims.

🧇 Javi G

Javi (like Oberyn) never had to learn to cook, he always had cooks or could afford expensive catering. However, Javi is not against cooking, especially if it makes you happy.

Just tell him what kind of dishes you like. Italian? Mexican? Chinese? No problem. Javi will hire a top chef to give him a cooking lesso.

Then he will proudly cook you your favorite dish. He will watch with impatience and nervousness as you take your first bite. When you tell him that something is delicious, Javi will go crazy with joy.

Of course, he won't finish with just one dish. After all this is Javi! Your hyperactive, passionate husband. So you can count on lots of interesting dishes cooked with love.

But of course Javi will also take you to expensive restaurants. Sometimes he just wants to spend more time with you and hold your hand while you wait for someone else to cook for you.

For the first time, I am ready to cheat on my husband Oberyn with my husband Jack or with Marcus… Oberyn, don't look at me like that, if it weren't for the servants, we would eat fried scorpions every day…

Pernament tag list: @harriedandharassed

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal headcanon #oberyn martell headcanon #game of thrones #jack daniels headcanon #kingsman the golden circle #dave york headcanon #equalizer 2 #joel miller headcanon #the last of us hbo #din djarin #din djarin headcanons #the manadalorian #javier pena headcanon #narcos #frankie morales headcanon #triple frontier #marcus pike headcanon #the mentalist #javier gutierrez headcanon #the unbearable weight of massive talent #oberyn martell #jack daniels #joel miller #dave york #javier pena #frankie morales #marcus pike #javier gutierrez

[disassociation-daydreams]

Secret Admirer - Dave York x F!Reader

A/N: Not only is this my first time ever writing fanfiction, but also the first time I've written anything in general, not counting essays in college? But I've had this idea rolling around my head the past few days and felt the need to get it written down. Shoutout to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for being so supportive and an amazing human being overall! I definitely would not have typed this out or posted it if it wasn't for you <3

Sorry if this hurts you the way it hurt me! Idk why my brain did this.

Summary: Dave is meant to be watching a target, but instead he ends up paying more attention to you.

Pairing: Dave York x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ (mdni)

Word Count: 3,010

Tags and Warnings: allusion to murder, allusion to violence, possessiveness, stalking, obsession, age gap, pervy Dave, pining Dave, allusion to drug addiction at end, mention of alcohol, slight voyeurism, mention of hospital stay, mention of suicide (only to cover up for Dave being a murderer), angst (I think that's it? My first time ever doing warnings)

He was meant to be watching a new target; noting the time of day he’d get home (Wednesdays and Thursdays a few hours later than the other days of the week), his habits (smoking a joint and passing out on his couch before he even made it to his bed), and anything else the piece of shit did that was noteworthy. And to be fair, he was watching him… but he was also watching her.

Her, whose windows he could see right into as he watched from the dark apartment in the building adjacent to theirs. Her, who just happened to have the apartment in direct view of his vantage point. Her, who was one door down from his target. He was trying to be discreet when he chose an apartment diagonal from his current prey; he hadn’t meant for it to turn into a distraction.

He hadn’t meant to watch her as well; he had never been the type to voyeur, to invade an innocent person’s privacy for his own enjoyment (that was saved only for the guilty). But her curtains were always wide open, both her living room and bedroom lit up from lamps until she turned them out, a tv until she was tired of watching in one room, shutting it off and then the other illuminating the space in the next, or even her phone as she stared down at it in her bed. 

He hadn’t meant to watch, but he also couldn’t stop. 

From evening to the early hours of the morning, his attention was hers. Her apartment was cozy, filled with soft blankets, books littering multiple surfaces, mugs of coffee (or maybe tea?) all over the place, and a cat tower in each room sometimes occupied with a small, white cat that she fawned over when she arrived home between 6:15 and 6:25 PM every weekday. She had a seemingly normal schedule for a 25 year old (he knew her age from research he had done for strictly professional reasons). He would be gone by the time she woke up each day, but based on her clothing that she stripped out of as soon as she got home each night and the information he could find online, she seemed to have the typical 9-5 schedule that accompanied a boring office job. 

Her schedule seemed monotonous on those days: come home, greet her cat, shower and change into a large t-shirt and panties (his second favorite part of her routine), make dinner for her and said cat, then collapse into bed. Sometimes she would scroll through her phone or pick up a book for a few hours with the tv on the opposite wall brightening up the space slightly, until she fell asleep around 10:00 PM (this was his favorite part of her routine). For hours after that, when she (and the target) were both sound asleep, he could watch her without feeling so guilty for doing so. He could watch the way her body tossed and turned a few times for the first couple hours until she settled into her REM sleep. He could watch the slow and steady rise of her breasts, the peaceful look on her face with her full lips slightly parted, the way her arms never seemed to get comfortable while she slept, sometimes clutching a pillow to her chest or sometimes rising above her head as if her wrists were pinned in place (fuck, he wants to do that to her, encase her small wrists in one of his palms and hold her arms still while the rest of her body writhed and squirmed underneath him). He wishes he could watch her when she wakes up, see the way her soft and pliant body stretches, memorize her morning routine so he could imagine himself in more parts of her life. He can’t risk it though; can’t risk the morning light illuminating where he and his camera sit perched, can’t risk falling asleep in this spot as exhaustion from being up all night overcomes his body, can’t risk getting a glimpse into more parts of her life and falling more in love than he already has. 

So, he takes what he can get. He sits there and watches her (and him; yes, the target still exists) for a few weeks, her weekday routine monotonous, but her weekends not so much. She came home later on those days, usually a little past midnight, sometimes only a little earlier. She never brought anyone home with her, her makeup was always perfectly in-tact, and she never seemed the slightest bit tipsy, her footsteps steady but also lighter as if she had a song stuck in her head from earlier in the night that she was still dancing to. He had come to the conclusion that she was out with friends after the first two nights of this routine. Or at least he hoped for his sake and the other party’s. He had no right to feel possessive over her, to feel like he had a claim to her body and her heart, and he knew this rationally… but that didn’t stop him from wanting to break the wrist of any possible suitor that laid a hand on her waist, to punch any mouth that could have landed on her soft skin until the face beneath his fist would be unrecognizable. She wasn’t his, but that didn’t stop him.

Her routine was predictable for the most part, even on those weekend nights where the time she was coming home varied. It was predictable until it wasn’t. It was predictable until one Saturday night she didn’t make it home (big deal, she probably crashed at a friends, right?). It was predictable until she still wasn’t home Sunday night and he saw her cat pacing around in anxiety and probably hunger. It was predictable until he watched another girl her age enter the apartment Monday night, feed the cat and pet it, then pack some clothes and other items into a bag before leaving and locking up the apartment again. The routine became predictable again, but not with his girl. Instead, he watched this random girl stroll in at the same time for four days, feed the cat and spend time with it on her couch for an hour, and then leave, just to repeat the next day. 

It took less than two days of that routine for him to cave and figure out where she was; Boston Medical Center, been there since the Saturday she stopped coming home, discharge date undetermined and reason for her admittance not given. He could’ve dived deeper, threatened the life of her nurse or doctor for more information, hacked into the hospital’s medical records, and he was about to be at that point, until she returned home on Friday with the same random girl from the past four nights helping her inside. 

______________________________________________________________

Dave York was not a good man and never could be considered one. He stalked, tortured, murdered; some for money and others for pleasure. His dreams, not nightmares, were full of vengeance against the people he deemed guilty and felt he should bring justice to. In fact, he can’t remember the last time he had a nightmare, not sure there was anything left in this shithole of a world that could scare him… until this. He had lost count of the amount of people he had drained life from, but at this moment he had never wanted to kill anyone more even though had no idea who his victim was. He was sure that when he made it home in the morning that he would be fighting against sleep because every time he blinked, all he could see was this version of you behind his eyelids. You, his soft, angelic girl with the cute, white cat and the predictable routine. You, who was now limping through your house, a large black boot on your right foot, bruises scattered up your plush thighs, disappearing under your clothes until they reappeared around your neck in the shape of handprints. You, who usually had a soft smile gracing your lips, but whose face now winced in pain from the light your friend just turned on that beamed directly into your black-eye. 

Dave was sure he was looking into the camera still, but he couldn’t see you anymore. In fact, he couldn’t see anything at all, anything except the color red.

______________________________________________________________

You don’t remember when you first noticed it, the feeling that you were being watched. You don’t even know if you are, nothing ever confirming your suspicions, you just had this feeling. This feeling that there were almost always eyes burning holes into the side of your face, or the back of your neck depending on which way your body was turned. The feeling wasn’t always there, in fact you only felt it for a few hours a day, from the moment you came home until you fell asleep. By the morning, it was gone and you wouldn’t think anything of it, moving on with your usual routine. 

It should have scared you, should have creeped you out. You could’ve closed your curtains, could have told someone and tried to check it out, but you hadn’t. For one, you didn’t want people to think you were paranoid, and secondly, the gaze never seemed predatory. In fact, you often felt protected, endeared, even revered… which may sound crazier than the idea that someone was watching you if you ever told anyone that.

You had an idea of where the feeling was coming from, somewhere in the building next to yours, but you never searched the windows to figure out who, mostly because you weren’t entirely sure you’d want them to stop like they probably would if they were caught. So, you went on with your routine, always feeling their gaze at night and never paying it in any mind. You had almost completely forgotten about it at this point, after being away from home for so many nights in that god-forsaken hospital bed. It had been the furthest thing from your mind, the least of your concerns after what you had endured and the pain that was still wracking your body. But, you felt it again now, as you sat on the edge of your bed, trying not to cry anymore than you had been, not sure if the tears would even come anymore. You felt their gaze peering into the side of your head, watching you.

Had they noticed your absence? Did they wonder where you had gone, why someone else was in your apartment every night, why your body was now littered in bruises? Did they care? You didn’t even know if they existed, but that didn’t stop you. It didn’t stop you from walking over to the desk in your living room, pulling out a piece of paper and a sharpie, and scribbling onto it before limping over to the window to tape your message for whoever was watching to see, on the off chance that they did care, or even existed.

______________________________________________________________

“I’M OKAY”

That’s all that was written, in large, black letters, on a piece of white paper that he watched you tape to your window. He should have felt more worried than he was, about the fact that you knew he was there, even if you didn’t know who he was. He didn’t know how long you had felt him there or why you felt the need to reassure him right now, all he knew is that he felt more angry than before. Angry at shitty societal standards that made you feel like you needed to act okay in a moment like this. Angry at himself for not being there to protect you from whoever thought it was a good idea to lay a hand on what was his. Angry at this person that he was going to find and torture until all the bruises and breaks in their body matched the ones they had left on yours. He was going to let this anger consume him until he saw the light go out of their eyes, until he saw it return to yours.

______________________________________________________________

Your routine became monotonous again, after a few more days of resting at home. The bruises were starting to fade along with the pain, although the boot would remain around your broken ankle for another few weeks. You were back at work the Monday after coming home, not able to justify to your corporate shit-head bosses that you needed more time off. The days seemed to be dragging on for longer, exhaustion overwhelming your healing body to the point that you were collapsing into your bed within an hour of getting home each day. By Wednesday evening, after a longer than usual wait for the metro, you might as well have been dead to the world around you, people and buildings blurring together, the sounds of the city sounding like white noise in your ears, until you arrived outside your apartment door and your eyes focused in on the bouquet of peonies sitting on the ground. 

Putting your key in the lock and pushing the door open behind the vase of flowers, you quickly bent down to pick them up while making sure not to spill anything out of your work bag in the process. After setting everything else on the floor by your couch, you placed the vase of your favorite flowers on the coffee table in front of it, the setting sun outside your window casting the room in a soft-orange glow, partially impeded by the “I’M OKAY” sign still taped to the window.

Taking a few more moments to get comfortable, your booted foot lifted up to rest next to the vase and Toast, your furry companion, begging for attention in your lap, you reached over to pluck the small card from in between some of the flowers.

Inside, in slightly messy and what could only be described as a man’s handwriting, a short message was written:

“Glad you’re okay, the other person isn't. They’ve been handled.”

It should have scared you for multiple reasons. One, the fact that someone is watching you was now confirmed, and two, they’ve alluded to doing another person harm.

It should have scared you, but it didn’t. You’ve never felt more safe.

______________________________________________________________

Dave watches you as you walk in with the flowers, as you pull out his card and read the short and possibly terrifying message he left inside. He watches as the first genuine smile he’s seen on your face since you disappeared on him graces your lips and gets his heart beating rapidly in his chest. You were smiling because of him, you weren’t scared of what he had written and what he alluded to doing. He had brought a smile to your face and he would be damned if he ever let it fall again.

Only a few minutes after watching you read his message, his eyes followed you as you took down your previous sign from the living window and replace it with a new one.

“THANK YOU 🖤” ______________________________________________________________

One week after that, the job Dave was originally watching for had been handled. He couldn’t justify it anymore, already taking weeks longer than he usually would just so he could prolong watching you every night, and hemorrhaging money on the weekly rent he was paying to use this apartment for his stake-out. On the last night of the job, he watched you with an alertness like never before, keeping his blinking to a minimum so he could commit each and every single part of your life and your being to memory. He stayed past the sunrise the next morning so he could finally witness your morning routine that he had fantasized about, giving himself one more piece of your life that he could imagine himself fitting into, in another life.

______________________________________________________________

You stopped feeling like someone was watching you. It happened suddenly, one night it was there and the next it wasn’t. It wasn’t there the night after either, or the one after that. Your mind couldn’t decide between being more worried that something had happened to them or that you would never get to feel their gaze upon you again. 

Paramedics had been in your building the night after the feeling had disappeared, entering the apartment next to yours and leaving with someone in a body bag. You weren't sure if the two were connected, but wouldn't be surprised if they were, even if your building super informed everyone that your neighbor's death had been ruled a suicide.

After a week without your secret admirer, you closed the curtains. ______________________________________________________________

He did his best to stay away, to not give into the temptation that was the sight of you. It was like trying to break an addiction, one that he didn’t want to get rid of but needed to. He could only imagine the havoc you would wreak on his being if he ever had the balls to approach you in person; you would utterly destroy him, ruin his heart and soul for anybody else. After a week of withdrawals that made him even more snappy and impatient at work, and cravings for your smile and light that were starting to blur in his memory, he gave in. 

He gave the building super an excuse that he had left something in the apartment and would be out in a few minutes. After grabbing the key and sprinting up the stairs to the seventh floor, he slowed down his pace, trying to get his bearings and calm his racing heart rate before it exploded out of his chest. 

Finally, he turned the key in the lock, pushed the door open, and strolled up to the window adjacent to yours. But, instead of the usual sight that greeted him, his pretty girl going about her life, he saw nothing.

You had closed the curtains.

#Dave York #Pedro Pascal #dave york x you #dave york x reader #dave york fanfiction #dave york x female reader #equalizer 2

[suzdin]

Two for One: Series Masterlist

( Dave York x Max Phillips x f!reader )

✧˖°. Summary: You leave your unsatisfactory life in Texas to move to Boston to be with your boyfriend. He dumps you soon after, leaving you stranded and alone. That is until you meet Dave York and Max Phillips.

✧˖°. Warnings: Everything. Minors DNI. Non-vamp Max and non-EQ2 Dave. Max is a cocky asshole and Dave is a broody creep (we love him for that). Explicit smut. Mentions of drug use/abuse. Familial drama and angst. Reader is kinda an alcoholic and smokes. Each chapter will have their own specific warnings.

✧˖°. Notes: This whole idea came about because I’m always seeing Dave pairings with softer characters (understandable). I wanted to see it play out with two dom personalities. I’m glad everyone is enjoying it so far 🥹

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Thank you to everyone who’s been on this freaky journey with me. I love you. 🥹💜✨

#pedro pascal #writing #romance #smut #author #fanfic #pedro fanfic #max phillips #dave york #bloodsucking bastards #equalizer 2

[wannab-urs]

Ouroboros

Pairing: Dave York x F!Reader

Summary: You and Dave are two people with nothing left in the world but each other. You find each other starving, desperate, violent. WC: ~1200

Content/Warnings: Love as consumption, but it’s not quite love; oral f!receiving, unprotected PIV (do better!), blood, biting, really violent metaphors and similes, scratching, pinning, choking, marking, idk rough sex in general, everyone involved is emotionally unavailable and sad.

A/N: This is inspired by a blurb I wrote on violent expressions of love/love as consumption. I haven't written anything quite like this before so I guess lmk if you'd like a part two! Thanks to @atinylittlepain, @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin, @gasolinerainbowpuddles, @amanitacowboy, @beskarandblasters, and @theywhowriteandknowthings for listening to me yell about it for two days and helping me along <3

Dave York Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

I want to tell you a story / of snakes eating / their own tails, Swallowing themselves whole. I hope / you can guess that this story Is about love / and what people will do / to get a taste of it --@twinnedpeaks

Dave has lost everything. You can tell just by looking at him. There’s a desolation in his eyes like none you’ve ever seen before save looking in the mirror. You are so empty. There is something you both lack and the absence of it has left you starving. Something not quite right with you. Born without it maybe, or maybe it was taken by force. 

You’re both so empty that when you’re together it’s like you take turns trying to fill yourselves up with each other, but you’re only ever left hungrier than you were before. Desperate for the taste of each other. You bleed when he touches you, pour it into his mouth and down his throat, but it never makes him less ravenous. 

You let him dig teeth and claws into your chest, tear into the cavern where your heart should be. Someone said if you get hungry enough you’ll eat your own heart, and maybe that’s why there’s not enough of you for him to get his fill. 

He says you belong here, never with him, but here, in the wasteland of his arms. He says you tear the flesh from his bones. He asks how he could love you when he has no love to give even as he buries himself inside you, settles under your skin. 

You’re both too afraid to hang on to each other, though you leave claw marks in the letting go. Part of you wants to love him, but in loving him you would undoubtedly lose yourself. 

You yearn for a love that doesn’t exist. Where claws sinking into flesh, sharp and scathing, ripping organs from your body, tearing you apart at the seams so you can be remade into something new doesn’t result in the utter destruction of self. A love that’s all consuming and desperate and violent but that still feels like a home you can settle into. 

And the yearning is another type of hunger. Just another thing you lack. All the things you lack enough to form a hill you will probably die on someday. How can the absence of something be such a heavy weight to carry? You want to settle some of it on his broad shoulders, but you don’t know how to give away what you don’t have. You give him yourself instead. 

He wraps your thighs around his head and settles in to feast on you, tongue delving deep inside and curved nose grinding into your clit. He eats you as if he’s trying to find a way in. You gouge his shoulders, raking up his neck and into his hair. You revel in his flesh caught under your nails, something of him you can take with you. He groans and it vibrates your bones. 

You pull him closer, something like pleasure coursing through your veins, you think. It’s been so long since something felt good you aren’t sure this is what it feels like. But it feels like something and you crave something. The something settles low in your belly, coils like a snake, and strikes. Dave drinks you down, consuming everything you give him, and when he peers up at you from between your legs his eyes are still full of a dark hunger. 

He drags his mouth up your body as though he can’t bear the thought of your taste leaving his mouth. Sinks teeth into the flesh of your shoulder and you swear you hear them clack through your skin. You yank his head away from you by the hair he has let curl at the nape of his neck, and he snarls, his mouth tinged red with you. 

You surge up into him, crash your mouths together hard enough to split lips and you swallow, taking blood and spit and slick on your tongue and he sucks it back onto his. He settles fully between your legs, not breaking his mouth away from yours as he pushes your thighs into your chest. You let him fold you in half, his hands settling into the mattress and keeping you spread wide for him.

He buries his face in your neck, bites down, and snaps his hips into you, both of you grunting at the force. He splits you open at your core, soothes that hollow ache of emptiness, filling you to the brim. All you think or feel or see is Dave. The planes of his back shifting and sheened with sweat as he ruts into you, the shining red streaks on his shoulders a beautiful contrast to golden skin. You dig the nails of your left hand into his asscheek, pulling him into you even harder. Settle your right hand in a fist in his hair and twist and he growls in your ear. 

He sits back on his heels, grabs your hands and pins them to the bed. The bones in your wrists shift pleasantly painfully (what’s the difference?) as he settles his weight forward. You wrap your legs around his torso and pull him back to you, emptiness for even a moment too much to bear. You latch your teeth into the muscle of Dave’s forearm and he lets go of your wrist only to wrap your throat in his long fingers and squeeze. 

There’s something so intimate about your life being held in the palm of someone’s hand. There’s something so violent about him, burrowed deep, always lingering beneath the surface. There’s something so reassuring knowing he is entirely capable of snuffing your life out right here, but he won’t. Not because you are some precious thing, but because he needs you as badly as you need him. 

You are near silent, coming with a desperate gasp for air you aren’t able to pull in and he follows you. He too is a vessel with a crack somewhere near the middle, unable to hold anything inside for long, and he is pouring himself into you, hoping you will hold what he gives you. You shudder around him, grasping at his fingers around your throat not to pull him away, but to push him in harder. 

He tears his hand away first, then the rest of himself, landing on the mattress next to you and no longer touching you. The after always sending him reeling from you as though your skin burns him. Maybe it does. You head to the bathroom to clean yourself up while he berates himself for coming back here. 

In the mirror you’re a vision of blooming purple and searing red. Throat, shoulder, wrists, thighs, cunt, all marked and aching. You’ll feel him for the days it will take him to fall back into your bed and just as he fades from your skin he will knock on your door. 

When you return to the bed, Dave is on his back, hands folded on his chest like a corpse at his visitation service. You lie beside him, upper arms pressed together as you mirror his pose. 

“Are you staying?”

He makes a noncommittal noise, a yes and a no, but grabs your arm and pulls you into him anyway. You wrap around him, an arm and a leg thrown across his body. You press your lips to a mark on his chest you don’t remember making. He traces patterns on your naked back and sighs. 

“I want to, I think.”

---------

Thanks for reading!! I have a general idea for a part two if it would interest anyone :) And sorry to the people I was supposed to write requests for... this wouldn't get out of my head.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro fics #pedro pascal character fanfiction #Dave York #Dave York fics #Dave York fanfiction #Dave York x reader #Dave York x f!reader #Dave York x you #Equalizer 2 #Equalizer 2 fanfiction #PPCU #PPCU fanfiction #pedrostories