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katiexpunk · 29 days

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Caller Number Nine | Pairing Javier Peña x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're a radio host of a popular late-night segment on relationships, advice and more. After a particularly bad night of calls, your final call of the night takes you by surprise.

Warnings: Javier is a flirt. Alcohol/marijuana. Humor/Banter. Flirting. References to infidelity and a man's negative view on his wife's postpartum body (the reader puts them both in their place). Both reader and Javier are lonely. New York. Slightly dom Javier. Biting. Javier gives reader a hickey. Murphy the Cat (this cat is DEA). Bodegas and a wholesome shop owner named Carlos. Some Spanish. TUWOMT call back to Paddington 2 but in a Javier AU. Javier calls the reader a slut once (she likes it). Praise kink. Thigh riding. Use of pet names. Just a hot fuck. Creampie. Unprotected sex. Fingering. Pizza on ranch. Dave Portnoy gets mentioned (iykyk). No use of Y/N, no use of daddy. For immersability, the reader has no major physical descriptions.

W/C: ~6K

A/N: Let's just say this story was inspired by the slutty mustache that has made a triumphant return. I’m also just really into pizza with ranch right now, too, idk. If you need me I’ll be internally freaking out about the fact that there are almost 1,400 of you interested in my silly little stories. Thank you. 🥹🖤

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People suck at listening. You used to, too. But over time, call after call, you have become intimately acquainted with the quiet moments—the pauses between heartbeats, the breaths taken before confessions spill forth, the silence that stretches like a canvas waiting for emotions to color it.

These moments, often overlooked in the noise of daily life, are where you find the truth that guides you through the tangled web of love and relationships you navigate every night on your show.

For you, the quiet is not emptiness but a space brimming with potential. It's in these pauses that you listen most intently, not just to the spoken words but to the ones that tremble on the edge of silence, too shy or too scared to make themselves heard. You have learned that what is not said can be just as important as what is, and you can hear those unspoken fears, dreams, and desires.

Each night, as the clock winds down and the world outside your studio window holds its breath, you lean into the quiet, inviting it into your show. You encourage your callers to do the same—to listen to the quiet within themselves, to the truths they've buried under layers of fear, doubt, or societal expectation. "In the silence," you often say, "you'll find the answers you've been too busy to hear."

Most of the time the callers are open to your feedback, their hearts open and kind.

Most of the time.

Tonight isn’t one of those times.

++++

“Have you ever had Brussels sprouts made for you at midnight by a gorgeous woman in no pants following multiple orgasms? I have, and they’re fucking delicious,” one caller said. It was obvious after minutes of talking to him that he was failing to heed your advice that if he didn’t stop sleeping with women who weren’t his wife, she would likely find out one day and leave him. God, you hope she does.

“I love her, you know? I just don’t find myself that physically attracted to her after she had the baby, it’s not my fault…” another said. Ugh, fuck off, dude. You were quick to shut that one down, to tell him that he was being a boy, to go to the store and buy his wife some goddamn flowers and apologize for being such an asshole.

Like a broken record stuck on repeat, this is how the night continues. One bad call after another, each seeming to echo or outdo the last in its what the fuck factor.

In the dimly lit recording studio, a soft hum of equipment fills the air, punctuated only by the occasional flicker of LED lights on the soundboard. You think briefly about letting out a scream before your last call, surely the foam walls would absorb the sound.

The glow of the computer screen casts a soft light on your face, accentuating the furrow of your brow and the downturn of your lips. You're a picture of frustration, a stark contrast to the empathetic persona that your listeners know and rely on. Each bad call tonight has chipped away at you. You drop your head into your hands and rub your temples for a brief moment before looking up at the clock, its hands inching their way to your liberation.

Just one more call.

The phone lines blink red. Your hand, a little steadier than you feel, reaches out and cues up the next caller, your voice finding strength as it always does when you speak into the void.

“Hi there, caller number nine. You’re on the air with Midnight Confessions. What’s on your heart tonight?”

“Ah shit – oh, uh probably shouldn’t say that on air huh – mm, wasn’t expecting to get through,” the man admits, his tone telling you he’s nervous, and probably a little drunk.

“Guess it’s your lucky night then. And it’s a late-night show, you can curse all you want to. What’s your name?” you ask, trying to ease him into the conversation.

There’s a pause, the kind that tells you the caller is weighing his options on whether he should give you his real name or not. Finally, he exhales softly, his mouth close to the receiver, enough for the exhale to cut through the static.

“I’m Javier. And you are?”

“You can call me the voice of the night,” you reply, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, the first genuine one in hours.

“Didn’t realize I called the crime fighters hotline.”

The joke catches you by surprise and you let out a little laugh.

“Can’t say I’ve gotten that one before,” you respond before eventually giving him your real name. “So tell me, Javier, what would you like to talk about tonight?”

There’s another pause, longer this time, before Javier’s voice returns softer, and you can tell the tone is about to shift.

“This is stupid, I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry for wasting your time tonight ma’am,” he says, and you can tell he’s seconds away from hanging up.

“Javier, wait –” you say, but he doesn’t respond. The line hasn’t disconnected, so you know he’s still there.

“Listen, I don’t know you – and you don’t have to tell me anything – but I can tell from the tone of your voice that it sounds like you’re carrying quite a bit on your shoulders. It’s brave of you to want to open up about it. Sometimes, talking to a stranger is easier than talking to someone you know,” you say, letting the dead air hang heavy for a second, “let me try to help.” You try not to make a habit out of convincing callers to spill their guts, but something about this call, this man, compels you to.

Javier sighs a sound that carries a world of worry. “I don’t even know where to start. My whole life, I’ve defined myself by my job, and without that, I –” his voice starts to crack, and he stops. You hear the clank of an ice cube against glass, and he continues again, “I realize how alone I am, how I don’t have anyone or anything. I feel like the only company I have these days are the ghosts of a past life.”

You don’t have the full context of his confession, but it hits you deeper than expected, echoing a sentiment that's all too familiar. You think about how most of the time, when you’re not working, you’re either turning to dust on the couch or in the company of fictional men you read about in books.

"Javier," you start, your voice softer, threading through the silence with care, "I understand more than you might think. You're not alone. It might feel that way right now, but I promise you’re not,” you say sweetly.

When he doesn’t say anything, you continue, “Losing a part of our identity, especially one that's been a cornerstone of who we are, is like losing our direction. But it's also an opportunity, a chance to rediscover yourself, to find new aspects of your life that give you meaning and joy."

You pause, giving Javier space, letting your words hopefully seep in to provide some comfort.

“What does that mean – that you understand more than I might think?” he asks, not acknowledging the rest of your statement, a curiosity in his voice.

“It means –” you start. Oh god, here we go. You’re not often like this with your callers, but this feels different. The studio, with its blinking lights and the gentle hum of the machinery, suddenly feels more intimate, as if it's just you and Javier at this moment, connecting through the airwaves.

“When I was little, my mother always knew my things, quirks, you know? Things like the fact that I’m scared of heights, that I get cranky if I don’t eat breakfast, and that I only like ranch dressing on pizza and never salad. It’s all trivial, small little details, but from this, I think I learned that being known is to be loved.

You take a deep breath, and let the silence swallow you whole for a moment before continuing.

“When I say I understand more than you might think, I mean that I’m still one of those people who’s waiting for someone to tell me how much I mean to them, still hoping for someone who will know those things about me, too,” you pause.

“Someone who will hold my hand tightly when I’m on a rooftop so I don’t somehow tumble over the edge, someone who will make sure I eat breakfast, even if it’s just a shitty granola bar, someone who will buy the fancy ranch, even if it only gets used on greasy pizza.”

You hear Javier chuckle through the line.

“Something funny?” you ask, a little confused, slightly embarrassed that this call has somehow reversed the roles and you’re the one spilling your confessions over like a broken yolk into his hand.

“No, no – it’s just ranch on pizza, that’s uh, that’s…disgusting,” he admits, a playful tone to his words, the sadness before seems to be gone, but you know his humor is likely just a mask.

“Excuse me, I’ll have you know ranch on pizza is a classic, and quite delicious. Thousands – no millions – of people like ranch on their pizza, it’s not that weird,” you quip.

“Right,” he rasps, “I’ll take your word for it, sweetheart.” You bite your lower lip and try to ignore the heat that’s risen to your cheeks, the little thrill you feel in your stomach from your banter. You’re quickly brought back to reality when you look at the clock and realize your call time is nearing an end.

“Well, Javier, you're my last call of the night and I’m afraid it’s time to wrap the show up. Is there anything else I can help you with before I let you go?”

“No,” he says, his voice a low rasp, thick like honey, “thanks for saying all of that.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you say, the smile still on your lips like sugar from cotton candy. You slump back into your chair and the line disconnects.

++++

As the clock ticks past one, the studio lights fall to darkness, leaving only a solitary desk lamp to cast long shadows across the room. You loop the familiar weight of your backpack over your shoulder and put on your headphones.

You lock the studio door, and step into the brisk night air — it’s March, technically Spring, but the remnants of Winter are still holding tight. The city's pulse is tangible, even at this late hour, as you navigate your way to the subway. With only the Eagles in your ear to keep you company, you watch as the Graffiti-streaked walls blur past.

Once off the subway, you think about heading straight home to promptly melt into your mattress, but the rumble in your stomach reminds you that you haven’t eaten since lunch.

Might as well go see Murphy. He’s always happy to see you.

You round around the corner and the bodega lights come into view. The ground beneath you is damp and you’re careful not to step into any puddles as you make your way to the shop. You push open the shop door and the familiar chime of a bell alerts Murphy to your presence.

“Hi Murphy,” you coo, crouching closer to the ground so he can rub up against you. “How’s my favorite boy?” You say, scratching his favorite spot under his chin, feeling the comfort of his soft fur and rhythmic purr. If Murphy had it his way, you’d live at the Bodega, ceasing only to exist to give him love.

Your stomach growls again and you rise, “Gonna get some dinner now, okay Murph?” You walk through the tight aisles, grab a can of tuna as you pass by the canned goods, making your way to the frozen section in the back.

Chicken nuggets it is, you silently tell yourself before grabbing the frozen bag and making your way to the register.

"Hola, Carlos. ¿Cómo va tu noche?" (Hi, Carlos. How’s your night going?)

"Oh, hola.” As much as you’d love to practice your Spanish with Carlos, he needs to practice his English more and you’re more than happy to oblige.

"Good to see you. Listened to your show tonight, what a piece of work some of those people were,” he responds, using his index finger to punch numbers on the cash register.

"Tell me about it. How much do I owe you?"

"$7.50. Murphy says thank you for the donation,” he smiles, holding up the canned Tuna, and like clockwork, Murphy jumps up on the counter and starts assaulting the can with his cheek.

“Like he gave me any choice,” you respond, handing over $10. Carlos gives you your change and you give Murphy a few final loving pats on the head.

“¡Hasta mañana!"

"Buenas noches."

Back in the quiet of your apartment, the microwave fights you, its door refusing to stay closed until you jam it shut with a wooden spoon. With dinner finally spinning inside, you sink onto the couch, the night’s weight lifting off your shoulders. You feel yourself nodding off before the sound of the microwave beeping and the rumble of your stomach wake you up.

Dinner done, you smoke a joint, the smoke curling lazily in the lamplight. Your mind goes fuzzy and you stare up at the ceiling, trying to make shapes out of the popcorn on the ceiling. Your mind drifts to the thought of your last caller and you let your mind wander as you imagine what he might be up to tonight. Is he asleep? Or is he staring up at his ceiling, lost in thoughts as you are?

The only thing you know for certain is that you’re both alone tonight. At least there’s some comfort in knowing you’re not the only one.

The city outside continues its restless murmuring, but your mind goes silent as you fall asleep.

++++

You're grateful to have the next night off. Not like you have plans, but at least you don’t have to show face or wash your hair. Even if you did have to go out in public tonight, it wouldn’t matter — that’s the beauty of New York. You could look like a gutter rat and nobody would give a shit. But still, the freedom of an evening without obligations feels like a luxury, a small pocket of time where the demands of the world fade into the background.

Staring at your nearly empty fridge, its emptiness staring back at you, you sigh. Fuck. And then it hits you, unexpected but undeniable, a craving for pizza. Not just any pizza, but a pie from your favorite local spot, where the crust is always perfectly crisp and the cheese melts in a way that feels like a hug for your taste buds.

Stepping out into the evening rain, you make your way to the pizzeria that’s only a block away. The moment you open the door, a warm wave of garlic, tomato, and baked dough envelops you. The line isn’t long, but it gives you enough time to deliberate over your order, though deep down, you know you’ll end up choosing your usual — a Margherita.

You peek up from your phone and notice the man in front of you at the order counter. Broad shoulders strain against the fabric of his shirt, his tight jeans outlining a figure that speaks of strength. Dark hair and tan skin contrast strikingly under the fluorescent lighting. He orders confidently, his voice smooth, almost familiar. As he’s about to cash out, he adds “Can I get a side of ranch too, please?”

“No problem,” the cashier says, a little too happy to oblige his request. She’s flirting, you don’t know her, but you can tell. When the cashier asks for a name for the order, it confirms what you think you already know.

"Javier." The name hangs in the air, a familiar sound that sends a jolt through you.

It couldn’t possibly be.

The words escape your lips before you have a chance to second-guess it.

“I thought ranch on pizza was disgusting.”

He turns to face you and oh. You might have guessed that he was attractive from his voice, but seeing him is something else entirely. He’s strikingly handsome, with a dark mustache trimmed perfectly above his lip, his jaw stark and chiseled. The corners of his lips turn up in a smirk.

“Shit. Caught red-handed by the crime stopper herself,” he says with a wink.

Okay, so he’s handsome and charming. You’re so fucked.

As Javier steps aside, your gaze lingers for a moment longer before you place your own order. You feel his eyes boring into the back of your head as you do.

“No plans tonight?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“Not really, just this. Might swing by to see my boyfriend on my way home,” you say, noticing the way his expression shifts into disappointment, it’s subtle, but it’s there.

“Oh,” Javier says. He thinks for a second that maybe you were lying last night about understanding what it’s like to be alone.

“Yeah, we’ve got a hot date with a can of tuna,” you respond, smiling as you watch his very visibly confused face, the furrow of his brow. You can tell he’s not quite sure how to respond, the words a tangled knot in his brain, or perhaps conjuring up some weird kinky thoughts about what a date with a can of tuna could entail. He’s not sure he wants to know.

“I’m just messing with you,” you laugh. “He’s a bodega cat up the street, I usually swing by every night after work and I’ve developed a soft spot for the little guy. His name’s Murphy.”

“Wait, Murphy? From Carlos’ shop?” Javier asks, and you’re a little surprised.

“You know Carlos?”

“Yeah, yeah — he’s friends with my father. Great guy,” he adds, nodding to the pizzeria worker who hands him his order. You notice the blush on her cheeks when he says thank you.

You watch intently as the other worker packs up yours, placing two to-go containers of ranch on your box.

You grab your pizza and use your free hand to grab one of the containers of ranch and extend it to Javier. “For you,” you smile as you hold it out to him.

“Eat with me?” He asks, grabbing the ranch from your hand, your skin briefly touching.

How could you say no?

You smile and nod, and follow him through the restaurant. He holds the door open for you and places his hand on your lower back as he guides you out. You feel like a schoolgirl with a crush. He’s just being a gentleman, but something about the touch causes something in your core to run hot, a hint of arousal in its warmth.

In typical New York fashion, you find a relatively clean stoop to sit on. With the pizza boxes open on the step in front of you, the steam wafting in the cool night air, you smile at Javier.

“Are you ready to have your world rocked?” You ask, holding the pizza up long enough for the strings of cheese to disconnect from the box. He does the same.

“After you, Cariño.”

Cariño. So he’s a flirt, too.

You dip your slice into the ranch, a perfect amount clinging to the tip, before you bring it to your lips. The anticipation builds with the scent of garlic and herbs wafting up.

You barely pause to savor the moment before you declare, “Some people say the first bite of pizza is the best, but I disagree.” You dunk it back into the ranch and take another, this time bigger than the first, “The second bite is really where it’s at.” Since when did you become Dave Portnoy?

Javier watches with amusement as you delight over your dinner. “Go on now, after you,” you nod, continuing to work on your pizza like a starving dog. You watch as he delicately dunks his pizza into the ranch, and like a baby bird, takes a small bite. You study his expression, a mix of curiosity and amusement, as he carefully chews. His face gives nothing away, a poker face if you ever saw one, until he finally delivers his verdict, “Can’t say it’s my favorite.”

“What?” you gasp, half in disbelief, half in jest. You playfully nudge him, your hand reaching out to liberate the neglected ranch from his box. “Let me save this from your indifference,” you tease, claiming the ranch for your own. The banter feels easy, much like it did when he called in the other night.

“So tell me, Javier,” he stops you “You can call me Javi,” he says.

“Javi,” you smile, picking at a tomato on your second slice. “What made you want to call in the other night?”

He looks at you as you bring the tomato to your mouth, and lets his gaze linger on your lips. You notice.

“That’s a good question. Um,” he says, taking another bite before continuing, his elbows on his thighs, staring out into the street. “Truthfully, I was a little drunk, and a lot alone. I think I just wanted someone to talk to.”

“I get that,” you acknowledge.

“What? You probably talk to dozens of people every day,” he responds, turning to face you this time.

"False. I listen to dozens of people every day, but I don’t really get to talk. At least, not about things that matter, not truly." He gives you a long look, then nods, understanding etched into his features. He doesn’t pry further.

A comfortable silence settles between you as you both work on finishing your pizzas.

"What about you?" you finally break the silence.

"What about me?" he echoes, a hint of curiosity in his tone.

"I spilled my plans for the night, my glamorous date with Murphy. What's on your agenda?" you ask, leaning forward slightly. His tight bicep muscles press up against your arm.

"This," he gestures broadly to the city around you, wrapped in the open night. Then, with a sheepish grin, he adds, "Well, actually, I was planning to go home and watch Paddington 2."

You laugh hard enough to let out a little snort. He looks at you with affectionate eyes, like you’re the cutest thing he’s seen in a while.

“Paddington 2? Like, the bear movie?” you manage between chuckles.

“Yep. I cried through the entire thing the first time I saw it. It made me want to be a better man.”

“I see, well I’ll have to take your word for it, I’ve never seen it.”

"Do you want to come over and watch it?" he proposes, the question hanging in the air. It’s a bold move, especially since you've only just met, but there’s an earnestness in his invitation that makes you pause, considering.

"Only if we can swing by and say hi to Murphy on the way," you quip, bumping your shoulder against his lightly.

“Deal,” he says with a wink.

++++

As the saying goes, you make plans and god laughs.

It's almost as if you could have, perhaps even should have, anticipated this turn of events.

Paddington 2 might as well have been code for want to come over and fuck?

The energy crackling between you two is undeniable, magnetic. His blend of wit, handsomeness, and confident charm weaves an irresistible allure, drawing you in closer with every word, every glance.

It's one of those rare, electric connections that you read about or see in movies, but seldom experience in real life. Yet here it is, unfolding in real-time, a reminder that sometimes the most memorable moments are those you never see coming. You rarely see yourself as the main character, but tonight you feel like one.

In the narrow stairwell, his hips press firmly against yours, your back against the cold wall, arms pinned above your head. His lips find yours with an intensity that leaves no room for hesitation, a crash of desire against desire. You surrender to the moment, tilting your pelvis into his, a plea for more.

The world around you is a blur; it's just the two of you, enveloped in a haze of passion. His hands, desperate and eager, fumble for his keys—a brief interruption in your heated exchange as he struggles to unlock the door without breaking the heat of your gaze, the connection of your lips only momentarily severed. The anticipation builds with each fumbled attempt, heightening the intensity as you eventually enter his apartment and he has you pressed up against the door.

His lips trail from yours down the razor edge of your jaw, the hallow of your throat, over your collarbones, and down the valley of your still-clothed chest. “Javi,” you moan, and he responds with a groan into your chest. He looks up at you through his gorgeous lashes, “Can I take this off, Cariño?”

“Yes, yeah — shit, yes, please.”

He makes quick work of your shirt and assists it over your head, before returning his lips to your soft skin and working to undo your bra at the same time. “God damn” he mumbles under his breath, and you can’t help but feel the warmth rush to your chest and cheeks, “so pretty.”

You can’t even remember the last time you were touched like this, nonetheless kissed. Your skin erupts in goosebumps as he makes his tongue trail over one of your nipples, the other being teased slightly between his fingers. The sensation causes you to tilt your head back in ecstasy and you let out a soft moan. “Oh, yeah? You like it when I do that, baby?” You nod your head in response. “Use your words.”

“Yes, oh god — feels so good.”

“That’s better.”

You bring both of your hands to the waistband of his denim and pull him in closer to you, close enough to feel his hard cock, desperate to be touched. He brings his hands to grip your hair, baring your throat to him. He forces your legs apart with his knee, shoving it against your core. You begin to slowly grind on the denim.

“Want more?”

“Fuck, yes — ” you whimper with another grind against him. He kisses you again, one hand tightly gripping your hip and the other wrapped in your hair. You cling to him, arms wrapped around his middle until you drop them to find his belt buckle. His lips find yours once more, and he sucks the bottom one into his mouth before biting it and letting go.

He steps back, and you work to remove the rest of your clothing and shoes. You shimmy your pants over your thighs, taking your underwear with you. He thought you were beautiful from the moment he turned around and saw you, but seeing you standing in front of him, chest heaving, bare and perfect just for him, is another story. He slides his pants and underwear off in one go, kicking them off the side along with his boots.

He only gives you a moment to admire his form, cock hard and thick, the tip of it red and weeping, before he surges forward and kisses you with new passion. He licks the seam of your lips before forcing it open with his tongue, swallowing every one of your moans like they’re a gift just for him.

When you both can’t breathe, he pulls back and peppers kiss down your neck once more before he sucks a hickey into your neck, eliciting a breathy moan from you. He smirks against your skin and moves to the expanse of your shoulder, finding a new spot to bite and suck.

He forces his thigh between yours again, pushing the expanse of it right up against your bare pussy. You moan and cling to him, once again riding his thigh. “You gonna come on my thigh, baby?” He questions against your skin, feeling your shoulders shudder from his breath ghosting along your neck. He tightens his grip on your waist and rocks you forward, “Use me. Want to feel you soak me,” he hums, kissing your neck. You’re lost in the haze of your arousal, chasing the friction you so desperately need.

“Answer me, Cariño.”

“Y-yes.” You breathe, tightening your grip on him. You grind against him more, faster, harder. “Want it so bad.” And fuck, you do, you need it so bad but you’re not sure you can get there from just this.

“What do you want, beautiful?” He questions with another bite to your skin. “Do you want to come on my thigh like the good little slut I know you are?” You whine at the filth of his words, the warmth of his praise causing your belly to tighten. He tightens his grip on your hips and guides you faster on his leg, his fingers digging into your skin, hard enough you hope you bruise.

“Show me how pretty you are when you come, Cariño — make a mess of me,” Your body seizes up and you throw your head back and let out a guttural moan. The spot where your pussy rests against his thigh gets wetter. When you tilt your head back up, his eyes are what throws you over the edge. He holds your gaze as he watches you come for him, on him, because of him. “Fuck, that was gorgeous,” he moans, holding you steady as you come down from your orgasm.

“Bed. Now,” he demands, guiding you through the hall and to his bedroom.

You fall back onto the bed, your back hitting the mattress with a small oof, your breasts bouncing with the movement. He holds his heavy cock in hand by the base as he gently strokes himself, and watches as you part your legs wide open for him and finger yourself.

He continues to work himself while staring at your tight, slick hole, dripping just for him. His eyes go impossibly dark as he watches your fingers saw in and out, you’re really quite the sight.

“Shit, Cariño. Look at your little pussy,” his voice in between a whine and a whimper, as he steps forward between your legs and begins to position himself at your entrance. One hand on your knee, the other holding himself, he presses the head of his cock into you, making you moan, his tip alone is a stretch you’re unfamiliar with — it’s intense but good.

He’s not trying to taunt you, not really. “Just wanna make sure you’re nice and ready to take this fat cock,” he says, pressing just the mushroom head in and out of you. The slow drag of it is excruciating, enough for you to let out a plea of please fuck me. “Look so good like this, baby. Can feel you sucking me in, she wants it bad, doesn’t she?”

You nod, “More, Javi. Need to feel you inside of me, please,” you plead, holding your thighs behind your knees, spreading yourself wider for him, giving him full access to your cunt.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, thrusting the full length of him into you, and ohhhhmyfuck.

Your pussy walls flutter and tighten around him, and he lets out a wrecked groan. He draws his hips back and slams that back into you with enough thrust that your tits bounce. His thrusts are hard, but slow, giving you time to adjust to his size. He’s quick to pick up the pace, causing you to sob in pleasure, broken moans leaving your lips as he knocks the wind out of you with each snap of his hips.

He draws himself nearly out, his cock glistening with your slick, and he grabs both of your hips to hold you steady as he fucks into you. “Look at the mess we’re making together, Cariño. So fucking beautiful, you’re taking this cock so well.” You’re starting to realize that he’s a smooth talker both in and out of bed.

You wail as he picks up his speed, panting and grunting, groaning as he watches the thin skin of your pussy stretch around his girth. He releases one of his hands from your hips and brings the pad of his thumb to the swollen clit between your folds, and begins to rub tight circles.

“So tight, baby, little cunt’s trying to make me come, isn’t she?” He groans, his pace slowly slightly, his stomach muscles tightening and his jaw clenched shut.

“Want you to, want you to fill this hole up with all of your come. Want to feel you drip out of me, need to feel you.” Your words spur him on more, and he continues working your clit, his cock thrusting in and out of you, “oh god, please, please, please.” You’re not usually one to beg, but something about him has it pouring out of you.

“Yeah? Want me to fill you up, baby? I will if you come with me,” he says, an intensity, an urgency behind his voice. You’re so close, you think you’ll be able to come with him, but before you have the chance to get there, you watch as he squeezes his eyes shut to try and collect himself, but he’s too close, nearly over the edge of his orgasm. His cock starts to swell and his movements get a little sloppy.

“Come in me, Javi. Want to feel you,” you moan, your voice a seductive whisper, and that does it.

His hips stutter, “Fuck, Cariño,” he groans, his voice a wreck, as he buries himself to the hilt inside of you and starts to throb ropes of his warm spend in you. There’s so much that it spills out of you and down your asscheek.

“Oh such a messy, pretty pussy,” he groans, admiring the way your cunt looks stuffed full of him, the glisten of your release and his on his cock, “Milking me so good.”

“Gonna make you come for me again beautiful,” he says, cock still spearing you, throbbing and pulsing as he collects some of his spend on his fingers and brings it to the needy button between your legs. It doesn’t take much to get you there, and within seconds you’re on the brink of your orgasm.

The warmth that pools in your belly grows and radiates through your limbs until your whole body feels tingly and your vision goes white.

“Oh my god, Javi, I’m coming,” you wail, a blubbering mess of pleasure, until you’re drowning in the sea of your orgasm.

“Can feel you squeezing me, sweet girl,” he groans, both out of pleasure and a little bit of over-stimulation on his already spent cock, “So. Fucking. Pretty. Such a good girl,” he says as he works you through the last of your orgasm. After you come down from your high, he gently pulls out of you, and a little trail of his come follows and spills out onto the sheets below.

“Jesus, Javi. That was something else,” you say, blissed out and thoroughly fucked. You nestle up into his chest like it’s easy, it comes naturally, a movement you don’t even question. He wraps his arm around you and plants a soft kiss on the top of your head in response.

“Can I say something?” He asks, and you look up at him a little worried. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I’d buy the fancy ranch for you.”

END

If you like this, please consider a reblog. <3

Trying a thing where I don't use a tag list to see how it goes. To be notified when I post fics, follow @katiexpunkupdates

END A/N: the line she gives Javier in response to knowing what he means in the first part of the fic is adapted from a poem. I wrote it down, but forgot to name the author. So credit to the author, whoever it is.

#javier peña #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena smut #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfiction #pedrohub #javier pena x you #javier pena x reader #pedrostories #narcos smut #the slutty little mustache has returned

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janaispunk · 2 months

Text

three’s a crowd

pairing: Dave York x f!reader x OFC

word count: ~3.4k

summary: it’s your birthday and dave has a special surprise for you. (this is literally 3k of porn without plot, there’s no denying it)

tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ only, fluff, able bodied reader, reader’s hair gets pulled, dom/sub dynamics, sub!reader, threesome, established relationship, unprotected p in v, oral sex (m&f receiving), sir kink, praise kink, light degradation kink, pet names, dirty talk, use of a blindfold, use of restraints, let me know if i missed something please 🫶🏻

a/n: dedicated to my lovely friend em @catchallfangirl, the happiest (early, depending on where you are) birthday to you! i hope this is something like what you wished for. i’m so happy to know you and grateful to be able to call you my friend. thank you for being my wife, my partner in shit talking, my fellow pedro lover, my fellow swiftie and for always being there for me. i hope we’ll be able to meet each other in person one day. i love you so much babe 🤍

dividers by @saradika-graphics because who else 🫶🏻

find my full masterlist here & follow @janaispunknotifs for fic updates!

It has been an almost perfect birthday. You’ve had the day off, just like your boyfriend, who surprised you with breakfast in bed, a day filled with all your favorite activities, a beautiful cake and a delicious dinner at the restaurant you both love.

Only one thing is missing to make the day absolutely perfect, but, judging from your current position and the fact that you’re only clad in your prettiest set of lingerie right now, perfection might be within your reach already.

“Close your eyes, baby. Hands behind your back, good girl.”

You’re kneeling on your bed, hands obediently folded behind you. Dave caresses your cheek before you feel him tie a blindfold over your eyes. A mewl full of need escapes you and he kisses you softly while his fingers ghost over the necklace that he gave you over dinner as a birthday gift, just a short hour ago.

“Patience, sweetheart.”

His footsteps retreat and you hear the click of the bedroom door. Did he just leave you like this?

You open your mouth with half a mind to protest, but then you hear movement again and lips are pressing gently against yours. Not Dave’s, you can tell even with your eyes closed, but still someone who’s touch you know.

“Happy birthday, baby,” a familiar female voice hums.

A gasp of surprise leaves you and your hands fly forward to her hips before you can stop yourself. Dave tuts at you, from a little further away, you think.

“What did I say, about your hands?”

“Sorry, sir,” you mumble and reluctantly retract your fingers again.

She breathes a soft laugh and your lips chase hers, but she seems to be leaning away and you can’t reach her in the darkness behind your eyelids that Dave has put you in. Instead, her fingertips start trailing over your body, starting at your shoulders and stroking down over the swell of your breasts, toying with the straps of the expensive lingerie and letting them snap against your flesh before continuing onward, over your stomach and down to the hem of your panties.

Her touch causes goosebumps to rise on your skin and you’re breathing heavier, leaning into it and interlocking your fingers to keep yourself from touching her again.

“Good girl,” she coos when she presses down on the fabric at your crotch, already drenched with your arousal and her lips are back on yours, kissing you more urgently now. Her tongue slips into your mouth and she swallows the desperate moans that are spilling from you.

Another hand sinks into your hair and you feel Dave’s presence beside you, his strong grip that pushes your head forward to not let the kissing stop, even if you wanted to.

“Do you like your surprise?” he rasps into your ear and pulls you back so that you can answer him.

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Both of them chuckle at your beaming smile and the breathless delight in your voice.

It has been some time since the three of you have been together like this, especially outside of the club that you and Dave sometimes visit and where you met her for the first time, and while you’re more than satisfied in your relationship with Dave, being with both of them at the same time is a different kind of thrill that always fuels your arousal like nothing else.

She pulls down the cups of your bra and pinches your already pebbled nipples between her fingertips, causing you to chase after her touch when she pulls away again, only to be rewarded with her mouth sucking on the sensitive flesh instead and her teeth nibbling at your hardened buds.

You’re squirming under her ministrations, still fighting to keep your hands behind your back. Dave has taken to your neck, mouthing at the delicate skin there to suck and bite bruises into it until you’re a mess between them.

They keep teasing you, waiting for you to break, their touches stoking the desire that’s burning inside of you, but it’s never enough, always leaving you with craving more, more, more.

“Please,” a broken whimper leaves your throat eventually, after what feels like hours. A sheen of sweat is covering your forehead, the blindfold sticking to your skin. You already feel filthy, you can tell how soaked the thin fabric of your panties is, how you’re all able to smell your arousal in the air.

“Please what, baby?” she asks, biting down harder on your nipple and making you gasp.

“More, I need more, please.”

They both chuckle, their breath hot against your skin.

“Use your words,” Dave rasps, his lips moving on your neck. “What exactly do you need?”

Heat is creeping up your cheeks, always embarrassed to be forced to vocalize your desires, but you know them and the games they like to play with you. You won’t get what you want, unless you ask for it.

“I- I need you to fuck me. Please.” Your voice is high pitched and whiny, leaving no doubts about how desperate you are.

An open mouthed kiss is pressed against your lips, one that you’re eager to reciprocate, and Dave groans into your mouth.

“Alright.” You feel him shift, hear the sound of him opening his belt and stepping out of his pants. “On all fours, then. I’m gonna fuck your mouth, just like you asked, right?” The predatory tone in his voice and her condescending giggle at the way he’s twisting your words are enough to have even more slick gathering between your thighs.

You nod and obediently move, positioning yourself on your hands and knees, your mouth wide open and waiting, just how he likes it.

She’s still toying with your breasts, pulling on your nipples and slapping your skin a few times, causing more moans and whines to tumble from your lips. Dave’s fingers gently stroke your face, swiping over your lips and dipping into your mouth to press down on your tongue, then pulling back out and smearing your saliva around your mouth and over your chin.

“Good girl,” comes his praise, paired with a light slap against your cheek. You’re burning up, almost trembling with anticipation and pure want.

Finally, he sinks his cock into your waiting mouth, your lips stretching to accommodate his girth. You eagerly circle the head with your tongue, determined to make him feel as good as you possibly can, to earn more of his praise.

At the same time, her hand pulls your panties down and two fingers plunge into your heat, forcing a garbled moan from you. You’re overwhelmed, can’t decide where to move, if you should push back against her fingers or chase his cock with your mouth, eager to take him deeper.

You’re rocking back and forth, trying to do both, not even registering that she moved until you feel her tongue against your burning core, lapping at your slick and teasing your clit in small, controlled licks. Her fingers start thrusting quicker while her tongue keeps stimulating you and you feel your body sprinting towards an orgasm, the blissful high finally in reach after their endless teasing.

Dave speeds up as well, sinking deeper into your throat, causing you to splutter and drool around him. It sets you on fire, the feeling of being at his mercy, the thought of him using your mouth for his pleasure, and combined with her constant licks on your clit, you hurtle over the edge. It takes your breath away, the pleasure overwhelming, so many sensations stimulating your body at once, only heightened by the loss of your sight. You pulse wildly around her fingers that are pressed deep into you, curling slightly, creating a delicious pressure against your g-spot and prolonging your orgasm.

When you finally come down, she slowly slides them out of you and you think you can hear her licking them clean, moaning softly at the taste of you.

“You like sucking cock that much, baby?” she coos, her thumb swiping over your clit once more and making your thighs tremble with the effort of holding yourself upright while you try to nod in reply to her.

Dave’s fist tightens in your hair and he thrusts into your mouth a few more times, as deep as he can go, causing you to gag violently before he pulls you off of him. The blindfold is soaked with your tears and spit is dribbling down your chin, but between your gasps for breath, you’re still smiling up at where you think he’s standing in front of you.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs.

His fingers find the blindfold that’s tangled with your hair by now and slowly remove it, careful not to pull on the strands in the process. Your face lights up when your eyes find his again and you revel in the unmasked hunger in his gaze, an expression that you’re sure you’re mirroring with your own.

“So good,” he repeats and leans down to capture your lips. You willingly meet him, leaning into the kiss and enjoying the sudden gentleness that will surely be replaced by rough touches again in no time.

Her fingers are still playing with your pussy, sliding through the wetness and circling over your clit before dipping down and thrusting into you again, causing you to moan into Dave’s mouth.

“I think she’s ready for more,” her voice sounds from behind you and you don’t need to see her face to picture the glint in her eyes. “Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Her hand connects with your ass in a resounding smack and you jerk forward, the sudden pain hitting you unexpectedly. It transforms into pleasure in an instant and another moan tumbles from your lips as you’re pushing back against her, wishing for another slap or her fingers to fuck you again or maybe both, you’re not sure at this point, nothing but raw desire pulsing through your veins.

“Please,” you whimper, craning your neck to meet her eyes behind you for the first time tonight. The evil smirk on her face has your pussy clenching around nothing and you rock back again, desperate for anything that they’re willing to give you.

“You wanna taste her?” Dave asks you, his lips close to your cheek and his voice raspy in your ear.

You nod eagerly and they move your body until you’ve turned around, still on your hands and knees but now facing the headboard where she’s leaning against the pillows, her legs already spread and her pussy on display for you, glistening with her arousal.

She’s so pretty, you think to yourself as you’re crawling towards her, desperate to be closer, to taste her, to make her feel good, to please her.

“Please, can I?” you ask, feeling small under the hard look in her eyes that she regards you with.

As an answer, her hand fists your hair and pulls you down, practically pressing your face down against her folds. Your tongue darts out to lick through her slit, her wetness gathering in your mouth and you moan out loud at the taste, the tangy sweetness turning you on even further. Eagerly, you focus on her clit, starting with little kitten licks that have her writhing underneath you, her fingernails digging into your scalp, before you flatten your tongue and apply more pressure.

Dave chooses this moment to thrust his cock into you without warning and you wail out, the unexpected stretch of your walls around his length sending sparks of the most pleasurable pain up your spine.

“Didn’t tell you to stop,” he snarls, spanking your ass roughly and pulling out until only his tip is still sheathed inside of you before he pushes forward again with so much force that you almost collapse under him.

You suck her clit into your mouth, unable to stop the moans that are forming in your throat. The added vibrations have her crying out, fisting your hair even tighter and pressing your face down against her folds.

You alternate by fucking her with your tongue and sucking on her clit, delighting in the sounds that you’re pulling from her and the way her slick is pouring out of her, just waiting to be licked up and savoured by you. You gaze up at her, taking in her dazed expression, amazed that you’re the one to make her feel this good.

Dave doesn’t let up, plunging into you again and again, his cock dragging against your walls and propelling you to new heights of pleasure while his hand keeps slapping your ass, causing you to clench around him every single time.

When her moans reach a higher pitch and her grip turns desperate, holding you down until she pulses against your mouth and floods your tongue with her wetness, Dave reaches around and swipes his thumb over your clit, just once. It’s enough to make you come again, make you whine into her and tremble under his touch, until you feel like your whole body is filled with nothing but pure bliss.

They keep you like this, barely able to move with his hands on your hips and her fingers in your hair, until you lick her to another shuddering orgasm. Dave lands one more playful slap against your backside before he pulls out of you.

You’re vaguely aware that they’re moving your body until you’re on your back, your eyes dazedly flicking back and forth between them. You’re spent, but you still want more, never want this feeling to end.

She kneels beside you, her fingers closing around your wrists and pulling them up until you’re spread out underneath them. She holds you down as she leans down to give you a kiss, her tongue darting out to play with yours and you both moan at your combined tastes on each other’s lips.

Dave spreads your legs and situates himself between them, the tip of his cock nudging at your soaked entrance, fueling your desire once again.

“Alright, baby,” he says, his tone carefully controlled, “you just lie here nice and pretty and let us take care of you, yeah? Don’t move those hands.”

“But-” you start to protest in a feeble voice and Dave fixes you with a hard glare.

“You want to be good, don’t you?”

You bite your lip in thought; the glint in his eyes has you more than aware that you’re entering dangerous territory. But you haven’t felt his skin under your fingertips at all yet and you desperately wish that you could.

“Yeah,” you admit, your eyes darting between the both of them, “but I really want to touch you… And it’s my birthday after all.”

You pout up at them. She raises an eyebrow and Dave shakes his head disapprovingly.

“Which is why you’ve gotten a very nice gift. And now, to show us how grateful you are, you’re gonna be good and do as you’re told.”

His voice is cold, which only results in more heat gathering in your core. You very rarely don’t back down when he gets like this, but right now, riling him up feels kind of fun.

“But I can also show you how grateful I am with my hands,” you suggest, throwing him a wink for good measure.

“You’re on thin ice, sweetheart,” she laughs, her grip around your wrists tightening.

Dave studies you, his jaw set and fire burning in his eyes. You love him like this. He shakes his head and leans over to the nightstand, grabbing two pairs of handcuffs and hovering over you.

“Fine,” he bites. “If you’re asking for it, we’re gonna do it like this. One more but and you’re gonna regret it, are we clear?”

You give up and nod, not exactly keen on finding out how he would make you regret more objections. They secure your wrists to the bedposts until your arms are spread wide and your movements are severely restricted. You tug at your restraints experimentally, but it’s no use. The feeling of being utterly at their mercy has you feeling hot all over again and you subconsciously try rubbing your legs together, which results in pressing them up against Dave’s hips. He chuckles, his fingers finding your thighs and digging into the flesh, spreading you open for him again.

The expression on his face is ravenous as he looks down, taking you in, completely on display for him, obscene amounts of wetness coating your pussy and inner thighs.

“Poor baby,” he murmurs, mock sympathy lacing his tone, “you’re dripping for it, made such a big mess already, huh?”

Your responding whine breaks off when he sinks into you again in one hard thrust, burying his entire length inside of you and punching the air from your lungs. He hoists one of your legs up and rests it over his shoulder, pushing down on your other thigh until you’re spread out as wide as possible, taking him even deeper like this.

You had almost tuned her out for a second, your eyes glued to the face of the man on top of you, until she leans down from beside you and starts caressing your body with her mouth once more. She sucks your tits into her mouth and bites down on your nipples so hard that the sensation is bordering on painful in the most pleasurable way, before she slowly kisses her way downwards, until her tongue is flicking at your clit again, eliciting breathless moans from you.

You wish you could move your hands, longing to grab her hair or his hips, pull them both as close as you can, but you’re immobilized, forced to take whatever they choose to give you. Dave grins down at you and thrusts in particularly deep, nudging at your cervix and causing your eyes to almost roll back into your skull.

“Eyes on the mirror,” he commands, “look at your dirty little self.”

Goosebumps are erupting on your skin at his words and you force your gaze up to the ceiling, where Dave installed a huge mirror a couple of months ago, under your watchful (and giggly) eye.

Seeing yourself in this position, your wrists tied, writhing under the ministrations of the two of them, sends an intense surge of arousal through you. Paired with the sensation of Dave’s cock hammering into you and her tongue insistently teasing your clit, your pleasure is mounting higher and higher, your toes are curling and you’re tensing up until it feels like your whole body snaps in an overwhelming release.

You’re clenching wildly around his length, your eyes fall shut and stars are bursting behind your eyelids. All the pressure inside of you is exploding and a gush of wetness releases out of you, soaking Dave’s cock, her tongue and the sheets beneath you.

“Fuck,” he gasps, plunging deep into you once more, “you’re so fucking hot, fucking messy, good girl.” His voice stumbles over the words, sounding utterly wrecked and after a couple more erratic thrusts he stills and comes with a shout, spilling his release inside of you.

His head hangs between his shoulder blades and he eases himself down until his sweat slicked forehead is resting on your stomach, his arms wrapped around your middle. She joins in, her head resting on your chest and peppering your skin with kisses for a few peaceful moments, before they release your wrists and the three of you sink into the sheets in a tangle of limbs.

Eventually, you gather enough energy to clean each other up and after more extensive cuddling, she says goodbye with a deep kiss against your lips, all softness now. You thank her, your voice still breathless and she shushes you, engulfing you in another hug. Dave walks her out and you hear them talking briefly before the door falls shut and he comes back into the bedroom to slip under the covers beside you, enveloping you in his embrace.

“Did I do good?” His breath fans against your neck and you smile, turning towards him to capture his lips.

“You did perfect.”

if you liked this, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment, it truly makes my day every single time 🫶🏻

#janas fics #dave york #dave york fanfiction #dave york fic #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x female reader #dave york x f!reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories #the equalizer 2 #dave york smut

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morallyinept · 2 months

Text

A list of all my favourite JOEL MILLER Fic Recs, with the writers tagged. Includes fics I am currently reading/want to read.

PART 18

Please show some love to the writers by re-blogging and commenting on their work. 🖤

⚠️ Please ensure you check the triggers/warnings etc... on the stories themselves as some of them may not be suitable to your own particular tastes.

Waiting Game & Hating Game @gutsby DBF!Joel

Unbelievable - @joelmillerisapunk Mechanic!Joel

Old Chocolate & Old Habits - @jksprincess10

Perfect Strangers - @aurorawritestoescape

The Kiss - @toxicanonymity

Pretty Little Wife/Crazy For You - @beardedjoel

Valentine's Day - @callachloe Featuring Dave York

Little Love - @5oh5

Happy Valentine's Day, Mr Miller - @romanarose

Stupid Cupid - @covetyou

Weekend Getaway - @punkshort

A Not-Valentine's Day Story - @maggiemayhemnj

Soft Side - @ilovepedro

Eyes On Me, Darlin' - @whxtedreams

A Small Bouquet - @thepaperpanda

My Funny Valentine - @pascalpvnk

Sweetheart - @joels-shitty-puns

As Long As I Have You - @beskarandblastersfics

For Valentine's Day - @wardenparker & @absurdthirst

Something Soft - @skittlesfics

Are You Mine? - @eupheme

Strawberry Cakes - @vivian-pascal

Candy Hearts - @joelmillerisapunk

Until Now - @talaok

Grumpy Joel Miller Loves Him Some Corn Bread - @connectioneverywhere

Along For The Ride - @proxima-writes

Let's All Go To The Lobby - @corazondebeskar-reads

Psyche & Cupid - @macfrog

Consequences - @iamasaddie

Closer - @joelsmochi Artist!Joel

Sweet Treat - @agxxb

Baby, I'm a Want You Series - @perotovar Featuring Javier Pena & Dieter Bravo

Starstruck Heights Series - @yxtkiwiyxt Actor!Joel

Limits - @randofantfic

Unperfect - @bonezone44 Dom!Joel

Hearts - @burntheedges

Breakfast - @endlessthxxghts

Get You Alone - @5oh5

Red Wine & Preparation - @josephquinnswhore

Lather & Jet Stream - @strang3lov3

Welcome To The Moulin Rouge - @mermaidgirl30

10:05PM - @netherfeildren

An Ode To Forever - @honeyedmiller

Keep Fuckin' Quiet - @sweetenerobert M!Reader

I Won't Hurt You - @divinehedons

Scarlet Snowball - @cerridwen007 Vampire!Joel

Cookies As Payment - @whxtedreams

Let 'Em Hear Puddin' - @nerdieforpedro PlusSize!Reader

Take A Seat - @pascalssbabyy

Put It In, Coach - @magpiepills

Gloves Off - @kiwisbell Boxer!Joel

#joel miller x reader #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller tlou #the last of us fic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #jett's fic recs

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wannab-urs · 7 months

Text

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

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kiwisbell · 7 months

Text

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

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alwaysdjarin · 1 year

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Dave York x f!reader

( banner by me )

RATING: Explicit 18+ ONLY. No Minors Please. My work is 18+.

Summary: You’re hired by Carol York to test if her husband Dave is faithful. The rest is history…

Words: ~3.5k

Warnings: SMUT, dom!Dave, dom/sub vibes, infidelity, oral (m and f receiving), choking…so much choking (I’m sorry), kind of degradation (Daves a cocky bastard, he calls you „slut“ a few times), guided masturbation (f), fingering, squirting, rough sex,unprotected PIV, a hint of angry Dave, a little bit angst.

A/N: I had this idea when I listened to Kate Bush‘s „Babooshka“ and it fits so well for Dave. I’m a slut for this man, I’m sorry. 😅 I hope y‘all gonna like it. 🫶🏼

And as always: Likes, reblogs and comments are very welcome. 💜💜💜

You spot him as soon as you enter the small hotel bar in Atlanta. Even if you can only see him from behind, you don't need to check the photo you received from your client again. Broad shoulders, short brown hair, long and muscular legs, he’s wearing a black suit just like Carol York predicted.

You walk to the bar full of self-confidence and sit down at the counter, leaving two stools between you and the handsome stranger free.

A quick reach into your purse to pull out your little hand mirror and your perfectly manicured finger adjusts the red lipstick on your sinful lips with a skillful hand movement.

Of course Dave noticed you the moment you entered the bar. The knock of your high heels on the hard stone floor catches the attention of every man in the room.

He does a double take as you reach the chair to his left. Your floor length black dress reveals your right leg through a slit up to your thigh. If Dave looks closely enough, he can spot the lace on the edge of your stockings and he licks his lips at the sight. Your lips are red like the bottom of your expensive high heels and your hair looks soft in the dim light of the bar. Dave escapes a low growl deep in his throat. Like a predator that has scented its prey and is just waiting for the right moment to hunt it down. Finally, he takes his eyes off you and takes a long sip of his whiskey. That’s gonna be an interesting night, he can feel it.

You pretend not to notice that he just shamelessly checked you out and grab your mobile phone. „Hello?“ There’s nobody on the other end of the line, but the man next to you doesn’t have to know. „Oh okay.“ You play the disappointed girlfriend. „Yeah…see you tomorrow then.“ You let out a loud sigh and press the record button on your phone, if Dave takes your bait, you need a proof for his suspicious wife, your client.

"Idiot!" A deep voice reaches your ear after you've ordered a drink and you have to bite your tongue to keep yourself from smiling. Gotcha! You think to yourself and look in the direction of the man next to you with an innocent, questioning look. „Sorry, what?“

He looks at you with a smirk. "Whoever dumps a woman like you is an idiot."

It's easy to have a conversation with Dave York. He's charming, interested in you and undeniably handsome. You notice his eyes on your lips when you talk and his gaze lingers longer and longer on your breasts or the bare leg while you’re sipping your drink. It’s almost a shame that he’s just a job for you and you catch yourself imagining how it would feel if his big, masculine hands would roam all over your body. When you run your hand through your hair, presenting your bare throat as if you're ready to be claimed by him, and Dave has to adjust himself with the palm of his hand because of your submissive behavior, you decide that it’s time for the final step of your test. Carol wants to know if he would do more than just flirting and you’re ready to find it out.

It’s not really a surprise that there’s a knock on you door about 10 minutes after you left the bar and scribbled your room number on his napkin. And you’re a little bit ashamed that you’re actually happy about it. You take a last look into the huge mirror, you’re just in your lingerie and stockings and wear a see thought nightgown. Let’s take a deep breath, let him in, tell him that his wife hired you to test if he is a cheater, kick him out and call Carol. That’s all. You’ve done this almost a hundred times.

But there has never been a Dave York before.

You slowly open the door, presenting your sinful appearance before his eyes. He just stands there for a few seconds and you get the feeling he's hesitating. Dave looks at you, his eyes traveling up and down, lingering on your panties, your breasts and finally on your red lips again. Then something inside of him seems to snap, with two long strides he is in your room and slams the door behind him shut. Before you can react, he turns you around and pins you with your back against the door.

He's suddenly everywhere. One hand grabs your waist, the other one is at the side of your neck. You look at him wide-eyed, all your alarm bells are ringing to end the situation, he’s the husband of a client, he’s a cheater, he’s your fucking job, but you can't. His scent is intoxicating, the warmth he exudes gives you energy, the way he looks at you makes you feel like a damn goddess.

He slowly rubs his thumb over your lower lip and smirks. ��God I couldn't think of anything else all night but your pretty little mouth around my cock. How he's all smeared with your red lipstick.“

You clench your thighs together, you’re already soaked from his cocky attitude alone. You let your tongue dart out of your mouth to lick at Daves thumb. He locks eyes with you while your wet and warm tongue circles around his digit and you suck it slowly into your mouth. He clenches his jaw and the hand on your waist disappears and fumbles to open his belt and slacks. You bite his thumb experimentally and he withdraws it out of your mouth to hold your chin in a firm grip.

„You gonna be a good girl and suck my dick?“ Dave’s voice is almost hoarse when he speaks and you try to nod with his hand still holding you tight. „Nah-nah sweet thing. I need you to say it. Use your words.

Do. You. Want. To. Suck. My. Dick?“

His gaze burns right through you and you manage to say a weak „Yes!“ Dave smirks and looks you up and down. „You had an attitude like a slut the whole evening and look at you now.“ You close your eyes for a short moment. You know he’s right, but he took you by surprise. There’s this conflict deep inside of you because all of this is completely wrong, but then you open your eyes again. You want him, damn you want him so bad.

„Beg for it!“ His hands grab into his slacks and briefs and then he pulls his cock out. He’s big and hard, the tip swollen and red, in need for a relief. Dave lets you stare at him for a moment, then his grip on your chin hardens again and he raises your head so that you look him in the eyes again. „BEG!“ He grits his teeth and you ask yourself if you should be afraid of him.

„Please…fuck please let me suck your dick. I-I want it…I need it so bad.“ You whimper, squirming in front of him, clit throbbing and needy for some attention.

Finally satisfied with your behavior, Dave puts his hand on your shoulder and pushes you down onto your knees. The door is still behind you and you try to find the most comfortable position possible, but all of that is long forgotten when you notice the big cock right in front of your face. You grab him at the base and lick along his vein just with the tip of your tongue. Dave hisses at your touch and you finally hear him moan in delight when you close your lips around his leaking tip. His taste is intoxicating. You give him an experimentally suck and look up to see Dave’s face.

God he’s a sight. He’s looking right at you, jaw clenched and brows furrowed. It doesn’t bother you that he’s still wearing his full suit. You open your mouth wider and let him slide slowly along your tongue and down your throat. Dave sucks in a deep breath and whispers a „fuck“ and for a short moment you’re thinking that you’re the one in charge, but then he seems to remember what he has started with you and reverts to his previous behavior.

He puts his hand on the back of your head and caresses your hair in a short loving gesture, but then he grabs your hair hard to keep you in place and starts to move his hips. You try unsuccessfully to withstand him. Dave's length takes up so much space in your mouth that tears suddenly well up in your eyes. You do your best to relax and breathe through your nose while trying to steady yourself with your hands on his thighs, but his pace is too reckless.

„Look at you little slut. Drooling all over your tits while your choking on my fat cock.“ Dave grunts and pants. His movements stutter for a moment when you choke again and swallow around him and you think he’s already coming, but then he stops. He stops right when his fucking big dick is deep down your throat and you can do nothing but look up into his deep brown eyes. It's a demonstration of power, no question.

You breathe hastily through your nose while tears fall down your cheeks. „What a fucking sight you are. Made for me to be used.“ You manage to make a strangled noise which only leads to more saliva dripping down your chin. And then he smiles, Dave actually smiles at the sight of you choking on his cock and you’re ashamed that you’re so turned on by his dominant behavior.

The hand in your hair loosens his grip and he starts to caress your face, his dick still balls deep down your throat.

„Are you wet baby?“

You try to nod.

„Do you want me to show you what I’ve planned for this little pussy of yours?“

You nod a little bit harder.

„Are you gonna be a good girl for me and take what I’ll give to you?“

Nod.

Then Dave finally slides his cock out of your mouth and you instantly gasp for air. He helps you to stand up and you lean breathless against the door behind you.

„Take your clothes off!“ Dave commands and you obey his command without hesitation. Once you’re just in your stockings, he‘s satisfied.

„How do you want me?“ It’s the first time you‘ve spoken in the last half an hour and your throat feels raw.

Dave‘s thumb gathers the saliva on your chin and let you lick it off him while he studies your face. „Lay down on the bed, make yourself comfortable while I take my closes off.“

You watch him while you lay on your back. He methodically strips down and drapes his clothes over a chair. He’s gorgeous you think to yourself. His shoulders are broad, his back muscular and the the gentle curve of his stomach makes him so fucking sexy. His still erected dick bobs proudly between his hairy thighs when he walks over to the bed.

„Spread those beautiful legs for me.“

You do what he wants and see how he licks his lips at the sight of your glistening folds.

„Touch yourself. Spread your pussy and let me see.“ His voice is deep, so much deeper than it was at the bar.

You let your hand trace over your mound and use two fingers to spread your pussy lips. You can hear the wet sound they’re making and Dave bites his bottom lip at the view in front of him. He sits down on the bed right between your legs and caresses your lower leg. He watches as you start to stroke gentle circles over your clit and you got the feeling he won’t touch you tonight. But you know that’s all a part of his game, so you go on further and let one finger slide into your wet hole.

Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of some relief and you feel the hand on your leg grip you harder.

„Eyes on me baby. And now add a second finger.“

You obey.

„Good girl. Now edge yourself. Show me what you need.“

You moan as you add a third finger and pump them in and out of your soaked pussy. You curl them to find the perfect spot inside of you and whimper when you almost reach it.

Dave chuckles. „Needy little thing! Need my long fingers to make you come?“

You look at him breathless. „Yes! Fuck yes, please touch me Dave.“

He lets his hand wander over the soft skin of your leg and you shudder while your still fucking yourself. Dave lowers his head and you can feel his hot breath on your wet skin. His hand grabs your wrist then and you stop moving. He lets your fingers slowly glide out of your pussy just to stick them into his mouth. Dave hums at the taste of you and licks every inch clean. „Fucking delicious.“

The feeling of his fingers inside of you and his mouth on your clit is what throws you finally over the edge. He has you pinned down on the mattress with one hand flat on your stomach, your back arches and you’re moaning -no screaming- out of pleasure.

„Damn!“ Dave’s groaning while he curls his fingers against your g spot again and again. „Let it all out baby. I can feel it. Give it to me. COME ON!“ You don’t know what he means and can’t tell if it’s still the same orgasm or another one. But the knot in your lower belly bursts again and you have the most intense feeling of your whole life. You gush all over Daves hand and forearm while you ride your orgasm. He pants little praises between your legs and looks like he also can’t believe what he just coaxed out of you.

„Fucking hell, this was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.“

„I…I don’t know…I’ve never…“ You are speechless and totally overwhelmed by the whole situation.

A harsh slap on your thigh gets you finally back to earth and Dave is already back to „business“.

„Hands and knees! Turn around, I want to watch us in the mirror.“

You do as you’re told, facing the mirror at the other side of the bed. Dave smacks your ass cheeks hard and you yell at the pain.

„Need to fuck this pussy so bad.“ You feel the hot head of his cock on your entrance for just a second before he enters you with one brutally thrust. You have to time to adjust to his length, he just slams into you again and again. The sound of wet skin slapping on wet skin fills the room completely and you whimper because he doesn’t seem to give you a break. His hand slaps your ass again and you swear you’ll see his hand imprinted on your skin for the next weeks. A reminder of what a horrible person you are.

Just like he could read your mind, Dave puts his hand around your neck from behind and pulls you up so that your back is right against his sweaty chest. He doesn't even stammer in his movements and fucks relentless into you while he locks his eyes with yours through the mirror. You’re looking totally destroyed, your hair is a mess, make up all over your face.

Then Dave squeezes your throat "Look at you little slut. Fucking your client's husband. Does that make you horny, huh?“

You widen your eyes in shock.

He knows. How? Why?

Your body reacts in its own way, squeezing his cock deep inside of you, which elicits a loud moan from Dave. He smiles mischievously while brutally pounding into you. The vein in his neck is prominent, his hair sticks to his forehead with sweat. One hand is still on your throat, the other is squeezing your tit.

"Do you do that with all the men you're supposed to seduce? Filthy little slut!"

You notice the sweat running down your back, it's suddenly much too warm in the room. You’re thirsty, so fucking thirsty. The sounds your bodies make are obscene but such a turn on.

You try to shake your head but the grip on your throat is so strong. You can't speak, you can't breathe. For a moment you think Dave is choking you to death. That's it. It was clear that the job would eventually be fatal for you. You've never slept with one of the men, even if so many of them wanted to. But Dave, fuck, he's so different. You hear and feel his breath in your ear, he grunts.

Just as the edge of your vision turns black, he finally takes his hand from your throat. You take a deep breath, your lungs are hurting and before you can think straight again flips Dave you onto your back and is inside your pussy within seconds.

The new angle lets you see stars. The only thing you can do is to take it. Take every inch he has to offer, every thrust he gives you.

You don’t dare to close your eyes, you know that he wants you to see him. There’s a droplet of sweat running down his forehead and dripping on you.

„Fuck Dave…“

He brings both of you to to the edge within a few thrusts and then he starts to praise you again when he lifts one of your legs over his shoulder.

„…so good to me…“

„…so beautiful…“

„…how should I keep being a faithful husband when you come around and try to seduce me?“

„…love this pussy…“

„…taking me so good…“

„…made for me…“

You feel your orgasm rushing right to you with every word he’s saying. It feels so good that he gives you the feeling that you’re not that bad as you think you are.

He commands you to come when he feels your walls flutter around him and follows you right over the edge with your name on his lips. Dave grabs your thigh hard, his other hand on the base of your neck. Hot spurs of his cum coat your insides and you can feel him trembling while he still rocks into you in a slower rhythm. He’s never closed his eyes for just a second, he watches you the whole time.

You look at each other for a long moment, searching for breath before he pulls his softening cock out of you with a hiss.

You roll on your side while Dave goes into the bathroom and when he comes back with a wet towel to clean you up, you’re already almost asleep. Dave drapes the blanket over your naked form and looks at your beautiful face.

He smiles, of course he knew that you would come after him sooner or later, he knows everything Carol is doing with her phone and notebook. What he hasn’t got planned is that he couldn’t resist you. He wanted to give Carol the feeling that he’s faithful, stop all her doubts. He failed.

The bed is cold and empty when you wake up the next morning. You’re not surprised to be honest, but it stings a little bit though.

You watch yourself in the mirror while you wash your face. Guilt overcomes you. What have you done? You fucked a married man. Red lipstick is still smeared all around your mouth and you rub almost furious to get rid of it. He didn’t even kiss you. The thought enters your mind like a parasite. He just used your for his pleasure, all that meant nothing to him. A single tear runs down your face. But then you remember his eyes, how he looked at you, how your name on his lips sounded when he came. He’s a cheater. He has a wife!

You walk to the table to get your mobile phone so that you can call Carol and tell her what an asshole her husband is. There’s a piece of paper lying next to it.

You read the note with your phone on your ear.

Same hotel room.

In two weeks.

- D

„Hello?“

„Carol? Hi it’s me…..I just want to tell you that everything’s fine.“

„Oh thank you so much. You can not imagine how happy I am.“ She sighs and you can feel her smile through the phone.

„Yeah, you can be proud to have such a great husband.“

You turn the piece of paper around. There’s another note.

Wear that red lipstick again.

#pedro pascal #dave york #dave york pit #pedro pascal fanfiction #dave york fanfic #dave york fic #dave york smut #dave york x f!reader #dave york x reader

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suzdin · 4 months

Text

Two for One: Chapter Four

Neighbor!Dave York x F!Reader x Human!Max Phillips

Series Masterlist

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, pre-vampire Max, pre-Equalizer 2 Dave, familial drama and angst, mentions of drug use/abuse, alcoholism!, stalking (don’t do it), voyeurism (so so much), invasions of privacy, mutual masturbation, sexting, oral (m receiving), dom!Dave, soft!Dave, dom!Max, softish!Max, public sex, work sex, some fluff, maybe?, SEA OTTERS!, murder, poison, asphyxiation, let me know if I forgot anything, watch me make up stuff about an aquarium I’ve never been to and also poison.

Word Count: 7,700+

Notes: Sorry this took forever because my brain is dumb. I just want to thank all of you for being so patient. I love you and hope you have a wonderful 2024. 💜 Enjoy and feel free to leave me feedback if you wish! 😊

(Not my gif)

—

You make Max exchange phone numbers as he’s leaving your apartment.

“No more showing up uninvited,” you reprimand him, the heel of your palm planted firmly between his shoulder and sternum as you push him into the corridor of your building, “I mean it.”

He cocks his head to one side, lopsided smirk twisting his lips, forehead wrinkling as he lifts his brows, pausing. He’s staring at your still very much flushed and sweaty face. “You sure about that, doll?”

Your skin heats even more. You hate to admit that his smarmy defiance arouses you in ways that it shouldn’t.

“Max. If we’re going to keep whatever this is ongoing, I’m going to need some compliance here. For my privacy.”

Max’s smirk only grows wider and he beams at you, his gaze sliding down your face to your lips, hands raised in surrender. “You mean so I don’t cross paths with him, is that it?” he asks, quirking one of his brows to the side, knowing you’re fully cognizant who he’s talking about. “Fine.”

“Tell me you’re not bullshitting,” you retort.

“Woman,“ Max begins, wagging a finger at you, “I assure you that I am in no way being deceitful.”

He hasn’t wiped that shit eating grin off his face the entire time he’s been standing in front of you, either.

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Scout’s honor?” you press.

“Scout’s honor,” he replies, lifting his hand in a mocking salute.

You sigh and shove him back another step, his back almost flush with your neighbor’s door.

“Goodbye, Max,” you snip, turning to go back to the comfort of your apartment, when that gnawing southern upbringing decides to make a re-emergence once more, and you remember your manners.

With a sigh, you turn to give him one last glance, your visage softening in its regard. “Thank you, by the way. For the drink.” And you mean it, even if it’s likely all melted and weeping on the table by now.

You almost think you see his own features grow a shade softer, and before you can dwell on it, he’s suddenly shifting back into your space.

Your initial instinct is to flinch, to shove him away, because after Dave and him in a single day, your poor fucked out pussy can’t handle anymore punishment.

But he doesn’t grope or manhandle you. Max’s arms grapple you into a snug embrace, his hot breath fanning over your neck. It’s uncharacteristically soft for Max to show this level of affection and you would hug him back if he wasn’t clamping your arms to your sides.

“Thank you,” he whispers, keeping you ensnared for a few lingering moments before releasing you and taking a step back.

“Yeah… no problem,” you offer awkwardly, because what else do you say to that? “I’ll see you around. I work tomorrow, opening to two.”

Max nods, his usual crooked smirk making a reappearance. “See you then.”

“And hey?”

“Yeah?”

“Be nice to my coworkers. It’s the least you could do,” you remind him.

His smirk doesn’t fade, tongue swabbing the inside of his cheek. “I’ll do my best.”

You snort and shake your head, watching as he disappears down the stairwell.

——

After Max leaves, you spend the remainder of the afternoon and evening wallowing around your apartment, watching bad reality television and trying not to think about… well, anything, pouring yourself some vodka with whatever mixers you can scrounge up until your brain mellows to a welcome numbness.

You order take out for dinner because, fuck saving money at this point. Proceeding the earlier conversation with your mom, you aren’t even sure why you’re trying to get back to Texas anymore.

It’s far easier having several states between you, even if you do miss your grandmother and have a wicked hankering for some barbecue right about now.

You check Facebook periodically anyway, not at all surprised to see your mother asking for prayers and attention from all the faceless online entities because she did not receive the validation she sought from you.

You grumble and toss your phone down every time you read a new ‘woe is me’ comment from your mother and you wonder why you’re even torturing yourself like this.

Belly full of chow mein, you settle down into your bed for the remainder of the evening to distract yourself with some mind numbing television to go along with the buzz you’re feeling.

When your phone lights up, you sigh in indignation, expecting a text from your mother as you swipe open to the notifications.

Much to your delight, it isn’t your mother, and you let out the breath you realize you’ve been holding in.

Dave: Hey, you.

You smile. Relief washes over you as heat simultaneously slithers its way up your spine.

Dave decides to change to split screen, one side with the recorded footage and the other side with the current feed, and he watches as you smile at your phone, steadily stroking himself, his phone vibrating your response a few seconds later.

You: Hey, you. 😜

You: I was beginning to wonder if you’d made it to VA

Dave: Yeah. Long day.

Dave: You made it worth it, though.

You: Doubt that

That makes him chuckle. He knows you know that to not be true.

He continues to stare at you, your gaze glued to your phone as you await his reply. You’re sitting up in bed now, back against the wall, wearing a different but equally revealing top than the thin camisole you had on earlier, blanket pooling in your lap.

The veins in his dick pulse when he ponders if you’re wearing any pants under the covers, and his eyes flick back to the recording of Max eating you out, a soft, breathy moan escaping his lips. The pleasure on your face is telling.

Dave: You do, huh?

Dave: Maybe I should show you, then.

You bite your lip at his response, quickly punching in your reply and hitting send.

You: Aren’t you supposed to be spending time with your kids?

Dave: they’re in bed. It’s late.

His head lifts from the monitor momentarily—only as long as necessary—taking his headphones off to listen for any sounds of wakefulness from the bedroom. When he finds there is none, he turns his attention back to you, freeing himself from his sweats, tugging them down to his knees.

He quickly snaps and sends a photo of his rigid cock, colored a deep shade of mauve at the head, hand fisted at the base, dark curls peeking out from underneath his palm.

You swallow, your walls tightening and mouth watering at the mere sight of it, breath puffing softly past your lips. And you’re almost surprised how turned on you still are, despite the events of the past two days.

Max is just a phone call away, you tell yourself, quickly squashing that thought right out of your brain just as quickly as it arrives. You’d hate to risk having him spend the night with you. Besides, you should probably give yourself a break.

You: Jesus, Dave.

Dave: All for you, baby

Dave: This is what you do to me. I was hard almost the entire way here.

Dave: What are you doing?

You snicker through your nose at the sudden shift in conversation, deciding to play along anyway. Going back to the picture every so often to admire it.

You: Watching TV

Dave: Anything good?

You: Just reruns of 1,000 Lb. Sisters. It’s a good show, you should watch it

Dave: I would watch it with you if I was there.

Dave: if I could keep my hands off of you

Dave: Touch yourself.

You laugh when the conversation takes yet another rapid turn, but you barely give it a second thought the moment you feel your clit throb with need, firing off a response to Dave before breaching the band of your panties with your fingers.

You: Yes sir

Dave: good girl

Dave drags his tongue along his plump lower lip when he sees your hand disappear beneath the covers, his eyes darkening with lust.

Dave: show me

You throw the blanket back and he’s pleased as punch to see you’re only wearing panties. He watches intently as you shuck them off and toss them to the floor.

You open the camera app on your phone and begin recording, doing your best to get the shot right but it’s difficult to see much from your perspective. You take the video anyway.

Breathing softly, you slide two fingers between your folds and sink them into your entrance as far as you can manage, which isn’t enough and will never be enough compared to Dave or Max, before dragging them back out again to display the shiny coating of arousal on your digits for the camera.

You save the video and send it to Dave immediately.

Dave: Fuck

Dave: Can you get a different angle? I need to see it

He almost tells you to prop your phone up on the window sill by the bed, but he doesn’t want to risk you somehow finding out he’s watching you. It’s possible you would think nothing of it, since he has seen the inside of your apartment now, but he’d prefer not to take the chance.

You frown and stop touching yourself, looking around the room in consideration before scooting on your knees over to the window to prop the phone against the pane of glass.

You hit record and maneuver into position, spreading, lifting your eyes to make sure everything is in frame. Shockingly, it is, and this new angle is so visual and obscene that even your OB/GYN would be impressed.

You record a short video of your fingers circling your clit, letting out a soft, salacious moan.

You still feel very much used from Dave and Max in a single day, but you make sure to keep your own touches as light as possible.

You record about ten seconds of yourself and send it to Dave.

Dave: Fuck

Dave: Need to fuck that little pussy full of me

Dave: We’re getting you an IUD and I’m paying for it

Dave: Fuck

His eyes move back to the side with you and Max, at which point you’re cumming on Max’s face, and Dave’s balls tighten with longing. He remembers exactly how you taste when you hit your high, and his mouth waters in remembrance.

Any jealousy he feels is immediately snuffed out by how much he wants you. How much he needs you.

You: I can pay for it

You: [video]

He’s so distracted by watching Max making you cum, his hand pumping himself more rapidly, that he doesn’t realize you were recording again. Your fingers swirl your bud faster, your hips twitching and coming up from the mattress.

Dave: Jesus

Dave: It will be well worth the money to see my cum dripping out of that tight little hole

You: such things you say, Dave

He smirks.

Dave: use a toy

You: How do you know I have one?

Dave: dirty fucking sluts like you always have toys

Dave: do what I say

Arousal floods your core when Dave’s true colors bleed through, even over text. You can practically see his brow pulling into a hard, dark line; see the way his lips curve ever so slightly into a sadistic and hungry smirk.

You don’t dawdle, leaning crossways over your bed to retrieve your favorite toy from your bedside drawer — you have a few accumulated from your time with Jonathan, since he never got you off — a vibrator with a curve at the end for optimal g-spot stimulation.

You: yes sir

You: [video]

You: is this sufficient

Dave receives a video of you clicking on the toy and sliding it teasingly along your slick and swollen labia, pausing periodically at your clit, your moans quiet yet lewd. All for him.

Dave: fuck. Gonna have to fuck you with the toy in you like that

You: I look forward to it sir

Your words send a rush of heat through Dave as his vision subconsciously slips back over to the side with you and Max, who’s now railing into you from behind like a jack hammer, and he damn near cums on that image alone.

He wanted to kill Max for how he had treated you. But now, watching Max bring you pleasure, and how much you appear to be enjoying it, he can’t stop his thoughts from wandering. Would you let both men inside you at the same time? Would you like it?

Would Max take orders from him like a good boy?

That last thought admittedly gives Dave pause and he shakes it from his mind. He had done things in the military, sure, most of the men had, missing their wives and girlfriends. But that was a side of him he hadn’t acknowledged in years, and he shoves it down to the furthest recesses of his brain, returning his focus to you.

Dave: good girl. Now put in and make yourself cum for me

You slide the toy past your opening with little effort, and you’re so worked up it takes almost no time at all before you’re chanting his name. Dave watches, transfixed, pupils dilated and jaw slack, eyes drifting back and forth between the two images on the screen, a cry departing your lips as you reach peak.

You: [video]

You: Mmm wish it was you making me cum though

Almost like serendipity, you cum on the recorded footage at almost the exact same moment as he witnesses it in real time. He can’t hold himself back any longer, and he barely has time to pull his phone back out to record before he’s shooting like a geyser all over his hand and lower abdomen, thick and milky spend dribbling down the backs of his knuckles.

Dave: Fuck

Dave: [video]

Dave: wish this was all over your fucking face instead

You sigh and fall back, panting, opening the last text with a satisfied grin painting your lips as you watch Dave spill down his hand.

You: Rather it inside of me

You place the phone down and crawl off the bed to go clean yourself and your toy in the bathroom, smiling to yourself.

Several states away, Dave heads to the bathroom in his hotel suite to do the same.

But as the high starts to dissipate, your trepidation inexplicably returns, twisting like a knife in your gut. You like Dave. Probably a little too much. And you shouldn’t. Because the day will come when he hurts you, just like Jonathan did.

You do your best to swallow down your doubt and finish cleaning yourself up, traipsing back into the main room to retrieve your panties and slip them back on.

A new text message lights up your phone.

Dave: Soon.

Dave: Can I call you?

Dave sees you sigh and chew at your lip, one of your hands coming up to the back of your neck. You seem unsure.

Your anxiety triggers his own, making him worry if he’s moving too quickly for you.

You: Sure

Now clad only in his sweats, Dave takes in a prolonged breath, hitting the call button. It rings twice before you answer.

“Hi,” you answer quietly.

“Hi,” Dave returns and you can hear the grin in his voice. “Thank you for that. I needed it after today…”

He switches off the recorded footage and goes back to watching just you. You.

You’ve already moved back under the covers, snuggling up with your back facing the window, one arm drawn up under your chin.

“You’re welcome,” you reply after a beat. “I needed it too.”

Oddly enough, you did, despite how many times you’ve already cum today, which was a welcome end to a stressful day.

That makes Dave grin, and he feels a pang of want as he wishes he were there to hold you in his arms, to feel your back pressed up against his chest.

“I miss you,” he confesses with a soft, nervous chuckle. His change in demeanor doesn’t go unnoticed by you — a man of dual natures, an enigma. “Wish you were here.”

He chastises himself silently for saying too much, but it’s true.

You swallow down the coiling anxiety you feel.

“Yeah. That would be great,” you proffer gently. You change the subject as seamlessly as you can. “What are your plans for tomorrow?”

He notices, but doesn’t point it out. “Taking the girls to the aquarium.”

You actually do soften at that. You always loved visiting the aquarium as a kid.

“Oh, how fun! I love aquariums. I know there’s one here… I’ve never been.”

“I’ll take you sometime,” Dave suggests. “We’ll make it a date.”

Your skin heats and you take your welling emotions and stamp them down as deep as you can. “Yeah.”

“What is your favorite marine animal?” Dave randomly asks.

“What, why?”

“Curious.”

You think it over for a moment. “Sharks,” you reply, “I like sharks.”

You hear him chuckle. “Figured you for more of a sea otter type.”

“Sea otters? Do explain, Dave.”

Although you can’t see it, he shrugs. He’s still watching you, fixated on the way your fingers fidget with the covers.

“Women usually like the cute sea animals. And sea otters are cute,” he says.

“Because I’m a woman, I’m not allowed to like things that aren’t, by your definition, ‘cute’? That’s sort of sexist, don’t you think?”

He lets out a quiet laugh. “You’re right. My bad.”

“Your bad? Well, what is your favorite sea animal, then?” you press.

“… Sea otters,” Dave answers without any additional thought, and you can’t control the burst of laughter that erupts from you. It makes his heart vibrate with affection hearing the joy in your voice and watching the way your nose crinkles when you smile.

“Oh, fuck off!” you tease, and he can’t help but laugh along with you.

“You need to go to bed,” you tell him as soon as the laughter dies down.

“What if I’d rather stay up all night talking to you?” he counters.

“Then I imagine tomorrow will really suck,” you quip back.

“It will be worth it.”

“Dave,” you begin in a more earnest tone, “I have work in the morning. Early. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

Talk…masturbate mutually. Either way.

Your buzz is starting to wear off. Dave sees you rub at your eyes as you reach for your cigarette pack with the other, lighting it up and taking a long drag.

He knows you’re guarded and he supposes he understands why. He hopes you’ll let your walls down sooner than later.

“Okay,” he sighs in resignation. “But I’ll be thinking about you all day tomorrow.”

You tap the growing head of ash against the edge of the empty plant tray you’ve been using as a makeshift ash tray.

“Me too. Goodnight. Have fun tomorrow, alright?”

“Yeah. I’ll try,” Dave replies honestly, and you exchange your goodbyes before hanging up.

He continues to watch you. And not just until you’ve finished your cigarette or gotten out of bed to — presumably — have one final pee.

He watches you plug up your phone and set your alarm. He even watches you as you curl into a fetal position, clutching one of your extra pillows against your torso, and he wishes it was him instead.

Soon, he reminds himself.

He doesn’t stop watching until he’s sure you’re completely asleep. And even then he lingers, only stopping when one of the girls — his youngest, Alice — rouses from sleep in absolute hysterics, loud enough to wake the dead. Something she had started doing around the start of the divorce process.

He sighs, slipping back into dad mode, swiping a hand over his sleep weary face as he shuts his laptop down and heads to the bedroom.

——

Like clockwork, Max is at The Beanery around 7:30 AM for his morning caffeine fix.

You’re grateful that it’s slow and that Audrey and Vincent are in the back room folding boxes and chattering away about god only knows what. Almost like you’d planned it that way. Like you gave them each monotonous side work on purpose.

You knew Audrey was working today and you wanted to stave off the inevitability of admission that you don’t really have the power to ban Max as long as you could. Or resist him, for that matter.

You’re also grateful that Audrey was able to hide your hickies and bruises using the expensive foundation she brought to work just for you, at your insistence, with the incentive that she could leave two hours early with pay today. A decision that would probably bite you in the ass later.

You didn’t tell her who or what they were from and she didn’t ask.

You receive a text from Dave mere moments before the chimes hanging over the door signal Max’s arrival, causing your blood to heat and your skin to pebble.

It’s an image of Dave in a steamy bathroom, fully nude, hand curled around the base of his stiffened cock, with the caption: Wish you were here

You respond with a very underwhelming selfie in your work cap and apron, to which he replies almost immediately: You’re fucking adorable

You can’t help the heat that crawls up your cheeks.

You slip your phone back into your apron and start cleaning the espresso machine when Max traipses in, strolling up to the counter like he owns the place.

Or like he owns you, more like it.

“Morning,” you greet, and the remaining traces of your flustered state swell once again the moment you see Max in his primped and tailored three piece, donning a flashy paisley red tie. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him not adorned in a suit, aside from when he’s naked.

“Your usual?” you query, starting on his Americano before he even has a chance to respond.

“Morning,” Max parrots, smirking as his eyes bore into you. “And add whatever you want for yourself, sweetheart.”

He’s certainly starting off early today, isn’t he?

“That isn’t necessary,” you say.

“It wasn’t a suggestion,” he tuts and slams his card down in front of you. When you go to retrieve it, he reaches out to grip your wrist gently, and your eyes snap up to meet his.

He can see the affect he’s already having on you just by proximity alone, his cock already growing rigid in his pants.

“Thanks,” you squeak out and ring up Max’s drink and yours with your free hand, running the card and handing it back to him.

“Good girl,” he purrs in a rich timbre. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you last night.”

And he really couldn’t. He doesn’t oft have a habit of bringing women to his place, opting for theirs or someplace else instead, but he couldn’t stop thinking about you in his bed, waking up next to him that morning so he could make you sing his praises first thing.

“Let me get your drink…” you tell him, attempting to take a step away, but his grip on your wrist holds true, tightening infinitesimally, thumb circling your pulse point.

Max leans forward, a single elbow rested on the countertop. “Or,” he suggests, his voice low and barely an octave above a whisper, “you can meet me in the bathroom in two minutes.”

His eyes flash and he releases you, shooting you a stilted grin before heading to the small bathroom in the corner.

At first, all you can do is gape in disbelief, your jaw slack. Did Max Phillips really just come into your place of business and ask you to meet him in the bathroom?

You turn to listen to the sounds coming from the back room; Audrey and Vincent seem to be prattling on about something, oblivious.

You sigh and resign yourself to curiosity, to self torture, checking to see that the coast is clear.

“Hey, Vince, listen for the front, please. I… I’ll be right back,” you call out and take in another prolonged breath.

“10-4, dinosaur!” Vince chimes back and you roll your eyes, rounding the corner of the counter and heading over to the bathroom.

As you approach, the door swings open and Max pulls you inside before you can even reach for the handle.

He barely gives you time to react before he’s locking the door and crowding into you, pushing you back against the wall and pinning you as his hips grind your thigh hard. He starts to grab at you, everywhere, pawing at your clothes, your body. His mouth finds your neck and when his teeth start to bear down, you protest weakly.

He doesn’t listen; or maybe he’s just so overwhelmed with his desire to be inside of you that he’s lost any semblance of composure.

It doesn’t take you long to realize you don’t want to do this here. Not at work and not when your body needs a break, still so sore and overwrought from the last couple of days, and you attempt to push him away. He only pushes right back, unwilling to hear your pleas, because he thinks it’s what you would want.

“Max,” you groan and you feel your resolve slipping although you shouldn’t, “not here.”

“Come on baby,” Max growls, gently nipping at your earlobe, “let me inside of you.”

He pins your arms above your head at the wrists with one of his hands while the other begins to undo your belt, moving swiftly, his breathing desperate and heady.

He hasn’t been able to get you out of his mind for two whole days and pining over a woman isn’t something Max Phillips does.

Your resolve is rapidly waning and just about gone, arousal welling up within you. But with your last remaining shred of dignity, you’re able to shove him away and grit out, “Max, lavender,” your safe word.

Part of you expects to be ignored regardless, as Max has a habit of doing whatever the fuck he wants, and what you suspect to be very few morals. To your surprise, however, he does stop.

He releases you and takes a tentative step back, lips parted, hurt and uncertainty twisting his features. With nothing to say, at least for a few brief seconds.

His eyes meet yours and he lifts his hands in surrender, a frown creasing his brows. “Fine. That’s fine. I just figured since you came in here…”

“Max, shut up,” you say as you step towards him and you’re the one undoing his belt this time, positioning him with his back to the sink. “I just didn’t wanna— I mean, I want a break, but let me just… do this instead,” you further explain as you successfully get everything undone, sinking to your knees in front of him.

Understanding settles over Max and he nods, eyes growing a shade darker as he watches you finagle his slacks and boxers down, hardening cock springing free after a moment.

Of course none of the tile on the floor is even, so you have to adjust slightly to prevent the edges from digging into your knees and make yourself more comfortable, your hands sliding down Max’s thighs as you look up at him through your lashes.

He gently places a palm atop your head, fingers curling into your hair. “That’s it, doll. Be my good girl, now.”

He has to stifle the loud moan that reverberates from his lungs as you spit directly onto his shaft and grip him in your fist to begin slowly jacking him off, swiping the flat of your tongue up his length, his entire body vibrating.

You pause at the head, circling it, lapping at the pearl of precum that collects at the slit. He grasps your hair with a firmer hold, tugging at the roots.

“Don’t be a… fucking tease… or I’ll fuck you anyway,” he warns and in spite of yourself, you moan, and almost break.

You grin to yourself and take him deeper into your mouth, still holding him steady with one hand at the base as you adjust to his size, slowly pistoning your head forward and back.

“That’s it. Ohhh yes, good girl, sweetheart, good girl,” Max pants softly.

You slide your tongue along the underside of his dick, pausing at the fold of skin at the head as you rock forward, causing his hips to shudder and you eventually bottom out.

He grunts and grips the back of your neck, holding you flush against his groin, the dark and manicured thatch of hair tickling at your nose.

You can smell and taste the soap he uses; woodsy and light, nothing over the top nor underwhelming, but he’s as clean and well groomed as you would expect a pretentious man like Max to be.

He releases you when your eyes start to water and you murmur a noise of protest, allowing you to take a short break for air.

“Come now, darling, you can do better than that,” he notes with a small pout.

You nod in agreement and wet your lips, placing your hands on his hips as you take him back into your mouth and his head rolls back with a sigh, hands going to either side of your face.

You bottom out again and manage to hold better this time, hollowing out your cheek bones and breathing through your nostrils, relaxing your jaw and throat as you do so.

“Good girl… good… fucking girl,” he praises, nary louder than a whisper, running his fingertips along your scalp.

You tremble at the attention, moaning as you taste more precum dribbling onto your tongue, bobbing your head faster—as fast as you can—to get the job done as expeditiously as possible.

He groans and grasps your cheeks tighter, stilling your movements, holding you exactly where he wants you, and without any prior warning, starts rutting into your mouth.

“That’s right, that’s right… you can take it, can’t you? You can take it,” he growls, and there’s little else you can do but let him use your body as he wishes.

You can get the job done quickly but Max can get it done faster, knowing you’re on a time crunch.

You slacken your muscles as much as you can, as much as your body will allow, breathing through your nose and trying not to gag, especially considering you can feel and hear him nearing his release.

He starts to sputter what mostly sounds like nonsense words to you, gripping your cheeks and neck tightly in his large hands, rutting into your mouth with wreckless abandon and all you can do is sit there with the uneven tile digging into your tender knees and take it, letting go of his thighs to find purchase on the vanity behind him.

Finally, his hips begin to catch and then eventually seize, and with a low, guttural growl he spills hot and thick into your mouth, and you accept everything he has to offer you, swallowing it all with ease.

“Good girl… good girl…” he puffs, chanting your name softly on his tongue.

You milk him of every last feasible drop and a line of spittle connects you as you pull away, bringing your hand up to swipe at your mouth and breaking the string in the process.

He’s still panting as he helps you to your feet; you move to step to the sink so you can clean your face and rinse out your mouth. Without warning, Max grabs you once more, different than only a moment ago, ensnaring you in another tight hug and pushing you against the wall.

“Max… hey—“

He hasn’t even pulled his pants up yet. He squeezes you, lips ghosting over your skin as he presses his nose to the soft space between your neck and skull, inhaling your scent. And just… holds you like that, in an embrace, not at all dissimilar to yesterday.

“Thank you,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, and you’re once again struck with his sporadic shift in demeanor.

“Uhh… you’re welcome,” you reply and he breaks the hug, a single hand coming up to cradle your jaw, thumb dragging your bottom lip as he stares at it, contemplative and fixated.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to return the favor?” Max asks.

“Um… no… I need to clean up and get back out there,” you explain, causing his hand to drop from your face.

“Yeah. Yeah, right,” he says, almost appearing crestfallen — almost — as he tucks himself and his shirt back into his work slacks, buckling his belt and giving himself a cursory once over in the mirror.

You turn away and ignore him as you smooth down your clothes, splash some water over your face and rinse out your mouth and when you’ve determined you don’t look super fucked out, you confirm with Max that you’re each composed enough, giving him one last glance as you step out.

You feel fingertips against the small of your back, almost like he wants one last point of contact with you before you have to go back to the real world.

And what you both step into is a sea of chaos, the lobby now bustling with people needing their various morning addictions, and you cast Audrey and Vincent an apologetic glance as you rush over to assist them.

God, you really need a cigarette and a stiff drink.

They pass each other a look when they see you and Max coming out of the bathroom together and you inwardly sigh because you had hoped you could keep all of this on the down low. Well, that plan was pretty much out the window now. And there was no saving it.

Max stands to one side and waits patiently as you rush through making his drink, passing it to him when you’re done and your skin burning as you feel his gaze dwelling on you one last time before he dips out for the day.

The rush stays steady for about an hour and you’re actually kind of thankful for it, as it helps to keep your focus off of everything that’s happened recently.

——

You’re walking home when your phone buzzes with a new text.

You take in a breath and fish your phone from your purse, hoping it isn’t your mother. Wishing it isn’t her. She had already texted you earlier that day to let you know Garrett was out of jail, no thanks to you, and you made a point of ignoring it.

You expect another dramatic text from your mother as you’re opening your phone, but you’re relieved to see it’s from Dave this time, thank god.

You open the text to see an image of Dave crouched down in front of the jaws of a rather large shark, Alice perched on his knee and Mollie standing to one side, all three of them smiling for the camera. You try not to let the sweetness and normalcy of it affect you, and you can hardly believe that this is the same man who had practically broke you and stitched you back together multiple times.

You: looks fun

A few minutes later you receive more texts, popping up as you get close to your apartment’s wifi. The first is a video of the girls in front of a shark tank, babbling at a nurse shark, and then a second video of a reef shark swimming overhead in a tunnel, with the caption: sharks for you

You: Cool. I love them! See any sea otters?

Dave: no 🙁 But we saw penguins! 😍

You cover your mouth with your hand as you snicker at his reply, typing in a quick response.

You: Penguins? How feminine.

Dave: Okay smartass

You: Just dishing out some of what you were serving last night, Dave

Dave: Watch it, sweetheart, or you’ll really see what I can dish out when I get home

You: Promise? 😜

As you enter your apartment building and Dave texts back with I would love nothing more, you try to keep reminding yourself you aren’t falling for him.

——

With the girls dropped off safely with Carol, at the house which is still in his name, that he still pays for, Dave shoots you a quick text before pulling away.

Dave: I’ll be back in town in a day or two. I have a work thing

He fishes out a burner phone and punches in the address for your ex, Jonathan, who lives on Long Island. Which is good — perfect, really — as it’s en route back to Boston. A quick rendezvous there to take him out and then straight home. Or what he could consider his home, nowadays.

You make it feel like home to him.

The hit shouldn’t take long. It was an ideal situation, if he was being honest. The woman Jonathan had left you for had pulled the same trick on him as he had on you, leaving him high and dry after he had up and moved states, and now he lived alone in a small garage apartment at the back of a property that was flanked on all sides by woods.

Perfect.

He would be arriving long after nightfall, and he would bide his time in the woods until it was late enough to slip in and out undetected.

Dave did not care that Jonathan really wasn’t a bad person, aside from being the asshole who broke your heart. He couldn’t give two shits, really. He only wanted to take retribution for Jonathan’s slights against you, on your behalf, because you were too kind and gentle to do it yourself.

As he pulls onto the highway to begin his journey north, he can’t get your beautiful face out of his mind.

——

It turns out Jonathan is a night owl.

Dave has been in the trees at the perimeter of the property for hours. A single window at the back of the apartment shines a pale yellow, denoting lingering wakefulness from his mark. It’s the only available illumination aside from a lone street lamp near the front of the property.

And aside from his phone. He’s been watching you off and on all night, to pass the time. You’re alone, and have been for days now. You haven’t had Max — or anyone else for that matter — in your bed since the last encounter, which means you stopped seeing Max entirely or you had simply taken to fucking elsewhere. Max’s apartment?

He isn’t sure which, yet.

Currently, Jonathan is getting stoned and painting. Dave is far from being an art expert, but even from his vantage he can see the strokes on the canvas are broad and messy; calling it abstract would be a stretch. Infantile, maybe. He couldn’t have been the artist of the painting you have hanging in your apartment—the style and technique just wasn’t right.

He wonders, not for the first time, if you were a gifted artist as well as being a gifted writer.

Jonathan orders a pizza at 9:09 PM and it’s delivered at exactly 10:00 PM. He spends an hour eating, his motor skills slowed due to being so fried, attempting to masturbate after that — much to Dave’s abject disgust — gives up, and goes back to painting.

Dave can feel his patience growing thinner by the second. You’ve already retired to bed so he no longer has anything to occupy his mind as he waits. He would prefer to strike while Jonathan is sleeping, but it’s either now or never; anything close to daybreak would be too risky.

Given up on being discreet, he slinks like a cat out of the woods at around 12:30 AM, head on a constant swivel, gun holstered at his hip in case he needs it. He’s hoping he doesn’t.

He’s opted for the more difficult to trace route as the actual means of execution — a syringe with 100mg of potassium chloride, the same drug used in prisons — tucked away neatly in the pocket of his black hoodie.

The nearer Dave draws to the apartment, the louder the indie rock music Jonathan is blaring becomes, a band Dave doesn’t recognize. That’s a good thing, though, it will work in his favor when he picks the lock at the front of the building, arguably the riskiest part of this entire mission, due to its proximity to the street.

He reaches the second story landing and pulls his lock picking kit from said hoodie, adjusting the black beanie away from his eyes as he finds the right tools. He manipulates them into the lock, ear pressed to the thin door so he can better hear what he’s doing.

The music continues, and so far as Dave can tell, he hasn’t been detected.

He pops the lock within minutes and the door slowly shimmies open, his hand going to his hip on instinct as he pushes the door the rest of the way with the toe of his boot.

He’s met with a short entryway that veers off to a dimly lit living room. So far, Jonathan hasn’t noticed him. He’s on another planet entirely—exactly where Dave wants him. Thank god for brain altering substances.

Dave stalks forward and soon arrives at the opening of the main living space which is littered with various articles of trash and other clutter, skillfully dodging as much as he can so as to not alert his presence, or give detectives anything to go on.

What he finds is Jonathan hunched in front of a canvas, paintbrush perched between nimble fingers, painting god knows what, because Dave sure can’t tell, his back facing him. The sheer abundance of luck at his mark being in such a vulnerable and unawares position is so goddamn sexy Dave can hardly keep his dick in check at the presentation.

But even with Jonathan being as preoccupied as he is, it would be imprudent to dawdle, so he doesn’t.

He quickly closes the space between the two of them, one arm coiling like a large python around Jonathan’s throat and the other disabling his limbs.

Jonathan looses a low bellow, most of which is drowned out by the music and the reduced flow of oxygen to his lungs, nearly knocking over the easel the canvas sits on in his rush of panic, but thankfully does not. In Dave’s experience working cases for the CIA, signs of struggle are often harder to hide than one would think.

He attempts to fight back, body trying to twist away, but Dave is larger, stronger and more experienced in disarming than Jonathan is in fighting…well, anything…so it isn’t as difficult as Dave had feared it would be.

It isn’t exactly a cake walk either, and Dave knows he needs to get him to the ground as soon as possible to fully disable him, arm tightening around Jonathan’s throat as he wrestles the smaller man to the floor. He puts Jonathan in a sleeper hold, adding a second arm for leverage and bringing a leg up to ensnare his lower half.

“Just let it happen. Let it happen and it will be easier,” Dave grits against the shell of his ear. “Don’t fight me.”

He doesn’t listen, of course, hellbent on breaking the grapple, and failing. That pesky self preservation always did aggravate Dave as much as it excited him.

Jonathan’s vision starts to blot away, music fading to a low and persistent hum, his body finally giving in to the asphyxiation now that the adrenaline was a fleeting thing.

This is exactly what Dave needed to happen, and as he feels Jonathan’s body growing slack in his clutches, he removes the syringe from his pocket, biting the lid off and grasping it between his teeth as he readies the needle.

It isn’t hard to find a vein due to Jonathan’s heightened sense of agitation and panic, inserting the needle into the soft flesh of his neck and sinking the plunger before he can struggle away, flooding his bloodstream with the full dose of potassium chloride.

Within moments, attempts to free himself devolve to little more than faint body tremors, and Dave doesn’t release him until his body has fallen completely motionless and limp in his arms.

He checks Jonathan’s pulse a moment later and when he’s satisfied he’s gone, he drags the corpse to the recliner on the opposite end of the room, manipulating him into a position that makes it appear as if Jonathan succumbed to cardiac arrest.

Once done, he finds Jonathan’s cellphone and begins to thumb through the recent calls and text messages.

He finds you in there, as well as a string of messages to you begging your forgiveness and for your return, which have gone wholly unanswered by you. Dave smiles to himself. You must have blocked him after the breakup. Good.

He knows there’s a very real chance cops will question you regardless. But Dave decides to delete the messages and any other snippet of information he can find about you in Jonathan’s phone anyway, just to be safe.

As he repockets the empty syringe, he gives the room a final comb to ensure that not even a hair is out of place. When he determines everything is satisfactory, and that he hasn’t left behind any evidence or traces of DNA, he turns to make a hasty retreat.

He leaves the apartment exactly as he found it, making sure to lock the door behind him, leaving nothing out of place, no loose ends unraveled.

He jogs down the stairs and makes the mile long trek through the woods to return to where his car is parked, working up a sweat even with the cooler air but not at all concerned about it, pulling the beanie off and tossing it to the passenger floorboard when he finally makes it to the car.

Palming himself through his dark jeans, he pulls onto the road, with you being the only thing on his mind as he begins the arduous six hour journey home to see you. You.

And he can barely fucking wait.

——

Taglist: @ohheypedrito @kateispunk @awilderi @survivingandenduring @heavennumber2 @alwaysmicado @oberynslady @kellybelly1978 @cosmic-li @chronically-ghosted @morallyinept @annieispunk @xxjigglynatxx @daddy-dins-girl @onmysluttyknees @guelyury @gwendibleywrites @missladym1981 @anoverwhelmingdin @yorksgirl @shotgun-shelby

Please let me know if I forgot you, it wasn’t intentional 🥺

💜💜💜

#pedro pascal #writing #fanfic #smut #author #romance #pedro fanfic #dark romance #max phillips #dave york

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daddy-dins-girl · 6 months

Text

Playdate - Chapter Two

Playdate, back by popular demand babyyyyy! 😘😘😘. Thank you, my thirsty little mutuals for your love and support <3 Now let's go straight back to hell, shall we?

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Marcus Pike x f! Reader x Dave York

Word Count: 7k

Chapter Summary: Three weeks after your initial meeting with Dave York you meet again. This time however, without your husband (at his own insistence). Marcus wants you to feel free and unencumbered by his presence to explore your wants, needs and fantasies with Dave and you reluctantly agree to it - just this once.

Notes: OK Marcus does take a bit of a back seat in this chapter but not to worry, he'll be back full force in the next!

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. Cuckolding. Wife sharing. Dave York's mouth needs its own warning (and to be washed out with soap). Dirty Talk. Degradation. Daddy Kink. Praise Kink. Soft!Dave York (enjoy it while it lasts, it won't be long). Dom!Dave York. Oral sex (m and f receiving). Rough oral sex. Biting (just one lil bite). Frottage. Dave is spitting in your mouth again because it's Dave and that's his M.O.. Spanking (just a couple swats). Mention/brief discussion of anal sex. Breathplay. Unprotected P in V sex. Naked female/clothed male. Cockwarming. 'Cozy Boyfriend Vibes' Marcus also gets a warning because he'll make your heart grow three sizes. If I missed anything lmk!

Nervous anticipation thrums through your veins as Saturday evening is finally upon you. Marcus had texted Dave about a week ago regarding another “session” for the three of you and tonight was the settled upon date you’d all agreed on. It’s been three weeks since you last saw - and first met - Dave York. Your husband's business colleague turned… well, you weren’t sure what to call him now. Threesome partner, sort of? The man who, regardless of anything else, was surely responsible for the dramatic upturn yours and Marcus’ sex life had taken the last three weeks, that’s for certain. Ever since your single time with Dave, you and Marcus have been insatiable for each other. Not that you ever had much of a problem in that department to begin with, but recently you’ve dialed it up to eleven, not being able to keep off of each other.

You fucked in the shower, on the couch, the kitchen floor, and even one memorable Sunday morning with you sitting on top of the lid of the washing machine while it was running with Marcus standing between your legs drilling into you as your whole lower half shook and vibrated to the unrelenting rhythm of the spin cycle.

Still, as much as Marcus was keeping you satisfied (and he was) the thought of being with Dave again thrilled you. He was such a polar opposite to Marcus, whom you absolutely loved and adored, and you’re not saying that different is better. Different is just… different. Different excites you and opens up both yours and Marcus’ world to things that weren’t in it before and really, that was the goal of this whole thing to begin with.

You were so nervous at first while being with Dave with Marcus watching. As much as it excited you, you couldn’t help the little gnawing feeling in your gut that you could be hurting Marcus somehow or making him feel inadequate. He’d assured you enough that night that that wasn’t the case, but it was always playing at the back of your mind. The absolute last thing you want is to cause any kind of rift between you and Marcus. So when he had suggested a week later that you try it again you made sure to have several long discussions about it first to ensure that he really wanted this as much as you did because if he didn’t, you would be fine with cutting the whole thing off. Finally after a week of discussions you both agreed you wanted to involve Dave again and Marcus had started up a group text conversation between the three of you. So far it had just been Marcus and Dave texting back and forth a couple times, deciding on a date and that was it. You were nervous about sending any messages to Dave yourself, at least for now, so you let everything go through Marcus, though you were glad he tried to include you by inviting you to the conversation.

Tonight would be different though. So different from last time and as if you weren’t already nervous, now your anxiety is ten-fold after what Marcus had recently suggested to you. He told you that he thinks you should have one night just with Dave by yourselves. He could tell how into it you were last time but he felt that you were constantly holding back and feeling nervous about how he was feeling and he didn’t want that. He wanted you to be free to explore what you wanted to explore and then next time Marcus would be back in the mix and hopefully not only learn first hand what you liked, but get some tips and tricks from Dave along the way. You argued a bit with Marcus at first, telling him that wasn’t the deal and you wanted him part of it but he explained his side and assured you he would be okay with it and told you to take a couple days and really think it over and so this afternoon you had finally made your decision and decided to take him up on it. Just this once, you had insisted.

He hadn’t even told Dave about it yet because he wasn’t sure if you were going to agree to it or not until a couple of hours ago and now he was worried Dave might not even show up if Marcus changed the rules on him last minute so he decided to talk to Dave when he came over. If he wasn’t okay with it, then they’d go back to the original plan and Marcus would stay.

You drain your second glass of wine as your fingernails tap nervously on the counter until finally the doorbell rings and you and Marcus both turn to each other and share a glance.

“Right on time” Marcus shrugs, pushing back from his chair and heading to the front door. You decide to head straight upstairs and let them talk, because you don’t want to hear the conversation if it turns bad and Dave has no interest in you if Marcus isn’t directly benefiting from it, since that was the original arrangement.

A couple of minutes tick by and you sit nervously at the end of the bed until finally you hear footsteps approach and the door swings open, revealing both Marcus and Dave. You assume this means Marcus is staying and you’re not sure how to feel about it. Part of you is glad, you want him here, he makes you feel safe and comfortable (whereas Dave makes you feel literally the exact opposite) but part of you wonders how interested Dave really is in you and if this is all just a fun game to him that doesn’t really get him off unless he’s got Marcus here to cuckold.

“Honey I told him what we talked about… he’s okay with it” Marcus explains as he crosses the room to you and your shoulders settle as a breath escapes your lips. Suddenly you’re even more nervous then you thought you’d be.

“Sure you don’t wanna stay Pike? I’m having fun watching her squirm already” Dave muses, winking at you and you feel your cheeks flush. Maybe Marcus should stay.

“Hey,” Marcus gets your attention and he’s staring at you with a soft smile to calm your nerves. “I love you, ok? I’ll be down the street at the bar, gonna catch the game. Just… promise me you’ll have a good time” he says and you nod your head before you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him. You hold on, continuing to kiss him because you need him to know before he leaves how much you love him, appreciate him, and how part of you doesn’t want him to go.

Eventually he slows your kisses down and lets out a little laugh as he pulls back. “Have fun, I want you to” he says before he leans in and places a kiss to your forehead and then turns to walk out the door, closing it behind him and sealing you and Dave inside alone.

You stand next to the bed and wring your hands together in nervous anticipation as Dave slinks forward, sly grin on his lips.

“Hey Baby” he greets casually as he steps in front of you, places his hands on your waist and gives you a good look up and down. You feel much less exposed this time at least. You’re wearing a knee length silk robe that’s tied around your waist, protecting some of your modesty.

Which was all for nothing, apparently, because seconds later before he even utters another word or allows you to greet him back, his one hand comes up and tugs one end of the sash holding your robe closed and it falls right open, revealing your skimpy little black laced bra and matching panties.

“H-Hi” you stammer out, arms instinctively coming up to wrap around yourself.

“Don’t” Dave says, surprisingly softly, his gaze locked on to your chest. You drop your hands to your side, still nervous as hell but it's an exciting kind of nervous as Dave brings a single finger up to trace the top edge of your bra over your left breast.

“Pretty” he murmurs before he gently pushes the robe from your shoulders and it pools on the floor at your feet. His hands go back to your waist and he leans down and captures your lips. The kiss is heated as he reacquaints himself with your mouth, your tongue, exploring every inch like he needs to commit it to memory and your body leans into his instinctively, your hands coming up to wrap around his neck as he moans into your mouth.

Whatever you were expecting tonight, it wasn’t this. He’s being… soft. His hands lightly smooth up and down your sides and across your back and before long his mouth leaves yours to kiss down your jaw and to your throat. You tilt your head to give him better access and whimper when he hits a particular spot on your throat and sucks before laving over it with his tongue and then moving on to kiss and lick and nip at every inch of exposed flesh until you’re practically trembling in his arms. Your hands clutch the short hairs at the back of his head as he anchors you in place, your knees feeling weak already as his mouth transcends a little lower to your collarbone and then the tops of your breasts.

“Ohhhh” you gasp softly when he mouths at your left nipple over top of the lace garment and his hand comes up to lightly pinch at the other and then he switches sides and repeats. “Fuck”

It feels strangely intimate, what’s happening right now. It's reminiscent of how you are with Marcus and that wasn’t supposed to be the point for being with Dave. You’re finding it really tough to complain, however, when his mouth is making every coherent thought escape your brain entirely. Finally he unclasps your bra and lets it fall to the floor and then he spends minutes on your breasts, paying each one equal attention with his mouth or his hands and all you can do is push your hands through his hair and whimper and moan with your head occasionally lolling backwards when it gets to be too much effort to hold it upright.

Dave is silent, which is odd enough in and of itself. The only sounds from his mouth are the soft licks and kisses and hums as he devours your tits and it's night and day to the Dave that was here a few weeks ago who was calling you names and barking orders at you.

Finally he begins descending lower still, trailing kisses down the middle of your stomach and lowering himself to his knees as he goes. Your hands go to hold onto his shoulders just as his mouth reaches the waistband of your panties and he looks up at you; those soft brown eyes that are jarringly familiar and yet so different from the man you are married to. Keeping his gaze locked on yours, his hands come to your hips and he slowly drags your panties down your legs until you’re left completely bare before him and your heart is hammering in your chest. The eye contact alone that he’s giving you is sending little ripples of pleasure down your spine and you pull your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Dave” his name leaves your lips in a whisper and suddenly his face is in your cunt. He spreads your lower lips with his fingers and his tongue licks a slow broad stripe straight up the center and your knees nearly buckle with the pleasure that shoots through you.

“Lay down” he instructs and you shuffle back the few inches to the side of the mattress and sit on the edge and lower yourself down on your back and Dave is back on you, lifting both your legs and draping one on either of his shoulders and his hands rest on your hips to hold you down as he’s kneeled on the floor in front of you.

“Oh fuck” you cry out when his mouth is back on you. His tongue circles your clit a few times until he sucks it into his mouth and your hips chase the pressure of his mouth, desperate for more. He releases your clit and then his tongue trails down the center again and begins prodding at your entrance with the tip of his wet muscle.

“Oh my god” you whine, hands flying down to clutch in his hair again and he moans loudly into you, sending little shockwaves through your pulsing cunt. One of his hands leaves your hip and his thumb comes down to put pressure on your clit, rubbing it in tight small circles while he continues fucking into you with his tongue and soon enough, you’re gone. You shoot up onto your elbows as you feel the dam burst and let out a choked sob as you cum hard and fast, hips bucking wildly into Dave’s face as he continues his assault, working you through it and not slowing down.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck” you chant until you literally can’t take it anymore and your hands go to his head in an attempt to push him away and thankfully he takes the hint and his thumb lifts from your throbbing clit and his tongue switches to long slow licks through your folds, lapping up the sticky residue of your release.

“Mmmmm” he hums into you, seemingly content on licking up every last drop from you before he starts planting little kisses all over your sex, your mound, your thighs and finally he pushes up from his knees and leans over you to trail kisses up body until he reaches your mouth and kisses you soundly, just once. Just long enough for you to get a taste of yourself on his tongue and then he releases you and rests his forehead against yours.

“Hi” he smirks - he fucking smirks - at you.

“Hi… fuck!” you breathe out and Dave huffs out a little laugh before he pushes himself back up to a standing position and holds a hand out for you. You take his offered hand and he helps you up until you’re back in the position from earlier and his hands go to your hips again.

“What was that for?” You ask, genuinely curious and Dave shrugs.

“I knew you’d be nervous without Pike here, figured I’d help settle the nerves first. Feel nice and loose now, don’t ya baby?” He grins, jostling your hips back and forth slightly and you let out a little laugh.

“And now that we’ve got the pleasantries out of the way,” he begins, that menacing tone from the first night you met him suddenly back and you try to ignore the pleasant little tingle it sends down your spine. His mouth reaches your ear and he gently pulls the lobe between his teeth before releasing it and finishing his thought with a whisper into your ear “you can show your Daddy just how much you missed him, hmmm?”

You pull your lip between your teeth again as a small groan escapes your lips. Dave is tonguing at your ear canal and sucking the lobe into his mouth and your eyes close as a little whimper escapes you.

“Answer me” he growls, his hands gripping tightly at your hips, yanking you forward a couple of inches so your pelvis presses into his and you feel the unmistakable press of his desire against your hip from underneath his clothes.

“Yes Daddy” you nod enthusiastically and let your hand snake down between your bodies to cup him over his pants. “I’ll be so good for you” you add and he groans.

“On your fucking knees baby” he orders, a little breathless and you instantly comply, dropping to your knees in front of him and pressing your face into his crotch to kiss his length over his pants and he hums in approval, bringing a hand down to run through your hair. You kiss over his shaft a few more times before your hands come up to his belt buckle and you stop, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

“Please can I have your cock in my mouth? Want it so bad” you tell him, putting on your best pout and his eyes close momentarily and he tosses his head back before finally refocusing on you.

“Yeah baby, take me out” he instructs and you waste no time opening his belt, yanking down the zipper and pulling his pants and boxers down to his thighs so his cock bobs out right in front of your face. You’re about to press forward before you stop yourself and settle back to sit on your heels, tilt your head up to Dave and open your mouth wide and wait.

“Oh fuck” Dave curses, eyes closing again and you have to fight back the grin that wants to emerge at how damn proud of yourself you are.

“Good girl. Good fucking girl” Dave growls before he grips your jaw tightly in his hand and angles his head down to spit into your mouth. You give him a coy smile when the saliva hits your tongue and then lean forward and wrap your mouth around his cock and suck.

“Oh fuck, that’s it baby” he praises you, hands gathering up your hair until he can hold it all back in one hand so he has a better view of you swallowing him down.

“You take my cock so fucking good baby girl” he continues and you hum around him, bobbing up and down and taking as much of him as you can into your mouth. He lets you go at your own pace for a good couple of minutes and then he begins pushing back with his hips until he’s fucking into your throat and you’re forced to just stay still and take what he gives you. He forces deeper and deeper with each thrust and every so often he’ll push all the way down your throat and hold you there until you gag and choke on him until he releases you and starts all over again.

“Goddamn fucking whore how you take this cock baby, hmmm? Fucking cockslut aren’t you?” He continues uttering pure filth and you simply hum affirmatively and nod your head into his groin as he continues to feed you his dick until your eyes water and your throat is raw.

Now this is the Dave York you remember. Your cunt clenches around nothing and you can feel your arousal dripping down your thighs as he towers over you, degrading you and taking exactly what he wants.

“Come here” he grunts suddenly and grabs you under your arms and hauls you back to your feet, his leaking dick sliding out from your mouth as you're dragged away from it.

He kisses you harshly and his hands come down to grope your ass, kneading the soft flesh in his hands and squeezing roughly before his grip loosens slightly into a massage instead and you moan into his mouth.

“Fuck, turn around” he orders. His hands leave your ass to grab your shoulders and turn you so you’re facing the side of the bed and he pushes you down so you’re bent over lying on your stomach on the mattress with your feet still planted on the floor behind you and your turn your head to look back and watch Dave sink to his knees.

Your body jolts on the bed when a sharp slap from Dave’s right hand lands on your ass and then he’s soothing over the surely red mark.

“Look at this perfect fucking ass” Dave growls, both hands grabbing at your cheeks and spreading them before he lets go and swats at the left cheek and his mouth comes down to gently bite at the meat of your right.

“Oh!” you can’t help but moan, hips rocking into the edge of the mattress.

Dave gets back up again but bends over your body so his cock is at your ass and his mouth at your ear. “God I want to fuck this tight little asshole so bad” he confesses and drags his dick between your cheeks for emphasis.

“Oh fuck” you whimper and you don’t know if it’s fear or excitement. Maybe both. “Dave I…” you trail off. You’re not ready for that, in every possible way.

“I know baby” he hums into your ear. “Don’t worry I won’t” he promises and you release the breath you’d been holding, your muscles instantly relaxing from underneath him.

“I think… m-maybe I might want to, some time…” you stammer helplessly. You’re definitely interested, but you want to be prepared first.

“I know baby” Dave soothes, one hand sliding between you and the bed to massage a breast in his hand and the other goes around your front between your legs and begins to play with your clit and you begin whimpering again. “Daddy will buy you a toy next time, hmm? We’ll work on getting you ready until one day you’ll be begging me to fuck your tight little hole hmm?”

“Oh fuck, yes” you whine as the pads of his first two fingers draw agonizing little circles around your throbbing clit.

“You need me to play with this little pussy baby?” he taunts, gently pinching and rolling the taught little bundle of nerves between his fingertips.

“Mmmhmm” you nod frantically against the mattress but then he instantly stills his moments.

“What’s that now?”

“Yes, yes, please play with my pussy” you appease him immediately, knowing just what he was waiting for and you can feel him smirking against the side of your face.

“Turn over” he instructs and you do, then he climbs onto the bed and hauls you up further so you’re no longer half hanging off it. He’s propped up on his elbow on his side right next to and you watch as he sucks two fingers into his mouth and then brings that hand between your legs and starts rubbing in slow circles.

“Ohhhhhh fuck” you mewl, gently writhing and letting your legs fall open wider for him.

“Yeah that’s better, hmmm? That’s what you needed baby” Dave coos, his forehead resting against the side of your head. “Play with your pretty tits baby, let me see” he tells you and you don’t need to be told twice, both your hands coming to grab the soft flesh and alternating between massaging the mounds and pinching and pulling at your pebbled nipples.

“Oh fuck” Dave moans and then leans over you to take the closest one into his mouth, sucking and licking over the sensitive bud. He pulls back again after a moment and refocuses his attention on his hand between your legs, his digits sliding down to prod at your entrance until he slips two inside and buries them to his knuckles.

“Jesus, this tight little fucking pussy” Dave growls, working his fingers in and out. “So fucking wet for me”

“Yes, oh feels so good” you whine, eyes closed as you slide slightly up and down against the mattress, rocking yourself into his hand.

“Look at you” Dave clicks his tongue. “Fucking yourself on my fingers, just can’t help yourself can you, little minx” he huffs. “You wanna cum on my fingers?”

“Please” you let out in a breathy whisper.

“Please what, baby?” He asks, just as he curls his fingers at the perfect spot and you cry out as your next orgasm rapidly approaches.

“Oh fuck, please let me cum. Please Daddy”

“Good girl” Dave rewards before he shifts his position so he’s up on his knees between your legs and starts driving his fingers in and out of you at a relentless pace. The wet slaps reverberate off the walls as his hand pounds into you, fingers sinking in and out of your sopping core and your hips chase the pressure of his thrusts.

“Oh my god!” you squeal as he hits a particular spot and your vision begins to blur.

“Oh we found it did we?” he grins, doubling his efforts to push harder and faster into you as his free hand comes up to press his thumb down on your clit and you instantly cum in a silent scream, your orgasm racking over your entire body until you collapse back into the mattress with a blissed out smile spread on your lips.

“God damnit, I need to fuck you” Dave growls suddenly and he’s all but manhandling you into a new position. He grabs you around the waist and flips you over until you're on your hands and knees and he pushes down between your shoulder blades so your head is down and your ass is up in the air. You turn your head the best you can and watch as he fists his cock a few times and then brings it between your folds to coat himself in your arousal. He’s sliding in and out of your slick lips, the tip of his cock bumping deliciously into your clit with every thrust and you slide forward slightly on the bed as the threat of another orgasm chases straight on the heels of the last one.

“Oh god, fuck” you whimper into the pillow.

“Fuck, feels good doesn’t it baby? You wanna fucking cum again don’t you?” He asks and you nod frantically.

“Please, I’m so close”

He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you upright so your back is to his chest, both of you on your knees and he continues bucking his hips, sliding through your folds and you look down to see just the tip of his head occasionally peek through from between your legs as he rubs against your pussy with his hard length. His hands come to your hips next and he helps you drag yourself up and down and your own hands reach up and behind you to wrap around his neck and just hang on for dear life as he slams into your throbbing little bundle of nerves over and over again.

“Cum all over this cock baby, fucking soak me” he growls at your ear and it does you in. You tip over that edge again and your body falls forward down onto your elbows as a choked out sob escapes you.

“Oh my god” you huff, chest heaving and body shaking so hard you can barely hold yourself up. Dave is still rocking into you and it’s way too fucking much on your oversensitive clit. You need him inside you or ten feet away from you, one or the other, you’re not sure, you just know you can’t take this particular brand of torture any longer.

“Dave, I - oh fuck”

“Beg for me” he seethes between clenched teeth as he tries desperately to hold himself together. “Beg for this fucking cock Sweetheart”

“Please!” You cry out instantly, not wasting a moment. “Need your fucking cock inside me, please. Please fuck me”

“Goddamn slut” he snarls before he thrusts forward and sheathes himself in your wet heat and you let out a guttural moan at the delicious stretch. One of his hands goes to your shoulder and the other has a bruising grip on your hip as he fucks into you fast and hard and you’re practically convulsing underneath him.

“Fuck baby, taking this cock so good, Jesus” he pants as he pounds into you from behind so hard that the headboard is slamming into the wall and if you had any functioning brain cells left you’d be worried you were about to break the bed.

“Oh fuck you're gonna make me cum” he huffs, head tossed back and eyes squeezed shut as he drives into you so hard and fast you feel your eyes roll into the back of your head, your mouth open in a silent scream you're pretty sure only dogs can hear.

"God damn baby" he growls, his pace still relentless and you need him to finish. You know he's waiting for you to give him one more but as good as he's making you feel you don't think there's any possible way you have one more in you so you do your best to coax it out of him whatever way you can.

“Oh god, please cum for me Daddy, I want it so bad” you whine pathetically, hoping it will do him in, but then your moans turn into a loud gasp when you feel the hand that was at your shoulder wrap around your throat and squeeze the sides. It’s harder and longer than last time and before long there are dark spots at the corners of your vision the longer he holds. Just when you think you can’t take it anymore and you’re about to grab for him to tap out he releases you and blood rushes to your head and you lose focus on everything except the way your cunt clenches down on Dave’s cock as wave after wave of euphoria hits you.

“Oh fuck. That's my good girl. Fuck fuck fuck” Dave grunts and pulls out of you, fisting his cock over and over again until ropes of his warm seed begin to coat over your ass and lower back until he has nothing left to give and he turns over and collapses on his back in exhaustion.

You lower your hips back down to the bed so you’re flat on your stomach, still coming down from your own orgasm and both of you are heaving on the bed next to each other, trying to catch your breaths.

You finally start coming back to yourself and you turn your head over to the other side to look at Dave and a laugh suddenly escapes you.

“What?” Dave questions, clearly not in on whatever’s got you in stitches.

“You just fucked my brains out and didn’t even remove a stitch of clothing. You still have your fucking shoes on!”

Maybe it’s the post-orgasmic bliss, but the whole notion is wildly amusing to you for some reason.

Dave looks down at himself as if he’s now just noticing you’re not wrong. His pants and underwear are around his thighs but other than that he’s fully clothed from head to toe and now he lets out a laugh before rubbing his hands over his face and through his hair.

“Fuck me” he groans, exasperated.

“Not again, give a girl a break” you joke and he rolls his eyes playfully before he swats at your ass.

“Smartass” he grumbles before he lifts his hips and pulls his pants up and then rolls off the bed and heads to the bathroom. You hear the faucet running for a minute and know you need to get up yourself and clean off but you literally don’t know if you can move after whatever the hell that was that Dave just put you through. You lost count of the orgasms.

To your surprise however, Dave comes back (fully dressed again with his appendage back inside his now refastened pants) with a washcloth in his hand and walks up to your side of the bed and holds it out to you.

You thank him shyly and are glad when he turns away from you to give you some privacy. You’re not sure how on earth you can possibly still get embarrassed in front of this man after the things he’s said and done to you and you to him, but you do. If Marcus were here he’d clean you up himself, soft strokes of the warm cloth between your legs and you’d watch him with a dopey smile on your face at how sweet he is to you and pull him in for a kiss when he was done.

And speaking of Marcus you hear your phone buzz on the nightstand next to you and you reach for it to read the incoming text. You see that it’s actually from Dave in your group chat and you glance up to see him with his back to you, phone clutched in his hand.

“What’s the score? I had the 9’ers to cover” it reads and you roll your eyes and huff a little laugh. You guess that’s a better way of saying ‘hey, all done here fucking your wife into another dimension if you wanna come home now’

Three little bubbles appear as Marcus is typing a reply and you feel a little flutter in your tummy, a smile involuntarily crossing your lips.

“Sorry buddy, hope your kids college funds weren’t riding on that game”

Kids? Interesting. You’re suddenly realizing you don’t actually know anything about this man. No wedding ring though so you assume he’s divorced at least.

You click back to your messages page and pull up your direct line to Marcus without Dave in it and type a simple message.

“Come home ❤️”

He replies instantly.

“On my way”

You get up from the bed and grab for your discarded robe from the floor from earlier, tying it around yourself and head off to the bathroom to pee. When you come back out Dave is still standing there and you realize now you have no idea how you’re supposed to say goodbye to him. The nerves and awkwardness suddenly flooding you again.

“Well, um… thanks, for tonight” you say, wringing your hands together and he offers you a comforting smile.

“My pleasure baby, c’mere” he says and reaches a hand out to grab yours and tug you towards him. He leans down and presses a kiss to your lips. He doesn’t linger, doesn’t turn it into more, just wants to put you at ease and it does.

“Don’t be a stranger now” he winks at you and you reward him with a soft smile.

“I won’t” you promise, giving his hand a small squeeze.

“I can see myself out” he tells you before releasing your hand and he walks off out the bedroom door as you call out a soft ‘goodnight’ to the back of his retreating head.

As you hear his heavy footsteps down the stairs a flash comes across your bedroom window and you realize it’s Marcus’ headlights as he pulls up the drive and you wander over to the window and glance outside. Just as Marcus is getting out of the car Dave is walking down towards his own sleek black sedan that’s parked at the curb and the two men stop when they meet. You can’t hear what they’re saying but you watch as Dave reaches a hand out and Marcus grabs it and they shake while Dave’s other hand lands on Marcus’ shoulder and gives it a firm pat and they release each other. They stand there for another minute or so chatting, about what, you have no idea, until finally Dave lifts a hand in a goodbye and turns down the driveway and continues towards his car.

You turn back and flip off the lamp that was lighting the room and crawl into the bed, ridding yourself of your robe again and tossing it over a nearby chair before pulling the covers over you.

“Hey Baby” you hear Marcus call out softly a minute later when he enters the bedroom.

“Hi” you sigh dreamily, happy to hear his voice, happy to have him home.

He wastes no time stripping down and crawling into his own side of the bed and shuffling over to you. The moment he’s next to you you wrap your arms around him and hug him tightly, burying your face in his neck and wrapping your limbs around him like a spider monkey with separation anxiety.

“Hey, you ok?” Marcus asks, hugging you tightly to his chest for a moment before pulling his head back to get a look at you. His hand comes to rest on your cheek and forces your gaze to his.

“Yeah I’m ok” you promise. “Just missed you”

“I missed you too” he sighs before leaning in and kissing your forehead. He pulls back after a second and stifles a laugh.

“What?” You ask, brow furrowed.

“You smell like Dave” he laughs, wrinkling his nose and you roll your eyes but are laughing as well.

“I’m not surprised, he literally left his clothes on the whole time” you tell him, shaking your head at the memory. You’re so used to Marcus who would probably never have either of you wearing clothes when you were alone inside the house if it were up to him.

“Really?” Marcus asks, features scrunched up in disbelief and you nod your head.

“What a weirdo” he teases and you laugh.

“He’s your friend” you counter.

“Our friend” Marcus corrects you and you hum.

You suppose he’s right.

“So… what was it like?” Marcus inquires further and you contemplate for probably a moment too long on how you should answer.

Mind blowing.

Incredible.

But not the same because it wasn’t you.

“It’s ok baby, I want this too, remember?” He prods further, waiting for your answer.

“It was um… a lot?” You laugh. “Like literally I’m going to need a break for a day or two”

“God damnit York” Marcus huffs but there’s no real anger there, you can hear the playfulness in his tone. “Put my wife’s vagina on a timeout” he grumbles under his breath and suddenly you’re erupting with laughter just as Marcus breaks out into a huge grin and joins you.

“Baby I love you so fucking much” you confess after the giggling finally subsides.

“I love you too. So much” Marcus replies easily, placing a kiss on the tip of your nose and pulling back to smile sweetly at you.

“Do you… wanna take a bath with me?” You ask. You know you have the smell of sex and Dave York literally all over you and you assume Marcus doesn’t love that but to your surprise he just snuggles you a little tighter and hums into your hair.

“I don’t mind. I uh… kinda like you like this” he admits and despite the darkened state of the room you know he’s blushing. You also know he’s not lying either when he pushes his hips just slightly and you feel exactly how much he likes it pressing against your thigh. Marcus is kinkier than you give him credit for. And the secureness he has in your relationship and his own masculinity is so incredibly sexy you wish you had even an ounce of the energy you'd need to let him know how good he makes you feel as well.

“Baby” you let out a little whine. You want so badly to be with him but you physically don’t think you can do it. You don’t have another orgasm in you, you just don’t. And it’s not fair to Marcus for you to just lie there like a cold fish either when he wants to make love to you.

“I know” he soothes, pressing a kiss to your temple. “But I’m, I thought, maybe…” he trails off, like he’s embarrassed and that has your attention.

“What? Tell me baby”

“Well do you um, remember last time with Dave? What he said about like… keeping it warm?” He begins and your tummy flutters at the memory. You absolutely remember.

“Yeah, the cockwarming thing?”

“Yeah” Marcus shrugs. “M-maybe we could try that? Only if you want to!” He adds hurriedly and you smile.

“Baby, if you’d let me fall asleep with your cock inside me, I’d literally marry you all over again” you tell him and his face lights up like a kid on Christmas just given their first puppy.

“Fuck, really?”

“Mmm hmmm” you nod, placing a hand on his cheek and leaning in to kiss him. “I wanna feel close to you” you confess.

And you do want to. You’d never even thought of doing this before because typically if he was inside you it was because you both wanted or needed to get off but now seems like the perfect time. For you at least. You hope it’s going to be enjoyable for Marcus and not pure torture if he’s too worked up and can’t do anything about it.

“Are you sure though? That’s going to be ok for you?”

“Turn around on your side” Marcus tells you rather than answering and you do so he can spoon up behind you like your usual sleeping position together. He sits up and reaches over you and pulls open the bedside drawer and grabs the small bottle of lube that you keep in there. He squeezes a few droplets into his hand and tosses the bottle back before you feel him behind you getting himself ready and then he’s sliding between your thighs, warm and hard. You’re grateful at how considerate he’s being, your sweet Marcus.

“I’ve got you honey” he whispers into your cheek as he slowly drags himself between your folds a couple of times to coat you in the slick from the lube so you’re more comfortable and then gently pushes inside, both of you groaning when he’s buried to the hilt. He reaches just a touch deeper than Dave and feels so good inside you like your bodies were simply meant to fit together.

“God I fucking missed you” he breathes into your shoulder before planting a kiss to it.

“Missed you too Marcus, so much”. There’s tears at the corners of your eyes threatening to spill. You love this man more than anything and all he wants is to make you happy and it makes your heart soar. You feel so close to him with him nestled inside you, you feel like you could stay like this forever and you’d die happy.

“Go to sleep baby” he hums and then wraps his arm around you to hold you tighter against him.

The slow and steady throb of his cock inside you is like a heartbeat and lulls you to sleep in minutes, pulling you into a dreamless and restful slumber for the rest of the night until morning comes and you make sure to show Marcus exactly how much you appreciate him.

Chapter three

Taglist (if you want to be added, lmk!) @senaar-ika @suzdin @boliv-jenta @prolix-yuy @vabeachazn @seasonalobession @pedroshotwifey @nerdieforpedro @chronically-ghosted @macabremads

#dave york fanfiction #marcus pike fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #dave york x reader #pedro pascal characters #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fluff #marcus pike x you #marcus pike #dave york #dave york x you #dave york smut #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal

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whataperfectwasteoftime · 1 year

Text

Ropes (Valentine's Day Exchange)

Pairing: Dave York x f!reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: shibari (rope play, restraints), dom/sub undertones, PIV sex, squirting, use of vibrators, competence kink, mentions of edging/overstimulation, knives (but no knife play!!), mention of butt plugs, soft!Dave gets his own warning

Summary: “What are these for?” you ask, examining the hook. Dave’s smile is a sly one. “For the ropes.”

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day, @honestly-shite!!!!!!!!!! Please have some naughty AND soft Dave York who has a secret kink hidden away in his closet........ Created for the Valentine's Day exchange in the Discord server. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH, PLEASE KNOW YOU ARE MY LITERAL VALENTINE NOW.

Masterlist

“D-Dave!”

“That’s it, baby. Tell me.” Dave grits out roughly, his voice uneven from the force of his thrusts. He adjusts his grip on your ass, pulling you up even more so that your ankles are resting on his shoulders as he pounds into you.

“It’s–gonna make me–”

“I know.” Dave smirks. You know he knows–knows exactly what this position does to you. His cock is hammering right on your g-spot, causing pressure to build inside of you. You can feel it coming already, each time he hits the same spot over and over. It’s more powerful than an orgasm, it’s–

“Fuck!” you squeak as the dam suddenly breaks and wetness bursts out around Dave’s cock.

He chuckles darkly, pulling out abruptly just to watch the little stream of liquid splash out of you. He rubs your clit, admiring the way it runs down his fingers as you whimper and come down from the powerful sensation.

Suddenly, he sheathes himself within you again and you shriek at the overstimulation, but Dave only laughs again, spurred on by your protests.

“Fucking perfect,” he murmurs as he starts to chase his own end. “So fucking pretty.”

“Dave,” you moan, seemingly only capable of his name as he takes you apart. “Dave.”

“Say it again,” Dave orders through clenched teeth.

“Dave, Dave, Dave–”

He fucks up into you one last time as he cums, hitting something so deep it’s almost painful. You clutch at his shoulders, both of you breathing heavily as you recover. Eventually, he raises his head and looks down at you with a soft smile–and a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

You laugh in surprise. “Wait, wait–was that my gift?”

“I was supposed to get you something?”

You giggle again and slap Dave’s chest playfully. “You ass.”

“I’ll get you something,” he murmurs. “What do you want?”

“Wait, you really didn’t?”

Dave shoots you a withering look. “What do you think?”

“Um–”

“Of course I did. But it’s on back-order, so you’re going to have to be patient for a couple more days."

"What is it?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." He slips out of you with a soft grunt and gets out of bed, searching on the floor for his underwear.

You stretch languidly and get up too, grimacing at the way the sheets stick to your legs.

“Let me throw these in the washer,” you tell Dave as you throw on one of his t-shirts, laughing to yourself. “We really do a number on the sheets.”

Dave huffs a little laugh himself. “You weren’t complaining earlier.”

You crinkle your nose as you crumple the top sheet and throw it on the floor. “They’re soaking wet.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“Yours.”

“How do you figure?” Dave snorts.

“You made me do it.” You yank the fitted sheet off of the last corner of Dave’s king-size bed, and a little black strap with a carabiner clip at the end falls out between the mattress and the box spring. You frown, cocking your head to the side.

You glance over at Dave questioningly. He’s watching you intently; the intensity in his eyes betrays his relaxed stance. No, he’s highly interested in your reaction.

“What are these for?” you ask, examining the hook.

Dave’s smile is a sly one. “For the ropes.”

“The ropes,” you parrot dumbly.

Your heart in your throat, you cross to the other side of the bed and stick your hand between the two mattresses, finding a matching strap and another carabiner.

“Dave,” you scold playfully. “When were you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“That you were into some fifty shades shit,” you elaborate, grabbing the dirty sheets and carrying them through to Dave’s laundry room, dumping them in the washer. You shriek in surprise as Dave sneaks up behind you and presses you into the appliance, crowding you in.

“Don’t bring up that fucking book in this house,” Dave growls into your neck.

You giggle. “Or what?”

“Or you’ll find out exactly how I am not like that book,” Dave rumbles.

“So you’ve read it, then,” you tease.

“No,” Dave replies, sounding affronted.

“Then how do you know how you’re not like it?” you point out.

“Educated guess.”

You sigh as the weight of his body leaves you, and he rummages in the linen closet for a spare set of sheets.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” you say. “How are you not like that book?”

“I actually give a shit about consent,” Dave says with a smirk, “and I have about twenty years of experience with tying knots.”

“Show me,” you demand, sticking out your chin.

Dave raises his eyebrows. “Show you?”

“Show me. How would you tie me up?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Dave begins, his tone a mixture of affection and condescension, “I’d tie you up in hundreds of different ways.”

You locate the third strap underneath the mattress–on your side of the bed–and examine it with curiosity.

“What kind of rope?” you ask. Your core is tingling with excitement. You knew Dave was intense in the bedroom, but this is as-of-yet unexplored territory between you.

You watch Dave go to his closet and come back with a box, which he sets on the bed.

“So instead of a sex dungeon, you have a sex… cardboard box?” you say sardonically.

“Knock it off, or the first thing you get is this,” Dave mumbles. He pulls out not a rope, but a little black leather paddle, and you feel your stomach drop somewhere down near your feet.

Oh. Shit.

Stunned into silence, you don’t have any more sarcastic remarks as you approach Dave and examine the contents of the box with him.

As it turns out, there are several different types of rope: some made of soft silk, some that’s thicker and coarser, and a couple of different types of ties and cuffs. And that’s not the only thing in the box, either. Underneath the rope, you spy a Hitachi magic wand, which makes your eyes widen. There’s another flogger–this one with little braided tassels–and a somewhat intimidating-looking butt plug.

“Still want me to show you?” Dave asks softly.

You don’t have to deliberate on your answer. “Yes,” you whisper.

Even though you’d just cum enough to justify changing the sheets, you can feel more wetness pooling between your thighs as you picture Dave using all of this stuff on you.

“Lie down on the bed,” Dave instructs softly.

You comply immediately, scrambling to the center of the bed and looking back at Dave with a giddy, expectant smile.

Dave smirks. “Jesus. Should have done this ages ago.” He grabs a coil of soft, red silk rope and crawls over your body. “Look at how eager you are.” He takes one end of the rope and slowly drags it down your cheek, making you whimper softly.

“I’m going to check in regularly,” Dave tells you as he drags the tip of the rope down your neck and to your chest, “to make sure everything feels good, but I still need you to tell me if anything hurts or is uncomfortable at all. Clear?”

You nod. “Clear.”

“I’m very good at this,” Dave says, with no hint of arrogance, “but in the unlikely event that anything tingles or loses feeling, you tell me immediately.”

“Yes,” you nod breathlessly.

“This is for emergencies,” Dave says, reaching for the knife he keeps in his bedside drawer and flicking it open, showing it to you. “If anything feels numb, or you just need out immediately, I cut the ropes. Understand?”

You jump slightly as the blade clicks into place.

Dave smirks at your reaction. “Don’t worry. I’m very good with this, too.”

“Do I need a safeword?” you ask, gazing up at him with wide eyes.

“‘Stop’ is just fine, honey,” Dave says, giving the tip of your nose a kiss.

His fingers trail from your shoulder down to your wrist. “I think I’m going to tie your wrists to those little hooks you discovered. Get them out of the way.” He moves to sit next to you on the side of the bed, taking your wrist in his hands and winding the rope around it several times, creating a series of loops that extend past your palm.

“That’s pretty,” you murmur, watching him work.

“Chain stitch, single column,” Dave explains. He takes the other end of the rope and secures it to one of the hooks underneath the mattress, pulling your arm out straight. He slowly removes the slack, until your arm is immobile on the bed, before tying it securely in place. “Are you comfortable?” he asks, looking over at you expectantly.

“Yes,” you answer, nodding. Even with just the one arm restrained, your heart is already pounding with anticipation.

“Good girl,” Dave murmurs. “Next one.” He grabs another short rope and repeats the same simple tie on the other hand. Your arms stretch wide as Dave slowly pulls the rope tight, and your upper body is unable to move.

“It should be snug, but not unbearably tight,” Dave tells you. “Completely immobile, but not painful.”

“It’s perfect,” you say.

Dave’s fingers trail down your face and throat. You can hear the soft, low growl in his chest. “This is what I like to see,” he rasps. “My girl, helpless and tied to the bed. I could do anything, you know that, right?”

“I trust you,” you whisper.

The words seem to wipe Dave’s teasing, smug expression right off of his face. His eyebrows pull upwards slightly in surprise, his eyes widening for just a moment, in awe of the gift you’re giving him.

“I know,” he murmurs, before he clears his throat. “Put your leg up, like this.” He grasps your ankle and guides your leg so that your foot is resting near your butt, your knee up in the air. “Good girl.”

Dave takes another length of rope and starts to bind your leg in this position with a series of loops and knots that secure you in a ‘frog’ position.’ You watch his hands with interest, fascinated by his apparent knowledge of knots. The competency is making you weak in the knees almost as much as the actual ropes are.

“Spiral futomomo,” Dave says, meeting your eyes with a little smirk. “Knew you were going to ask.”

Dave takes the end of the rope, which trails from your ankle, and ties it to the restraint under the mattress, keeping your leg open for him.

“How are you feeling?” Dave asks, checking in. “Comfortable? Calm?”

“Calm?” you repeat, cocking your head to the side in confusion.

“Some people, if they aren’t prepared, can get overwhelmed at the feeling of being completely restrained, and panic,” Dave explains. “Want to make sure you’re not feeling short of breath, lightheaded, anything like that.”

“I feel great,” you say, smiling. “I think I like this.”

Dave chuckles low in his throat. “Good girl.”

He ties your other leg with the same intricate knots, then secures it to the last hook, so you’re splayed out on the bed with your knees bent, completely incapable of moving.

“Oh, I think I know what I want to do with you,” Dave growls, reaching for the box. “You couldn’t keep your eyes off of this earlier, don’t think I didn’t notice,” he says, pulling out the Hitachi wand. “One of these days, I’ll tie this, too, so it stays. Make you cum until you can’t fucking breathe.”

“Dave,” you sigh, wiggling slightly back and forth–the only movement you’re capable of.

“But look at this little pussy,” Dave says. “It’s wrecked already; it’s all red and it’s covered in me.” He dips his finger into your slit and collects what’s left of his spend, then rubs it over your lips, smiling at the sight. “I just want to see you cum like this once, and then we’re done.”

He switches on the wand and touches it gently to your clit.

Dave was right–you’re already puffy and pink, deliciously sore after a long evening with Dave’s insatiable appetite for making you scream–and the high-frequency vibrations cause you to arch slightly, straining off of the bed but held steady by the ropes. The tight loops dig into your thighs, causing a little hint of pain to travel its way up your nervous system, but you find that it only adds to the pleasure.

It’s different, not being able to move while Dave does this. He’s teased you before, with that little bullet vibrator that you keep in that drawer, and with that suction thing that you were too embarrassed to tell him about at first. He’s made you cum until you were crying; or, when he’s feeling a bit more sadistic, kept you suspended on the edge for endless minutes until you’re begging him to let you. You should have known he was into ropes; you’re at his mercy, unable to move away from the wand or shift your hips toward it to try and create more friction.

You whine and strain against the ropes, trying fruitlessly to wiggle back and forth as Dave uses the wand to do whatever he wants to you.

Chuckling Darkly, Dave says, “You know that struggling isn’t going to make any difference, right?”

“Maybe I like to do it,” you respond coyly, and Dave raises one eyebrow.

“Is that right? Struggle all you want, sweetheart. There’s no way you’re getting out of this.”

You let out a lewd moan at his words, and it only serves to spur him on.

“I could leave you like this,” Dave suggests, pretending to mull it over. “I could put the wand down just inches from your pussy and walk away to let you try to reach it. Or,” he says with a smirk, “I could get another rope and tie it right here–” he presses the wand harder on your clit, making you keen for him. “–turn this thing on high, and leave.”

“Dave, no–” you whimper pitifully.

“Mmhmm,” he hums. “Go make myself a cup of coffee, listening to your screams from the bedroom.”

“Please.”

You aren’t sure if you’re pleading for it, or against it.

“Maybe some other time,” Dave says with a wicked smile. “Right now, I want to see you cum.”

You’re already close, but when he turns the vibrator on high, you quickly arrive at your end, and you do scream as you fall apart. Your body convulses of its own volition, causing the rope to dig painfully into your arms and legs, and some deep part of your lizard brain very unhelpfully kicks in, and all you can focus on, even as you pulse with aftershocks, is that you can’t move.

“Dave. Dave. Dave–” you murmur, your voice slightly shaky.

In a flash, the knife is in his hand, cutting through the ropes on one of your legs like butter.

“Talk to me,” Dave rumbles as he calmly continues to slice through the knots.. “What day is it?”

You frown in confusion at the odd question. “Tuesday?”

“Be more specific,” he instructs as he frees your other leg.

“February 14th.”

“And?” He cuts the two ropes holding your wrists firmly against the bed above your head.

“...Valentine’s Day?”

Dave hums his approval as he takes one wrist in his large hands and gently starts to massage it. You hadn’t been panicking, not really, but you suddenly realize that just the simple act of answering a couple of questions had distracted you from any remaining nerves.

“Told you,” he remarks, not unkindly. “It can be overwhelming.”

“Thanks,” you say lazily as Dave stretches your legs back down onto the bed and runs his hands up and down your thighs.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Anything hurting?”

You shake your head. “I liked it,” you admit with a giddy smile.

“Did you,” Dave drawls, the lackadaisical tone covering up the much more earnest undercurrent of wanting to know.

“I like it when you do pretty much anything,” you tease.

Dave pauses for a split second, genuine surprise and delight written all over his face before he schools his expression back into ‘easy confidence.’

“Well then,” he says, smirking as he reaches back into the cardboard box and pulls out the large plug. “Why don’t we do this next?”

You gulp, eyes flitting from his face, to the object in his hand, and back to his face again with obvious trepidation.

“Kidding,” he says. “Unless…?”

You giggle nervously, and Dave shakes his head in amusement, tossing the plug back into the box. “Next Valentine’s Day, perhaps.”

It’s your turn to stare at him in surprise. “N-Next?” The two of you have been dating seriously for a few months now, but you’ve never blatantly discussed future plans. Not like this.

Realizing he’d just put the two of you in unexplored territory, Dave looks off to the side, seemingly searching for something to say to find his way out of the awkward conversation.

“I’d like that,” you say softly.

Dave’s eyes flick to yours, and the two of you look at each other for a few heavy seconds before you twist your features into a coy smile.

“We could try it sooner than that,” you tease.

“Naughty and impatient,” Dave remarks, but his eyes are twinkling. “But first, you’re going to need to add something else to your Valentine’s gift to me.”

“I do?” you ask, laughing. “Like what?”

“I need some more rope.”

#Dave York #Dave York x reader #Dave York x f!reader #Dave York x you #Dave York fanfiction #The Equalizer 2 #Pedro Pascal

216 notes · View notes

janaispunk · 6 months

Text

delicate, isn’t it?

series masterlist • this is part III

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

a/n: I’m sorry that this took forever and I’m also sorry about the amount of angst that’s awaiting you. I’ll promise right now, this will have a happy ending. All the love to @maximoff-forevermore for talking smut with me for hours, I would still be completely stuck if you hadn’t let me ramble to you about this. <3

word count: ~5k

summary: Dave has a nightmare, then you both have confusing feelings and don’t talk about it. More sex leads to even more confusion.

warnings: ANGST, bits of fluff if you squint, dubious morals (Dave is cheating on his wife), age-gap implied, able-bodied reader, Dave pulls her hair, dom!Dave, sub!reader, rough sex, sir kink, degradation kink, fingering, rough oral sex (m receiving), unprotected p in v (reader is on birth control in my head, but it’s not mentioned in the fic), dirty talk, Dave is a menace, face & ass slapping, use of restraints, use of a belt as a collar, allusions to knife play and gun play, spitting, lack of emotional aftercare, everything about their dynamic is a little questionable in this, they have issues okay, idiots in love, let me know if I missed any!

this is explicit 18+ content, minors do not interact pleaseeeee

dividers by @saradika <3

find my full masterlist here!

“My perfect girl.”

The words echo in your mind, your thoughts twisting around them, trying to discern every possible meaning to them, long after Dave has already dozed off beside you. His girl. Your heart flutters at the thought, no matter how hard you try to suppress it.

He has been possessive before, calling you his slut, making you repeat back to him how your pussy is his alone, both of you getting off on it. But he has never called you his girl before, and never like this. Like something that he’d say to an actual girlfriend. Did he mean it like that, or was it just something that slipped out in his post-orgasmic haze? Your thoughts keep circling until the sound of Dave’s soft breathing eventually lulls you to sleep as well.

You jerk awake to a shout and movement beside you.

The hotel room is plunged in darkness, only illuminated by the faint moonlight that’s falling through the big glass windows. You lie there, your heart racing, both your mind and your eyes still adjusting to waking up so abruptly. For a moment you can’t place what’s disturbed your sleep in the first place. Then Dave cries out again, a strangely panicked sound that you’ve never heard from him before.

You sit up, trying to make out his face in the minimal light. His eyes are tightly screwed shut and he’s mumbling under his breath. “Dave?” you whisper, slowly reaching for his shoulder when he doesn’t respond. You shake it cautiously, trying his name again, a little louder this time.

His eyes fly open, one hand instantly wrapping around your wrist where you’re touching him, engulfing it in a steely grip. He seems disoriented, his eyes wide with panic, his breaths coming in short gasps. “Hey,” you murmur, his gaze flickering to your face, confusion washing over his features, “it’s- it’s me. You- I think you had a nightmare.” He mutters your name, sounding more like a question, and you nod quickly. He breathes in deeply, the hold on your wrist loosening, his hand coming up to cup your face instead, stroking over your cheek like he has to convince himself that you’re really there.

“Are you hurt?” he inquires, and you shake your head.

“I’m good, nothing happened. You just had a bad dream.” He hums, sounding somewhat unconvinced and you move closer to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into you. He lets you, his breath coming heavy against your neck, his large frame still trembling slightly. You press your lips into his hair, noting somewhere in the back of your mind that you’ve never held him like this before.

“It’s okay. You’re safe, we’re safe,” you murmur, feeling his arms moving around your middle, hugging your body against his, “everything’s okay, I promise. It was just a dream.” You place another kiss onto his hair and think you can feel him nod.

Then his arms tighten around you again. “Are the girls alright?” he asks, a new kind of worry tinging his voice. More frantic, closer to panic than before. You bite your lip.

“I don’t- I’m sorry, I don’t know,” you admit, “we’re at the hotel, remember?” His arms don’t relax. “But I’m sure they’re fine. They’re most likely asleep right now, but you can call them in the morning?” you suggest, feeling unsure how to navigate this situation. Usually, Dave is the calm one, the one to comfort you and tell you that everything’s okay.

He nods again, a little stronger this time. “Yeah… But you’re okay?” he asks again, the genuine worry in his tone almost breaking your heart.

“Yes,” you confirm, trying to keep your voice as calm and reassuring as you can, “I’m okay, everybody’s safe, I promise.” He hums again, his arms still tight around you, but you can feel him slowly start to unwind and relax.

It takes you a long time to fall back asleep, your mind trying to connect the man who’s in your arms right now with the man you know, the man who always seems so sure and in control of everything.

When you wake up again, the bed beside you is empty and you can hear the shower running. It takes a few moments until you remember the night’s events clearly. The shower turns off and Dave emerges from the en-suite, a towel wrapped around his hips. For once, the sight of his naked torso doesn’t instantly leave you breathless.

“Good morning,” you say, giving him a small smile as you sit up on the bed, the blanket still wrapped around you.

“Morning,” he replies, not really looking at you as he picks out his clothes for the day. His voice isn’t cold, just kind of… impersonal. Not the warmth and playfulness that you’ve gotten used to over the past few days.

You worry your lip between your teeth, unsure of how to proceed, but eventually take a deep breath and ask, “Is everything okay?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” He doesn’t turn around from the closet, the dismissiveness clear in his voice.

“Just- because of last night, I thought…” You wish your voice wouldn’t sound as small as it does. You also wish he would look at you.

“It was just a dream. Sorry that I woke you up.” He throws you a quick glance over his shoulder, his face looking like a mask, devoid of any emotion.

“No, don’t be sorry. But it seemed pretty intense, so I just wanted to say, if you want to talk about it…” You trail off again, his closed off demeanor putting you on edge.

“I’ve just been under a lot of stress lately. Not much to talk about.” He finally turns around and looks you dead in the eye. Giving you the clear indication that he doesn’t want to expand on the subject. You nod. This is what he always says when he’s especially riled up. That he’s stressed, that he doesn’t want to talk about it. You don’t pry, you never have. But right now, you wish that he would let you in, that you could be someone he trusts enough to open up to.

You don’t say any of that, you mutter an “okay” and take off for a quick shower yourself, mostly just to escape from the room. When you walk back out, he’s sitting in one of the armchairs in the living area, with his phone in his hand. He looks up at your approaching footsteps, still with that weirdly distant look in his eyes.

“Listen, I just gotta call the girls real quick, make sure that everything’s alright at home. Okay?”

And you get it. Of course you get it. Dave doesn’t talk about his daughters often, but when he does, it’s obvious how much he loves them. It’s one of the things that you like about him. It’s you who suggested calling them last night, after all.

So you get it, you really do. It doesn’t make the sharp sting in your chest at the way he so casually says “at home” hurt any less. Because his family is his home and you are not, because it doesn’t matter if you held him in the dark of night and whispered over and over that he’s safe and that everything is okay, or if he called you his perfect girl and pulled you into his chest less than 24 hours ago, or if you’re only on this island because he thought that you deserved something this nice.

And it’s your own damn fault because somewhere along the way you’ve apparently deluded yourself into thinking that you could be something more for him, like he hasn’t been crystal clear about his intentions, about his family life, which already exists and which you’re not part of.

So you just nod, mumbling something about getting dressed, and wander back to the bedroom, while he’s already holding his phone up against his ear. And you don’t try to listen in, you really don’t, but as big as the suite is, the sound of his voice still carries.

“Morning, Carol.”

You freeze. Obviously he’s calling his wife, not the girls themselves. They’re young, you know that. So he’s calling their mom, who is his wife. You know that. You’ve just never- she has been more of an abstract concept to you, not someone on the other line of a phone call mere feet away from you. A phone call from her husband, who you are on a fucking vacation with, playing honeymoon, while she’s at home with their kids. Suddenly, you feel sick.

“No, everything’s fine. Work’s going well, I should be back by the end of the week.”

He sounds so… normal. Not unfriendly, not cold. Not that different from how he normally sounds when he’s talking to you. You’re not sure what you expected, they’re living together after all, of course they’re speaking to each other like normal human beings. They’re married, they’re raising kids together for crying out loud. Who knows if she’s even aware of any issues with their marriage, a cruel voice inside your head whispers. You don’t want to believe that Dave would lie to you about this, but do you know? No.

You think it would be easier if you could immediately hear that they hate each other. You almost wish that they hated each other. Then you feel bad because they have kids, kids who shouldn’t experience what that’s like.

You haven’t been paying attention to Dave talking anymore, too caught up in the sudden realization that his wife is a real person, but then his tone changes drastically.

“Hello baby, how’s it going? …no, Daddy just wanted to say hi.”

Now he sounds warm. Genuine, caring. Sweeter than you have ever heard him. You smile to yourself before you can stop it.

Out of the sudden, you’re hit with your mind conjuring up a vivid image of a little girl, talking to Dave on the phone. You don’t know what his daughters look like, but the girl that you’re seeing right now has his deep brown eyes and pouty lips, but your hair and the shape of your nose. Before you can help it, you’re envisioning him talking with your kids, raising them together, a life that you would have built with each other. You don’t even know if you want kids, if you want this kind of life, and the sudden intensity with which you’re longing for this vision, for this kind of domesticity with him, knocks the air out of your lungs.

You’re in way too deep. You rush into the bathroom and close the door behind you, suddenly terrified to hear another word of this phone call. You splash cold water on your face, desperately trying to calm yourself back down, your breath coming in short gasps. It’s too much, too much, all way too much. You shake your head at yourself; how could you let yourself get this far?

When you can no longer hear the murmur of his voice through the door, you surmise that it’s safe to leave the en-suite again. Trying to put on a face that doesn’t suggest that you’ve been close to a mental breakdown minutes ago.

“You okay, sweetheart?” You nod, not meeting his gaze.

“Yeah, of course. Just tired.” Your small smile doesn’t feel convincing to yourself and you know that he’s not convinced either. That he can tell when you’re lying. He looks at you for a beat longer, then mutters “alright” and stands up. There’s a tension around his mouth, something hardening him from the inside. You bite your lip, still not meeting his eyes.

You think back to the day before, how he teased you about your bikini, could barely keep his hands to himself. Not a hint of that playfulness can be found today.

“Is everything good? At- at home?” you ask, forcing your face into a neutral expression.

“Yeah,” Dave answers, a smile dancing over his features like he can’t help himself, “they’re fine.” You nod again, not sure what to say.

You spend the day on the hotel premises, lounging around on a big terrace in the shade, overlooking the ocean. Any other day, you’d be in awe of the view in front of you, but today you barely see it. You try reading your book while Dave is typing away on his laptop, but the sentences vanish from your mind as soon as you’ve read them without making any sense.

You try speaking to Dave a few times when the silence between you two becomes too deafening for you to bear it any longer, but his face remains a hard mask and his short, clipped answers make your heart sting so painfully that you eventually stop talking. You still don’t know what exactly went wrong. Has he realised that he misses his family, now that he’s talked to them? Did you do something, or did he see on your face how much you want him and now he’s trying to let you down without having to actually say it out loud? Does he want to go home early? You know that you’re spiraling, but you just can’t stop.

The elevator ride back up to your suite in the early evening is quiet. “I think we’ll just order room service, yeah? I can’t be bothered with that whole dinner thing tonight,” his voice suddenly breaks the tense silence between you. You almost flinch, your eyes flying up to meet his.

“O-okay,” you breathe. He’s annoyed by your presence, isn’t he? Can’t even bear the thought of another dinner with you. He’s realised he doesn’t want you here anymore, the voice of insecurity in your mind whispers.

You’re not sure what emotions are showing on your face, but a hint of uncertainty flies across his features. “Unless you want to…?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. You quickly shake your head. Don’t be more of a burden than you already are.

“No, that- that’s good. Room service sounds good.” You give him the most convincing smile that you can muster and he frowns, but doesn’t ask again.

You wouldn’t have thought it to be possible, but Dave grows even more rigid as you’re nearing the suite, the tension rolling off of him in waves. He holds the card to the sensor, lets you step in first, the door clicking shut behind him. His large hand suddenly wraps around your upper arm, pressing into your flesh almost painfully.

“Strip. Right now. Then get on your knees.” His voice is dark, close to your ear, where he’s looming behind you.

You almost want to cry with relief. Relief that, no matter what is happening right now, at least he still wants this part of you. You want to submit to him, let him take the reins. This is what you know, what you’re good at. With him. For him. A familiar dynamic that you can let yourself sink into, where you know what to expect from him, after being on this edge of painful uncertainty all day.

You’ve barely pulled your top over your head when his hand is back on your shoulder, roughly pushing you down. “I said, on your knees,” he snarls, his hand fisting your hair and pulling until your neck is uncomfortably bent, your face turned up towards him. “Are you too dumb to follow the simplest instructions?” He gives your hair a harsh tug and you whimper.

“N-no, please. I’m sorry, sir.”

Dave grins. He looks menacing, still looming over you in that threatening way that he turns into when he’s dominating you, but he also looks more… at ease. As if he’s letting himself fall into this familiar game too, just like you.

“I’d tell you to go to the bedroom, but who knows if that would even register in that empty head of yours, huh? Guess I’ll be generous and help you.”

He lets go of your hair and slowly opens his belt, pulling it through the belt loops. You gulp as he fastens it around your neck instead, giving it an experimental tug that pulls it tighter. A moan escapes you and he chuckles. “Yeah, that turns you on? Being put on a leash like a fucking dog?”

Your face heats up in shame and your gaze drops down, but you can’t deny the wave of arousal that washes over you at his words. Your reply doesn’t come quick enough and Dave gives another sharp tug that has you gasping for air, then his palm connects harshly with your face. “You look at me and answer when I’m talking to you, you disrespectful little bitch.” You have been on the verge of tears for the better half of the day, but now, prompted by the sudden pain in your cheek, they’re finally spilling over.

You’re thankful for the outlet, to let some of your emotions pour out of you, even if it’s in this different context. You train your eyes on his face again and choke out “yes, it- fuck- it turns me on, thank you sir,” causing a wide grin to spread across his face.

He leans down to you, patting your stinging cheek in mock sympathy. “I know doll, I know just what a fucked up little thing you are. You want me to make you cry, don’t you?” It’s part of the game, technically, but you can tell how his gaze is sobering up for a moment, how he searches your face for any sign of genuine discomfort, any sign that you might not want this.

Just as sincerely, you look back into his eyes, giving him the reassurance that this is exactly what you want right now. “Yes, please sir.”

He slaps your face once more, then pulls himself up to his full height and looks down at you, the belt still tightly grasped in his hand. “Let’s go then, see if there’s anything that you’re good for.” He marches off towards the bedroom, dragging you with him. You scramble along, trying to keep up with his long steps, and he laughs when the belt draws tight around your throat, making you choke beside him.

You’re gasping for breath when Dave finally stops in front of the bed and frowns down at you. “You’re slow, doll. Not very well-trained.” He smirks at you. “We gotta work on that.” You choke out an apology that he dismisses with a lazy wave of his hand. “I don’t wanna hear it, we can put that mouth to much better use than your pathetic talking. Open wide… good girl.” You lips fall open almost on their own accord before he has even finished his sentence, your whole body desperate to please him and his praise has you glowing.

The mix of being degraded and praised almost simultaneously has your arousal rising quickly and you have to force yourself to not rub your thighs together as you’re kneeling before Dave, your mouth wide open and waiting while he’s smirking down at you, slowly undoing the buttons on his shirt one by one and taking it off before he finally moves on to his pants where his bulge is already straining against the fabric.

By the time that he pushes down his pants and underwear, drool is slowly dripping out of your obediently opened mouth. Dave lets his cock rest heavily on your tongue for a few moments, then he pulls back out of your mouth and uses his cock head to spread your saliva and his precum across your face. You whimper but hold still and he tuts at you. “Don’t get impatient on me doll, I’ll fuck your face soon enough. Are you that desperate to choke on my cock?”

“Yes, sir,” you whisper and he barks a laugh, then promptly shoves himself into your waiting mouth, hitting your throat on the first thrust and immediately causing you to gag. Tears start falling from your eyes again but you keep you gaze trained on his face, the need to please him stronger than anything else.

“Good girl, fuck you’re such a good girl,” he mutters, repeatedly burying his length in your throat, making you choke and sputter around him.

One hand is fisted into your hair, not letting you back away if you tried to, while the other is tightening the belt around your throat again. The added pressure from the outside has you choking even harder and Dave groans above you.

When he finally pulls out of your mouth, your face is wet with tears and spit and your pussy is burning with desire. Dave knows, somehow he always knows exactly what you need, and yanks you up until you’re standing, then pushes you onto all fours on the bed. “Spread your legs. Wider. Show me that slutty little cunt of yours, sweetheart,” he demands, and you obey, moving your legs wider apart and arching your back, putting yourself on full display for him.

“Good girl, so desperate, huh?” he coos and sinks two of his thick fingers inside you, lazily thrusting in a few times. Your hips push back eagerly, making him chuckle. “What do you want doll, huh? Tell me.” Your voice comes out breathy, the side of your face smushed into the sheets.

“M-more, please sir, please.” He pulls out of you, then adds a third finger and pushes into you even more forcefully than before. Your loud moan echoes through the room and he chuckles again.

“Yeah that’s good… I’d bet you’d let me stuff that greedy cunt with just about anything, wouldn’t you?” He curls his fingers inside of you, pressing into that spongy spot that makes stars dance across your vision and your “yes” comes out as a whine.

“That knife’s handle from yesterday, for example… How would you like that?” You feel like you’re barely coherent at this point, the pleasure that his fingers and his dirty words are creating so intense that it’s almost too much.

“Please please please…” you whimper and feel Dave’s hand come down hard on your ass.

“You’d probably even let me put a gun in here, huh, no complaints as long has you just get fucked somehow?” Your eyes widen at the thought, pure excitement thrumming through your veins and you clench hard around Dave’s fingers, another wave of wetness dripping out of you.

Dave’s laughter behind you sounds almost incredulous. “Fuck, yeah you’d like that. You dirty fucking whore, needing that pussy stuffed so badly…” His fingers keep working you relentlessly, thrusting into you and hitting your g-spot again and again until your legs are shaking, your hands helplessly curling into the bedsheets.

Your orgasm is approaching fast, your walls clenching around his fingers and you gasp out, “Sir, please, I-” but Dave yanks his hand away from you and roughly smacks your ass.

“Don’t you dare,” he snarls and you bury your face into the mattress, fresh tears forming in your eyes at the denied orgasm.

“What made you think you deserve that, huh? Fucking greedy,” he seethes, running his hand over the hot skin of your ass a few times, causing you to shiver. “Give me your hands,” he demands and you obey without thinking, earning yourself another whispered “good girl” and a soft caress on your forearm that causes goosebumps to spread, before he gathers both your wrists in his hand and binds them together behind your back. You think faintly that he might be using one of his ties, the material soft but firm when you try moving your hands.

Before you can form any more thoughts on the matter, a rough yank on the belt that’s still wrapped around your throat jolts you backwards. Your choked gasp dies in your throat as Dave slams into you without warning, his cock stretching you open with that sting of painful pleasure that you’ve come to love.

“So fucking wet… Your needy little pussy is screaming for me, doll. Don’t worry, I’m gonna give you what you need.” He pulls out and fucks back into you with a snarl, setting a rhythm that would push you up the bed if it wasn’t for the belt around your neck. Dave is holding onto it tightly, pulling you back into his body by your throat, only allowing you to take quick small breaths and forcing you to arch your back intensely to accommodate him.

Your position causes him to hit you at an angle that has stars bursting behind your eyelids, his cock slamming straight into your g-spot with every thrust. His other hand is landing slaps on your backside that have you crying out and clenching around him, before he grips your hip in a way that you’re sure will leave bruises and steadies you, somehow intensifying the force of his thrusts even more.

You’re whimpering into the sheets, strings of please and sir and thank you leaving your mouth when you’re not choking on the tightening restraint around your throat, until Dave grabs your shoulder and roughly yanks you up until you’re leaning against his chest, his cock still hammering into you and obscene moans leaving your mouth. His fingers dip down to your clit, spreading your overflowing wetness over the sensitive nub and rubbing in tight little circles, making you clamp down on him almost immediately. “Please sir, I’m gonna- I can’t hold it, please,” you manage to gasp and feel him nodding beside you.

“Go on doll, come for me,” he rasps, his voice sounding completely wrecked and his thrusts hitting you impossibly deep. You all but scream out his name as you tense up, your orgasm spreading from your core through your entire body, your limbs trembling as Dave holds you close to his chest and lets you ride out your high until you calm down. The side of your face is pressed against his chest and you breathe heavily, your lips spreading kisses across the sweat-soaked skin that you can reach and you can’t help but smile up at him in your post-orgasmic bliss.

“Fuck, come here, fuck-” Dave suddenly pulls out of you and you can feel him roughly yanking at the tie around your wrists until it becomes loose, then he flips you around until you’re on your back underneath him, the change happening so quickly that you’re disoriented for a moment. He thrusts back inside of you and resumes his brutal rhythm without wasting a second, the new angle in your already overstimulated pussy making you gasp for breath and your hands come up instinctually after being restrained until now, grasping at his shoulders, your nails digging into the muscles there.

“Fuck!” he swears again, then he’s cupping your face and his mouth is on yours, his lips moving urgently against yours, his tongue demanding entry and licking into your mouth, causing you to moan loudly. You faintly note in the back of your mind that he hasn’t kissed you all day, something you hadn’t fully realized up until now, and you hold onto him even tighter, pouring all of your pent up feelings into this kiss. Dave groans, his mouth bruising against yours and his hands all over your face. His hips stutter and then he stills, filling you up with his cum as he’s breathing heavily against your lips.

He stays like this for a few more moments until he rolls off of you, his mouth not touching yours again. He goes through the motions, cleaning you off, checking you for injuries, making sure that you’re alright, but it feels mechanical, like he’s not fully there. You think that if he looked at you with more than just those fleeting glances, he’d be able to see the confusion and hurt written on your face, but he never does.

He does eventually order room service, but you don’t feel like eating much. You’re absentmindedly nibbling on fries, both of your faces turned towards the TV on the opposite wall that he’s turned on for the first time since you arrived two days ago. Nothing that you see really registers, your mind far away, mulling over everything that happened between you, every little interaction, trying to figure out where things went wrong. You just don’t know. How is it possible that you’ve realized only today how much you’ve fallen for him, and meanwhile it seems like he doesn’t want you anymore, at least not in the way that you’ve come to get used to over the past days?

But then, what did the kiss mean? Why would he do that, if he didn’t feel something for you? But if he did, why would he act the way he did today? You’re running in circles and you wish that you were less afraid to just ask him, but you’ve never talked about feelings and you can’t bring yourself to do it now when you’re already terrified that he might have had enough of you.

When he turns off the TV and the lights, you wait until you’re sure that he’s asleep before you let yourself cry. Silently, with your back turned to him, staining your pillow with salty tears, careful not to let any sobs slip out. This is better than nothing, you try reminding yourself. Better than not having him at all. This was the deal from the start. It’s your own fault for getting this attached, for wanting more than you’ve been offered, you know that.

You flinch violently when an arm wraps around your torso from behind, the hand trailing up to touch your cheek, stroking through the wet tracks there.

“Sweetheart? What’s wrong?”

taglist/people who have expressed interest in this: @joelscurls @reddedmiller @iamasaddie @guelyury @theywhowriteandknowthings @amanitacowboy @morning-star-joy @mandoisapunk @5oh5 @beardedjoel @corazondebeskar @endlessthxxghts @hearteyesforjoel @wannab-urs

let me know if you wanna be added, also no hard feelings if you wanna be removed 🫶🏻

if you enjoyed this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging <3

series masterlist

#janas fics #the dress series #dave york #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x f!reader #dave york x female reader #the equalizer 2 #the equalizer 2 fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedrostories

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nerdieforpedro · 6 months

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Pleasure Principle

Chapter 3: Cracked

Dave York x plus size female reader

This fanfiction is 18+

Masterlist / Dave York Masterlist

Summary: Dave and Kiara's first night continues. Dave comes to a conclusion when they finish.

Warnings: SMUT, toy use, degradation (slut, whore, calling OFC filithy, etc.), Dom/sub relationship, biting, spanking, oral sex (male and female receiving), motor boating, crying, smidge of sweetness at the end

Chapter 2

A whir of a motor pierced the air, thick with sweat. Dave decided to use a vibrating wand on Kiara’s clit, teasing her as she feebly tried to hold her orgasm back. She longed for his finger, thumb or cock, not a cold object. He knew what she wanted and denied her, using his elbows to keep her legs apart. The heat washed over as she screamed his name, York bit his bottom lip and pressed the wand harder on her clit. When a small pool of her slick formed on the sheets, he turned the vibrator off, admiring his work. The nurse’s eyes were glazed, and her chest rose and fell as she inhaled deeply. She panted softly, “Dave, Sir. Please, give me a part of you. I need it.” She pleaded. A laugh left the assassin’s lips.

“You need it do you whore? Where do you need it?” He taunted, a single finger ran up her soaked slit and across her inner thigh, it made her shudder. He inched closer to her core with his throbbing cock and grazed her cunt but did not enter. Dave moaned at her dripping fever; he thought about just ramming himself into her, but he felt he needed to be patient. Not the first night. Instead, he reached over her and pulled her forward into a sitting position and moved behind the nurse, rubbing her back with his palms. Pillowy curves that he could squeeze and abuse, the thought alone made his dick twitch. Grabbing her shoulders and licking her ear, he purred, “My whore hasn’t answered me.” His teeth sunk into her earlobe making her scream, he drew a small line a blood. The metallic taste in his mouth was familiar, but sweet.

“Dave can I have…I need you in my pussy please…Let me cum once with you inside me.” Her voice quivered in tandem with her lust filled hub. Large hands pushed her forward on her knees and instinctively she put her ass in the air. A snicker followed by a loud whack to her ass came from Dave. “Aaah!! I-I’m sorry! I just…ugh…my cunt is aching Sir. Please.”

“I’ll tell you again my lewd peach, you’re adjusting to me. I need to stuff that famished mouth of yours. You’re hungry for my cock aren’t you?” York put a hand to his length and stroked himself slowly. “Turn that trembling ass toward me and start sucking. Start learning my dick Kiara.” His free hand guided her hips as she moved, her head was squarely over his member and her ass pointed toward the side of the bed. He ran his fingers through her hair, she peered up at him, “If you do well, I’ll give you something.” He promised, tapping his thumb on her bottom lip. She nodded and stuck her tongue out, letting her saliva drip onto his head, trailing down his length. Her head lowered, Dave licked his lips, waiting for contact with the tip of his penis, Kiara paused, tapping her tongue to the bulging vein on the side of his cock. She was teasing him, taking one of her hands and cradling his sac, York struggled to contain his moan. What surprises this woman had in store for him, his head hung back, her teeth lightly grazed the soft skin. “Fuck! You disobedient slut, you’re lucky, shit…. I’m in a good mood tonight.” His hand continued to run through her hair as she lifted her head and took him in her mouth in earnest. Starting with her tongue circling the reddened head of his dick, her hand squeezed on his balls as she began taking him deeper, with each bob. Dave was a bit longer than average and thick; Kiara was only three-quarters down his shaft before it touched the back of her throat. She gagged slightly and moved her head faster, tears starting to streak down her face, the precum mixing with her spit as it dripped onto her hand and his balls, making it even easier to roll them between her fingers.

The assassin was trying to decide where he wanted to spread his climax, he yanked her head off his cock with a loud pop and she released his sac. Dave gabbed both of her shoulders and pulled her chest toward his throbbing cock, “Put my cock between those soft breasts of yours and swallow what I give you sweet peach.” It didn’t quite come out as a command, it was softer, York was expressing a need. He wanted to see her caramel skin painted with his ribbons of cum. Kiara nodded and kept eye contact with his, her gaze locked as he bucked his hips toward her and she captured his member between her breasts. This time, Dave kissed the nurse, forcing his spit in her mouth and she let it drop out of her mouth onto his duck when their lips parted. She pressed her breasts together and started moving them up and down slowly. York’s jerks make Kiara moan, his twitching cock was becoming even more stiff so she decided to touch the tip of cock with her tongue wanting the salty taste again. “Didn’t tell you to do that peach, “Dave groaned with a few ragged pumps he released himself on her breasts and face. The woman used her heave breasts to milk his dick for all she could get out it, licking the top of his cock once more but not licking any of his cum. Not until her told her to.

“Shit…ha…ha…Kiara. Lay back on the bed.” Dave panted. He was a man of his word, only in the bedroom. Outside of these four walls, he could be many things. He watched as she crawled toward the foot of the bed opposite of him, she laid back and opened her legs for him, his cum glistening on her face and chest. “Look at you my sexy filthy slut. That wet cunt is all for me. I’ll let you cum, Peach.” He growled before digging his fingers into both of her thighs and placing her knees over his shoulders, her voluminous legs felt oddly relaxing.

“D-Dave sir, please make me cry for you…” Kiara requested. Dave chuckled and bit her inner thigh, making her yelp as his response. He then turned his attention to her little pink clit, staring up at him. He flicked it with his tongue, curling around it, he felt her legs wiggle and she buckled. He gave one more flick before descending to her quivering core. He did trace his tongue in a circle before running his nose across her wetness, taking in her rich scent, edging her a bit more, she had been close for so long, her was relishing her fever, her moans and his name rolling of her lips constantly. He gave her hole a peck before diving in like a man starved, slurping and sucking like it was a hot summer’s day and he had gotten the last ice cream cone. Kiara’s took handfuls of Dave’s soft brown hair, pulling it as she writhed with pleasure from his mouth. Her thighs closed around his head and Dave was locked between her legs, breathing in her aroma and using his oral snake to explore what he could of her canal. That arched nosed of his grazed her clit and insides shook more for him, speeding closer to her orgasm. York found himself groaning into her core, the vibrations caused Kiara’s canal to fibrillate wildly and her slick spread onto Dave’s face, part of his hair, neck and chest. Two fingers entered to assist in the waves of her climax that followed, he felt her whe legs became slack and removed them from his shoulders. Dave scaled up her body so he could see her face. She was drooling, tears streaked across her cheeks and his cum was still present on her face and chest. Her eyes fluttered, she was betwixt consciousness and sleep, her hands roamed looking for the man who indeed made her weep with his conquest of her body. Feels a soft kiss on her lips, the last words she heard, pleased her greatly,

“Look at you Kiara. You’re perfect for me.”

Chapter 4

Tag list:

@fhatbhabie @morallyinept @pedritapascal @pascalsanctuary @nissaimmortal @grogusmum @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @goodwithcheese @iamasaddie @psychedelic-ink @modernperplexity @pamasaur @pedrodascal @marcus-is-my-muse @clawdee @mintypossum @trulybetty @perotovar @joelslegalwhre @josephquinnswhore @mandoisapunk @awilderi @deviinci @secretelephanttattoo @for-a-longlongtime @tessa-quayle @legendary-pink-dot @sin-djarin @maggiemayhemnj @rhoorl @magpiepillsjunior @intoanotherworld23 @beabliss @alwaysmicado @daddy-dins-girl

#pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #fanfiction #writing #dave york #dave york smut #dave york x you #dave york fanfiction #Dave york x plus size reader #smut

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wannab-urs · 3 months

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The Peg That Middle Aged Man Campaign 2024 | Masterlist

Hello and welcome to the PMAMC 2024, a Pedro Pascal Character Fanfiction Event!!!!

Thank you so much to everyone who participated and to everyone who interacted with these amazing fics. I had an absolute blast running this little event!

NOTE: Warnings are provided, please read them. Some of these are pure fluff, some are angsty, and some have potentially triggering elements. All fics are tagged appropriately and you are responsible for your own content consumption. MDNI | 18+

AO3 Link | PMAMC 2023 | #PMAMC 2024

Comandante Veracruz

The Bet by @flightlessangelwings Warnings: smut (18+ ONLY!), pegging, anal, switching, oral (f receiving), overstim, slight roughness, established relationship and safe words, praise, no use of y/n Word count: 2.7k

Dave York

Use Me by @theywhowriteandknowthings Warnings: Reader is a blank slate, no race, age, or other descriptive factors (reader can hold Dave up on the bed). Mentions of M!Masturbation; F!Masturbation; pet names (good girl, Sweetheart); Sub/Dom dynamics; Soft!Dom Dave; face riding; Swiping that nose like an Amex; a little bit of Switch action; derogation (Dave calls reader a slut, reader likes it); degradation kink; praise kink(if you squint?); use of "Sir" for Dave; anal play; use of butt plugs; lots of lube (it's necessary folks!); harness play; strap-on use; pegging; anal penetration with a dildo; food consumption (snacks); food mention (takeout food); aftercare; bathing; they're sappy married idiots in love. Word Count: 5.8k

Dieter Bravo

I'll Try Anything Once by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin Warnings: Oral sex M and F receiving, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, unprotected PIV sex, pegging, cumplay, cum swapping, cum swallowing Word Count: 2.5k

Din Djarin

Beautiful Release by @prolix-yuy Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, IT'S PEGGING DIN TIME! Anal sex (m receiving), rough sex, sex toys, fingering (m receiving), handjob, frottage, blowjob, swallowing, cumshot, mentions of oral sex (f receiving), mild dubcon (Reader isn't aware of Din's mental state and stops the session to re-negotiate boundaries), painful sex, sex as self-flagellation, hurt/comfort. Word Count: 4.1k

Ezra

Aquamarine by @for-a-longlongtime Warnings: Established relationship (f/m) plus third (hello, younger!BennyMiller from Triple Frontier!AU), dirty talk, brief masturbation (f and m), fingering (f and m receiving), rimming, anal sex, oral on a strap on, pegging, dildo is referred to as "your cock/dick" repeatedly. Some spit use (no kink).

Frankie Morales

On One Knee, On Two Knees by @beskarandblasters Warnings: f!reader, y’all get engaged, anal fingering, handjob, pegging, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names, Frankie is a Good Boy™, no use of y/n Word Count: 1.6k

Jack "Whiskey" Daniels

Trussed Up by @wannab-urs Warnings: PEGGING!!! Smut, sex club stuff, dominatrix!reader, dom!reader, sub!Jack, BDSM stuff, everyone is up to date on their STD checks and birth control and such, brief mention of shibari, mommy kink!whiskey but he calls reader “Momma” and also ma’am, reader calls Jack baby, baby boy, and cowboy, rope bunny!Jack, bondage, hog tie (modified), butt plug, spanking, fingering (m receiving), begging, lots of check ins, several uses of “good boy,” hand job (more so just teasing tbh), riding the cowboy, brief little gentle bite, unprotected PiV (but it’s about as safe as it can get… still don’t do that), creampie, aftercare, cuddling, unprofessional amounts of caring about your client. Word Count: 2.5k

Javi Gutierrez

On the First Date by @max--phillips Warnings: Pegging, obviously. Also, first dates, potentially embarrassing scenario gone very right, oral sex (reader receiving), strap on blowjob, Javi's just excited to be there, and of course some softness thrown in for fun. Word Count: 2.1k

Javier Peña

Pop Goes the Javi by @morallyinept Warnings: Pegging/rimming/anal fingering/anal penetration, M receiving/fingering F receiving/all the glorious butt stuff with Javi's pert lil' butt 🍑 Javi being a drooling mess. Word Count: 4.5k

Marcus Moreno

Same Time Next Week by @magpiepills Warnings: smut. pegging, anal, tit job, hand job, pussy job, sumata, prostate stimulation, anal fingering, sex work, coming untouched, praise kink, slight sub/dom vibes, subspace kind of, erotic massage, pining?? In my fic?? writer knows nothing about massages, many liberties taken. Word Count: 4.5k

Marcus Pike

Give and Take by @agentmarcuspike Warnings: pegging, use of a strap-on, reader doesn't have a penis, anal fingering, rimming, showering together, established romantic relationship (2+ years), lots of lube, wet wet wet (not the group), sweet sappy romance, cum play (?), coming untouched, pet names (baby, darling, good boy), begging a lil bit Word Count: 2.2k

Max Phillips

The Gift of Your Grave by @gasolinerainbowpuddles Warnings: POV switching, questionable consent if you squint due to inherent power imbalance, Max is serving cunt with side of a soft boi, pegging, butt stuff, angst, fluff, discussions about drug use/sobriety/coping mechanisms, my personal supernatural lore that exists bc I say it does, Frankie lacks confidence in himself until he embraces his super power sub status, using a dick like a pacifier (we’ve all been there), very loose workings of a dom/sub dynamic but mostly reward/punishment concepts and orgasm control Word Count: 8.1k

Maxwell Lord

Stiff by @idolatrybarbie Warnings: takes place in the 80s, fem!OC with no physical descriptions, gambling (pls don't), alcohol and references to it, descriptions of fake gore and blood, reader smokes, references to domestic violence and abuse, smut - pegging, anal fingering, come eating, praise. Word Count: 4.9k

No-outbreak Joel

Will You Show Me? by @eupheme Warnings: switch!joel and switch!reader, poly relationship, use of alcohol, light sub/dom elements, sex toys, references to threesomes, sexual photos, oral sex, anal play, pegging, joel teaches you what to do

Oberyn Martell

My Way by @lincolndjarin Warnings: five seconds of plot to build up to a whole lot of porn, pegging (obvi), medieval strap on, glass toys, fingering, oberyn sucks the strap, allusions to other partners, referring to a dildo as a cock, multiple orgasms, overstimulation if you squint, premature ejaculation?? idk he cums fast bc i'm a sucker for that, cum play, reader has brief penis envy idk if that's the term but yeah, spit as lube bc its the olden days or whatever, anal sex, soft & loving sex, sort of a gentle dom vibe from reader, they're married <3 <3 <3, aftercare, i didn't really edit this as much as i should have (i'm sleepy) so apologies in advance

Pero Tovar

The Mercenary and his Witch by @nerdieforpedro Warnings: slight misogyny (11th century people it would be weird if there wasn’t), mentions of whorehouses (it’s work - respect it), threat of violence, fingering (male and female), edging and teasing, biting, a sweet Pero?, ass play (with fingers), oral sex (female and male receiving), mentions of food (a Nerdie fic staple), pegging, cum massage and eating, aftercare Word Count: 4.8k

Post-outbreak Joel

A Bad Deal by @jksprincess10 Warnings: NON CON, DDDNE dark!reader, drugging someone without their knowledge, non consensual pegging, lots of degrading, slight somnophilia, pegging without prep, reader is crazy as fuck, mentions of blood, unprotected p in v, dom!reader, toxic relationship

Pre-outbreak Joel

Ripe by @hier--soir Warnings: pre-outbreak, set in the early 2000s, early thirties joel my lover boyy, bisexual reader, established relationship, that one shit stirring friend, brief alcohol consumption and piv sex at the onset, brief masturbation [m] in the bath, a little ass eating and fingering, a little spitting, pegging, dirty talk, praise, dildo is described as "your cock" multiple times, reach around hand job you will always be famous, they talk each other through it, the word hole is used 11 times but it feels like 100, also they're in love okay bye. Word Count: 5.3k

EXTRAS

-- here's all the fics that weren't included in the main event, but are just as delicious --

SNL Characters

Game Over by @magpiepills Mario x Princess Peach!Reader Warnings: pegging, anal fingering, dirty talk, drinking, flirting, butt plugs, use and abuse of video game imagery, crack fic, probably cringe. No use of y/n, reader is princess peach, but her hair, skin and body type aren’t described.

A Table for Two by @gasolinerainbowpuddles and @joelsgreys Mrs. Claudia Flores x the Italian Waiter x Lisa from Temecula Warnings: cracfkic, pegging, bad Italian accents, lots of culinary euphemisms, tiny font Spanish/Italian translations

Marcus Pike

Whatta Man by @atinylittlepain Warnings: this is smut, pegging, rimming, sucking and fucking, sex work, lowkey sugardaddy!marcus, sweet shy marcus getting his world rocked, and then pancakes and a blackberry and a black american express card so ya know, the works.

Ezra

Prospecting by @marisferasiop Warnings: Peg that space rat! pegging, anal fingering, anal toying, rim job, mildly degrading language, lil bit of overstim, cum as lube, cum eating, Ezra being a soft baby

Frankie Morales

My Boys by @flightlessangelwings Warnings: mmf threesome, established relationship, pegging, anal, fingering, oral (m receiving, hint at f receiving), soft dom reader, sub!Frankie, praise, pet names (babe, baby), fluff, feelings, no use of y/n

#pmamc 2024 #pmamc 2024 masterlist #pmamc masterlist #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #masterlist #pedrostories

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kiwisbell · 8 months

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The Hitman's Guide to Getting the Girl: Chapter 4 [dave york x f!reader]

It's just another job, until Dave York decides to kidnap an enemy’s wiseass daughter. It’s just another job, until he falls in love.

series masterlist

status: complete

chapter 4 summary: Spiralling toward the ground with you.

pairing: dave york x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings for entire fic: kidnapping, murder, violence, the world being horrible to women, reader having a very terrible sense of self-preservation, unprotected piv, oral sex (m and f receiving), dave york finding his second calling as a pussy-eating god, pining, possessive sex, jealousy, daddy issues, (stockholm syndrome?), dirty talk, actually filthy talk, hitmen and politicians, revenge, scary man with a soft spot for his woman, philosophical foreplay, tramp stamp worship (you'll see), a little sprinkle of breeding kink if you look hard enough, obsessive behaviour, anal fingering, anal sex, implied age gap, light dom/sub vibes, light bondage

tags and warnings for this chapter: violence, mugging, more pretentious allusions, angst, oral sex (m and f receiving), dave york is a m u n c h, angry dave, protective dave, unprotected piv (learn by example, just not mine), creampie, multiple sex positions, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, tramp stamp worship, talk of marriage, pining, soft dave, biting, extremely possessive behaviour

word count: ~ 8.6k (oops)

for everyone reading who has been screaming at me for these two to fuck, don't say i never gave you anything.

chapter 4: and though i burn, how could i fall?

JUNE

There's pepper spray inside your purse.

Not many women go without some sort of weapon in this city. Many women never get the opportunity to use it.

Here's the thing about being a woman: if you're in the wrong place at the wrong time, you're shit out of luck; and if you’re in the right place, but you still happen to be a woman, you aren't necessarily in the clear, either.

There's a shortcut between a cannabis shop and a variety store on State Street that you used to take when you snuck out of your father’s penthouse. It is, evidently, the wrong place. This means that there is no wrong time, because they're all bad.

This is why you carry pepper spray.

It’s just approaching noon, and the alleyway is empty. You hurry through it and do not stop when the rough male voice calls to you. (Maybe he is not calling to you, but when you're a woman, you have to assume he is.)

Sometimes, a man has a gun, and is not necessarily looking for a woman. Just… a person. This is one of those times.

The cool barrel of the .45 will leave a temporary dent in your temple.

“I want your wallet and all your jewellery or I will shoot you in the head.”

He speaks with a tremulous cadence. He's nervous, or he's on something. “I’m lifting my hands to show I’m unarmed,” you tell him. “There's pepper spray in my bag. Is your gun loaded?”

“What?” he spits. From here, you can't see his face, only smell his breath. He hasn't been drinking.

A desperate man taking advantage of a woman who’s all alone. Get a new shtick.

“I’m asking if your gun is loaded, or if you're only trying to scare me. I’m going to give you my things either way, so you don't have to worry about me running.”

The barrel presses harder against your head. “Give me your goddamn money, bitch. No fucking games.”

“No games,” you say evenly. “I don't want to die. But you haven't fired, even though I haven't given you anything.”

The man spits on your Louboutin shoes and rips the bag off your shoulder. “Take out your earrings. And your watch.”

A little forlorn to see your gold Cartier watch go (no matter how superficial), you unbuckle it slowly and place it in his palm. “Please be nice to it.”

The man shoves you hard between your shoulder blades, removing your balance and sending you toppling to the dusty asphalt. You barely catch yourself with your hands. “Stay on the fucking ground. Earrings, now.”

As you remove your earrings with shaky, raw hands, the man drops the gun from your head and rifles through your purse. Pulling out your wallet, he flips through a number of bills like he's shuffling cards, and stops short at a small white card. You frown up at his ashen face and try to remember putting a card like that in your wallet.

“Oh, shit,” he murmurs, his fingers trembling around the card. He shoves it back into your wallet and drops the entire thing like it's stung him. “Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. I’m… Uh, I’m sorry, ma'am.”

He drops to one knee and fastens your watch back around your wrist himself.

You're too stunned to move, so he helps you stand back on your feet. Then, he picks up your wallet and puts your bag back on your shoulder. “Here. I’m—shit, I’m really sorry. Please don't tell him. Please just…”

Trailing off, he backs out of the alley and runs with his tail on fire. You look down at your hands, flecked with blood and asphalt, and wonder if you put out some sort of magical repellent hormones. It's only when you pull the card out of your wallet that you realise why he gave up.

It's Dave’s business card.

You call Ari to come pick you up because you know he won't make a fuss the way his boss will. “You get into a fight with the ground?” he says good-naturedly, eyeing your scraped knees. “Or blow a rock monster?”

You roll your eyes. “Almost got mugged.”

Ari whistles. “That’ll be fun to tell him.”

You laugh, still a bit winded from the fall. “I don't think I’ll tease him much. He's the one who got me out of it.” You flash Ari the business card and he bursts out laughing.

“Jesus Christ. You're one lucky girl.”

“Tell me about it.”

Dave York’s anger is chilling. He starts on a simmer, exhibiting telltale signs of faltering restraint. As you sit on his desk, your scraped knees on display and your palms facing the ceiling, he kneels in front of you and cleans the cuts himself. If the injuries were any greater, he would have his on-call medic tend to you, but you know he doesn't trust himself around anyone but you right now.

His hand is wrapped around your ankle as he cleans the dirt from your wounds. Your fingers idly comb through his hair, which has him resting his head against your thigh. He's in the simmering stage: his eyes are hard, his jaw taut, his movements calculated no matter how gentle. He's on autopilot, trying to steer himself back to reality, where he's got you in his care and you're safe and he’s the one who can make you feel better.

But he wasn't there when you needed him.

“Honey,” you say softly, your hand slipping to the back of his neck to urge his eyes upward. “You know I’m okay, right? He could have done a lot worse.”

Dave dabs a warm cloth over the dried blood and blinks away the red mist. “Do you remember what he looks like?”

The dangerous tone to his voice trembles down your spine. He’s a killer. “Yeah. I do.”

“Good.” He squeezes your ankle and shifts to your other knee. “I’m not going to let him live.”

You dip your head in understanding. “I know.”

He cleans your other knee and rises, looking down at you and searching for any traces of fear in your eyes. He only sees sleepy fondness and wonders what he's done to warrant a look like that. “You saved me, Dave,” you tell him.

“I wasn't there,” he says gruffly, averting his eyes to your palms. They're speckled with gravel and blood, like your knees, but they took the biggest beating. Dave’s anger notches up; now, it’s a rolling boil. “I wasn't there.”

“He took one look at your card and bolted.” You give him a wry smile. “I don't give out free advertising. So it must have been you who put that card in my wallet.”

It's the only consolation Dave finds in the situation: just his name is enough to sway some people away from taking a blade to his most vulnerable organ. He cups his hand at the nap of your neck and drops his forehead to yours. “It shouldn't have been you,” he says.

The conviction in his voice startles you into stillness. He truly believes that you're something special, something altogether different from the humanity he knows. In Dave York’s eyes, you're above the rest of the world, and thinking like that could get dangerous.

It means he will do anything. And stop at nothing.

But if there's one thing you've learned from your time with him, it's that you enable. And enable. And enable. So you do nothing to deter him.

You nudge your nose against his, letting him feel with complete certainty that you're here, and let your eyes shutter as you lean forward and kiss him.

Dave inhales sharply, his senses saturated by your perfume. It's all he smells as he finally, finally, kisses you. Your lips taste like the cherry balm you always slide on with your ring finger. The kiss is soft when it begins. He drops the cloth and snakes his arm around your waist, his palm pressed against the tattoo on your lower back. Your shirt lifts as you wind your arms around his neck, and he sighs, pushing you closer until your body bows to the shape of him.

He can't stop. Christ, you're so soft. Kissing you is an opiate. He's drowning in the taste, losing his mind, dragging himself along the floor toward you for another hit.

You're smiling into his mouth, your fingernails scratching at the nape of his neck. Dave grunts, damn near purring at the feeling, the neurons in his brain merging into a picture of you. You're all he wants to know.

You pull away first, and Dave chases you briefly, his hand tightening at your hip. He kneads it in his palm as he blinks, approaching clarity. You’ve made a tousled mess of his dark hair. “Footsteps,” you whisper to Dave, your lips ghosting the spot just beneath his ear.

His hearing sharpens just in time to guide you off the desk and help you adjust your shirt. “Later,” he says, cupping your face and pressing a kiss to your nose. “We’ll continue this later.”

You beam up at him and brush your hand softly against his steel-hard erection. “Can you wait until later, Mr. York?”

His breathing turns jagged and his eyes darken to black. “Careful, pretty girl.”

The footsteps grow louder, so you separate your bodies, letting your fingers dance upon his palm before you occupy the seat across from his desk. “You gonna go killer on me?” you tease.

“Never you, baby.” Dave sits at his desk and adjusts his pants. “Maybe a couple people who did you wrong.”

“My hero.”

That’ll be the fucking day.

“Hey, boss.” Kovac leans against the doorframe. “Sorry to interrupt. Hey, sweetie.”

“Hi, Johnny.” You give him a cute little wave, and Dave hides his smile behind his hand as he rubs it over his jaw. “Exciting news?”

“Just a call for the asshole,” says Kovac. “From another asshole. It’s Robert Shipman.”

Dave licks his teeth and nods, jerking his chin to signal to Kovac that he wants the door closed. The latter leaves you and Dave alone with his blinking line. “Dave,” you say cautiously, “why is Robert Shipman calling you?”

“Because of you, baby. Come here.” He takes your hand and guides you around the desk. You sit sideways in his lap as he picks up the phone, pressing a kiss to your jaw before he sobers, greeting Shipman with cool professionalism.

“I have a question for you, Mr. Shipman,” says Dave, his fingers slipping underneath your shirt and tracing the wings on your tattoo. “What were you doing on, say, the eighth of September two years ago?”

Dave notices your head dip slightly and nudges his nose gently into your throat, his thumb stroking over your lower vertebrae. “You don't remember?” Dave hums sadly, as if he's lamenting the discontinuation of a really good dish. “That’s too bad, Mr. Shipman. I’ll jog your memory if you'd like.

“You spent the first part of the evening dining at the Oriole. You had steak frites and shared a bottle of Prosecco with your wife. When you left the restaurant, it was eleven o’clock, and you took a trip to a very nice home that wasn't yours. There, you had your men disable the home’s security system. The woman inside was home alone, sleeping in her bed. You took her from her bed, sedated her, and threw her in the trunk of your car. Is this beginning to sound familiar?”

You wrap and unravel Dave’s tie around your hand repeatedly as you recall that night. The first terror of many. The jolt of waking to a needle at your throat, the cold, sticky hands, the ascent of cloying fear in your throat as your scream died and you succumbed to the poison they pumped inside you.

Dave holds you close to him, his gaze on you all the while. Tears prick the corners of your eyes and turn your irises into varnished paintings. Softly, he swipes his thumb across your cheek. “Did you get what you wanted that night, Mr. Shipman?” he says darkly. “Did you get your dirty money? How much did you ask for?”

Shipman must say something very stupid, because Dave laughs, and all you hear is a hollow knock against the walls of a pitch-black tunnel.

“I want you to unlock your phone and take a look at the news.”

There's silence for a while. Your fidgeting doesn't bother Dave; he lets you adjust his clothes as much as you want, his hand caressing your back—up and down, down and up. It makes you melt against him, your eyes open and studying his face. Shutting out the memory of the first time you were taken from your home.

“Don't count on buying your way out of this,” says Dave. “You’ll find your accounts have been compromised. You should have answered differently.

“No. You’re right. It wouldn't make a difference. I’ll see you soon, Mr. Shipman.”

When Dave hangs up, neither of you speak for a moment. It’s you, fiddling with the end of his tie, who elects to break the silence. Your voice shivers on the way out. “How long have you been reading up on them?”

“Since the night you told me,” says Dave, his hand overlapping with yours. You feel his strong, steady heartbeat pick up speed under your touch. “The Post is plastered with evidence of him cheating on his wife. A newly soiled reputation should do nicely to ruin any chances of taking his father’s spot in their company.”

“And where are you putting his money?”

“How does a children’s hospital sound?”

“Like music to my ears.” You smile through your tears, tracing his jawline with your fingers. “Why are you doing this, Dave? You don't need my forgiveness. You never treated me the way they have.”

Dave shakes his head. “I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m doing something good, for once in my life, with the skills I have. I never want you to know fear like you have before.”

You let out a small sob. “Fear is healthy for the mind,” you point out. “Stimulates the system and all that.”

Dave tuts, his palm warm and rough on your back. “You've had enough of it for three lifetimes. I want to help you rest.” His brown eyes plead with you to see what you already know. “This is how I can be good to you, baby. Will you let me?”

You scan his eyes, memorising shapes in his irises as they contort with the smallest changes in the light. “What are you looking at?” he asks.

“I’m looking at you.”

His brow twitches, telegraphing his disbelief, and you smooth it over with your thumb. “Find anything?” he asks in a hushed voice.

“People have tried to please me and screw me over and manipulate me.” You bite your lower lip, and Dave’s gaze drops. “They never try to be honest with me.”

“People are shitty,” he murmurs, eyes still fixed to your mouth.

“So cynical,” you whisper, leaning in close, prolonging the torment.

Dave is a patient man, but with you, he's borderline petulant. He meets you in the middle, surging upward and kissing you deeply.

He's a cynic, sure, but humanity cannot be all bad when you're a part of it.

Tracing his tongue along your lower lip, Dave licks his way into your mouth and tugs you on top of him so you're straddling his thighs. You gasp, giving him more space to deepen the kiss, your arms around his neck to keep you secure.

He keeps you pinned to him, his hand firm at the nape of your neck and the other bowing your lower back so your chest is pressed against his. “Won't someone come in?” you whisper when he gives you room to breathe.

“Not if they want to keep breathing,” he grumbles.

You roll your eyes fondly and brush his hair back from his face. “Just take me to bed, Dave.”

He can do that.

He kicks everyone out of his house with a single gesture to Kovac, breezing past them with your hand in his. They will all know perfectly well what you both intend to do. Good. They’ll also know to keep their mouths shut about it.

He can't keep his hands off for very long. He tugs you toward him, fitting you to his chest and kissing you again before you reach his bedroom. You stumble through the doorway, grasping blindly at the buttons of his dress shirt, as Dave kicks the door shut with his heel.

He bunches the fabric of your shirt in his fist like he’s fed up with its presence. You laugh into his mouth and he swallows it down greedily, tugging at your hem as he keeps his lips on you. They migrate from your mouth as he shucks your shirt up over your head, turning you around and putting his mouth to your neck.

“Dave,” you gasp, your hand flying back to dig your fingers into his hair as your bra falls to the floor. He sucks on the erogenous zone just beneath your ear, his palm pressed flat to your belly while the other gently slides up your side and squeezes your breast.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he mumbles, drowning in the feel of your soft skin in his palms. This is where he belongs. This is his path.

He's flapping his wax wings toward the sun and burning up in the warmth of your body.

You moan softly when Dave sucks a bruise into your throat, his fingers flexing against your belly at the sound. Fuck, he's going crazy. Any more sweet little noises from your lips and he's going to come in his goddamn pants.

“Didn’t think hickeys were your style,” you say breathlessly, tilting your head to give him better access.

He huffs against your skin, nipping your earlobe. “You thought about me?”

“Too often for my own good,” you tell him. “I know you thought about me, too.”

Dave hums, pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades. He begins to descend, his lips at every knob of your spine, until he's on his knees behind you. “I’m always thinking about you. Your little wisdoms and your tight fucking dresses. Drive me up the wall.”

You grin, shivers coursing through your body as you feel Dave’s mouth on your lower back, between the black wings. “But I’m a lot of fun.”

“That you are,” says Dave, bunching the fabric of your skirt in his fingers. He nudges his nose playfully into your lower back, making you laugh. “Relax, pretty girl. Let me take this off.”

You do. He takes his time undressing you, slipping your skirt down your thighs and then hooking his fingers in the waistband of your lacy white panties. He utters a curse, his cock straining against his zipper. His arousal is beginning to cloud his judgement, but making you gasp and squirm under his touch is the reward for his patience.

White lace. Of course. Achingly slowly, he brings your panties down your legs. “What are you thinking about?”

There's a wet spot in your underwear where you've been dripping for him, and you're rubbing your thighs together to alleviate the pressure in your core. Dave clicks his tongue. “No, baby, keep ‘em open. Want to see what I do to you. Answer my question.”

“Would you believe me if I told you I’m thinking about hedonism?”

He presses his mouth to your tattoo in a long, open-mouthed kiss. “Funny. So am I.”

“It was the first thing I did when I turned eighteen,” you tell him, closing your eyes and savouring the feel of his warm tongue on your body, licking your inked skin like you're made of honey. “Used up all my allowance. Never told Dad.”

“Bad girl,” he tuts, playfully biting into the flesh of your ass. You giggle, pleased with yourself, and Dave rises to his feet with a soft kiss to the nape of your neck. “So sweet and so bad for me.”

The look in his eyes should frighten you. His pupils are saucers, black as the chilling vacuum of space, and his eyes are hungry. There’s something ravenous in those depths, something that ignites an old instinct in you to run.

But you don't flee. His rough, worn hands are gentle around your waist and his lips meet your injured palms. He isn't like the men who have harmed you before. He’s Dave.

His hunger is your Hedon.

“Lie on the bed,” he says plainly.

You do. Shuffling backward on his king mattress takes a moment of your time, but Dave watches as he stalks toward you, kneeling on the bed and lifting your ankle to press a kiss to the bone.

“You won’t stay in the other room anymore,” he says. “You’ll be in my bed, next to me, every night.”

“Well, you should be on top of me right now, and you aren't. We can't always get what we—”

You're cut short when Dave lowers his hand between your legs and trails two fingers through your soaking wet slit. “Oh,” you shudder out.

“Are you going to be a good girl and tell me what you want? Or will you make me wring it out of you?”

You circle your hips slightly in his direction, your brows curving upward in the middle. He likes this, the bastard. He likes you speechless as much as he likes your wicked tongue. “I want you to make me feel good.”

He nods, settling between your open legs. “I can do that, sweet girl.”

You nod in turn, a little more vigorously. “You should know,” you say, “I’m loud in bed.”

Dave laughs. “I know, baby. I can hear you when you touch yourself.”

You don't look mortified or outraged. You’re too far gone, too wet and warm, to care about his eavesdropping activities. Maybe you've known all along. “I think about your tongue and your fingers,” you tell him, your eyes droopy and dark with lust. “I think about you taking me, fucking me deep, and if I’m lucky, I dream about it, too.”

“When did that start?” he muses, his eyes indulging in you, exploring all the parts of you he only imagined until tonight. Your knees are still skinned and your palms still raw, but there is no place for anger in this room. Not with you.

“You brought me an omelette,” you say softly, your eyes so soft and vulnerable in the dim light that his chest aches. “And you spoke to me, even though I knew you didn't want to.”

“I wanted to,” he says, stroking your hip bone with his thumb. “I didn't let myself want it. But Jesus, you were good, baby. Drew me right in.”

“I liked that you’re kind to me,” you tell him, “even when you’re a dick to everyone else. I liked your sharp mind. I liked the way you drink your coffee.”

He doesn't think he drinks coffee any differently from other people. But he remembers that he’s obsessed with the way you hold a pencil and the way your brow furrows when you concentrate and the way your eyes flutter when you taste something you like. He’s always been weak for you.

In a world that forces him to show his strength at all times, locking himself inside his bedroom with you and shedding the bravado at the door is yet another reprieve you've brought him.

Your leg closes around his hip. “I guess I like a dangerous man.”

He lifts an amused brow. “Should we be worried about that?”

“Maybe,” you concede. “But not tonight.”

He agrees. “Spread your legs like a good girl.”

You make a show of it. You drag your hands down your thighs and ease them open so Dave can fit comfortably between, revealing your wet pussy to him. You glisten under the soft glow of the lamp on his nightstand. Outside, crickets croon, and the faint smattering of rain heralds whistling wind. The world carries on outside, but for all he knows, the Earth has stopped spinning.

When he dips his fingers between your legs and your head falls to the pillow, he kickstarts it back into motion.

“Shit,” you whisper, watching his fingers collect the wetness between your folds. “Dave…”

“Been a long time?” he asks, as if he could ever be upset that you haven’t been having sex with other men.

You're already soaking from his teasing, and when he pushes a finger inside you, curling it upward with tactical precision, colours burst on your eyelids.

“The kidnapping sort of… took the wind… out of my sails,” you pant, clutching the sheets beside you as Dave’s palm rubs relentlessly against your clit.

“That's a shame.” Dave adds another finger, his free hand digging bruises into your thigh. You cry out, grasping for his wrist, a futile attempt to feel grounded when you're already floating. “You might’ve wanted to go and marry some senator.”

“Senators are boring.” You’re writhing, grinding into his palm, and realising very quickly that Dave York knows your body as well as he knows your heart. “Do you know how many politicians want to fuck me?”

Dave curls his fingers again, feeling your hot, wet muscles contract around him. “Maybe I should let them know,” he says quietly, shifting so he can lean over your body, “that you're spoken for.”

The rapid rise and fall of your chest is telling. You're spiralling fast. “Am I?”

Dave lowers his head and takes one of your nipples into his mouth, circling it with his tongue. You thread your fingers through his hair, keeping his mouth fixed to you, as his fingers continue to apply pressure to your g-spot and his palm on your clit creates the friction you need.

The stimulation crackles up your spine with all the warning of a lightning strike. You can't warn him that you’re coming because you already are, your body seizing, your stomach tightening, and your mouth falling open in a long, loud moan as you clamp down on Dave’s fingers. Tugging him up toward you, your mouth finds the first thing it can find, biting down on the juncture of his neck and shoulder as you ride out your orgasm.

Dave grunts, uttering your name like a prayer, gently fucking you with his fingers to help you come down while he litters your neck with kisses. “That’s it, baby. That’s my pretty girl. So pretty when you come.”

The dirty praise ignites you all over again. Touching yourself to a feeble orgasm does not compare to this. This is electrical ecstasy. This is Dave York taking your pleasure into his hands, moulding your body how he likes, giving you what you need, because he knows.

“I’m yours,” you tell him, bumping your nose against his jaw. He pulls back slightly to look down at you, his brown eyes sparkling with pride and withheld desire.

“Open your mouth,” he says. The command crackles at your fingertips.

Your lips part at the same time you feel his fingers slide from you. Dave places the pads of his fingers on your tongue. You taste yourself, closing your lips around them, the tang and warmth filling you as you suck his digits clean.

When his fingers leave your mouth, Dave holds your jaw in place. “Are you spoken for?” he asks.

You nod as best you can. “I am.”

He hums, dipping his head to lick a stripe up the hollow of your throat, his hands ghosting up and down your sides. “Do you want a dirty fucking senator to lick your pussy?”

“No,” you gasp, baring your throat to him.

He nips at you like a vampire, migrating down your body. His mouth trails down your sternum, tattooing himself on you. “No,” he echoes, his tone a little harder. “You're too good for any of them. Too young for half of them. Too… fucking… perfect.”

You whimper and squirm, impatient by the time he finds your navel, kissing just beneath your bellybutton. “I’m not perfect,” you manage, though it sounds like one long exhale. “And I’m probably too young for you, too.”

“Mmm.” He sounds unconvinced, but it may just be the distracting pull of arousal and the thrill of being so close to your wet pussy. He gives your clit an experimental lick and grins when you moan his name. “You don't want another man, sweet girl. You want me.”

“I want you.” Head thrown back, lips barely moving.

“Look at me when you say it.”

You raise your head from the pillows and meet his eyes. You can feel yourself falling into their depths, and the world stops once more.

You have the power to make it turn again.

Your lips part, and they form the words.

“I’m yours.”

Outside, the proverbial gears begin to grind. Several trillion stars slot into place. You're where you belong.

Dave’s tongue travels slowly between your folds, slathering your cunt in his saliva. Your head falls and your back bows, a wanton groan fleeing your mouth. No more shackles. No restraints.

It doesn't take much for Dave to lose himself. The first taste has him craving more, so he dives back in, sucking your clit into his mouth. Instinctively, his fingers flex, desperate for something to hold onto. Your legs close around his ears as you cry out and he has his solution. He wraps his arms around your thighs, his fingers dimpling your soft flesh, as he licks and kisses your pussy until he's making out with it.

“Oh! Yes!” You thread your fingers through his hair, feeling him groan into your cunt, his fingers squeezing hard when you tug on his hair. He's building you back up fast, licking at your sensitive clit until it bursts as sparks in your blood and soothing it by wiggling the flat of his tongue over the bundle of nerves. It's skilled and slow and fuck, he likes it. He gets off on eating you out. The cold killer and the polite princess.

He owns your body. He can do whatever he wants to it if he makes you feel like this.

Dave suckles on your clit, your wetness mingling with his saliva and dribbling down to your puckered asshole. His name drips from your mouth, from faint whimpers to long moans, and you're making devil horns out of the tufts of his dark hair that you grip tightly in your hands. “Fuck, fuck, yes, that feels so good. Dave, please, it feels—ah!”

Oh, you are loud. Dave groans against your pussy, giving your thigh a firm squeeze. He wants it telegraphed in the sky. He wants it written on the goddamn forehead of every fucking idiot who wants you in his bed.

You're his.

There is plenty of work to be done. Your knees and palms are still scraped. There are bad men who have treated you wrongly. But you taste so fucking good, like dipping his tongue into a pot of nectar, and he does not think there is a soul on this Earth who could drag him away from you.

“Dave, I’m…” Your words are slurring, your vision blurred with tears, as the pressure builds in your core and your stomach tightens. He hums in acknowledgement, sucking on your clit, refusing to abandon his post. You have to hand it to him: he treats every job with the utmost devotion.

He ushers you toward a second orgasm with his tongue fixed to your clit, his hand snaking around your thigh to your lower belly in anticipation. You cry his name, your hips bucking into his hands, the pleasure skating all the way up to the back of your neck. Your spine seizes, and it's Dave’s hands on you that keep you from panicking as you lose yourself to the warm spread of numbness that starts at your fingertips.

“Dave,” you croak, squeezing your eyes shut. He gives your name back to you like it's an answer, crawling back up your body and pressing kisses to your naked, sweat-slick skin.

“Such a good girl. Jesus, you’re fucking beautiful, coming for me.” He whispers his pride into your body, speaking it into your nerves, and your blood sings with the joy of doing something good for him. He threads his fingers through yours and presses kisses to each of your knuckles. “Come back to me, sweetheart. Let me see you open your eyes.”

You blink them open, bleary and dazed, watching him gently tease your nipple with his teeth before he hovers above you. “Hi,” you say weakly, pushing his messy hair back from his face.

“Hey,” he returns. “You're with me?”

“I’m with you.”

“Good.” He dips his hand beneath you, and you know he's searching for the tattoo on your lower back. He warms it with his palm. “Sure you can take more? Looks like you're down for the count.”

Something inside you, something womanly and primal, maybe partly memory, ignites at the implied challenge. “I can take it,” you tell him, your brow set in determination. “Can you?”

“Oh, baby,” coos Dave, sliding his fingers through your slit again to make you quiver, collecting your juices on his skin like he wants to absorb you, “I’m going to take it.”

The hotheaded look in your eye almost has him lowering over your pussy and licking you into another orgasm. But his cock is throbbing in his pants and he's sweating like the Devil under his shirt. His body seeks your heat, the salvation he knows lies in this closeness.

“Let me,” you plead, licking your lips at the sight of his bare chest just beneath the third button.

He can't say no to you. Dave shifts to the edge of the bed and brings you with him, enjoying the deep desire in your darkening eyes. Kicking off his shoes and socks, he keeps his hands dutifully at his sides while you pop open the buttons of his shirt, his jaw ticking with restraint. Your flushed, naked body is right in front of him, trembling at the knees from two orgasms. He wants to take care of you. But it occurs to him, as you slide his shirt off his shoulders and begin scattering kisses all over his chest, that this is taking care of you. This is giving you space to indulge as you like. It feels so fucking good to make you happy.

“So strong,” you mutter, disposing of his shirt and putting your mouth to the hollow of his throat. Dave’s breath shudders out of him, his fingers flexing. Your warm, soft lips mark a map of his body, from his neck to his hard shoulders to his softening belly. His experience, his age, his ability are all bared for you, as vulnerable as Dave York can possibly be. It's thrilling.

It's when you get on your knees, kissing down his belly and its soft trail of hair, that Dave grunts, his hand flying to the crown of your head. You look up through your lashes at him, smiling coyly, like the very thought of you breathing on his dick isn't enough to make him come in his pants.

Slowly, you unzip his pants and bring them down his legs. Your mouth waters at the sight of his big cock, hard and leaking against his stomach.

“Knew it,” you say triumphantly.

Dave huffs. “Placed a bet, huh?”

You bite your lip and it makes his cock pulse. “Get up here,” he rasps. “Now.”

“But you need help,” you say with a pitiful pout, lifting your hand to wrap your fingers around the base of his cock. Dave bucks his hips involuntarily, his eyes squeezing shut at the first touch from you.

“Jesus.” He tightens his grip on your hair and covers your hand on his dick with his own, guiding it toward your mouth. “Fine. Show me how a princess sucks cock. Open.”

You do, sticking out your tongue for good measure. Dave enjoys the power trip, slapping the head of his cock on your tongue twice before sliding it farther into your mouth. You groan, your voice muffled, as you close your lips around him and hold onto his thighs for balance.

“That's pretty,” he muses, shallowly thrusting to test your resolve. You drool, your saliva slathering up his shaft, getting his dick good and wet to slide into your mouth. Your eyes begin to water as he prods the warm gummy wall at the back of your throat, but you hold his gaze, relishing in the flare of his nostrils and the cavity of his throat. You're making him feel good.

You swirl your tongue around the head as he pulls back, and Dave bares his teeth. “Fuck,” he spits. “Crying for me. You like this, don't you? You like being on your knees for a fuckin’ killer?”

You squeeze his thighs in response, taking him deeper and swallowing hard around his cock. “Fuck, baby. Thaaaat’s it. Fuckin’ take me. You’ll take all of it, like a good girl.” He’s close, and when he’s close, he can't shut up. He begins to thrust harder into your mouth, some sort of masochistic instinct, knowing he won't let himself come down your throat. Not tonight.

You choke around him, your mascara dribbling in black tears down your cheeks. He looks down your body at your dripping cunt and sees you rubbing your thighs together to relieve the tension in your core. “You want to come, baby?” he grunts, feeling his balls pull up. You whine around his dick. “I bet you could come like this. Choking on me.”

A slight grind of your hips tells him that he's right. That won't do. You aren't coming by yourself tonight. Dave pulls out of your mouth, his cock twitching at the sight of the long thread of saliva connecting the head to your bottom lip. You pout, a spoiled princess, and Dave hauls you upright, bringing you on top of him as he sits on the bed.

Straddling his thighs, you feel his heavy cock between your bellies, waiting for you to sit on. Dave wipes the black tears from your face and kisses you softly. You melt into him, your tits squished against his chest, winding your arms around his neck. His hand finds its favourite place on your lower back, tracing the wings he has already memorised. Your wetness sticks to your inner thighs, your hips instinctively seeking his cock, grinding down onto his lap. Dave groans into your mouth, slipping his tongue past your lips at the same time he lifts your hips and helps you sit on his cock.

It takes a moment to push past your entrance, the head of his dick leaking into your pussy as it attempts to open you up.

You're soaking wet, but he's still big, and you gasp into the kiss when you feel him slip inside, your nails scratching at his back. He soothes your tense muscles with his hand at your back as you sink lower, your thighs burning. “Knew it,” you say again, laughing at yourself.

Dave nudges his nose against yours. “It’ll fit, sweetheart. Take your time.”

You nod, surging forward to kiss him again, distracting yourself with his mouth while you take him to the hilt, the head of his cock kissing your cervix and your bodies meeting. Your brow pinches, and Dave smooths it out with the pad of his thumb. You're tight enough to squeeze him hard on the descent. Your body is so hot, so soft, wrapped around him like he's a lifeline. “Do you need me to move?” he asks, struggling to stay still as your warmth sucks him in.

You nod your head, shivering as your clit rubs against the hairs at the base of his cock. “Make me yours,” you plead. “Make me your girl.”

Dave slips a hand beneath your ass and lifts you an inch or so, the slide deliciously wet along his length. “You've been my girl since the first time I saw you,” he says, the slope of his nose indenting a path in your temple as you sink back down on his dick. “Just didn't know it.”

“Maybe you did,” you sigh, lifting yourself up and twisting your hips on the way down. Dave groans, nipping your earlobe in mild retribution. “Maybe that's why you kept me around.”

You establish a rhythm that makes your thighs ache, bouncing and grinding on his cock, assisted by his hand on your ass, kneading handfuls and smacking it playfully while you ride him. He’s deep at this angle, snug inside your cunt, prodding your cervix with every thrust. You cry out, burying your face in his neck, your sweat slicking up your body as it rubs against his, jolts of white-hot pleasure pummeling your resolve. Weak as tissue, you let Dave take over.

“I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.” He continues to promise it, breathing it into your blood, burying his face in your throat to inhale your scent: perfume and sweat and hormones. He pushes himself inside you, so deep he begins to disappear, seeking a oneness he can never have.

“Dave,” you mumble, grasping at his back, sure to leave marks that he’ll be proud to wear, “‘m gonna fall over.”

He slows his pace, lowering you onto your back so he can give you a rest. But he doesn't let you wholly off the hook. Dave hooks his hand under your knee and lifts it up to his hip. The angle deepens, and your back arches, your brows curving upward in the middle as pleasure oozes down your spine. “Oh my God.”

“So fucking spoiled,” he says through his teeth, punctuating every word by grinding against you. “Such a fucking princess. You like it dirty. You like taking me on your back, filled up with me, scratching me up, while your daddy thinks you’re giving yourself to another man.”

“Yesyesyes,” you mewl, grasping his biceps. “I’m spoiled. You’re so good to me. So good… so good inside me.”

“That’s right.” He gives you all he has, punching deep into you, his balls slapping against your ass and your wetness squelching around the tight seal of your cunt. Your tits bounce with every thrust and your warm, soft body only invites him in: a siren’s song whose melody momentarily tricks him into believing that salvation is possible. That there is no chance for damnation when he has earned the privilege of being with you.

Dave smooths his hand over your belly as his other hikes your leg higher up his hip, fucking you rough and relentlessly. “The whole world thinks I’m your bodyguard. They don’t fucking see the real you.” His teeth begin to grind as his orgasm approaches again, already staved off once. He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold back. “Tell me how it feels. Tell me what it feels like when I fuck you.”

“H—Hedon,” you rasp.

Dave chuckles, pulling out of you and depriving himself of his climax for the second time. You blink away your haze and frown at him. “Dave?”

He uses his leverage on your leg to turn you onto your stomach, pulling you backward by your hips. His palm meets your ass in an audible smack. You yelp, jerking forward, barred by his arm across your hips. Dave hums, soothing the welt with his hand.

“Don’t try to run.”

You should have known he would want to take you on your hands and knees. This way, he has a perfect view of your tattoo, wedged between the dimples on your back. Your pussy drips for him, and he can see it weep onto your thighs as he kneads your asscheeks. That’s a pretty sight, he thinks: your used pussy and your tight asshole on display for him as you hide your blushing face in the mattress. The bend of your back is delicious, and he leans over you to press a kiss to your spine.

“Tell me again,” he says, dragging his nose up your vertebrae.

You shudder underneath him. “I’m yours, Dave,” you tell him, your voice breaking into a whisper.

He mounts you like a fucking animal, slotting himself at your entrance and pushing deep inside on the first thrust. You gasp, the noise gooey and complacent in his ears, quiet choruses of yes, yes, yes echoing off the walls. His palm slides up your sweaty back, the other winding around your waist and rubbing circles over your clit.

“Good girls are loud,” bites Dave, his fingers slick on your pearl while your hips buck wildly and your throat scrubs raw with your cries. “Good girls scream when they're getting fucked. You gonna scream for me?”

“Ah! Dave!” You fist the bedsheets, your cheek buried in the mattress. The pleasure is so overwhelming, notched so high, that your brain lags behind, the edges of your vision blurring. Your mind attempts to decide between the overstimulation of your body and the grounding effect of Dave’s hand on your back, but it cannot make the decision. Your body trembles and your breath escapes in shallow puffs. You may have a heart attack if he doesn’t let you come soon—

Oh.

Oh, yes. There it is.

His name leaves your lips garbled, your entire body freezing underneath Dave’s. You come so hard you can’t even scream, flexing your fingers, squeezing your eyes shut, and letting the devastating shiver crash over you, a rush of warm air in wintertime.

You soak Dave’s cock, your cunt constricting around him, locking him inside you. He groans, his hand on your back curling in your hair, hauling you upright so your back is pressed to his chest.

He supports your limp body, his arm banding across your breasts, his mouth fixing itself to the juncture of your neck and shoulder. You tilt your head back against him to give him all the access he wants, and he makes a gruff noise of acknowledgement, smattering your skin with love bites as he reaches his climax.

He pumps shallowly, cock pulsing with every spurt of hot cum he dumps inside you. You grind down on him, cock-drunk, and Dave growls like a dog, gripping you tighter as if to hold you in place. His teeth find your jaw, then the spot beneath your ear, and his fingers squeeze your ribs so tight that you're locked in his arms. Just the way he likes it.

He finishes emptying his balls inside you and exhales, mending any superficial damage he did with his teeth by pressing his lips to the spots in question. “Knew you were a biter,” you giggle.

Dave smiles against your cheek. “Yeah? How's that?”

“Dreamed about it.”

He gently pulls out of you, a little forlorn at the sight of his cum dripping out of your abused pussy in thick globs. He’ll just have to rectify that later. “Need to clean you up, pretty girl. Can you walk?”

You wiggle your ass at him, sagging back down onto the mattress. “What if I want to keep you inside?”

Dave answers by placing two fingers on your clit and spreading his cum around your pussy, stuffing some back inside. Your cheeks redden, his name feeble on your tongue. “Let’s clean you up so I can fill you again.”

You shuffle off the bed and grab his arm for support. “Well, that should do fine. Lead the way.”

Neither of you feels like sleeping. Or getting dressed.

His bed fits two people perfectly. It was lonely before. Now, it's yours, too. Your warm, sated body is tucked up against him, your cheek resting on his chest as you listen to his heartbeat. It's strong and assured. There isn't a part of him that wavers.

It's just past two in the morning. Outside, it's still. The idle noises of nighttime carry on, the occasional rumble of a car driving by or crickets chirping nothing new. But it feels different now. Things are quieter.

“Dave,” you whisper, drawing a small sun over his heart. He hums, tracing shapes of his own up and down your back. “I think we should get married.”

His chin knocks into the side of your head as he looks down at you. “What?”

Your soft laugh echoes in his ears. “I’m not saying this because you were just inside me. Think about it—if we marry before my father can throw me into a senator’s arms, he won't have any choice but to back off. His reputation matters more to him than anything.” You shift slightly so you're lying on top of him, hovering close to his face. “And you matter more to me than Brock ever could.”

His entire body is buzzing. He can feel the tremors from his scalp to his feet. You want to marry him. Holy fucking Christ.

It’s a good idea. If a legal document binds the two of you, your father will have no grounds to force you into a marriage with Brock. You've lived in Dave’s home for the past six months. You know him inside and out. You aren't afraid of what he is.

He's already devoted himself to you. He has no problem writing it in a vow.

Dave tucks your hair behind your ear and cups your face. The simple touch makes your eyes droop sleepily. “Sweetheart,” he says, thumb stroking your jaw. “Is this really what you want?”

“Dave, I don't want anybody else.” You dip your head and litter kisses along his jawline. “I want you. You make me happy.”

He must have taken a right turn among the many wrongs to get here.

“I want you to understand something,” he says, “before you make this choice.”

Your eyes are clear as glass, but you humour him with a smile. “Mhm.”

Dave searches your face, its dips and curves and soft planes, sprawling out along the valley in his mind. It's dotted with vibrant flowers and speckled with dewdrops. Maybe it’s Heaven. But if he takes you forever, binding himself to you, there will be no Heaven. There is no choice but for you to tumble down toward the earth alongside him, locked together in orbit. He cannot ascend. But you can fall together.

“This is real,” he says.

“It’s real,” you echo, your hand trailing up and down his bicep.

“This won't be some public political move. This is a marriage. I’m going to treat it like a marriage.” He twirls a lock of your hair around his index finger. You're real. You’re not a dream. He’s been inside you, kissed you, promised you things. He intends to keep those promises. “I’m not letting you go once I have you.”

“You already have me,” you tell him, “so you can hold on as tight as you want.”

Dave’s grip on your waist tightens. “Mrs. York,” he murmurs, eyes fixed to your lips.

“Mmm. Has a nice ring to it.” You beam at him, threading your fingers through his. “Speaking of rings…”

“You’re getting a real proposal, baby. Don't think for a second I’m telling you a thing about it.” Dave lifts his brows expectantly. “Now kiss me.”

Wrapped around one another, two people with waxen wings on their backs give into the lure of sleep and let their worst days slip idly away behind them.

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

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deadhumourist · 1 year

Text

Emptiness

Summary: Soft Dom Dave spends a little time with you.

Pairing: Dave York X f!reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Dom/sub dynamics, established relationship, Soft!Dom, Sub reader, Smacking, PiV sex, anal toys, no physical description of reader.

A/N: This was a 250-word ficlet that ran away with me. Beta by the lovely @just-here-for-the-moment

Author Masterlist

-------

Dave’s voice lowers to barely a whisper, and he slowly strolls towards the desk, shoulders squared like a predator whose prey has given up the chase.

He trails a cold hand along the inside of your thigh, raising goosebumps in its wake. Long, clever fingers tap the heel of the anal plug and you jump from the sudden touch. The blindfold digs into the corner of your eyes as you wince.

“This stays in, hmm. You’re going to be my good girl.”

A sharp thrill chases down your spine, straight and tense on the desk. Waiting. You feel those same fingers close to your pulsing heat.

Then his flat palm thwacks down on your pussy, a sharp twinge of pleasure pulls a whimper from you. The obscene, wet slap sounds loud in the quiet of the room and you hear the smile in Dave’s gravelly voice.

“Can’t wait, can you? So needy.”

The last syllable is punctuated with another sharp slap, followed by a soft, luxurious rub of his open palm on your heated sex. You feel your folds glide against his large hand, and you squirm at the temperature difference and obscenity of it as his hand leaves again.

Minutes tick by.

Loudly.

Slowly.

His large, blunt cock head slides from your clit down to your entrance and up again, the slow drag of the hot flesh against yours delicious but not enough. He does it again. You feel him twitch against you.

“Does my good girl need me to empty her head?”

You nod into the darkness. Agreement and submission bob your head of their own accord.

The next moment, Dave sinks into you in one smooth thrust, his large hands curled around your hips to make sure he fills you completely. Without warning, your pussy convulses around him, the sudden thrust and the plug lighting your nerve endings like fire. He wraps your legs around him, enveloping himself into you.

You cry out helplessly. Dave reaches forward and gently cradles the back of your neck in his hand as he thrusts, working you through your first orgasm. As it subsides, he starts thrusting in earnest, the hand that was on your hip migrating to your clit.

He always knows how to work you just right.

In the dark behind your eyelids you thrash as the sensation starts becoming overwhelming.

“Let me have it. I want it.” he commands.

The hand that gently held your neck slides to the front and his fingers close around your throat. Gentle pressure makes your head swim pleasantly.

Your breath stutters. Your mind is empty and the only thing you know in the darkness is Dave’s cock driving into over and over and over.

When he knows you’re close, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your sternum.

“Give it to me, my good girl.”

Your body reacts by itself, chasing the words and when it finds them, explodes with pleasure. As the wave subsides and you’re reduced to aftershocks, Dave pulls out.

He grabs your soft hand and wraps it around his wet cock, then closes his hand over yours.

While your hand is curled around Dave’s cock, your wrist hangs limply against his balls, and you feel the tell-tale tightening as he gets closer. Hissing through his teeth, he releases his spend over you, thick warm streams hitting your belly.

You want to thank him but your mind is empty and drifting somewhere.

"So beautiful" he murmurs against your skin before pressing his lips to yours in a tender kiss.

#dave york x f!reader #pedro pascal fics #dave york pit #dave york x reader #dave york #dave york x female reader #pedro pascal fanfiction

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suzdin · 7 months

Text

Two For One: Ch. 2

(Dave York x Max Phillips x f!reader)

Part One Here

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, pre-vampire Max, pre-Equalizer 2 Dave, small age gap (unspecified), no use of y/n, some angst, mention of weapons, romance, some fluff, alcohol use, smut, graphic depictions of sex, rough sex, degradation, sadism, kinda dubcon, dom!Dave, spanking, fingering, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, anal

Notes: This is a Dave heavy chapter and Max is kind of an afterthought, sorry if you’re here because of him. He’ll make a larger appearance in the next chapter, I promise! 🤪

——

“Careful, it’s a bit heavy—“ you say as you pass your bag to Dave. “—there’s glass,” you add for good measure, Dave’s fingers brushing yours as he grabs at the straps to hoist it over his shoulder. You watch as your bottle of Smirnoff lists to one side, breath catching in your throat until it eventually tips back.

Ignoring the almost-fiasco of it crashing to the sidewalk, Dave eyes you up and down once he settles everything, which causes your cheeks to heat. “What are you in the mood for?” he asks, his eyes large and brown, reminding you almost comically of a baby cow.

“Um,” you answer awkwardly, not sure what to say. You don’t want to pick something on the pricier side, your impoverished upbringing screaming at you in your head. “I don’t really have a lot of money, so…there’s a Burger King around the corner?” you suggest.

Dave shakes his head in disagreement, his lips tilting into a smirk, the skin around his eyes crinkling in a way that makes him look soft. Inviting. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’m paying.”

And herein lies a new dilemma: you don’t want him to assume you’re gouging him for money. It isn’t like the restaurants in your neighborhood are high class, but they certainly aren’t cheap, either.

“Oh, um, well…” you begin. “What are you in the mood for?” you ask, deflecting the question back to him.

Dave knows what you’re doing; you don’t want to choose something that might leave a bad taste in his mouth, literally and figuratively. He can’t help to admit it strokes his ego a little that you want to make a good first impression; he thinks that bodes well for him. He tries not to let his gaze linger longer than necessary.

He cants his head forward, gesturing for you to follow him. Together, the two of you start down the street.

“Well,” he begins, raising his eyebrows in contemplation. “There’s Italian straight ahead. An Irish pub called Quinn’s that has decent enough food across from that. Greek and Indian on Broadway…” he trails off idly, hoping any of those sound appetizing.

“Greek is good. I like Greek. Hummus actually sounds killer right about now,” you admit, your stomach grumbling audibly at the mention of food. You clutch at yourself as if that will stop it. “Sorry.”

He re-adjusts the bag on his shoulder and smiles over at you, pointedly ignoring your wailing stomach. It isn’t heavy, not really. Not for a big guy like Dave. “Mythos it is.”

——

The restaurant isn’t far. You walk, shoulder to shoulder, mostly in silence. Dave can’t stop thinking about you or the sounds you’d made for Max; his dick fighting with his brain, trying to keep himself in check now that he’s this close to you.

He clocks right away how different you are from Carol, who would have vetoed every restaurant in the city and then complained about being hungry later. Carol, whom he’d met at his church—back when he gave a shit about such things—only a few months before being sent away to the Marine Corps, so that he hastily rushed into a marriage that neither of them ended up being happy in.

Carol liked to present herself as a godly, Christian woman, though from Dave’s experience, he knew that to be far from the truth.

You, on the other hand, did not give off such vibes, the way you often slept in until noon on Sundays (when you didn’t happen to be working, that was), the somewhat revealing cut of your clothes, or the fact that you didn’t care enough to keep your debauchery stowed away, if the constant slew of alcohol and cigarettes had anything to say about that.

Not to mention how you allowed yourself to be manhandled in a public space with little to no concern of being discovered.

Would you let him drink with you later? he wonders.

Would you let him touch you? Fuck you?

As if on cue, you pull a cigarette loose from your purse. “Is this okay?” you ask as you draw it up to your lips.

There’s something in his eyes you can’t quite read.

“By all means,” he responds, and you let go of a breath. His eyes track the way your lips curl around the filter as you bring the lighter up; the way you cup your other hand to block the wind as you walk. He’s never been more jealous of a cigarette in his entire life.

“Want one?” you offer, assuming that’s why he’s staring.

“No, thanks,” he replies with a small laugh. “Gave them up years ago when I left the Marines.”

Marines? This guy couldn’t possibly be anymore different from Jonathan, you think.

Jonathan, the tortured artist. Jonathan, who once tried to make his own beer and failed horribly, which landed you in the ER several months ago. Jonathan, who dragged you from your home state all the way to Massachusetts, depleting your life savings, and now you don’t have enough money to get home.

He was your type, once. Maybe Dave is what you need.

Maybe Max is what you need, you ponder, a particularly brisk step reminding you of the soreness blooming between your legs.

You don’t need a relationship, you think. What you need right now is no-strings-attached sex, which is exactly what Max seems to be able to offer you.

Dave is cute, though. And seems nice. You can’t deny there’s something reticent about him, however. Something tucked away.

It fascinates you.

You’re about half done with the cigarette by the time you reach the restaurant. You snuff it out on the ground and cram the remainder back into your purse.

It’s a small, hole in the wall sort of place with outdoor seating off to one side, somewhat hidden from view of the street. The inside is intimately lit, and seems a touch cramped for your taste.

“Inside or outside?” Dave asks.

“Out, if that’s okay,” you reply. It’s a cool September evening, which means it will be pleasant enough to sit outdoors, unlike back home this time of year. It’s a nice night and you’d like to enjoy it a bit longer.

“Yeah. Of course.” He tries to quell his nerves when he notices how empty the patio is; were you trying to hint at something? he wonders.

You realize at the same time Dave does that the patio is devoid of other patrons, and you hope you didn’t give off the wrong impression, but it’s too late to say anything by the time he tells the host to seat you there.

The patio is situated between two buildings, adorned with standard metal grid outdoor tables and chairs, a few planter boxes flanking the walls, and string lights strewn above your heads. The host seats you by one of the tables nearest a wall and tells you someone will be by to take your order shortly.

“This is nice,” Dave says, taking time to pull out your chair for you before you sit. It stokes something in you; none of the men you’ve dated ever took such a simple gesture into consideration.

It probably shouldn’t, though. You barely know him.

You shuffle uncomfortably under the table. It’s been a long time since you’ve been on a date, if that was in fact what this was, and you aren’t really sure how to feel about it; how to act and what to say.

“So, where are you from?” he asks, breaking the ice for you.

He is, of course, only making small talk out of formality; he already knows where you’re from. All the places you’ve lived, the jobs you’ve had, your relatives, your financial situation. Social media links. By simply finding out your name and knowing where you work, he was able to obtain more information about you in hours than he had in months of watching you.

It wasn’t enough. He needed to know more.

“Texas,” you answer. The waitress is here now, and she takes your drink orders. Dave orders a Diet Coke and you start to order a water—your go to because it’s free—but change your mind at the last second and order the same thing.

“Be right back with your drinks,” she speaks in what you assume is a Greek accent. You mumble a polite thank you out of habit.

“How about you?” Your turn to ask now.

“Baltimore. Parents were in the FBI, so we stayed close to D.C. for a reason,” he replies with a smile. You make a face of admiration because you don’t know how else to respond to that.

“Wow,” you say as a placeholder. “The FBI? Impressive.”

He preens and shakes his head with a small laugh. “Yeah, I guess so.”

And then you settle into another drawn out silence. It should feel jarring, but to you, it’s a reprieve. You were never good at carrying a conversation. You start looking over the menu to fill the time, even though you already know what you’re getting.

“So. You want hummus, right? I’ll order some when she comes back,” Dave says.

“I’m getting that as my meal,” you state and it’s true. You would normally get an entree if you were just eating alone and save it for later, but you’re being polite. Besides, you’re really jonesing for some hummus right now.

“You sure?” he asks. “You can get anything you want.”

“I know. Thank you. But I— the hummus sounds good,” you reiterate. He concedes, brushing a hand through his sweat damp hair.

“Dolmas, then,” he suggests, pointing it out on the menu. Your menu, in fact, so that his arm briefly comes into contact with yours.

“Yeah. That sounds nice,” you agree quietly.

He can’t stop himself from smiling at you. You’re so kind. So polite. So shy. Everything that Carol isn’t.

He almost couldn’t believe what you’d let Max do to you. The sinful noises you’d made as a result.

Your duality captivates him. Not unlike yourself, he has his own duality.

He’s already growing stiff under the table. He can’t help it. He wishes you would make the same noises for him.

The waitress comes back a few minutes later with the drinks and takes your orders. “It will be out shortly,” she says when she’s done, tapping her pen against the ticket book as she strides away.

Dave starts asking you about your family. He already knows, of course. But he wants to hear you say it, perhaps to elaborate the details, see how much you’re willing to open up. He nods along patiently as you talk about your sick grandmother and how your mom takes care of her full-time. That you send money to them every once in a while, which is just one other thing that keeps you from saving, although you omit that last part.

You briefly touch on the subject of your brother—your only sibling—and how he’s been in and out of jail and rehab for years, but you don’t expound on that more than necessary.

Dave knows everything so he only lets you tell him what you’re comfortable sharing. He knows about the armed robberies, and that when you say jail, what you really mean is prison.

He notices how disquieted talking about your brother makes you. He’s overcome with the urge to kiss you, again. Take away the hurt. He settles on gently squeezing your shoulder instead. You don’t cringe away this time. He lets his hand dally a touch too long, perhaps, but you don’t say anything.

The dolmas come out a few minutes later. You admit to Dave you’ve never had them before, but after trying the first one, you’re hooked. They’re earthy, lemony and savory; everything you would expect and more.

“Glad you’re enjoying them,” Dave says affectionately. “They’re my favorite.”

You start to relax, a little. But you’re still mostly a bundle of raw nerves and when staff is out of view, you bend over to dig in your grocery bag to retrieve the vodka. It’s been such a long—and bizarre—day. It cannot be helped how you’re feeling or that you need relief.

You don’t catch Dave’s eyes on the droop of your chest as you bend…or the way he licks his lips salaciously, imagining how your nipples would taste against his tongue.

“Would you like any?” you query as you unscrew the top and dump what looks about a shot’s worth into your soda, swirling it with your straw.

Dave should say no. Lord knows he can barely contain himself as it is, stone cold sober.

But like most things having to do with you, he can’t resist, so he doesn’t. You pour some of the clear liquid into his cup.

And it continues like that for a while; adding another shot after every refill, halfway to being drunk by the time your food arrives, your anxiety dissipating with every drop of alcohol in your bloodstream.

Dave’s little touches grow more frequent, as well. Your hands and arms, your nearest shoulder, your knees. A few times, he has to stop himself from gripping your knees to spread them apart for him. It’s been a while since he’s been drunk; you’re probably handling it better than he is.

“What about you, then? Tell me about your family,” you pry, adding another shot to each of your cups.

Dave tells you about his parents, his siblings—one brother and one sister, both older. One lives in Rhode Island and the other in Florida. He says he doesn’t see them as often as he’d like.

“What do you do for work?” you question.

“I’m retired from the CIA,” he answers honestly, pointedly leaving out the part where he still acts as a consultant from time to time. He does not elaborate more than that.

Your eyes go wide, your brows shooting up your forehead. Dave must be the most decorated person you know. “CIA? This isn’t a situation where you have to kill me now that you’ve told me, right?” you ask playfully, and Dave laughs, his fingers grazing your hand.

“I’ll just pretend I didn’t,” he says around a laugh. You melt into a soft smile and he almost grabs you. Almost drags your mouth to his.

His control is waning by the minute.

“What brought you to Boston, anyway?” he finally asks. He knows already, of course, but he wants your side of it.

You’d been avoiding the subject, but the words flow easier now that you’re inebriated. You tell him about Jonathan; how you’d met online, fell in love—or so you thought—moved halfway across the country for him, only for him to leave you for another woman. Your cheeks shade red with anger.

You clock how hard Dave’s face gets while you’re recounting everything. It’s sort of amazing how swiftly his visage shifts from light to dark in the span of mere seconds. It’s unsettling in its own right, really, so you wave your hand dismissively, in order to change the subject.

“What about you? What brought you to Boston?”

He shifts back in his chair, knee brushing yours and bumping it aside ever so slightly. But he isn’t listening, his bubbling thoughts like a dull roar between his ears; he’s thinking of all the ways he would torture Jonathan before killing him. He’d killed many men, both for the Marines and the CIA. He enjoyed it. Got off on it. So what’s a little more blood in his ledger, in the shape of two men named Max and Jonathan?

He would kill them both as soon as he got the chance. The first in years.

“Dave? You okay?” you ask, placing a tentative hand on top of his where it grips the edge of the table, your thumb skimming the hills and valleys of his knuckles. His gaze snaps to yours, and he recognizes the worry in your eyes. You’re worried about him. It’s been a long time since anyone has worried about him.

That small reciprocative touch from you is all it takes to provoke him, drunk as he is. His opposite hand moves suddenly to your throat, then to the nape of your neck, and he pulls you into him, mouth crashing against yours, needy and messy, all teeth and lips until you open your mouth to him and he’s laving at you with broad strokes of his tongue.

You taste like vodka and heaven.

He swallows your whimper as it works its way up from the depths of your throat; as much as you can’t believe you’re kissing a man you’ve only just officially met, you’re impervious to stop him. This is exactly what you were wanting, what you were needing earlier, with Max. That intimacy, that connection, that Max had denied you. That Dave is offering freely. It’s what you wanted so badly and you only stop when Dave does, pulling apart from you to catch his breath, panting against each other’s lips.

You swipe your tongue against his bottom lip after a few moments, enticing him to return, and he takes advantage of the invitation with a deep groan, prodding his tongue hungrily into your mouth. He palms himself over his shorts as he does so—he can’t help it. You drive him fucking crazy.

You’re letting him touch you. He cannot believe you’re letting him. He wonders how much farther he could go.

His hand moves to your chest, curling lightly against the rise of your upper breast, skirting, testing. When you don’t object, he moves lower, gently cupping you from underneath, cradling the weight in his hand. He grunts into your mouth, dragging his thumb up to circle the stem of your nipple. Might as well go for it as long as you seem receptive.

You pull apart, panting hard, lust-drunk and intoxicated. His hand doesn’t move from your breast, his thumb deftly doing laps around the circumference of your stiffened peak, and it feels better than you could have ever imagined, your head draping over the back of the chair.

You need to know how his thumb would feel circling the bundle of nerves between your legs. You know how fucked it is, how fast everything is moving between the two of you, but you find yourself unable to give a shit after the year you’ve had.

You take his hand and move it down to the cradle of your lap as your legs splay wide for him. He cups your heat with his hand, wrist cocked, completely swallowing you in its mass.

His eyes go impossibly dark. Almost unreadable. His lips pull tight, and you think you see the promise of a smirk there, but you can’t be too sure. His brow is furrowed into a heavy line, lending him a feral—almost dangerous—appearance. And he absolutely is, right now—he’d wanted you for so long and he finally has you. Target acquired. God help anyone who might try to take you from him.

His hand doesn’t move right away and you almost think you’ve offended him. You start to cant your hips, seeking friction, and he stills you with the other hand, wide palm holding you in place against the chair.

The thin bike shorts don’t leave much to the imagination; he can feel your soft folds against his fingers and the dampness that is already creeping through. He starts to stroke with his fore and middle fingers along your seam, his thumb firmly pressed to your clothed clit, rolling tight circles.

It’s all so much that you would buck into his hand if he wasn’t holding you down. You mewl pathetically in his wake, and you’re certain you do see his lips curving into a grin now.

You feel like a rabbit locked in the jaws of a wolf.

“Feels so pretty for me,” Dave murmurs against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours as he holds your gaze in his. “What else would you let me do to you, huh?”

You swallow. Your heart is slamming in your chest. The hero facade from earlier is gone and the real Dave is now bared right in front of you.

“Whatever you want,” you respond in a shaky breath. You’re scared of him, but you kind of like it. The fear consuming you is enrapturing.

“That’s a dangerous proposition,” Dave tuts, tongue clicking between his teeth. Thumb continuously circling your sensitive nub.

A moan slips free and you find it nearly impossible to stay in one spot, even in his clutches. He eventually resigns himself and lets go, hand coming up to squeeze just under your jaw.

“Would you let me put a finger in you? Right here?” he rumbles lowly, his voice deep, dark. It almost doesn’t sound like a question, coming from him.

You already know the answer to such a devious question. You’d let Max almost do the same, after all, and you don’t even like Max.

“Yes,” you admit. “Yes…please.”

“Fucking filthy.” His eyes shine and his lips curl into a wicked smile. Carol would have never agreed to something like that; as if he hadn’t asked on multiple occasions. But that never stopped her from fucking a neighbor at a Christmas party several years ago.

The ache in his cock is burgeoning on painful. His grip under your chin tightens; still very much controlled, but enough to get his point across. “Grab my cock.”

Your breath catches. He leans in to kiss you again, your fingers skating along the inner plane of his thigh, snaking into the opening of his shorts. You find his stiffened member readily, lacing your fingers around the ample girth and stroking it along the ridges of your palm, slowing down when you reach the head. Precum leaks down your wrist. He’s warm and hard as steel and feels amazing. He grunts into your mouth, hips rolling forward, chasing your touch.

“Fuck,” he whispers. He’s spent so long dreaming of this exact scenario that now that it’s happening, it’s too much. Too much and not enough all at once. He breathes headily into your mouth, sucking and biting at your lips. He wonders if you’d suck him off under the table; he knows from listening to you earlier that Max hadn’t claimed your mouth. He wanted to be the one to claim that before Max, spill himself down your throat and mark you from the inside out.

It’s so much that he won’t last long if you keep touching him like that, your soft warm hand doing slow, rounded strokes on his cock. He stills your hand and you exchange a glance.

“Lean back, sweetheart.” His words go straight to your core. Max had also called you that, but the cadence was different, more derivative. Dave’s movements are deliberate and controlled, unlike Max’s more chaotic approach. Cold and calculating; yet something in the low pitch of his voice makes you want to trust him.

You lean against the chair, hips sliding forward. Dave wets two fingers against his tongue and, resuming the onslaught of his mouth on yours, pulls back the band of your skin tight shorts to slip the other hand inside.

Your head lolls back against the chair and your eyes flutter shut. Your head swims; what is wrong with you? The waitress could come back to find Dave knuckles deep inside of you at any second.

But that’s part of the allure.

His hand dips lower, skimming the soft curls of your mound, tracing your shape. He’s only inches away from discovering your drenched and waiting hole when a new sound penetrates the fog of your mind. It takes a moment for understanding to settle over you, and then hits you abruptly: someone is clearing their throat.

Your eyes snap open and Dave yanks his hand back so hard he elbows the arm of the chair, a quiet hiss escaping from his lips as he tries to downplay the hurt. You look up to see the waitress peering down at you.

“I was going to ask if you wanted dessert, but seems you’ve already started,” she points out. She looks more amused than angry, but it doesn’t stop the shame that blooms hot in your cheeks at being so careless.

“I’m sorry,” you tell her softly.

“Just the check,” Dave says, doing his best to feign innocence. He bites the inside of his cheek. “Thanks.”

You both burst into laughter like a pair of teenagers as soon as she’s out of earshot. You look down at your half eaten plate of hummus and pitas. “Shit, I should have asked for a box too,” you say, acting as though you didn’t just have hands down the other’s pants. He chuckles, brushing a hand through short, dark hair.

“Yeah, guess so.” His mouth hooks into a crooked smirk.

The air of the moment is gone as you fall into a silence that is more comfortable than the one before, his hand lingering on your knee, thumb circling your kneecap as a gentle reminder.

The waitress returns and she is a saint. Not only has she brought the check, she’s also brought boxes for your leftovers and something in a smaller to-go box. “Baklava, for after,” she says, giving you a knowing wink. You blush. “On the house.”

Dave pays the check and leaves a generous tip as quickly as he is able to do so.

——

Dave’s hands are all over you the entire way home.

Not in a gratuitous way; he’s learned his lesson there. But that doesn’t stop him from sliding his fingers up and down your back as you walk together, or the way his hand curls taut around your hip and ass to pull you in close to nip at your neck. You giggle and playfully try to fend him off, but it does very little to dissuade him, of which you don’t mind.

He’s grateful he chose to wear loose fitting shorts to jog in today. Anything tighter and it would leave very little to the imagination. He’s sure he’s showing enough already, but he can’t be arsed enough to care, or help how deranged you make him feel. He would have taken you at the restaurant, if you had let him. If the two of you could have gotten away with it.

You arrive at the passage between your buildings after what seems like an eternity of walking. You feel his fingers dig a little harder into your backside as soon as you round the corner, and then he’s turning you, pressing your back flush against his building the same way Max had done to you earlier against yours. The similarities between both men is eerie.

His mouth finds your neck and he sucks a line of red marks down to your shoulder, leaving behind a trail of hickies that won’t be going anyway anytime soon, but you’re too fucked out already to mind.

“My place or yours?” Dave asks. His pelvis crowds into you, erection grinding at your center, the thin fabrics of your outfits a blessing as you feel every hard press of him into you.

“Yours,” you mutter without a second thought. You don’t know if you could handle two men in your space in a single day. You’d barely had time to gather your thoughts from earlier, much less clean up after yourself.

If only you knew what Dave knows. What he did.

Dave pulls away from you, one hand circling your wrist as he drags you with him, the other digging into his pocket to retrieve the keycard from his wallet. You need the same for your building, he thinks. Safer that way, less chance of being tampered with, and he would be able to rest easier.

He readjusts the grocery bag on his shoulder as he slides the keycard into the lock and pushes the door open. “After you,” he says, motioning ahead. You do as he asks, stepping over the threshold and into the building, Dave following at your heels.

His building is nicer than yours, a little more modern and kept up. A bank of mail boxes sits off to your right, a seating area to the left. There’s a staircase directly in front of you and an elevator beyond that. He gestures you up the stairs.

“I’m just on the second floor, last door on the left,” he instructs, and you dutifully begin your ascent, slowly, as you’re still more than just slightly tipsy.

Dave falls in line behind you. A moment later, you feel his hands spanning the width of your ass, kneading your flesh against his palms, landing a soft smack to your right cheek; just hard enough to let you know that he’s there and what he’s about to do to you.

“I’ve thought about this ass a lot,” Dave says in a low pitch, “Feels just as nice as I imagined it would.”

You reach the landing and make your way down the narrow corridor until you reach a door with 2A emblazoned on it, canting your eyes towards Dave for conformation. He nods and you step aside as he moves to unlock the door.

The interior of Dave’s apartment is larger than your own. It has an actual bedroom, for one. It’s also more tidy—there isn’t a lot of furniture, very few personal items, which means less clutter. No pictures hung on the walls. Just the bare necessities. A man’s apartment.

Dave puts your bag on the kitchen counter and he’s on you before you can even slide your purse off, removing the burdensome item for you, tossing it thoughtlessly behind him to join the other. His lips crash into yours, needy and desperate, tongue licking into your mouth as his hands roam over your chest to cup both breasts.

You feel better than he could have ever imagined. Like your body was made just for him, the way it slots perfectly against his own.

You make a chirp of surprise as he scoops you up with a low growl, one arm across your back and the other in the bend of your knees as he carries you to the bedroom down the hall. His mouth doesn’t relent, sucking and biting at your lips, your jaw.

“Going to ruin you tonight,” he moans against your mouth.

He puts you down on the edge of the bed when you make it to the bedroom. It’s just as sparse of the rest of the apartment, with plain black sheets and a plain black comforter. At least the bed isn’t made up; that makes you feel a little better about how you live.

He crouches in front of you, large brown eyes darkening a shade as he studies your face. Hands gripping your thighs.

“Just so you know, darling, I don’t play nice,” he forewarns, hands sliding down your legs to stroke your bare calves. Going off of what he heard earlier, he’s sure that won’t be a problem. “Before we start, is there anything off the table?”

You consider his question for a moment, thoughtfully biting your lip. “Yes. I’m not on birth control, so…” you trail off with a nervous giggle. Your condoms are of no use back at your apartment.

His jaw clenches. Of course he doesn’t have any condoms either, as he hasn’t had a need for them in quite some time. He supposes he understands. It isn’t like he needs more kids, anyway.

“Guess I have to cum in one of your other holes, then,” he muses, squeezing and kneading your calves. His hands are large and warm and they feel fucking amazing. “If at any point you want me to stop, you say ‘foxglove’. Otherwise, I assume anything goes. Clear?”

“Clear,” you confirm, inclining your head in a small nod, a tremor slithering its way through you as you consider the possibilities.

Dave’s expression hardens as a hand lifts to your face, landing a smack across your cheek just hard enough to sting but not hurt. Not yet.

“Tell me what you say if it’s too much. I need to hear you say it,” his voice dark and heavy.

“Foxglove. The safe word…is foxglove.”

One corner of his mouth slants upwards into a smirk, his eyes remaining dark. Glassy. “Atta girl,” he says with a wink.

He begins removing your clothing, yanking and manipulating the fabric free from your form until you’re completely nude, your skin pebbling as cool air rushes over you. His gaze traverses your curves, drinking you in with his eyes as he licks his lips hungrily. He can see bruises forming where Max’s fingers gripped you, where they dug in. He surprises himself when it only serves to further turn him on, the head of his dick beading with precum as he pictures how Max must have fucked you. Part of him wishes he had been able to see it for himself.

He slaps you again, harder this time, hand moving to your throat to shove you down until your back makes contact with the mattress, a small gasp rushing out of you. Moving from the floor to the bed, he seats himself at your side, grabbing one of your knees to spread you open.

He drags a finger along your soaked seam, revering how wet you already are for him, how easily the tip of his finger slips inside. “Fuck, is this just for me?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. You nod in response. “Fuckin’ slut.”

He sinks his finger to the last knuckle, pumping a few times, adding a second a moment later. You mewl and writhe underneath him, craving more friction between your legs.

“Just fuck me, Dave, please. Want your cock in me.”

He chuckles, balls pulsing in response to your words as he removes his fingers from your dripping heat. “My cock, pretty girl?” he purrs. “Who’s calling the shots here?” he asks you, pinching and twisting one of your nipples as retribution. The pain makes you cry out, tears stinging your eyes, your back arching.

When you don’t answer, he repeats himself, tugging harder this time. “Who?” he snarls.

“Y-you! You!” you whine, moving your hand over your breast to soothe the hurt, but Dave knocks it back, pinning it to the bed.

“Don’t move your hands. I mean it.”

Your body trembles. This isn’t the mild mannered Dave from earlier; the juxtaposition absolutely terrifies you and it’s fucked how much you like it.

“You,” you repeat for good measure. “You do.”

Dave beams down at you, caressing your cheek. “Good girl.”

His fingers move to curve inside of you, adding a third this time, splitting you open for him. You keen at the sting of being stretched around his knuckles, hips instinctively bucking against him. You whimper when his palm bumps your clit.

He stills you with his opposite hand and you flinch, anticipating more retaliation.

“Easy,” he soothes, flattening his palm against your hip as he strokes. “I got you.”

His fingers pump lazily through your slick, sinking to the hilt, allowing himself to feel every ridge and ripple of your tunnel. Memorizing it. You’re so wet for him; he still can’t believe that you’re letting him do this. How did he get so lucky?

He fishes his phone from his pocket in a moment of insight; he doesn’t want to take any chances in case you never let him do this again. His eyes move to your face as he does so, awaiting any kind of objection, only to continue when he finds there is none. You watch with curiosity from your perspective as he flicks open the camera app and begins to film, training the lens where his fingers are currently disappearing inside of you.

It goes on for several minutes like that, Dave filming as he fucks you with his fingers, the wet squelch of his digits driving into you paired with the accompanying sounds of your gradually building pleasure more than a little gratuitous, as if it was straight from a porno.

He can tell by the way your inner walls are tightening that you’re getting close. He wants to get you off before he does, prepare you for the inevitable stretch of him so he can properly ruin you on his cock.

He passes the phone to you now, scooting higher up on the bed. You watch him through the phone screen and realize he’s still completely clothed, the lewd bulge of his erection more than obvious even through the phone. As if on cue, he palms himself before settling in next to you.

He nibbles down the rise of your shoulder, trailing to your breast, leaving small suckling bites until his mouth reaches the hard peak of your nipple. His tongue laves over it, circling it, sucking it into his mouth and taking it between his teeth. It sends a shockwave of pain through you, your cunt clenching down on Dave’s fingers, momentarily blinded by your pleasure.

You do as best you can to capture everything on camera, but there’s so much going on, your brain so swimmy you can barely see straight.

“Mmf,” he groans against the stiffened bud. “Doing so well already,” he praises.

His teeth move to the pillowy flesh of your outer breast, biting down harder than you would have imagined he would—to the point of nearly drawing blood—another lance of pain shooting through you with a strangled cry. It’s at that moment an orgasm unexpectedly washes over you, taking you by complete surprise as you scream Dave’s name loud enough for the entire building to hear.

His cock pulses with the need to be buried in your dark, wet heat as he rides out the ebbs and flows of your ecstasy, hand still fucking into you, harder and faster than before, and before you even realize what’s happening, a second orgasm surges through you like an arc of lightning on the tail end of the first, your vision pulling white for what seems like a lifetime.

“Fuck,” you mewl, your voice almost a sob. “Fuck, Dave.”

He keeps pumping until the aftershocks of your back to back orgasms starts to be too much, burgeoning on painful, and you plead for him to stop, grabbing at his wrist without giving it much thought.

“You know what to say if you want me to stop.” His face contorts into a wicked sneer. “I like when you tell me no.”

You let out a sigh of relief when you get a brief reprieve from the overstimulation as he pulls his fingers out of you, leaning forward to force your mouth open with his fingers. “Clean them off. Taste yourself. Taste what I did to you.”

You do your best to turn the camera to your face as you suck obediently, tasting a mixture of yourself and the salt of his skin, murmuring low in your throat as your eyes move to examine his face. He’s drunk on lust and on you, slack-jawed, dark eyes shimmering with dubiousness. Somehow, if it’s possible, it makes you even wetter than before.

When he removes his hand, a string of saliva connects your mouth to the tip of his middle finger, which you most definitely capture on the camera.

“My turn,” he says, sliding into a stand, removing his shirt and letting it join yours on the floor. The first thing you notice are his shoulders, endlessly broad and well defined, flexing with every movement. You’re unable to pull your attention away from the vastness of them until he’s kneeling again, grabbing you by the hips and pulling your ass to hang over the edge of the bed.

His face is buried between the juncture of your thighs a moment later, arched Roman nose nudging your overly sensitive bundle of nerves. His tongue dips to penetrate you, lips forming a tight seal around your entrance as his tongue scrubs at your inner walls, groaning deep in his throat as he tastes you for the first time.

“Taste so fucking good, baby,” he moans against your folds. “Best I’ve ever tasted.”

“No, Dave, stop,” you beg, weakly pushing at one of his shoulders with your free hand, so overstimulated it hurts. Between him and Max, they’ve already done a number on you today, and Dave hasn’t even properly fucked you yet. Your words don’t make Dave stall, however; if anything, he speeds up.

You know what to say if you want me to stop. His words echo in your mind as a single teardrop clings to your waterline. You could just say it, foxglove—a type of poisonous flower, aptly fitting—and you’re certain he would stop. But you’re willing to see how far you’re able to go, how much you can take, the word fading away behind your lips along with your considerations.

“Stop,” you whimper to spur him on, intentionally antagonizing him now, and he growls, animalistic, heady, unrelenting as he grazes his teeth over your sensitive nub, making you cry out before returning to his previous task of eating you out like a man starved.

It isn’t long before he drags a third orgasm out of you, your hips bucking completely off the bed to chase the fleeting stimulation, his name a chant on your tongue. Your fingers curl into the sheets to anchor yourself.

Dave falls back on his calves, chest heaving as he takes a moment to collect his breath, likewise allowing you to catch yours.

He runs a hand over his face, wiping away the sweat that wants to fall. He often stopped using his air conditioning after summer, and he’s feeling the effects now as perspiration beads up and rolls down his back.

“Are you ready for my cock?” he asks, his face cast in shadow, lending him an insidious appearance. It makes you shiver.

“Yes. Need your cock in me,” you whine, knowing how sore you’ll be after this, how sore you are now. You can’t find yourself able to care.

Dave rises, one hand on his hip, cock pulsing and leaking with arousal at the chance to fully bury himself in you. He goes over to the side of the bed, hauling you up the rest of the way by your arm, which makes you yelp.

He takes the phone from you and places it on the nightstand, angling it so that it faces the bed. You aren’t sure how much you were able to capture with his head between your legs, so you’re happy to be relieved of film maker duty.

He’s on top of you an instant later, shorts somehow shed in a frenzy of movement, lining himself up at your entrance and then pushing inside in one smooth, devastating go. His head rocking back to slump against his shoulders at how amazing you feel, how tight you are for him despite being with Max, how subservient you’ve been and how well you’re taking him. It takes every fiber of his being not to offload into you on the first thrust.

His hands lace around your throat as he begins to pump, squeezing into the meat of your neck. “Look at me,” he snarls.

You look up at him, brown eyes shifted to black, a dark band of shadow covering his visage, making him seem that much more sinister. He isn’t fully railing into you yet, but he isn’t exactly going easy on you, either, every thrust into you more tender than the previous.

“Open your mouth for me like the whore you are,” Dave commands, tightening his grip until the edges of the room start to blot away. “And stick out your tongue.”

Your lips part and you curl your tongue outward, thinking you know what’s coming, but still being taken aback when you feel a thick glob of saliva land directly onto your waiting tongue. You don’t give him a chance to tell you to swallow; you do it on your own, opening wider for more.

“Does my little slut want seconds?” Dave asks, and you nod. He smirks, spitting directly into your mouth again, watching intently as you swallow. “Filthy. Should make you eat my cum, too.”

You nod in wanton agreement, but you’re unable to speak with his massive hands digging into your windpipe as they are. The flash in his gaze tells you his understanding, though, and he starts fucking you harder, instructing you to lift your legs so he can slam into you as deep as he possibly can, the head of his dick knocking at the delicate spongy area at the back of your tunnel.

And then a fourth orgasm rolls over you, vision fading away momentarily as your head rocks back against the pillow, choked cry clawing its way out of your throat.

You aren’t sure how much more you can take, which Dave must admit is more than he expected you to. Your body is numb and your head is pounding; you hope for your sake he cums soon.

He loosens his hold on your neck, and you’re able to breathe again, chest rising and falling rapidly beneath him as you catch up. He taps the side of your face, softly, almost affectionate in comparison to how hard he slapped you before. Then he pulls out of you, wrapping his hand around his thick cock, slowly pumping himself with your slick and cum.

“Maybe I won’t spill into that pretty little whore mouth of yours,” he muses. “Maybe I should take your tight little asshole instead.”

Your heart palpitates faster, eyes going wide. You’ve never done anal more than just a finger or two and Dave is so girthy—the idea gives you pause, admittedly.

Dave expects you to say no. Like, actually say no, this time. The veins running the length of his shaft pulsing as he imagines how your ass would feel sheathed on his cock, but he isn’t pressing the issue, so he’s more than pleasantly shocked when you don’t abstain.

“Okay,” you mumble, hardly above a whisper. “Need you to fuck my ass, Dave.” You look up at him through your lashes and it stirs something primal in him, hearing those words come from your sweet mouth.

He wastes no time in flipping you over, pulling you up to your knees as he notches himself at your star of muscle.

“Have you ever done it before?”

“N-never, no. Just fingers,” you admit, biting back your trepidation.

“I’ll start off slow, then. Get you nice and stretched out. But I won’t be able to control myself for long, knowing I’m the first one who gets to claim your ass. I won’t go easy on you after that point.”

You swallow and nod. The alcohol will definitely help to loosen things up, but you aren’t sure how much.

Dave tilts your hips up, spreading your cheeks to spit directly onto the ring of muscle. He slips a thumb inside, pumping it easily a few times, groaning at how you squeeze him.

“So tight,” he growls. “Going to feel so fucking good.”

He slides his thumb out and spits again, first at your entrance and then into his palm, smearing the cocktail of saliva, slick and precum over himself. He grips your cheeks and spreads you open as wide as possible, positioning his head between them.

He starts to push slowly inward, the initial stretch painful, your vision temporarily reduced to nothing, tears stinging your eyes. It’s so much. He’s so much.

In spite of yourself, you do your best to relax, regulating your breathing and slackening your muscles. It seems to help as he claims another inch of you with a throaty reverberation. “Doing great, baby.”

You moan, an amalgamation of pleasure and pain when he pushes in about halfway, filling you in ways you never could have imagined. He pumps his hips languidly as he continues to gain ground, parting you slowly around his length, molding you into a desired shape for him, until he eventually bottoms out with a visceral groan.

“Fuck,” he pants. “So fucking perfect.”

He holds there a moment, relishing how fucking amazing you feel strangling his cock, knowing it won’t take much from this point to send him hurtling over the edge; he’ll have to make sure it counts.

He ruts into you a few times, gingerly, opening you further to ensure you have ample time to mentally prepare for the impending onslaught.

“How does it feel?” he asks, kneading your hips under his hands.

“G-good, so f-far,” you reply. “Okay.”

“That’s too bad,” Dave tuts. “We’ll have to fix that, won’t we, darling?”

He plants a hard smack to your ass, causing you to arch involuntarily with a high keening yelp, rocking you back into him as a dagger of pain courses through you. Dave grunts, snapping his hips into you, and you yelp again.

“That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it.”

He flattens his palm over where he made contact to soothe the hurt, but before you can settle he strikes you again, harder than before, gripping your hips with enough force to bruise as he begins riding you rough and frenzied, bucking his hips against yours.

His hand snakes around to your front and finds your swollen and overworked clit, administering quick tight circles to the delicate bud. Your initial instinct is to push him away, tell him to stop, and you do. You cry out for him to stop, because it’s so much, he’s so much, forgetting in your haste that it only spurs him on, makes him want you more. And it’s so much that he’s literally fucking you senseless, unable to breathe or even think.

Despite everything, that familiar tickle begins to build low in your abdomen again, the noises you make with every thrust inhuman and supplicant. You want him to stop but you don’t. You don’t know how much more you can withstand but at the same time want him to use you all night.

Dave rumbles from the depths of his chest, completely feral as he ruts into your ass, the noises you’re making driving him to the brink of insanity, the same ones you’d made earlier for Max. And he can feel his climax building, listening to your salacious inhuman noises, envisioning Max fucking you in your apartment and how much you’d fallen apart for him. And subsequently four times so far with himself.

“Whose ass is this?” Dave snarls, spanking you again, leaving an imprint of his hand behind.

“Yours, Dave, yours!” you cry.

“That’s right. No one else’s. Just mine. All mine,” he grunts. “Cum for me, baby. Need you to cum as I rail your ass.”

“I can’t, Dave, it’s so much…” you whine. Everything is disorientating. You’re glad you have tomorrow off because you aren’t certain you’ll be able to walk after this.

“Yes you can. Cum for me. Last one.”

He flicks the pads of his middle and index fingers over your clit, and when you think it isn’t going to be possible, another orgasm burns through you like a powder keg, your walls clamping down around nothing as Dave spears himself repeatedly into you. You see stars, crying out his name as your arms give out beneath you, the upper half of your body slumping into the bed.

Dave snaps his hips once, twice, three times more and then he’s cumming hard with a deep, animalistic snarl, pumping himself deep as he uses you to milk every last drop of himself.

He eventually slows to a halt, both of you panting hard, covered in a thin sheen of perspiration, your bodies like jello as you sink in tandem to the mattress below. Dave pulls out of you, rolling onto his back as he pants up at the ceiling.

He takes a moment to catch his breath and bearings before he scoots off the bed, checking to make sure you’re okay as he turns off the camera on his phone and then heads to the small en suite bathroom, the only one in the apartment. He starts the warm tap and retrieves a wash rag from the basket he keeps by the sink, running it under the water until it’s pleasantly warm.

He returns to you a moment later to find you already halfway to dozing, looking at him through sleepy, half-lidded eyes. It stokes something in the cold cockles of his heart seeing you like this, running an affectionate hand up the back of your thigh as he approaches you. “Here, open up.”

You hardly have any cognition left, yet you somehow manage to comprehend, spreading to allow him to clean you. The warmth of the rag is relieving against your sore and tender parts, and when he feels you’ve been sufficiently looked over, he seats himself next to you, brushing your hair from your eyes.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Mmhm,” you manage weakly, unable to keep your eyes open now. “Jus’ tired.”

“Rest,” Dave says, stroking along the edge of your jaw with his thumb. “You’ve earned it.”

He watches you a moment longer as you drift off, leaving your side only when he’s sufficiently sated on the image of you in his bed to go clean himself up in the bathroom. While he’s in there, he can’t help but think that being able to fuck you should have scratched that itch, scratched it enough that he could move past you, but now that he’s had you—he feels it growing even more restless than before, contorting into some kind of twisted, dangerous animal. He fears the things he would do for you. To you.

He needs to remember you like this. All fucked out and beautiful in your post-coitus glow, one hand rested under your cheek. He goes back to you, grabbing his phone to snap a picture of you. And then several more.

He has to see his daughters this weekend so his time with you is fleeting. And he won’t be around immediately after either, since he’s decided to make a little impromptu trip up to New York to pay a friendly visit to your ex.

He rejoins you in the bedroom, flipping on the wall unit air conditioning before sliding into bed next to you, wrapping you in his arms as he places kisses where he left marks on your neck. You utter a small, chirping sound, settling into his arms as the rest of your mind slips away to sleep.

——

You aren’t sure how long you were out.

Your mouth is parched and you’re simultaneously freezing and burning up, a layer of sweat between your bodies where your skin makes contact. He’s got you tangled up in his arms and he’s like a massive furnace, smothering you with his impressive body heat.

But the A/C is also going and everywhere the air touches is freezing, your skin bubbling with goosepimples.

You shift, hoping it will rouse him. You need to get home. When it doesn’t work, you move your limbs more, stretching and quietly murmuring his name. He eventually stirs, looking down at you with sleepy baby cow eyes, somehow soft in their regard of you, despite every debauched and depraved thing he did.

“Dave, I need to go.”

He frowns. He has to leave tomorrow morning for Virginia, but he was hoping you’d stay, wanting your face to be the last he sees before then.

“Spend the night. I make a mean bowl of cereal,” he jokes, the edge of his lip quirking up. “Or we can order in.”

You deliberate on it. Dave absolutely wrecked you, brought you the brink of losing yourself several times, frightened you and hurt you. You let him. You wanted it—you liked it. And you like him.

But your ex ruined you in the worst of ways. Things had moved quickly with him, you being absolutely starstruck in love from the start, and look where it got you. As much as you like Dave, you fear history repeating itself. You barely know him. You can’t risk going down the same road again.

“Next time,” you offer as compromise. He doesn’t do anything to hide his disappointment, but he nods in confirmation anyway. As much as he needs you to stay, he doesn’t want to push you away with his neediness.

“Next time,” he repeats with a nod. “Sure.”

You get up to use the rest room, slipping back into your clothes, checking yourself out in the mirror as you do so and notice how you’re absolutely riddled with marks. You can hide out in your apartment tomorrow, sure, but you aren’t sure what you’ll do for work. Wear a scarf, maybe.

“Let me walk you home,” Dave says as you gather your things, taking the grocery bag from you, even though it really isn’t that heavy. You lift heavier boxes of coffee at work, after all. “Please.”

“Dave,” you say with a laugh, “I live, like, a hundred feet from you.”

He offers a weak, nervous laugh of his own in response. He really is a man split right down the middle, personality wise. A study of duality. “I know. It’s just proper.”

You don’t fight it. You’re already turning down his request to stay; may as well give him this one. “Sure. Come on.”

He walks you down with his hand planted in the small of your back, gingerly stroking as you make your way outside. The air is stagnant and quiet, the faint sounds of traffic somewhere in the distance.

You reach the door of your building and turn to face Dave with a shy smile, your cheeks heating. You aren’t sure why, after what you let him do to you. “Well, this is me.”

“Yeah,” he says with a breathy laugh, placing his hands on his hips and looking you over. “I can walk you inside, if you want.”

“I think I can manage,” you reply with a smile. “Thanks, though. And thank you…for everything.”

As he passes you the bag, something else unspoken passes between the two of you, Dave rushing into you to plunge his tongue past your teeth, licking broad strokes into your mouth. You moan and sink your fingers into his hair without even thinking about it.

Fuck, he’s going to miss you.

He was hard again the moment you woke up naked in his arms, and he’s even harder now as he presses into you, cock twitching to feel you again.

“I have to go,” you plead against his lips. “I’ll see you this weekend. Promise.”

He frowns. He never told you about his daughters. Or his divorce. Now probably isn’t the most opportune time to bring it up, either.

“I’ll be out of town until next week,” he says. “But after. Yeah.”

It tugs at something in you, hearing his voice drop like that. You decide to compromise once again by offering your phone number up as penance.

“So, we’ll still be able to talk,” you say.

“Yeah. Sounds good.” He smiles, even though he doesn’t exactly feel up to it, the corners of his eyes wrinkling into crow’s feet.

“And bring me back a souvenir from wherever you’re going,” you say in jest. “I’m kidding, by the way. Don’t.”

He chuckles. “I’ll bring you back a “‘Virginia is For Lovers’ shirt,” he responds.

“Virginia? Nice.” You nod. “But seriously, don’t. And have a nice trip.”

“I’ll try,” he admits. And then he kisses you again, less aggressively this time, hand trailing down to the curve of your buttock, resting there, but not squeezing. It’s taking everything in him not to pull your shorts down and fuck you within an inch of your life, again, in the open like this. But he refrains.

“Talk to you soon, Dave,” you say as you take a step away from him, punching in the door code on the keypad. Dave watches your fingers move, tucking the number away for later use. 6435#. Easy enough.

“Soon,” he agrees. “Have a good night,” he says, his voice dropping to an affectionate octave when he says your name.

He watches you go. Watches you leave him. He swallows back his pride, knowing he hasn’t driven you away fully yet, but more than a little concerned he doesn’t have you exactly where he wants you.

He returns to his apartment alone, which already feels empty without you.

He knows it will be impossible to sleep right now. He brews himself a cup of Earl Grey and takes it over to his computer, the screen shining a bright white in his irises as he sits down to do some digging on Jonathan. He has enough information to go on; now it’s just a matter of filling in the gaps.

He can’t wait to pay your ex a visit.

——

Max surprises himself when his heart drops at not seeing you at the shop the next day.

Maurizio is there, whom he greets unenthusiastically, his ex-schoolmate little more than an acquaintance at this point, but the interaction is amiable enough. And some kid with a face full of piercings manning the counter who’s maybe all of eighteen at best, as far as Max can tell.

At least that pink haired bitch isn’t working today, Max thinks.

He orders a large Americano and a cookie to go, his usual order. He asks if you’re working today. The metal-faced kid—whose name tag says Vincent, and whom he recognizes from yesterday—tells him you’re off today.

“Thanks.” Figures you wouldn’t be here. For whatever reason he can’t seem to fathom, he hasn’t been able to get you off his mind since yesterday. Even wore the same tie as a reminder, which is something that meticulous, obsessed-with-his-own-appearance Max does not do. Ever.

He takes his Americano and cookie and leaves, thinking about you on his way to work as he takes small sips of the subpar coffee. He wonders what you do in your free time. What you’re doing now.

He thinks, perhaps, he’ll drop in after work. He knows where you live now, after all.

He can’t wait to see your face when he shows up unannounced at your door.

@ohheypedrito @kateispunk @survivingandenduring @oberynslady @chronically-ghosted @onmysluttyknees @kellybelly1978 @annieispunk @sarap-77

Enjoy! 😘

#pedro pascal #writing #romance #smut #author #fanfic #pedro fanfic #dave york #max phillips #equalizer 2 #bloodsucking bastards

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